#if anyone makes it this far into the tags

[loliwrites]

I. Tenacity | Edelweiss

pairing: joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni  warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early 30s], joel lives forever fight me, canon compliant violence, no infected here just terrible humans, mention of death, blood, and murder, mentions of hunger, diva cup appearance, talk of irregular menstrual cycles [trauma-induced menopause][epigenetics], DUBCON/NONCON [tagging ‘cause reader allows it but true enthusiastic consent is absent], brief SMUT, unprotected p in v sex, female reader, no physical description other than a height difference, slow burn-ish, protective!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 5.6k series masterlist a/n: my first go at writing something tlou-related. be gentle pls.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The steady rhythm. You could count the number of times your hip would be shoved into the wooden table with a high degree of certainty of when it would be over. Michael never lasted too long. Somewhere between thirty-four and thirty-seven thrusts. He was never particularly rough, and though he was never chasing to make you feel good, he was at least better than George and James – both of whom would probably be lining up after Michael was done. George seemed to last forever. Some old fart who’d gained his stamina before the world came to a screeching halt. He usually landed somewhere between sixty-two and sixty-six thrusts. The bruises he left behind always lasted the longest because of the sheer amount of times he slammed your body into whatever you were up against. A table, a railing, an old pool table with torn, dirty felt. And the worst of all was James. He may not last the longest, but he had the uncanny ability of making you feel like some depraved wild animal he was trying to break. He never took his time to make sure it wouldn’t be absolutely painful like Michael did. Nor did he have a pencil dick to make it somewhat manageable like George. He took it how he wanted it – fast, unceremonious, and always left you in a mess you’d have to clean up.

Part of you wondered if this was worth it. If the wolf was only as strong as the pack, then having a pack was supremely necessary. And though, these guys… and the group they led… weren’t the people you would’ve gone with by choice. A pack was a pack. Alone, you were an easy target for almost anything and anyone. Being together afforded you safety in numbers. Relative safety in numbers. Safe enough to have stayed alive with them for the past six years. Years that you likely wouldn’t have gotten if you’d fought them tooth and nail and went off on your own. Solitude could only get you so far. No matter how proficient you were with your rifle.

The one that lay in front of you on the table. Clean, well-oiled, with a scope affixed to the top. As Michael started to moan recklessly behind you, you thought about the meals you’d forfeited in trade for the supplies needed to keep the weapon in the best of shape. Times were tough – had been tough for a couple decades now – and a gun was a gun. It didn’t need to be clean, it just had to work. But this was no ordinary gun.

Michael came inside you with a strangled grunt and pulled out a second later. That was a relatively new twist in the routine. For years the men were careful to never finish inside you… or any of the other women in the group. Food and resources were scarce enough as it was, let alone adding little mouths to feed and take care of. But a few months back, you’d confided in some of the women that your period hadn’t been coming when you expected it to. And when time had passed and neither a baby nor your period came, you came to the conclusion you were suffering from the same fate as some of the other women. A hard life compounded. Trauma induced menopause. You weren’t sure which of the women had ratted you out. But soon enough the men had become aware of your new biological situation, and they stopped the frantic pulling out as they came. Perhaps that was for the best. Who’d want to bring a child into a world like this?

“Was that alright?” Michael asked, buckling his belt back up. His back was turned toward you as he reached for his own rifle, which he’d propped up against the wall.

You glanced over at him and pulled your pants back up your legs. Over the lofted railing, you could hear George and James mumbling to each other. “Fine,”

“Did you…?”

He finally met your eyes. Anxiety-ridden. None of the other men ever asked, but you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. At some point maybe it’d sink in that he should stop partaking in the act just to fit in with the boys. “No,”

His gaze averted to the floor sheepishly and he shouldered his rifle. “Guess we should get back downstairs,”

“I’ll be down in a couple minutes,”

Now you were the one to turn your back on him. Though you hoped he’d come to his senses and start to become a better man. You knew he wouldn’t. He was initiated into the system. The one George and James, and all the other men in the settlement formed. The one that meant they brought girls along on patrols so they could get their kicks and save face with the others that they were doing their due diligence in protecting the group. And you joining the group… well you turned out to be the little guardian angel for the women in the pack. Good with a gun, able to pick off infected and humans alike from a mile out. It only seemed natural that the men going out on patrols would take you with them. For that you inadvertently protected the other women from your fate. 

Michael cleared his throat and started down the stairs from the loft. You bit the inside of your cheek to show yourself you could still feel something, and – BANG! 

Your head flicked around toward the noise. What was left of Michael was splattered against the wall leading up the stairs. You grabbed your gun and held it poised. Looked over the lofted banister and down at the room below. George had backed up into the far corner; his arms raised in non-threatening compliance. Someone must’ve been pointing a weapon at him, but you couldn’t tell from the angle. And James, well… if it didn’t warm your heart a little bit to see him being restrained in a chokehold with a handgun to his temple. The man you could see, holding James, was tall, muscular… he had black, curly, jaw-length hair. A thick mustache. He was in all denim. And it was clean, which was the thing that caught you the most off-guard.

You lifted your gun, disregarding the scope, and looked down the barrel. James may’ve been part of your pack, but you’d thought about putting a bullet in him on a daily basis for the last eight years. And while these guys might kill you afterward, at least you’d have the brief satisfaction of knowing that you’d taken one terrible human off the face of the planet.

So there was no hesitancy when you squeezed the trigger. The round flew by the denim-clad man’s head and went straight into James’. He crumpled to the floor and the man who’d been holding him looked up in your direction, though you’d backed away enough to ensure you weren’t seen.

Your pulse was pounding in your ears. Despite two thirds of your life having been in a post-Cordyceps world, the sound and reverberation of your rifle going off right by your ear didn’t keep it from ringing. An almost concussion-like haziness emphasized by the adrenaline coursing in your veins. From down below, you could just barely hear George pleading for his life. Something about how he had a woman he loved and wanted to go home to. Strange considering he had his dick in you on most days out.

The ringing in your ears started to quiet, just in time for you to hear a footstep behind you. A heavy one. Definitely belonged to a man. But not in time for you to spin around with your rifle before finding the man already pointing his rifle at you.

“Drop it,” he commanded gruffly. A deep, gravelly voice. He was sure of himself. Confident. His tattered jacket bunched up around his shoulders. He wasn’t as clean-looking as his partner currently detaining George. Graying, brown hair, a prominent scar over his nose, a scruffiness… and yet, he still looked too put together to have been living off the land for any amount of time. You should know. God knows what you looked like had you ever taken any time in front of a mirror. If the dirtiness of your hands were any indication, you were a little worse for wear. “I said, drop it,”

Your eyes flicked back up to his face and you slowly bent over and placed your rifle on the floor. No sooner than you’d completed the action, he had another order for you. Kick it here and get on your knees. So you did. Nudged your most prized possession away with your foot when another BANG! rang through the old hunting lodge. Your eyes flinched shut; the nanosecond of thought that this was it. You’re dead. But then… you still felt alive. And you squinted your eyes open to evaluate. Yep, definitely still alive. No bleeding holes coming from your body, and the man still in front of you waiting for you to comply with his last order. Which you did… awkwardly. A grimace stretched over your face when you knelt down and felt your pants sticking to your thighs; Michael’s spend dripping out of you.

The muzzle of the man’s rifle never left you, “got anything else on you?”

“Knife in my front pocket,”

“Slide it over,”

You did. Quickly. Hoping that your quickness and willingness to obey him would mean he’d let you go with your tail tucked between your legs.

“You infected?”

You glared at him, “do I look infected?”

He cocked his gun and held it up in line with your head. You trained your eyes on his index finger around the trigger. Just one twitch. That’s all it’d take.

“Joel,” both you and the man… Joel… looked away from each other, and fixed your eyes on the stairs where the second one – the one you’d disregarded in order to kill James – entered the loft. “Look at her gun,” both men looked at your rifle. “I don’t think she misses very often. If she was gonna kill us, we’d already be dead.”

He went to approach you, and this time Joel spoke up. A cautious step forward, “Tommy.”

But this Tommy… he took another couple steps in your direction and handed off his rifle to Joel when he went to stand in front of you. You kept your eyes on his face, tilting your head back to keep him in your line of vision. Even if he tried something, you weren’t sure what you’d do to stop him, but at least you’d see it coming.

“I don’t think you missed me. I don’t even think you were aiming at me,”

“I wasn’t,”

A victorious smile spread across his face and he twisted around to look back at Joel, “see.” Tommy looked back down at you and set his hands on his hips. “What’s your name?”

You flicked your eyes at Joel quickly before returning them to Tommy to answer his question.

“You’re with the other settlement?”

“I wouldn’t call them a settlement,” your eyes flicked over to Joel when he clicked his tongue on his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Nomads, at best,”

“And at worst?” Joel barked.

Your eyebrows lifted quickly in contemplation before… “a bunch’a assholes,”

Another wide grin broke out over Tommy’s face. “You got a family or a partner in that bunch of assholes?” He waited for a verbal response but you only shook your head. “We’ll take her back with us. She might be able to give us some answers about our friends we’ve been seeing on patrol.”

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They made you walk while they sat easily atop their horses. Some kind of cruel twist of fate that your own gun was turned on you the whole time. Joel made sure of that. Based on the way the sun fell toward the horizon, you figured you’d all been an hour and a half walk south of their settlement. Which as you neared the large wooden gates, seemed to be more like a QZ than some random encampment. And judging by the way the two men bickered, you assumed they were brothers. Only siblings could piss each other off like that and not take it personally. How lucky, you thought, that after all this time, they still had each other.

When you did near the enormous gates, Tommy left you behind with Joel. A precarious position. His face remained stoic the entire time, muzzle of the gun pointed at you… didn’t even answer when you asked if his horse had a name. You thought about goading him into an argument for the fun of it. Maybe he named his horse Princess. Or Spike. But Tommy interrupted again, riding up with a handful of others and even a dog. It growled and snarled in your direction, and you weren’t sure why, but you glanced back up at Joel to see if his expression had changed. Maybe you wouldn’t be so scared if he didn’t look like there was something you should be nervous about.

To your surprise, he was already staring at you. Upon meeting your gaze, he nodded once and jut his chin in the direction of the dog. “S’gonna sniff you. See if you’re infected. If not, like you say, nothin’ll happen.”

“If I am?” You cocked your head back toward the snarling animal.

“It’ll probably just take your leg off or somethin’,”

“Any chance this dog fucks up?”

“Probably not,”

And it didn’t. Thankfully. Hopefully this meant they’d trust explicitly that you indeed weren’t infected. They seemed to trust their trained animal enough to let you inside their settlement. Jackson, they called it. You’d never heard of it. Never heard of any rumblings of a massive commune. And yet…. It was gorgeous. Nice buildings, string lights, stables, a bar, dining hall, and in the distance, what seemed to look like a large, sweeping neighborhood.

Tommy had joined up with a woman: Maria. They kissed and spoke fondly to each other, so you assumed they were partners. Both walked ahead of you, while Joel remained at your rear. You figured with your rifle still pointed at you. Everyone stopped what they were doing when you passed by. All staring to get a glimpse of the newcomer. Would you be joining them permanently? Would they kill you? You asked yourself the same questions.

Your feet had stopped moving but you didn’t notice until you felt the muzzle of your rifle press against your upper back. Joel jabbed the metal against your back again, growing antsier with the fact that your gaze had settled on a teenager in the distance. She was staring at you, too. A fact that seemed to make Joel even more aggravated. He mumbled his annoyance to you and you got moving again, walking up the boarded steps into the dining hall. 

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They treated you better than you expected. Hell, better than your group would’ve treated someone they didn’t know. They set a big glass of water in front of you with a heaping plate of vegetables, chicken, and fresh bread. The water was one of the biggest surprises. You couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t have to boil water before drinking it. Maybe when you were still with your parents. That felt like a lifetime ago.

Tommy and Maria shared glances like they weren’t sure what you were going to tell them. Considering no one else joined you, you figured these three (or a combination) held a great deal of power in the settlement. Joel, however, looked pissed that this was even happening at all. That he hadn’t just shot you on sight back at the hunting lodge. It was pretty easy to ignore him. You’d spent the better half of your time on earth ignoring men just like him. But then the questions started coming and you figured all this kindness came at a price. They wanted to know everything. So you didn’t hold back. Maybe if you were open and frank with them, they’d let you stay here. They wouldn’t make you go back to those awful people. 

Told them that you’d been with that group for the last eight years. And in those eight years, they hadn’t really expanded their numbers by any considerable amount. That they hovered somewhere between forty-four and sixty-two people -- including the three that had been killed today – and that about two thirds of them were men. You even told them about how you’d become a sort of fun novelty for the men. That they brought you along on their scouts because you were better than anyone with a rifle. Once they got their rocks off by watching you down game a mile off, they got their rocks off again, fucking you up against anything sturdy enough to withstand the weight and pressure. 

Joel looked down at his lap at that. Avoided your eyes. You took it to mean that he knew what that was like. Maybe he did the same. 

You shrugged and pushed the remnants of food around on your plate. Eight years was a long time to endure that type of treatment. You told them as much.

“You don’t have loyalty to anyone in the other group?” Maria asked, probing. 

“She shot one of her own guys today. Doesn’t have loyalty to anyone,”

Everyone’s heads turned to Joel. He’d since leaned back in his chair, almost nonchalantly. The gun that had been pointed at you now lay on the opposite end of the table. You thought you saw indignance in his eyes. Disdain for you and the plight he perceived you to be on. Scorched earth. Loyal to no one but yourself. Maybe that was true. Maybe you’d evolved to become highly selective in where to lay your loyalty.

“He wasn’t my guy,” you spat in Joel’s direction. It might as well have been just the two of you in the room. “He was the guy that killed my parents. So fuck him,”

It was hard to tell what they thought of you. Tommy was the only one who smiled freely. Maria saved hers for Tommy. And Joel didn’t smile at all. There was no talk of a plan or a future. No conversation about what was to become of you. All they told you as you wandered from the main street and down one cul-de-sac road lined with houses was that they didn’t allow anyone to have weapons in town. All firearms stayed at the armory. 

That conversation ended as they stopped in front of a small one story cottage. It was dark and rickety, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fathom who you were to be put into the arms of. If the house was any indication, probably some horribly untidy mess of a man. Maybe it’d be the type of man you’d wished you’d have your gun around for. 

Maria, Tommy, and Joel led you inside that dark, rickety cottage. Unlocked the door and flicked the lights on as they entered the living room. You kept your eyes and ears alert. Your awareness might be the only upperhand you had in sensing danger here. But you heard nothing. You saw nothing. There wasn’t another soul in this house waiting to attack. It was just you and the three who’d brought you here. They didn’t offer an explanation. Joel just stood back and eyed your every move carefully while Maria handed you a little stack of clean clothes, a toothbrush and a tube toothpaste, and a small cardboard box that held something you’d never heard of before: a diva cup. 

You looked up to give her an apprehensive glance but found that she was already giving you one. It was a look you’d seen before. When you’d talked yourself into joining that other group all those years ago. It was the look the women had given you before they realized you were about to become their saving grace. She turned away from you and gave Tommy a peck on her way out; not even bothering to acknowledge Joel.

There was a part of you that admired her. For the amount of power she clearly wielded over not only these two men, but seemingly the entire commune. And the other part of you was scared of her. She reminded you of your mother. A strong, domineering type who knew how to control the men around her. You figured if the outbreak hadn’t happened and humans didn’t devolve before your very eyes, you might’ve become the same type of woman. The type who could keep her men in line with a look. The type whose men would’ve quivered at the look you’d shot them.

The front door shut behind Maria in the same moment Tommy was handing you a key. You took it in your hand and ran your thumb over the cold, smooth metal. It had been decades since you held one like it. Surely even before the outbreak, people just didn’t hand over keys to houses for nothing.

“You can stay in Jackson for a month on a little trial run–”

“Probation,” Joel interrupted.

Both you and Tommy flicked your eyes at him. While Tommy looked annoyed, you actually smiled. Somehow Joel’s bluntness was growing to be comforting.

“Jesus, Joel,”

He shrugged, “S’call it what it is. Probation to see if she’s a problem and we gotta send ‘er packin’,”

“Appreciate you both not shootin’ me,” you said, you voice sounding hoarse. You cleared your throat and shook your head absently; a small smile passing over your lips, “would’ve put a damper on my day.”

Tommy grinned though his brother looked unamused at your effort of levity. “Someone’ll come ‘round tomorrow morning around seven-thirty to bring you to the greenhouse. Teach you the workflow down there.” Then off your confused look, he smiled again, heading for the door, “if you’re gonna live in the community, you gotta help out.”

Joel turned his back on you to follow his brother, and you were quick on their heels, “what about my gun? I mean, does everyone have their own gun at the armory, or…”

“It’s a commune. We share,” Tommy said over his shoulder as he tugged the front door back open. He and Joel stepped through the threshold, but your voice stopped them.

“It’s just that… I’d rather not be here and have my gun, than be here and have someone else usin’ it. I appreciate what you’re doin’, and your helping me out, but… to me, staying in Jackson isn’t worth havin’ someone else use my weapon,”

“It’ll be safe,”

Tommy’s voice rang clear and sure, trying to reassure you of something. What, you weren’t certain. But he continued on his way, and only once he stepped off the small porch, did you realize that Joel had momentarily kept himself frozen in place. By your front door, staring you down. You started to shrink back beneath his gaze, unable to discern what it was trying to convey to you. Anger. Resentment. Disappointment. The door nearly concealed you entirely before Joel got his bearings again and descended the porch steps and jogged to keep pace with Tommy again.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

The whole thing was weird. All of it. Jackson was an anomaly and the more you tried to make yourself at home, the weirder it got. The house they’d just given you was definitely a pre-outbreak build. It was obvious. Some of the other houses on the block looked new. You imagined they’d smell new. Not your cottage. Scuffed up wood floors. Cracks in the paint and drywall. Even the wood-burning stove. And when you looked out the front window, out at the street, you saw children. Walking by themselves. Joking around. Not nearly on edge or high alert. In fact, you dared to say that they looked like they were having fun. 

You’d only been ten when the world came crashing down around you. Fun ripped out from right under your feet. The homestead you’d grown up on – climbing trees, playing hide and seek, shooting down Coke cans – once a safe place to be a kid, had quickly become something to be defended. As you found out many moons later, to the death.

At ten, there wasn’t anything to rebuild in the new world. You hadn’t had any worldly possessions to hang onto. When money became obsolete, it didn’t matter because you’d never had any. Perhaps in a bank somewhere, stuffed away in a savings account that no longer held any weight. Nor did you need the money to get by in life these days. You’d heard tales of the QZ’s from people who’d come from them. Escaped from them. They had a new type of currency. Not the kind you used to have. The green paper money with a bunch of old dudes on the front. The kind your family burned sometime in the winter of 2006 when the first freeze took over and you were sure you’d never get back to the old normal.

And that was what made Jackson the weirdest. It was the closest to ‘old normal’ you’d seen in over two decades. A whole town. Village. Commune, they’d called it. A formal education had stopped young, so the only awareness of anything commune related came from a book your father had about the Bolshevik’s October Revolution. And if you were being honest, it didn’t sound too good. But on top of that, how were you supposed to rebuild now? Maria had been kind enough to give you a few things, but there wasn’t wood for the wood-burning stove. And the electricity might’ve been working, but there wasn’t any food in the fridge. No sides of deer cut up and stored in a chest freezer. How were you supposed to get that in a commune? Did they have money? Did they barter? And either way, you had no money to give and nothing to barter. So how exactly were you supposed to get on in life?

Face up, staring at the ceiling, you laid in bed willing yourself to go to sleep. You’d gone to bed hungry before. More times than you could count. But usually those nights were accompanied by a dirt floor, extreme cold, the threat of being hunted. A million other things to keep your mind off of the fact that your stomach was growling. There wasn’t any of that in Jackson. Everything was quiet, almost eerily so. You were warm. And even though the mattress wasn’t the comfiest of things, it sure as hell beat the floor. With all these little luxuries, it was hard to ignore the hunger.

But even if you had been asleep, you’re sure you would’ve been woken by the footsteps on your old, rickety porch. None of the wood planks laid exactly right. All creaking with age and rot. Much like the world, you thought. Plus you couldn’t remember a night’s sleep that wasn’t disturbed by panic or anxiety, or just plain fear. Probably hadn’t had a peaceful night like that since before the outbreak. Now that creaking on your porch made you jump up and scurry into the corner of your bedroom. Into the shadows. Praying you’d had your rifle. Cursing the idea that you’d stay here without it. 

The creaking came and went in a steady procession. Four footsteps. A pause. Another four footsteps. On and on for a few minutes. Long enough for you to have gained your courage again. Long enough for you to have crawled to the front room and peek through the window. Long enough for you to see Joel Miller ambling back and forth on the porch, stacking pieces of wood, conveniently chopped to fit the size of your wood burning stove. What a stark difference from the Joel Miller who’d been pointing a gun at your head this morning. You went to the door and unlatched it, slowly pulling it open so as to not startle him. He came to an abrupt stop. An armful of wood. Staring at you.

He blinked a couple times in quick procession, gaining the wherewithal to move again. “M’sorry if I woke ya’,”

You shook your head, “I don’t sleep much.”

Joel nodded and set the armful of wood on top of the rest. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans, almost sheepishly. “Winter comes up on us pretty quick here. Insulation in this place is for the birds. Figured you’d need some wood for the stove.”

“Oh,”

“I cleaned out the flue a couple months back so you shouldn’t smoke yourself out,”

Lips pursed together, you pondered the stack of wood nestled up against the cottage. “I don’t think I’m gonna stay. Doesn’t seem like this is the right place for me,”

Joel didn’t have a response for you, just looked down at his feet and kicked at a nonexistent something on the porch.

“That gun–my gun. My dad gave it to me in 2003. September 26th,”

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours. Pain riddled in his gaze as if he remembered that date all too well. And when it vanished, the coldness you’d first noticed in the hunting cabin returned.

“It’s all I have left. And as ridiculous as it sounds to be so attached to a rifle, I am. And I–”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” he interrupted. Just when you thought he’d continue on and show a little more softness, kindness… he kept speaking, “Look, I don’t care if you stay or go. Don’t need stragglers hangin’ ‘round. So I’d love to give you your gun back and dump ya’ out past the gate. But Tommy’s always been a little stupid. Takes chances on people,”

“What an idiot,” you smirked.

A smile flashed over Joel’s face. It was gone in a second. And he turned away from you, descending the porch steps. “He’ll bring you to the greenhouse. Teach’ya how things operate, and…” he took a deep breath. Something almost like fondness erupted in his tone, “you might not wanna stay, but don’t fuck things up there for the rest of us. We got families here. And we’ll need the resources to get through the winter.”

“You think I’d fuck things up on purpose?”

Joel looked over his shoulder and nodded, “yeah. ‘Cause I’ve been in your spot before and I did.”

He continued on and you stayed put on your porch, watching him until he was out of sight. Wondering where the house he was given was. If he was alone, or if he had some sort of partner living with him. But also figured you’d never get the chance to know. 

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

“We get most of our roughage and root vegetables in the colder months. There’s a constant harvest to keep up with the community’s needs, but some of these aren’t hearty enough to withstand the winter. Even inside the greenhouse,”

You nodded dutifully behind Wendy. At least you think that was the name Tommy mumbled as he was being dragged out of the greenhouse by Joel. Something about being late for patrol and not wanting to spend all day on some godforsaken cliffside. She’d just got done showing you the strawberry vines. The lifeless things that she assured you would spring to life when the warmer weather came back.

The work was easy enough. Boring. Nothing you hadn’t already done on your family’s land as a teenager. Only this was on a much smaller scale. Maybe most of these people had come from QZs. And maybe before that they came from big cities. Places where they never knew where their food came from. That it just somehow appeared in their groceries. Yet, by current standards… of canned things from yesteryear, the greenhouse was a bit of a spectacle. Something beautiful.

Wendy continued on her well-practiced lecture about potatoes as you got lost roaming the rows of plants. Up and down each long, leafed path. Fingers gliding over them, not taking the time to stop and acknowledge any plant in particular. Until, in the absence of your thought, your fingers brushed over something woolly. Pulling your hand back, you focused in. There, just beyond your fingertips, a tray of small white flowers. The petals, less like blossoms, but more like leaves. And woolly. Fuzzy. Unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“What’re these?” Eyes still locked onto your discovery, you hadn’t fully comprehended that you’d interrupted Wendy’s spiel.

And yet when she came upon you, there was no ill will or annoyance from her. Just her gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s edelweiss,” she smiled and shrugged her shoulders when her answer had you giving her a questioning glance. “It’s usually up in the Alps. In the middle of nowhere. Jesse came back from patrol one day ‘bout a year ago with a handful of these plucked up from the root. No idea how they ended up in Wyoming.” Wendy brushed her fingers over the fuzzy leaves.

“How’d you know what they were?”

“Call it coincidence or divine intervention, my grandfather had an oil painting of them above his fireplace in the eighties. When he was stationed in Germany during the war, he’d heard all these stories about this little star-shaped flower. Soldiers would climb high up into the mountains to find them. They grow in the harshest places, sometimes even right on rocks. The journey to get them was hard. A lot of guys didn’t finish the trip, but if they did, they got to pin one of these to their uniforms. A symbol of true bravery,”

You admired the flowers again. Now even a smile crossed your face.

Wendy let out an exasperated sigh, “and I figured, hell… if they can survive on the top of the Alps and in this nightmare of an apocalypse, Jesse finding ‘em wasn’t no mistake. Maybe we’re lucky here in Jackson.”

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[rexscanonwife]

🌈 Welcome to WLWeek 2024 🌈

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RULES:

NO PROSHIPPERS/COMSHIPPERS/NEUTRAL, all blogs with that will be blocked on sight!

Obviously don't participate if you're not wlw/not shipping with a female character

Lesbians, bisexual, pansexual, sapphic, and once again general wlw/nblw are welcome!

Essentially I am tolerating NO funny business, and I won't tolerate bullying either so everyone be very niceys and hey, try to support each other! 💖💖💖 now onto the prompt list

Monday June 10th: Favorite style/aesthetic-

draw you and your female f/o in your favorite clothing style (goth, Y2K, cottagecore, etc.) Or what you think their favorite style would be! alt. for writers, write a drabble about going shopping for these outfits with your f/o!

Tuesday June 11th: Morning routine -

draw you and your female f/o getting ready for the day. Who's the early riser and who's dragging them back into bed? alt. for writers, write an early morning cuddle session/chat. 

Wednesday June 12th: Date night-

draw you and your female f/o on a date! Is it a dinner, a picnic? Are you guys dressed to the nines or at home in your jammies? Alt. for writers, write a date gone slightly awry. How do you fix things/compromise? 

Thursday June 13th: Beach day-

it's summertime, draw you and your female f/o in beachwear and enjoying the sun and sand! alt. for writers, write out a nice dip in the ocean! Can you swim? Can your f/o? Does one have to teach the other? Is it nice and relaxed or does it dissolve into splash fighting? 

Friday June 14th: Role/Ship Swap -

draw your f/o as the self shipper and you as the fictional character role they fill! What kind of s/i do they make? Would they write fanfic, draw fanart? Alt. for writers, write a gush post from ur f/o's point of view! 

And that's it!! Do one of them, do all of them, or do none of them, it's your choice! I just wanted to show some love to my fellow wlw self shippers out there this month and so something fun for them!

Now if you got this far and you read the rules make sure to put 'great googly moogly' in the tags when u rb! And don't forget to tag my blog here when you write/draw for this event!!! 🫶🫶 everyone who does will get a rb from me and a little promo as well, and maybe even a follow cause I need more wlw mutuals :3

#jane journals #self insert talk #self insert #self ship #self ship event #self insert community #self ship community #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #lesbian self ship #wlw self ship #fictional other #f/o #idk what else to tag this as BUT SPREAD THE WORD!!!! #i decided to this for the second week of june and not the first bcs tbh...i thought itd be a bit short notice #not to mention i wanna put together my drawings in advance cause i work full time so i cant do DAILY prompts the day they happen 😂😂 #and u guys dont have to either!! #even just a little shoutout/gush post in place of a drawing or drabble works too #the point is to have fun and be yourself ajfjfkg

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: I'm moving tomorrow.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The tension turns roiling. Even in such airy halls, you cannot escape it, not that you venture very far from your rooms. It seems with each interaction, your relationship with your fiance only grows more fraught. You needn’t wonder why. It’s the very same reason your own father regards you with derision. You’re defective, less than what he hoped for. 

You sit in the window seat, looking over the greenery that reflects Jade Garden’s title. It’s a home anyone would covet and yet it feels as a penitentiary might. These walls are unyielding and the isolation suffocating. 

Your visions drifts into the distance as the leaves turn to green smears blending into the dimming blue of the sky. You close your eyes and turn your head straight, leaning against the wall as you hook your arms around your legs. 

A banquet. It’s less than a proper debut. You’re not certain anyone would be expecting you, or even know who you are. Will they be surprised when they hear your father’s name?  

There are things you know. Things you must ready yourself for. Certainly, there will be jeers, mocking whispers, and errant giggles. Just the same as anyone ever reacted to you. Even the farmhands would echo your speech and laugh bawdily. It hardly matter’s your a lord’s daughter when you sound so ridiculous. 

You hang your head and sigh. It isn’t just one banquet, it is the beginning of a lifetime of events. You will not only face this one night, but many anon. You will be the one they speak of behind their hands and the joke at the card tables. 

You stand, made restless by your dread. The window darkens with the evening’s arrival. Doreen raps at the door and leaves a tray of supper. You pick at it but don’t eat much. You must keep yourself busy so your mind is not. 

You go to your chests. You will need Doreen to unpack these soon. It’s as if the longer you leave them full, the less assured your fate. You might still strap them up and flee. 

You know that isn’t truly an option. 

You take out a gown the shade of cooked pumpkin with an overlay that lends it a bronzish hue. The bodice is trimmed with an eyelet effect and the hem of the cap sleeves and skirt finely threaded with beads. You lay it out on the chaise and find a pair of slippers to go with it and ribbon for your hair decorated with black onyx and brass. 

If Edith could see you then. It should be her in your place. That thought rings louder and louder, bolstered by the constant disapproval. 

You back away from your attire, spinning so you won’t have to look upon it. You never thought to miss home so much. Not your parents, you’re certain they hardly grieve your absence, but for the familiarity, for the simple walls and memories. Edith is there, even gone, you know you would see her in every cushion and every corner. 

You go to the door and listen. As silent as ever. You emerge into the corridor and make careful progress on the pads of your feet. You come to the top of the stairwell and peer down on the foyer. For all it’s beauty, this place is rather grim. 

You descend and let your eyes lead you. You take in every ornament, every statue, every door trim, and every tile of the floor. You want to know it all. You don’t want to feel so lost. 

You find your way along to the sunroom. Upon your approach, the door opens and you falter. A lithe figure emerges. You press yourself to the wall, unready for Loki’s appearance. He has a snifter of liquor in hand as he glowers in the light of a lantern in his other.  

He steps towards you and pauses, lifting the light higher to cast over you. His breath escapes him derisively. He lowers the lantern and sniffs. 

“Like a rat, you skitter incessantly,” he remarks. 

“My Lawd,” you push away from the wall and angle away from him. 

“I am speaking to you. Do not go until I give leave to,” he demands. 

You stop and face him again, hands meeting in apprehension. 

“This banquet business,” his nostrils flare, “I will not be humiliated. Not as you have tonight.” 

“My Lawd, I have been twained in etiq—etiqwette,” you insist. 

He scoffs, “your manners hardly bother me. Certainly you might have some grain of awareness.” 

You seal your lips. He’s said it plainly, as you have. He might be able to close his ears to your impediment but it is with you always. 

“Perhaps you might keep your words to a minimum,” he advises, “select them wisely.” 

You stare at him, cheeks fiery and eyes tinging, “If you would wather, I might make an excuse. A sudden malady, my lawd. I’d hate to stain your chawacter.” 

His eyes roll to the side and his features sharpen, “more would be said were I to appear without my betrothed after my mother’s promises.” 

That he has referred to your nuptials is not so nice as it should be. He speaks to it as a sentence. You look him in the face. 

“It won’t eva go away,” you say. 

“Hm, I only need get through the wedding night,” he retorts and you can’t help but wince. 

You swallow, your hurt turning bitter. “As do I.” 

His head tilts and he squints. He lets out another snort, “pardon?” 

“My sista would’ve hated you,” you whisper. “You did not desawve to know haw.” 

“Be wary,” he steps closer. 

“You make an enemy of me, not I you,” you lift your chin.  

He’s silent. He shifts even closer. So near, you have to keep from wilting away. You stare back at him defiantly, heart beating. 

“You do not know yet what it is to have me as an enemy so you best mind your mannaws,” he mocks your cadence with his last word. 

Your lip trembles as he green eyes sparkle like dark emeralds in the lantern lights. Your chest is a flurry of hurt and anger. What have you ever done to him, or anyone, to make them so spiteful? You swing your arm against his to knock the snifter from his hand, sending a splash of alcohol across the wall and and his vest. The smell is acrid and sour. 

You back away from him, horrified at your reaction. You have learned to restrain yourself, to tamp it all down, to swallow it with a smile and say nothing. In that moment, you simply cannot. You shake your head as your face twists in despair. 

“I would wather an enemy, saw,” you hiss, “as I would be ashamed to call a cad like you husband.” 

His glare flashes and he sways as if he might lunge at you. He rights himself and his brow arches. His lips draw and his cheeks pale. 

“Very well.” 

He spins on his heel and stomps away, the light limning his silhouette sinisterly. You stare after him mortified. What has come over you? You were never bold or brazen or brutal to any. Edith would be disappointed. A gentle soul like her could never even think a hot word. 

You fall back against the wall and clutch your hands over your chest. Is this to be your life? Are you to live in loathing, not only of that man but of yourself. To be castigated for the lilt of your own tongue, the very pulse of your existence? You’d thought your father a villain but this man has proven himself worse. 

Worst than his distaste is your own futility, for he has assured you there is nothing you might do to appease him. As he is bound to you most miserably, so are you vowed to the same fate. Not even in that might you commiserate. 

🔹

You sit in front of the mirror, holding the brooch over the table, feeling the embroidery with the pad of your thumb. You turn it over and back again. It’s the only piece of your sister you have left. Every day she feels further away from you. Every morning, you awake, expecting to hear her, to see her, and she is not there, and you are not at home. 

You peer up at your reflection as your hand hovers over the painted wood. You’ve not touched a tress or cheek. You must ready, you know it, but your reticence is like chains on your wrists. You know what you are to face but knowing cannot make it any less unpleasant. 

A knock comes at the door. You call for the maid to enter, thinking Doreen’s come to remind you again of your pending engagement. The maid opens the door but says nothing, letting in the duchess instead. Lady Frigga is almost rapturous in a dressing gown of peach fabric as her hair is set already in tight curls around an elegant chignon. You stand, apologising for your misstep. 

“Dear, it is quite forgivable,” she assures, “I only meant to look in on you before the banquet, to be certain you do not require anything, but darling, oh,” she sweeps towards you and cups your cheeks, “you’ve not even begun. What is the matter?” 

“There is no issue,” you lie, “I mewely let time escape me.” 

You smile and gently pull away, turning back to the vanity. You open your hand and once more consider the pin. 

“Is this the dress you mean to wear?” Frigga asks as she crosses the room in a swish of silk. You peer over your shoulder as she looks down on the orange fabric. “It is a rather keen shade.” 

“Yes, my lady,” you answer in a dulcet tone. You cannot find a glimmer of concern for your attire. 

She sighs and returns to you, holding the ribbon you’ve chosen, “these are far too dour,” she touches an onyx, “haven’t you some pearls?” 

“Somewhaw...” You bend your neck, staring at the bluebird, at Edith’s handiwork. You remember the day she gave it to you and the way she smiled so proudly. How she pinned it on you herself and made you go around and show all. 

“Oh, dear, that won’t go at all. It would be nice for a lunch, no doubt, but not for a banquet,” she remarks and you close your hand around the brooch. You put your shoulders straight and face her. 

“I have a pawl band in my chest,” you resign and step around her. 

You go to the chest and sift around, careful not to let the brooch slip from your grasp. You take out the pearls on the ivory band and show it to her. She tuts. 

“It won’t go with this gown,” she insists. 

“Yes, the onyx--” 

“Mmp, I prefer pearls. Darling, you must be your best. It is your first social appearance. I do not say this to demean you, only to assist. I know your own mother cannot be here to see you debut but I cannot imagine her pain at this moment. So much loss. Both daughters at once, in a way,” she bemoans. 

Yes, you think of your mother too. You know she won’t be well. Nor your father. All their hopes and dreams dashed in a deficient daughter sent to carry a legacy on with a spiteful husband who mightn’t even have the stomach to deliver one. 

“I vewy much appweciate it, lady,” you make yourself smile, “I suppose it must be nawvs.” 

“Suppose it must,” she hums, “how about you wear the orange gown and I fetch you a feather pin from my own collection? I have a fabulous ostrich and topaz piece,” she assures, “and some black lace gloves. Ooh, yes, dear, we will make certain all is perfect.” 

“Thank you, Lady Fwigga, but it isn’t necessawy--” 

“You are to be my daughter, of course it is,” she preens. “Besides, who shall notice anything but how splendid you look?” 

She twists on her heel and your smile dwindles. You know what is meant. What she will not state plainly. Perhaps a fine outfit might distract from your crooked consonants. You sit on the stool again and watch her go. 

Even those who are kind cannot help their thoughts. She mightn’t be cruel about it, but you can hear the disappointment in her pandering cooing. You are not the daughter she wanted just as you are not the wife her son wanted. Just as you do not want to be as you are. 

#the sticking point #loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #regency au #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers

[statementlou]

hii sorry do you know if anyone's doing a live of the veeps live? lol can't afford it and I also didn't win any of the raffles soo if anyone's sharing on twitch or whatever pls let me know 🥺

here is what I see listed so far; mostly regular lives I think but there is a twitch link included in there!! and here is one more last minute giveaway. edit: plus check notes of this post, replies and tags, beautiful generous people are making offers!! ❤❤😭😍❤

#feqw livestream

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 38

Synopsis : Reader listen to the leaked track in which Em mentions her.

Tags : angst

You stared at Marshall for a couple of seconds, in complete and utter disbelief. He seemed terrified. You had seen this look more often that you liked to admit. The very look that said he was guilty of something he definitely wasn’t proud of. You had first seen it the you fount out about him sending armed guys to threaten the rapper who had referred to you in a diss track, when he had admitted to threatening Josh, when you overheard Tracy mentioning blowing him in London… He stared at you, nervously biting his lip, not saying a word.

- Is it true ? You asked. Did-did you really name-drop me on a track ?

- I… It wasn’t supposed to be heard, he said. By anyone. Ever.

- What track is it ?

- Doesn’t matter, he said. Babe, I swear to God, it doesn’t matter. I… I have to call my team. We need to get that shit removed.

- You really are stupid, aren’t you ?! Jamal asked with a sardonic laugh. It dropped last night. It’s been listened to millions of times, reposted everywhere.

- I want to listen to it, you said.

- No you don’t, they both said at the same time.

- If my name is mentioned on a stupid track, I deserve to know ! You argued.

- Babe, please don’t, Marshall pleaded. Please.

- Don’t ‘Babe’ me, right now, you said. Jamal, give me your phone. I want to listen to it.

- Y/N, no… I hate to agree with this motherfucker, but… Don’t listen to this shit, Jamal said.

- That motherfucker’s still your boss, Marshall groaned. You better-

- Wait until I shove a drum machine up your ass, your friend shot back.

They stared at each other, looking as if they were about to hit each other. You didn’t care for either of their arguments. You didn’t need any of these grow men babying you and you deserved to listen to this damn song. You sighed and ran up the stairs to grab your phone. If the track had already gone viral, you’d find it pretty easily. As soon as you started to walk, they both followed you and tried to argue but you slammed the bedroom door in their faces and locked it behind you. You heard them yell at each other and sighed.

- Y/N, come back, Jamal said.

- Baby, open the door, please, Marshall asked.

You sighed and simply started to play the song. As soon as the first notes started playing, you heard complete silence. For an agonizing four minutes, you had to listen to your boyfriend, the man you loved, who said he’d always have your back, assassinate your character. You felt complete disgust, similar to the first time you had heard « Kim ». It wasn’t that the song was bad - on a technical and lyrical level, it was probably excellent - but knowing that these lyrics were about an actual person, about you, made you feel sick. He was describing nothing less than a torture scene, rapping about sequestering you in order to avoid a breakup, painting a scene in which he hurt you physically, going as far as impregnating you and making you abort with a butcher’s knife. The whole thing was horrendous and you thought you were about to faint when you heard your name, your actual name. It was impossible. It couldn’t be. This had to be some sort of nightmare. To make it worse, you had the urge to check the Internet’s reaction. Everyone seemed to be out there, celebrating « Eminem going back to his Shady era » or whatever that was. A few people seemed shocked but, in majority, fans seemed to be here for it. To add to the nightmare, people were linking the name in the song - yours - to the pictures that had leaked a year ago. The pictures of you in lingerie, that the Internet seemed to have forgotten - was back. It made you sick to your stomach. You felt vulnerable, like a prey. Your face, your name, your body were out there for people to make fun of. You were starting to feel dizzy so you laid on the bed, trying to breathe. You kept on listening to the song, hoping to hear another name than yours. Any other name. But each and every time, it was your name that came up. You heard the guys knock on the door, begging you to open. After a couple of minutes, you shakily opened, tears streaming down your face.

- I’m so sorry, Marshall said as he tried to pull you in his arms. Baby, I am so, so sorry…

- DO NOT TOUCH ME ! You screamed as you pushed him away.

- Baby, le-let’s talk, he begged. Please, Y/N. You have to know it-

- Tell me it’s a fake, you pleaded. Please tell me it’s AI or something.

- I’m so sorry, he said.

- Please tell me you didn’t write this, you continued. That you didn’t mention my name.

- Y/N, I- I didn’t mean to, I swear, he said.

- You didn’t mean what ?! You asked as you screamed. You didn’t mean to make a beat ? Didn’t mean to write the lyrics and then take the time to record the whole thing ?!?!?!

Your chest was heaving and you were full-on bowling. Marshall was standing in front of you, too close for comfort. He extended an arm to reach for you but you slapped his hand away as soon as he tried to touch you.

- Touch her again and I’m throwing you out the window, Jamal threatened.

- Fuck, Marshall said. Talk to me, Y/N. Please talk to me. Please look at me.

- I… I need to leave, you said.

You started running down the stairs and opened the door. You were in your pajamas, barefoot but at least you got some fresh air in your lungs. The skin on your face was burning, so were your eyes. You tried to focus on the air filling your lungs, trying to regain some composure. After a couple of minutes, you felt a had on your shoulder and immediately recognized Jamal’s.

- Hey sis, he said sheepishly. You holdin’ up ?

- I can’t believe he did this, you said. Have you heard that track ?!

- I have, he said. That’s why I came.

- That’s the most disgusting track I have ever heard, you replied. He… He fucking name-dropped me. And all these comments online…

- I know, Jamal said. I know.

- It’s vile. It’s disgusting. It’s… It can’t be true.

- I know, he simply repeated.

You started crying again and he engulfed you in a big bear hug. You had been hurt before, but no pain compared to this. You felt betrayed and humiliated. You kept on crying in Jamal’s arms, still not believing the man you loved had done this.

- Get in the car, Jamal said.

- Why ? Where are we going ? You asked.

- Home, he said. You really want to stay here ? With him ? After he did that ?

- I guess not, you shrugged. Wait… I have to take some clothes with me.

- Get in the car, I’m taking care of it, he said.

He opened the car and you sat in the passenger seat while he got back to the house. A few minutes later, you heard him come out of it, arguing with Marshall.

- Let me talk to her, he begged. I can explain.

- She doesn’t want to talk to you, man, your friend said. Leave her alone or I swear to God I will end you.

- Jamal, please, he pleaded. You know I would never hurt her. You know I love her.

- What I know is that you used one of my fucking beats to rap about torturing my fucking sister ! Jamal roared.

Your friend got in the car and drove you to his house, where Talia greeted you with a long hug. The three of you sat at the kitchen table and they encouraged you to eat some breakfast while you discussed the horrendous track.

MARSHALL’S POV

He didn’t hear of Y/N for a whole week. In the meantime, he heard from a lot of people, though. A few hours after she left the house in Jamal’s car, he got a phone call from Paul, who chastised him as if he were a teenager. The manager came to visit him and they sat in the living room, in order to work things out, on Paul’s insistence. As far as he was concerned, he only cared about Y/N and how he could get her to talk to him. As soon as he arrived, Paul examined his face.

- Did she hit you ?! He asked with a hint of surprise. Wouldn’t have thought she’d be this strong..

- Jamal did, he replied curtly.

- You might be lucky, then, Paul said. Is Y/N here ?

- Left with him, he mumbled.

- Never thought I’d say that, but I’m actually grateful she didn’t sign the NDA or put the addendum she talked about, Paul commented. Might have taken you to the cleaners…

- Paul, no offense, but I don’t give a fuck, Marshall said. My girlfriend left and won’t answer my calls. For all I care, she can take all of my money and full ownership of the label.

- Thank God It’s not happening, Paul groaned. I think we should talk about it, though. Because you seem to have set the Internet on fire.

- I don’t know what happened ! He finally snapped. We argued, I went to the basement studio and recorded that shit out of spite, because I was fucking pissed and scared after an argument. I have no fucking idea how this shit leaked !

- I’m sure we can find someone who can trace the leak, Paul said. But we have other issues. I have people calling me asking for statements from you. The Internet is truly ablaze. That’s some shock value right here.

- You say that as if it were a good thing, Marshall commented.

- If there’s someone who can make something good out of it, it’s you, the managed pointed out. It’s a leak but we might use it to our advantage. Slim Shady being back again. Maybe there’s an album concept…

- I don’t care about Shady, I want Y/N, Marshall roared. And I want the head of whoever leaked that shit ! I’m not using it to my advantage, I’m not promoting it and I’m not giving anyone a fucking statement !

They discussed for about an hour. Paul was a long-time friend and understanding of the situation. He knew more than anyone that Marshall was prone to using recording as a cathartic exercise and that some songs were not meant to be shared. In the past, they’d had to deal with leaks and, though each one had been a colossal pain in their asses, none was as bad as this one. Leaks were usually bad for business but, so far, none of them had destroyed his personal life. This one might as well do the trick, though. He had recorded it right after their argument, when Y/N would not speak to him and it was nothing but the result of his mind going to the darkest of places. Something shameful, using words to convey anger instead of sadness and fright. In a way, this was no different from the Kim track : him using violence on a track in order to express his obsession for the person he loved the most.

- So we agree, no statement ? Paul asked. No promotion ?

- If we put out anything, that should be a public apology to Y/N, Marshall said. I went on Twitter quickly… Have you seen that shit ?! Her picture, her name, they’re fucking everywhere and it’s my fault. I fucked up.

- At least, when you rapped about killing Kim, there was no social media, the manager agreed. Look, if that’s what you want, we can put a statement. I should warn you it might be pretty damaging, because a lot of people might not take kindly to you backtracking on something like this, but if you feel like we have to do this… We will.

- Really ? You’re not suggesting that we feed Y/N to the wolves ? Marshall asked sarcastically.

- I know I’ve been hard on you about your relationship with her, Paul said. But I also know that you usually put in your best work when she’s around. As your manager, I don’t think it would be strategic to publicly apologize to her. But as your friend, I want you to be happy. And I know she’s turned you into a better person. The whole team does.

- Thanks man, he replied.

They were interrupted by the noise of the front door opening. He quickly jumped from the couch, hoping to see Y/N coming home, and that he would finally be able to talk to her. Instead, he was met with Hailie’s angry gaze.

- Hay, he said. What are you doing here ?

- What do you think I’m doing here, Dad ? She asked. I’ve come to ask you for an explanation. Stevie and Alaina are on the way too.

- I take it that it’s about the track…? He asked.

- Of course it’s about the track ! She almost yelled. I can’t believe you did that !

- It’s a leak, he tried to explain. It wasn’t meant to come out or be heard by anyone. Ever.

- Still, she said. Y/N is a mess. She’s being harassed on social media, everyone’s coming for her…

- You talked to her ?! He asked.

- Yes, I called her, his daughter explained.

- She won’t take my calls, he said.

- Shocker, Dad, she said. Jesus, I wonder why she wouldn’t want to take a call from someone who recorded a song about torturing her…

- I know I fucked up, he said. I don’t know what to do…

- I can’t help you here, Dad, Hailie shrugged. She specifically told me she doesn’t want to speak to you.

He nodded. In the grand scheme of things, he could see why Y/N wouldn’t talk to him. Hell, if the shoe was on the other foot, he wouldn’t want to talk either. He looked at Paul, who was still sitting in the living room.

- I think we should put out that statement, he simply said.

- I’ll call the publicist right away and have him draft something, Paul replied.

- I want to approve it first, alright ?

- Of course, Paul said.

The manager said his goodbyes and promised to get back to him as soon as possible. Stevie and Alaina arrived and he was met with some sort of intervention which, really, was his three daughters chastising him. He wouldn’t expect them to support him blindly, they were old enough to have a mind of their own, but he was a bit shocked by the intensity of their reaction. Overall, there was a lot of screaming and shouting at him, pointing out how inappropriate the whole thing was.

- It was bad enough when you rapped about killing Mom, Alaina said. But Y/N is our age. You’re literally slandering someone who’s old enough to be our sister !

- I know, he said, but you girls know it’s just fiction, right ? I would never actually do these things. Half of my tracks are fictional.

- It’s not the issue, Dad ! Stevie argued. The issue is that she’s our age, being attacked by a grown ass man who could be her Dad. And that the fans are siding with him ! She didn’t ask for anything !

- I know, he said. Believe me, I know… I just… With everything that went down with your Mom, I have learned lessons, you know ? I never would have put out this track. I know how much it hurt her and I wouldn’t wish the same thing on Y/N. It wasn’t meant to be heard. It’s just me, taking things too far. Like a diary.

- Except that someone accessed that diary and leaked it, and now she’s paying the price, Hailie said.

- … Yeah, he said. I don’t know what to do.

It had been more than twelve hours since Y/N had left and he still hadn’t heard from her. And, as it was to be expected, neither Jamal nor Talia would pick up the phone either. He buried his face in his hands. He had fucked up, he knew it. But he was merely trying to let his anger out in the only way he knew how. The last thing he had wanted when he made that stupid track was for anyone to hear it, let alone enjoy it. Knowing that some fans were praising his writing on this one had nothing pleasant.

- Honestly, Dad, this is the most disgusting song you ever put out, Hailie continued.

- Agreed, he said. I don’t know what to do, girls. I don’t want to lose her. I know I deserve to, but I can’t.

After a couple of hours of discussion, his daughters ended up leaving. They were still clearly mad at him, just like everyone else seemed to be. The day after, he got a call from Dre. His mentor and friend sounded genuinely concerned. The leaked track was typically something he would have told him to shelf and never put out.

- You went too far with this one, Dre said. I’ve heard you go hard on some shit but that was… nasty.

- I know, Marshall replied. Believe me, I know… But it’s a leak, you know ?

- That’s what I heard, Dre replied. How is your girl doing ?

- I wish I knew, he said.

Dre wasn’t the only friend and collaborator who was concerned. Even Porter and Royce talked to him about the lyrics and how they went too far. He’d heard that so many times that he almost snapped at them but, really, he couldn’t really blame them. He was the only one to blame and he knew it. They also told him that Jamal was livid, threatening to come and destroy the entire studio, and they had to talk him out of it. His friends were disappointed in him, Y/N wouldn’t talk to him and even his daughters didn’t seem to want to be associated with him at the moment. It seemed like everything was falling apart. He was truly disgusted with himself. That’s when he decided to put out a statement, speaking in his own name. It was a rather short message, posted on his social media account, apologizing for the shocking lyrics, explaining that the track was not meant to be shared and calling for everyone to stop harassing his partner, whom he had made the mistake of name-dropping. He also apologized for using Jamal’s beat, stating that it was originally meant for another track whose release was postponed. He was not used to public apologies but this one might be overdue. And perhaps it would get Y/N to talk to him. However, in the following days, he still didn’t get any news from her. He tried to go to Talia and Jamal’s to talk to her but he was met with an angry Talia who refused to let him see his girlfriend and threatened to call the cops on him for harassment. He resorted to sending flowers and letters to Y/N, begging her to at least let him talk to her, even on the phone. One evening, almost a week after the track leaked, he got a call from Talia’s phone.

- Talia ? He asked. What’s up ? How is she ?

- It’s me, he heard Y/N say.

- Thank God, he said. How… How are you ?

- How would you expect me to feel… ?

- Right, he said. I’m… Thanks for calling me.

- You know, for someone who made fun of Josh for buying out every flower shop in town, you sure are filling the house with a lot of bouquets, she commented. I guess I’m calling because I’m afraid there won’t be any flowers left in Michigan by next week if we keep this going.

- Jewelers are next on the list, he said sarcastically.

- You know, you could spend all the money in the world, it wouldn’t make things better, Marshall, Y/N said.

- I know, he said. Believe me, I know. I guess I just wanted a chance to apologize, tell you what really happened. You have no idea how sorry I am.

- I believe I do, she said with a sarcastic laugh. Every one of the fifty bouquets you’ve sent contains a note saying how sorry you are.

- Can you come home ? He asked. So we can talk ?

- I would, but for one, I’d be afraid of being held up against my will and, two, Simon is coming over for diner tonight, she replied.

- Simon… Your ex, Simon ?! He asked.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #recovery fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine

[the-golden-comet]

Thank you for the tag, @thatuselesshuman !

I think Noah hasn’t been interviewed yet, so he’ll get his time to shine in the hot seat….if we can pull him out of his apartment, that is.

Noah from YWIMC:

Were you named after anyone?

I dunno….my dad’s Catholic, so it was probably after Noah’s Ark….

When was the last time you cried?

Uhhh…I’m not sure, actually. I know the hardest time I cried was back in Georgia, when my school outed me to my parents. I don’t think I can ever look my dad in the eye again after the look he gave me….

Do you have any kids?

….Nah. I’m too focused on school right now to worry about starting a family. Ali said he wanted to adopt the children off the streets of Madinah, but his father forbade him. He’d probably make a great dad. He’s kind, and really energetic. Fuck….fuck, dude. It’s so fucking unfair to him.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

That would require me talking to a lot of people. And people suck. Except Ali…I don’t know if I could ever be sarcastic with him. He’s like a golden retriever…goofy, happy. It’d probably go over his head….and I don’t wanna hurt his feelings.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

….I don’t.

What is your eye colour?

Olive.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Neither. I like documentaries. Uhhhh, I guess if I had to choose? Happy endings. I don’t like getting jumpscared by cheap scare tactics.

Any special talents?

Err….not really? I guess…I can time manage pretty well. I’m getting good grades….uhh….

Ali: —KUN HADI. 😡 Noah can draw BEAUTIFUL bridges. Sadiq, stop downplaying your talents!

….Oh. Right. I can draw….but like so can any other architect, because we need to design—

Ali: —Shaaaaa sa sa sa sa. Nope. You’re talented. Your drawings are beautiful. Your art is beautiful. YOU are beautiful.

…..thanks, Ali.

Where were you born?

Georgia. I hated it there, so I moved up to Washington for college to get as far away from that side of the country as possible…I needed to get away from that small town. I don’t want to be recognized. I don’t….I don’t want to go through that again.

Do you have any pets?

No.

How tall are you?

5’6.

What is your dream job?

I’d like to be an architect. After school, I want to land a decent paying job, work from home, draft my designs…and if that doesn’t work out, I guess I can teach History lessons online so I don’t have to be with anybody. A nice home in the countryside, away from people, peace and quiet for me to sketch my prototypes.

Thank you again! Tagging (np): @autism-purgatory , @fortunatetragedy , @gioiaalbanoart , @finickyfelix , @bookish-karina , @brigidfromthecelts , @wyked-ao3 , @sunglasses-in-the-bentley , @zackprincebooks , @cybercelestian , @illarian-rambling , @corinneglass , +open tag for whoever wants to join!

#goldencomet💫 #oc interview #ywimc #genie slice of life novel #college life novel #magic in the mundane #original story #original character #writers on tumblr #writers on ao3 #ao3 #writeblr #writerblr #writblr #writeblr community #writing community #writerscommunity #writblr community #ao3 community #ao3 original work #writers #writing

[vivi-miya]

i’m only human can’t you see?

summary: because you’re the chosen to the chosen one, with voice so powerful it made his cock stand.

never be like you - flume

tags: enemies to lovers, academic rivals, college/university au, office au, mommy kink undertones, breeding kink, office sex, spanking, nipple play, sexual tension, gojo’s naughty imagination p in v, fem! reader, no beta we die like jjk men

gojo satoru shaked the world with his birth that his whole clan celebrated the emergence of the next head possessing the favor of gods with his ocean blue eyes and snow mane.

being the moisture to their drought became the answer to their declining power in the corporate world that everyone tried to rival for the last decades. so every vassals—board of directors—are immensed in joy for their future leader that is not even ripe yet to be in position of pulling their descending morals.

naturally, it's only just to have everything what he requests because he's a miracle baby to a couple who keeps on trying to conceive. especially since he's a boy and the sole heir to own it all. from the constant pressure that the media named them in tabloids after tabloids, they want nothing but to catch their child's indifferent tastes and appear perfect in the eyes of the public.

with the boy in present, of course everyone tried to appease his tantrums and respond to his whims just to be graced with his good side. going as far as to act all mutt-like running at his beck and call twenty four-seven. it's kind of exhilarating, he can say.

at first, gojo satoru likes that. he lives off with the idea that he holds so much power with just his appearance alone. he doesn't speak yet, but everyone wants their name to be uttered at least once in the gojo family dinner.

he can't even hold a pencil properly and everyone expects their name to be written in their company records. so the fun slowly turns into disdain that quickly turned into disgust.

how appalling.

it's shifting into something mad, it's making his head burn in fury. with the constant urge to attend this martial arts school, violin practice this, calligraphy that, horse riding, and some uptight nouveau shits to attend to with sticks far up their asses, just being an elementary made it easier for gojo satoru to realize that the world is a clock.

it's constantly running and everyone plays the role of a cog, or at least the hands and number in display. as for him? he'll never be the same. he refused to be the subject of anyone's expectations to their fast-paced attitude.

he's born to be a clocksmith, why would he succumb to the likes of someone miniscule to bring him down? because of that, gojo satoru in elementary silently starts a rebellion inside his heart.

years passed, his highschool days came. it become a little better, a little endurable for him. because he have suguru and shoko now. the pillar to his strongest, the support to the chosen one.

he never felt like spending his days contemplating his purpose inside a huge stuffy room. he don't entertain himself with every tabloid that speaks badly about him anymore. he finally have the memories he desperately dream of from all of the movies he binge watched alone.

he may not entirely free but at least he could roam the streets a little frequent, a little late. went inside a convenience store just to buy all of the sweets his handmaids hid from him and ignore the lessons his parents kept on pushing him into.

gojo satoru could finally laugh and break free from his self-sabotaging rebellion, even for a moment.

at least that's what he thinks because he may went a little overboard. and he knows he went a little off the road but will he fix his attitude? nope. will he make everyone adjust to him like the spoiled manchild that he is? yes.

gojo satoru at twenty is a business management major with a sexy body and a face you wanna sit on—everybody is dying to get inside his pants or marry him. who wouldn't? a newly appointed ceo with genes to make you a fucking hotshot? of course everybody wants him. it's high, it's a compliment. there's everything in him that the world has to offer, it's a big win.

and he thinks that too, until he tried to run for the school president with the opponent being you.

gojo satoru is high up on his horse that his parents refused to climb and knock some sense into their only child, too scared to lose all favor from their moron of a son. perhaps a form of his upbringing or solely based on his narcissistic attitude, he don't know you exists and neither do you to him.

yet the idea of anyone not knowing who is the strongest infuriates him more than being an election rival does. you're not even required to memorize all of the names of every wannabe famous and real populars, so what got his panties in a twist? why do you get into his nerves?

with that, he set his very own goal—to remove you from the position's sight and ingrain his name into your dna. so that you won't be all silly smiles pretending that you're sorry for bumping into him when the school committee just announced him as your rival. if he successfully made you lose your position, then maybe, maybe he'll have the answer his heart seeks.

you may be acting dumb or genuinely have no idea who he is made it clear that it's the first sense swipe from his foggy brain in years. no one dared to cross his crown when they're usually busy kissing his ass, men and women alike.

finally, someone who refused to acknowledge the presence of the chosen one. suguru teased his friend.

maybe in that predicament you're the chosen one for the chosen one and he doesn't like that. he's petty and he wants to start a one-sided beef that his friend knows it's useless because you have the crowd's good graces on your side. he's not only just the apple of the eye of the gods, you are many. and many is you.

his plan commenced with a little digging first, he doesn't care if it's undermine or not. he's like a crazy stalker trying to breath your air with the exasperating information about your background. you didn't even came from a good family, your surname's not sublime. your mom's dead and your father is a deadbeat. you have little siblings to support and an eldest sister at that.

beauty with an attitude. the smart cookie with a spanky demeanor he desperately wanna break whenever he sees your sarcastic smirk from a mile away.

how come you have the time to maintain that straight a's after mothering your younger siblings? do you even work or is there someone supporting you financially? maybe you're a hoe? nah, he bet you're a virgin with how uptight you are.

what's your secret? what makes you higher than him? what makes you more favourable? what makes you the number one to his two in tests and first to every events you participate in? where do you get the time to burn and support everyone?

the more gojo satoru thinks, the more he observes you, and the more he realizes a lot of things that he's glad he only knows about.

he's elated to know your nape is ticklish, to know that you're a great cook and someone who has a very hot commanding voice. his heart is pumping at the fact that you're stricter that he thought.

maybe he's crazy? did he finally lose all his marbles? why is his pants tightening at the sight of your sweaty appearance? seriously, you're giving concrete demands to your org members and he's nothing but a dead weight to his own, star-strucked gazing at you.

his change bothered everyone, thinking you'll finally lose your cool. he's extra annoying to you, double the attention seeking tendencies. he wanna rise a reaction, he wants something. and you know about that, yet you're not giving it to him. what's even the purpose of annoying in the first place? 'cause he completely forgot about it.

he's a slave to technology and to his libido. that his search engine consists of porn commanding women ordering him to obey.

ah, what did you do to him?

why is he fucking his fist at the picture of you in a polo shirt full of mud and sweat from the intramural race? why is he moaning your name when you just got into his nerve? he don't even know what's hotter! the idea of obeying your orders or you, obeying his.

he desperately wants control, he desperately needs his title of the chosen one back. the name became dull after he realize that there's a few that managed to shake his carefree attitude and give him the ick just by defying his nature.

fine, if he can't control you in college then he'll gladly do that now.

how the odds still favors him even after during your prime in college. how the universe shifted you both as the secretary to his ceo. how he'll finally able to shoot his shot after letting you get away because he let his pride win.

but he'll accept you as you are, he'll gladly accept how you act all bossy when he's higher by order. he'll let you run your smart mouth again and again and again to scold him like you always does.

because this blue-eyed king missed you.

he missed your frown, your sardonic smile. the comebacks he thinks you practice because it burns like hell everytime. the food he tried when he once visited your home, witnessing your first cry because your father embarrassed you in front of your classmates, including him. he missed your uptightness, the curve of your ass, your subtle scent, and your hot palm that once tried to tease his dick.

if you even as went far as to rub his rod, you're probably the next mrs. gojo, carrying his babe. thank yourself for not letting your attitude win and palm him further during that one night in a college party suguru threw. thank him that he still has an ounce of respect to your begging body that he stopped himself from bending you over and fucking you full of his cum.

thank the universe for letting your forget what you fucking did. if you ever make him remember any of that, he'll do all of things he's been imagining since day one. because he doesn't forget and he find it a little bad that he didn't push his luck with persuasion.

your crying face is a beauty he'll never have the guts to erase in his mind that makes him feel bad that he's not sorry for having the thoughts.

carry on with nagging, ms. smart mouth. you'll never know that you're moaning his name as your skirt bunches around you waist, buttons undone and pussy wetter than ever.

did you see it coming as you always does with your data? do you have any of the idea how his fist fucking made him spent so much that he tried to look for where you are after graduation? the ladies are never you, the body is never yours. so once he feel your pussy, there's no going back.

because you're the chosen to the chosen one, with voice so powerful it made his cock stand. he have to let your pussy know that the next shape it will take is the curve of his dick. so he inserted three, bringing you to the seventh heaven with every prod of his fingers on your g-spot.

yes, moan his name! call him sir and submit yourself to him. there's nothing more hotter than having your tongue out, completely fucked out of your mind.

that night inside his office changed everything. you'll never gonna able to look at him the same way after his long and deft fingers went inside your slit without remembering how he fingered you facing the floor to ceiling glass of the high rise building, risking an audience to look your way.

how his fingers played with your nipples and breast it became too sore to wear a bra. how he'll always let you remember what you do to him by his finger of a come hit her motion.

and he'll never make you forget how hard he became after pretending to kneel infront of him, arching your back for his eyes to feast, teasing him with that smile that got him hook, line and sinker just to pull out a pen that rolled under his desk. you're always a tease and thinks you'll not gonna change anytime soon.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

at least let him have a good night's sleep and don't go ringing his apartment on a friday night, wearing nothing but a see-through lingerie under that coat.

don't push his button when he's respectfully asking you to leave. because once his temper snap, you'll never leave his apartment until you're sore and aching for his whole.

don't pretend and act you're tipsy when he knows you're not one to drink. all this mixed signals is sending his mind to overdrive.

fuck consequences, you're an adult. you know what you're going through when you signed up to show in his apartment, seducing the blue-eyed young man. you know his sanity is barely hanging by a thread when you unwrapped yourself to him like present his parents won't be able to give him.

so when he snapped and claim your lips, kiss him back with the same fervor. show him that you're craving him the way he does. don't make it one sided and hurt his feelings because it's you who he's been dreaming of. it's you. not the company, nor the other beautiful ladies or the world who loves to kiss his ass.

it's you. his own mind machine who fucks him up everytime in office. you, his school rival who won every single thing he's second to. it's you, the overachieving eldest daughter that catered your sibling's needs. you, the strength to his strongest.

and he's not gonna able to see the other end of the red string when it's tied to your pinky. his destined, his beloved. accept his flaws as he is, and he'll worship you the way you deserve.

so when you went down on your knees, brought his hand to guide your hair in a pony, he finally lose the control his libido is fighting with. you suck so fucking good, your mouth is so warm. it's heaven and hell in one body. he like you better when you're this silent, taking all of his inside your mouth than running them, making his ears bleed.

he moans when you snaked your hands, massaging his balls. god, fuck. you're a good giver and good givers deserves a prize.

after stilling your head, releasing all of his cum in your mouth, you swallowed it, letting him know that you're his good girl.

he's glad you're still the same responsive woman he likes to tease in college. other people might think you're unbothered by his antics, but in every behind the libraries scenario, there you are, trying to resist his rippling muscles and whispers on your nape.

he knows your shudders and sensitive spot. how your body writhe while he licks a stripe from your ears to your bare shoulder. how you trash under him when he started to suck on your nipple. you're a moaner. he's glad that it's not happening inside his office like before. because now, he doesn't have to hold your sultry moans back. you are loud and that's a music to his ears as he nibble on your breast alternately.

“damn, you're all over me,”

he teases as he propped you against his chest, fucking your slit with three of his fingers. his other one is busy twisting pulling your nipples. he'll never get tired of giving you service if it's a key to the gates of your orgasm and submission.

but all fun has come to an end when he sheathed his cock inside your pussy while you're about come down from your high, prompting another strong orgasm from you. ah, just when he thinks nothing catches you off guard, he's wrong. his cock is answer to your wetness—the place where you're weak at.

“what? i can't hear you, baby? you need to be louder hahaha.”

still going with his ministrations, he's been edging you after fucking your pussy full force and toying your clit. you can't take it anymore. fuck pride, you need to fucking come on his dick.

so when he felt you squirt on him, his cum followed suit, plugging you full and round for months to come. he'll make sure this will not be the last time as he imagine how white suits you the best.

“can't wait for our little ones.”

#x-(jjk) #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader

[littlecelestialmoth]

Prompt: The blood dripping down his forehead was hot and sticky

Relationships/Charecters: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley mentioned

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Hurt & Comfort, pre-relationship, post-season 3, pre-season 4, depictions of canonical injuries, wound cleaning, grief surrounding being disabled, lots of domestic comfort okay

Thanks to Juniper for this prompt! (Xe don't have Tumblr rip)

The remnant feeling of smoke burned in his lungs and his eyes felt dry from when they had watered from the acidic fumes of the fireworks and burning flesh. The blood dripping down his forehead was hot and sticky and the left side of his face felt sore and swollen.

Steve knew he couldn't go home like this.

Even if his parents weren't home he couldn't be alone right now. Robin being taken home was bad enough but worse was the fact that Steve probably had his third consecutive concussion. At this point even in his delirious post high state knew falling asleep right now was a risk he can't afford.

His body feels heavy with exhaustion as he pulls himself into the Bimmer, but he knows the chances of his mind letting him sleep now are slim. The first weeks after Upside-Down incident are always filled with near sleepless nights. At least he doesn't have to worry about getting up for work anymore he resolves. He lets the engine run, feeling the cool air from the vents dry the tacky sweat on his face.

He knew if he didn't figure out a plan quick he'd end up falling asleep in his car in the Starcourt mall parking lot. The paramedics had insisted on taking him to get checked out at the hospital but he didn't want to leave Robin. It's a crazy world to live in now, Steve’s pretty sure he and Robin are bonded for life. His friends now consist of one Lesbian and a handful of middle schoolers. If King Steve could see him now.

Steve sighs at this thought. He couldn't go home with Robin and any of the kids are out of the question. Especially after last year's incident.

Traitorously his mind provides him with the image of another acquaintance, maybe almost friend, a sharp grin and dark curly hair.

Steve sets his head back on the headrest and groans. Robin's confession had led to thoughts of his own. The easy banter he had developed with the metalhead working in the game store across the way, about how it was surprisingly easy to get along with Eddie Munson now that he had fallen from his throne. He was starting to realize he was happier down below, surrounded by nerds. He was also starting to realize he very possibly had a type.

The way to Forest Hills wasn't familiar to him but not foreign either, back in the day he had gone with Tommy to make a home call at the Munson's residence for some harder drugs than what he carried around the school yard.

Steve paused again in the Bimmer, giving himself one last chance to excape. He knew Eddie was most likely home. He'd had a show with his band up in Bloomington last night and had taken off work for it well in advance, and the day after. It's all he'd been able to talk about these past few weeks.

Steve hauls himself up the trailer steps, taking a quick look to see if anyone else is home but Eddie. His van stands alone in the dying grass.

Steve knocks gently first. It's late but he's not sure if it's late enough for Eddie to be asleep or not.

After another minute he knocks a little louder and more urgent. A light flicks on in the far window and Steve hears the pounding steps of someone approaching the door from inside the trailer.

The door swings open.

“Jesus, what do you wa- what the fuck happened to you man?” Eddie exclaimes incredulously. It's at this moment Steve remembers he's still in his vomit and blood stains work mandated sailor suit.

Steve groans in pain, Eddie's volume pounding in his head.

“I have a concussion. I can't be alone right now.” Steve explains, he doesn't have the energy to say much more right now.

“Okay, okay shit man, why didn't you go home or to a Hospital?” Eddie asks, gently pulling him into the trailer.

“M' parents are home, can't.” Steve closes his eyes for a moment and remembers he isn't supposed to do that. Eddie guides him over to the couch and hesitantly has him sit down.

“I'll get you some clothes and the first aid kit, you're not meant to fall asleep okay? I need to try and figure out how bad your concussion is.” Eddie says, crouched down in front of Steve, briefly checking him over. His eyebrows are furrowed and Steve’s knocked around brain supplies that Eddie is pretty when he's all concerned with his wide deep brown eyes.

“It's pretty bad.” Steve provides, trying to stop himself from sluring his words. Eddie puts a hand on his shoulder briefly.

“Even more of a reason for you to stay awake sweetheart, I'll be right back.” Eddie stands and walks to the back of the trailer.

Steve leans his head back on the couch and regrets it pretty quickly. His brain feels like it's capable of sliding around in his skull like it's on ice. He turns his head, curling into the couch a little in an attempt to relieve the pain. The left side of his face throbs as he thinks. He doesn't let himself close his eyes but it's a near thing.

He vaguely registers Eddie walking back over, a wad of clothes and a first aid kit in hand. His mouth is moving but everything sounds muffled and far away.

Steve lifts his head from the couch. “What did you say?” Eddie frowns.

“I said do you want to change first or take care of your face first.” He repeats.

Steve hears him fine this time. “Shit, it got worse again.” Steve gets out, voice cracked. His throat feels tight and burns as he tries his hardest to not let a pathetic and exhausted sob crawl up his throat.

Eddie kneels in front of Steve again, taking his face into his palm on his less injured side.

“What's worse baby, what happened?” Eddie's thumb rubs at a tear that has slipped down Steve's cheek. Steve sobs a little again at the affection and turns his face further into Eddies warm hand. With Eddie speaking closer to him now it's easier to realize he doesn't hear much of his voice in his left ear.

“You remember last year,” his breath hitches again with a suppressed sob “when Billy beat the shit out of me? I found out I had lost some of my hearing in my right ear.” Steve shuts his eyes tightly and tries to breathe, Eddie lets him take his time before he continues. “It's worse now, I could barely hear you.” Steve explains brokenly, another quiet sob slipping out.

“Oh.” Eddie breathes, looking a little broken himself. He gathers up Steve's hand with his own that isn't holding his face and squeezes it gently. He lets Steve release his grief and tears.

“I'm sorry, I'm just so goddamed exhausted.” Steve breathes.

“I know, I know, it's okay, you don't have anything to be sorry for.” Eddie soothes.

Steve goes to wipe the tears from his face and hisses in pain when his bunched fist aggravates his bruise. He opens his eyes again and meets Eddie's.

“Why don't we get your face cleaned up okay?” Eddie suggests, reaching for a rag on top of the first aid kit. He wets it with warm water in the kitchen sink before returning to Steve and sitting next to him in the edge of the couch. Eddie sits on his right side and some part of Steve is glad for it.

“Can I get you to turn towards me a little bit?” He requests. It's easier to hear Eddie like this. Steve complies, slowly turning his head.

Eddie reaches forward and holds Steve's cheek again. Eddie meets his gaze unafraid, and with something warm in his gaze. Steve shuts his eyes for a moment and breathes. He scrunches his face when Eddie gently presses the wet cloth against his face. He holds it to Steve's forehead, loosening the dried blood there. He wipes as gently as he can but it still stings.

Steve makes a low whine of discomfort and shifts his face further into Eddie’s hand.

“I know love, almost done, you're okay.” Eddie comforts. Steve lets the weight of his head rest further in Eddie's palm.

Steve opens his eyes when Eddie starts swiping the cloth under his swollen eye. He feels another tear leak out. He's just so beyond exhausted and being cared for like this is almost too much. Eddie gives him the smallest fond look through his lashes even though it's lined with concern.

Eddie pulls away, settling the hand that held his face on Steve's knee while he turns to dig through the first aid kit one handed. Steve appreciates the consistent contact.

Producing butterfly bandages, Eddie removes his hand to peel away the backings and gently apply them to the split skin on Steve's face. It's the most gentle anyone has been with him in a long time. It makes his throat burn for a different reason, and his chest feels compressed with emotion. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing as he gets patched up. It's too much to watch Eddie right now, and he knows Eddie won't let him fall asleep.

Eddie smooths his fingers over Steve's good cheek and he opens his eyes.

“You with me?” Eddie questions.

Steve hums affirmative. He sits up a little straighter after noticing Eddie has packed up the first aid kit.

“Do you think you can stand? I wanna get you out of those clothes,” Eddie explains, but his eyes widen suddenly. “because they're gross, obviously, sorry.” He clarifies, turning his head away. In the low light Steve can see that his face is a couple shades darker and red. He huffs a laugh and smiles for the first time since the fucked up drugs from earlier. He musters a little confidence.

“You can just ask you know.” Steve croaks with a smirk.

“Okay stop it, you're in no state to be, all,” Eddie flaps his hands vaguely at Steve. This earns another smile. “do you need help getting changed or not Harrington?" Eddie demands, putting on a firmer commanding tone that is obviously false.

Steve tries to stand on his own and manages it for the most part but Eddie supports him by his shoulder as the room spins.

“A little help, just make sure I don't fall and hit my head or something.” Steve requests. He doesn't have it in him to care about anything much more today. Eddie helps him pull his soiled uniform over his head, avoiding his cleaned and sore face.

Steve eyes the shirt Eddie selected for him. It's a very worn band tee, reading ‘DIO’ in red script, the font big enough for him to make out without his glasses. He shrugs and pulls it on, trying to ignore the way his head pounds. He steps out of his shorts next after kicking off his sneakers. Eddie steadies him by his shoulder and respectfully averts his eyes as Steve pulls on the pair of borrowed sweats.

Steve rights himself and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Alright, I'm going to put you in my bed then get you some water after we check how bad your concussion is.” Eddie commands, pulling Steve down to hall and into a very messy room. It's cozy in its own way in Steve's mind, used to a neat but cold house. The warm light doesn't hurt as bad as it could but it's still uncomfortable.

He lets Eddie guide him onto the bed and faces him as Eddie crouches to peer at his face.

“Okay, can you follow my finger for me?” Steve nods a little and regrets it, but follows Eddie's pointer finger as he moves it left and right in front of his face. It makes his head hurt to do so.

Eddie puts his hand down, seemingly having gotten his answer.

“Yeah you definitely have vertigo sweetheart, shouldn't have driven with this bad of a concussion.” Eddie sighs softly. Steve tries not to let the pinch of shame in his stomach grow bigger.

“I'm going to go get you some water, I'll be back in a minute.” True to his word Eddie returned within the minute, pressing a mug of water into Steve's hands. He steadies it as Steve drinks and then sets it on his busy nightstand.

“I think you'll be okay to sleep for a bit at this point, but I'll have to wake you up every hour or so.” Eddie explains, sympathetic.

“Okay. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep right now.” Steve says in a small voice. He thinks about his bat in the car and wonders if it would be weird to ask Eddie to retrieve it for him. What would he think Steve would do with it? Give it a snuggle? Yeah, that's a no.

“I'll go crash on the couch and set an alarm on my watch, I'll leave you be man don't worry about-” Eddie assures, waving his hands about as he speaks. Steve grabs his wrists and interups him.

“Please don't go.” Steve rushes out, panic suddenly tight in his chest. His breathing picks up.

“Okay, okay, I'll say, I don't know what I can do for you but I'll stay, okay?” Eddie assures, sitting on his right side on the mattress. Steve's grip looses on Eddie wrist some. He scoots back to lay down and tugs Eddie along with him. Hard enough to get the point but gentle enough to leave him the choice. Even though Steve is fairly heavily concused he doesn't think he'd been reading things wrong.

Eddie shifts up the bed to lay to the right of Steve. They face each other as they lay down, Eddie's wrist still in Steve's soft grasp. Eddie gives him a small tender smile, and Steve lets out a heavy breath before returning it. Eddie shifts for a moment, un-pinning his arm to cup Steve's face again. Steve closes his eyes.

“Will you tell me about your show?” Steve requests.

“My show?” Eddie asks, puzzled.

Steve cracks his eyes open, an amused smile on his lips. “The one you played last night Eddie, you haven't shut up about it in weeks.”

“You sure you wanna hear about it?” Eddie questions, seeming unsure. Steve hums a yes and let's his eyes slip shit again for a moment.

Eddie props himself up on his elbow to tug the sheet over them both. The smell of his sweat and cigarettes on his sheets should be gross to Steve but instead the inherent Eddie-ness of it was only a comfort that soothed his sore heart.

He hears Eddie clicking around on his watch before settling back down. Steve opens his eyes again, deep brown meeting deepest brown.

Eddie leans over carefully and kisses Steves brow bone, right to the left of where his left eyebrow was split and now held together.

Steve sighs contently, eyes slipping shut as he reaches for Eddie's hand. Eddie's hands are bare and warm as his fingers wrap around Steve's own.

“So, this show was definitely different from the usual Hideout scene. For starters there was less drunks and way more fans that know what the good shit is. So, Jeff and I start out with this insane guitar solo from…”

Steve slips into the most peaceful sleep he's had after a run in with the Upside-Down even though he knows Eddie will rouse him in an hour. He's content to curl towards Eddie after being woken and let his hands running through Steve's hair lull him back to sleep.

In the morning Wayne will be home and Steve's parents will be gone again. Eddie will ask him to stay a little longer and insist on reading him the Hobbit as they waste their afternoon in bed.

A few weeks later when Steve makes a reference to The Lord of the Rings in front of the kids, he realizes Dustin's shock and antics will never be valued in his memory the way that Eddie’s hours of reading to him and caring for him will be.

Dustin's shock a few months later when he meets Steve's boyfriend will be a little more memorable if only for the way Eddie grins proudly at him.

#Steddie #steddie ficlet #ficlet #Steddie fanfic #hurt/comfort #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #pre relationship #steddie #robin buckley

[autisticlenaluthor]

Hi, my name is Rory, I’m going to the Eras Tour in Amsterdam on July 5th and if you guys could somehow help me get this to @taylorswift / @taylornation - it would mean so much to me

Three years ago, I went from being perfectly healthy, to watching my body and my health rapidly deteriorate. My entire world got turned upside down— I lost the ability to eat, drink, and even stand for more than a few minutes.

I don't remember much from when I first got sick. But I know I listened to Mr Perfectly Fine on a loop almost every day because it was the only song that could capture how I felt. I've known and loved Taylor's music since I was six-years-old and first heard the album Fearless. i remember the first song I ever heard (love story) like it was yesterday; but somewhere during that time, her music became like therapy for me.

Since 2021, I've been diagnosed with three incurable diseases. two of these are rare, and one is predicted to only get worse with time. I've spent countless days inpatient on the peds floor receiving treatment, tests, and surgeries. And through all of it-- I've leaned heavily on Taylor's music.

My mom bought our Era's tour tickets last summer during the Europe pre-sale. I was in the hospital at the time and immediately told all of my nurses, doctors, dietitians and basically anyone who came into my room, that a year from then, i'd be seeing taylor swift. Whenever I could get out of bed, I was in the playroom with my child life specialists, making friendship bracelets to give out to other Swifties at the show. The thought of going to the Eras Tour singlehandedly kept me going through the hardest time of my life. And it's kept me going ever since.

Months later, I was hospitalized again, right before the release of 1989 TV. I'd been admitted the day after seeing The Eras Tour Movie in theaters (I was in theater 13, row 13!!) and I remember being so relieved that I hadn't had to miss it.

I had become known by most of the nurses as "the Taylor Swift girl” and the night before another procedure, I stayed up until midnight with everyone else so I could listen to 1989 TV. Hearing those songs-- I felt the happiest I'd been in so long. I felt normal again. I was sick and I was alone but I was connected to every other person who'd stayed up with me and that feeling was indescribable.

Taylor gave that to me, and so much more.

Over the course of my journey, I've listened to Sparks Fly to keep me calm while my doctors inserted feeding tubes down my nose. Whenever I have to be put under anesthesia, I have a nurse put her music on shuffle so I can listen to it as I fall asleep. When I had my big surgery in December, the last thing I remember was Bad Blood playing in the OR and saying "this is a funny song to have surgery to".

All of this is to say, Taylor has given me strength and hope during the worst part of my life, and she continues to do so. Her music is truly everything to me and getting to go the the Era's Tour is already a dream come true on it's own. And if it's possible - being able to receive the 22 hat and give Taylor a friendship bracelet would make all of that pain feel worth it. It would mean everything to me.

if you could reblog this and tag @taylorswift and @taylornation I'd appreciate that so much!! thank you to everyone whose read this far, and everyone whose shared this <3

also if anyone is interested, I included some pics of the mentioned moments below the cut!

seeing the eras tour movie the day before having to be admitted, and then making friendship bracelets for tour in the hospital

the mirrorball is hung in my room for good luck

the bracelets i’d started making in the hospital, right after getting the tickets

and the day of the 1989 TV release - id stayed up until midnight to listen to the album, and then had my anesthesiologist play ‘Style’ for me to play while they put me out for my procedure

#taylor swift #taylornation #the eras tour #swiftie #chronic illness #the tortured poets department #ttpd #1989 taylor's version #speak now taylor’s version #fearless taylor’s version #red taylor’s version #taylor swift eras #boost #rare disease

[writtenbeneaththestars]

Drowning

Summary: Grayson and swimming Warnings: thoughts of suicide, angst, overexertion, thoughts of drowning (please tell me if I missed any!!) A/N: What way to bring in pride month then with…. a very angsty Grayson fic ANYWAY— this is really short but I hope you enjoy? *please tell me if I made any mistakes!!*

Tags: @catapparently, @urbanflorals, @nqds, @reminiscentreader, @never-enough-novels (please tell me if you want to be added or removed!!)

It wasn’t a secret that Grayson Hawthorne swam. A lot.

It was a secret that sometimes, when he swam, he pictured sinking and never coming back up to the surface. It was more of a secret that by sometimes, he actually meant way more than just some of the time.

Today was like that.

The water was especially cold today for whatever reason, but that didn’t matter. He just– he needed the noise to be gone. He just needed it to be gone so it could be ok and he– he really, really needed to swim. Because Grayson Hawthorne did not break. He didn’t get the luxury of breaking.

So he’ll just swim instead.

And if anyone asked him what he was doing, he’d say swimming. Because swimming was fine. No one cared if he swam. No one cared if he pushed his body past its limit every single time, until he couldn’t breathe but in the good way – the way that he could control.

But no one asked him. That was fine. He didn’t need anyone to care. He didn’t deserve it anyway.

Avery asked a few times when she first came, but he gave the same answers every time.

“You’re going out to swim? In this hour?” Yes. He went all hours of the day and night and everything in between. He had to.

“You’re going to overwork yourself.” No I won’t. Yes, he would. Sometimes, he didn’t care. Other times, that was the point.

She seemed to get used to it after a while and stopped questioning him. He didn’t know if he was sad about that or not, but it left a sort of empty numb feeling. Then again, that feeling had always been there as far as he could remember.

When he was in the pool, he’d swim laps and laps and so many freaking laps. The entire time, he whispered in his mind everything wrong with him. Everything he needed to change. It was funny, because every single part of him needed to change. He swam with perfect form, never making a mistake. He had to. And if he did mess up, well, he wasn’t entirely sure. That had never happened before. All he knew was that he didn’t have the luxury of messing up. He couldn’t mess up.

Sometimes – and by that he meant rather frequently actually – he’d hold his breath and go to the bottom of the pool. And it wasn’t anyone’s business whether or not he contemplated if he should come up for air. He’d close his eyes as the lack of oxygen burned his lungs and his body screamed at him to come up to the surface. He resisted it. And it was so peaceful. In the end though, his body would always win and he would come up gasping for breath.

He did that today, and for the briefest moment, he could picture how nice it would be if he just didn’t come up. For a moment, that almost came true. But once he came up, he let out a laugh. He really was pathetic, wasn’t he. Thinking he could just be free of it all that easily. Who did he think he was? Grayson Hawthorne needed to be perfect.

But he knew the truth. No matter how perfect he got, he would never be perfect enough.

And maybe one day, he could finally stop treading the water, fighting tooth and nail to stay above the rising tide that threatens to overwhelm him. Maybe someday the water would slowly start to lower. But until then, he guessed he just had to hope he didn’t drown.

Somewhere in his mind he knew the truth: it was already too late. He was beyond the point of saving. He was already drowning.

He had already drowned.

#my failed attempt(s) at writing #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #the inheritance games #jennifer lynn barnes #grayson hawthorne

[voxmilia]

Tell me about Adaine :D

Send me a character and I'll ramble

Ily, thank you for indulging my hyperfixations! 🥰

Also tagging @ghostlyeris and @shackld bc they also sent in Adaine jhdalshd loving Adaine is my brand ig (it's an excellent brand)

Under the cut bc I rambled so goddamn much

My first impression: "oh...oh wait help her voice is so soft, oh she had a panic attack at her entrance exam? Oh baby 🥺"

My impression now: "that's my GIRL, that's my GIRL, she's got a gun and a magical punching spell and she's gonna kill everyone who hurts her or her friends"

Favorite thing about that character: She's so endlessly caring. She's been put through the absolutely wringer and yes, she's guarded about it. But she's so, so kind. She has downtime and she offers to clean her friend's closet or throw an ice cream party. She uses her jacket that can produce anything (under 10 gold) and 90% of the time uses it to get stuff for her friends. She's three for three on helping redeem wizard antagonists, she's amazing

Least favorite thing: It's more least favorite in that I love her so much, I want her to have nice things? But narratively, it makes sense. She's so guarded and independent because she's had to be. And so that means now she struggles to accept help and open herself up especially to parental affection. And it just breaks my heart, seeing how far she's come but how far she has to go to let herself be loved the way she deserves.

Favorite line/scene: Her and Aelwyn in sophomore year is imprinted on my brain forever. In Fallinel wizard jail, holding the broken shell of her big sister in Kei Lumenura, the confrontation in the nightmare forest. "I do not love our parents and though you have not earned it? I do love you." TEARS. EVERY TIME.

Runner up goes to any scene with her and Jawbone - the iconic "You're not a coward, Adaine, you're just sick, you need medicine!" and the equally iconic "You're easy to love. And anyone who couldn't figure that out is a real bozo."

Third place goes to the ping pong table scenes, both of them. The amount of times I quote "ONE GUY OFFERED ME DIAMONDS AND I RAN AWAY" in dms is so funny

Also obviously "MAGIC IS REAL AND SO IS MY FROG!!!!!!!"

Favorite interaction that character has with another: beyond the above examples with her and Aelwyn, her and Jawbone, and her and Oisin? It's so silly but I'll always have a soft spot for her and Zayn in the opening to sophomore year. "You may absolutely tread upon my sanctum santorum!"

Also ofc any interaction with her and Ayda so I'm SO glad we got that moment in junior year where they were shading each other. Their friendship means the fucking world to me. They made each other spells, I'm forever tender about that

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: After junior year, I have to say Sandra Lynn! Their scene was incredibly sweet!! She's her dad's girlfriend and the closest thing to a mother figure she has, they deserve to have a moment! Also in a similar vein, Tracker! Tracker is not only her adoptive cousin but also her former roommate - she lived with Tracker nearly as long as she's lived with Kristen and about as long as she's lived with Fig, I'm so curious about their dynamic.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: it's not at all a one to one but my immediate thought was Annette Dominic. Just? Idk something about incredibly studious girls who don't know how to relax and just be kids, who had to grow knowing they were abandoned or neglected by their parents and had to find the love they deserve in a group of school friends? Idk!! I think they'd be friends. Adaine would offer to kill Gilbert

A headcanon about that character: Though it's her legal name, Adaine doesn't really refer to herself as an O'Shaughnessy, mostly out of habit. At her college graduation ceremony, she insists on being announced as Adaine Abernant-O'Shaughnessy. Jawbone cries.

A song that reminds of that character: So I haven't started her playlist and didn't wanna just pull something from mine and Nick's ship playlist for her and Oisin, so I just looked on Spotify and 🥺 Someone gave her Waiting on a Miracle from Encanto and that breaks my heart, so I have to say that one.

An unpopular opinion about that character: I'm ambivalent on the glasses. I like her with or without them. I know most folks seem to think that's just canon but personally I'm way more team "Riz definitely has a tail" than "Adaine definitely has glasses"

Favorite picture: HOW DO I CHOOSE, let me highlight a few of my faves:

the absolutely iconic princess mononoke moment with oisin,

this heartbreaking art of adaine and aelwyn while aelwyn is still imprisoned in sophomore year

this gorgeous bad kids group shot that I use currently as my tupperbox icon for adaine

this stunning and tragic parallel with adaine and the previous elven oracle

#i love her remy you don't understand #makes her a human au so she can be erin's babysitter ig HASJKDSLAD #thank you my love!!!! #and thank you ghost and kai!!! #asks #christina.txt #adaine abernant #fantasy high #d20

[greetingfromthedead]

Five Hugs (Vash x GN!Reader)

Plot: Five occasions, worthy of a hug. (5 drabbles)

Series: A Set of Five [more coming soon]

Pairing: Vash x GN!Reader

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: fluff, no use of "y/n", a touch of angst, cozy, cuddles, dancing, Vash being a hero as usual, affirmation, Vash just deserves a hug in general

Word count: 2k

Author's Note: I've been torturing Vash a lot lately so I decided to give him five hugs. Probably five kisses soon too and if there is something else you want to see, let me know.

You had to run again. Chased out of town for something as little as showing your face at the saloon. Or rather, it was Vash's face that sparked the whole ordeal. The bounty on his head doesn't make it easy to take life slowly and enjoy it. But you refuse to leave his side.

You slide down along the smooth surface of the rock. The suns beating down on you as you grip the water bottle tightly in your hand. Your heart beats ferociously in your throat, and you wait for it to calm down to take a sip. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of your tomas rattling her gear.

"Well, where should we go now then?" Vash's calm voice asks, breaking the tension in the air.

You don't answer him, instead leaning your head back against the hard rock. The fear finally leaves your bones, as you know you are far enough away from the town to be safe. It still stings to be treated this way, to constantly have to be on edge and alert.

"We could head more east; we should come across a small village before nightfall. Maybe we can camp in someone's attic. Hopefully we can stock up on water too." He sounds so lighthearted and carefree as he starts formulating a plan in his head.

You watch him with curiosity after drinking from your flask. He turns his head from side to side while looking into the distance before taking off his glasses and inspecting them. He seems to find a spot on them as he grabs the lower edge of his black turtleneck. He pulls it up to rub the lenses with it. The small action reveals a bit of his scarred skin on his stomach, which he usually carefully hides under fabric. This simple act reminds you just how much he trusts you. He wouldn't willingly show his old wounds to just anyone.

"Are you okay?" you ask quietly, but just enough for him to hear you.

"Mh?? Ah, yeah, I am fine." Vash straightens his shirt again and puts the glasses back on. "Eehh, I don't really care if they chase me and try to capture me for the bounty. They have their own problems, and I'm sure that money would help them. I'm just worried I will drag you into the crossfire."

You noticed the change in his carefree tone towards the end. He does worry about you a lot. Despite what he says, you know that the truth is a whole lot more complicated. He holds no grudges against anyone, but you doubt that he doesn't care. A man who loves humanity so deeply is bound to have his heart broken when he is forced away from what he holds so dear. You can see the pain in his eyes, despite his attempts to hide it.

Words don't come easy in this situation. What could you even say to that? Instead, you push yourself up again, slide the flask into the saddlebag, and walk up to Vash. You glance at his curious eyes, but you can't force your gaze to stay on them. You approach him decisively and only stop once your arms wrap around his torso. The moment your head rests against his chest, you squeeze him tighter.

He stands there with surprise for a moment before putting his arms around you too, his gaze softening as he holds you close. You don't say anything; instead, you just bury your face in his black shirt and hug him as tight as you can. He has been through so much in his long life, and you can't change the past. You are powerless against the present, and perhaps there is nothing you can do about the future. All you can do is hold him close and show him that you care. That you believe in him.

"Thank you." Vash speaks softly, his large hand stroking your head.

A loud bang echoes through the town square just as the grip of your captor loosens around your neck. A collective gasp echoes through the crowd of onlookers, and you push yourself free, running towards the source of the noise.

"Son of a…!" The enraged voice of the bandit leader calls out, but you keep sprinting without looking back. You hear the slightest thump behind you as his gun hits the ground, but you don't care anymore. It's like you can still feel the barrel pressed against your temple, the tears of fear turning into ones of relief in your eyes.

You jump into Vash's arms, knowing that you are finally safe. He catches you with his left arm, the prosthesis wrapping tightly around your back as your feet lift off the ground. His right hand still holds his gun, ready to take another shot as needed. You bury your face in his shoulder, feeling grateful and protected. He turns his whole body and sets you back on the ground, positioning himself between you and the bandit that held you captive. You hear him whisper, "I've got you now."

Even as your grasp on him loosens, his stays firmly around your shoulders, pressing you more into him. He's not letting go. Your vision is obscured by his large coat, and you don't see as the large man is being cuffed and dragged away by the others. Only then dares Vash to put away his weapon into its holster and release his tight grip on you. He grabs your upper arms and leans back as he looks you over.

"Are you alright?" he asks with a tremor in his voice. He notices the redness on your throat, and his fingers gently touch the bruising skin. "I am so sorry!"

"I'm okay! I'm okay!" you say frantically as you nod, your breath escaping you in short gasps.

"Thank goodness!" he exclaims, relief washing over him. He grabs you into a tight hug again, his cheek pressing against the top of your head.

"Would you do me the honor of joining me for a dance?" Vash says with a crooked smile as he offers you his hand. You blush a bit at his public tomfoolery and down the rest of your drink before leaving the empty glass at the bar. You take his hand with a smile.

"Gladly," you reply softly as his fingers grip yours. You feel a rush of excitement as he leads you onto the dance floor. The saloon is filled with lively music and people dancing to the beat. The liquid courage definitely helps you in this situation and gives you the confidence to let go and enjoy the moment. Vash's hands rest on your hips, and yours find his shoulders. A goofy smile is plastered on his face as he starts to lead you in a twirl. He does not mind that he occasionally bumps into someone else or that a few people start laughing at his exaggerated style. He is just too excited to have you in his arms, dancing with him. Their laughter is drowned out by the music and the joy in his heart. The giggle that escapes you as he sweeps you around only encourages him further, making him take longer steps and turn you faster. He chuckles at your expression, and one dance turns into many.

You have no hope of keeping up with his long strides, and as you get more and more tired, you end up stumbling over them a few times. His arms keep you steady, and your clumsiness only makes his smile wider. The looks of others do not matter; all you see is Vash's enchanting face, and all he sees is you. In that moment, you realize that you are exactly where you are meant to be, no matter how ridiculous you might feel.

As you gaze into his eyes, your foot gets stuck behind his again, but instead of just keeping you steady, Vash pulls you up and wraps his arms around you, right under your butt, to keep your feet off the ground. You grab him into a hug, giggling by his ear as you hold on to him. Vash twirls you about and continues to dance around the room as you embrace each other.

Vash lays halfway on top of you, his head resting on your chest, his arms wrapped around you. It is a peaceful night as you've settled into an abandoned house in an empty village. The room is dusty, but it is cozy and filled with a sense of safety and warmth. Your fingers brush through his hair as you listen to the sound of his steady breathing. You know he isn't asleep yet, but there is no need to fill the quiet of twilight with words. You both find refuge in the peaceful silence that envelops you.

Vash is curled up against you, his legs somewhat entangled with yours. The tall and surprisingly burly man seems almost tiny as he enjoys your touch, your other hand resting on his back. He takes comfort from your heartbeats under his ear and the feeling of your touch. Anywhere is home if you're by his side. Your hug is all he needs to feel safe; your love gives him the strength to face anything.

You let your nails run over his scalp, and you feel a slight shudder move through him, a little moan escaping his lips, a sign of pure contentment. You wish you could wrap him up more, keep him even closer, and protect him like he protects you. You want to keep him in your heart, protected from all harm. But the best you can do is this. Having him hold on to you, your arms around him, as he snuggles close all night, or at least until you need to settle into a position more suitable for sleeping the night away, but even then, he enjoys your cuddles and doesn't want to let go.

"Are you sure about this?" you ask as you look up at him, pain reflecting on your face.

"Yes. I have to. I am the only one who can put an end to this," he says, but his eyes are down turned and mournful.

"Then let me come with you!" you insist, grabbing hold of his right sleeve.

"Please…" he says with a sigh, his tone pleading, "I need you to evacuate as many people as you can, even if it is only yourself."

You look at him dumbfounded and then turn your head to look at the streets of July. The town is massive; how can he expect you to make any difference here in getting people out? Wouldn't you be better off with him, trying to prevent the thing that could put people in danger?

"I need you to be safe," he murmurs, his voice full of concern as he takes your hand into his, squeezing your fingers gently. You can feel his worry radiating off of him. He has so much on his mind; you know he doesn't want to be worrying over you too. He wanted to leave you at Home, but you refused. You need him on his A-game for this, you have realized just how dangerous the situation really is.

"That goes for you too!" You press, "You have to come back to me! You understand? You have to! So promise me!"

"I promise, I will come back to you!" He says resolutely and releases your hand, instead pulling you into a hug, and you melt into his embrace, your arms securely around him.

"Can we wrap this up already?" the dark haired man asks, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Vash holds you tight for a moment longer, ignoring Wolfwood as he leans closer to your ear.

"I love you," he whispers, his breath tingling your skin.

He lets go, and you take a step back, looking at him with determination. You will both get out of this alive.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

#trigun #fanfiction #fanfic #vash the stampede #humanoid typhoon #plant boi #x reader #writing

[mayfay-analysis]

The Nature of Reanimated Food

So! Jack and Maddie, parents of Danny and Jazz! Obsessed with their work and ever so slightly neglectful with lab safety and their kids. One side effect of this is ectoplasm exposure around their food, and its subsequent reanimation. Pretty neat! Why do we care?

Weeeeelll, Why is it reanimating? Ghosts are supposedly beings of emotions, giving form by ecoplasm produced upon a persons death. And emotions are just the chemical signals and hormones produced by the brain and larger endrocine system. Vegetables are noticably lacking in that compartment (kinda, plants do in fact "scream" when in danger to warn other plants, but actual pain is a bit beyond them). and even if they Did, looking at stuff like hotdogs its been Awhile since they were killed. And even then most food in America is Heavily processed, so any lingering hormones should be long degraded. So How? How are they reanimating?!

Souls

Souls, spirits, consciousness, whatever scientific or religious term you wanna use, the point is Something is staying with the corpse and That is the catalyst (we know it's not some sort of physical material because every major element in food can be found elsewhere as well, and those inanimate objects Aren't reanimating).

There are some fun side effects to this, like the fact souls not only exist and can materialize, but can apparently be split up and mixed like in the case of hot dogs, with no unique downsides (that we know of) aside for standard aggression. This also means that this reanimated food is more like a ghost than a food item (making reanimated veggies part of animal cruelty rather than properly non-sentient).

Also means that souls have an expiration date, as evidenced by the various items using limestone not suddenly sprouting ghost mollusks (it's in furniture, toothpaste, and who knows what else. It's got some ectoplasm exposure). That or souls "settle" for lack of a better term and require more ectoplasm to reanimate as opposed to recent dead food. This also means that while ghosts can be split up and mixed, there's a certain level of modification that renders that far more difficult, or even impossible (namely cardboard and paper being made of plant fiber, yet not reanimating. This could also play a role in why limestone doesn't reanimate).

Anyone have any thoughts?

Tagging @evilminji for this cause they're Far more knowledgeable about DP and have amazing ideas. Check them out if you haven't yet

#danny phantom #DP #side note #this was originally made with the idea of Jack and Maddie realizing there’s more to ghosts #hence some of the weird wording and assumptions #couldn’t make it easily fit though so that got scrapped for the base theory

[spacebarbarianweird]

Mortal Bounds. Part 3. Paint it Black

Summary: Astarion delivers news about Tiriel's death to Alethaine who has been living in a faraway kingdom Cormyr as the High Necromancer

Tags: angst, dadstarion, widower Astarion

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

This is the third part of the Mortal Bounds series. Tiriel dies and Astarion deals with grief and loneliness along with their daughter.

Alethaine's age: 130

Mortal Bounds. Part 1. Shall We Meet Again?

Mortal Bounds. Part 2. Death, Worthy of a Barbarian

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The boy is scared. He knows he shouldn’t be – he may be only six, but he is the king of Cormyr! He must not be afraid, that’s what his regent-grandmother says!

But he is.

The mansion is dark and cold as if its owner tried to repel all the light and warmth from it. The king’s nurse, the lady of the mansion, says she is going to protect him.

“Roderic, my boy,” she murmurs, licking her pale lips. “You will be safe here! I will protect you from the vampires.”

The vampires… Roderic heard the rumors whispered by servants in the shadows of the court. That there was a vampire in the castle; someone close to the royal family had been turned into an undead. That people were missing. Grandmother tried to protect the little king, but he heard everything anyway.

And now he is here, so far from his home. 

“I want to go back,” the little king whispers. “No! I order you to return me back!”

The nurse, an old pale lady, laughs. 

“You shall be safe here, my king, you shall be safe.”

And then the door to the room slams.

The nurse stands up and tugs the boy to her. The king may be only six ,but he understands when a person is scared.

“How…How did you get here?!” the nurse hisses.

The stranger doesn’t answer. Roderic stares at her – he’s never seen anyone so beautiful. 

An ageless woman  walks inside the room. Her armor is pitch black, but her hair is the color of moonlight. She has a dagger in her right arm and green sparkles crackle on the fingers of the left. 

An elf!

“Tsk. You could have hidden better,” the vampire hunter says.

“Go away! I will kill him!” The nurse cries out and bares her vampiric fangs.

Suddenly, Roderic finds himself lying on the floor. The strange elf tosses the vampire into the wall as if she were an empty sack. 

And then bares her own fangs.

“How long have you been like that? A year? A month? A week? Who turned you?”

The vampire tries to rip her throat, but the elf makes fast movements resembling a dance. 

“You are a mere spawn, who is your master?” The huntress demands.

“Enough!!!” The vampire grabs Roderic’s neck.

The huntress puts her dagger back.

And then she grabs the vampire’s hair and drags her towards thick curtains that hide a big window. 

Even when Roderic will be old and gray, he will never forget how his nurse became a pile of ashes.

“Don’t worry, your little majesty. Let’s return you to your grandmother.”

“I am Roderic, eighth of this name, the king of Cormyr,” he introduces himself. 

“Well, nice to meet you, your majesty. I rarely work for such noble clients.” She kneels and now their eyes are on the same level. “My name is Alethaine Ancunin.” 

Roderic allows the elf (later he learns that Alethaine prefers to be called “dhampir”, though she shares a lot of habits and traits of the fair folk) to carry him back to the castle. As they walk, Roderic tries to think how to make this lady stay by his side. She can hunt vampires for him! And keep his people safe!

Alethaine must stay.

Roderic doesn’t know how to describe this feeling, but he’s utterly fallen in love like only a little boy can.

***

It all happened sixty years ago and now Roderic, the eighth of his name, is called the Old King. He’s conquered a lot of lands, won a dozen battles, and fathered six children. Things are changing in the wider world and he feels old and thin. 

But some things haven’t changed.

“Alethaine, I know you are there. I expected you would have been in your tower.” The king greets the High Necromancer of Cormyr. 

A woman in a black dress enters the room. Her long silver hair flows down her thin shoulders and reaches down her waist. Her fingers are adorned with rings, each as expensive as a ship, but there is only a small necklace on her chest – it resembles a drop of blood.

“Decided to scare your new daughter-in-law’s servants. They think I am going to put a curse on them.”

“She is my son’s daughter-in-law, not mine,” he chuckles. “I am old, Alethaine, and look at you, you look the same as you did when I begged my grandmother to let you stay!”

“Considering the day before I’d slept in a dirty tavern and then I was given a chamber with two servants afraid I would drink their blood – many things have changed. You need to go to sleep, Roderic,” she places a small bottle in front of him. “This will help.”

A shadow lurks behind the door.

“They think you are poisoning me,” the king laughs. “When I was young and handsome they thought you were poisoning my wife to marry me. What do your people say? ‘You need to fall in love with a human at least once to learn the value of life’?”

Alethaine cringes and he bursts into laughter. 

“Trust me, Roderic, I still think you are a minor.  You’re almost seven decades younger than me.” 

“True. And they say elven women fall for human men. Then you realize they probably just think of them as adult children. Have a good night, Alethaine. And I give you my royal blessing to scare the shit out of those morons my grandson has brought to the castle!”

**

Alethaine walks through the empty halls of the castle to her tower. She senses the presence of servants who study her from the shadows, but Alethaine pays little to no attention to them. 

This castle has been her home for sixty years. She knows every corner and a hidden path, every room and every secret. Alethaine remembers how reluctant she felt when the old queen asked her to stay – to hunt down the vampire lord, to protect the young king.

But Alethaine stayed. 

She exchanged her traveling armor for a long black dress made of the finest fabric. She started wearing expensive adornments. She was given servants who were ready to fulfill her every whim. She gained power and influence, though Alethaine knows people are mostly afraid of her. 

And she loves it. 

Weird.

Alethaine has a lot of enemies, but vampires left Cormyr many years ago because a dhampir was their worst enemy. 

But there is one right in the castle right now.

Her ears twitch and her instincts awake telling where exactly a bloodsucker lurks.

Alethaine takes off her high-heeled shoes and walks barefoot on the cold stones. 

The vampire doesn’t try to hide. He stands in the empty hall studying an old map of the kingdom.

“Dad?!” Alethaine gasps. “What… What are you doing here?!”

Astarion doesn’t react. He keeps staring at the wall, much like a statue.

“Dad, what happened?” Alethaine approaches him. Her stomach ties in a knot.

Something bad. Something really bad has happened. 

Astarion turns to her and she sees he has dark circles under his ruby eyes. 

He is starving.

“Dad?”

Astarion hisses as if her words caused him pain. 

“Hello, princess,” he mutters. “I am sorry.”

**

Astarion sits in front of her in the tower staring blankly at the distance. 

Alethaine thinks she should cry. Maybe she should do something? She tries to remember how humans reacted to the death of their mothers but everything feels blank.

“How did it happen?” She finally asks.

“Well, that was your mother. She jumped on the dragon with her battle ax. Nothing left.”

Alethaine squeezes her lips. Well, Tiriel was a half-elf. They barely live longer than two centuries.

But…

Suddenly Alethaine feels very old. She is 130, a young adult by elven standards. If she were a real elf, she would come to her people. But she has nowhere to go. Dhampirs are cursed with their long lives – they see their families and friends die and the world changes.

Without anywhere to belong to.

“Dad, when was the last time you ate?”

No response.

“Oh fuck…” Alethaine stands up and realizes one of the servants doesn't sleep. A young girl from a poor farmer family. 

The dhampir opens the door to the next room and sees the girl who is both scared and intrigued. 

“I am so sorry, lady Alethaine” she squeals. “Is this…”

“This is my father. And yes, he is a vampire.”

The servant keeps staring at Astarion from a distance. Now the fear is replaced with admiration.

“He is…” she mutters. “I am sorry. I’ve brought you a letter…”

“What is your name? Ilsa?” Alethaine closes the door. Even when he is a starving wreck, Astarion does attract humans.

The girl nods.

“My dad is starving. He hasn’t eaten for days or weeks, I don’t know. He needs blood, and I can’t give him mine.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a dhampir. My blood is poisonous for him.”

“And you want me to…” Ilsa shivers.

“Yes. I will pay you.”

Ilsa nods, tugging a collar. “I am a virgin.”

“What? Fuck, Ilsa, why are you humans so obsessed with it? Bring me a goblet!”

Ilsa returns in a heartbeat carrying a golden wine goblet (Alethaine still hopes that the talented jeweler who made it doesn’t know the necromancer uses it for cheap ale). 

Alethaine takes off a ring from her index finger. “You can buy a house with it. And if anyone blames you for theft, tell them that I will turn them inside out. Now, give me your hand.”

Ilsa’s blood pours down the goblet like a thick wine. When the girl is as pale as the dhampir, Alethaine lets her go and calls for another servant, an old strict maiden. “Give her something sweet. And prepare a bed for my father.” 

Alethaine sits beside her dad and hands him the goblet. 

“Drink.”

Astarion tries to say something but can’t. He drains the cup and then bursts into tears. 

He cries like a lost child covering his face with his palms.

Alethaine hugs him. She feels numb – Astarion has been living with this grief for almost half a year before as he was getting to Cormyr but she still doesn’t understand what she feels.

Her mother is dead.

She will never see her again. Tiriel will never braid her hair or call her “kitten”. She will never tell her stories about her adventures, she will never…

“I am just tired,” Astarion mutters. “When I get to rest, I still see her and think she is alive.”

Alethaine takes her father’s hand and makes him follow her to the guest bedroom. When he sits on the bed, she brings him a potion.

“You need to sleep. You need a real sleep, Dad.” 

Astarion doesn’t argue. He takes the potion and immediately collapses on the bed. The slumber takes him slowly and Alethaine stokes the fire to warm the room.

“Princess,” Astarion whispers.

“What is it, dad?”

“You know… I still sometimes wonder… How come… you are…real.” 

And then he falls asleep. Alethaine hopes he will see neither nightmares nor dreams.

**

Alethaine sits on the wall of the tower wearing her black armor. For some reason, her old clothes feel more comfortable than the newer dresses. 

She misses the road. She misses the wilderness. She misses being herself. As if her mother’s death destroyed an illusion.

Alethaine opens the letter.

It’s a weird mix of Abyssal symbols and Thieves’ Cant jargon. The dhampir lingo. Alethaine immediately recognizes Theris’s handwriting, her youth pal –  a bard tiefling who single-handedly invented the dhampir culture with their songs and superstitions, myths, and legends. 

COME TO US TO THE DHAMPIR FREEHOLD.

Alethaine keeps reading – the Dhampir Freehold? Her people have got a place of their own? Somewhere to belong? Alethaine studies the symbols which appear to be a map. 

Home…

The half-vampires, the grandchildren of the night, the kids of Cazador’s spawns have finally obtained their home. 

**

Astarion sees a dream. He knows it’s a dream for he isn’t in a reverie. And he has never been in a place like that.

“Astarion.”

He looks to the left and sees Tiriel. She wears an elven armor, one she never wore when she was alive.

And she looks…not exactly like she did when she was alive.

But it’s her. His beloved. His Tiriel. His savior.

“Don’t cry, my love,” she smiles and he notices she is a bit shorter than she was and her ears are longer. 

Elven ears.

“Tiriel…”

“We are all elves in Arvandor,” she says. “I will wait for you. You need to find your sunwalker gift.” Tiriel kisses him. 

**

Alethaine walks through the halls of the castle. She almost didn’t take anything with her except for a few expensive adornments she was going to sell (those were given to her by admirers).

The High Necromancer is going to disappear.

But she needs to say her goodbyes. 

Roderic, the eighth of his name, sits in his chair before the fireplace. He doesn’t sleep but Alethaine suspects he isn’t fully conscious. 

“Hello, Alethaine. Are you leaving?” he casually asks.

She nods. “I am going to my people.”

“Hm, well, then I bid you farewell, Alethaine Ancunin. You were quite an adventure. But can I hope you will come back if my descendants need a dark witch to help them?”

Alethaine smiles.

“I will see what I can do. Goodbye, my king,” Alethaine passes by him and opens the window. 

“You know, we humans have a saying, too,” he murmurs. “Bless be a man who loved an elf.” 

With these words, the king falls asleep.

Alethaine approaches him and kisses his wrinkled forehead like she used to do when he was just a boy afraid of the dark.

And then she leaves the room walking down the castle wall.

**

“So, you are going to the Underdark?” Astarion asks when father and daughter meet at the tavern. “I think there are more…appropriate places for a woman like you.”

“I am a dhampir, Dad, we are not solitary creatures like vampires,” Alethaine says. “And you? Where are you going?”

“Back to the Sword’s Coast. You know, I prefer to mess up with the law than with monsters. Besides, everyone needs a good lawyer these days!”

“Dad…” she groans. “How many valuable possessions did you steal?”

“Nonsense,” he laughs.

“Doesn’t matter, I am not coming back anyway,” Alethaine hugs Astarion. “Hope we shall meet soon.”

“I am sure of it, my princess,” Astarion kisses the crown of her head. 

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka  

@herstxrgirl 

@herdarkestnightelegance  

@vixstarria 

@not-so-lost-after-all  

@marcynomercy  

@theearthsfinalconfession 

@starlight-ipomoea    

@micropoe10 

@astarion-imagine-archive  

@veillsar

@elora-the-slutty-songstress  

@fayeriess  

@lumienyx  

@tallymonster    

@caitlincat-95  

@tragedybunny  

@valeprati  

@lynnlovesthestars   

@marina-and-the-memes  

@waking-eyes   

@ayselluna  

@connorsui  

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@darkarchangel96  

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@brainfullofhotsauce   

@coffeeanddonutscafe  

@my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen 

@queenofthespacesquids  

@ednaaa-04  

@dajeong

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

@nyx-knox

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #baldur's gate tav #astarion established relationship #half elf tav #hurt/comfort #tiriel of the sunset mountains #tiriel the barbarian #astarion x tiriel #oc tav: tiriel #astarion ancunin #astarion baldurs gate #astarion baldurs gate 3 #astarion brainrot #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion fluff #astarion fanfiction #astarion imagine #baldurs gate 3 astarion #astarion fics #alethaine ancunin #dadstarion #mortal bounds

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

#yeehaw #1k #5k #10k #posts that got cursed. blasted. im making these tag updates after... 19 hours? #also i have been told it should say speech loss bc nonverbal specifically refers to the permanent state. did not know that! #unfortunately i fear it is so far past containment that even if i edited it now it would do very little. but noted for future reference #edit 2: nvm enough ppl have come to rb it from me directly that i changed the wording a bit. hopefully this makes sense #also. in case anyone is curious. though i doubt anyone who is commenting these things will check the original tags #1) my friend did not do this on purpose in any way. it was not intended to distract me or to hit on me. im a lesbian hes a gay man. cmon now #he felt very bad about it afterwards. i thought it was hilarious but it was very embarrassed and apologetic #2) “why didn't he use 🫵🏼?” didn't exist yet. “why didn't he use 🆗?” dunno! we'd been using a lot of hand emojis. 👌🏼 is an ok sign #like it makes sense. it was just a silly mixup. also No i did not invent 👉🏼👌🏼 as a gesture meaning sex. do you live under a rock #3) nonspeaking episodes are a recurring thing in my life and have been since i was born. this is not a quirky one-time thing #it is a pervasive issue that is very frustrating to both myself and the people i am trying to communicate with. in which trying to speak is #extremely distressing and causes very genuine anguish. this post is not me making light of it it's just a funny thing that happened once #it's no different than if i post about a funny thing that happened in conjunction w a physical disability. it's just me talking abt my life #i don't mind character tags tho. those can be entertaining. i don't know what any of you are talking about #Except the ppl who have said this is pego/ryu or wang/xian. those people i understand and respect #if you use it as a writing prompt that's fine but send it to me. i want to see it #aaaand i think that's it. everyday im tempted to turn off rbs on it. it hasn't even been a week

[bubble--c]

insomnia is such a bitch

#it's nearly 6am #i'm still awake and although i *know* physically i'm tired #i just can't #sleep #i don't get it #but at least i get to read different comments in the tags of my hermitcraft posts ehe #might draw something #if anyone makes it this far into the tags #drop a request in dms or as anonymous ask if you're shy #and i'll draw it #i need inspo anyways #insomnia