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sleepingdeath-light · 2 months

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relationship hcs ; lucifer morningstar

requested by ; mod / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; lucifer morningstar

outline ; “dating headcanons for lucifer”

note ; this may be a touch out of character as i’ve never written for him before, but hopefully you’re all able to enjoy this piece either way ^^

warning(s) ; brief mentions to canon angst and one mildly suggestive bit, but mostly fluff!

after having a several thousand year long marriage fall apart on him and experiencing a strained relationship with his only child for a good number of years after that, it’s only natural that lucifer would struggle with letting himself fall in love and move on — both because he doesn’t want to risk pushing charlie away and because, well, despite being the prince of pride he has a lot of issues relating to his past and he’s worried about messing things up and losing someone else he loves

that’s not to say that courting the king of hell is impossible, far from it in fact, but that you just need to be patient with him — let him move at his own pace, he’s been out of the dating game for a while after all (if you could ever even consider him as being ‘in it’ at all given the unique circumstances under which he met his first wife)

despite being the embodiment of ‘pride’, he does deal with a great deal of insecurity and anxiety — about everything from his parenting to his creations to his relationship with you and even far beyond that — so any kind of verbal reassurance or praise will go a long way with him and will always be received with a great deal of warmth and gratitude

whisper about how much you love him as you hold him in your arms late in the evenings or early in the mornings, when you’re laying in bed and half asleep — making sure that you’re starting and ending each day on a positive, private, warm note no matter what happens between the ‘now’ and ‘then’

gush about his latest invention as you visit him in his workshop, commenting excitedly at each new feature and animatedly gesturing towards his whole collection of creations with nothing but genuine enthusiasm and awe written across your features — make sure he knows that his craftsmanship and efforts will never go unnoticed or unappreciated by you so long as he wants you by his side

encourage him to take those leaps of faith that he’d otherwise be too jaded or anxious to take on his own: hold his hand and help him find the strength to call up his daughter just to chat and give them their privacy once he’s back in his element and fully engaged with the conversation, give him a pep-talk before his latest meeting with heaven and their new emissary and promise that you’re only a text or call away if it gets too much for him (he’s never taken up your offer, but the promise always helps to calm his nerves), and just be there to push him forwards as his partner and be there to catch him if things don’t go his way

praise him for all of the features you love until his face is tinged a beautiful shade of red, his wings are all fluffed up, and he’s too flustered to even look you in the eye — compliment the angelic and the demonic, the human and inhuman, make sure there’s no doubt left in his mind that you’re completely and utterly infatuated with him in body, mind, and soul

oh and make no mistake this gentleman gives as good as he gets and he could easily spend days at a time talking about every little thing about you that he adores, every minor habit or quirk that most people wouldn’t even notice that makes his whole day that much brighter — there’s no room for any self doubt or self hatred when you’re in a relationship with this fallen angel because he loves you so deeply, so wholly, that you’ll inevitably start to love yourself that bit more through him

it’s extremely important to him that you get to know charlie and that she approves of your relationship — his daughter is his world, his everything, and as much as he adores you, he will not risk pushing her away again for any reason (as much as it would kill him inside to have to walk away from you)

that being said, charlie will inevitably end up really liking you and making an effort to get to know this person who her dad talks about all the time, making it abundantly clear that she approves of you and would be happy to have you in her life as her dad’s partner — and maybe another parental figure in her life depending on how things go, how your relationship with her evolves, and whether you prefer to be her ‘step parent’ or just her friend who happens to be dating her dad (she doesn’t mind either way, she just wants him to be happy)

between his angelic powers, extreme wealth, and prominent status in hell, lucifer is more than capable of spoiling you completely rotten — like as long as you’re with him, you’ll never want or need for anything as long as it’s within his abilities to get for you (whether that’s something more traditional like jewellery, clothes, books, or food, or something more niche and related to something you’re interested in, like a tool to help you engage in a hobby or a specific item you’ve been looking for to add to your collection)

he’s also not above just outright making you things as gifts — of course there are his ducks which he’s more than happy to share with you, but he’s also a pretty good cook and will make you breakfast in bed as a treat or as a way to cheer you up if you’ve been having a rough time

on a related note, this man goes all out for your anniversaries and on your birthday — he just… really loves being able to take care of you, that’s all

and despite all of that he still keeps each and every gift and card you give him — has a whole drawer dedicated to your letters and your gifts are scattered around the palace, with particularly sentimental items being kept in his bedroom and workshop

there are two pictures that he keeps on him at all times: one of him and charlie taken shortly after he helped rebuild the hotel and settled into his personal room there, and another of the two of you taken on your first anniversary of a couple — he regularly takes them out to help keep him motivated throughout the day, especially if his day has been rather draining for one reason or another

he’s extremely physically affectionate and gives the most amazing hugs — he uses his arms and his wings to hold you close and keep you warm and when you’re laying down it’s extremely easy for you to just fall asleep in his arms if you don’t make a conscious effort to stay awake and in the moment with him

his kisses can go a couple of different ways depending on his mood and the setting you’re in:

he can be gentlemanly and chaste if you’re in a formal setting or otherwise somewhere that requires him to uphold a certain image — limiting himself to brief pecks on the back of your hand, your cheeks, or your knuckles if he’s feeling especially bold (doing enough to show that you’re his partner but not enough that his ‘kingly’ persona is threatened)

he can also be very sweet and playful if you’re at home or around close friends and family — peppering kisses along your neck and jawline, kissing your lips and cheeks whilst brushing his fingers along your ticklish spots, nuzzling his ‘nose’ against yours before kissing you, etc. (showing affection in ways that are enough to make you laugh and lean into him, but not enough that he’d be making your loved ones uncomfortable by being a bit too intimate)

last but not least, he can also be passionate and intense when the two of you are alone and he’s practically aching to feel your lips on his — wet, open mouthed kisses against your lips, trailing slow kisses from the inside of your wrists up your arm whilst looking you in the eye, trailing his lips down your throat and alternating between kissing and playfully biting at your skin (nipping and marking at your pulse point every time without fail), trailing his mouth lower and lower until you’re so frustrated all you can do is pull him up by his collar and crash your lips against his own (making sure that you know that you’re desired as well as loved whilst also being a bit playful about getting what he wants from you)

he always makes sure that he’s able to spend some quality time with you each day beyond just your sleeping hours — whether that means planning a proper date, meeting up for lunch between meetings, or stopping by wherever you are at the time via teleportation just to check in and make sure everything’s okay

lucifer has a wide variety of pet names that he uses with you — this includes the classics like ‘sweetheart’, ‘angel’, and ‘love’, as well as some more personalised ones like ‘duckie’, and more humorous ones that he comes up with on the spot to make you laugh and smile — and he loves any nickname that you ascribe to him no matter how ridiculous other people may find them

more than happy to show you off to all of hell as his beloved partner and their future monarch that will be reigning by his side one day — he’s more than capable of defending you from any threats himself and the palace is well protected so he has absolutely no reservations about making it known to every demon and sinner that you belong to him, and that he belongs to you

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #fluff #fluff hcs #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel lucifer fluff #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader

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freelancearsonist · 2 months

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Hold Me Like a Knife

Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Rated MA for p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, smoking/nicotine use, excessive drinking, characters not knowing how to handle emotions properly (same), ANGST [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

6,003 Words

A/N: thank you to the lovely @shakespeareanwannabe for being my ever faithful beta reader ily 🥺

Smoke disperses in abstract swirls from Joel’s parted lips, the tang of nicotine making his taste buds prickle. It’s been a long time since he’s been afforded the luxury of a cigarette and this first drag makes him think he might not want to pick the habit back up, after all. But you worked hard to find these for him after he mentioned he missed having a smoke, and he’s not one to let a gift go unappreciated. Especially now that gifts are off the table.

It’s become routine at this point. Waking up in the middle of the night; reaching for you, realizing all over again that you’re not there anymore; ruminating on what’s happened, how he’s taken you for granted. At least he has his cigarette to keep him company.

There’s no chance of going back to sleep for him–it’s 4AM anyway, close enough to a full night’s sleep. He takes another drag and decides it’s not as bad anymore. He just needs to get reacclimated to it.

He only allows himself to savor half the cigarette before he stubs it out in the ashtray on the nightstand–another gift from you–to save for next time he needs it. He wants to make this pack last; he doesn’t care as much about maintaining the habit as he does about having any little piece of you he can.

Two hours later, he’s bathed to the best of his ability given the stunted resources in the quarantine zone and ready for another day in hell.

He didn’t hate it nearly as much until he started working with you again.

When you see him you wear the same soft smile you always do, nodding your head in greeting as if nothing is wrong. His face remains flat as he nods back. Nothing he can do but play along–pretend you were never his to lose in the first place. After all, if you haven’t heard his heart fracturing into a million pieces by now, you never will.

“Either quit starin’ or go over there and talk to her,” Tess tells him sternly. He immediately snaps his eyes away and tries to shoot her a glare, but he’s a bit too embarrassed for it to actually land.

“M’not starin’,” he grunts.

She actually almost cracks a smile at his denial. “The hell you’re not, you look like a lost puppy. Why don’t you talk to her?”

“She ain’t interested in talkin’.”

“Bullshit. That’s all she wants.”

Maybe Tess is right. Maybe he’s the one who’s afraid. He’s not going to admit that, though.

“If she wanted to talk to me, she’d come talk to me.”

“You probably scared her off.”

Joel slams his hand against the wagon bed, startling everyone within a ten meter radius except Tess. “That’s enough.”

“Touchy.” Tess rolls her eyes but backs off nonetheless, not interested in poking the bear any further.

Joel lets it go and turns his attention back to his assigned job for the day, mentally preparing himself for another night of washing the stench of death from himself and his clothes. Normally, you would do it for him without complaining. Now it’s just another addition to the list of efforts he didn’t appreciate enough while he had you.

Even though he dreads the consequences, he allows himself to become completely preoccupied with his work in a way he normally wouldn’t. It’s a reprieve from the constant swirling of his mind, from the overthinking that keeps him up at night or invades his dreams when he finally finds rest.

The day is over far too soon, and then he’s back in his little apartment with nothing but his own mind for company.

His mind hasn’t been a friend lately.

He looks around and everywhere his dark amber eyes catch, he sees you. You sprawled on the worn couch underneath a threadbare blanket, you swaying your hips to the rhythm of silent music in the kitchen, you casually dropping the towel wrapped around your naked body to the floor as you step out of the shower and lure him down the hall to the bedroom.

He wants to crawl into a deep, dark pit when he remembers what he said and how he chased you away. Your only sin was introducing him to someone as your man, and he played like he was upset about it because that’s not what this was ever supposed to be. There had been an agreement, in the beginning, that feelings wouldn’t be involved. It would be you, him, separate, occasionally helping each other out.

It so quickly turned into you and him, so inseparable you were practically living together. Neither of you even tried to stop it despite the agreement. And Joel was fine with it, liked it even. Until it was put into words.

Because he’s not supposed to be anyone’s. He’s Joel Miller, and he’s not deserving of belonging to anyone; including himself.

He didn’t mean to push you away. It was more out of instinct, an inborn urge to self-destruct.

The instinct has won, because he feels like mere pieces at this point. Like you’ve taken a sledgehammer to his heart repeatedly, which really isn’t fair to you. Space was his decision–you didn’t even fight it.

With a third of whiskey in his hand and an ache in his jaw from having it unconsciously clenched so long, he slumps down on his time-worn couch and begins a long night of rehashing mistakes and feeling bad for himself.

It could be so easily fixed if he just swallowed his pride. It’s a competition of will at this point–a game to see who can survive without the other for the longest. He hates that he’s losing, that it’s not affecting you; that even though it was his choice, he’s the one who’s suffering the most.

He must spill his drink–although he can’t find where it possibly could’ve been spilled, everything around him is dry–because it’s gone within a few minutes. He allows himself another glass as a reward for surviving a particularly shitty day.

When he comes to in the morning, there’s a pounding in his head so loud that it drowns out any other sound he might hear. It takes him a moment to realize that the pounding is on the door–then he processes how blinding the sun is coming through the slats of the tattered blinds precariously hanging over the window.

Joel pushes himself up from the couch with a grunt and stumbles a little, nearly falling right back into place. He curses himself for becoming such a lightweight as he stomps his way over to the door and throws it open.

“Jesus Christ, you reek,” Tess chokes, pushing past him to make her way inside. “I’ve only been knockin’ for ten minutes, what the hell were you doin’?”

“Sleeping,” he tells her with a pointed glare. It doesn’t ruffle her at all–it never does.

“Missed morning shift,” she notes. “How much you have to drink?”

“Not enough.”

“Alright, that’s it,” she tells him with a sigh. “It’s time to stop with the pity party if you’re not gonna play the hand you’re dealt. You know how stupid you’re being? She wants you. You want her. Two words’ll fix the whole thing and you’ll go right back to bein’ the disgusting little lovebirds you are. Apologize.”

“No,” he insists without thinking it over. Because he knows she’s right–he owes you an apology. And he also knows you’ll take him back the instant he delivers.

Which is exactly why he can’t. He knows he doesn’t deserve another chance to take you for granted. He didn’t appreciate you enough when he had you, and you deserve to find someone who will. Asking for another chance would be the most selfish thing he’s ever done, and Joel Miller is not a selfish man.

“Then drink yourself to death.” As much as Tess plays at being frustrated with him, he’s never seen her this legitimately upset. “I’m done cleanin’ up for you. You’re acting pathetic, Joel Miller. Get yourself together or get yourself over.”

And before he can stop her, apologize, beg, plead, do anything besides bite his tongue in pure shock, she’s gone. The slam of the door rings through his head for a good minute longer than it should.

All he can do is slump like a sack of potatoes onto the couch, his center of gravity off balance from the weight in his heart and the churning in his stomach.

It was never supposed to be like this; it was never supposed to get this far. You were supposed to fight him, demand he stay, do anything to make him feel like you really want to be with him. Instead, you acquiesced without resistance. You listened to his offer of space and accepted without hesitance. Almost like you were looking for an out.

That’s what hurts most, maybe. That you can still afford to smile at him like nothing ever happened between you when he feels like he’ll never smile again.

He knows he can’t lose Tess over this–she’s the only friend he’s got and a damned good business partner. He knows it’s time to clean up his act. What he doesn’t know is if he actually can without you by his side.

Baby steps. He decides to start by showering and changing his clothes; the freshness should make him feel astronomically better.

He lets the limited hot water run over his sore muscles and through his hair, trying to wash away memories of you along with the dirt and grime.

He thinks of long nights spent sneaking out after curfew–his pack heavy on his aching shoulders but barely feeling it when you’re so near. He thinks of nights in this apartment together, hours and hours spent reminiscing and planning new trips and even more hours spent in comfortable silence. He thinks of you on your knees in this very shower with him, of how he felt akin to a god beneath your praise and worship.

He lets the thoughts swirl for just a moment, and then he watches as they trickle down the drain.

A towel off and a change of clothes later, and he’s almost a new man. The hole in his chest has shrunk a bit, at least.

One deep breath, then another. Joel can almost feel you slipping through his fingers, and for once the sensation doesn’t terrify him. There’s a quiet solitude, a resignation to his mind now. He’ll never be happy, and that’s okay. He might at least be able to find peace if he can’t have you.

He finds Tess and apologizes–at least in the best fashion Joel Miller can manage. It’s a grunted “sorry” and not much more, but it’s enough.

And then, because he has nothing else to do with his free time, he throws himself completely into survival. Working long shifts at the fires during the day, and even longer shifts as a smuggler at night. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes deepen and his hair grays rapidly, but he finds a way out. He finds a way away from you, and he doesn’t hesitate to take it.

Somehow, you beat him to Jackson. He doesn’t know how–he’s sure you were still in Boston when he left–but you’re waiting there for him when he arrives.

Waiting maybe isn’t the best way of putting it; you look at him like you’re looking at a poltergeist. Not just a ghost of your past, but a volatile and unpredictable one at that.

He can’t blame you. He ditched you, after all–not just emotionally, but physically.

You observe from afar for a while, like a timid animal meeting its first human. You watch his reunion with his brother, how he seems to fit like a puzzle piece into such a tight knit community. You even see him interacting with the young girl he’s brought along with him, and you wonder if he’s changed. If maybe he’s allowed his heart to open even just the slightest fraction.

The whole of Jackson gathers to greet this newest member, and you’re on the very edge of the crowd. But it’s like there’s an invisible string connecting the two of you—like the sea of people parts to make a path for your reunion.

Joel doesn’t know what to say. It’s been so long, and yet it feels like just yesterday he still had you in his arms.

You nod at him and awkwardly shuffle your feet against the cracked pavement. ”Hey.”

”Hey.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for you.

You don’t show the same restraint.

In mere seconds you’re on him, arms around his neck and lips pressed to his like he’s air—like if you don’t breathe him in you’ll die.

He grunts in surprise at the suddenness, but more at the fact that he can’t believe this is happening. That you’re really here, really in his arms, really kissing him. He doesn’t know if it would be better to talk through everything first, but he’s missed you so badly that there doesn’t seem to be another way to communicate it other than to show you. His hands settle on your waist and pull you tightly against him, lips parting to allow your tongue access. It’s harsh and it’s frenzied, but it’s beautiful in the way a force of nature is.

And then you remember the prying eyes surrounding you and you reluctantly pull out of his grasp.

There’s a bit of muffled conversation and a particularly loud wolf-whistle from Tommy before the crowd disperses, and you’re alone together for the first time in more than a year.

”Sorry—“ “That was—”

He clears his throat, and you nod in signal for him to take his turn.

“How did you get here?”

“It was a fluke, really. I caught a radio broadcast and decided to check it out. The QZ didn’t feel like home anymore after you left.”

Joel tries as hard as he can not to read too far into that, but he can’t help the fleeting hope that it means you wanted to fix things. That maybe you weren’t as unbothered as you always seemed to be.

You clear your throat and continue. “But… what about you? Who’s the kid? Where’s Tess?”

”I’m takin’ the kid to the fireflies. Tess is gone.”

Your face falls instantly. You’ve admittedly always been a little bit jealous of Tess and her closeness to Joel, but you never wished this upon her.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Joel grunts noncommittally, and you’re left to awkwardly shuffle your feet while you think of something else to say. You’ve spent so much time apart, there should be so much more to talk about. But even in the QZ, talking was never your speciality—and it definitely wasn’t Joel’s. More than anything with him, you’re familiar with the comfortable silence that surrounds two people who’ve spent a lifetime together. Your lifetime with Joel just happened to be over the span of a couple of months; but that’s how it goes with someone who matches you so completely. There doesn’t have to be anything said when he already knows what you’re thinking—when you’re two parts of a whole.

”Sorry. About kissing you. I… I’m normally better controlled,” you mumble.

”Don’t be.” He clears his throat, shifts his feet—does everything within his power from making eye contact with you because he knows if he does he won’t be able to stop himself. “Wasn’t bad.”

”We did agree we weren’t gonna do that anymore,” you point out.

”That was back in the QZ.”

”And here?”

The hope in your voice is unmistakable. You’ve missed him, and that’s almost impossible for him to comprehend. Joel wants nothing more than to lean into your hope; to give you—and him—exactly what you want. You’ve missed out on so much time, and there’s little time available to make up for it.

Fuck it, he decides. “Here? I’m pullin’ my head out of my ass.”

And then he kisses you, and it’s not sweet. It burns—with passion, desire, regret. He presses his lips to yours like he’s finally realizing what he’s lost and might never get back. Joel Miller isn’t a man who can say sorry easily, but he says it to you now with his lips, and his tongue, and his hands.

It feels like you’re learning him all over again. You marvel at how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are as you run your palms across them. You revel in the softness of his lips and the contrasting scratch of his patchy beard. More than anything, you’re in awe of the feeling of his hands—how familiar they feel even after so long as they trail down your neck from your face on the way to your hips.

You pull away sooner than you want to, but you both seem to realize that you can’t just snog in the middle of the street. Most of the crowd has cleared out by now, but there’s a few sets of wandering eyes to worry about.

“Tommy didn’t happen to show you your house, did he?”

Joel’s brow furrows in the most adorable way as he suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings.

“I have a house? Is that where he’s taken Ellie off to?”

“C’mon, follow me.” With a wave of your hand, you’re headed down the street. Joel stands frozen in disbelief for a moment, utterly dumbfounded that you’re really here and really still want him the way you used to. He has to jog the few steps to catch up to your side, and then every ounce of effort goes into not grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours.

You clear your throat in preparation for the question you have to ask. “I… I swear I don’t want to push labels or anything, but… what exactly is going on here?”

Joel sighs, and it’s easy to mistake it as a sigh of annoyance. You open your mouth to expand on your question, but he stops you.

”I made a mistake. I know it, I knew it while I was makin’ it. But I didn’t stop myself because… because you deserve better.”

You open your mouth again, and he holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t argue. You know it’s true. And the thing is… I’ve spent a lot of time bein’ selfish, if fightin’ to survive can be called that. You’re good, and I don’t deserve to be selfish when it comes to you.”

”I want you to be selfish,” you insist as firmly as you can. “Joel, you don’t seem to understand how much I adore you, how much I rely on you. How much it hurt to lose you.”

He tries to shrug, but it’s half-hearted. There’s a kind of sick satisfaction to the fact that you were struggling just as much as he was. ”You seemed fine.”

”I was dying, Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now, and he feels guilty for insinuating that your pain wasn’t real.

”I was, too.”

”I just wish you would’ve talked to me,” you whisper. “I could’ve made it better. Things could’ve been different.”

”But they aren’t.” His tone is firm, but not malicious. He’s not trying to be mean—all he wants is for you to understand that there’s no point dwelling on the past. It’s something he’s learned over twenty years; that no matter how hard to focuses on all the mistakes he’s made and the things he regrets, there’s no way to undo any of them. No point in focusing on them at all, really.

”I… I miss you,” you tell him. “I don’t wanna keep going to bed alone and waking up wishing you were there. I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends with benefits or whatever the fuck we were supposed to have been. I don’t want to lose you over any more stupid arguments. I loved you, Joel. I still do.”

Joel swallows thickly. He’s known for a long time how he feels, and he also knows he doesn’t deserve to feel the way he does. Telling you might be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. ”I love you too.”

”Then can we… stop being stupid?” There’s a giggle behind your tears, and it brings the smallest of smiles to his face.

”Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” He kisses you again, pausing on the steps of the house he’s supposed to occupy so he can pull you tightly into his arms. This one is sweeter, almost like a promise. Like he’s going to be a new man and this is his seal of authentication.

He scoops you up in his arms despite your squeal of protest, barely pausing enough to read the note on the door.

Took Ellie on a grand tour. We’ll meet y’all at dinner. - Tommy

You glance at your watch, then look up into his eyes. He’s thinking exactly what you are; his dark eyes are burning with tension. ”A whole hour of pure uninterrupted bliss. What’re we gonna do with ourselves?”

”I’ve got a couple ideas,” Joel grunts as he pushes the door open with his back, careful not to jostle you too much. “Startin’ with makin’ up for lost time.”

This time, he kisses you like you’re unbreakable. Like he’s diamond and testing your hardness, and you’re determined to meet his standards. You meet his lips with ferocity and take the initiative to slide your tongue over his bottom lip, reveling in the slight uptilt of his lips as he parts them for you.

You’re still in tune to his reactions, even after so long. You still know exactly where to pull his hair to make his hips buck towards you, where to kiss his neck to make him moan, where to place your hands so he’ll pull you impossibly tighter against him. He’s a puzzle you solved long ago, and even after taking the pieces apart you know where to put them back together again.

Joel’s head is all but spinning as he pulls you deeper inside, ignoring the urge to explore the unfamiliar surroundings for now in favor of finding a place that’s suitable to take you. He’s feverish and hurried, far from gentle because he knows he doesn’t need to be. You’re taking everything he’ll give and more. Later, there will be time for the gentle love-making that he admittedly prefers sometimes. For now, it’s desperate, wild, overwhelming in the best way possible. It’s getting reacquainted after so much time apart—old lovers using old tricks.

His hands have gotten rougher and even more calloused, but they remember you like it’s only been days since they were last on you. His palms trace every curve like you’re precious art. He holds you like water, like the slightest mishandle will send you spilling away from him; in complete contrast to the way he kisses you, harsh and nearly biting. It fogs your mind, sends you into autopilot. Your muscle memory takes command as you strip him bare and toss his clothes to the side, appreciating how little he’s changed besides the length of his hair and the extra gray that’s sprouted. He’s still your Joel, even after being apart for what seems like a lifetime.

”I never appreciated you enough,” he whispers into your neck as he unhooks your bra with a snap of his fingers. “Never worshiped you the way I should’ve.”

”I’m not a god,” you tell him, breath heavy even after parting from his lips.

”You are to me,” he mumbles into your skin, contrasting the honeyed praise with a stinging bite to the precise spot that makes your back arch.

He trails gentler bites down the flesh of your torso, leaving marks that contrast his statement. Gods aren’t meant to be owned, and yet he claims you in every way he can. He lays on you any little trace of his possession he can, because he knows how easily it could be taken away from him. He lost you once before, marks faded from your skin completely. He doesn’t ever want it to happen again.

The scent of you is heady, mouth-watering to a mind that was so sure it would never have you again. He knows he’s pressed for time, and he really does consider taking all of it to drink from you; to get his fill and leave himself unsatisfied if he has to.

But you’re whining and squirming, tugging at his hair in a feeble attempt to pull him up to you, and he knows he’d much rather give you what you want.

You’re wet enough to take him, but it’s still nearly painful when he pushes his full length into you for the first time in so long. He growls at the sensation, at every little pulse and flutter of your cunt around him as you struggle to accommodate him.

Your breath is airy and whiny as you glance up at him. ”Joel…”

”I know baby,” he coos, fighting for restraint so he doesn’t hurt you. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it pretty girl, can’t you?”

You would take literally anything so long as he keeps talking to you like that.

You nod up at him, but it’s not enough.

”Words, honey. Tell me you can take me.”

He doesn’t miss the way your cunt contracts around him as you vow, “I can take you, Joel.”

”Atta girl.”

He starts off easy, slow enough not to overwhelm you but deep enough to nearly make you choke. His hips are flush with your ass at the base of every stroke, like he’s trying to push even further with each thrust of his hips. Maybe he is. Maybe all he wants is to get deeper and deeper until there’s nothing left out—until you’ve consumed him completely. He already feels halfway there as it is.

Your legs wrap around his waist in a desperate attempt to que him in on what you need—not long, languid strokes but hard, fast thrusts that’ll get the job done quickly. There is a time constraint to factor in, after all.

He grants your wish instantly, glad for the invitation because he’s finding it hard to continue his facade of self-control. He ruts hard and fiercely, one hand trailing from your waist to your knee so he can prop your leg up and allow an even deeper angle.

With the slightest shift of his hips he finds it—the spot that makes you writhe and scream for more. He revels in all the noises you make for him as you toss your head back and forth, like the pleasure is so overwhelming that you want to squirm away yet press closer simultaneously.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbles as his free hand finds its way between your entangled bodies. It’s almost like you’re magnetic, his fingers find your clit so easily. The small, firm circles he rubs against it with his calloused fingers are almost too much, but also almost not enough. Not until he picks up his pace, drilling into exactly where you need him with a fervor you didn’t even know he possessed.

It takes all the effort you can muster to warn him, ”S-so close…”

”I know sweetie,” he purrs, breath heavy against your ear as he shifts his hand to hitch your leg just the slightest bit higher over his hip. “It’s okay. Let go f’me.”

You’re nothing if not obedient, and Joel knows it. It’s only confirmed by the way you squeeze around him in a vice grip, legs shaking in his grip as your eyes practically roll back in your head. It’s bone-shattering pleasure, like he’s pulling you apart stitch by stitch and sewing you back together again with newer, more pleasurable fabric.

He’s quick to pull out, maybe a little prematurely as you’re still twitching with the aftershocks of your own orgasm, but even his pleasure-addled brain knows the risk he runs if he stays buried deep inside you any longer. He gives himself two, three firm strokes, then allows himself to spill over your stomach in thick, hot ropes that make you moan all over again.

He doesn’t hold himself up much longer before collapsing on the too-soft mattress with a heavy grunt.

”Missed this,” you murmur next to his ear as he drapes an arm over your waist. He pulls you in close and hums at the way you nuzzle your face into his neck despite how sweaty he must be.

“How much time we got left?”

You take a peek at your watch, then groan. “Five minutes.”

”Shit.” He’s not ready to let you go yet, but he pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed anyway.

”We could just skip dinner,” you suggest with a hopeful pout to your lips as you stretch out further over the floral bedspread.

As much as he wants to… “Can’t. Gotta grab Ellie. Can’t leave her alone all day.”

”You must really care about her.” There’s no malice to your tone—it’s more surprise.

He simply grunts in response—he’ll never admit it, but he can’t deny it either. “C’mon. Clothes on.”

He gathers the pile from the floor and tosses it to you, practically burying you where you lay.

”Forgot how bossy you are,” you grumble but follow the instruction nevertheless.

It’s a little awkward, sitting across the table from your lover’s family like your legs aren’t still a little weak from being so thoroughly fucked. But Joel’s hand is a constant on your thigh, and you even catch him smirking a little as Ellie grills you with a million questions—mostly about your relationship with Joel.

For once, everything feels normal. For once, you forget about the crumbling world around you. In this bubble with Joel, everything is stable and secure. There’s a future on the horizon and a chance to write your own story.

You drag Joel back home at the soonest opportunity, patiently biding your time while he settles Ellie in for the night. You hear heated conversation bordering on an argument, but he doesn’t say anything about it when he enters the room for the night.

Instead he drags you to him in a heated kiss, his large hands practically engulfing your face as his tongue sweeps into your mouth to re-familiarize himself with known yet long-unexplored territory.

He hates having to tamp down your moans, but he loves being able to swallow them with his own mouth as his fingers trace through your slick folds. You’re still puffy, wet, and sensitive from his earlier onslaught, but it doesn’t deter you one bit. He revels in each little whimper and gasp, all the involuntary squirms and twitches as he brings you to the brink on his thick, calloused fingers. He swallows every little sound with a fevered kiss until your lips are swollen and red—and then you turn the tables on him. You take him in your palm, whispering praises about how your hand can barely close around him while stroking him with the gentle, languid movements that you know drive him crazy. He fights to keep his sounds down as you settle close in his lap, chest pressed to his and legs locked tight around his thighs until the moment he has to pull your hand away from fear of finishing too fast.

This is the exact foil of the way he fucked you earlier in a frenzied, desperate passion. Now it’s soft and languid, more like searching and exploring than trying to find the end goal. It’s hot and sweaty and sticky from where your skin is pressed so tightly against his, but his strong hands only drag you closer and closer and you really don’t even consider pulling away—not when he gently tugs your hair to tilt your head back for a deeper kiss, not when he lifts you up so effortlessly to help you sink down on his achingly hard cock, not even when his hands squeeze your hips hard enough to leave bruises at the feeling of bottoming out in your soaked cunt.

You couldn’t count the minutes you’re on top of him even if you cared to try. It’s an eternity of softly rocking hips and open-mouthed kisses, like if he breathes air from anywhere besides your lungs it’ll poison him. He doesn’t even care that it practically feels like torture—like not enough but simultaneously far too much as you do nothing more than rock on his length. It takes a lifetime before he loses his patience and anchors your hips in his capable hands so he can fuck you properly. He guides you to bounce on him, hitting deeper with each perfectly matched upward thrust of his own hips.

You’re falling apart before you even know what’s hit you, biting your lip almost to the point of drawing blood to keep your sounds under control as you fall limp in his arms.

And Joel—sweet, sweet Joel—has the foresight to check in with you before he does what he has to.

”Good, baby? Feel okay? Wanna stop?”

You shake your head, and it takes you a moment to find breath enough to tell him, “Don’t stop. Come in me.”

The demand is so unexpected that it hits him like a tidal wave—and before he knows it, his cock is twitching with forceful spasms as he paints you from the inside out until you’re dripping his spend out around his softening length.

Evidently, you’re not the only one caught up in this bubble of paradise within the walls of Jackson.

He doesn’t say anything, just rolls onto his side so he can hold you closer without his cock slipping from your warmth. That’s exactly how you fall asleep—him snuggly inside you, kissing your hair and whispering the sweetest of nothings into your ear.

When you wake up, you feel empty in more ways than one.

There’s dust particles swirling in the sunbeam streaming through the far window, and your stomach sinks when you reach over and feel Joel’s side of the bed completely cold.

You try not to jump to conclusions, but you know exactly what you’ll find even before you read the note left on the nightstand.

Easier not to say goodbye. I promised I’d take Ellie to the Fireflies, and you know I always make good on my promises.

I promise I’ll come back for you.

Joel

It’s not a promise that he can make with complete certainty, and you know it. You’re sure he knew it, too; and yet he did it anyway, promised you the impossible.

You remember far too suddenly that there’s risks involved with literally anything done in this crumbling, broken world—and just like that, the perfect little bubble you’ve lived in for the past sixteen hours has popped. There’s no fairytale endings here, no happily ever afters.

There’s you, alone and aching, hoping beyond hope the man you love will return to your side.

And there’s Joel, out in the wilderness somewhere, wondering if he’s even worthy of returning to your side.

Maybe he’s not. But maybe making good on this promise—dropping Ellie off so they can find a cure—will tip his scales. Maybe he’ll be worthy of finally settling down with you the way he wants to after this one last job. He knows he’ll have to spend hours upon hours apologizing to you for it, but it would be worth it to know that he finally made the world at least a little bit better rather than worse—to know that he’s finally done something for you to be proud of.

He knows he has to prove himself one way or another before he can return to your side. And he will.

After all, Joel Miller is a man who always makes good on his promises.

THE END

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#cece writes #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut

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hanasnx · 7 months

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"oranges."

MINORS DNI 18+

There's so much to love, hate, and admire about LEO CAMPO.

He calls his friends “cousin.” Even if they're not blood, they're family.

He corrects your pronunciation of his full name when you ask for it. He teaches you how to say it the way his parents meant it to be said. What his future restaurant will be called. What his mother yelled when he was in trouble for playing craps behind Pizza Napoli.

He quit smoking because you express disinterest in the way it makes his saliva taste. He chews nic gum constantly to soothe that oral fixation. You start to miss the way cloves smelled on his jackets.

Barely gets enough sleep. Between his job at his father’s joint, his shifts at the bar, and staying up late to work on the spot he leased, he’s swamped. Any spare time he has is spent on his restaurant, molding it to his visions. He loves this town, and he’s excited to put down some roots.

Who doesn’t realize he makes you jealous when he places his hands on his coworker’s hips behind the bar so he can get past her. Or how she takes every excuse to hover around him long past her training has completed. How she calls for him in a tune, or interrupts your conversation with him to ask you if she can, “steal your boyfriend real quick.” You’re onto her.

Who swears up and down that she doesn’t have a thing for him, and you’re making shit up. It’s cute that you’re jealous and all, but c’mon. She knows he’s her boss. He’s unappreciative of your “infringement” upon his actions. Unfortunately, you can’t let this go. Not when she so clearly wants to fuck him.

Who scoffs when you tell him, “Okay, if you don’t believe me, text her. Do it right now. Ask her to hook up.” because you’re sick of dragging this out. He protests you, but simply being higher than her in the bar’s food chain does nothing to quiet your nerves. You don’t care if he’s her boss.

“Didn’t know you got so fucking jealous. Maybe we should just call off the whole thing.” he says. It stings to be told you’re not worth the effort. That he’d rather quit on giving you and him a real shot instead of just easing your worries.

“Is that what you wanna do, Leo? Huh? Call off this whole thing just so you can keep acting like a sleaze?”

He scoffs at you. “What the fuck are you even saying?” It’s too late to derail your train of thought, it won’t be deescalated after what he’s admitted. You’re apparently not worth the effort. So you gather your things.

“Fine. You win.” you reply, “Don’t call me until you get fucking smart.” You throw your belongings into your purse, throwing it over your shoulder to exit the empty bar.

An annoyed sigh sounds behind you, but you don’t look back. “Baby.” His exasperation shines through when he calls after you, “Baby! C’mon, I didn’t mean it.” When that doesn’t receive the usual response, he fishes out his phone from his pocket. You open the door, cold air blowing in while he surrenders his phone, “I’m doing it! I’m doing it, look!” You halt, and eye him as he begins typing. “I’m doing it. And...” he muses. “send. It’s sent.” He turns it to show you the screen, and gently you close the door. “Now we’ll just wait—“ His cell isn’t halfway back in his pocket before a text tone beeps. “Oh, already.. Huh.” His brows furrow, deepening as he lays his gaze on it to read.

“What? What does it say?” you demand.

He says nothing, and you hastily approach. As soon as he registers your lingering presence, he jerks it away, but you're steadfast. Your hands catch his wrist to yank his cell back into your view. "'Was waiting for you to ask. Could tell your G-F was getting on your nerves.'?" Each word you read aloud your voice raises. His head lulls with a disappointed sigh through his nose, pressing his eyes closed as your nails dig into his skin unintentionally.

When you make one move, returning to your route to the door, he's swift in latching a hand on your upper arm. "Woah, woah, where you goin'?" There was something off about that girl, and you knew it.

"To go knock that bitch's headlights out!" you reply as you're drawn right back to him, bracing your fists against his chest. Truthfully, you don't want to be anywhere near him. After dismissing your instincts and giving that girl any indication that he was annoyed with you pissed you the fuck off. "Let me go!" you command, and he palms your forearms, arresting you as you thrash.

"I'm not gonna let you go off and do somethin' stupid!" His response causes you to flick off his grasp, throwing your hands down to release them. A quiet moment passes as you pant, sharing a heated exchange of eye contact. You shy away at first as his fingers graze your elbow, but you allow him to use it to lead you softly towards the bar. "Let's just... talk about this, huh? Lemme get you somethin'." He pours you a drink, but you don't touch it yet, pressing your lips into a thin line. He inclines his head in an attempt to catch you eye. "Will you look at me? Please?"

An accusatory finger jabs into his chest as you lay your gaze on him, that wrath flaring within you. "And you—" you seethe, and he suspends his hands in surrender, "you let her think you were annoyed with me. What did you say to her?" His posture straightens, upturning his brows as he defends himself.

“Honest, baby, I don’t know where she got a thing like that. S’crazy.” Your expression hardens, grilling him. He concedes, his face twisting as that familiar noise of, "'Ehh," spills from his lips. “I may—” he relays tentatively, “—have told her a little somethin' about how you were getting on my case about staying late—"

"—Leo."

"—She wanted to play pool so we’d hit the balls around a bit and I’d come straight home after closing up shop. It was a little bonding! You know? I’m a boss! Was trying to make her feel at home! That’s it, I swear—”

"—Leo."

"—Sure, you can be a little pitchy, but I wouldn't tell her that—"

"—Leo!"

His parted lips close, dropping his hands.

LEO CAMPO can be exceedingly difficult to have a conversation with, but he makes it worthwhile. Showing you how sorry he is, eating his words as he eats you out on top of his bar. Murmuring shit into your cunt about how that girl wishes he'd done this to her, fantasizes about fucking him in the empty bar... but who's got him doing that right now? Who runs him? Of course it's you. Just to get the point across, you make him fuck you bent over the pool table too.

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lightandfellowship · 7 months

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Eraqus wants so badly to be a savior. A savior to Vor, a savior to Baldr, a savior to Xehanort, a savior to Terra, a savior to the world as one of the last protectors of light. But he almost always fails, because he’s so unwilling to acknowledge how his actions and beliefs contribute to his loved ones feeling ostracized.

He unintentionally makes Vor feel left out and unappreciated (though he's not the only one guilty of this), and that contributes to her decision to leave her friends and join Vidar. When she does, Eraqus is quick to suggest that Vidar is just using Vor and putting her in danger, and thus she needs to be saved/brought back home, despite Vor making it pretty clear that she had made up her mind. He fails to bring her back home himself, and when she finally does return to Scala of her own volition, he fails to save her from Baldr.

He expresses an open hatred of darkness to Baldr, a boy who is secretly struggling with his own darkness, which potentially contributes to Baldr making some rash decisions (going after his sister) and eventually embracing that darkness out of hopelessness and desperation. By the end of the game, despite knowing that Baldr has killed almost all of his friends, Eraqus expresses a desire to spare Baldr, wanting to appeal to the Real Baldr who is surely still in there somewhere. No amount of persuasion ends up working on Baldr, however, and Xehanort is forced to kill him. Once again Eraqus has failed to prevent the death of a friend.

The tragic events of KHDR inspire Eraqus to strive to be a beacon of light to guide people out of the darkness, and he uses Xehanort as an example of someone who might need saving one day. When Xehanort does start to show signs of embracing darkness, Eraqus tries to guide him off that path time and time again, only to push Xehanort further and further away with his inflexible thinking. When Eraqus does finally save Xehanort in KH3, though still worth it, it's about as last minute as it can possibly be, with Xehanort being right at death's door.

And then there's Terra. A boy Eraqus is so fiercely protective over due to his own childhood trauma with Baldr that he fails to see how his strict anti-darkness attitude is doing more harm to Terra than good, making it exceedingly simple for Xehanort to manipulate Terra into giving in to his darkness. Rather than save Terra, Eraqus almost kills him in battle instead.

To me, one of the tragedies of Eraqus' character is that he probably spent most of his life thinking that he was doing everything in his power to successfully pursue his dream of being a beacon of light to guide people out of the darkness, when in fact he was actively destroying his dream by his own hand. Rather than becoming a light that guides, instead he became a light that overwhelms. That is until he realized his error...after death.

#khdr #kingdom hearts dark road #rambling about dim path #khdr spoilers

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showtoonzfan · 10 months

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Yeah I skimmed through the whole episode (not watching the full thing or reviewing it sorry) and Barbie like…appears at the LAST second. She’s there for like, a climax fight scene, fucks off, and then the episode ends. Why wasn’t this episode about her and Blitz. It’s mainly just Moxxie and Millie doing this job, and it cuts back to Blitz trying to get to her I guess but man, what an underwhelming experience for a character that’s supposed to be important and Blitzo’s literal sister. She got hyped up and does nothing, and once again the ending is more about the writers making you feel bad for Blitz rather than Barbie herself. Viv putting her female characters last of course.

Also, Millie gets a song, (nothing character wise she’s just performing for a camp) and her and Moxxie end up actually having an argument for once. Millie actually ends up doing something other than just standing there and looking happy and cheerful, this side plot does create a conflict for the two, but it’s all simply because Moxxie is jealous and nothing else, and once they argue…Millie is all like “oh for once I feel important, like I’m something to be proud of”- I-…LMAO WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM?? Because now fans are ganna pull a “you critics happy? Millie got development”— when this is nothing.

Not once did the show indicate that Millie was feeling these feelings. Not once did she feel useless or unappreciated. See what happens when you don’t focus on a character or give them the time of day? You get this, and it doesn’t add up wether it’s a character exploration or not. These things are supposed to be just that, EXPLORED, not dumped onto us. Like on one hand I’m glad Millie actually cries here and has a moment of vulnerability but the writing isn’t good enough for it anyway because Viv doesn’t know how to write female characters or exploring a character properly. I can’t lmao. It’s just sad and I feel bad for Barbie fans too.

Also I like this design. Bye.

#vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva critical #helluva boss

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taralen · 2 months

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"Will I make it BIG too someday?"

Well, well! After much debate and a lot of "gentle encouragement" from friends, I decided to get out of my comfort zone and make an Addisona! This is my first time making a character directly based on myself in a very long time ( •_•) . . .

ANYWAY, this is Thetalan L. Addison. She is part of a rather small AU idea I have called "LoveLetter" a totally normal™ and romantic™ story about a little Addison lady who falls in love with Spamton during his Big Shot era! SO CUTE™ A̢͐̐̀ͨ͏̥́͟ń̄͛͏̷̷̱̕d̸̴̨̰ͥ̇͜ ̵ͯ͏̷̧̫f̡̲̄̕͟͠u̢͚͛̀͟͞l̢̡ͦ̚͏͇͡l̢̨̧ͪͧ͏̼ ̧̛̖̔̎̓̀̚͠ô͜͜͜҉͈f̂͟҉̢̙́ ̴̇̽͜͏̘͜Ą̵̈́͜҉̟Ḩ̴̢̪ͫ̋͊͞H͓̉͆́̀͢͠Ḩ̶̴̺ͧ̾͟H̵̨̢̬͆ͧ͟Ḩ̢̞͐̃͌͟͜M̷̜ͥ͘͜͜Y̢̧̭̿̂̔̆͢͢ ̸̧̣̽̀͟S̶̢̟ͥ̏͟͟T̴̨͈̈́̈͠͠O̡ͤ̌͏̷͇͡M̷̖͒̑̕̕͘A̡ͫ͜҉͖͘C̡͉̊ͤ̈́̀̕H͂͟͏̼́͟ ̷̴̧̛̤͛ͫ͋Ä̢̧̼́ͤ̓̎͜͡H̛͋̆̎ͮ͝҉͔̕H̢̜̎ͧ̍̑́̀͟Ḩ̵͙͗͛̚͠͠

Despite being my "sona," I consider her not exactly like me and a separate character. She just shares some of my traits! Anyway, here's some additional info on her:

Thetalan is a White Addison that works on the other side of Cyber City (the west side.) Although she has a lot of different sales and retail experience, she currently works for a wholesale company that sells goods in bulk/pallets to smaller businesses for resale by contacting clients via phone calls and email correspondence. She wishes to be in the spotlight, but all she gets are contracts to model in front of local businesses even though she is smaller than the average Addison. Despite her high performance, she feels unappreciated, and on the rare occasion they get a Lightner purchase, she never receives any commission.

Her inspiration and favorite person ever is the celebrity SPAMTON G. SPAMTON, aka BIG SHOT! As a fellow White Addison, she aspires to someday be like him and perhaps even share a stage with him! She never misses a show and collects everything she can of him. Unfortunately, she never got to meet him when he was still just like her...

One day she decides to confess her feelings and sends him a Number_1_Fan_Letter.txt! However, before she has any hope of hearing back, Spamton's sales drop to zero... And his height of stardom comes to a close.

But... One day, while lamenting over his fall from grace, she receives a mysterious LoveLetter.txt in the mail addressed from SPAMTON G. SPAMTON! Could this be her chance?! Did he really respond to hers?! FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON

H͈̮͚͖ͩͧ̍ͭE͕͍̞̳̋͛̂͐L͉͎̖͕̋ͫͪͮP͉̞̪͓̉͒͆̽ ̲̘͈̿͂͆ͩͅT͖͖̠̱ͣ̅͋ͦH̻̰̪͚̽̋͌̐E̠̼͉̬͋̃ͧͦY̼̱̫̹ͦ̂̍ͯ'̺̭͙͓̓ͤͫ̍R͍̮͍̼̀ͪͣ̊Ĕ̺̰̳̞͑ͭͫ ̯͙͔̭̿̆͛̃D͇̱̭̼ͨ͋ͥͭE̥̥̼̭͆̐̑̍V̺̝͔͎̎͗̃ͤO͕̰̙͖͗̽ͩ̈́U̠̝̘̙͒̎͗̈́R̳̻͚̭͑̾̅̂Ḯ̦͙̞̻̆̏͋N͓͙̙̝̎̋̐ͬG͎̲͖̲͊̏̋̈ ̣͓̙̱̈͛͊͐M̪̩̮͂̌͊̍ͅY̻̙̦̪̋͒͌̽ ̘̞̘̭ͧ͗͐̐I͔̼̮͍͂̓̉̎N̩̩̠͇ͥ͛ͮ͆S͈̫͎͍̊̐ͫ͌Ȋ̺̰̙̦͛̀̆Ḓ̥͈̻͌͑ͯͮE͉̭̺̙̾͋̑̑S͙̥͕̮͔͕̠̯̐͌̎ͭͥ̏̃̎A̻̙̮̝ͥͧͦ͑H̱͈̼ͮͧ͂̐ͅH̙͚̹̦̍ͣͬ̊H̙̮͎̘ͦͩ̀ͣH̘͚̹̘͊͊ͤͯH͉̝̱̰͗͆̓ͯH̩̣̻̩͋̈̉͑H͓͚͒ͤ̋ͮͅͅH͈̫̥̮ͭͮͭ̑H̬̦̖̼ͯ͑̅ͨH͙̼͓͉ͪ͗̊̌H͍̪̹͎͂̅̃̈́Ḧ͓͎͚͍́ͬ̅̅H͉̥͌͆͑ͤͅͅH̰̺͍͈͗̎̉ͥH͍͍̫̺ͭ̊̎ͮḦ͚̫͔̭́̌ͭ̊H̫̠̙̽̅̃͋ͅH̳̹͈͉ͫ̂̉̌Ḥ͚̰̭̆͂ͪ̉H̝͈̥ͥ̃̅̎ͅḤ̺͈͔ͣ̽̉̈́Ĥ̯͕͓͙͑ͧ̚H̼̯̮ͫͫ̿ͦͅH̘̻̞̦͇̝͕͕̋̐̏̿̉͋͒̽I͖̣͇̘ͥͫͯ̿Ḷ̼͉̬ͦ͐ͧ̂O̪͖̯̫ͨ̀͂̐V͍̠̦̙̆͗̿ͪE͖̹̬̼͋ͯ͌ͫY͙͉͙̦̏ͪͭ͋O͉̹̼̦ͫͮ̎̈U̖̥̻͙̍̍ͩ̽I͔̹̭̼ͦ̅̉̚L̘͔̳̠ͮ̑ͨͩO̬̮̬̱ͭ͐̈̀V͙̱̱̠̑ͪͣͨE̹͉̲̋̽̂ͥͅY͎̼͉͖̊ͦ̀ͭO̳̦̬̊ͩͯ̆ͅU̥̖̰ͯ̓̆͛ͅI͕̭̻̲̓̂ͥ̽L̻̬̮̦͆̋̀̌O̯̲͕̭ͨ͛ͦͭV͈̰̠̺ͣ̈́̐̈E̖͕̲̩ͥ̌̋̾Y̠͎̥̦͑̉̅̎Ő͉̯̫̣̍ͤͨU͍̫̺ͬ͐ͪ̚ͅḬ̪̻͇͆ͪͣ̆L͖̣͔͚ͧ̈̾̚O̫͔̘̩͒͗̌ͣV̲͇̼̙̌̓̂̀E̬̫̖͖͌̽̈ͫY͖͎̼̝͂ͤ̎ͦO̼̣͎̘̎̿ͪ̃U͈̩̫͈̼̠͓̯ͬͬ͑̀̍͆̽ͬS͎̙̹̩ͤͣ̿̊Q̺̙̩̎͂ͩ̋ͅU̥̲͓̮ͦ͗̆̋Ḭ̩̙͎̽ͣ͒̊R̦̥͎͔ͥ̐͛ͤM͈̭̺͓͊͛͑͌S̞̺͓̋̋͆ͨͅQ̹̰̰̮̃ͬͩ̓U͔̦̥͇ͣͫ̎͒I̹̮̘̖ͪ̍̎ͩR̲͎̺̭̿ͭ͐̋M̦̭̰͚ͧͨͦ̚S̪̪̥̦ͯ͂̿̃Q̼̦̳̍̎ͥ̚ͅŨ̙̣̭͑͛̏ͅR̼͖͚̞ͫͣͦ͋Ȋ̭̣̙͛͗̑ͅM̱͙̳̙͗͆͗̚S̝̭͈̲̊͌͛̅Q̳̣̻͓̿̽̏ͮŬ̫̫̠̳̐̽̅Ĩ̫̩̖̲ͪ͆̉R̮̘͈̫͐͐ͫ͐M̦̝̲̖̼̯͇͉ͥ̋ͭ̋͂̑͆̈́ǐ͎̖͉̫͗͆̋c̰͈̰̰͐ͣ͌̾k͓̰̞̯̅͂̐̾y͔̦̖̣̐̑ͨͮi͇͓͈̹ͦͯ̿̐c̘̩̫̭̍ͯͫ͗k̬̩̥̉̏̃̃ͅŷ̲̘͖̰ͦ̅̎ḯ͈̪͓̦̊ͥ͗c̬̘͈͂ͬ͗ͬͅk͔͉̻͕ͥ̾̈́ͨy͎͙̻͕͑ͧ̍̀i̺̫͎̫̾͒̽̿c̼̺̠̫ͯ̾̑͊k͍̠͚̹ͥͭͦ͆y̲̻̪̣̐̐͊ͫḭ̙͖̫͌͆͒̽c̬͙͙̺̾̎̽͐k͓͈̥̙ͮ̈͑̆y̥̠͈̼̋̌ͮ̽d͔̹͔̅̅̽̃ͅï̠͕̥̘̓̐ͮr̖̫̭̣͋̑̆̈́t͉̖̘̬̋̃͆͗y̞͕̺̺ͭ͒͊̊d̞̞̭̳ͦͥ̍̍i̻̬̹͉̿ͪ̂͋r̪͚̲̠̈́͛̿̀t͎͚̭̣̉̊̈͌y̺͍̝͍̽̊̎͑d̘̼̖͚ͦͮͧ̚i͎͙͓͛̅̈̾ͅr̪̺̭͕̋ͦ̓͂t̹̯̞̺ͭ̎ͤ͗y͔̞̻̫ͩͩ͛͑d͍̲̺̖̂ͫͮͨî͔̦̞͗̋ͧͅr͉̥͉͉̋ͤ͗̿t͚̙͙̭͌ͮ͐ͮŷ̦̼͎̝͉̯̥̝̏ͯ̅͆̅ͤ͑I̩͈̦͖̊ͮͥ̍ ̘͍̹͙ͭ͂ͮͭC̻̦͇̻͑ͮ̃̑Ǔ͙̹̼̦͒̃ͧT͍͔̱̥̾̌͗̉ ̞̲͇̲ͣ̈́̀̀M̙̦̼͚̿̎ͮ̚Y͎̠̳̹ͩ̈͐ͥ ͕͚̠̯ͤͬ̋͑T̯̭͉̣̋͗͌̎O͎͇͎̣ͤ͌͒̑Ṉ̩̹̘̑̌̑̚G̩͓̦̳͒ͫ̾̐U̞͚̦̥̅̿̌̀E͇͔̪̞̾̾̈̍ ̻̫͎̱ͩ̓͆̽O͕͚̼͈ͩ̆ͤ̉N̻̖̺̬̎͒̐̈ ̹̘̬̳̽͑͗ͥT͙̩͖͚͒̊ͤͬH̙͔̥͚͒ͫ̓ͭE̝͎̙̹̊̂̐̈ ̬̫̥̬͐ͯͪ̾E̙̠̥͎̎̆̌ͣN̩̘͈̬̐̆̽ͤV̯̰͍͎͐̑̿͑E͓̦̻͉ͮ̑̽̎L̖̩̥̼̐̍̎̂O͖̲̮͙ͭ̀ͦ̚P̣͖̣̯ͮ̊ͣ̀E̪͎̹̰̪̝͉̮̅ͩͨ͂̌ͣ̾̚H̙̞̰̼͌͋͌ͫÒ̙̯͈̩͒̀ͨP̣͍̹̹ͭ̋̆ͤE̱͖͈̭̎̏ͯ͛ ̞̭͓͙͒̉͒ͯY̩͙͎̬͑ͬ͗͆O̞̹͉̲ͨ̀ͣͪȔ̙͔̻̘ͬͥͦ ̝̲̥͉̋̅̍̚L̘̖̫͙ͩ̾̾ͩÏ̻͇̱̍͑͗ͅK̩̯̲͔̋͆̍ͮE̪͔͔̅̂͒̆ͅ ̬̺̦̊͗ͧ̚ͅṮ̮̳̮ͬ̅͋ͭȞ̬͎͔͕ͫ̽͑E̺͖̠̬͌͆̌͂ ̺̪̫͉͋͑̃̚T̩͚̭̮̅ͫ̆̉A̯̹̰̝̿̓̉͛S̰͕̭͂̃ͩ͗ͅT̠͍͚͕̾͒ͪͯE̦͖̘̣̋ͯ͛̚ ͍͍͈̬ͭ̃͗̑O̳̘͔̼̽̀̃̿F̣̩̱͉̓ͥ͌̐ ͍̠͎̰ͣ͐̎̋M͚̠̣̹͒ͤ̾̉Ỷ̘̰̠̠̆̿̊ ̻̲͖͔ͬ̿̀̾B͙̱̰̦̑̅̉͛L͙̳̝̪ͧͩͧ͌O̫̹͍̫ͨ͋͂̈O̺͓̺̰ͣ̏̉̈́D͎̘̱͎̏ͣͦ̑

Anyway! I will draw her present-day version later. This is just something to do for [[f u n]] while I wait for chapter 3 to drop more lore. I really want to write a more expansive fic about all my headcanons concerning Spamton, but I don't feel like doing that until at least Chapter 3 drops... So for now....

Time to think about the contents of that Love Letter!

M̨̛̻ͤͣ͡͞Y̸̺ͨ͟͜͠ ̋̉͌̆͡͏̵̸͙Į͉ͪ́͘͠N̿̄̿͊҉̵̛̭͞S͑ͥ͟҉̷̢̞I̵̡͚ͦ̍̀̕D̴̛̦ͦ͘͡E̴̬͛̊́̚͝͝S̴̵͖̉͊͟͝ ̴͙͌̓̀́͘À̢̟͒́̽̕͘͟Ṟ̵̸͆́͟Ę̸̙̄̋̆̀͟͟ ̛͍̅̈͌͢͟͝B̨̢̡̢͎͆ͮͤU͋̊̚̕҉҉̗̀Ŗ̧̾̈ͤ͢͏̮N̸̢ͤ̿ͧ́̚҉̗I̶̧̭̊͜͝N̶̺̓̅̀̀͠G̿̀͏̕͠ͅ

#my art #deltarune #addison #white addison #addisona #spamton #spamton g spamton #self insert...? Sort of. Started off that way but Idk anymore lol #big shot era #big shot spamton #deltarune au #alternative universe #fan character #fan oc #female

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svnriseblvdd · 2 years

Text

Family Reunion | Steve Harrington

Author: @svnriseblvdd

Word count: 2353

Warnings: bitchy relatives (an aunt and a cousin only) but none apart from that

Summary: In which you're sick of the judgmental questions from your aunt about boyfriends, and you enlist Steve to be your fake boyfriend for a family reunion

Steve is literally so cute in that GIF I can't -

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a beautiful summer day, decently warm, but a nice breeze blew through the air. The perfect day, really. Except today was the family reunion.

You were dreading it with every ounce of yourself. Every single one of these brought new rounds of hurtful jokes and teasing from your family. Not always aimed at you, but quite often. And aunt Violet was probably the worst for it. She was almost always picking at your lack of a boyfriend, always comparing you to her daughter, who each time showed up with a boyfriend on her arm. Said boyfriends had two out of three times turned out to be complete assholes, but that didn't matter. Keira had a boyfriend, that was what mattered.

Today, though, would be different.

You'd employed Steve Harrington to act as your boyfriend for the day. Steve was one of your best friends, so you trusted him absolutely. You'd first met through mutual friends, because he'd been enlisted as help when tracking down Dustin's adopted baby Demo-dog, and you, as a friend of Dustin's, had also been called upon.

Together, you and Steve had parented and protected the children and undergone heavy levels of parental stress which was, quite frankly, unnecessary and unappreciated.

He'd rung your doorbell at eleven thirty, a smile growing on his face as he looked up at you, elbow on the doorframe as he leaned against it. He was dressed in jeans and a blue button up, hair sat perfectly atop his head - so very Steve.

You were wearing a pretty blue dress with a neckline across your shoulders, some white shoes, and a belt sat around your waist.

"Hey," he greeted. "You look gorgeous."

"You clean up pretty good yourself, Steve," you chuckled. He held out an arm for you, and you took it, smiling, closing the door behind you. He led you to his car, opening the passenger door for you. "Such a gentleman."

"Only the best for you."

He closed the door, crossing around the front of the car and getting into the driver's seat, beginning to drive to your grandma's lake house.

"Okay, you remember the cover story?" You checked. Everything had to be perfect. If there were any holes in your story, someone (probably aunt Violet) would gauge at them and sink that ship before it reached the harbour.

Steve nodded. "We met at a costume party. We started dancing together because you were making eyes at me from across the room because you dug my attempt at Tim Curry's outfit from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Next thing we know, we're dancing together and then I'm asking you out and boom... Now we're dating."

You looked over at him, deadpanning. "Why didn't I ask someone else to do this?"

"What other guys do you know?" Steve asked. "Aside from Jonathon, because he hates everyone, and he's with Nancy."

"I would've found someone. Maybe someone who would've acted like a mature, responsible person and take this seriously."

"Okay! Okay! I'm trying to be the best boyfriend I can here, I can only do so much seriousness. We were paired together on an English project, and you were super into Macbeth and I wasn't really until I heard you talking about it with so much passion that I kind of instantly fell in love with you and the play."

You nodded. "Thank God. Maybe there's actually some hope for this after all."

Steve stopped outside the lake house, which had many cars parked outside already. He turned the engine off, and got out of the car, running around the front and opening your door for you, taking your hand as you stepped out.

"We're not even in there yet," you reminded him with a small laugh. "You don't have to be all chivalrous yet."

"I know. I'm... Getting into character."

You laughed. "You sound like a real actor."

You pushed open the front door, Steve's hand slipping into your own. "You've got this," he reassured her. "If anything happens, I'm fully ready to throw some punches at Aunt Violet."

You grinned at him. "Hopefully it won't get that far."

The two of you walked inside, looking at the extended family all talking. And through the crowd comes your Aunt Violet, lightly pushing others aside to come greet you and judge your appearance first.

"Y/N, how lovely to see you," she greets, bright red lipstick forming a smile and huge dangling fake diamond earrings swaying. She gives you an airy hug, wherein she barely touches you, just enough for it to be called a hug. Her eyes catch Steve over your shoulder and her face twists into nothing other than blatant shock. "And you brought a friend, how nice."

Frankly, you're not surprised at her comment. The family's lost hope in your bringing a boyfriend, a boy friend would be a surprise certainly, and yet the tone she holds is odd. You know that some part of her doesn't quite want you to bring a boyfriend to one of these, it outshines her daughter. You bringing a boyfriend would be a huge shock to the family, you'd both totally steal Keira's thunder.

Steve placed a hand on your shoulder, noticing your slight nerves. You relaxed rather quickly, just the reassurance that he was there calming your nerves. "This is actually my boyfriend, Steve," you told her, smiling.

Steve's arm around your waist reinforced your confidence and you smiled, giddiness overcoming you like a massive wave. No more teasing about boyfriends, that was for sure.

"Boyfriend?" Aunt Violet splutters, shocked.

You nodded, Steve lightly squeezing your waist. "Do you want me to hang up your jacket, sweetheart?" You nodded, and he took your cardigan, hanging it alongside the rest of your family's jackets.

Steve was surprisingly... At ease. Despite the King Steve confidence he'd maintained throughout high school, he could be quite insecure at times, and honestly, he'd been quite... skittish around you lately. But yet here he was, with the calm confidence he'd had in high school, with the same sweet personality he'd developed since.

"Oh, well... It's lovely to meet you." She turned away, heading to talk to someone.

Steve leant down to whisper in your ear. "Personally, I think that was pretty successful. One point to us."

You turned to look at him, hands on his chest as he held your waist. "Her face was priceless."

"That was amazing, really. Come on, let's go grab some food, and then we'll go talk to whoever you want. If whoever you want to talk to is literally no one, that's fine. We can sit there eating and talking between us the entire time."

"I usually just wait for people to come up to me. They will eventually. Especially today."

The two of you grabbed some food from the kitchen and moved to sit on the deck outside, overlooking the lake. By now, Aunt Violet would've told practically everyone about the news.

This was proven rather quickly as Keira came outside, a tall, muscly guy following her out. "Oh my God, Y/N, it's so good to see you!" She, like her mother, gave an airy hug too. "And who's this? Is this your boyfriend? Mom was just telling me you'd brought someone. She failed to mention how handsome he was."

The guy behind her wasn't listening, clearly uninterested in the day.

"This is Steve," you introduced.

"So great to meet you, Steve. I don't - should we hug? I feel like we should hug." She placed a hand on his shoulder, your eyes landing on it and jealousy striking through you.

"Hello," Steve greeted simply, taking her hand off of his shoulder and sliding an arm around your waist.

Keira seemed a little taken aback, straightening herself up. "Anyways, I have to go talk to people. Love you, talk to you later."

"Of course. I'll see you later."

Keira led her boyfriend away, your eyes travelling down to your fumbling hands as they left. You were picking beneath your nails, Steve frowning as he noticed. He held your hand, meeting your eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. She just really gets on my nerves, that's all."

"Were you jealous?" You looked away from him, rubbing the back of your neck. "Oh my God, you were totally jealous."

"Shut up!"

"I promise, you had nothing to worry about."

You smiled at him, your gaze flicking down to his lips momentarily. It was then that your grandmother chose to come say hello, accompanied by another aunt, Aunt Beatrice, the two of them sitting down with you and Steve.

"Y/N! How wonderful to see you!" Your grandmother exclaimed happily. She was, unlike her daughter (Aunt Violet) a lovely person. "I assume this is Steve. Violet's been telling everyone. Between you and I, she's a little outraged. But ignore her. Tell me everything." She patted your knee.

"How did you meet?" Aunt Beatrice inquired.

"Last year, actually," Steve replied. "We were paired up for a project in English. I wasn't totally interested in it. I never understood Macbeth. But Y/N explained it so well and she was so passionate about it and I just kind of instantly fell in love. With her and the play."

"Oh, that is gorgeous," your grandmother commented, a hand on her chest.

You turned to look at Steve, finding his eyes already on you. And for a moment, you forget that it's all fake. The way he's looking at you, that damn smile, the love in his features as his hands find yours. But you have to remember. Of course it's fake. He's just really good at this whole boyfriend thing.

"Steve, what our your intentions with our Y/N? We can't have her getting hurt, of course." Your grandmother and Aunt Beatrice are the only blood relations (aside from immediate family) who don't suck on some level. They're genuinely nice people.

"Y/N is honestly one of the most, if not the most, incredible people I've ever met. She's changed my view on the world, and helped me change for the better. I feel like she's constantly surprising me, because I always wonder how on earth she could be so amazing, and then something comes up and I've learned something new about her. She's just so unbelievably awesome, I mean she totally rocks. She's turned my world upside down." You supressed a laugh at his words. "And I'm gonna be here as long as she wants me to be. And I'll try to make her as happy as she makes me, even happier."

Your grandmother and Aunt Beatrice were speechless, honestly. You turned to look at Steve, a look of almost shock on your face.

"This one's a keeper, Y/N. Better than any of the idiots Keira brings for us. All beauty and no brain, or personality for that matter. This one is sweet."

You could see Keira watching from just inside one of the doors that led out onto the deck, her anger clear in her eyes. The attention wasn't on her and she was pissed, clearly, but that was the least of your worries.

"So, Steve, tell us about yourself," Aunt Beatrice prompted.

You took the opportunity first, to show Steve the same love he'd shown to you just moments ago. "Steve is amazing. Really. I mean, was he a little bit of a jerk in high school, absolutely, but he's changed himself around totally. And don't let him fool you. He'll tell you I helped him change, except he never needed me. Because he was always a good person. He just needed the eye-opener to realise it. He's become so wonderful. He plays basketball, he's a great swimmer. He doesn't know movies, but that can be easily fixed, he has a good taste in music. Those kids I've told you about, he acts like a second mother to all of them. He's so protective over them and he cares so much for all of them. It's honestly one of the best things to see."

"Steve, you sound almost too good to be true," Beatrice chuckled.

"Yes, don't let this one go, Y/N," your grandmother agreed. "My camera! I need my camera. I need a picture of the two of you." She was up and away rather fast for an old woman, and she returned quickly with her camera, ready to take pictures.

You and Steve stood, finding a good place to stand, with the lake right behind you, leaning against the railing. His arm was round your waist, yours around his, bright smiles on both of your faces.

But then, he did something unexpected.

It had happened rather suddenly, and you had barely registered it before it was over, all too quickly.

Steve's lips, on your own. They were soft, and the kiss was even more so, gentle like the stroke of a feather against your skin.

He pulled away from you as the family outside cheered a little among themselves, grinning. His eyes searched yours for a moment, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, his eyes following the brief action.

"Oh, that is a lovely one. That is absolutely beautiful. Look at this one, Bea." Your grandmother showed Beatrice the picture, and her face lit up in a smile.

"That is gorgeous." And then the two of them walked away.

"That was..." You murmured.

"Yeah, it was."

"You should've picked drama, you're really good at this," you told him in a quiet voice.

He chuckled, looking down at his feet for a moment as a blush crept up his neck. "I don't have to pretend that you mean the world to me."

You paused, thinking his words over. Did Steve Harrington just admit to having a crush on you? Because it certainly sounded like he did. You looked up at him. "Did you just -"

"Yes. Probably. If you're thinking what I think you're thinking."

A huge smile grew on your face, your hands reaching up and grabbing his face, pulling him down to you, your lips meeting his an a kiss that lasted much longer than the first.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fluff #sweetness

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chronicsyd · 3 months

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I was watching a video of someone breaking down the lyrics of Wish and why fundamentally they don’t work; but the whole thing angers me because it Could have worked if they just went with their original idea to Begin with. I’ve mentioned before that they should have gone with Star Boy but the songs in Wish REALLY emphasize WHY that sentiment rings true. Because “At All Costs” was SUPPOSED to be a duet between Asha and Star Boy because the whole thing sounds like a lovers lullaby and him wanting to love Asha “as a human does” per say. But now it’s just Asha and Magnifico singing to a bunch of crystal balls which loses most of the emphasis that song was trying to portray in the First place (not to mention how Stupid it is that the wishes are just crystal balls like this is where the 2d animation would have stood out).

Now, “I’m a Star!” Just needs to be entirely scrapped and reworked cause they could have used the song to show how Star Boy thinks and feels about things upon his initial introduction cause I’d presume that Star Boy would probably be someone very upbeat and excitable, but incredibly naïve about how the world works at the same time.

And “This is the Thanks I Get?!” COULD have really worked if they went with this plan as well cause Magnifico is supposed to be feeling unappreciated and disrespected and if Asha were his daughter and going against him cause of her feelings for Star Boy and how Magnifico was handling the wishes then That makes sense. But in the film we got, the town already seems to respect him and he doesn’t really have a reason for the way he acts which is why his switch to villain seems so abrupt.

Also the lyrics, rhythm and cadence would need a Drastic change but that would probably be Disney needing to just fire Julia Michaels and going with someone who’s Profession is making lyrics for Musical Theater instead of pop songs cause all these lyrics are just “ohh wishes!” “Ohhh stars!” And whatnot instead of building up Anything narratively. (Cause even though Lin Manuel Miranda has kinda become a meme at this point he still Knows how lyrics should build a story. Except for the Scuttlebutt but that’s just a one off thing that was truly Terrible). But hey, this is just me ranting on something that I should be letting go at this point but whatever 🤷‍♀️

(Also it bothers me that Disney was like “oh we can’t have Asha have a romantic interest in 2023 how can we show she’s a strong lead in 2023 if there’s a love interest!” Even though there’s Plenty of ways to do that with the two building off each other in a natural way and the fact that Asha doesn’t really have a character arc Anyways and her being Magnifico’s daughter would have made this work as well cause she’d have to choose between her feelings for Star Boy and going against her parents wishes just UHG I’m so pressed can someone make a Wish fixed fanfic so I can read that instead please?! Thank you.)

#Wish #Disney wish #the lyrics don’t work #they should have gone with their og idea #Star boy #princess asha #king magnifico #I’m still going on about this #I should let it go #they’re too many words in a verse #why?!#just why #this wish #this is the thanks I get?!#i’m a star #ramblings #at all costs #love duet

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yumeka-sxf · 3 months

Text

A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 23

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

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When Yor says goodbye to a very grateful Olka, the latter leaves her with some heartfelt parting words: she'll be praying that Yor and her family can find peace and happiness. Yor is taken aback by Olka's gratitude, which is understandable. Being an assassin is an unappreciated job, since most of it involves simply killing your victims and then disappearing without a trace. Her assignment with Olka may have been the first time a client expressed such sincere gratitude for the work she does. Not only that, but Olka having Yor hug Gram while telling her that she's the reason he has a future, is probably the first time she was able to so plainly see how her work can mean the difference between peace and tragedy for a family in need.

Despite the fact that Olka had repeatedly reminded Yor that her family is just for show, she's obviously realized that Yor sees them as much more. She can't openly tell this to Yor, so perhaps she chose these particular words of farewell as a way of getting Yor to really think about how much her family means to her…in the hopes that one day she can also leave the horrors of the underworld behind to pursue a quiet life. Olka's words may have struck a chord, as Yor seems very deep in thought while she and McMahon watch Olka's raft disappear into the distance. When McMahon notices how melancholic she looks, he reminds her not to get sentimental since they're both just foot soldiers. But ironically, almost immediately after, he tells her that she should meet up with Loid and Anya as a reward for her hard work while he takes care of any further incidents.

McMahon's history with Yor (if any) is still a mystery, but despite his stoic demeanor, maybe he too realizes that she truly enjoys being with her supposed "cover up" family.

I've seen discourse surrounding the idea that Yor's preference of "traditionally feminine" roles – wanting to be a wife and mother – is a sign of weakness and submissiveness. In addition, as @connoisseursdecomfort discusses here, some people only see one aspect of her character instead of the whole picture, and paint that in a negative way. To quote Connoisseur's post:

"Endo doesn’t want [Yor] to be just soft and sweet and sexy and strong. Like any other human, she is very self-conscious when she doesn’t fit in, and all of these discussions really show how realistic it is for Yor to feel insecure - she is too muscle-head and strong to be feminine in the eyes of the Asian readers, but too sensitive, gentle and ditzy to be masculine. She is not created to fit any standards, and therefore deemed a failure in every reader who sought to make another exemplary woman of this modern age. She has to be perfect, but she will never be."

If by "ditzy" people mean she's naïve about many things, then yes, she is, but there's a reason for it that anyone who's paid attention to the series can easily see: since she had to raise her brother since childhood, she wasn't able to pursue a proper education or gain the kind of real-life knowledge most people who live "normal" lives do. If by "ditzy" they mean she's too nice or polite…why is that a bad thing? While her low self-esteem makes it hard for her to stand up against people who insult her directly, she doesn't hesitate to attack anyone who threatens her family, nor does she hesitate to kill bad guys on her missions. So why is being nice to people who are not a threat to her a bad thing? Since when does having a brash, cocky attitude equate to strength, while being polite and nice to others by default, along with the very human displays of vulnerability and self-doubt, equate to weakness?

In my opinion, anyone who feels this way about Yor – that the only personality trait she has is "ditzy," or that it's somehow anti-feminist for her to desire the peaceful life of a wife/mother instead of something grander – is missing the whole point of the series. I discussed earlier that Endo does not portray Yor's profession as something glorious that she enjoys doing. It's dangerous, ugly, and morally ambiguous, but she does it out of desire to protect her family. Not only has she been doing it since she was a child, and thus was never able to experience a "normal" life, but it's a job with very little appreciation or acknowledgement. So after living with Loid and Anya, people who appreciate her for who she really is, don't force her to act certain ways nor expect anything in return, why should she be ridiculed for desiring peaceful days with them instead of living only in the cold, thankless underworld? Loid never forced her to remain his wife and Anya's mother after the interview – she chose to stay, at first for her own benefit, but she soon realized that being with them makes her happy. Is it "submissiveness" that someone who's been thrust into a dangerous, unforgiving life as an assassin since childhood now finds comfort in the traditional role of wife/mother with people she loves? Submissiveness is blind obedience, where you live a certain way by someone else's choice or even by force, and that's not the case here. There's no rule that says being a strong woman necessitates a complete rejection of feminine roles and values. A strong female character isn't necessarily one that's filled with self-confidence or tomboyish brashness…if anything, having no inner turmoil for them to overcome makes them a weaker character in my opinion. She's not throwing anything away for "a man" by choosing on her own to stay with Loid because he's always kind and considerate to her. As we saw at the end of her epiphany, she didn't even have to choose her role as a wife/mother over her role as an assassin – she decided to keep being both, but it's her love for Loid and Anya that made her resolve for remaining as Thorn Princess even stronger than before.

What's even more amazing about Yor's character is that, even when she understands that she doesn't need to be an assassin anymore – that no one needs financial support from her work, she still makes the most unselfish choice. She could have ditched her Garden work completely to pursue the life that truly makes her happy, which is being the wife/mother of the Forger family. After knowing how selflessly she's lived her life up to this point, pretty much sacrificing her well-being for Yuri's, no one would blame her if she decided to finally choose what's best for her now. But instead, she chooses to continue her unselfish way of life…even if it means sacrificing her own happiness yet again, she will continue this dangerous line of work, because preventing tragedy from befalling her loved ones or the world in general is more important to her than her own personal happiness. Having such unwavering selflessness, in addition to being a kind and patient mother, encouraging wife, and deadly assassin who still retains her humanity, Endo has done wonders making a character both cute/sweet but also a total badass who's strong on the outside as well as the inside.

Continue to Part 24 ->

<- Return to Part 22

#spy x family #spy family #sxf #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #twiyor #sxf meta #sxf analysis #loid x yor #loidyor

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humanpurposes · 11 months

Text

From Eden

Chapter 1: Little Novice

Danes attack Wincombe Abbey and a young novice crosses paths with a group of mercenaries and their Baby Monk // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Osferth x Original Female Character

Warnings: bit of violence and death, suggestive themes if you squint, there will eventually be smut

Words: 4000

A/n: not me starting another series oops but i can't resist the baby monk

Today saw the first snowfall of the year. A few flakes landed on Bridget’s sleeves as she sauntered past the hard and frosted soil of the vegetable garden, past the pigsty and towards the stream that circled Wincombe Abbey. She swung an empty pitcher back and forth as she hummed the least melancholy hymn she could think of.

They had guests currently. Lady Aethelflaed of Mercia had arrived two days ago, bringing with her a group of guards who were camping at outside the Abbey. Bridget had been tempted to walk past the men on her errand, but the Abbess was already in a foul mood and she didn’t fancy testing her temper. Not unless it was for something interesting.

She had spent her morning as she always did. Prayers first. Her knees were never not bruised by the flagstone floor of the chapel, but with winter settling in they were numb too. Then she saw to the goats and the pigs. Then she helped in the kitchen. Finally, she got to eat in the hall with her Sisters. Bread with some winter preserves and slices of cured ham.

When she got to the stream, she placed the pitcher by her feet. With a final glance over her shoulder to the solitary stone building of the Abbey, she hopped across the water on a sparse path of rocks and made for the line of trees ahead of her.

The woods were the only place she felt like a living person and not simply a novice in a habit.

Bridget couldn’t stand how quiet life the Abbey could be. The Abbess, a stern but fair woman, told her it was because she was restless and unappreciative, but perhaps she was simply not well suited to mindfulness and prayer. Sometimes she could find things to laugh about with the younger girls, but then the Abbess would scold her for her “impiety”.

Once she was amongst the trees she tugged at her habit. In the summer she might take it off, but it offered some extra warmth in the colder months.

Her preferred weapon was where she left it, leaning against the trunk of a young oak tree. A broken bit of a branch, small enough for her to wield and heavy enough to hit against the trees.

She twirled it through her hands, just as her brother used to show her. From the few memories she had, she remembered he could do all sorts of impressive tricks with his sword. He could spin it and slice it through the air in controlled and precise movements.

It had been a decade since she had seen her brother, but she tried to keep his teachings with her, swinging branches at tree trunks, imagining she was a great warrior, like David slaying Goliath. Technically David had slayed Goliath with a rock and a sling, a detail the Abbess insisted was important. Bridget could invent a thousand reasons why, but she didn’t care to.

Especially when she was younger, she liked to imagine herself as a warrior when she was tasked with cutting wood or slaughtering and butchering the pigs. They were both hard work, but she was always willing to do it, if only to have an excuse to be destructive for once. She found it could be quite cathartic.

After a particularly harsh blow against a tree that cracked the branch almost in two, she froze. She heard horses. She hoped they would move on, but she made out a few figures in the distance, figures who appeared to have spotted her and were moving closer.

She dropped the branch and fixed her habit, to find a lock of her hair hovering over her forehead. She tucked it back in as the faces of the riders came into view.

There were five who rode at the front, four men and a woman with pale, blonde hair and strange markings on her face. A larger group, no more than twenty, hung back a little.

“A nun,” one of the men called. He rode in front of the group, their leader, she supposed.

“There we are then, you’ll feel right at home, Baby Monk,” another said. He had a gruff voice and an Irish accent. One of the other men laughed. The woman didn’t react at all.

“Is the Abbey nearby?” The leader asked.

Bridget frowned. He had an accent she could not place. “You are Danish?” She looked amongst the rest of their group, and they each seemed to find her accusation amusing.

“What is my religion to you, girl?”

“I would like to know if you would seek to do us harm.”

He raised a brow. “And you believe the best measure of a man to be the gods he follows?”

“I believe the best measure of a man is his intentions,” she said, meeting his eye and determined to keep her expression stoic.

But apparently he was pleased with her response. “You and I are similar in this respect,” he said, loosening the grip of his reins. “We seek the Lady Aethelflaed.”

“Would you seek to do her harm?”

“Only the good kind,” the Irishman mumbled with a smirk.

The leader rolled his eyes. “She and I are friends. I have come to offer her my protection.”

Bridget looked into the eyes of each of their group, the leader, the Irishman, the one who from his hair also looked to be a Dane, and the younger man riding at the back of the group. The woman had an unsettling gaze, she was the only one Bridget felt she felt compelled to look away from. The Abbess would call the markings on her face the markings of a heathen.

“There is a bridge over the stream,” she said, pointing through the trees. “Cross there. There will be room for your horses in the stables.”

She watched the men move away, each of them offering thankful smiles. She concealed her own, and headed back the way she came, across the stream and to the abbey with the empty pitcher.

Lady Aethelflaed welcomed them warmly and named their leader as Lord Uhtred. After it was agreed that they were decidedly not Danes (not the kind who would attack an Abbey anyhow), they settled in the hall, where Bridget and the nuns brought them bowls of stew and bread.

She expected them to eat like the Mercian guards, wolfing down bread and stew like they hadn’t seen food in days, but Lord Uhtred and his men thanked her graciously as she placed bowls on the table and went round to ladle out more stew for them.

Until she came to the man sitting at the end of the table, beside Lady Aethelflaed. He was the youngest of the group, with wide blue eyes and a sharp jaw. He kept to himself, slightly hunched over his stew.

She was rather fascinated by his robes and the small silver cross around his neck. If he had a slightly worse haircut he would look like a monk. But that was ridiculous, why would a monk be travelling with a group of mercenaries?

She approached him and waited for him to notice her. He looked up at her a smiled vaguely.

She indicated to the pot she was carrying.

“Please,” he muttered, holding out his bowl.

She dished a few spoonfuls for him and he smiled again, a little wider this time. She smiled back.

She wondered where he might be from, why he served a Dane if he wore a cross, how far their group had travelled and how many tales they might have.

“May I ask your name?” He asked.

She had been so distracted trying to think of something to say that his question took her by surprise.

“Oh… Bridget,” she said. “And you?”

“I am Osferth,” he said. He was very softly spoken, she thought. There was something so gentle and subdued about him.

“Are you a monk, Osferth?” She asked.

He glanced down at the cross hanging from his neck. “I was, I left my order to serve Lord Uhtred.”

“And now you are, what, a mercenary?”

Osferth chuckled to himself and shook his head lightly. “I am not much of a fighter just yet.”

“But you have a sword, and your friends are warriors.”

“I am still learning. In the meantime I can only practice and pray to God for courage and strength.”

She felt a light feeling in her chest she was sure she hadn’t felt in years. That’s what she prayed for too, even when the nuns told her she should be praying for patience and forgiveness.

“How did you—”

“Bridget.” The Abbess called, glaring at her from across the table.

Bridget nodded her head to Osferth, a farewell, she supposed, and headed back to the kitchen. One of the girls followed behind her, with a now empty pitcher of ale.

“The Irishman is handsome,” Bridget whispered into her ear once they were through the doors.

The other girl’s mouth fell open.

“What? Surely it is not a sin to look?”

The next morning, the Abbess ensured Bridget stayed in the kitchen. “So you might not be so easily distracted,” she warned, leaving her to peel and slice an endless amount of vegetables.

The Abbess seemed rather distressed at hosting Lord Uhtred and his men. “Ravenous permanently,” she grumbled, marching in through the kitchen with the remains of their breakfast. “They are eating into our winter stores.”

“So why let them stay?” Bridget muttered, dragging the edge of her knife over the skin of a few carrots.

“Because it is our place to show kindness,” the Abbess insisted through her teeth. She emptied the plate into a bucket by Bridget’s feet. “Take that out to the pigs.”

Bridget made no verbal protest. She placed the knife down and left through a small door that led out to the side of the Abbey, just as she had done the previous day. The skin of her cheeks stung when it met the icy morning air. The snow was heavier today. She blinked a few flakes out of her eyes and marched quickly towards the pigsty.

She made sure to scratch them behind the ears, poor things, left out in the cold.

She made her way around the building, to the front doors of the Abbey, and blinked.

And blinked again.

No, there was defineately an army of Danes lined up on the other side of the bridge.

“Good morning, nun!” One cried from atop a grey horse.

“Who are you?” Bridget demanded, but her voice came out a little more broken than intended.

The man chuckled and nodded to the bridge.

They had three hostages, each with a knife being held to their throats.

But with the order from their leader, the first hostage’s throat was sliced open, his body carelessly left to fall to the floor.

Bridget couldn’t bring herself to scream and choked out a broken sort of gasp.

They made no demands, made no moves towards her, and there was no indication they intended to kill the other two hostages. Not yet.

She slowly stalked towards the doors, unable to keep her eyes away from the danger.

“We will wait!” The man on the horse called, “for Aethelflaed!”

She ran to the kitchen first.

“To the hall!” She cried, moving to shut the windows.

The others all stared at her for a moment.

“Now!”

“What is the meaning of this?” The Abbess asked, bolting the door to the gardens as the others fled the kitchen.

“Danes,” Bridget breathed. She hadn’t realised her lack of breath or the restless feeling creeping under her skin.

The Abbess’s skin turned pale. She placed her hand on Bridget’s shoulder and ushered her towards the hall.

The nuns and novices had raised alarm amongst the men. Half of them were already reaching for their weapons.

Bridget and the Abbess slammed the doors of the hall with an ominous thud.

“What is it?” Lord Uhtred demanded.

“Danes. Outside.”

Every man was on his feet in an instant, and the sound of unsheathed swords rang through the hall.

“How many Danes?” The Irishman asked.

Bridget faltered. She hadn’t thought to count them. “More than twenty. Less than fifty.”

A few men moved towards the doors and the windows, but Lord Uhtred ordered them to hold for the time being.

He turned to Bridget. “Do you know what they want?”

“He asked for Lady Aethelflaed.”

“But they may not know we are here,” he said to his men.

“They know someone is here,” Osferth’s voice came. He was still sat at the table and had not drawn his sword.

“But they have hostages,” Bridget said. “They killed one man and they have two more.”

“We remain inside, and we remain silent,” Uhtred ordered, coming towards Bridget and the Abbess. “They must believe you are unprotected,” he said.

He looked between them for a moment, and turned back to Bridget. “Would you speak with them?”

Her heart must have stopped for a moment. “What?”

“We cannot save the hostages, but you can save the lives of the men and women here.”

“And Aethelflaed,” Osferth added.

“You must deny she is here; convince them you have nothing to offer.”

Her restlessness was starting to feel like fear, but she understood Lord Uhtred’s plan, and she could not say why, but she was inclined to trust him.

Until the Abbess interjected. “No!”

Bridget’s heart sank a little. “Abbess, I can do it—”

“No, child, this is my house. This will be my responsibility.” She turned to Lord Uhtred. “I will do it.”

Bridget followed Uhtred and some of the other men into the entrance hall. She stood by one of the windows, out of sight of the Danes, occasionally stealing glances of the Abbess as she stepped out to attempt a negotiation.

“We know him,” a voice muttered beside her. She looked up to see Osferth’s jaw hovering over her. “His name is Haesten.”

The Abbess made her plea for mercy.

In turn, a second man had his throat slit.

“Deny her presence again and a third man dies. And I will burn down your nunnery, and everyone in it.”

Bridget placed her hand on her throat. She could feel her heart pulsing.

A hand gently came onto her shoulder, but Osferth said nothing. His hands were larger than she realised. It wasn’t exactly calming, but she liked it.

True to the words of the Dane, the third man was slain, and when the Abbess reached for an axe she was met with a spear to her chest.

Bridget flinched into Osferth’s chest, keeping her hands over her eyes.

“Aethelflaed!” Haesten cried. “How many more men and women must die to save your bony arse?”

“To the hall,” Osferth said, taking one of her hands in his.

When she glanced once more out the window, Haesten and his men were moving past the bodies of the hostages and the Abbess, towards the doors.

Bridget, Osferth and Aethelflaed gathered the nuns and novices to the back of the hall, while Uhtred and his men lined up behind the doors with shields, spears and swords.

“Will you not fight?” Bridget asked Osferth.

“I told you, I am not much of a warrior,” he said solemnly, as he and Lady Aethelflaed positioned themselves before the others.

Bridget frowned, but tried to distract herself by whispering assurances to some of the younger girls.

When the doors finally burst open she felt utterly helpless. The fighting was kept by the doors and the entrance hall, while Osferth and Lady Aethelflaed watched with their swords drawn.

And when two of the Danes broke through the line protecting the door, they moved together. Lady Aethelflaed fought better than the monk, she thought.

She watched as a third man fought through, overwhelming Osferth while Aethelflaed was still preoccupied.

Bridget couldn’t stop herself. She darted towards the table and grabbed a knife. She supposed the man could have easily turned to her and lodged his axe in her chest, but he didn’t get a chance to even look at her before she rammed the knife into his neck, sending a spray of blood through the air.

The rest of the room was a haze. Something warm and wet landed on and dripped down her cheek.

Suddenly she felt two hands against her shoulders. She blinked.

Osferth’s blue eyes were glaring at her. “That was foolish,” he said.

Three men lay dead on the floor. Swords continued to clash in the entrance hall but Haesten and his men were retreating.

Osferth and Aethelflaed moved out to join Uhtred, while some of the nuns came to wipe the blood from Bridget’s face.

She told them of the Danes and the Abbess’ death. Some of the girls cried, some prayed. She came to clutch her own cross around her neck. But her hands would not stop shaking and her heart would not rest.

She killed a man. Really, it hadn’t been much harder than slaughtering a pig, but at least it felt a little more justified.

If the Abbess were not dead, she would have screamed at her, told her she was ungodly, no better than a cold-blooded murderer, or any of the Danes who ravaged villages and stole from innocent Mercians.

They stayed huddled in the hall until dusk, when Lord Uhtred seemed to finally come to a resolution.

The woman with the markings on her face, Skade, was a seer, and Haesten agreed to take her in Aethelflaed’s place.

Bridget watched the exchange from the doors to the main hall, and a shiver slipped down her spine when Skade turned to Uhtred with a dark look in her eyes.

“You are cursed once more, Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”

Bridget had hardly slept that night. She lay eyes closed, still in her robes and the white headscarf she wore under her habit, listening to the gentle snores of the girls in the beds around her and aware of the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

The moment she heard the first whistle of birdsong at dawn, she was up. She pulled on a pair of boots and looked around her bed. But it occurred to her she owned nothing, save for her little silver cross.

She hurried through the abbey, past the open doors of the hall, now empty.

The men were outside, securing their saddles and mounting their horses.

She spotted Lord Uhtred as he was helping Lady Aethelflaed pack her own mount.

Osferth was by his horse, talking to the Irishman.

“Lord Uhtred!” Bridget called over the noise of the horses.

He turned to her with a small smile. “Fear not, we have not emptied your food stores—”

“I want to come with you,” she said.

She had the attention of the others now.

Uhtred chuckled to himself. “I already have a stray monk, I have no need for a little novice.”

Bridget’s skin still felt strange where it had been stained with blood. “I fought better than him.”

“Not a particularly high standard,” the Irishman joked. Osferth’s head sunk, but he was smirking too.

“So you killed one man and now you offer yourself as a warrior?” Uhtred asked.

Her breath caught in her throat as she finally realised the ridiculousness of her proposition. She could swing a branch, cut firewood and bury a knife into an unsuspecting man, but that would hardly help her in a true battle.

“With practice, perhaps?” She said, pressing her nails into her palm. “But I have some skills as a healer also. I’ve assisted the Abbess with all sorts of ailments, no doubt you encounter your fair share of injuries?”

“She’s got spirit, Uhtred, at least give her that,” Aethelflaed said.

“Please,” Bridget said, “give me the chance and I will prove myself to you.”

They each shared a few pointed glances.

“I admire your determination, but I cannot bring a girl onto the battlefield against armies of Danes. I cannot guarantee your protection and I cannot even offer you a horse.”

“Lord? She can ride with me,” Osferth said quietly. “With your permission of course. I can look out her.”

Uhtred raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”

Bridget felt herself smile, wide and showing off her top row of teeth. It felt uncomfortable but she didn’t try to stop herself.

The others were already starting to move off as she approached Osferth as he stroked the nose of his horse.

“Have you ridden before?” He asked.

“No.”

“You’ll sit behind me; I’ll help you up.”

Bridget nodded.

She watched as he placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over to the other side. “Easy,” he insisted, holding out his hand to her. “Don’t be afraid to use your strength.”

She followed his movements as best she could, but her skirt wouldn’t allow her to bring her leg to the other side of the saddle. She fell back onto her feet with a disgruntled huff.

“Other foot then, and slot both legs onto one side of the saddle.” He held out his hand again. “Ready?”

“Wait.” Bridget looked back to the space around her. The stream, the woods, the doors to the place that had never really felt like home. She reached for her headscarf and pulled it off her head, letting it fall to the ground. She didn’t suppose she would have any use for it now. Her hair fell down her back in a messy braid.

She looked back up at Osferth, between his hand, his eyes, and briefly to the curve of his upper lip. She held his hand tightly and hauled herself up onto the horse, her arms and legs trembling slightly at the effort.

Once the horse was settled Osferth gave it a gentle kick and they began to move. Bridget latched onto his shoulders as they began to sway with the movement.

“What if I fall off?” She asked, suddenly horrified at the prospect.

“You won’t fall off,” Osferth said, “use your thighs.”

“What?”

“Grip with your thighs,” he said.

She did so instinctively. Something about it felt… strange.

They cantered to catch up with the group and Bridget gripped Osferth’s shoulders a little tighter. Until he took one of her hands and placed it on his waist, so she wouldn’t impede on his arms. She muttered an apology and unsurely placed her other hand around him.

A few days ago she hadn’t so much as spoken to a man in years, except an incident where a nearby farmer had broken his leg, and even then she only wordlessly assisted the Abbess to bandage his limb.

Now she had her arms around a man’s torso, close enough to feel his warmth from under his winter cloak as her body rocked against his back.

“You’re frozen,” Osferth said, briefly brushing his thumb over her hand.

“It’s winter.”

“Did you not have anything warmer to wear?”

“We don’t attach ourselves to material items,” she said in a mockingly wistful voice.

He huffed a small laugh and pulled the horse to a stop before swinging his leg around the its head, landing on the ground in one smooth movement.

He undid the clasp on his cloak and held it up to her.

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around her shoulders, “but I don’t want you to get cold.”

He mounted again, a little awkwardly with Bridget already in the saddle. “Hold it around me. We can keep each other warm.”

She shuffled closer into him. Osferth brought one hand off the reins and pulled the corner of the cloak around his arm as Bridget settled against his back, resting her head at the base of his neck.

Thank God he couldn’t see her as her cheeks started to burn against the cold and the snow.

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