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katiexpunk · 7 days

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Scarlet Haze - Part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader | W/C: ~6.2K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Series Summary: Life in the QZ was fairly predictable. That was, until Joel Miller showed up on your doorstep covered in blood. Since then, you've helped him more times than you can count. Now it's his turn to return the favor.

Series Warnings: SEX POLLEN. SEX POLLEN. SEX POLLEN. Set in the TLOU universe in the Boston QZ. Buckle the fuck up for a lot of filthy, feral smut. Check chapter warnings for specifics. This series will follow them through current day.

Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Blood. Sexual tension. Bloody knuckles/wounded Joel. Flirting. Alcohol. Male masturbation. Voyeurism. Pearl Jam. Drug-seeking behavior. Medical references. Crying. Hallucinations similar to a drug high. Euphoria. Damsel in distress trope. Pet names. Praise kink. Begging. Unprotected P in V. Oral (female receiving). Fingering. Use of daddy. Age gap (make it your own!). No use of Y/N. Reader has no physical descriptions. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Surprise! It's here early (probably the only time you'll be glad something came early). Part 2 as part of my contribution to @morallyinept's Flora and Fauna Challenge. Part 3 coming 5/19.

Part 1 | Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

“And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.” ― Stephen Chbosky

Joel Miller is a bad man.

It wasn’t always this way – there was a time when he thought he was good, kind even, a gentleman through and through, just like his momma raised him to be.

But those days are long gone. Nowadays, the things he does are far from decent.

What he’s doing right now tops the list.

He should avoid it. He knows he should.

Whatever this feeling is, it’s entirely alien to him—like a cocktail of a thousand potent drugs coursing through his veins, igniting an instinctive physical response. His heart pounds furiously, and a searing heat prickles his skin. He feels lightheaded, probably from the blood rushing anywhere and everywhere except for his brain.

He tries to reason with himself that he can wait— he should wait. Wait for you to wake up, do your typical doctor business, pull out a magic pill or some bullshit, and you’ll both be well on your way.

He should wait. A good man would wait.

But then you started whimpering.

Fucking whimpering.

It was soft, just a whisper; he almost second-guessed it, but then you said his name clear as day, drawing him closer to the edge of control.

“Joel, please,” you moan, spread out on the dusty sheets, lost in a daydream he wishes he was part of, totally unaware of your actions.

He palms himself through his denim, hips titled forward as he sits on a wood chair that he’s not all too convinced can bear his weight after years of abandonment, but he could give two shits about that right now.

“Yes, oh god, yes, just like that,” you moan again, your hand inching closer to your center, chasing friction of any kind. He wonders if you’re wet right now, how sweet you must taste.

Fuck it.

If he's destined for hell, he might as well make it worth the trip.

He unhooks his belt and yanks down his zipper, forcefully pulling his pants down to bunch around the muscular expanse of his thighs

Heavy cock in hand, he takes a second to admire it. It’s a fat, healthy one with a little curve to the left and a prominent vein running up the side. He’s a blessed man – in this regard, anyway.

He rises to full attention, and his hand rises with it, thick, strong fingers just about meeting his thumb as they curl around him. He savors the first proper stroke, the shift from teasing to relief.

He’s so fucking hard. He’s not sure he’s ever been this hard.

His skin feels like velvet wrapped around steel. Even at the end of the world, hell, even before it, he’s not sure touching himself has ever felt like this.

As the edges of his vision begin to soften and blur, he focuses on you. He empties his mind into thoughts of you and only you – how good you’d feel, your tight cunt wrapped around him, creaming on him as you chant his name like a prayer.

Fuck.

His head falls back to lean against the wall, eyes tightly shut, his hand still working as he conjures up images of you bent over for him as he watches his cock slide in and out of your wet heat.

It feels like his whole system has been turned on, his body flooded with adrenaline, the frantic thud of his pulse in his ears now palpable against his palm, too.

Just then, you blink open your eyes, and the remnants of your daydream evaporate like a mist in the morning sun. For a moment, you’re unsure where you are, the room spinning gently in your haze.

The last thing you remember is being in the flower field with him, and now you’re on a bed that hasn’t seen a warm body in over a decade. How did he?

You drop the thought when you feel the air, thick with a heavy, sweet scent that tugs at the edges of your consciousness. You feel hot, every nerve ending tingling uncomfortably. Breathing feels difficult, each breath deep and labored. It’s as if your lungs are struggling under a heavy weight, a need you can’t quite pinpoint.

Your gaze slowly shifts from the ceiling to the corner of the room, and that's when you spot him.

Sunlight streams through the grime-streaked windows, casting beams that light up the swirling dust in the air. As your eyes adjust, the details come into sharp focus, cutting through the haze in your mind like a knife.

Oh. He’s —

You must still be dreaming; you must. There’s no way this is happening.

Your stomach flutters and flips, enough physical proof that you see what you think you do.

You take a moment to admire him, his cock, the glistening precum that’s gathered at the tip of it, the soft groans coming from his chest. The way his thick neck is angeled back perfectly presents his Adam's apple and the nape of his throat.

You adjust to prop yourself up slightly.

"Joel," you coo, his name dripping from your lips like nectar from a flower.

He pauses at the sound of your voice, and time suspends for a moment. If he weren’t so fucked out, he might think to stop what he’s doing, might even feel embarrassed that he was caught.

But right now, part of him wants you to watch. When he tilts his head up, you’re staring at him with a look he can’t quite place, but holy fuck, you’re beautiful.

Seeing your own lust-filled eyes, knowing you're watching what he’s doing to himself, consumes him.

“See what you do to me,” he groans, holding your stare as he fucks his fist, jaw slack and balls tight.

It’s so intense. He’s intense.

“Wanna see you,” he rasps, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

You work to undo the buttons of your jeans, desperate to touch yourself – dazed and dizzy.

You haven’t even touched him and you’re already cock drunk, tipsy with the need to touch him. You can’t stop it, not even if you tried. It feels like this moment was always meant to happen, and everything in life—the good and the bad — has led up to it.

Feeling a sudden surge of boldness, you stand to walk over to him, but the floor rushes up unexpectedly. As gravity claims you, a different kind of pull—a magnetic force you've felt since the night you met him—lingers in your mind.

You think you hear him call your name as the ceiling swirls into shades of red, patterns like a kaleidoscope painted behind your lids, and you’re living that night again before you can be sure.

++++

Boston QZ, Fall 2022

The bar's dim lights hardly penetrate the thick air and despair that seems to stick to everything inside the QZ. You shove open the heavy metal door and step inside. The noise—a mix of wood chairs scraping against the ground and low conversations—briefly spikes before settling as the door thuds shut behind you.

It's been a long, tough shift at the clinic, leaving you feeling bone tired.

The bar—if you can even call it that—has a worn appeal. As your eyes get used to the dimness, you head straight for the counter.

The bartender, a middle-aged guy with a scar trailing down his cheek like a tear track, gives you a quick nod in greeting. “Hey, Tom,” you greet him with a tired smile. “I’ll have a chardonnay.”

Tom chuckles, wiping down a glass with a rag that has seen better days.

“Doc,” he nods. “Best I can do is beer. Got a fresh batch that’s more hops than rust this time.”

“Sold,” you laugh, settling onto a stool and pushing him one of your ration cards. “Make it a cold one, if you can remember what cold feels like.”

Your eyes drift across the bar as Tom turns to fetch your drink. That’s when you notice him—a rugged man nursing a beer, his presence almost as worn as the leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders.

His knuckles are raw, the skin split, and a dark bruise blooms around his left eye. It’s an impressive shiner that catches your attention more than it probably should.

You lean slightly on the bar, the wood cool under your arms, and a half-smile forms on your lips when you catch his eye. “You really should have someone check that out,” you say, nodding toward his hand, the flirtation in your voice unmistakable.

His eyes assess you momentarily, weighing your words, maybe even your presence here talking to him.

He curls his right hand into a fist, the skin tight and pale over the knuckles. “This?” His voice, rough as gravel, carries a hint of nonchalance. “It’ll heal eventually.” As he speaks, his words stretch out with a slow Southern drawl, wrapped in a weariness you can almost touch.

“Must have been quite the fight,” you remark, accepting the beer Tom slides in front of you. “Or a really stubborn door.”

A trace of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Something like that.”

“You know,” you continue, sipping the beer and finding it surprisingly not terrible, “I’m pretty good with stitches and less good with doors. If you ever need a hand…”

His dark eyes flick back to you, pausing on your lips, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You sip your drink, the corners of your lips twitching upward slightly. Turning to face him fully, you let your eyes roam over his features, openly appreciating the chisel of his jaw and the facial hair that covers it. He’s handsome.

He doesn’t ask for your name, but the silence feels like an invitation. Leaning a bit closer, you raise an eyebrow playfully. "And you are?" your voice lilts at the end, lingering on the anticipation.

"Joel Miller," he says, his voice a deep rumble that cuts through the bar noise. His handshake is firm but careful as if he's mindful not to hurt despite the roughness of his hands.

"Joel Miller—I like that," you reply, holding his gaze a little longer than necessary, your hand still clasped in his. You gently turn his hand to inspect the battered knuckles, not having to work hard to imagine the sting you know he feels.

A shout from across the bar catches your attention; your friends are waving you over. You turn towards them, but he continues to look at you. When you turn back to him, he drops your hand quickly, almost like you burned him.

"Well, Joel Miller, I guess I'll see you around," you say with a hint of promise.

He nods, “Maybe so.”

As you walk away, you feel his thoughtful, dark, and hungry eyes still fixed on you.

The intensity of his stare sends a shiver down your spine as you move toward the laughter and warmth of your friends waiting at a table near the back.

You feel the pull of curiosity that makes you want to look back, but you don’t.

++++

Later that week, you’re pulling a late night at the clinic.

"Fuck," you moan, bringing your hands to your temples and rubbing them slightly. You're exhausted. When are you not?

You don't have a clock in the clinic, but you know it's probably close to curfew. Every cell in your body tells you to go home, but you ignore it. At least you have the peeling paint and the constant drip from a leaky faucet to keep you company.

You’re restocking a shelf in the lobby when the front door slams open violently. A man staggers in, his eyes bloodshot, clothes tattered, and reeking of what you don’t even want to know. You straighten up and quickly reach into your coat pocket, your grip finding a scalpel from earlier. Using your thumb, you work to remove the cap and position it between your fingers should you need to use it.

"I need some meds," he growls, slamming his fists down on the reception desk. "The strong stuff, now!"

"Sir, I need you to calm down," you say, trying to keep your voice even despite the adrenaline surge. "I can help, but first, you need to tell me what's wrong."

"Listen here you little bitch, I don’t need advice; I need fucking pills!" he bellows, his voice echoing off the walls. Suddenly, he lunges over the counter, grabbing your arm with a firm grip.

You struggle to pull away, but he’s too strong. You try your scalpel, but he slaps it away. Panic spikes as he twists your arm behind your back and slams you against the counter. Pain shoots through your shoulder, sharp and blinding.

Just then, the door to the clinic bursts open with a force that makes the entire room shake. You barely have time to register the figure rushing in, his movements fast and determined.

And then you see him.

Joel Miller.

His expression is set in a hard line, eyes pinpointing the man pinning you down. Without a word, he grabs the man by the collar and yanks him away from you. The man flails, trying to swing at Joel, but he’s too quick, too angry. He lands a solid punch to the man's jaw, sending him reeling backward into one of the shelves.

"You okay?" he asks, turning to you with concern etched on his face. His hands are still clenched into fists.

Breathing heavily, you nod, rubbing your bruised arm. The pain is sharp, and you know you'll be feeling it tomorrow, but you’re relieved to be free from the man's grasp.

"I think so?" you manage to say, trying to steady your voice as you back away from the counter to put some distance between yourself and the now-groaning figure on the floor.

Joel’s eyes find the man as he slowly picks himself up, giving him a warning glare that promises more if he tries anything again. "Come in here again, and I’ll make sure a broken jaw is the least of your worries," he threatens. Is he always this intense? The man, clutching his jaw and mumbling curses, stumbles out of the clinic.

Once gone, Joel turns back to you, his expression softening. "Let me look at your arm," he says, gently taking it in his hands, his touch careful as he examines the bruising.

“Playing doctor today, are we?" you tease with a smirk.

Joel's chuckle rumbles low and warm, melting some of the tension from your shoulders.

"I'm not, but you could've fooled me," he replies, his touch light as he examines your arm. His eyes hold a soft concern that seems at odds with his typically rugged exterior.

“Didn’t know you were a doctor.”

"Do a lot of women at the bar tell you they’re good at giving stitches?" you quip, watching his reaction.

“Alright, smartass, point taken," he teases, releasing your arm. You gently massage the sore skin.

"How did you know I was in trouble?"

Joel leans against the counter, his brow set as he watches you rub your arm.

"Let's just say I've got good instincts.”

"Instincts, huh?" You say, stepping closer. "I suppose next you’ll say that it was just my luck that you happened to wander by when you did?”

His eyes lock with yours.

"I think you're lucky I came when I did," he agrees, his tone serious now.

"Yeah," you agree, a wave of gratitude washing over you. The clinic is suddenly quiet, and you both look at each other momentarily. Everything suddenly feels heavy.

“Too bad there’s no lottery anymore—I could've used some of that luck earlier,” you joke. Stupid.

Joel shakes his head, eyes still scanning your face, perhaps looking for injuries you hadn't mentioned.

"Really, you should be more careful," he chides. "It’s not safe to be out here alone this close to curfew."

"I usually manage fine," you assert, trying not to let his concern make you feel like you can't handle your job. "Tonight was just... unexpected."

"Doesn't mean it won't happen again. You should think about having someone here with you during late shifts," Joel suggests, his voice low and insistent.

You consider his words, knowing he's right, but it’s also not like people in the QZ are lining up to care for people who aren’t themselves.

Joel seems to read your mind. "Just promise me you'll be careful," he says, stepping back, giving you space. His eyes still hold that fierce protective glint.

"I promise.”

Joel nods once, satisfied. "Good.”

You give him another small smile and think he sees the thank you behind it.

He nods again, eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turns to leave. As he walks towards the door, you watch him go, feeling a mix of emotions—appreciation, relief, and that same magnetic pull from last night.

“Joel?” you call out, halting his steps. “You like whiskey?”

Joel turns, a curious arch lifting his brow as he shifts from his reserved demeanor.

"Yeah, I like whiskey," he replies. "Why, you offering?"

A playful smile dances on your lips.

"Maybe I am," you say, considering for a moment. "How about a thank-you drink? My place isn't far."

For a moment, Joel just looks at you, assessing.

"Lead the way, Doc,” he says, his voice carrying a warmth you haven’t heard before.

++++

You unlock the door to your unit, stepping aside to let him in. "Make yourself comfortable," you say, gesturing vaguely towards the living room. Joel nods and walks through the threshold. As he passes, you notice that he smells slightly sweet and smoky, with a rich, woody undertone.

He takes a seat on the worn couch that’s a carry over from the 80’s, it creaks under his weight. He settles back, his knees spreading wide, and makes himself at home.

Heading into the kitchen, you rummage through the cabinets before finding an old bottle of whiskey. You don’t own any glasses.

You call out to Joel, "I hope you don’t mind sharing with me." You unscrew the cap, take a swig directly from the bottle, and feel the warm burn of the alcohol as it slides down your throat.

You cough. “It's not great, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

Carrying the bottle back to the living room, you pass it to Joel with a playful wink. "Your turn," you say, watching him take his swig with an approving nod. He takes a moment to assess the bottle; not bad for decade-old Tennessee whiskey.

As he drinks, you walk over to a shelf cluttered with various knickknacks and pull out an old battery-powered CD player. Rifling through the modest stack of CDs you’ve traded more ration cards for than you care to admit, you pull out the one you're after and slide it into the player.

As the first chords of Pearl Jam's "Alive" reverberate through the room, Joel's head swivels, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Holy shit. Pearl Jam?" he says, his voice tinged with surprise.

"You know ‘em?" you respond, settling beside him on the couch.

He looks at you with a you’ve got to be serious look.

“Yeah, darlin’, I know ‘em. Pretty sure I was listening to them before you were even born.”

“Oh please,” you laugh, gently elbowing him in the ribs as you snatch the whiskey bottle back. “I’m not that young.” “Pretty sure I’m old enough to be your daddy,” he looks at you. You’re not sure who moved closer, you or him. You feel the solid warmth of his thigh pressed firmly against yours, sending a spark through you.

You turn and look up at him through your lashes.

“Is that what you want to be?” You feel a little thrill as you watch his pupils dilate, and his jaw tightens.

You take another swig from the bottle, and his eyes linger on your lips and the shine from the amber liquid on them. “My daddy,” you emphasize the word daddy with a suggestive tone. His hands flex on his thighs. You can tell he’s holding back, trying to maintain composure. He blushes a little; you notice.

Your words hang in the air. You decide to go easy on him. For now.

“I’m just fucking with you; that’s not really my thing,” you lie. You take another sip from the bottle, and you feel the alcohol coursing through your veins, your cheeks warming from the combination of the whiskey and his burning gaze. Your muscles feel a little gooey, and your bones feel lighter.

“All yours, cowboy,” you say, passing him the bottle. His left-hand kitten kisses yours as he grabs it, and even though it was just a brief touch, you still feel it afterward. You bring your free hand to his resting on his thigh. His knuckles have started to heal, but scabs still linger.

“You gonna tell me how you got this for real this time?” Your fingers gently explore the rough texture of his skin, tracing the prominent veins that stand out beneath. He clenches his hand into a fist, looking at you with an intensity that suggests you don’t want to know.

"Alright Miller, keep your secrets then," you murmur playfully, leaning in so your side body is pressed against his arm. You gently pluck the bottle from his grasp and set it aside on the table. Sliding onto his lap, you straddle him, your thighs framing his sides.

“Wh – what are you doin’?”

"If you won't tell me, the least you can do is kiss me," you suggest, your fingers weaving through his hair, using it to tilt him up to look at you. His eyes flicker to your lips, and his hand cradles your face as you inch nearer. His thumb brushes softly across your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch wanders, trailing from your neck to your waist, each movement charged with tension.

Suddenly, he shifts, flipping you onto your back with a smooth motion. Your back hits the cushions and a small oof escapes your lungs. Your thighs are still bracketing him. The pressure of his hips against your center makes your insides flutter.

“You’re a needy little thing, arentcha?”

Mhmm, you moan, cupping his face, trying to pull him closer to you. The hardness you feel pressed up on your hips makes you a little desperate.

God, you’re perfect, he thinks. So warm and willing, making it so easy for him.

You’ve been fairly obvious in your flirting with him. He hasn’t been with a woman in a while, but he sure as shit wasn’t born yesterday. A voice in his mind tells him this might be the liquor talking, not you. Or worse, he thinks you might feel like you owe him something for helping you out earlier.

He wants you, but not like this.

"I think you're a little drunk, darlin'," he whispers, his voice low and teasing. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, noses so close they touch.

“So what if I am?” you giggle.

“Kiss me, Miller.” His eyes fall to your lips.

You close your eyes, expecting a kiss, but instead, he plants a tender kiss on your forehead.

"I should go," he murmurs, pulling away and standing up. "Get some sleep," he adds, his voice mingling with the music. Before you can reach for him, he's out the door, leaving you wet, tipsy, and confused.

By the time Joel returned to his unit, the ache in his jeans was almost too much to bear.

He fucked his hand twice that night, once to the thought of how you felt on top of him, your hips rocking into his, and the other to the thought of what your lips might feel like pressed against his.

He wanted to kiss you. He wants to kiss you.

And while his cock might have other thoughts on the matter, he’s never been one to take advantage. Joel knows he’s a bad man, but he’s not bad enough to do that to you.

He’s done many hard things, but walking away from you at that moment might be near the top of the list.

++++

You feel his fingers on your forearm, gently tracing up and down on the skin there when you open your eyes. He’s sitting on the bed next to you. His voice, a heavy mix of concern and warmth now, steadies your spinning world. You try and sit up. What the actual fuck is happening? Wasn’t he…just?

"Hey, take it easy," Joel murmurs, guiding you gently back against the pillows.

As you settle, the dizzying spin of the room slows, and you're met with Joel's intense stare. He's studying you, his eyes flickering with a mixture of unease and something deeper, something unspoken.

"You okay?" His voice is a soft murmur, barely rising above the whistle from the broken window across the room.

You nod, but your heart feels like it’s going to pound out of your chest —not just from the disorienting fall, but from the closeness of him. The magnetic pull you've felt since the beginning is more palpable now, impossible to ignore. You blink away the last clouds of your dizziness and focus on him. His shirt clings to him, damp with sweat; his usually neat hair begins to curl at the edges, and there's a tightness in his expression that mirrors the pain you feel.

You’re aching, not in your muscles or bones; no, it’s deeper than that. It's like the pull of a wave threatening to take you under tow.

"Yeah, just,” you sigh. “Joel, I feel so weird," you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m so hot,” you say, and admitting it out loud overwhelms you.

“I know, baby, me too,” Joel responds softly, his hand brushing lightly over your shoulder,

He’s so sweet and tender. The nickname lingers in your mind and plays on a loop.

Baby. Baby.

Warmth spreads up from your chest, a burning sensation that lodges behind your ribcage, familiar yet overwhelming. Tears start to prick your eyes, and before you can hold them back, they stream down your face.

You're crying now, not just from the discomfort but from everything—the closeness, the concern in his voice, the way he keeps calling you baby, and the deep ache it all stirs within you.

“Stupid fucking flower,” you say through your tears.

“What’s that now?”

“In the field—the flower, the colorful one I showed you. I didn’t know what it was at first, but then I remembered reading about it in a book about herbal remedies.”

“And you think this flower has something to do with what’s wrong with us right now?” he questions.

“I don’t remember what it’s called, but I remember reading a warning about it –”

He doesn’t say anything; he just looks at you, patiently waiting for you to finish your thought.

“The flower,” you sniffle. “Well, the sap and pollen of the flower, I should say, have some strange side effects if ingested or put into the bloodstream…”

“Go on, baby.”

There it is again. Baby.

“It causes extreme arousal, light-headedness, and a shit ton of other things I don’t remember.”

“Oh. Well, that explains –”

“Yeah,” you cut him off, already knowing what he wanted to say. You use the back of your hand to wipe away some moisture from your face, but there’s no point; you still feel the tears falling. You close your eyes and try to will the discomfort from your mind.

“It's okay, darlin'," he murmurs, "I’m here. We'll just let it run its course, alright?" His arms envelop you, drawing you tightly against the solid warmth of his chest. Gently, he cradles the curve of your head in his hand, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady against your ear. You open your eyes, and through your wet vision, you look down and see that he’s still hard.

“Joel, I –” his hand floats to the column of your neck, holding you to look at him.

“What do you need, baby?”

“I need you to fuck me.”

Shit. No going back now.

“I can’t do that. We’re not in the right state of mind. I don’t want to take advan–”

“Joel, please,” you say through your tears.

He looks at you like he’s at war with his mind and body; your desperate doe eyes stare back at him.

His cock twitches.

He’s been in pain ever since you hit the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to finish after you passed out again. How could he? He was too worried about you. Every fiber of his being was screaming to cum, but the concern he held for you overrode it all.

“Joel, I’m begging you,” you plead.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yeah—yes. Joel, I need you,” you respond quickly, already moving to drag the unbuttoned jeans off your body. He’s still unmoving, and his body feels like molasses—viscous and sluggish. You’ve rid yourself of your shirt when you command his attention again, “Joel!”

“Fuck, yeah – okay,” he takes off his shirt, and you help him with his buckle. He undoes his jeans once more while you make quick work of removing your bra and underwear, leaving yourself bare in front of him.

“Lay back, baby, need to taste you.” You do as he says, letting your knees fall to the sides until you’re spread open for him. He comes to his knees on the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight.

“God damn, darlin’ — could cum just from lookin’ at you like this,” he says, stroking his cock. You thought he was big when you saw him in the corner, but seeing him this close, really seeing him, is another story.

He collapses onto his stomach between your legs, his breath warm against your skin. Gently, he presses his lips to the tender flesh of your inner thigh, delivering a playful nip that sends a shiver through you.

“Wanna taste you – you have no idea how bad I want to taste you,” he groans as he breathes in your scent, the tip of his aquiline nose bumps against your clit. You’re so keyed up already, a dripping mess for him, your aching clit just begging for a bit of attention.

He runs a finger through your drenched seam, your juices dripping onto his thick digit. He licks his finger, then shoves it into his mouth so he can taste every drop. He clamps his eyes shut and groans. “So fuckin’ sweet, baby.”

Joel spreads your legs wider, giving him full access to your pussy. He plants a soft kiss on the top of your mound and then gently parts his lips, allowing his tongue to lick through your dripping folds.

“Please,” You cry, with one hand gripping the worn fabric of the bedspread and one tugging on his messy curls. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your pussy as you grind your hips into his mouth.

“I’ll take care of you, baby, don’t worry, ‘m here,” he whispers before returning his attention to you.

Your vision fills with glittering spots while he expertly alternates between flicking his tongue and sucking on your clit. He’s keeping a steady rhythm, on the slower side, you think, but you can’t be sure; your sense of time is fully warped.

He picks up the pace, your fingers cramping from their death grip on the fabric. You feel your peak approaching. It feels different, like euphoria injected straight into your veins.

Joel senses your approaching release and pushes one of his thick fingers into your wet heat.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he mumbles against your skin. He picks up his pace and then adds another finger, one your greedy cunt happily accepts. He hooks them slightly so they’re pressing against the spongey spot inside you that you can never seem to reach yourself.

“Come on, baby. Wanna feel you.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, and then tension inside you releases all at once, snaps, and hurtles you into another dimension.

As if the cosmos has poured all its beauty into a single moment, the wave of your orgasm breaks—an explosion of white light, pure and cleansing, sweeping away all that came before, cooling the fire raging inside of you.

Joel works you through it, his fingers keeping a steady rhythm as you come down, coated in a gentle rain of shimmering particles, bathed in a serene and growing peace, and you catch your breath.

“I’ve–I’ve never felt anything like that,” you pant, “That was amazing.”

“It was pretty pretty to watch, too,” he tells you, rising between your legs. His hand comes to his cock again, holding it by the base. He’s furiously hard, the tip of him drooling, the color of it a deep, rich shade of violet.

“I need you, baby, so fuckin’ bad,” he tells you, voice wrecked.

You spread your legs open a little wider for him, bringing your hands to your knees, spreading your glistening cunt open for him.

“She’s all yours,” you coo, and he’s on you. He arranges himself above you, his forearms taking the brunt of his weight, yet the impressive heft of him presses down, enveloping you in his presence. His broadness looms, an expansive canopy; he eclipses your view, and all that exists in this moment is him. You wrap your fingers around his midsection, and he lines the tip of himself up with your wet and waiting hole.

“You’re mine,” he tells you like it’s a fact, not a statement, as he pushes his hips forward and buries his cock deep inside of you. He pauses, giving you a moment to adjust. There’s a dull sting, but it quickly dissipates as he pulls out of you slowly and then thrusts forward again. The slow drag of his cock against your walls, the tip of it kissing your cervix, sends you into a frenzy.

“Faster – ah shit, harder –” you moan and he begins to ravage you without mercy, kissing and nipping at the razor edge of your jaw, the tip of your chin. Your moans are muffled against his skin, cries of pleasure that rise in pitch with each thrust forward.

“Mmm, you’re so warm,” he huffs and moans above you as he fucks away at your tight core. “Feels so good, not gonna last long like this. Tight little pussy’s choking me too good.”

The familiar, odd sensation washes over you again, that strange mix of feeling both insubstantial and overwhelmingly heavy. It's as if you're simultaneously a feather, drifting weightlessly, and a boulder, rooted deeply and immovably. This feeling lifts and anchors you, leaving you floating between reality and a dreamlike state.

You focus on the feeling of his thrusts.

Back and forth.

In and out.

Back and forth.

In and out.

You’re drunk off it, off him.

He snakes his hand behind your body to grab your ass for extra leverage, allowing him to slam into you harder, his hips thrusting against yours. The thatch of dark hair at the base of him rubs up against your swollen clit. You feel like you’re getting fucked into near unconsciousness, your eyes heavy and half-lidded.

“Joel,” you moan, your voice barely above a whisper, “I’m so close, oh my god, please.”

Joel’s eyes roll shut as you wrap your arms and legs around him tightly, holding on for dear life as he fucks you like a man possessed.

“That’s it baby, beg for it,” he tells you, and you do.

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you cry out, “Daddy, please.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Joel groans as he feels your walls clamp down on him, your orgasm gripping you like a fever.

“Good fucking girl,” he praises.

Tears once again stream from your face, this time from pleasure, as he splits you open even more.

He repositions, bringing your knees to your chest, holding them together with his strong arms as he continues to push in and out of you.

The tension builds, a gathering storm within him. Every nerve seems to tighten, coil, ready to spring. His world narrows and blurs until there’s only you and the tight feel of your pussy around him.

“Gonna come,” he tells you, and his thrusts slow.

His breath catches, and he quickly pulls out of you. Then, the release comes— your legs fall to the sides again, and a spray of his cum lands on you, hot thick ropes of it drooling from his cock.

He’s floored by relief, pleasure radiating through his body. It's like watching the sky split open with light after a storm—vivid, raw, and beautifully clear.

The aftermath is quiet, a soft descent back into himself, marked by a satisfying stillness.

He drops to the bed beside you, and you both stare at the ceiling, breathless, nothing but prey ensnared in a web of desire. He looks at you, his deep brown eyes now soft and satisfied.

“So…Daddy, huh?”

Part 3 - Coming 5/19

A/N Continued: Okay ngl, I am down so bad for these two. If you are, too, I would really appreciate a comment or a reblog. Your feedback and interaction really are so special to me. Tags: @syd-djarin @endlessthxxghts @thereaperisabitch @caramilena @promptly-mercy @alex-does-art-things @swankyorange @ayishahislost @bensonispunk @doblasftcisco @lizlil @pigeonmama @sullyselena @deansimpalagirl @theelectricmind @pedropascalsbbg @laramc-02 @elegantduckturtle @rainbow12346 @senoratess @eff4freddie @auteurdelabre @yxtkiwiyxt @javipispunk @reedrchards @miller-n-morgan @sawymredfox @casa-boiardi @punkshort @pastawench @survivingandenduring @aspecialgreenie @puduvallee @moel-jiller @sheepdogchick3

#joel miller smut #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #sex pollen #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #jettsflora&faunachallenge

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jacksdinonuggets · 3 months

Text

~ T r a u m a ~

Summary:Lucifer is trying to spend some time to get to know Vaggie but she ends up in littlespace so Lucifer takes care of her.

It was rough keeping a big secret from Charlie. Even though she accepted her now and they were on good terms, things were still very stressful. Her wings contributed to that factor as well. They reminded her of what she did before Charlie found her and it gave her a lot of guilt. A few panic attacks later, she decided to talk about it to Charlie one day, hoping that she’ll feel better.

“Maybe you should talk to someone about this,” Charlie suggested, “I’m not exactly qualified and there aren’t many therapists in hell, but maybe you could talk to my dad,”

“Why Lucifer?” Vaggie asked, a little bit nervous. She didn’t exactly want to talk about all this heavy shit to her girlfriend’s dad. What if she makes herself look bad and he’s unaccepting of them? He did know she was an exorcist but never knew why she fell in the first place. It was too heavy to talk about in their little time together.

“Well, he’s also a fallen angel, he might understand how it feels,” The princess prompted.

Vaggie bit her lip, wondering what she should do. Finally, after a moment of hesitation, she sighed and agreed.

A day or two later, Vaggie stands in front of Lucifer’s room. It was just one of the nicer hotel rooms, so it wasn’t supposed to be as intimidating. But it was. She took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Mr Morningstar?” She called out, slowly opening the door and entering. He had one of the suites so she assumed he was just in one of the bedrooms.

“Ah, Maggie! Good to see you!” He popped up to her side and gave her a hug. She flinched, but then relaxed.

“It’s Vaggie, Sir,” She calmly corrected him.

“Vaggie, got it. Anyways, what brings you to my humble abode,” He asked, leading her to the kitchen area where he poured himself a glass of water.

“I- uhhh, I was hoping to talk to you about something,” She nervously looked around the room, trying to avoid eye contact. She really didn’t want to make this more awkward and terrifying than it already was.

“Oh, alright, let's sit then,” he walked over to the couch and gestured a hand to the one in front of it so they sat facing towards each other.

“So, I- Uh, Charlie wanted me to talk to you about some struggles I’ve been having that have to do with being a fallen angel,” she began, “I don’t even know how to start,”

She thought about it for a second and took a deep breath.

“What do you do when… you feel so ashamed for being an angel that you think it would be better if you were gone?”

“That’s a tough question. Mind telling me why you feel ashamed first?” he asked. He would probably have to tell Charlie about these thoughts. It definitely wasn’t healthy.

Vaggie’s memories and reasons why she was guilty flashed in her head. The people she’s killed. The souls lost. It's all her fault.

“I- I- I-,” She stuttered.

“Hey, it’s okay, take a deep breath,” he instructed. After she took a couple, she felt a bit calmer.

“I was an exorcist for years. I killed so many and hurt many more. I lied to Charlie, I lied to my friends, I even lied to myself. I kept saying that it was okay but it wasn’t! Nothing is okay! I’m not fucking okay! I’m a murderer.…” she confessed. He sucked in a breath but she wasn’t done.

“I wasn’t even punished! I- I deserve to feel hurt and pain. I deserve agony but no one will give it to me. My stupid wings are a constant reminder of the monster I am,” She began to stumble on her words as her lip began to quiver. She’s held so much in that she was an absolute mess now that she was talking about it. It made her headspace immediately fall like a bag of sand being thrown off a cliff.

Before she knew it, she started crying, sobbing even. Lucifer got really worried and moved to sit next to her. He wrapped his arms around her shaking body. She was very much ugly crying. The hiccuping, hyperventilating kind too. Why was he giving her comfort. He should be upset with her.

“Vaggie, you don’t deserve any pain. You’ve changed. You’re not deserving of a punishment anymore. You deserve comfort and help,” He told her in a calm, gentle voice. It was quite nurturing too.

Being a caregiver, he could notice easily when a headspace dropped and he could tell hers went deep down fast. He gently pulled her into his lap and began to rock her, trying to calm the baby down.

“Shh, shhh, you’re okay, we all forgive you, shh, shhh,” He spoke soothingly into her ear.

He made a rubber duck appear and held it in front of her.

“Look! It’s a ducky!” he sqeaked it, trying to get her attention. She looked up at it, still crying but not as many hiccups. Lucifer moved it around and made little quacking noises to entertain her. It seemed to help.

He gave the ducky to her once she stopped crying. She immediately tried to put it in her mouth.

“Ah, ah, ah, you don’t know where that’s been,” he took it out of her mouth and made a pacifier appear in her mouth. She sucked on while playing the rubber duck.

He lifted her up and placed her on the second couch. He snapped his fingers and her clothing changed. She was now in a thick diaper and onesie. Lucifer had babysat enough times to know what clothing helped her feel safe.

He brought her over to the bedroom and laid her down in bed before he took off his shoes and climbed in too. She seemed very clingy so he definitely would need to cuddle with her.

She snuggled up close to him as he massaged her scalp. He felt bad that she had to deal with all of this guilt. It was upsetting to say the least. Even though they weren’t very close, he still cared and worried about her.

He felt content once he heard soft snoring coming from the girl. It was a peaceful sight, knowing that she was no longer fighting her inner demons. He slipped out of the bed without waking her up and went back into the small living room area.

He brainstormed what kind of toys Vaggie would like. He wanted to make sure she had something to do when she woke up. After summoning a couple of blocks, a shape sorting game, and setting up a cute purple tent and filled it with a bunch of pillows and blankets, he sat on the couch and scrolled on his hellphone. He contemplated calling Charlie but he didn’t want her to think he wasn’t good enough to take care of Vaggie.

He sat there for a while until a scream erupted from the bedroom. He shot up and scrambled towards the sound. He followed it and opened the door. The sight he was greeted with was sad to say the least. The poor girl was shot up in bed, bawling while clutching the blankets. He could easily see sweat beads rolling down her forehead too. Using context clues, he realized that she must’ve had a nightmare.

“Sweetie,” he sat down next to her on the bed. He rubbed her back and kissed her forehead, waiting patiently for her to calm down. He wiped away her tears and held a tissue to her nose, which she blew into, clearing her sinuses. She cried for a minute or two until she was feeling a bit better.

Lucifer summoned a bottle filled with cold water and pulled her into his lap. A diaper change was in order afterwards but for now, he fed her the water, knowing that it would help. Once she finished it, she mumbled a “t’ank you,”

“You’re welcome, Little ducky. Do you want to talk about your bad dream?” Lucifer asked.

“Dun wanna think about it,” She told him. “Scary,”

“It’s okay, baby, you don’t need to talk about it. I have a small surprise for you but do you need any help getting your diapy changed?” He asked. She nodded, feeling way too small to do it herself.

He laid her down on the ground and began to make quick work of the change. Vaggie played with a small fidget cube so it wasn’t so overwhelming. Once he was done and taped everything up, he carried her on his hip into the living room where watched her play with blocks and sorting games.

Lucifer never realized how intense her trauma was. He was glad that he now knew so he could prepare for any future mishaps. It made him determined to be the best caregiver ever. He would make the small and scared fallen angel feel happy with herself again.

#agere writing #agere fanfic #age regression #sfw agere #hazbin hotel agere #sfw littlespace #little!Vaggie #cg!lucifer #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel age regression #hazbin hotel #age regression writing #age regression fic #regressuary #sfw diaper wearing #sfw padded agere #ageredips #sfw agere diapers

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slytherin-paramour · 11 months

Text

Ok, so it's three days late and probably full of typos and shit but I finally finished my Weasley Wednesday "Wet" contribution!

There is no smut (apologies), just purest of fluffy fluff times with our boi.

Garreth Weasley x F!MC

WET

~~~~~~~~~~●●●●●●●●●●●~~~~~~~~~~~

A shrill shriek erupted from your mouth at a sudden intense pain that felt like you were being stabbed in your calf. Looking down, you realised that your assumption wasn't too far removed from reality. A small, writhing mass of slimy looking flesh was attached to your leg, it's row's of razor sharp teeth currently embedded into your flesh, having ripped into your stockings. It had oversized ears, shaped somewhat similarly to a dragons wings, and bulbous eyes that flitted wildly about as it attempted to tear off a chunk of your skin. You might have thought that it was cute if it wasn't savaging you.

Hissing in agony, you shook your leg vigorously in an effort to fling the damned thing off you. No luck. It flapped its head wings manically, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a gurgle and a growl and bit down harder. The pain intensified, and you yelped, glaring down angrily at whatever this little demon creature was. You didn't want to hurt it, not really, but it wasn't giving you much choice. You reached into your robe and pulled out your ebony wand. You were suddenly aware of the fact that you had begun to feel quite woozy, vision spotting in the corners, and your leg burned as though it were on fire.

A figure burst through the lining of trees, the sound of branches snapping and erratic breathing drawing your attention away from your painful situation.

"I heard screaming! MC, what's wrong? Are you..." Garreth Weasley's mouth stopped moving and his face paled as he took in your appearance, his verdant gaze travelling from your sweaty face and down to the snarling little beast that was still trying to make a meal out of you. You were gripping the trunk of an old oak tree now, trying to keep yourself upright, though it was starting to become quite the task. Dropping the arm full of ingredients that he'd gathered from the forest, he pulled out his wand hastily.

"I'm going to need you to hold as still as possible, MC. Can you do that for me?" Your best friends voice was calm and collected, and you tried to focus on that instead of the blinding pain that was slowly making its way further up your leg. You nodded quickly, feeling a bead of sweat fall over your temple. Garreth had rolled up his sleeves and gripped his wand firmly. He moved closer to the thrashing creature and aimed at it steadily.

"Hold still, you little bugger...Flippendo!" A jet of purple sparks shot from the tip of the read heads wand and impacted with the body of the impish beast. Instantly, it's jaws wrenched open, and it released your flesh. The knockback jinx flung it away from your body as if it had been electrocuted, careening somewhere into the surrounding foliage with an outraged screech.

You breathed a relieved sigh, glancing down at your leg. Oh. It didn't look great, you thought, through oncoming dizziness. Blood seeped from a wound that had begun to turn dark at its centre, thin tendrils of black crawling out and travelling up to your knee. The look on Garreth's face did nothing to stem your worry as he stared at your injury in horror. Frantically, he yanked his red and gold tie away from his neck and wrapped it tightly above your wound, so tight that you could feel your blood pulsing through the damaged appendage. The immense burning had begun to feel more numb and tingly, and though your vision was a bit off and the dizziness hadn't subsided you did have to wonder why your Gryffindor friend was in such a tizzy. He was raking around in his satchel now, sweat beading on his forehead and eyes as wide as saucers. You grunted and slumped down against the tree, reaching out to grip the sleeve of his robe.

"What's the matter? Why are you so panicked? It's just a bite." His green eyes shot up to meet yours for a hot second before darting back to your leg.

"It's NOT just a random bite, MC. That thing that was trying to eat you was a bloody Doxy!" He had unstoppered a vial of Wiggenweld potion as he spoke and brought it to your lips, urging you to swallow it. You did as he asked, and whilst you drank, you watched through steadily blurring vision as he practically splashed the ugly black wound with Dittany essence.

Wiping his brow, he shifted backwards and stood up quickly.

"We need to get you to Madam Blainey. Now. Those potions should help to slow the venom, but..VENOM?" You cut across him, a bit of fear now crossing your features. You were beginning to feel unbearably hot. Garreth leaned down, one large arm wrapping around your shoulders and the other gripping you carefully under your knees. He looked into your eyes worriedly. He had momentarily forgotten that even though you were nearing the end of your seventh year at Hogwarts, you were still relatively new to the wizarding world, and thus didn't know about ALL of it's surprises and dangers.

"Yes, venom. Doxy venom. Extremely toxic to humans. I'll explain on the way. I'll need to carry you to the nearest floo flame. The more you exert yourself, the quicker the venom spreads." You winced a little as he hoisted you up and supported your weight across his chest.

Resting your head into his shoulder, you noticed how broad he'd become, the way he carried you as if you were feather light surprising you in the best of ways. You groaned as a sudden spasm of pain shot through your thigh. Glancing at the source, you saw that the black tendrils from the bite had reached the top of your leg. You looked away, burying your face into Garreth's chest as you fought the urge to throw up.

"I don't feel good..." You mumbled softly, your voice notably weaker than before. "Shit, shit, shit!" Garreth was barreling through the forest at a record pace, holding you protectively against him as he clambered over ancient tree roots and rock formations. He very nearly went arse over tit, but managed to stay upright and on course, breathing a sigh of relief when the floo flame at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest came into view. He struggled to get his words out with the exertion of the situation, chest heaving dramatically.

"MC, are you still with me? Whatever you do, don't fall asleep, OK? We're almost there, I've got you." You felt the deep rumble of Garreth's voice but couldn't make out the words that he spoke. Everything sounded as though you were underwater, and in a way, it was peaceful.

"OI! PLEASE, MC! Stay with me! Merlin no...!" Your arm's fell limply to dangle at your sides, eyes half lidded. A blurred collage of firey red and striking green was the last thing you recall seeing before darkness took you.

Blinking into consciousness, the first sensation that bombarded you was how insanely dry your mouth felt. Your eyes squinted open before taking a few rapid blinks. Ow. That was a mistake. A dull throb in your head caused you to close your eyes once more, leaning your face to the side and into the plush pillow that you lay upon.

Then there were fingers wrapping into your hand, the grip tight but not uncomfortable. You instinctively squeezed back, the warmth of the large hand a comfort in your half-aware state. You chanced opening an eye again and were greeted with the exhausted looking face of your best friend. He was looking down at you with such a sadness on his features that it damned near broke your heart. He looked like he hadn't slept for weeks. You smiled up at him weakly, one eye still not quite open.

"Hey, handsome." Garreth remained uncharacteristically quiet, but you saw the tell tale twitch of a smile in the corner of his mouth. The grip on your hand tightened. "Evening sunshine. Welcome back to the land of the living." You laughed lightly, pushing your body into a more upright position with a fatigued huff.

The red heads eye's were still studying you worriedly as you settled back against the headboard of your bed. You'd now ascertained that you were in the hospital wing, the sterile scent that invaded your nostrils, and peace of the place were a dead giveaway. You suddenly remembered all that had transpired in the forest and quickly moved to throw the sheets from your lower half, shocking the Gryffindor in the process.

"Merlin's beard, MC! What are you doing?" You glanced at him apologetically before returning your gaze to your legs.

You winced a little at the dull ache in your head as you inspected yourself, experimentally bending your knee up and down. "The bite wound is gone. It still feels a tad numb, though perhaps that's due to being stuck in a hospital bed?" Garreth hummed gently. You looked from your legs and up to his face, and to your surprise, he was turned away from you, his face almost as red as his hair. You frowned, a look of confusion crossing your face until mere seconds later, you realised why he'd become so skittish. In your haste to inspect your injury, you'd yanked your hospital gown up to your waist, completely disregarding the fact that your friend was sitting beside you. Your attractive male friend with whom you'd shared numerous "moments" with over the last year, you might add.

With a flush to your own face, you scrambled to pull the fabric back down and cover your underwear, though you were certain that Garreth must have gotten an eyeful. You looked up at him with an awkward smile, reaching over to stroke your fingers over his wrist gently. "Sorry about that, my modesty is in tatters, it seems. How very un-lady like of me."

He turned to look at you again, blush still adording his freckled cheeks. His flaming hair flopped over his right eye, and you had the urge to run your hands through it. "You have to be a lady for that I'm afraid, MC, and I'm afraid that you're the most unlady like woman that I know." He chuckled as you swatted at his hand in mock indignation. You appreciated him trying to diffuse the awkwardness. "How very rude, Garreth Weasley. I can be a lady. It's not my fault that certain shady individuals are always asking me to go rooting through the wilderness for elusive potion ingredients now, is it?"

You knew instantly that you'd said the wrong thing. The way that your friends face fell and hands gripped so tightly at your bedsheets caused a lump to form in your throat. You tentatively reached out to soothe away the tension in his hands, your fingers brushing his knuckles, but he flinched at your touch. "Garreth..." You spoke his name meekly. "Are you ok...?" The Gryffindor didn't reply at first, merely continued to glare down at his lap angrily.

"It's just...I'm not... I'm angry at myself, MC. You could have died back there in that forest. I thought that you had died at one point. And for what? Some bloody ridiculous potion ingredients?" Your heart felt as though it had dropped out of your chest as you listened to the utter despair in his voice, his face twisted as though he were in physical pain. You brought a hand up to his face, ghosting his cheekbone with your thumb.

"This wasn't your fault, Gar. Please don't... but it WAS my fault, MC!" His words cut across yours sharply, the jerk of his head causing you to retract your hand swiftly. You looked at him dolefully, not used to witnessing the usually buoyant and optimistic boy in such a sorry state. His teeth clenched together, and the grip on your bedsheets increased double fold, so tight that you feared he may actually tear the fabric in two.

"Please don't try to convince me otherwise. It was me who cajoled you into exploring that forest. Even though I knew that it's Doxy breeding season at the moment. I was so desperate for those ingredients that I was willing to utterly disregard your safety. I don't deserve to be breathing the same air as you, let alone call you my friend." It was your turn to look angry now. You grabbed his large right hand with both of your own, squeezing it tightly before ripping his fingers away from the sheets and dragging it up to hold it against your chest.

"Garreth. Stop this right now." His eyes were wide as they met your livid ones. You found, however, that your anger was being countered by the overwhelming urge to weep. Your body was still recovering, and all of this emotional energy was beginning to drain you. When you spoke again, your voice was tired and cracked.

"If you ever so much as think such horrible things again, I'll hex you halfway across the Highlands." You sniffled, trying and failing to stop a rogue tear from falling. "I decided to help you search for that ingredient. Me. And I'd do it again, because you're my best friend and I care about you. I want to see you succeed. And do you honestly think that I don't realise how dangerous that bloody forest is? Gar, I spent most of my fifth year there. Hero of Hogwarts, remember?" You were happy to see a tiny smile on his face when you looked back up at the red head.

"You are quite reckless. And tenacious." He added, bringing the hand that wasn't cradled at your chest up to your face. He cupped your cold cheek affectionately, thumb brushing away the tear that had fallen there. You let out a short laugh, leaning into his palm as he continued to speak in that distinctly mellow voice of his.

"Only you could be bitten by a Doxy and be stubborn enough to survive without an immediate antidote."

Where your eyes had been closed, content in the warmth from Garreth's hand, they opened and glanced up at him in confusion. You briefly recalled the Gryffindor saying that he'd explain more about Doxy venom on the way to the hospital wing but must have passed out before he got the chance. "Tell me about Doxies, Gar. You gave me Dittany and Wiggenweld. Were they not enough?" He looked at you gravely, his frown reappearing. He wasn't particularly keen to talk about the beast that had very nearly killed you. With a sigh, he dropped his hand from your face to lay atop the cotton sheets.

Doxies are actually in the same class as faeries and pixies, the only difference being that they are extremely toxic to humans if bitten. Normal healing potions and tonics don't work against the venom, which spreads around the body at a deadly pace." Garreth looked pained again, obviously recalling the event in the forest. "If it seemed as though I were overly anxious at the time, it's because I was terrified that the bloody venom was going to kill you on the spot."

You smiled at him sympathetically, still clinging to his left hand. "And you said that the Wiggenweld slowed the venom down?" You continued to quiz him. If anything, it would serve as extremely useful information for the future. He nodded, his red curls bouncing slightly with the movement.

"The only thing that can truly save a person from the bite of a Doxy is the antidote to uncommon poisons. Not a potion that one usually carries in ones arsenal. That's why I knew that I needed to get you here as fast as possible." He finished tiredly.

You nodded to show your understanding, bringing your fingers up to swipe away a few strands of hair from your forehead. You stifled a yawn. The pounding inside your head had decreased quite a bit during your chatting. "Thank you for saving me, Gar. I quite literally would be lost without you and your astounding knowledge. So please, don't go on some big guilt trip over this, ok?"

Garreth's eye's softened as they studied your face, and he surprised you by leaning into you and pressing a light kiss against your forehead. You felt heat crawl up the skin of your neck, scarcely daring to move. "I'll try, MC." His green eyes lingered close to yours, and you found yourself unable to look away. It was only when Madame Blainey bustled around the curtain and to the foot of your bed that the intimate bubble between you both popped. Garreth darted away from you so fast that you swore he gave himself whiplash.

Face a little flushed, you smiled at the kindly yet stern matron sheepishly when she gave you a knowing raise of the eyebrow. The healer conjured up a large satchel, no doubt containing various medical supplies before turning to the Gryffindor with an impatient sigh. "I'm afraid you'll need to leave now, Mr. Weasley. Visiting hours are over, and this one needs to rest." She gestured to your tiring form, and you inadvertently proved the woman right with a loud yawn. Garreth's eyes drifted to yours, softening as he spoke. "Of course, Madame Blainey. I'll let you work your magic. I have something to be getting on with myself. MC, I'm glad you're OK. I'll see you after you're discharged in the morning. Sleep well." Your eyes rove up his broad back as he left, and when his flaming locks disappeared around the curtain, you felt incredibly empty.

The healer smiled at you empathetically as she began her basic health checks and you smiled in return, but for some reason all you were thinking about was your big, dorky best friend and how much you missed his comforting presence.

The following morning, Madame Blainey gave you a final check over. Much to your disdain, she had also insisted on taking a small vial of your blood, just to ensure that there were no lingering traces of the Doxy venom. Thankfully, there weren't. She sent you on your way, but not without a stern warning about not venturing into "that damned forest" again. You could hear her mumbling about how many careless students she'd had to heal from that place alone as you rounded the corner to head down the hospital wings spiral staircase.

Reaching the lower floors, which also happened to be the Professor's private quarters, you almost barrelled into a figure on the landing. Stumbling to the side, you caught yourself before you could physically topple over. Looking up apologetically, you were met with the concerned face of Professor Weasley. You shifted your bag over your shoulder uncomfortably. "I'm so sorry, Professor. I'm still a tad disorientated, it seems." The red-haired teacher smiled and brushed off your apology.

"No harm done, my dear. I do hope that you're doing better now, though? You gave me quite the scare when my nephew barged into the hospital wing with your unconscious body. Doxy venom is no joke, as I'm sure you're now aware." You nodded sheepishly, feeling like a little child in the presence of the powerful woman.

"Yes, thank you, professor. I owe a great debt to your nephew for his knowledge and quick thinking." The woman scrutinised you briefly, a small frown appearing on her face.

"As knowledgeable as that boy may be, it was foolish on his part to lead you into that forest in the first place. I would advise more caution from both of you in the future. Even though I realise that you are an extremely capable witch, that place is not to be taken lightly." You lowered your gaze to the floor.

"Of course, Professor. I apologise for causing such a hassle." The professor's features softened, noticing your dejected mood. "Well, let what's done be done. Speaking of that troublesome nephew of mine, you haven't seen him recently, have you? I've been searching for him all morning but haven't seen hide nor hair or him." You looked up at her, slighlty baffled.

"I'm afraid not, Professor. He came to visit me last night but I haven't seen him since he left." She looked slightly concerned for a moment but plastered a smile to her face and put a gentle hand to your shoulder. "Well, never mind. I'm sure he'll turn up later. Probably off brewing some precarious concoction in a bathroom somewhere, knowing that boy. If you DO see him, please let him know that I'm looking for him, won't you?" You smiled genuinely at the kind witch, promising that you would do that before beginning the long trek to the Slytherin common room.

As it turns out, you didn't see your best friend all day. After a little power nap in your dorm room, you'd sped off on a little hunt for the red head, starting at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. The giant woman who occupied the portrait of the entrance kept throwing you and your green trimmed robes looks of disdain as you paced back and forth waiting for the first Gryffindor student to emerge so that you could quiz them on Garreth's whereabouts. It just so happened to be Leander Prewett who emerged from the portrait first, and you grabbed his sleeve quickly, pulling him to the side.

"Afternoon Leander. I was just wondering if Garreth happened to be in the common room or dorm at the moment?" The tall ginger looked you over before smiling.

"He left the common room in the early hours, and I've not seen him since, thought he'd be visiting you if I'm honest. You're practically inseparable now, aren't you?" You flushed a little at the Gryffindors obvious implication. "Yes, well, Garreth is a great friend, as you well know." You replied impatiently. Leander ran a hand over the back of his neck with that nervous disposition that he often exuded.

"Oh...yes, of course. Well then, if I see him, I'll be sure to let him know that his "friend" is looking for him." You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the boy before thanking him and rushing back the way you came.

After checking practically ALL of the bathroom stalls, all of the classrooms (even though it was a weekend), the quidditch pitch, the Great Hall (you couldn't resist grabbing a quick snack on your way out, having missed lunch), you were now feeling desperately worried for your friend. It simply wasn't like him to vanish without a trace. At one point, you even took your broom to the grounds, flying down swiftly over the black lake by the boathouse, just in case you might catch a glimpse of his giveaway crimson locks. Nothing.

You passed by Sebastian and Ominis in the corridor leading back to the dungeons, your forlorn expression causing them to stop and listen to your concerns. Just as you finished your story, (Sebastian being none too pleased about your endeavour in the forest), a burly figure with tell-tale flaming curls came strolling into the dungeons, a huge grin splitting across his face when he made eye contact with you.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you, MC!" If looks could kill, the Gryffindor boy would have turned into dust in within seconds. Garreth's smile faltered as he looked from you to the two Slytherin boys at your side, who had sensed your rage and were stepping away from you slowly. Sebastian leaned in to whisper in your ear. "Try not to murder him, MC. Good luck, Weasley!" The chestnut haired boy waved at the Gryffindor over your shoulder and ushered Ominis toward the Slytherin common room entrance. You heard the distinct hissing of the giant stone snake as they approached it.

Garreth stood nervously in front of you, shuffling from foot to foot. You took in his appearance as you glared at him through narrowed eyes. He was a state. He was wearing his usual checkered red trousers and boots ensemble, coupled instead with a casual white cotton shirt. Said clothes were covered in dirt and stains from god knows what. His hair, whilst usually messy in a stylized way, was in complete disarray, twigs, and leaves poking out here any there. And what was that burnt smell wafting from him? Your frown faltered a little as he stood there looking the way he did, curiosity fighting with your anger.

"Garreth Weasley, you have some explaining to do! You've been missing for the whole bloody day, and you traipse in here asking where I'VE been? I've been so worried about you, you absolute moonmind!" He flinched at your words a little, holding up his palms in a submissive gesture.

"Hold on one moment, MC, and let me explain...you had better have a damned brilliant excuse, for Godrics sake, you know that my nerves are a bit fragile right now!" You cut across his words angrily, but your eyes drifted to his outstretched palms. Taking a good look at them, you saw that they were littered with small singe marks, red and sore looking. That would explain the burning scent that clung to him. You took a step closer to him and gently ran your fingers over the skin of his palm.

"Garreth. What in Merlins name have you done here? Please tell me that these burns have nothing to do with why you've been missing all day." The Gryffindor closed his hands and stepped backwards, glancing down at you guiltily.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, MC. After I left you in the hospital wing last night, I was still feeling incredibly responsible for everything that happened to you." You were about to scold him for his words, but he continued quickly. "SO, I got to thinking and came up with a little idea about how I could make it up to you, help you out a little just in case similar situations arise in the future. I've been out hunting for a few ingredients all day so that I can brew you your very own batch of the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons!"

You wanted to scold him for disappearing. You really did. But seeing him standing there looking so bloody pleased with himself, absolutely filthy and injured, all for your sake, caused your anger to dissipate. You sighed, running both hands over your face exasperatedly.

"And I presume that means that you've been back in the Forbidden Forest? How on earth did you burn yours hands, Gar?" You fished around in your satchel, pulling out a wiggenweld potion and handing it to your friend insistently. He unstoppered the little green drink, downing it in one. He held out his hands so that you could watch the burns heal up slowly, explaining as you both waited. "I was extracting fire seeds from their bushes. It's one of the four ingredients in the antidote. Quite a tricky task though." He nodded down to his now burn free palms. You grimaced, running your thumbs over his fresh skin.

"You really didn't need to go through so much trouble for me, Gar... but since you did, I'm assuming that you've retrieved all four ingredients now?" Garreth held your hand in his and began to lead you out of the dungeons. You were too exhausted to resist at this point, plus, you thought to yourself, his hand felt wonderful enveloped around yours. He grinned back at you with that irresistible smile of his.

"Actually, no. That's the reason I came looking for you. The final ingredient is quite a rare one, but I think that you can help me with that, MC." You rolled your eyes but laughed a little anyway. "Remind me again what happened the last time I helped you with potions ingredients?" Garreth's smile faded at your words, which you instantly regretted speaking.

"That's precisely why I'm doing this, MC. I know that you told me not to blame myself, but I can't help it. I DO blame myself. He stopped walking and turned to face you. "I'm not sure that realise just how much I care about you. You mean everything to me, and if there's even the slightest chance that I can do anything to keep you safe, then I'm going to do it."

Your heart seemed to stutter inside your chest, and you felt blood rushing to your cheeks at his words. He spoke with such a sincerity in his voice that you didn't have the heart to refute him. He smiled again, not caring that you hadn't replied to his statement. "Come on, we need to go to your Room of Requirement. I'm right in thinking that you've rescued a pair of Graphorns, yes?" He began walking once more, in what you now realised was the direction of the Astronomy tower.

You raised your eyebrows, curiosity overtaking your embarrassment. "....Yes, the Lord of the Shore and his mate live inside my beach vivarium. They actually had a calf a couple of months ago...why do you ask?" Garreth didn't stop walking, running his spare hand through his curly locks. "The final ingredient for the antidote is...powdered Graphorn horn...I was hoping that your Graphorns may have shed one or two that they wouldn't mind me taking."

And that was how the two of you ended up in your beach vivarium together, barefoot as you tread through the soft sand. As soon as you'd entered, your beasts, the Hippogriffs, and the Graphorns had sauntered toward you. You didn't mind admitting that they were a tad spoiled at this point, instantly nuzzling at your pockets in search of treats. The Lord of the Shore, whom you'd nicknamed Caspian after the great sea, leaned down over your shoulder, his soft mouth tentacles tickling the skin of your cheek. You reached up to scratch the side of his spiked head affectionately, glancing over at your red-haired friend who was kneeling down in front of the baby Graphorn, offering her some food. The baby was delighted, demolishing the nuggets in seconds before diving on top of him, flattening the Gryffindor into the sand. You laughed heartily, thoroughly enjoying yourself at his expense. (You knew first hand just how heavy the Graphorn calf was.) You looked up to Caspian, who was wholly unbothered by his troublesome offspring. "You and Tempest definitely have your hands full with that little whirlwind, boy."

Caspian snorted in response, moving off to join his mate as you watched Garreth struggle for a moment longer. There was a tender silence in your gaze as you looked at the boy who now lay flat on his back, laughing jovially up at the sky. The calf, realising that Garreth had no food left, ran away to join her mother, jumping around with all the joys of youth. You leaned over your friend, blocking out the sun.

"Having fun down there? That looked painful." You smirked and held a hand out for him, which he took and used to hoist himself to his feet. He grinned. "Of course! I'm treating it as a life experience. It's not often that one is body slammed by a Graphorn."

"A BABY Graphorn, Gar. If Caspian had body slammed you I daresay you wouldn't live to call it a life experience."

Garreth waved off your words with a flourish of his arm. "Pfft. Technicalities, MC. Technicalities. Speaking of, what was his name again? Caspian? What do you reckon to me snatching a couple of those shedding horns from his neck? I promise it won't hurt him. They're pretty much hanging off as far as I can see." You gave him a mischievous smile, leading him towards the huge male beast. "You'll have to ask him nicely, though I'm sure he won't object. Maybe." Garreth gave you a withering look before moving into the Graphorns line of sight.

Caspian's sharp amber eyes were trained on the Gryffindor, watching his every move. He was a gentle beast around you, but a little skittish around newcomers. Garreth spoke nervously but with determination when he voiced his request out loud, giving a little bow of his head. Graphorns, unlike Hippogriffs, did not require a bow for any kind of interaction. It was, however, good practice to show them the respect that they deserved.

You stood to the side, on hand, just in case Caspian decided not to trust your friend after all. Garreth stood at Caspians shoulder now and had wrapped his fingers around a loose, scraggly horn that WAS, in fact, hanging off of the creatures heavy arsenal of horns "Steady there, big fella, I'm not going to hurt you." His spare hand stroked soothingly down the Graphorns scaly body as he pulled at the spikey shed in his grasp. It had just about snapped free from Caspian when an almighty shriek broke through the peaceful quiet.

The Hippogriff family had appeared from under the rocky alcove not far from where Garreth and Caspian stood and were fighting over a large fish that one of them was currently ripping it's beak into. Utterly startled by the cacophony of sqawks and screeching, Caspian bolted toward the ocean at breakneck speed, and as he did so, he managed to snag your poor Gryffindors shirt on one of his protruding horns. The giant beast dragged a wailing Garreth a few feet away and straight into the shallows of the salty water, where the sharp horn proceeded to rip through his clothing and dump the poor lad straight onto his arse in the waves. You ran into the water after him, the water rushing by just above your knees.

"GAR! Are you ok!? Are you hurt?" The boy was drenched, his usually bouncy curls sticking to his wet face limply. Garreth was propping his upper body out of the water, arse on the ground, and knees up. He spat some salty water out of his mouth and looked up at you with a bit of a bewildered smile. You covered your lips to stifle a laugh. Caspian was now wading happily in the deeper water, not a care in the world as he hunted for crabs and other sea creatures.

"That wasn't exactly how I planned this to go, if I'm being completely honest." He brought a hand up to swipe his sopping hair backwards and away from his eyes, which were giving Caspian a good-natured yet accusatory stare before landing on your now laughing form. A sly smirk appeared on his face, and too quickly for you to avoid it, his hand was wrapped around your thin wrist, and you were falling forward into the water as well. You squealed and splashed as the water soaked your clothes. You anticipated feeling the soft sand of the sea bed on your hands but were surprised to feel something warmer and firmer.

You raised your head, spluttering, and realised that your nose was only inches away from Garreth's, your body resting precariously across his in the water. He had been laughing like a maniac seconds ago, but a silence overcame you both when your eyes met. The waves crashed over the rocks behind you. His olive orbs were fixed on yours, flickering down to your lips and back. You were suddenly acutely aware of the way your bodies pressed together, his sturdy legs entwined with yours. Your heart raced in your chest as he brought a hand out of the water to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your bottom lip. You tasted salt when the tip of his thumb dipped into your mouth experimentally. An unfamiliar sound fell from you at the sensation, a sound that you really shouldn't be making around your best friend.

Betraying your logic, your head moved of it's own accord, closer to the red heads face. When his cold lips met yours, you melted into him with a pleasured sigh. The hand that held your cheek meandered to the base of your head and pulled you closer to him, savouring the little moans that emerged from your throat and into his mouth. Your hands gripped the soaking fabric on his shoulders, your thumbs dancing over the skin of his collarbone. Heat coiled through your body despite the cold temperature of the water.

All too soon, your mouths separated, and you rested your wet foreheads together, panting lightly. "...Gar, I..I'm..Please tell me that you're not about to say sorry. I don't think that my heart could take it." He cut off the apology that was on your tongue fiercly, looking into your eyes with an intense gaze that stilled your thoughts. The waves lapped around your bodies gently. Garreth's hand had moved down, his fingers brushing against the column of your neck. The feeling sent swirls of heat straight to your abdomen, and you had to resist leaning down and claiming his lips again. Instead, you whispered breathlessly.

"What's happening..." His fingers had trailed back up your neck to cup your jaw, his eyes softening. "Something bloody brilliant, I reckon." He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and then peppered your jaw with little nips and licks until he landed on a particularly sensitive spot just underneath your ear. You couldn't help the whimper that left your throat at the sensation as his mouth caressed the flesh there.

The hand that he was using to hold you both upright was starting to slip backwards through the sandy seabed. Garreth ceased in claiming your neck and wrapped the arm that had been caressing your face around your chest. He pushed forward and forced you both up to your feet, water flooding from your bodies with a slosh.

Still wrapped in his embrace, you looked up at your friend, who you found to be already watching you with a look akin to longing. It took your breath away. One of his hands moved to grip your hip, keeping you firmly grounded against him. You searched for the right words to say, but all you could think about was the fact that you just wanted to wrap your arms around him and snog him silly again.

"I love you, MC." His words cut into your thoughts. Your gaze locked onto him as your heart pounded a mile a minute in your chest. "You love me...?"

It was a dumb reply, but all you could conjure up in that moment. Garreth nodded and you'd never seen him look so resolute. "I'm in love with you. Have been for a while. I don't know how I hadn't realised until recently, to be perfectly honest."

You remained silent for a few minutes, staring into his beautifully verdant eyes. "Please say something, I think I might go mad if you don't." A flicker of worry appeared on his face that pulled you out of your trance, and you reached up to run your shaking fingers over his cold, freckled cheek. He leaned into your palm, relishing in your gentle touch. Something twitched in your heart at the sight, and you knew you wanted to say to him.

"You drive me absolutely bonkers sometimes, and you're chaotic and wild, not thinking before you act on your crazy ideas....but I love you too, Gar. I think I've wanted to say that for a long time." The Gryffindors face beamed with the biggest grin that you'd ever seen on him, and he pressed his lips against your palm. One of his hands travelled upwards to completely envelope yours on his cheek, and before you could think, his mouth had descended on yours once again, taking your lips in a devastatingly passionate kiss. You kissed him back with fervour, fingers still digging into his soaked shirt. It almost made you delirious when he groaned into your mouth, his arms and hands pulling you impossibly closer to his firm torso. When your lips parted, he ran his fingers through your damp locks affectionately, not breaking eye contact.

"Would you like to go somewhere a tad more comfortable? This hardly seems the place for all of the things I'd like to do with you." Your breath hitched in your throat at his implication, lips swollen from his ministrations. "Well, I do have a perfectly marvelous room that grants the user anything they so desire..." You smiled knowingly.

Garreth took your hand with a grin and began trudging through the shallows with you, back to the beach. Suddenly, a fast blur whizzed into your peripheral. There was a sharp cry and an almighty splash to your right. The little Graphorn calf had barreled into poor Garreths legs and knocked him clean off his feet again, this time face first. Laughter erupted from you as his face came up for air, spluttering and cursing as he looked around wildy for the culprit of his bad luck. The little beast was nuzzling into your thighs playfully, mini tentacles nibbling at your fingers.

"Definitely takes after her father, that little whirlwind." The red head rasped as he coughed up some water. You laughed again, bending down to crouch in front of him. You patted his hair sympathetically.

"That's what we can call her, if you like. Whirlwind. I was waiting to give her a name." Garreth laughed with you before standing up and leaning down to tickle the babies neck.

"Brilliant name for her, if I do say so myself. Now, I'm desperate to get out of these wet clothes, MC. Let's go." He gave you a cheeky wink which had you flushing, and you both set off across the beach, heading towards the vivarium entrance. Whirlwind followed you, jumping around excitedly and kicking up sand everywhere she went. Garreth stopped suddenly, head jerking back toward the ocean. He dropped your hand and sprinted down the beach. You saw him reach for something in the sand before straightening up and jogging back to you. He panted, trying to catch his breath as you looked at him curiously.

"Nearly bloody forgot this!" He held up Caspians horn. You laughed and dove into his arms, feeling happier and more content than you had for years.

"I love you, Gar."

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #harry potter #hogwarts legacy oc #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #weasley Wednesday #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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vampynights · 9 months

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HIII!!! i'm so glad to see someone who writes for ryro😭💘 could u do ryan ross x reader hcs in which the reader is likeee anxious or in a bad mood or something & ryan comforts her?? ^_^ something sweet n fluffy please!!

✰a/n: HI ANON !!! thank u for being my first request!!! sorry if it isn’t exactly what you wanted, it’s my first time doing headcanons for him and I wanted it to be somewhat realistic. this one came at the right time tbh, i’ve been very stressed and anxious about college applications and shit so this was definitely needed. I love ryro and understand the struggle of not seeing enough people write for him, haha. hope u have a good day !!!

✰RYAN ROSS — headcanons for ryan with an anxious s/o !!!

✰warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, and just overall being stressed or having bad days. dont worry though, there’s comfort and lots of fluff!!

— i honestly feel like despite being an amazing lyricist, ryan probably struggles with actually saying things to comfort someone or talk to them.

— he’s probably dealt with how own anxiety and knows how it can hit randomly or what can bring it on and he knows how to deal with it

— that being said, he definitely doesn’t like to see his own s/o suffer from it as well.

— if you’re expecting to have a bad day at work he’ll send you a message before you leave to cheer you up

— probably something simple like “have a good day at work, you got this :) -ryan”

— he definitely will play you a song on the guitar if you ask him to, though he’s a little shy about it.

— he sings super quiet at first but gets louder when he notices that you calmed down after hearing his voice.

— if you’re a dog person he let’s you play with dottie and cuddle her !!!

— if you get home from a really bad day you don’t even have to speak, he just sees it on your face and gives you a hug without saying anything.

— once or if you start crying he’ll rub your back and just whisper in your ear to let it out :((

— if you need to rant he is an AMAZING listener. he may not contribute much to the conversation but he’ll listen and give advice if you ask.

— y’know that lyric ‘melt your headaches call it home”?

— yeah he emphasizes the FUCK out of that lyric when he sings that song to you if you’re having a bad day.

— i feel like he’d have a thing for playing with your hair to get you to fall asleep if you’re struggling. like he’ll have you lay your head on his lap and he’ll absentmindedly run his hands through your hair and scratch your scalp while reading or something

— now if your anxiety is REALLY bad to the point where you have a panic attack he is so quick to action

— he knows better than to just tell you to ‘breathe’, he’ll actually guide you to breathe with him and then make you do grounding techniques to calm down

— he doesn’t like to hold you too tightly when you’re having them because he doesn’t want to suffocate you, so he’ll lightly wrap his arms around you from behind and rest your back on his chest

— once it’s over he’ll tighten his grip a little more and try to talk to you about what happened, though dosn’t push you too hard if you don’t want to talk about it.

— he probably cooks your favorite meals if you’re having a bad day and just wanna eat your comfort foods, like he’ll have like recipes and stuff written down in a little book or in his notes app and look at them whenever he notices you aren’t feeling well.

— if he notices you’re stressed with something he’ll offer to help you finish it or will do it for you

— nighttime is always the best time for the two of you. he’ll sing you to sleep if you’re really tired and upset and then will stay up for a while later to make sure you’re alright

— if you aren’t as tired or have too much on your mind he’ll talk to you about anything and everything until you eventually fall asleep. like, the two of you will have conversations debating children's show for HOURS if it means getting your mind off of whatever is bothering you

— overall he’s a very attentive and caring bf who may not have a lot to say but he will go far and beyond to make sure you’re ok !!!

#ryan ross #ryan ross x reader #ryan ross headcanons #panic! at the disco #a fever you can't sweat out #pretty odd #pre split panic #p!atd

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adultish-momma · 11 months

Text

Unsolicited Scrapbook

Listen, if it'd been your first time in front of a good mirror in quite a bit of time, and you'd gone through some pretty messed up shit, you'd be in an introspective mood too.

Or better yet, Yuu catches sight of their reflection and well, reflects.

Warning: Gore, graphic description of wounds, description of violence (enough to get the idea of how those wounds were formed), descriptions of scars and scarring. If it relates to scars and/or wounds and you can be triggered by it, it's probably in here.

A/N: This was one of the first ideas I came up with for this rewrite au. Not this scene exactly, but this concept. This is a game about villains. This is a game that has so much potential to cover dark material. I. Want. Consequences. This is the result. Enjoy.

Admittedly, it was... well it was a lot.

They hadn't truly been faced with this problem before, with the busted mirrors around the dorm that they haven't found the spare change to replace. And it's just been getting so cold that even the thought of running around in anything considered short sends shivers down their spine. So for one reason or another, they've gone half a school year, a whole semester, and now four overblots, without ever having to see a ton of their skin at once.

But now they're at the Scarabia dorm, in this bone-melting heat, faced with a literal wall of gold polished so well it's more reflective than the Dark Mirror, and they'd sooner eat Grimm's tail fire with a side of his fancy cat tuna than even attempt to slip on anything resembling a sleeve.

And they've somehow gone half a school year, a whole semester, and now four overblots without having to face the fact that this was a lot of scarring.

The newest one is, obviously, the worst. Objectively speaking. It's barely scabbed over, still raw and red and swollen, still throbbing, still hot to the touch. Four deep puncture wounds surround their right shoulder, the viper's fangs leaving a perfect imprint of its jaws. Surprisingly enough, this was the only wound an overblotted student had given them that didn't require a trip to the infirmary. The inky venom in their veins had disappeared the moment the overblot was defeated, and most students from the Scalding Sands know how to treat snake bites.

Kalim was very insistent he patch them up personally. He also insisted they let the wound be exposed to the water of the oasis, hence why they've removed his very professional wrap job.

And if seeing the physical evidence of what he did humbles Jamil even the tiniest amount, well they aren't going to complain about that.

At least they look a bit more balanced now with Jamil's contribution to the collection of scars they're beginning to possess. Before the winter break, a small part of them had felt a bit lopsided. True, the scars from Leona's Unique Magic had drastically decreased from their original size right after his overblot. But the patch of lightning strike scars cracking along the skin of their left shoulder and upper arm messed with their overall symmetry. At least now there was something on either side of their neck, although the part of them that seems to care about this (like seriously why does this matter scars are bad things to have wtf brain) will have to ignore the difference in size.

(That'd go over well. 'Hey, Jamil I need you to make your hair do the inky viper thing again and bite me some more so my scars are more equal in size'. Mentally scar the poor guy some more why don't you Yuu.)

The scar that surprises them is the necklace of circles that, well, encircle their throat. The bruising after their fight with Azul had been gnarly, splotches of deep purples and blues mixed with sickly yellows and greens. Deep indents in the shape of octopi suckers among the clear shape of tentacles wrapped around their throats encouraged the early emergence of turtlenecks and scarves into their wardrobe. By the time the bruising had begun to disappear, they'd genuinely needed to cover their neck to fight off the cold, so this is the first time they'd gotten a good look at their neck in a long while.

Hmm. Maybe it's a good thing that Azul's attempt to strangle them left a scar in such a visible place. Maybe next time Azul tries to pull some shady business, they'll rock up to the Mostro Lounge in something low-cut.

Sevens knows Leona only became so cooperative (if you can call it that) during that whole Octavinille debacle because he got an eyeful of all the bandages they were still required to wear lest Professor Crewel literally whip them for disobedience.

Although, if they're being honest, there is one scar they are dreading for people to see. Everyone knows about the other three, at least everyone at the oasis knows about all three. The bandages were too hard to hide, and they all witnessed what happened with Jamil. But they've managed to hide the two scars on their left thigh ever since their first week in this world.

The thing about entry and exit wounds, is they don't scar like you would expect. You would think they'd scar over fairly flat, but they don't. They don't ever fill in correctly, your skin remembers the folding in on itself that it has to do when something pierces it, and your skin remembers exploding outward when something exits it. But the wounds where Riddle's thorn had staked their thigh and left a hollow straight through their leg had easily been covered by pants all year. Only those who had been there for that battle had seen the true damage done by the enraged Roseheart.

But unlike everyone else who they have helped overcome an Overblot, Yuu has watched Riddle Rosehearts actively try to change his ways, learn from his mistakes, and take some personal accountability for the havoc he wreaked. So they kept the scar he gave them hidden, not wanting to remind others, Riddle, or even themself of just how dangerous he could be.

And now, because, again, they'd rather lick Crowley's desk than entertain the thought of pants in this insufferable desert heat, now that scar was going to be on display. They were going to get questions. They were going to have to relive that memory, that phantom pain over and over again.

They were going to have to relive all of those memories again.

The ripping sensation, the heavy feeling of something foreign, the absolute gushing of blood. The dry cracking, the peeling, the flaking apart at the literal seams. The threat of bones snapping, the drowning on dry land, the fear of a lung collapsing. The fire of acid in your veins, the teeth tearing flesh, the invasive screaming in their head.

All of it. Every time someone saw their scars, every time someone asked a stupid question, every time they saw someone else stuck in their own memories of Yuu's scars, they'd be stuck reliving all of that pain again.

With a heavy sigh, already feeling the exhaustion running through their every fiber, they finally drag their eyes away from their own reflection. The first thing they see is Grimm. Looking at them. Looking at their scars. A haunted, faraway look in his eyes.

Well, that settles it. Something must be done about these nuisances. Sooner rather than later.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #rewrite au #rewrite lore #Yuu is involved in overblot fights #and these are the consequences #i will gladly answer any questions comments concerns #this is the most fleshed out idea of this au and i don't feel like i did it justice #Mirrors are Never to be Trusted

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bleach-your-panties · 5 months

Text

Sincember Event❄️❄️

Requested By: @sacredwarrior88

Rating: Fluff/Suggestive🍥🍭

“Shit, it's cold out here..”

You brought your scarf up to cover the lower half of your face while your feet sank deeper and deeper into the freezing, wet slosh beneath them.

Head-Captain Kyouraku is undoubtedly a slovenly bastard for this.

Having you, his faithful little third seat, to deliver his contribution to the weekly Seireitei bulletin to Captain Muguruma.

In the middle of a fucking snowstorm.

And on top of that, you take after your older brother Kenpachi - you're terrible with directions!

If you had actually taken the time to check the weather before you left, you'd have known that the snowfall was only going to increase further. The chances of a blizzard happening were above 90%.

“Dammit…I can’t see a thing out here. Who knows where I could be? I could be on the way to Sōkyoku Hill right now and not even know it! I-oof.”

You fell back onto your ass in the snow after colliding with a solid wall.

Wait, a wall?

A soft grunt reached your ears before the sight of an orange-gloved hand coming towards you made you look up to see what you had run into.

Or better yet, who.

“You know, the polite thing to say when you run into someone is ‘’excuse me'.” Kensei’s gruff voice called out to you.

The snow was still getting into your eyes even though you were wearing goggles, so you could only barely see his disgruntled expression as he waited for you to accept his hand.

“Sorry. Excuse me and thank you, Captain Muguruma.”

He grunted again, irritably.

“You can drop the formalities. Kensei is just fine. You're one of Shunsui’s brats aren't you?”

Your mouth dropped open and a snowflake fell on your tongue. Wrapping your own gloved fingers around his, you used his body as leverage to pull yourself up.

“Brat?! I'm not a brat.” You huffed indignantly and crossed your arms.

The corner of Kensei's mouth turned up.

“Sure you're not. That for me?”

His stony eyes trailed from your boobs that you'd managed to push up with your previous motion to the folder tucked underneath your arm, carefully tucked away from the cold torrent of frosty snow that was swirling all around you both, more fiercely now.

“That old man sent you out here in this shit just to give that to me? What a waste of space.” Kensei rolled his eyes and getured for you to hand it to him.

“O-oh! It’s no trouble, really! Here you go!” You handed the file over with no problem.

“Well, my mission is done. I'll be going now, see ya Capt-whoah!”

Kensei had tucked the folder under his own arm and simultaneously pulled you into his side.

“You working with half your brain or what? There's a fucking blizzard coming and I don't trust you to make it back to squad one barracks by yourself.”

“Hey! You calling me dumb?!”

Your cheeks puffed out and you rolled your e/c eyes now.

He chuckled. “You said it, not me, sweetheart. Come on.”

—-

Just as Kensei said, the blizzard came in full-force.

After the two of you made it back to his place and he'd shut the door behind him, the snow began falling harder and faster.

It piled up against the front door, effectively sealing it shut and trapping the two of you inside.

“How unfortunate is that. We'll probably be stuck in here until the morning when the sun comes back out - if it even does!”

Kensei's heavy boots on the wooden floor behind you made you snap your head around to face him.

It was obviously too cold outside for shinigami robes, so instead he was dressed in a thick, gray sweater with a black puffer coat over it, black scarf, black cargo pants, and his orange gloves.

“You see something you like?” Suddenly a hot mouth was beside your ear, tickling the fine hairs inside of it as Kensei breathed his warm breath onto the side of your neck.

It was a welcome contrast to the striking cold chill that had been covering your body since you'd entered his home; with that simple gesture a fire lit inside your core and you subtly rubbed your thighs together.

With a smirk on his lips, Kensei backed up to give you some space before walking off to a fireplace that was positioned in a corner of the large living room and lighting it.

“Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. You don't have to act shy.”

“Hmph, who’s acting…” You mumbled bashfully and began to take off your gloves and coat before joining him on a large chaise lounge situated in front of the fireplace.

Kensei had also taken off his coat and hung it on a rack close to the door. His strong arm muscles rippled beneath his sweater as he held you close to his chest.

“Captain Muguruma, is this…appropriate?”

The man behind you only hummed softly and rested his cheek in your cold hair. You felt your body shivering, prompting Kensei to lay you against his chest and cover you with his much larger body.

He laid on his side, becoming the big spoon and encasing your legs between his.

“You’re so cold, little one. Let me warm you up, yeah? It’s the least I could do for you, since you came all the way out here in a snowstorm to deliver your captain’s article to me.”

A soft smile grew on your lips and you nodded.

“Sure, Captain.”

Kensei’s smirk returned to his face and he shifted slightly so that your ass was pressed up against his pelvis. He was slowly hardening from the simple action of having you lie against him, the crackling of the fire in the hearth steadily lulling the both of you into a quick, cozy nap.

----

ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ🫶🏽

#kensei muguruma x reader #kensei muguruma smut #kensei muguruma #bleach kensei #kensei x reader #kensei muguruma x y/n #kensei muguruma x you #sincember #⋰❄︎gotta sin to win❄︎⋱#happyhornydays #💗💗🍡°my fics #💗💗🍡°bleach masterlist #byp 🌹holiday event #byp 🌹2023 events #byp🌹

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late-to-the-party-81 · 7 months

Text

He who Lovescraft loves loudest

AN: Here is my contribution to Stucky Halloween. I don’t really do true scary things, so I went a bit of a different route.

Big thanks go to @greekgeek24 for organising the event and making not only the cover for this fic, and for all the fics that are being entered, but also for the custom bonus image she made for me to share with you guys - you'll find it at the end.

Another big thanks goes to @zenaidamacrouras1 for beta-ing and giggling along to this silly story.

This story also fills Square O2 of my @stuckybingo card - Eldritch Horror as well as the October challenge prompt - Haunted House, and Square B3 on my @steverogersbingo card - Himbo Steve.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Summary: There’s some scary goings-on around campus. Several students have ended up in hospital, traumatised by something they’ve seen. Bucky, Steve, Sam, Nat and Alpine decide to investigate. Will they discover what’s going on and more importantly, will Bucky get lucky with Steve?

Relationships: Cap Quartet friendship, Steve x Bucky, FWB Nat x Sam.

Word Count: 6k

CW: College AU (all are late teens/early 20’s), kissing, groping, suggestive language, Bucky is constantly horny, Steve is a bit of a himbo, Nat has Sam right where she wants him, Scooby-doo inspired, crack treated seriously, cartoon style slapstick, Alpine is obviously the heroine, recreational drug usage (it goes without saying that in real life you should not have your cat inside your hotbox....)

It was quiet and peaceful in the library until Sam and Nat burst in. Steve had said he wanted to study, but Bucky had managed to convince him, as easily as usual, that making out would also be a good use of their time.

Bucky was straddling his boyfriend's sinfully muscular thighs, arms wrapped around his neck, enjoying the feel of Steve’s lips against his own. Enjoying the way Steve’s tongue was snaking its way into his mouth. Enjoying the way both of their partially chubbed up cocks were pressed against each other through their layers of clothes.

It was in the back of his mind that it would probably be relatively easy to convince Steve to abandon the library altogether for the soft bench seats in the back of his van and a lot less clothing. However, that’s when the other two appeared.

Nat, making a statement with her skin tight purple jeans and matching top, threw her bag down onto the table and slumped into the nearest uncomfortable wooden chair, all the while making gagging sounds. Bucky pulled away from Steve with a sigh, sliding back onto his own chair. Steve chased his lips for a few seconds before realising why Bucky was no longer kissing the shit outta him. He blushed and immediately turned back to his books, pointlessly trying to make it look as though that was what he’d been doing all along.

“I don’t even know why you two even bother coming to the library to study,” Sam teased, smoothing out his orange turtleneck. “One of these days Mrs. Parker is gonna catch you and throw you out. That’s if she doesn’t throw you out for smuggling your cat in.”

Bucky spun his chair around, planted his feet in Nat’s lap and tilted his head back to seeSam pointing at Bucky’s backpack. As if on queue, a small, white, furry head popped out of the open zipper.

“Mrow.” Bucky reached out his hand to scritch the top of her head and she started to purr.

“Nah. Mrs P loves Alpine. Who do you think gave my princess a taste for fresh cooked chicken? And she loves me too, especially after I helped her nephew study for his mechanics exam. Doc Octavious gave Peter an A. ”

“I don’t know how you do it, man,” Sam grumbled. “You never seem to study, but still manage to ace all your classes. Meanwhile the rest of us gotta work double time. Especially Goldilocks over there.” Sam jerked his thumb and Bucky twisted in his seat. Steve had gone back to his books, but he still had a cute flush covering his neck and cheeks and his hair was adorably mussed. Bucky smiled indulgently, taking in the sight of his boyfriend in his tight navy slacks and white cotton shirt, before turning back to Sam.

“It’s not my fault I’ve got more natural talent than any of you goobers.” Nat glared at him and shoved his booted feet from her knees. “What are you two here for anyway? I thought you were going to have your own ‘study session’.” He raised his hands in air quotes and Nat’s glare got more intense. Alpine ducked her head back into the bag.

“We’re here,” she ground out, “because there’s been another attack.” Bucky looked at Nat askance and her announcement even got Steve’s attention as his head snapped up too.

“Yikes! Who was it, and when?” Steve’s shyness at being caught making out melted away, replaced with his no-nonsense ‘mother-hen’ tone. Bucky decided he loved Steve all the more for it.

Sam moved around the table and sat down on Steve’s other side. “It was Clint and Laura. They were found late last night, wandering around near the campus coffee shop.” He pulled a fold out map from his jeans pocket and spread it across the table. Steve picked up one of his pencils and, tongue poking out between his lips, drew an X on it. It was the fourth such mark on the paper.

Bucky scooched his chair closer, pushed his shaggy, shoulder-length hair out of his face, and peered over Steve’s shoulder. Nat got up from her seat and stood behind all of them, resting her hand on Bucky’s back.

“They were crying and talking nonsense when Campus security found them. They’re up at the hospital. I was gonna go up there in a bit and see if I could get anything out of them.” Her tone was laced with anger and Bucky turned his head to look at the clenched fingers of her free hand. Outside of him, Sam and Steve, Clint was one of Nat’s closest friends and she also adored his long term girlfriend Laura, having announced early on that the pair were definitely ‘endgame’.

“I can’t believe that Dean Fury isn’t doing anything about this. This is the fifth attack in just over two weeks and he’s acting like it’s nothing but Spooky Season pranks that have gotten out of hand.”

Bucky wouldn’t put it past Nat to storm into Fury’s office and refuse to leave until he took it seriously. She might not be the tallest, but she was definitely scary when she wanted to be.

“I think I see a pattern,” Sam said, cautiously. His finger tapped down on the map. “Here are the first two attacks, then the third, fourth and finally, the one last night. They’re all within half a block of the old Borson house.”

Steve’s brows drew together. “But no-one has lived there for years. As I understand it, the realtors only just got hold of his daughter to get her to agree to sell.”

“It gives me the heeby-jeebies,” said Bucky. “But maybe we should check it out this evening?”

“Got any twos?” asked Sam.

“Go fish,” Nat responded before she held out her hand for the joint Bucky was passing her. Sam grumbled and drew a card from the deck.

It was smokey and dark in the back of Bucky’s van, but that wasn’t unusual. Nor was the fact that, once again, Bucky was sitting on Steve’s lap. Now he’d passed the joint on, he could return to kissing Steve.

Steve’s lips opened under his, so Bucky let go of his mouth full of smoke, shotgunning it to his boyfriend. Steve moaned back, his hands tightening on Bucky’s waist and rocking them together.

“You’re so fucking sexy, Buck. Must be the luckiest guy in school.”

“If we were alone you could be even luckier,” Bucky mumbled into the soft skin of Steve’s neck.

“But you’re not,” drawled Nat, “so clothes stay on and flies stay zipped. That means you, Barnes. We all know who the bad influence is around here.”

“Anyway,” added Sam, “aren’t you two supposed to be keeping a lookout? Can’t do that while your lips are attached together.”

Bucky turned his head and stuck his tongue out at Sam. “You’re such a square.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and took a long pull on the joint. “I think you need to reframe your definition, man. I’m sitting in the back of a beat up van, smoking a joint, keeping an eye out for an unknown monster terrorising our campus and getting beaten at ‘Go Fish!’ of all things. Also, I’m me. As far from square as they come.”

“Don’t get cocky, Wilson.” As she spoke, Nat stretched out her foot, placing it right into Sam’s crotch. Sam squeaked. Nat smiled.

“I still don’t quite understand what we’re even looking out for,” said Steve. “What did Laura say again?”

“Not a lot,” Nat replied as she stared down at her hand of cards, still rocking her foot back and forth. “She’s obviously traumatised from whatever it was that happened. Her parents said she wasn’t really talking at all, but when I got there she just grabbed hold of my shirt and pulled me really close. Then she just started muttering under her breath. The words ‘tentacles’ and ‘monster’. Then she let me go and went back to staring into space.” The others looked at her in horror, but Nat didn’t seem to notice. “Got any eights?”

Sam threw his cards down across the small table and the moment was broken. The slips of card slid across the melamine surface and Alpine, who had been lightly dozing upon it, opened her eyes and batted a few to the floor.

“Damn it, Romanoff. How the fuck do you do that?” Sam bent down with a huff to retrieve his cards, the joint wedged in the corner of his mouth.

“Observation, my dear Wilson. I can read you like a book.” As Sam sat back up, Nat plucked the joint from his lips and passed it back towards Steve and Bucky. She slipped around the table and slid onto the bench seat Sam was occupying, squishing him against the wall of the van. He grinned at her.

“And is that book the Karma Sutra?” He’d dropped his voice as low as it could go, pulling out all the stops.

“Depends how flexible you are, Sammy-boy.” Nat flicked the end of his nose and they both dissolved into giggles

Bucky, started to chuckle at their antics, when suddenly an ear-piercing scream from outside split the air.

“Jinkies!” Steve exclaimed and leapt to his feet, banging his head on the roof of the van and tumbling Bucky to the floor in the process. Both exclaimed in pain.

“Damn it, Stevie!”

“Sorry, Buck.” Steve rubbed at his head with one hand and with the other reached out to haul Bucky up from the floor. One strong jerk and Bucky was back on his feet. Bucky placed the joint in the ashtray and then rubbed at the ache in his ass. Sam and Nat were also on their feet and opening the sliding side door. Cool autumn air swirled into the space, flushing out the pungent fog they had all been cultivating.

Nat jumped down onto the asphalt, head tilted to the side as she waited to see whether any more noises would be forthcoming. She didn’t have to wait for long. A second scream met their ears and before any of the others could say anything she was off, sprinting towards whatever was happening. Sam and Steve looked at each other for a moment and then Sam sped away, hot on Nat’s heels.

“Nat! Wait!”

Bucky jumped down after him, but before he could follow suit he felt Steve’s large hands clamp down on his upper arms.

“Stay here, Bucky.”

“But Steve!” Bucky twisted in Steve’s hold to face him, confusion on his face.

“No, Bucky. I need to know you’re safe. Please. Stay here. You and Alpine. And we might need you to drive the van.” He dropped a kiss to Bucky’s forehead and then he was also running off into the streetlamp lit night.

Bucky watched him, mouth agape in stunned silence, before he stepped back and sat down on the edge of the open doorway.

“What the hell was that? Doesn’t he trust us, Al?” Bucky turned his head to look back into the van. Alpine was no longer sitting on the small table. “Al?” He stood up and then climbed into the van. “Alpine? Where are you, princess?” Bucky opened his backpack zipper wider, wondering whether his stalwart feline had decided to curl up in there for a snooze. No such luck.

Bucky planted his hands on his hips and let out a sigh. His girl was always trying to roam somewhere. He re-exited the van and strode over to bushes on the opposite side of the road.

“Alpine… Princess… Where are you sweetheart?” He ducked down but couldn’t see her. “Here, Alpine! Pss-pss-pss… I’ve got some chicken for you…” Bucky walked a little further down the sidewalk. She had to be around here somewhere. Just then, he caught movement in his peripheral vision; a dart of white disappearing between two fence planks.

“Ah-ha!” Bucky jogged off in pursuit. “You won’t get away from me.” He clambered over the short fence and followed the small blur of white into the shrubs. Branches snagged at his hair and his olive green t-shirt and he wished he’d worn a jacket now - it was a lot colder out here than he’d first thought and it would have protected his arms from getting scraped. The greenery thickened, forcing Bucky down onto his hands and knees. He shuffled forward and stuck his head and shoulders into a gap under one of the bushes. Alpine was sitting under it, swishing her tail angrily.

“There you are, Princess. Come on. Out you come. We need to get back to the van.” Carefully he reached out, but Alpine let out an uncharacteristic growl as he did. “Hey! What’s gotten into you?” She growled again, the hair on her back standing up on end. As Bucky looked at her in the gloom, he realised something. She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at something behind him.

Bucky felt a chill go through him, and realised that the ground around him was taking on a green glow. He looked at Alpine, her fur also taking on the eerie hue.

“I don’t suppose that’s Sam, trying to scare the jeepers out of me?”

Alpine continued to growl.

“Didn’t think so…”

Bucky took a deep breath and then backed up quickly, intending to surprise whoever it was behind him with his speed. However, the weed from earlier had made him a little light-headed and as he stood up and spun around, the world spun with him. Something strange - green and non-human looking - started to coalesce in front of his eyes. It opened its mouth and let out an inhuman noise as something else wrapped around his arms. Bucky stepped back in alarm and caught his heel on a tree root. As he lost his balance the creature lost its grip on his arms, but that meant there was nothing to stop Bucky as he pitched backwards. Pain flared from the back of his skull as it connected with the ground. The green, monstrous figure loomed over him, getting closer, but the world continued to spin, before it all went black.

Bucky was shaking.

No. He was being shaken.

“Bucky. Baby. Please. Wake up. I need you to wake up.”

Bucky groaned. His head hurt so much and Steve’s voice was so loud.

“For god’s sake, Steve. Let him breathe.” That was Nat. Bucky groaned again and tried to open his eyes.

“M’okay, Steve,” he croaked out. “What happened? Where am I?”

He sat up, clinging onto Steve and finally managed to open his eyes. He was in the back of his van. Hazy memories flooded back in.

“Alpine! Where is she?” Bucky whipped his head around looking for his beloved pet, but he just went dizzy again and had to cling to Steve harder.

“She’s here, man.” Sam knelt down beside him, a struggling bundle of white fluff in his arms. He opened them and Alpine jumped down onto Bucky’s lap, rubbing her head against his middle and purring. “We came back to the van after finding out that the screaming was Hope Van Dyne - Scott had jumped out on her to give her a scare. It apparently worked too well, although Scott is now sporting a black eye. But when we got back you weren’t here and the door was open. Steve was starting to have a nervous breakdown when Al came running out from the trees, meowing her head off.”

Bucky felt Steve slide to sit down behind him and pull Bucky’s slimmer frame against his broad chest. Bucky allowed himself to be pulled into the hug and Sam continued.

“As soon as Steve got close to her she turned tail and ran off again, but stopped every few yards and looked behind her. She was seeing if we were following. What on earth were you doing in the yard of the Borson house?”

Bucky inhaled deeply, letting the smell of Steve’s cheap, but familiar, cologne sooth him. “It was Alpine. She ran in there first and I followed. I didn’t realise it was the Borson yard. I was concentrating too much on getting my princess back.”

Nat sat down cross-legged next to him, eyes roving over his face as if she were a nurse checking for signs of concussion. Knowing Nat, that’s probably what she was actually doing. “We found you unconscious and Steve carried you back here. What happened?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall the details. “There was some kind weird person - creature - and it grabbed me, and made this horrible squealing sound. It was green. But I slipped and fell. Banged my head. I didn’t even see it that clearly.”

Sam let out a whistle. “Jeepers! I know you were baked, but what in the HP Lovecraft did you see?”

“I really don’t know, but I want to go home.”

Bucky was still nursing a headache the next day, which sucked for two reasons. Firstly, it was Halloween, and he, Steve, Nat and Sam were supposed to be going to a party tonight and currently he wasn’t feeling it. Secondly, it was making it harder than normal to pay attention in Professor Zemo’s History of Conflict in Europe class. He just wanted to go to sleep, preferably with his head resting on Steve’s stomach as his blonde boyfriend combed his fingers through his hair.

“Are you with us, Mr Barnes?” Sam jabbed him in the ribs and Bucky lifted his head to find that the Professor's accented voice was aimed solely at him. He realised he must have been staring off into space.

“Sorry, Professor. I didn’t sleep very well last night.” Bucky mumbled his apology into his chest. Professor Zemo sighed and briefly pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mr Barnes, please don’t make your nocturnal habits anyone else’s problem except your own. You can waste your own time if you want, but you will not waste mine. If you can’t give my class the proper attention then please avail yourself of the door.”

Bucky squirmed in his seat from embarrassment, aware of the heat in his cheeks that was probably turning his face bright pink. “I… umm…”

“Don’t be so hard on him, Prof. It wasn’t his fault. He got attacked by the monster last night.” Sam’s voice cut across the awkward tension in the air and Bucky didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him. However, his announcement had the effect of distracting everyone in the lecture hall. Or rather now focusing them on Bucky for something other than being chewed out by Professor Zemo.

“You saw it?” Maria turned around in her seat in front of Bucky, eyes wide with intrigue. “What was it like?”

“And why aren’t you in the hospital like the others?” Carol, in the row behind leant forward.

“Well… I…” Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to formulate an answer that wouldn’t make him look like an idiot. Fortunately he was saved from answering by the Professor trying to get his classroom back in order.

“Settle down, everyone. There is no monster. It’s all just pranks by your immature peers, I’m sure. The only real damage is going to be to the property prices. Who’s going to want to live near such a rambunctious group? I sincerely hope that whoever is behind it stops soon. It’s bringing down the reputation of our centre of learning. But anyway, enough of this distraction. Are you staying or going, Mr Barnes?”

Still awash with embarrassment, Bucky mumbled “Staying, Sir,” under his breath, but it seemed to placate the Professor.

“Alright then. Where were we? Ah, yes… the Peninsular War…”

“Are you sure I look alright, Buck?” Steve’s voice was laced with trepidation, but Bucky was having difficulty concentrating. He knew that Steve’s costume was going to be a vampire one - he was a werewolf to go with him - but Bucky hadn’t quite realised how revealing Steve’s outfit was going to be…

The main part of it was a red singlet which made Steve look as though he was about to start wrestling. Bucky thought that he might enjoy wrestling with Steve. Under the singlet was a shirt. Sort of. It was sheer. It had a built in cravat at the net and had multiple folds of fabric around the wrists. However, it stopped just above Steve’s glorious tits. To finish it off, there was a short black cape with a red ‘pop-up’ collar. On his feet Steve wore his shiny black dress shoes, his black socks pulled part way up his calves. It was definitely ‘a look’.

Not that Bucky’s outfit was much more dignified - a furry hooded cape with ears that just about covered his nipples, some kind of cross between grey sweatpants and yoga pants with a fuzzy tail, and a pair of furry gloves with claws. He’d just put his battered combat boots on to walk around. And right now he was walking closer to Steve.

He pressed his chest up against his boyfriend’s, wrapping his arms around Steve’s slim waist. He smiled to himself as he saw Steve’s eyes flutter shut as the fur of Bucky’s cape rubbed over his exposed nipples.

“You look so good, Steve, it makes me want to howl. Ow-ow-woo!” Bucky threw his head back and leaned into the bit.

“Buck….” Steve hissed between his teeth, his neck turning a very un-vampire like shade of pink.

“What? The only other person here is your mom and she knows how I feel about you. She’s rolled her eyes at me enough. But I promise to behave myself while we’re out. Or at least I promise to try. And you can’t blame me, baby. You’re so god-damn sexy.”

Steve seemed to have got over Bucky’s over the top reaction and looped his own arms around Bucky’s neck. “Right back at you, Buck. I can’t promise not to bite your neck.” Bucky snorted at Steve’s silly vampire accent but leaned in for a kiss. It started innocently enough, but as was normal for the two of them, hormones raging, it wasn’t long until Bucky was lying on his back on Steve’s bed, being pinned down in a way he couldn’t complain about. However, before things could move from PG-13 to Rated R, they became aware that there was a knocking on the front door downstairs.

As they listened to the dulcet tones of Sarah Rogers letting the visitors in, the two reluctantly drew apart and willed their erections to go down. There was one thing when your boyfriend’s mom knew what you were getting up to, but for her to see the evidence of it was another thing altogether.

Costumes sufficiently smoothed out, the two descended the stairs to find Sarah chatting to Sam and Nat in the hallway. The three looked up. Sarah Rogers let a small smile play over her lips as she took in the costumes of her son and his best-friend-turned-boyfriend. Nat and Sam grinned.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Slutty monsters of the night?” Sam drawled.

“Can it, Mr ‘Nat and I aren’t wearing a couples costume’. You’re Batman and Catwoman for fuck’s sake.”

Nat rolled her eyes behind her mask. “Yeah, and Batman and Catwoman aren’t a couple.”

“They are friends with benefits though,” smirked Steve. “So I suppose it tracks. I don’t know why you two don’t make it official.”

“Why spoil a good thing, Rogers? Natty and I both know where we stand, don’t we, kitten?” Sam turned his head and flashed Nat his signature gap-toothed smile. Nat extended a gloved hand toward him, fingers curled like claws.

“Me-ow! Now, let’s get going, boys! Halloween parties wait for no creatures.”

The four of them all hugged Sarah Rogers goodbye, and Bucky carefully picked up his backpack from her sofa, a sleeping Alpine still inside. Sarah had said that he could leave the cat with her, but Bucky had decided to bring his faithful feline with him and let her chill out in the van while the party was in full swing at Scott’s house.

He pulled himself up into the driver's seat, placing his backpack down next to him and tucking his tail to the side. Steve slid in on the other side and reached across to squeeze his thigh. Sam opened the side door and helped Nat hop up, even though she was capable of getting in on her own. When the door slammed shut again, Bucky turned the ignition and they were off.

Steve fiddled with the radio, turning on a local station playing a medley of Halloween hits. Thriller was currently playing. Bucky hummed along while he drove, drumming on the steering wheel while Sam sang along, slightly off pitch, in the back.

It was one of those ‘blink and you’d miss it’ moments. One moment they were driving along a fairly empty street, towards campus, the next the headlamps lit up a strange green form in front of them. Bucky slammed on the brakes. Steve reacted quickly, grabbing Bucky’s backpack and stopping it, and Alpine, sliding off onto the floor. In the back, Sam and Nat let out cries of displeasure as they were shaken about.

“What the hell, Barnes!”

Bucky twisted in his seat to meet Sam’s outraged gaze.

“Did you see that? Did you see it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He put the car back in drive and pulled over to the side of the road and leapt out. He was looking around frantically as the others climbed out of the van. Steve reached into the backpack and placed Alpine on the ground and she wound around Bucky’s legs, sensing his discomfort. Steve placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I saw something green, Buck. But I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Bucky spun to face him. “It was him, Steve. The monster.”

Sam and Nat came to stand next to them.

“Are you sure, Bucky?” There was a gentle questioning note in Nat’s voice.

“Absolutely, Nat. I’m certain.”

“Well,” said Sam, rolling his shoulders and puffing out his bat symbol covered chest, “He can’t have gone far.”

Down on the ground Alpine started to paw at Bucky’s leg. “Mwerp.”

They all looked down at her. She cocked her head, turned around and trotted off.

“She’s doing it again,” said Nat. “She wants us to follow her.”

The four of them scrambled, Bucky only just remembering to lock the van, and they all jogged off after Alpine. She ducked down and squeezed under a gap in a fence and her faithful humans skidded to a stop.

“It’s the old Borson house again,” stated Steve. “Something very fishy is going on. Let’s go.” He started to climb over the fence, but stopped part way when he realised the others were looking at him. “What?”

“Seriously, man?” Sam raised an eyebrow. There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Sam shook his head in resignation. “Okay. Let’s go.” He followed Steve over the fence and held his hand out to Nat. She gave him a look and practically vaulted over, landing crouched, one hand on the floor between her bent knees. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Such a poser.”

“You’re just jealous that you can’t do it,” Nat retorted.

Bucky snorted, but clambered over the wooden panel in a more sedate manner. He didn’t trust himself not to fall flat on his face. Nat smirked at him.

With them now all standing in the yard, the very place that Bucky had been the night before, Alpine trotted back over, chirped at them and swished her tail.

“Okay,” said Steve, back in full-blown ‘large and in charge’ mode, which made Bucky’s heart pound loudly in his chest. “Let’s split up. Sam, Nat. You check the yard. Me, Buck and Alpine will go inside. Whoever finishes first joins up with the others. Let’s put an end to whatever this is.” They all nodded their agreement and Sam and Nat snuck off into the trees, black costumes helping them blend right into the shadows.

Bucky turned to Steve and took his hand with a smile. “Do you think you’ll need an invitation to step over the threshold?”

“Ha ha, Buck. Come on.”

The front steps creaked ominously as they walked up them. Bucky clung to Steve’s back, now starting to feel a little creeped out.The only thing stopping him from going into full blown panic was wondering how Steve could be so calm and collected while his nipples were exposed and currently pointy enough to cut glass. “What do you think we’ll find in there, Steve?” Bucky asked. “A monster?”

“Pphht. It can’t be that scary.” Steve pushed open the front door, and they walked into the gloomy interior.

Something brushed up against Bucky’s leg and he let out a shriek that he quickly muffled with his hands. Looking down he saw Alpine’s reflective eyes looking back at him. Letting out a sigh of relief, Bucky bent down and picked her up. She wiggled out of his arms and settled on his fur-cape covered shoulder.

“You wanna be close too, princess? I don’t blame you.”

He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, sweeping it back and forth across the floor and walls. The house was still furnished, with thick layers of dust covering every flat surface. When old man Borson had died neither his daughter or two sons had really wanted anything to do with him or his things. It was sad, really.

Suddenly a noise ripped through the air, something akin to a hiss crossed with a scream. The two young men came to a halt.

“What on earth?” Bucky felt Steve’s voice rumble in his chest as he buried his head into Steve’s back.

“I don’t like this, Steve.” He remembered the fear and disorientation that he’d felt last night and tried to repress a full body shudder.

The noise sounded again and they turned their heads towards the stairwell. The sound was coming from above them. As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, a green glow could clearly be seen. Bucky gulped.

“We’re gonna go up there, aren’t we?”

“We gotta, Buck. We gotta do this for Clint and Laura, and the others who were hurt before them.”

Bucky nodded against Steve’s back. He could do this.

Slowly they walked towards the stairs, making their way up, one step at a time. The unnatural glowing got more intense and while there were no more screams, the ominous hissing got louder and louder. They crept, one foot after the other, closer and closer towards the partially open door at the end of the corridor, Bucky’s fingers curled around Steve’s red, spandex singlet. Steve stopped, one hand raised a hair’s-breadth from the old, scarred wood and looked at Bucky. His eyes looked strange under the eerie glow, but he looked so sure, so brave that Bucky knew he’d follow Steve anywhere, even if he did currently look like a cross between Bela Lugosi and Bret ‘The Hitman’ Hart. Bucky gave him a small nod, and Steve pushed the door.

The creature stood there, illuminated by its sickly green glow. Its face had two dark eyes, but where its mouth was, it seemed as though it had half-swallowed some kind of squid. Tentacles curled down around its chin, glistening with slime. It had two long arms, ending with three fingers and claws, which it raised menacingly at the two young men.

Bucky and Steve lept in the air as it screamed, that ear-piercing sound combined with a hiss. They screamed in return, filled with terror and Alpine leapt down from Bucky’s shoulder, hair on end, hissing and spitting. They all turned tail and ran. Alpine was in front, her four legs carrying her faster and far more elegantly than either Steve or Bucky. Next was Steve, barrelling forward, clasping Bucky’s smaller hand in his, practically dragging him along behind. Bucky stumbled, bringing up the rear. He kept turning his head, shrieking incoherently as he realised the monster was right behind them.

They thundered down the stairs, across the entrance hallway and out of the front door, Steve almost ripping it from the hinges as he pulled it open.

“Nat! Sam!” Steve shouted out for their friends as he dragged Bucky across the lawn.

“Here!” They heard Nat shout and turned to see her standing by the trees at the bottom of the yard - the place where they’d found Bucky yesterday. She waved them towards her. “This way!”

They turned toward her and carried on running. “He’s still coming,” Bucky wailed. What he wouldn’t give to be an actual werewolf right now. He could rip out its throat or something. They stumbled into the shrubbery, Nat having melted back into the darkness. Why did she want them to go this way? Surely it would have just been better to escape by running out the front gate and heading back to the van?

They ran between two trees, and as they did so, they heard Sam shout out.

“Now!”

Instinctually, Bucky and Steve came to a halt and turned around. The monster was bearing down on them, getting closer, when suddenly it tripped on something and crashed to the ground. Immediately, Nat launched herself from the shadows and landed on the creature’s back. She jerked his arms up and cuffed them together. At the same time Alpine leapt down from a tree, landing on the creature's head. She dug her claws into its skull and it let out an all too human type of noise.

“What the heck?” Bucky was dumbfounded. What just happened? Where had Nat found handcuffs? Why wasn’t she scared? She stood up, brushing loose dirt from her pleather outfit and sauntered over to Bucky.

“We used a tripwire from Sam’s utility belt. The handcuffs are also part of Sam’s costume and I wasn’t scared because of what he and I found in the shed before you two wusses came shooting out of the house.” She patted Bucky’s cheek and he wondered if she’d read his mind or whether he’d actually spoken out loud.

Steve, choosing to ignore Nat’s teasing comment, looked down at the struggling creature in the dirt. “What did you find?”

Sam placed a booted foot in the small of the creature’s back, pinning it to the floor and trained his phone flashlight on it. “We found costume making supplies. And glow sticks. Lots and lots of green glow sticks.”

“Plus instructions on how to make a small speaker. Cos-play stuff really,” Nat chimed in, adding her flashlight to the mix.

“But that means…” Bucky’s jaw dropped and he strode over to their struggling captive, dropping into a crouch. “This isn’t a monster at all. It’s someone dressed up and trying to scare everyone. Just like the Dean and Professor Zemo said. But who?”

Sam helped him to manhandle the creature into a sitting position, and now he was up close, seeing it lit up and having his hands on it, Bucky could clearly see the rubber and foam, the stitch marks and the little channels that had been made in the outside to house the multitude of glowsticks. Alpine came and sat down next to him, licking at a paw nonchalantly.

“Right - let’s see who you are.” Bucky grabbed hold of the monster’s head, soft and squishy rubber under his hand, and pulled to reveal…

“Professor Zemo!” The four of them exclaimed in shock.

The professor’s dark hair was plastered over his forehead, and in the torchlight his brown eyes gleamed with frustration.

“Yes, it’s me.” His lip turned up in a snarl and if he weren’t handcuffed, Bucky would have been reluctant to be this close to him.

“But why? What on earth do you get from scaring college students?”

“While I did enjoy a little of the karma from scaring some of your peers witless, it was more that I needed the house prices to come down. I wanted to buy the Borson house, but do you know how little a college professor makes? It was starting to work, too. The price had already been slashed once. I’d have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for you pesky kids.”

They all looked at him, dumbfounded, until Steve spoke up.

“Respectfully, Sir, that is really fucked up. Buck, sweetheart, can you call the police?”

“You kiss your momma with that mouth, Stevie?” Bucky sniggered, taken aback by Steve’s uncharacteristic swearing.

“No, but I’ll kiss my boyfriend with it.”

And he did. Just a vampire kissing his werewolf boyfriend in a dark, haunted stand of trees.

Sam made gagging sounds.

Nat called the cops.

Alpine purred.

The end.

Bonus: - They finally get to the party and have a fabulous time.

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @km-ffluv

#stuckyhalloween2023 #stucky fanfic #stucky fanart #steve rogers x bucky barnes #crack fic #college au #cap quartet #steve x bucky #alpine the cat

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basket-of-radiants · 8 months

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Proposal for Re-working the Kholins’ Character Arcs - a semi-coherent “essay” by me (feat. @akpaley, thank you for your contributions and for your attempts at editing.)

Hey guys. Different kind of post this time around, compared to my usual brand. It’s time for some fix-it fanfiction masquerading as literary critique. I won’t be using a readmore, I dunno, probably to punish anyone still following this blog or something. So! In this post I’m going to solve the all the issues of racial theming associated with the Kholin family.

I’m often very harsh on the Kholins for benefitting so much from exploitative power structures while doing little to help those below them. But then I’ve also criticized them for actually addressing these very problems in-universe. How can I be upset at them for their inaction and then also be annoyed when Jasnah ends slavery? The short answer to all of this is just that the ways these topics are addressed all feel very inauthentic. For example, in real life history it took over a century of protests, slave revolts, political campaigning, and civil wars to legally end slavery in Europe and America, and abolitionists were met with fierce opposition at every turn. A fictional world need not follow our same historical trajectory, but it still seems a little disingenuous for a monarch to just decide to end it within her first year of power because it doesn’t mesh with her philosophical framework. It’s more like trying to wrap up a subplot than actually address the topic.

Ultimately however, there’s only so far this line of criticism can ever take me because the Kholins are the protagonists and you can’t get rid of them without turning the whole story into something else entirely. And Sanderson shouldn’t have to, these are characters that he created and he’s allowed to tell a story about them. And I actually like a lot of their personalities and arcs and outlooks quite a lot. I do think it’s...unfortunate...to have used slavery and racism as disposable props in a story that ultimately turned out to be about a bunch of royals learning to be better people and saving the world along the way. So I guess what I’m interested in is if there’s a way to keep the premise, keep the characters, keep the general story beats, keep the themes of honor and personal growth, keep the basic structure of everything, and still handle those themes with grace. You know, could this be a compassionate story about addressing racism told from the point of view of nobility? Is such a thing possible?

Well, I’m going to try my best. And I’m going to be imperfect about it, obviously, so if you actually care enough to read all this shit, I welcome discussion and disagreement.

Jasnah is the most obvious example to point to as being indicative of the problem, but I also think she has the easiest character fixes. She’s already been established as an outspoken dissident on many of her society’s deeply ingrained values. Just add to her atheism and feminism that she’s also always been an outspoken abolitionist. Give her ties to an ongoing reformist movement. Have her lecture Shallan about it in Way of Kings. Make that a reason she’s butted heads with her family so much. I do think it’s poor writing to have a ruler end slavery on a whim, but I won’t deny that having the right person in power can make a huge difference. It’s not as cathartic as having Kaladin lead a slave revolt (or as having Moash destroy society <3) but that doesn’t make it inherently bad so long as the topic itself is still treated with weight. Have her moralistic ideology be firmly pre-established so that when she has to explain why she’s abolishing slavery, her reasoning can be purely pragmatic. The reason she’s moving so fast is because this is a historical point of heightened change, and so her reforms are more likely to work, but if she waits too long and things settle back into a new status quo, she may have missed her window. Not to mention, when her nephew comes of age, her own legitimacy as a ruler might be challenged, so she needs to do as much as she can in what may be end up being a short reign. As a character, Jasnah has always been able to girlboss her way past political realities through sheer force of personality, and that’s great and all, but I think it heightens her character’s competence if she does have to deal with real backlash, not just to her but to her policies as well. The narrative doesn’t even need to linger on her opposition, but acknowledging it and acknowledging that she’s simply a member of a preexisting and ongoing movement would have done wonders to portray slavery as a real and prescient issue. Then again, this is a topic which people have fought and continue to fight wars over, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable for her to have receive major backlash either; perhaps when the Kholins hear in Words of Radiance that she was assassinated, the news could come as tragic but not entirely unexpected so as to imply that her opposition has attempted such in the past. All this is to say, I don’t think it’s at all wrong for Jasnah to do what she did. I also don’t think her entire stance on abolitionism should have come down to a comment where she tells her uncle she’s trying to rule according to ethically consistent values. The fact that slavery was insultingly easy to end not only delegitimizes is as a topic worthy of discussion, but also is a really scathing indictment of literally everyone else in the ruling class who didn’t even think to try.

Jasnah done, easy, Dalinar next.

Dalinar is probably the most complicated character for me to discuss and form coherent statements on. He’s just so rife with contradictions down to his core. That’s probably why I continue to like him so much, why he’s still my favorite, even though I still consider him to be a Bad Person over all. I think deep down I’ll always lean a bit too pacifistic ideologically to ever consider a warlord/general to be a good person, no matter how honorable he may be or how much growth he may undergo. Don’t get me wrong, I still do love his growth. Dalinar is characterized by his constant change and forward momentum, even moreso than the rest of the cast. So for discussing him, at what point can I point to him and say “this is Dalinar, this is who he is, this is what he believes and what he cares about”? Of course, during any point in his arc, you’re going to have to grapple with the fact that all of his lofty rhetoric about honor and striving for personal betterment is ultimately going to be pretty useless to all the people whose lives he’s meaninglessly thrown away across his military career. For me personally, when I talk about his character I like to take the end-of-oathbringer approach, where I acknowledge everything he did in the past as Blackthorn, I agree that it was pretty fucked up, and I forgive him and grant him a clean slate. All this to say that even if I’m judging him purely by his behavior as the current Dalinar within the present day continuity of the books, he’s still a massive hypocrite with horrific amounts of blood on his hands which he’s never even bothered to consider. I dunno, when I first read Way of Kings and I first got to meet this general who’s leading an army in a literal genocide campaign, I sort of figured he’d get some kind of “wait am I the bad guy” moment at some point in the future. And he did get a moment in Oathbringer where he has to fully confront his guilt over past actions, it was great, I really really loved it! But it was also all about actions he took before the series even started, so I guess wiping out the listeners wasn’t a sin he thought needed any atonement. I’m not going to get into the narrative’s treatment of singers and listeners on this post (for no other reason than because I have waaaaaaay too much to say there) but the point I’m getting at is that however good Dalinar’s growth is and whatever direction it takes, it’s always going to have poisonous roots to me. And his treatment of class/racial issues is no different.

Fixing Dalinar is going to take a lot of what Dalinar does best: introspection. In Way of Kings, Dalinar dislikes how Sadeas treats his bridgemen because he believes it to be dishonorable, because he believes Sadeas is forcing others into a situation that he himself would never put himself into. He also has various sympathetic reflections here and there about how sad it is when soldiers die, and about how without the benefit of the Thrill, violence is actually kind of bad. You know how it goes. But I don’t think he ever put himself at risk to actually help or protect any of the people who are dying. Whether he wants to end the war or not, he still continues to participate in it. And he’s still willing to set aside the lives of literally everyone beneath him so he can pursue his dream of unity. The book ends with Kaladin and the rest of bridge four saving him and Adolin, and in gratitude, he purchases their freedom and gives them honored positions in his household. You know, because he’s so honorable. Everyone loves this scene, so I’m going to make it the catalyst for Dalinar’s new and improved character development. The problem with saying Kaladin helped Dalinar so Dalinar helped Kaladin is that when I’m being reductive and uncharitable (like I’m being right now), I can argue that their relationship basically started as a quid pro quo. This scene is meant to prove that Dalinar really is the most honorable person in Alethkar, just as Syl thought, only it doesn’t actually do that. See I don’t actually want Dalinar to start treating Kaladin as an equal. I want Dalinar to, in that moment, realize that Kaladin is better than him. That for all of his pontificating about honor, he would have never even considered risking his own life and the lives of his own family to rescue a bunch of bridgemen. I want him to see Kaladin’s honor, and rather than be validated in his beliefs, I want him to be thoroughly humbled. Let him spend all next book reflecting on all the lives of darkeyes he’s destroyed. Let it shame him, as Evi’s death shamed him. He already flirts with these lines of thought, and he already has an arc about confronting his past actions. Let the racial injustices he’s participated in be a part of that. Let him abandon his books and traditions instead look to Kaladin to learn what honor truly means. I don’t know how any of this would translate to his actions, because if we’re being honest his ideals are already quite incongruous with his actions, but the fact that he manages to have such strong theming regardless makes me think maybe that’s okay. I guess ultimately it would be enough for me if his character, as someone who symbolizes the ideals of a nation, was able to look at a darkeyes publicly be a follower rather than always trying to lead by his own personal example.

That’s Dalinar. Elhokar next?

I actually don’t think there’s too much wrong with Elhokar’s writing, especially in the first two books where a much greater emphasis on these themes were placed. He’s not a protagonist and we the audience aren’t supposed to endorse his actions. Most of what I’d change about his story is more about Kaladin and Moash than it is about him. I definitely don’t love that he can throw away the lives of his own people by the thousands in the genocide campaign that was the vengeance war, and then have the narrative just ignore all that in favor of him being sad about his own incompetence. If Elhokar is meant to be a sympathetic character, then when he calls himself a bad king, that’s what he should be thinking about, the number of lives he’s wasted over these years. I actually like him a lot more as a less sympathetic character, and I think I would have preferred if in oathbringer the narrative and the other characters would have stopped making so many excuses for him. Back to Kaladin and Moash, those are the two characters defined by their experiences as members of the downtrodden caste, so I personally sort of judge the problematic-ness of the whole story by how they get treated. Everyone loves to talk about how those two are foils. So. In order to strengthen Kaladin and Moash’s characters, either Elhokar needs to be as much of a monster as Amaram, or Amaram needs to be just as sympathetic and conflicted and having-of-a-toddler as Elhokar. Don’t get me wrong, I genuinely love the trope of finding at the end of a revenge quest that the person you hated has changed and grown. But I hate how this means that Moash’s hatred is wrong and unjustified, whereas Kaladin’s is validated at every turn. I don’t actually dislike Elhokar. I mean I think he’s a bad person, but I like a lot of characters who are bad people. I just think that if this story really wants to grapple with class and race (because it sure brings them up a lot for a story that doesn't want to talk about them), then Moash is a much more important character than him, with a lot more to add to that kind of discussion, which is why I think Elhokar’s characterization would have to come second to Moash’s development. (Obviously if this series were being reworked to be better on this topic, Moash would have to be written with a lot more compassion in general, but this post isn’t about him.)

Intermission time. Gavilar.

Gavilar is already perfect, 10/10, great character all around, what a guy, no notes, no wonder he’s so universally beloved among all of the fans, social justice icon.

Okay onto Navani.

I may not be the best person to talk about Navani. She has never been a favorite character of mine, and so compared to the others I haven’t thought as much about her values or the way she thinks or the narrative impacts of her actions. Someone who has more love for her would probably write better criticisms of her. (I’m going to reject any premise that falls along the lines of “Navani isn’t racist because she feels X,” but I’m not wholly confident in my analysis here, and I welcome any good faith critiques both of my own thinking and of her character when come at from other angles.) It’s hard to say where she should have grown from how she starts out viewing darkeyes because I don’t actually know how she starts out viewing darkeyes. I know I’m probably meant to assume she just treats everyone equally because she’s a Good Person on Team Good Guys, but it’s hard to just accept that she had all around good values when she married a warlord and was in love with his more violent brother. I dunno, was her “good guy” status meant to have always been an element of her character, or did she get it secondhand from her association with the new and improved Dalinar? With someone like Adolin, we got to see what shitty values he held at the start of Way of Kings (I’m talking about the Alethi warmongering, not his interest in fashion) but we also got to see how his father gradually won him over throughout the course of the book, and then later on we get to see him develop further on his own. For someone like Navani, I find it strange how she’s always so proactively supportive of Dalinar in everything, even when his own goals and values are in flux. I assume her character is just meant to be super ride or die when it comes to her family, and I do like that in a character, but that also means that she’s been wholly willing to support or at the very least excuse her family’s oppression and exploitation of darkeyes without comment. (See, Lirin is a much better parent than Navani, he would never have let his son start a whole genocidal vengeance war for fun and profit (I say this as if I’m joking but I’m kinda not.)) Some people have reminded me that she was pretty much shut out of the political process by Gavilar and Elhokar, and I agree with that, but I don’t really have any evidence that she would have cared much about darkeyes even if she had been more involved. In general it just seems like the whole topic doesn’t matter much to her. So what I would wish for the narrative would be to lean further into this. Draw attention to her cognitive dissonance and try and make the readers feel conflicted about her as a person. Highlight the fact that she’s willing to overlook the suffering that befalls other families if it means success for her own. I think one of my issues with her is that to me, this is a major (and interesting!) character flaw, but the books never seem to treat it as such. Honestly I think if this were intentional, I’d probably find her character really interesting, but from my reading of the text, I feel that I’m supposed to think of Navani as a generally decent person who’s by and large on the right side of things. The thing is, with the caste system playing such an integral role in their culture, I think she needs to have some sort of feelings about it, or else the fact that she doesn’t should be an issue to overcome. Otherwise she becomes another factor delegitimizing racial oppression as a real and important problem. If she’s a good guy and she doesn’t care about racism, then that’s saying you don’t have to be antiracist to be a good person in this world.

Probably could have done that one better. I dunno. Leave me angry and hateful comments if I’m totally misrepresenting your favorite character. Moving on.

Adolin already has some great character development across the books. And he already has kind of engaged with this stuff in his story. Unfortunately, that’s less used in the “this person was racist but is becoming better sense” and more used in the sense of “Kaladin learns that #NotAllLighteyes are bad” which is pretty unfortunate for a number of reasons. Especially since, if he actually was going to prove he’s different from other lighteyes, out of all the Kholins I think Adolin is the best candidate for being a full on class traitor. I’m serious, looking back over the events of his plotlines, it would suit him shockingly well while disturbing the overall narrative shockingly little.

Adolin’s current plot is loosely as follows: in Way of Kings he likes all the things someone of his station is supposed to like, clothes, violence, dueling, warfare, swords, hangtime with the guys, all the good stuff. At the beginning of the book he doesn’t understand why old, stuck-up Dalinar can’t just let loose and be a relelntless war-monger like everyone else, but by the end of the book he’s come to understand a certain value to honor and thus has begun to become a better person himself. Words of Radiance has him lose his popularity, fall out of favor with all of his friends, grow disillusioned with his society, perform a prison sit-in in solidarity with Kaladin, and murder Sadeas. Most of this is done again, because of his father, and how Adolin now wants to help and support him and his ideals. In Oathbringer he mostly isn’t involved in courtly politics, being away on a mission for much of it, but he does make a pretty big move by rejecting the throne. In Rhythm of War we see the schism that’s formed between him and his father until he leaves on another long-distance mission. Summary over. In general I reject the idea that making the Kholins be individually less racist makes for a better, or more nuanced and compassionate discussion of the topic, but if anyone is primed for a “lighteyes learns racism is wrong” character arc, I think it’s Adolin. Imagine him following a bit less in Dalinar’s footsteps and a bit more in Jasnah’s. You almost don’t even have to change any story beats: in getting to know Kaladin, something clicks in Adolin where he realizes that if he wants to treat Kaladin as his equal, he has to treat all darkeyes as equals, and so he realizes to his horror that he and his entire caste of friends and family are all monsters for treating them the way they do. (Actually, there is one plotline in WoR I’d probably scrap, and that’s his slowburn bromance with Kaladin. I mean I get what Sanderson was going for with the ribbing and then eventual friendship, but Kaladin was an absolute stranger who risked his own life to save Adolin and his father from certain death, and so I feel there should probably have been a bit more overt respect upfront there.) In pushing for his newfound belief in equality, he ends up burning through all of his intracaste goodwill and political capital, causing all of his friends to drop him. When he kills Sadeas, it doesn’t have to be about protecting Dalinar or about personal revenge, it could also be that he’s gotten to know Bridge 4 and learned firsthand about the atrocities they’d gone through, and so there’s no way he’d allow such a pioneer of human rights violations to stay in power. In the following books, maybe he’s become so politically toxic due to challenging the very foundations of his own power, his own family has to send him away on missions so he can’t rock the boat too much at home. Maybe refusing the throne was more of a political statement than a personal one, because he’s come to understand that being a ruler means oppressing thousands of others. Maybe this is another form of hypocrisy he criticizes Dalinar for, how Dalinar might claim to value darkeyes but how he still retains power bought with thousands of their corpses. None of this has to modify actual events very much, it just affects the reasons for them. And it would also meaningfully show why he gets to be a “good lighteyes” if he actually engaged with his status and rejected it, knowing it comes at the expense of others.

Okay, enough about that. Renarin maybe?

I won’t say too much about Renarin here, because I’d probably just end up repeating a lot of the same criticisms of how he’s used as a “good lighteyes.” From a narrative standpoint, all those criticisms hold for him as well. You know, he wants to join Bridge Four, and future-villain Moash doesn’t like the idea because he doesn’t trust lighteyes, but Kaladin reassures him that Renarin is a good boy, so don’t worry about it, and everything works out fine in the end, proving that lighteyes are good people just like you and me. This isn’t a problem with him as a person or character, it’s just more of that general theme of “the caste system is fine so long as nice people are at the top” which I clearly think should be interrogated. Thus far, in contrast to the rest of his family, Renarin is very young and has had much less of a political presence, not to mention fewer POV chapters anyway, so I think delving too much deeper here will feel a bit hollow to me.

Does Shallan count as a Kholin? I’d like to talk about her super briefly.

Unpopular opinion, but I actually think Shallan is one of the better characters on the topic of race insofar as how she’s written, especially compared to the other Kholins. But wait, I hear you say, what about all of her dozens of instances of casual racism? Yes, that’s what I’m referring to. I like how Shallan demonstrates how ingrained these harmful ideologies are in their society. I like how every time she has a distasteful thought, we the audience are reminded that racism still exists and even good people will continue to promote it if they don’t view it critically. I like that Shallan is problematic, because their society has problems! At least with her it doesn’t feel like the story’s trying to sweep the fact under the rug. There are plenty of issues with her writing, plenty of jabs at Kaladin that probably shouldn’t have been treated as cute. She’s actually the main character whose racism and classism I see criticized the most. And I think that’s a good thing! My issue with the Kholins isn’t that I think they should all be less racist, my issue is that their positions are inherently oppressive, and it seems as though the narrative doesn’t think that matters so long as deep down they’re good people. When people critique Shallan in specific instances, I tend to see a fair amount of consensus and agreement there, but when I critique the Kholins people will argue with me by pointing out that Dalinar/Adolin/Navani/whoever actually treats darkeyes as equals, so my arguments are invalid. Purely my own anecdotal experience of course, but it tends to make me think that there’s something in Shallan’s writing that’s working right, something that isn’t working for the other lighteyed characters.

Now obviously with all of this, I’m not saying I want these books to have more racism in them. What I’m arguing is that if the books are going to explore the topic (which they do) then they should treat the topic with an appropriate amount of gravity rather than acting as if it can be solved by having aristocrats become nicer people.

If you’re still here with me, thank you for reading, I love you, I hope you enjoyed yourself through my descent further and further into rambly nonsense. If you just scrolled to the bottom, that’s fair enough, there won't be a tl;dr but you’re welcome for filling your dash with massive text blocks.

#i'm going to be super nice and not put this post in any of the respective character tags #you're so welcome #i don't even know what to tag this as no one actually blocks ''long post''#i could tag it as discourse but my discourse tag is usually reserved for moash posting #also i genuinely am happy to read discussion about any of these points #i can't guarantee i'll reply to all of it but i welcome good faith disagreements (or agreements i suppose.)#except for my points about gavilar #try to argue with me there and i will make fun of you sorry #i should fully reactivate this blog but JUST for gavilar posting #preemptive faq response - q: why is this so long please put this under a cut. a: it's literally your fault for following me.

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apocalypticavolition · 20 days

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Let's (re)Read The Dragon Reborn! Chapter 5: Nightmares Walking

Or uh, riding, since that's what my picture has. Alas. Anyway you know the drill by now I'm sure, spoilers for anything and everything under the sun in this post, especially The Wheel of Time since that's what I'm rereading.

This chapter has the Trolloc triptych because we're getting a Shadowspawn attack.

He opened his mouth to shout warning, and suddenly the door of Moiraine’s hut burst open and Lan dashed out, sword in hand and shouting, “Trollocs! Wake, for your lives! Trollocs!”

Perrin, with the magical help of an entire pack of wolves, is only ALMOST as fast to respond to a crisis as Lan. That man's real fucking badass, y'know? (But also: Perrin is fighting his powers every step of the way and Lan's got two decades of experience with his own supernatural aid. It's only a matter of time before Perrin makes Lan look like the chump.)

The Tuatha’an woman pressed her back against the log wall, a hand to her throat. The light from the burning trees showed him the pain and horror, the loathing on her face as she watched the carnage.

I was just reading some stuff iliiuan had to say on the Tuatha'an before I got into this chapter so let me just note: Leya's priorities are all out of whack here if Perrin's reliably relating her emotions. She's not keeping herself safe, she's just being judgy about violence happening in her vicinity. And it kills her.

All that mattered was that he had to reach Leya, had to get her to safety, and the Trolloc was in the way.

Perrin's desperation to do the right thing even though of course he could easily write Leya off as an inevitability (and an inconvenience until the inevitable happens to boot) is why he's a hero, you know? I'll be giving this boy the most shit out of anyone but he tries to save someone's life even though he knows he can't and that's something.

The stink of it filled his nostrils, goat-stench and sour man-sweat.

It's good to know that Trollocs produce all the scents available to them instead of just limiting themselves to one or the other. And by good I obviously mean gross, but since I read it you have to too!

She was still there, huddled in front of the hut, not more than ten paces upslope. And watching him with such a look on her face that he could barely meet her eyes.

Leya's zealotry may be a formative trauma for Perrin I think.

Suddenly Leya moved, throwing herself forward, attempting to wrap her arms around the Myrddraal’s legs.

Well that's great and all Leya but isn't restraining someone so they can't move a very light form of violence? Like good... well good may be strong, but some kind of positive adjective... effort trying to protect Perrin and all but if you tripped the Fade isn't that causing it physical harm? Where is the line for the Tuatha'an? Did she in the last moment of her life betray her own beliefs for nothing? Concerning if so.

“Fade,” Perrin said roughly, but then a different name came to him, from the wolves. Trollocs, the Twisted Ones, made during the War of the Shadow from melding men and animals, were bad enough, but the Myrddraal—. “Neverborn!” Young Bull spat.

Half the reason we don't get Rand POVs much in this book is that Perrin's stealing his TGH schtick of losing himself in his newfound powers. I think this is something of a leftover from the proto-Tam character who was going to be Jesus AND the luckiest SOB ever AND a werewolf AND probably a really good shot I guess or whatever that fourth kid was supposed to contribute. Being easily replaceable, maybe?

The urge to rush down the slope and join his brothers, join in killing the Twisted Ones, in hunting the remaining Neverborn, was strong, but a buried fragment that was still man remembered. Leya.

Perrin will of course spend this book (and the next... ten?) afraid that he might turn into a werewolf forever because of an encounter, but we see right here that this isn't a risk for him because he's always got stuff to pull him back. Leya's barely in the list of ten most recent people he talked to but he won't abandon his humanity for her sake - how much less likely is he to abandon it once he's got Faile?

He no longer thought of the greater battle. There was only the Trolloc he and the wolves—the brothers—cut off from the rest and brought down. Then there would be another, and another, and another, until none were left. None here, none anywhere.

Obviously this is a terrible viewpoint to adapt if you're trying to be the strategy guy, but since Perrin isn't that anyway and the battle isn't reliant on such things, it actually works for him here. He's also more aware of himself than he was with the Whitecloaks, showing he's developed a little with his powers even if he's afraid of them.

Young Bull threw back his head and howled with her, mourned with her. When he lowered his head, Min was staring at him. “Are you all right, Perrin?” she asked hesitantly.

Note that while Min's obviously freaked out by Perrin embracing his inner furry, she's not exactly treating him like a freak show either. Like I said, she'd probably be very supportive if she knew the details.

Frantically he walled himself off from contact with the wolves. Images seeped through, emotions, as he tried to stop them. Finally, though, he could no longer feel them, feel their pain, or their anger, or the desire to hunt the Twisted Ones, or to run. . . .

Again we can kind of see how the proto-Tam's various aspects would have tied into a central character arc, with rejecting the naturalistic wolf expression being just one more way he would have been hardening himself and just one more thing he'd need to embrace to be the full hero at the end.

The Shienarans still standing—so few—lifted their blades and joined him. “Tai’shar Manetheren! Tai’shar Andor!”

Hell, even the Shienarans aren't that judgmental since they are already following Rand around.

But when he was with the wolves, it was all so different. He did not have to worry about strangers being afraid of him just because he was big, then. There was no one thinking he was slow-witted just because he tried to be careful. Wolves knew each other even if they had never met before, and with them he was just another wolf.

Is it wrong that occasionally I think Perrin might be a little bit on the spectrum?

“A sign to confirm our faith. Even wolves came to fight for the Dragon Reborn. In the Last Battle, the Lord Dragon will summon even the beasts of the forest to fight at our sides. It is a sign for us to go forth. Only Darkfriends will fail to join us.”

Masema is of course foreshadowing his delightful nonsense, showcasing how he was still corrupted by Fain, and letting Jordan make it subtly clear that the real Last Battle will be more complicated. It's not just Darkfriends who won't be on the side of the Light, even at the very end.

Do you know what I did during the fight?” Still staring into the distance, Rand addressed the night. “Nothing! Nothing useful. At first, when I reached out for the True Source, I couldn’t touch it, couldn’t grasp it. It kept sliding away. Then, when I finally had hold of it, I was going to burn them all, burn all the Trollocs and Fades. And all I could do was set fire to some trees.”

Rand's an incredible channeler, but even he needs a teacher.

“We . . . dealt with them, Rand,” Perrin said. He shivered, thinking of all the wounded men down below. And the dead. Better that than the mountain down on top of us. “We didn’t need you.”

And likewise, in the final conflict, no one will be needing Rand to deal with the individual Shadowspawn and even if he could deal with them to keep the people alive it would be a waste of everyone's time.

There had been a man, Elyas Machera, who also could talk to wolves. Elyas ran with the wolves all the time, yet seemed able to remember he was a man. But he had never told Perrin how he did it, and Perrin had not seen him in a long time.

Sorry Perrin, but he doesn't really pull it off anywhere near well enough for your standards.

He gasped and almost dropped his axe. He could feel the skin on his back crawling, muscles writhing as they knit back together. His shoulder quivered uncontrollably, and everything blurred. Cold seared him to the bone, then deeper still. He had the impression of moving, falling, flying; he could not tell which, but he felt as if he were rushing—somewhere, somehow—at great speed, forever.

Another reminder that the best modern Aes Sedai have for healing at this point is emergency care, which works but definitely isn't the good stuff. Moiraine even tells him to eat afterward.

“Most of the wolves who were hurt made their own way to the forest,” Moiraine said, knuckling her back and stretching, “but I Healed those I could find.” Perrin gave her a sharp look, yet she seemed to be just making conversation. “Perhaps they came for their own reasons, yet we would likely all be dead without them.”

Moiraine is nice enough to try and thank Perrin subtly, but of course he's much too suspicious for any of that.

“If you could get me to Shayol Ghul now,” Rand said drowsily, “by Waygate or Portal Stone, there could be an end to it. No more dying. No more dreams. No more.”

It would obviously have a terrible ending, but a fanfic of Moiraine somehow taking sleep-deprived Rand to Shayol Ghul and just kind of hoping for the best would be hysterical. This Rand might not be as traumatized as he's going to be, but I still think assuming he'd last five minutes before agreeing to let the Dark One unmake reality is overly generous.

“That’s right,” Rand said bitterly. “I’m not to be trusted. Lews Therin Kinslayer killed everyone close to him. Maybe I’ll do the same before I am done.” “Pull yourself together, sheepherder,” Lan said harshly. “The whole world rides on your shoulders. Remember you’re a man, and do what needs to be done.”

If Perrin or Mat had tried sassing Lan like this they would have learned what their pancreas looked like once chopped in half before finishing the second sentence, so while Lan's toxic masculinity is of course only adding to the Dragonmount of psychological issues Rand's going to need to deal with, let's also reflect that it's still him going easy on his favorite boy.

Next time: Ingtar leads the crew out of Fal Dara, Rand finds out Moiraine fucked with his belongings again, and Lanf--

Wait no. Sorry. That was LAST book's chapter "The Hunt Begins". Next time we read THIS book's version, which probably has a lot less Ingtar due to his having a prior commitment. Also much less Rand on account of his running away.

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #perrin aybara #lan al'mandragoran #moiraine damodred #leya #min farshaw #loial #masema dagar #uno nomesta #rand al'thor

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despitethecold · 10 months

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My contribution to the GTA summer fest!! Thank you @gtafest for the event (and for proofreading hehe) <33

Being the dumbass I am, I forgot we were supposed to be inspired by a song and I was inspired by a picture instead, but I think parts of Taylor Swift's august might be the song for this fic :D Especially when she says "Your back beneath the sun, wishing I could write my name on it"

Anyway, I hope you enjoy :3

. . .

It’s yet another typical Yankton summer for Michael. In his mid-twenties, the only real bond he has is his best friend and partner-in-more-things-than-crime, and that’s all he really needs. He can drink and be stupid and fuck off to wherever his heart desires with Trevor, do reckless shit without explaining himself to anyone. It’s freedom like he’s never experienced before; it’s like a dream come true, and even though it can feel a little aimless and gloomy sometimes, it never gets lonely. Not as long as he has Trevor by his side. He admits Trevor can be too much, especially when he gets high and acts like an absolute lunatic with zero boundaries and does the most deranged things Michael has ever witnessed. He’s a wild card, maybe even a liability at times.

But the Trevor before his eyes looks the opposite of that. He’s calm in his state of unconsciousness, his face serene and free of all worries, body naked and cheap motel sheets twisted around it. Almost like he’s pure and harmless, and the thought makes Michael want to laugh until he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t because seeing Trevor like this has already taken his breath away.

He had complained about the blinds not working at night when the streetlights battled their way inside the room and chased away his sleep, but he couldn’t get upset at the early sunrise — not when it bestowed him the heavenly sight of Trevor sleeping soundly on his chest, snoring lightly, unfazed by his surroundings. His skin is deliciously tanned, alluring in the orange glow, and although the color reminds Michael of caramel, he knows perfectly well that it tastes much too salty to be that. The brightness accentuates the hairs on his uncovered legs and ass, but despite being a generally hairy guy, his back seems surprisingly smoother to Michael’s tired eyes — that is, if he ignores the scars.

He absentmindedly reaches out a hand and touches the small of Trevor’s back. Warm. His touch slides down to his perfectly shaped ass, and he wants to bite into the flesh so badly, but manages to keep the urge under control. A thin sheen of sweat is visible on the back of his neck, and his long hair is spread messily on the pillow. It’s not soft and shiny like the girls Michael had slept with before, which isn’t a surprise considering Trevor probably doesn’t even use shampoo, but it’s still strangely attractive.

Shuffling closer, Michael presses a light kiss on his shoulder blade, checks to see if it woke Trevor up, and since he doesn’t detect any movement, he shifts to his neck. His lips stay there for a long minute, burning the texture and the taste of Trevor’s skin into his memory. It’s like he’s lost control of his body; all he wants to do is kiss Trevor all over, touch every inch of his skin. He’s usually very high or drunk or horny when he gets sentimental like this, and he’s none of those things at that moment, but for some unknown reason he’s so peaceful that the fondness he feels for Trevor that he normally keeps carefully under wraps doesn’t even bother him much.

After another set of kisses, Trevor eventually stirs and groans in protest, obviously wanting to be left alone and go back to sleep, but how can Michael let the moment pass like it’s nothing? At that second, he is convinced Trevor is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and some of him knows the feeling won’t last forever, so he intends to make it last. “You’re gorgeous, Trev,” he whispers in his ear, caressing his side, his palm flat against the sweat damp skin.

Trevor lets out a drowsy scoff. “Very funny,” he murmurs against the pillow. “Now fuck off.” His voice cracks from sleep, and it’s low in a very masculine way. Michael has a tent in his boxers just from hearing it.

“It wasn’t a joke.”

Michael can practically sense the way Trevor assesses his words, weighs them in his head, and makes a decision. With a beat of silence, Trevor rolls onto his back, kicking the covers off of himself. Michael’s mouth goes dry at the sight; Trevor’s cock and balls are also real pretty in that light, not that he’s ever thought about another guy’s junk like that before. His eyes meet Trevor’s devoted ones, the honey-colored flecks in his hazel eyes daring him to do something, anything, and so he does. He gets on top of Trevor, slotting between his legs, their awakening cocks in complete contact while he takes Trevor’s mouth and tastes him. It makes Trevor whimper quietly, and Michael deepens the kiss to draw more of those needy moans out. He succeeds, and he soaks up all the little sounds Trevor makes. Each and every one of them goes straight to his cock, raising the urge to own Trevor, make him his and his only. The feeling is so strong that he doesn’t even dare fight it.

There’s no draft in the room, and they sweat even more with the union of their bodies, but neither of them care. Trevor’s arms wind around Michael’s shoulders, pulling him impossibly close, and Michael feels feverish from the sun’s rays and Trevor’s innate fire. It takes over his entire being, igniting the kind of flame within that only Trevor manages to stoke, making him feel like this, whatever it is they have, would be his end, and he welcomes that with open arms in his hormone-driven state. Trevor’s cock and balls feel so fucking nice against his own, and Trevor’s precum lubricates them deliciously as they rut against each other like wild animals.

Michael always lasts longer than Trevor, but for the first time, he comes first, biting into Trevor’s shoulder and leaving yet another mark that will remind him in post nut clarity to stop doing this and also why he does it in the first place.

It doesn’t take Trevor long to follow Michael and make the mess between them even stickier, the pleasure so prominent in his tightly shut eyes, flushed cheeks, and fisted hands that Michael can’t help being enchanted by it. He refuses rolling away yet, just kisses Trevor again and again until Trevor comes down from his high enough to properly kiss him back, and after a long moment of making out, he finally pulls back, admiring how satisfied Trevor looks.

The sun is fully up by then. Trevor throws him a small, tired grin, wipes his crotch and stomach with the sheets before snuggling against Michael’s arm, holding him tight. Soon, he’s snoring again.

Michael closes his eyes and tries to convince himself he’ll be fine, that this is okay. He pretends they’re living in a world where loving another man is not wrong, where they can keep robbing and having fun for the rest of their lives. A world where it’s always sunny.

If only.

#gtavfest #gtafest #my writing #trikey #trevor philips #michael de santa #michael townley

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sapphire-weapon · 9 months

Note

I actually agree with you analysis with Aeon, because there is one thing that’s been bugging me this whole time about their “relationship”.

Leon states in Vendetta that he is tired of all the fighting, so much to the point to where he starts drinking. But what bothers me the most is that Ada in her shitty storyline is stealing samples to later trade as per orders of Wesker.

For me, it almost undermines Leon’s goal in the sense that the one thing he wants to end is being continued by the woman he is so in love with. Because of his love with her, he’s willing to turn a blind eye to her actions all because he loves her???

Leon’s character is being questioned. Which doesn’t make sense cause his whole thing is to save people but when the girl he loves is continuing the cycle that he wants to end, he just doesn’t care??? Like Leon was top of his class in the police academy, labeled as smart. But just because he sees a pretty girl his intelligence kind of just gets thrown out the window.

I like both characters, but i feel like their little cat and mouse game destroys both characters completely.

Anyway, sorry to ramble, keep up the analysis. i’m lovin’ it!

So, this has actually been my biggest source of frustration as a critic/analyst. Back when RE6 first came out, I was still heavy in the dwrp scene, and I played through the game with my buddy Seiko (who RPed the Chris to my Leon, at the time) and I just remember both of us at varying points being like "what the fuck is he doing??" "why is he so fucking stupid?? it's like he took all of Chris's stupid pills and he's like 'no it's my turn to give myself brain damage you already had your fun. B('"

And when we first beat Leon's campaign I just dropped my controller and leaned back and said, "Well. I guess Leon just became unplayable. So much for that shit. There goes five years of RP down the fuckin toilet. Thanks for nothing, Capcom." And Seiko had to be like "No, wait, hold on. We can figure this out." And eventually she was the one who finally realized and said: "It felt like his whole campaign was a cry for help."

And I have been trying to make that work ever since -- because it is the only way to make his character make sense, after a certain point.

It actually took me the better part of two years to fully form and crystallize my analysis of "Leon projects most of his trauma onto Ada because she's familiar and convenient -- and also it's a bit of sunk cost fallacy because he wasted so much of his life trying to chase her down, so he's forced to create and live in this delusion where he's convinced himself that she's working towards the greater good, even though he has absolutely no intellectual reason to think that considering the men she's worked for -- but he still has to force himself to buy into it because his entire sense of self has become wrapped up in all of this bullshit, and for him to confront and admit that he's been wrong about her all this time would literally cause his worldview to shatter and his mental health to completely unravel into nothing."

Because RE6, as it exists, is fucking nonsense. I already thought RE4 was pushing it, because I don't know how Leon could just... be okay with Ada working for Wesker. The only explanation is that he's become convinced that she's doing it for a good reason and is going to do the right thing -- even though he has absolutely no evidence for thinking that. A delusion is the only way for it to make sense, and RE6 kicks that into overdrive.

If you were to look at Leon and Ada's relationship and call it for what it was, the very uncomfortable truth that would shake out is that Leon himself is probably one of the greatest assets contributing to the perpetuation of bioterrorism research. He not just aids the US government in their cover-up stories and cleans up their messes for them, but he also actively aids Ada's efforts while she's working for guys like Albert goddamn Wesker.

If you look at it from that perspective, the grim reality is that the world might objectively be better off if Leon was to step down from his position, withdraw from the battlefield, or even off himself like he's always wanted to. He's not just a useful idiot like Chris was for the BSAA -- he is actively part of the problem.

And there's some part of Leon that knows that. But it goes against everything he claims to stand for.

And so, the only way to make sense of his actions is the explanation that his entire sense of self is wrapped up in this, and he's too deep in that hole to dig his way out now. He's aware, on some level, of the cognitive dissonance that's happening, and that's why he drinks.

So, it is very interesting to me that Ada has been MIA from the OG timeline since 6, and that Vendetta and Death Island made the move to have Chris and Jill officially move in as Leon's support system, when he didn't have one previously -- because, with the proper support system in place, it's possible that he can dig his way out of this hole.

But what will that mean for his relationship with Ada?

And so we look at the Remake series and see the foundation it's been laying...

And suddenly the horizon starts to look very, very dark for Aeon as a ship.

#resident evil #leon kennedy #meta analysis

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themadlostgirl · 6 months

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Under Streetlights

*I don't know how to not write multi-chapter fics for my Marvel crushes. Anyhoo! This is the first chapter of my Bucky x Reader fic. Updates will be available to read on AO3!*

Read on AO3

---

This had to be the fault of aliens.

That’s the only thing you could think of as you woke up to get ready for your day. All the strange shit that had started happening in the world over a decade ago, that had to have contributed to where you were now.

Aliens. Wizards. Killer robots. Literal gods. All of them disturbing what was already a nonsensical planet full of greedy assholes and stressed out meatbags.

How else would life have gotten to be like this? How else would you have ended up in the criminal island Madripoor of all places, living this life?

You swung out of bed and started getting ready for the day. It was strange to get ready for work when it was already pretty dark out. That’s what you get for working a night job though.

You wandered out into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. A small plate of food wrapped in plastic wrap with your name written on top was set inside amongst the chilled sodas and eleven different condiments. You popped it in the microwave and grabbed a soda while you waited, you were going to need the caffeine.

As you sat down at the rickety table to eat the door opened and one of your roommates walked in, a Korean girl with short black hair and a drawstring gym bag over her shoulders. “Hey,” she said as she passed you and pulled out a similar plate of food to yours. “Rekha make curry again?”

“Hey Ha-rin, and yeah.” you yawned. “How was work?”

“Same old.” she put her food in to heat. “Glad to go to sleep now though. You excited for another fun night of work?”

“Always.” the sarcasm drenched your words, “How are the streets?”

Ha-rin frowned slightly. “Not great, actually. Franks is back on his shit so probably try to stay out of the neon district on your way to work. Do you want me to walk with you? Strength in numbers?”

“No. I’ll be fine.” you told her. You didn’t want her to have to go out after she just got back, not when you could defend yourself just fine. “So Franks is back to trying to recruit girls for his club? Why doesn’t he just give it up? He has to know that no one is going to willingly work for him after what happened with Doozie and Ditzy.”

“I know. I think his new game is to get them to come in as guests, drug them, and then get them to rack up a big bill they need to pay off by working. The other girls from work are trying to spread the info as best we can so everyone knows to stay away from his place.”

“God, he’s such a fucking creep.” you finished the last of your food. “I gotta get ready for my shift. You get some sleep, I’ll see you after work.”

“Be safe.” she waved you off as she sat down to scarf down her reheated leftovers.

You were really appreciative of your other roommate, Rekha. Because all of your schedules were so chaotic it made getting together in any capacity hard. But Rekha always made portions enough of dinner for you and Ha-rin before or after a long day at work. In exchange you and Ha-rin endeavored to keep the apartment as clean as possible as means of showing gratitude. That meant doing the gross stuff like unclogging the shower drain and replacing the roach traps around the apartment.

You went back to your room and started getting dressed, styling your hair and putting on your makeup. You needed to look pretty for work but then you also had to put on a shirt over your work clothes so you had less chance of being accosted in the street. You tied on some tennis shoes, packed your heels in your bag and set off into the dilapidated underbelly of Madripoor that was Lowtown.

You kept a wide berth of the neon district like Ha-rin suggested and cut through the fighting ring district to make up the time. In any normal situation you would have been terrified to walk around the city like this. But you were in no normal situation, far from it.

There was a can lying in the street that you unwittingly gave a light kick to and it went flying, just narrowly missing someone’s window. Yep. You had definitely left normal a long time ago.

You made it to work and used the employee entrance to the locker room. You changed out of the street shirt you had worn and kicked off your comfortable tennis shoes. You pulled on your heels, gave yourself a once over in the mirror and plastered on a bright smile that you knew you were going to be fighting to keep in place after an hour.

For as shitty as your life was living in Lowtown, you had managed to land a pretty nice job as a server in one of the Hightown clubs. The hours were long and the heels you needed to wear killed your feet but it paid the rent and there was less chance of you getting hurt here than somewhere else. Of course, less chance didn’t mean zero chance.

You went about the usual routine, pulling bottles and serving cocktails to the numerous patrons crowding the club. About three hours into your shift your manager called you over. “Queenie, I need you to cover one of the private rooms.”

“But I thought I was off private rooms.” you told them. You really hated private room service, even more than general club work. People were already handsy when it came to being in public but they always ended up leaving any decency behind when they thought they were alone.

“You were requested. Now go.”

You sighed and took a moment to breathe before entering the fray again. You went back to the private room you were directed towards and entered. There was a whole group here, four men and two women. So at least you weren’t being left for one-on-one service like you had feared.

“Hello, what may I get you?” you asked.

“You can get over here and settle something for us.” one of the men said. “We hear that you are the undefeated arm wrestling champion of the club.”

Oh, this again.

“I am indeed. The reigning queen bee at your service, or everyone just calls me queenie.” you gave a little mock curtsy.

“Queenie,” one of the other men, who had a full on waxed mustache with the curly ends, scoffed, “It’s some kind of joke or a trick or something. You don’t look as if there’s much to you in the way of strength.”

“Well, you know what they say, arm wrestling isn’t about brute strength, it’s about leverage.” you came to the table. “Did someone want to play?”

“I will.” curly mustache said and put his arm on the table. “I’m not going to humor whatever stupid trick you have either.”

“Of course, sir.” you were going to enjoy this at least. You knelt across the table from him and put out your arm. He grabbed your hand, you waited for one of the other guests to say go, and then you focused intently to not slam his arm down as soon as possible.

You went through your whole act, letting your arm stay still as he tried to push against yours, watching the confusion build in his eyes, then letting your arm fall a bit to the side to make him think he had the upper hand, before then slowly pushing back and slamming his arm down in victory. The moment his arm went down the others in the room gave little cheers and claps. You stood up again, gave another mock curtsy to the room and pulled out your notepad. “Thank you. So, what may I get for you to drink? Any appetizers for the room?”

Curly mustache was still knelt by the table staring at his hand in bewilderment. “How did you do that?” he demanded. “What sort of cheating trick did you pull?”

“No trick and no cheating, sir. I told you, it is all a matter of leverage.” you responded with syrupy sweetness in hopes that he would drop it.

“But--but--”

“Delano, the girl beat you. Let it go and let us get some drinks.” one of the women said with a roll of her eyes.

Delano huffed and sat back down but his glare followed you as you took the order and left. God, what you wouldn’t give to be able to punch assholes like that right in the face. He was going to be a problem tonight, you could just tell.

You returned to the room with the drinks and the food they had ordered. Delano was still glaring at you and had requested a rematch. You indulged him but put on a quicker show so you could move on. You knew you could just let him win. It would probably end all the glaring and demands for rematches but you had very little and fuck if you were going to give up your arm wrestling title to save this asshole’s ego.

The night continued on and you were still working the private room. You had hoped that they would do some club hopping but they seemed more than content to stay here. Normally you would have been a little excited cause it meant that you were more likely to get a bigger tip. Outside of Delano everyone else in the party seemed to like you. But Delano was still there and still glaring and huffing and muttering “bitch” under his breath along with some other choice words in what sounded to be French.

You just had to get through the night.

As the night and your shift was coming to an end the muttered comments from Delano had turned into drunken threats. His friends chided him and told you that there was nothing for you to fear from him, he was all bark and no bite. You didn’t trust them though. You had seen that look before, it was one worn by men who felt their pride wounded and had no other way to face it than with anger. There would be one more trick from him before the night was out. You’d bet money on it.

You had cleared away some of the empty glasses from the room and were about to return when you felt a presence at your back. You turned to see that Delano had left the room and was leering at you from the corner. It was happening now was it? Fine. Get it over with.

You turned to face him, plastering on a smile. “Hello sir, did you need something? Directions to the restroom perhaps?”

“There’s something not right about you.” he said, his words wavered as badly as he did.

“How about we get you back to your friends? Something tells me that you could use a glass of water.” you tried to scoot past him but he lashed out and grabbed your arm in a vice like grip. Damn it all.

He pulled you so you hit the wall. “Not so strong now, aren’t you?”

“Apparently.” you wrenched your arm away from him. “Now, if you are satisfied, I have to get back to work.”

“Get back here you cheating bitch!” he grabbed your arm again.

“Get off me!” you shoved him off and he fell to the floor, skidding quite a ways across the shining linoleum as he went. Shit. Too much.

Security came over to see what was happening. Before you could explain that Delano was at fault he scrambled to his feet and started shouting. “That fucking bitch shoved me! Is this how your club treats its highest paying members! I want her fucking head!”

“Now sir--” the security tried to reason but Delano was far past words.

“Her head! I want her stupid bitch head!” he pulled a switchblade out from his pocket and charged at you.

You didn’t mean to. You really didn’t. But when you saw the knife your body moved on instinct. You grabbed Delano’s wrist and you could feel the bones crack as you squeezed and made him drop the knife. He cried out in pain and tried to wrestle himself away from you. He kicked but you were faster. Your shoe collided with his shin and there was an unmistakable snapping sound. He collapsed to the floor, his leg now bent at an awkward angle.

All eyes went to you. People were crowding around, starting to whisper. Security stared at you baffled by the show of effortless strength you exhibited. “How did you--”

“I didn’t.” you said. “I just kicked him. I think he’s just lacking calcium. Weak bones and all that.”

Their eyes narrowed. “Queenie, I think the boss is gonna want to talk to you.”

“Oh no, there’s really no need to bother them.” you dodged out of the grab they made for you. “Come on Terry, this was just an isolated incident. Never to happen again.”

“You shattered his shin with one kick. We both know that’s not normal.” both of the security guards went to grab you this time. “The boss is definitely going to want to know how you did it.”

No. No! Not the boss! Anyone but the boss!

Your heart was hammering in your ears and you realized you had a choice. Go quietly and you would most certainly become some sort of prisoner and science experiment, or you could do something incredibly stupid.

As their grip latched around your arms you sighed as your mind was made up. Something stupid it was.

You planted your feet and with all the strength you had fought to keep under control, you slammed your elbow’s into the guts of the security officers. They immediately doubled over, gasping for breath at the sudden blow. They looked up at you through the pain and you knew that they had just gotten confirmation on what was going on. What you really were.

So, you did what you did best. You turned and ran for it. You were shoving people out of your way as you rushed through the club. You kicked off your heels and started sprinting down the stairs as fast as you could. The echo of feet thundered after you in the stairwell.

If they were smart someone would be waiting on the ground floor for you. You ducked through one of the doors leading out onto a different floor and kept running. There wasn’t a lot on this floor outside of storing miscellaneous stuff like cleaning supplies and office materials. You wove through the boxes as you made your way to the other end of the room. There were different ways to get in and out of the building. One was the main entrance, the other was the employee entrance, and then there was the freight elevator. It was mainly used to move large art pieces and furniture. It wasn’t the quietest but hopefully it could get you down to the ground floor without having to take another twenty flight of stairs.

You got inside and hit the bottommost floor. The doors creaked shut and with a shudder the elevator started to go down.

What were you going to do? Everyone back there saw what you did. Word would have gotten back to the boss too. You were screwed. All you had to do was keep your strength in check! Almost eight years you had been able to keep this under wraps and because of one drunk asshole it all went up in smoke! Where were you going to go? The apartment would be the first place they checked.

Oh no. Ha-rin and Rekha. You had to at least warn them that some people may be barging in. You still had your phone. You quickly dialed Rekha since she was the one most likely to be awake at this hour. “Hello?” she answered with a yawn. “What’s up?”

“I’m so sorry.” you said, “But some people may be coming by the apartment later. They’re looking for me. I did something and its not safe for me here anymore. If they ask where I am or if you know anything just tell them the truth. No need to get on their bad side.”

“What are you talking about?” Rekha sounded more awake. “What did you do? What’s going on?”

“The less you know the better. I’m so sorry. I wish I wasn’t leaving you guys with this mess. I have to go now. I’m sorry.”

“Wait, you just can’t--” you hung up, tears welling in your eyes.

The elevator came to a halt. You dropped the phone on the floor and kept running. You would have liked to have grabbed your shoes from the locker room but that wasn’t an option now. You just had to pray that you didn’t step on something now.

As you had guessed, the ground floor was swarming with security. There was an emergency exit not too far from you but there was someone standing guard. Damn it. You had hoped to be more covert but looks like you were getting out of here the guns a blazing approach. You snuck as far as you could until sneaking was no longer an option.

You took a deep breath and ran straight at the security guard. They pulled a gun but you were faster and had the element of surprise. You grabbed the barrel of the gun and felt the metal bend in your hand as your other hand swung to punch him in the face. You saw an honest to god tooth fly out of his mouth as he careened sideways and fell to the ground.

He was down though, the door was open, and you had attracted the attention of the rest of the security. You ran out, bare feet pounding the pavement as the sound of shouting and gunshots rang behind you. You saw a cab ahead and pulled the driver out. You started driving, weaving through traffic, your heart beating a million miles a second.

Where to go? Where to go!

You saw a bridge in the distance, the lights of the city glittering on the ocean. You could get out the same way you got in. You hated it but wherever they would take you was better than staying here.

You drove to the docks and parked the car. There was no telling who was coming in and out of port but you had a pretty good memory. You could remember where you were when you were brought here at least. That was as good a lead as any to find one of the trafficking ships.

You crept through the docks. Your feet were starting to numb from the cold. With some luck though, you found what you were looking for. There was a ship being loaded. It looked to be like they were dealing in knockoff handbags but that was just the cover. The real cargo was lined up by a shipping container. There had to have been over a dozen girls scared and shivering on the dock.

This wasn’t going to be fun.

You made your way towards the group and purposely made a lot of noise as you got closer. Heads turned towards you and weapons raised. You gave them a lazy smile. “Hey!” you said, trying to slur your words, “What are we all doing over here? We going sailing?”

The men looked confused and you saw one of them do a headcount of the girls. “She’s not one of ours.” one of them said.

“Probably a hooker someone left alone and drunk.” another shrugged. “I mean, she’s not bad looking. No reason we couldn’t add her to the cargo.”

“Okay, grab her.” one of the guards grabbed you and put you with the rest of the girls.

You waited and followed the girls onto the boat when it was your turn. You were taken into a space down below decks. You sat down and braced yourself for the long journey to a destination you knew not.

---

“Hey Buck,” Sam said, “We got a location for where the trafficking ring is going to be docking. They should be arriving in L.A. at 0600 tomorrow. If we want to get there in time we gotta get to the airport now.”

“Alright.” Bucky sighed. “I’ll drive.”

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #mcu #reader insert #female reader

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