#the world only starts to rot after he dies

[val-of-the-north]

A small detail of the Kindred of Rot

At some point I was made aware of a very easy-to-miss detail on one of the enemies of Elden Ring. I must thank Zlofsky from Twitter for this. The detail in question is this [x]

(Here's the version for those who don't want to use the link)

As you can see, the Kindred of Rot can have this peculiar red "spike" protruding from the back of their heads. I had not heard many people actually talk about this detail in length, but I heard it posited that it was actually found only on the Pests that Gowry takes over, and that it was some sort of parasitic mushroom, like the one that infests ants in the real world. The idea was very compelling and fit the theme of the Scarlet Rot neatly, so I eventually decided to verify it. Sure enough, the spike was there after his borrowed Pest body died.

So yeah, that's it then! It was all Gowry and he was actually some sort of parasitic mushroom all along! To consolidate the discovery, I decided to kill another Kindred of Rot in Caelid. That proved to make things more complicated than I first thought, as after the fight I realized it ALSO had the weird red spike on the back of its head!

So I thought maybe it's all the ones in Caelid, because Gowry can choose from all of them as the next host. Sounds reasonable right? So I went to check in Elphael instead, to see if this theory was true, only to be met with other corpses sporting the red spike. I started thinking that maybe the variant MISSING the red thing was actually the uncommon one, until I found a gentlebug who did not aggro even as I stood pretty close. There I could finally see that he did not have one! And later on, I found another one that I could avoid aggroing, and sure enough, it also didn't have the red spike.

And when killed, both sprouted that red thing too!

So what is their deal? It's clearly not tied to Gowry at this rate, but it's also such an insignificant detail that I could not help but wonder about... so I decided to do some final testing. I went back to Caelid and found a chilling Kindred of Rot. It would be my test subject. Here's its neck states in order:

Idle - No Spike

Getting Up - No Spike

Start of Aggro - Spike

During Aggro - Spike (this was hellish to get)

Dead - Spike

So in conclusion, the red spike seems to only appear when the Kindred of Rot initiates a fight. This still doesn't tell us anything concrete, BUT it does leave some room for speculation. Maybe it's just some kind of organ or antenna that pops up when they are distressed or aggravated (though it's noticeably absent in the young ones). Maybe it truly is a parasitic mushroom, using the Pests as soldiers and making them attack us against their will.

Whatever the case may be, I had never seen anyone really talk about this design element before, so I thought it was worth putting it out there. Maybe it can help someone with their theories.

#elden ring #kindred of rot #scarlet rot #this sent me down a path that I was frankly not expecting lol #I never thought I'd get to stare at these guys as much as I had to for this lmao #these games have such incredibly small details #but ye what are your thoughts on this? what could the red thing be? #val-post

[orcboxer]

Sure there's zombies killing and eating people on the street but those people are not dying from the virus they're dying from comorbidities. For instance, that guy we saw getting eaten on the way into work today clearly died from blood loss, not infection, plus he already had a heart condition. People with preexisting conditions are just going to have to take care of themselves. Say it with me, "They're all already dead to me." See, that feels a lot better now doesn't it?

Good because you still have to go to work. No we're not paying you extra. Yes we're doubling grocery prices. No you don't qualify for disability. Or healthcare. Or a home.

Look, if you get bitten, you can stay home for one day, I guess 😒, but then you need to come in early. We're really short staffed at the moment, despite our company's profits being higher than ever. In fact we may be laying some of you off next month. You don't mind working off the clock right?

Also you look silly with that protective gear. We're gonna harass you for it, not like institutionally but just socially. Who cares if a zombie attacks you? Who cares if we invite them into the building? You don't need to defend yourself, you're just overreacting. If you get bitten just tell everyone the festering bite mark is from a different animal, that's what we all do.

And hey, don't worry so much. It's endemic, which means we don't have to keep track of how many people are dying from it anymore. Just look at those numbers! It's only killed 2,000 people in America this week! That's basically nobody! We're back to normal!

If everything starts tasting like rotting meat for the rest of your life, it's probably something else. If you experience brain fog or you forget things constantly or you're tired all the time after even minor physical activity, it's just because you're lazy. Yes every other virus you ever get will also be increasingly worse but that's just a coincidence. Those viruses just happen to be exponentially worse now.

Plus, those few weeks during the lockdown were terrible for my mental health. I just can't keep living like that, so we have to go back to normal life, which now involves people biting each other and twitching uncontrollably and rotting visibly.

You can't expect the world to wait for you. "Already dead to me," remember?

#bummer post #covid

[milf-harrington]

i read a fic yesterday (return of the king) where Steve swapped with Eddie at the last second at the end of s4 and ended up being the one who died and had to be left behind and then he came back as a vampire and it just got my brain TICKING.

So role-reversal AU where steve is the one who comes back basically kas-ified as is the common trope with eddie, but where eddie goes to steve, steve goes to robin.

lets say, for funsies, that they managed to kill vecna and max only ended up hospitalised for a broken elbow and a twisted ankle (from falling on it), so everyone has the time and space to grieve.

Steve’s death hits Robin the hardest because he was her person. He was her i-wish-we-could-just-merge-into-one-being. Her ride or die. Her soulmate. And he’d been taken from her, torn apart and left to rot in the very world he’d tried so hard to protect her from. 

The others give her space to let her mourn quietly in her bedroom, dressed in steve’s clothes and listening to his music like if she just tried hard enough she could still merge them together and let him use her lungs to breathe, her heart to pump his blood, her head to share his thoughts. that she could single handedly go from a me to a we.

And then, one day, Robin starts acting weird. She doesn’t know the Wheeler’s phone number and on her way to find it in the phone book, she found the Munson’s first, and when Eddie picks up it’s too a very chipper Robin asking for a lift to the shops where she proceeds to buy an alarming amount of red meat and refuses to answer any questions.

And she’s just- happy. She’s weird and happy and keeps calling Eddie to ask him about Dungeons and Dragons lore and if he can take her to the library or to the butcher and if he can let her borrow his jumper please? I get cold easily. And then she just keeps stealing clothes, from everyone. Sometimes she asks, sometimes she’ll just take a jacket off of the back of a chair and act like nothing happened, sometimes she just sneaks off to go rooting through washing baskets.

Then comes the day she invites Eddie over, probably a week or so after her initial journey into Weird-Ville, nervously rambling about nothing right up until she closes the front door behind them and runs into Eddie’s back because Eddie’s just spotted Steve-fucking-Harrington peering at him from around the corner. 

Apparently, a not-exactly-dead-anymore Steve crawled through Robin’s window one night and has since taken up residence underneath her bed. 

“He was kinda- not all there, at first.” She tells him, chopping a steak into cubes and dropping them into a blender. Steve, winged and fanged and tailed, leans against the counter and watches her with sleepy eyes. “But we’ve been working on it.”

After the initial pants-shitting shock of having her dead best friend re-appear as a creature of the upside down, Robin had simply accepted it and moved on. Happy to have Steve back no matter what it looked like. 

And what it looked like was blending raw meat, and reading together in the bathroom to bring back his ability to talk, and stealing clothes for the veritable nest Steve was building in her closet. The next step in her plan to re-domesticate her best friend, had been to introduce him to another person: Eddie, evidently. 

Steve promptly spends 5 minutes being a feral little creature, scenting Eddie within an inch of his life like he’d done to Robin, and then attempting to plant him in his nest like a little ornament. 

Just. idk. feral kas!steve seeking out robin for safety, who slowly re-introduces him to his humanity and then his future boyfriend.

#stobin #platonic soulmates #also a bit of #steddie #as a treat (for me) #monster steve harrington #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #this has been plaguing me all day #fic ideas

[solarmorrigan]

TW: Discussion of suicide, suicidal ideation, child neglect. Nothing happens in the fic (all hurt/comfort, I promise), but it's very frankly talked about, so please proceed with care <3

-

It takes three weeks.

(In reality, it takes longer than that. It takes until after Steve realizes he’s spending more time at Eddie and Wayne’s new place than he is at his own house. It takes until after Eddie has asked Steve to just move in with them already. It takes until after Steve has packed his things up, and carefully cleaned up the house, and set the thermostat, and informed the pool cleaners, and paid a neighbor to check the mail every few days, and – he hadn’t felt right, just leaving, even though Eddie had repeatedly told him he didn’t owe anyone anything. But it had taken until after all of that, and then–)

Steve had left them a note, a new number where he could be reached, and it had taken three weeks before they came looking. Before they even noticed.

It isn’t a fight, in the end.

His parents are angry that he’d just up and left the house, but they’re much less so when he explains everything he’d set in place before he’d gone.

They want to know if he’ll be asking them for anything else after this (not if he’s safe, not if he’s happy, just if he’s going to keep being a burden).

He tells them no.

And that’s– that’s it.

That’s it.

His mom tells him they’ll call him around Christmas, let him know if they’ll be in town, and then his parents just let him go.

They get up and they leave his living room and they leave his home and they leave Steve’s life and they leave and they don’t look back and they– well, they’d left a long time ago, hadn’t they? A long, long time ago.

Steve is sitting at the end of Eddie’s bed (his and Eddie’s bed, now, their bed; Steve’s still getting used to that, but in a good way), feeling the sort of empty he hasn’t felt since he was seventeen. He’s just sort of staring at the carpet, and then he’s staring at Eddie’s ridiculous polka dot socks as Eddie steps in front of him.

“Hey,” Eddie says softly. “You, uh… okay?”

It’s kind of a ridiculous question – the answer is obvious, and Eddie clearly knows that, but it’s a way to start a conversation without shouting, “Your parents are ungrateful pieces of shit who never appreciated you,” like he probably wants to (and has before), and Steve appreciates his restraint.

He nods a little, stops, shrugs.

“I kind of thought I was over this,” he says. “Over feeling… left behind by them. Shouldn’t still hurt, right?”

“It’s– it’s okay if it does. It’s shit, Steve. They’re shit,” Eddie says (yep, Steve called it). “You’re allowed to be hurt.”

Steve shrugs again.

“It’s funny,” he says, even though it isn’t, “but I used to wonder how long it would take them to notice if I died.”

He’d never had an active plan, really, though there had been plenty of ways around the house to accomplish the task. He’d never really even looked at it as being suicidal, just angry and bitter and lonely. He hadn’t felt miserable all the time, hadn’t felt like there was nothing in the world worth living for – it’s not like he’d been depressed, it had just been a wild, almost satisfying thought that occurred from time to time. The ultimate way to prove a point. To make them see.

And if the urge got too strong, and his head got too full, and his chest felt too hollow, and the house felt too empty, he’d just go out and find something to do. Simple as that.

“I wondered if it would only be a day or two, or if they would come home, like, weeks later and find what was left of me just… floating in the pool or rotting in the bathtub or some shit. And I guess I just got my answer.” He laughs, managing to sound completely humorless even in the attempt, and glances up at Eddie. “Three weeks. How decomposed do you think I’d be by now?”

Except Eddie doesn’t pick up the bit. He’s just staring at Steve, wide-eyed, cheeks a little red, eyes a little wet, and – shit.

“Shit, Ed, I didn’t–”

“Don’t,” Eddie cuts in, voice thick with a shaking kind of intensity, “say shit like that. Fucking don’t ever– Steve–”

“No, Eddie, I’m sorry, I haven’t thought about that in years, this whole thing with my parents, it just… it reminded me, that’s all,” Steve says, even if that isn’t strictly true.

He’s thought about it plenty, he just hasn’t really had the urge to follow through since the first time he took a bat to a demogorgon’s head. He’d traded that empty feeling for one of purpose, of knowing he was needed, and had readily put himself between everyone else and the danger they were facing, because at least that way he filled a space.

(Maybe he’d traded it a little too easily. Maybe there isn’t a lot of difference between using yourself as bait to lure in a demodog and thinking about where all the sharp things are in the house. Maybe that’s something Steve doesn’t need to unpack right now.)

Eddie stumbles forwards, reaching out and cupping Steve’s face in his hands, angling him upwards so Eddie fills his field of vision.

“I would notice,” Eddie says firmly. “I would notice.”

“I– I know you would, Eddie. I told you–”

“Robin would notice. Dustin – all those little shits we hang out with, both Wheelers, Wayne, fuckin’ Byers– we would notice right away, Steve, I swear to fuck, we would,” Eddie goes on, and something is suddenly sticking in Steve’s throat.

“I– I know,” Steve manages to choke out, and shit, why are his eyes wet now? He’s never cried over this feeling before, and it should be too fucking late to start now – except with everything happening, with his parents, with the way Eddie is staring at him like he’s about to disappear–

Eddie bends one leg up until he’s got a knee to one side of Steve’s hip, half-kneeling over him without boxing him in because he knows Steve can’t stand that, and he rests his weight there so he can lean in and press his lips to Steve’s forehead, kissing him, murmuring against the skin like he’s praying.

“We see you, baby.”

And that one hurts.

It fucking aches, like Eddie has somehow managed to reach back four years and jam a thumb into the bruise seventeen-year-old Steve had constantly been carrying under his ribs, and Steve of right now reaches out and grabs Eddie’s shirt and thinks for a moment that he wants to shove him away, but his next breath heaves out like a sob and he can only pull Eddie closer.

“We see you,” Eddie says again, soft but unignorable, before he presses another kiss to Steve’s forehead.

Yeah, Steve thinks, you see right through me.

It’s a terrifying feeling, and Steve wants to swallow it up and keep inside of him where he can feel it forever. He nods against Eddie’s lips, sucking in a sharp breath so he can speak again.

“Okay,” Steve says, clutching more tightly to Eddie’s shirt. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes against the unwanted tears and lets himself feel, instead – the warmth of Eddie over and around him, the near bruising grip Eddie still has on his jaw, the softness of his lips against his forehead, and he thinks that this is what he’d been searching for, all those years ago.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this wanted, and somehow he doubts he’ll ever have to worry about going without it again.

[Prompt: Forehead kisses]

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddiesteve #stranger things #hopeful ending! I swear! #solar wrote

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Timeline Prevention Squad

Clockwork is trying to catch up on paperwork because even the gods had to do tedious work. He is flipping through pages and pages of time concerning reports when he stumbles across a particular request stuck between three old Speed Force crimes reports.

A request from Mordecai Wayne asking the time accident for help to his original time. It was filed through a ritual of one of his lost temples.

Clockwork gapes at it, suddenly realizing he forgot to follow up and had left Mordecai Wayne - better known as Bruce Wayne - to fling around the timeline.

Clockwork, when he was young, had allowed humans to set up temples and given them direct runes to send their burned parchment to him for requests. Initially, he designed the request ritual to enable humans to help or prepare for future disasters.

Give them a little warning in the form of deviation.

Then, humans turned it into trying to control the future. Or to change what had happened by having altered the past. They started thinking he would move the times to fit their desired outcome.

Tried to offer people sacrifices when he ignored the requests. Clockwork can watch the timelines like an observer over a parade, but humans put on the parade at the end of the day.

It was their free will that gave him a show. And it was this free will that cost lives that shouldn't have ended because of other humans' greed.

He closed his temples, scrambled his runes, and let his temples rot.

Clockwork thought he got them all, but he obviously left behind some crumbs of his old worshipers.

Those crumbs were enough for Bruce Wayne to painfully piece together and redo his ritual to send him a request for aid in his time placement.

He hadn't even read it, having flung it into one of his filing cabinets to look over later and... didn't.

Clockwork snapped his fingers, pulling up Bruce's timeline. He winces when he sees it too late; it's past the point, but luckily, Tim Drake pulled him out and brought him home.

People don't know that Clockwork can't undo timelines- he just makes new ones that stream off his intervention.

The most recent time he stepped in was with Danny Fenton in a universe created due to Merlin asking Clockwork to save his lover Arthur, and thus, certain events did not come to pass- like the finding of Gotham.

He rescued Daniel's family by freezing them just as the explosion happened, allowing the young hero to think his dark future had never come to pass. That was not true.

There is still a world where Daniel's family died in the explosion, and it existed right allowed side the one that they didn't.

He could do the same and step in to prevent Bruce from ever getting hit with the Omega Beams, but that would create six different timelines, which would be a pain to file for. Daniel was only two, and he-

Wait. Daniel.

That's what he could do!

He couldn't make up the fact Bruce Wayne got lost in time and asked for aid. But he could send compensation in the form of one eager gooddoer who would help him in his ultimate goal.

Make Gotham safe.

And who better than a child with a strong sense of justice and the power of a minor God?

After all, Bruce's request wasn't to get back home. He thought he was going to die from the overlapping beams. Bruce thought there was no more hope for him.

Instead his request was

Please allow me to ensure my kids are okay and will be alright once I pass.

He picks up his sticky notes, scrambling a quick message to Danny. He pauses momentarily, wondering if he should admit his mistake, but that would.....ruin his reputation.

He chooses to lie by omission.

Dear Daniel,

Please come to my Keep. I have a mission that requires your assistance in an alternate timeline.

You must help keep Bruce Wayne and his kids safe. Whatever the costs are, as is his request for aid from a higher being.

Daniel couldn't resist a mission that sounded like he was a hero, and it didn't mention who the aid was requested.

To ensure Daniel will never learn he will....tell him that the Waynes could never see Phantom or......or he be trapped there forever!

Yes perfect.

A few seconds after sending the sticky note through a portal, Clockwork senses Daniel pick up the note.

And suddenly, he sees events flash before his eyes. Scenes of Daniel following Gotham's hero. Rescuing them from their worst rouges while Bats. Circling through the nights to stop the more minor pity crimes that they were too exhausted to handle.

Enrolling into Gotham Academy to ensure their civilian safety and status. Getting close to the younger Wayne and even obtaining an internship with Tim Drake to help him at WE.

Then, Daniel gets more substantial and robust due to all the deaths that drenched Gotham. It would be just like a Kryptonian on a planet of a Blue Sun.

It would make him more robust than a yellow sun, and Daniel would flush there!

Clockwork smiles as the visions end. He did a great thing making this suggestion. Phantom will be fantastic in Gotham!

Now, hopefully, that pesky free will won't ruin his plan-

A vision of Daniel being worshiped as a Phantom as different Gotham natives start to believe him, and an unlock god appears.

Clockwork winces, but he figures if no human ever sees Phantom unless he is there for righteous heroism, he can understand why they were confused.

Which isn't so bad-

A different version of Daniel possibly appears in the future. This one shows Daniel in a bright red suit at WE with Tim Drake hyperventilating not too far away. Apparently, he suspects Daniel of being Phantom, but his hormones are getting in the way of his logical thought.

This wasn't so bad as it wasn't a cult. It was just risking Daniel's secret identity. Then again, he could honeypot his way out-

A different future appears. One where Daniel accidentally convinces the Bat children that he's stalking their Father. They think Daniel fancies Bruce Wayne, despite the alarming age difference, and try to block him at every turn.

This is okay; there were different outcomes, but nothing bad.

And it's already been done. He can't change the past, not without making more timelines.

He sighs.

Hopefully, this will all work out. Somehow.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Timeline Prevention Squad #Clockwork send Danny on a fake mission #Danny takes it very seriously #a whole new dimension for him to play in? #yes please #There could be so many outcomes that Clockwork can see #some are crazy

[crystlizabeth]

You belong to me..

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Shadow!femreader

Summery: she may have been a shadow and worked for graves but when your commanders friendliness becomes a bit to touchy it’s a problem, you don’t touch pretty things that belong to Simon Riley.

Warnings: possessiveness, unprotected sex, jealousy, praising, mentions of blood, not proofread

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Simon hated watching those shadows touch you, even if it was ‘friendly’. You smiled at every praise that left Graves lips of how you did such a good job, the pat to your back to low for Simon’s liking and the way he let his hand drag as he walked away. Simon couldn’t help but wonder how Graves was towards you when nobody was around, even if he was your commander your superior he wasn’t allowed to touch you like that. Simon clenched his fist as you stood there soon turning towards him, your gaze different a look a smile that was only meant for him displayed on your pretty face.

A sweet face that he’d have buried in a pillow tears go pleasure running down you face. You saw the way his eyes watched you his dark eyes hooded dangerously staring you down. Price catching Simon’s attention was the only thing that made him look away from you, one last glance towards you before following Price.

Even with that gold ring on your finger signafying that you where his, the last name on your Files no longer yours but his. It wouldn’t be enough he wanted you to himself he had begged price multiple times to call a transfer of you to 141 but Graves always declined because you worked for the United States, the Shadows you belonged to Graves.

But jealousy gets the best of everyone right?

Simons hands grabbing the side of Phillips vest slamming him against the wall, “what crawled up your ass and died Lieutenant.” Graves groaned.

“Why is it you always find your hands on my wife.” Simon spoke his face close to Phillips, his voice dark.

An ugly smirk appeared on Phillips face the cocky twat only shrugged his shoulders a short reply “She’s nice, a good asset to me. She is a good asset.”

That right there if he could without geting put away for life would have taken his knife and silt Phillips throat, carving the commander inside out and feed it to his Shadows and Shepherd himself. Instead Ghost fist connected to his face, more than once, enough to leave blood on his hands and the shirt he wore. He let go of Graves letting him slide down the wall, “if you’re smart, you’ll keep your hands to yourself and mouth shut.” Simon spike lowly leaning down to make eye contact with him.

“I don’t see what she sees in you…” Phillip coughed wiping the blood from his nose.

Simon stayed silent, he didn’t need to answer that because you saw him for him he didn’t have to explain what you saw in him to someone who’s been wanting you to themselves. “I’ll give her the world a safe home and face to look at… your really think she’ll stick around you forever, please. I see her more day out of the year you do why do you think I decline those transfers from your captain. Just to spite you and help her forget you.” Phillip said blood dripping from his toothy smile.

Simon was fuming, his knuckles splitting even more from clenching them. Who did graves think he was? You stuck around someone like that, even bleeding and in pain graves still chose to test his limits.

One punch after another Simon was on top of him graves of course fighting back but a man’s rage was different few more punches and he stopped. Phillip was still alive he was gonna leave him there to rot nobody would believe him he was a traitor staying in UK soil this was bound to happen. And even then Simon had proof that it was just self defense.

Grabbing Philips hair making him look up at Him “Ya listen here, stay the fuck off my wife she can work for your or you’ll be smart and start a transfer. But may god help you if you lay a finger on her again.” Simon spoke harshly finishing by pushing Graves against the wall.

The click of your door opening startled you awake, but the figure that stood in the hall light that poured into your room made you less tense. “Simon..you can be in here..” your voice groggy, your eyes scanning over him at yuh turn your light on. He was covered in blood his mask held in his left hand as he looked at you.

You quickly got you closing your door pushing him to the bed sitting him down “who did this to you.. Simon.” You spoke lifting the bloody shirt off his head his blond hair sticking up.

“It’s not mine.”

It’s not his? Who’s was it then, who pushed him over the edge just enough. Was he gonna get in trouble for this, arrested. “Love stop the worrying..” he spoke breaking you out of your thoughts his large hands pulling you towards him.

He pulled you in close sitting you in his lap your thighs falling around his waist, the feeling of his hands grabbing your face made you wince a bit the feeling of dried blood on his hands made you cringe.

“You belong to me..” he spoke his dark eyes penetrating yours. “You belong to me.” His words stern and harsh.

“Say it.”

“I belong to you Simon.” You spoke his hands falling down your face his hands finding the bottom of your shirt lifting it over your head. You could feel the tension radiating of his skin, he was gonna take his stress and the rest of his anger out on you.

“Good girl, say it again, tell me I’m allowed to have you as I please.” He spoke his lips kissing your neck.

You obeyed “ I belong you you Simon, take me. Have me I’m yours.”

His lips met your kissing you so hungrily he was here to remind you who you belonged to. His hand grabbed the band if your panties pulling his hand back harshly snapping them at the pulling them if you your bare cunt exposed to his trousers. He lifted you up dropping your body on the the mattress as he undid his pants, quickly finding himself on top of you.

“Are you sure.”

“Take me Simon, I’m yours.”

That’s all he needed to hear, his fat head spreading your wet folds apart as he pushing into you. It’s been a minute since he’s been in you but your walls always seemed to mold around him so nicely, those gorgeous sounds you made slipping from your lips as he started moving.

The sound of skin slapping as he fucked into your poor cunt, you drooled for him. He knew how to make a mess out of you, your nails digging into his back as he bullied your pretty pussy. Even with every hard thrust he loved you so well, kissing you so tenderly as your cried out to him. You soft whimpers pleading for him drive him crazy this is how he knew you where his, his to destroy, his to love.

Your finger tangled his his blonde curls tugging on them as he made love to you cradling your head your knees pressed to your chest, he felt every inch of you. “Please don’t stop Si, god please don’t stop.” You cried out.

He didn’t the tightness of your walls staring to clamp around him was enough to bring him to his edge the moans that escaped your lips was enough to make him cum knowing that he made you this way. Your body folded into a mating press as you came on his fat cock. Your pleds for him to cum in you, that you wanted him to fill you marking you as his once again make you need him for days after. His thick seed filling up your puffy cunt, his white nut spilling out the sides as he fucked it into you.

“Common take it, yeah atta girl fucking take it.” He growled pumping in and out of you your nails digging into his biceps the feeling of his thick nut filling you making your eyes roll back.

His cock still in you as he sat up letting your legs fall down your chest falling up and down heavily, your body glistening from sweat. You were gonna be walking funny the next morning that’s for sure, “I didn’t hurt you right?” He asks his calluses hands gliding up and down your torso.

You shook your head no, “good..” he said leaning down kissing your lips tenderly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up yeah..”

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Simon smut!! I have a Johnny one coming sooner or later!!

#ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x black reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley cod #ghost x black reader #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #x black reader #black fem reader #phillip graves

[ratcash-wasgud]

A gentle breeze could be our end ༊*·˚

Okay, so I had a vision about this very specific idea for a fic, which is...what if you took the role of Kinuyo? Hear me out, plsplspls.

(i altered a lot of canon things, sorry sorry. (i'm also sorry if anyone has done this before))

WC: 4K

TW: Abuse, Sexual harassement, Pedophelia and Prostitution. Basically kinda fucked up, sorry.

You always felt like a burden to the world. Even in the womb, you hurt your mother. She died the moment you left her body, maybe even halfway, taking a great thing from the world, and giving it something useless with your own birth.

You didn't cry out when you saw the light, your little mouth opened, but no sound came out. The world was quiet.

As you grew up, you never managed get grow into anything you wanted to, and your father hated you for it. You never heard him say a word, but you knew he said hateful things. You tried to learn to read in secret, but only managed to barely get through one book after years. Learning was hard. Living was hard too.

You were 10 when he first hit you. It happened because you accidently dropped a cup, shattering it on the ground. You felt his footsteps approaching behind you, then when you felt his presence right behind you, he striked. He noticed how you survived, and you only gained a bruise from it.Plus, you couldn't yell for help, nor tell anyone. This gave him confidence. He started hitting you for every little mistake, sometimes even just for being born. You could see him feeling bad about it sometimes, but he still did it again. It just made you believe it even more that this is all your own fault. For being born wrong.

And you were 15 when he started missing your mother too much. He touched you, he made you touch him, and he forced you to open up and show him everything he wanted. You hated it. You hated your own body for exsisting, and giving him this option of using you. For having a body that could please men. Please...him.

One day though, he got caught. A neighbour, bringing over some leftovers caught him, standing bare before you, your tears dripping to the floor, as he hold your nose shut, so that you'd eventually open your mouth for him. But he got caught. It was over.

He had to get rid of you, so he sold you. But even after he left your life, he still wanted you to have a rotting future. He picked the brothel where he knew the man were disgusting. The most deprived kind. He sold you to Madame Kaji's brothel. By that point, your body was weak, and even walking was something you hated doing. You just wanted to lay down, and wait for your body to disappear.

But she was something warm. Something beautiful. Madame Kaji took you in, and smiled at you. She taught you everything you yearned for to know. She taught you to properly read and even write. She taught you manners and how to hide your fear. How to survive, even if you're weak. And she never hurt you in the process. She taught you sign langauge, and in the process, you learned to even read lips a little. She taught you a sign, which, in your head, you named "Love". It consisted of her gently kissing her fingers, then putting her hands around herself. Like a hug and a kiss in one. Love.

As you got better in writing, you wrote down everything that happened to you so far to her. Sometimes you teared up while writing, but she was always there, gently soothing you, and caressing your hair. She promised you that no man would ever touch you again, and she'll give you hapiness. You slept in her room, never leaving her side when it wasn't really necessary. She kept you safe. You were happy. She became your world. You wanted to be by her side, forever.

Living in a brothel made you more concious about people's sexual life, and every time you saw a man's face contort in pleasure, a shiver ran down your spine, prickling at your intestines, feeling your insides recoil in fear and disgust. You wanted to run away, and just jump back into Madame Kaji's embrace, but you had to be strong, like she wanted you to be. You never had to sleep with a man, but sometimes you went out to serve drinks, having to see the girls, who you admired greatly and saw as big sisters, having to engage in acts that would've have made you have a breakdown. Still, you stayed useless.

You wanted to be useful, you really did, but she never let you do much. You were too precious, she claimed. You really did love Madame Kaji, but you felt like a burden. No...you knew you were a burden.

One day, you managed to somehow convince her to let you serve drinks on a busy day. You nuzzled your face into her palm, gently kissing it before you picked up a tray and hurried into the customer area. You saw a man, middle aged, balding, the usual kind of man she sees there, sitting alone at a table. You sat down at the table, giving him a small, weak smile, and poured him sake. You put your finger on your lips, signaling that he shouldn't expect words from you.

The man smiled, sipping the sake. He stared at you, and kept...he kept staring. It started to feel really uncomfortable. His eyes started to burn through your clothes, and you suddenly felt his hand on your knee...slowly creeping up. You felt like throwing up.

Suddenly, Madame Kaji appeared next to you, her hand slipping his off you.

"Boss Hamata," Madame Kaji greets the man, as you sit there, not hearing a word. She signals you to leave, so you do. "She's not up for business." She says to Hamata, wearing a polite smile.

"Oh, is she now?" The man says with a cruel smile. "She's be a great addition to my home." He says, mostly to himself, as he stands up.

"You don't want another girl? Your usual is free at the moment." Kaji says after him.

"No," The man says again. "I lost my apetite." He then casually leaves.

The next day was your doom. The same man you remembered from last night returned with an army, and tore you out of Madame Kaji's hands.

Hamata was the devil himself. He took you because you were weak and couldn't fight back. He took you as his bride the same day, and left you covered in bruises the same night. He squeezed your throat, kneeled on your wrists, hit your skin, and forced his way in. He loved it, but you felt yourself slowly die inside day by day.

The worst thing? He was the same as your father. He had the same disgusting glint in his eyes, he licked his lips the same way, and he...he...tasted the same too. You tried jumping off the balcony, he punished you after. You tried stabbing yourself, he punished you after. You tried to poison yourself, he punished you after. You yearned for death by that point.

You spent most of your free time, when you could move, on the balcony, watching the brothel's door...hoping to catch a glimpse of Madame Kaji. Even seeing her form would give you comfrort...but you never did. You missed her more than anything. More than your own freedom.

One night, you were trying to sleep with the pain that he left behind that day, sorrounded by guards, to make sure you're not trying to kill yourself again, until...the guards fell, one by one...and a samurai walked out of the darkness.

Mizu looked at you, the weak, deaf and mute girl she was set out to kill that night. She was determined. She needed those informations that Madame Kaji offered as payment. She had killed a lot of inocent things before, what's one more?

But when she saw your face...covered in bruises, shaking and tearing up, she felt something change inside her. You crawled away from her, backing up until your back hit the wall. She stepped closer to you, not liking the fear in your eyes. She couldn't help but see your beauty, even if it shouldn't matter right now. She extended a hand to you, but you didn't take it.

Obviously. You were afraid of her too. In your eyes, she was a man. A threat.

So, she did the sign Madame Kaji told her to. "Love." She saw your eyes soften, and your features almost brighten up. She offered her hand again, and this time, you took it. She heard more guards coming, so as you took her hand, she started running and pulled you with her. She hid with you, and held you close, gently soothing your hair. She felt you shaking in her arms, and she...she felt something snap inside her. She put her hands around your head, to quickly snap your neck...but she couldn't. Her hands wouldn't move. So, she stood up, leaving you in the hiding place, and started casually walking out.

She knows if the fact that she was here gets out, Hamata sends out his Thousand Claws to burn down Madame Kaji's brothel...so she needed to act now. She decided to face the army now.

As she walked out, and the Claws started charging at her after exiting the first door, she fought back with all her might. She slowly got tired. Her body was about to give out after slashing down hundreds of men, but something flashed in her mind.

She saw Mikio's face. Their duel. The face he made when he betrayed her. And she couldn't help but see your face too. She knows the world betrayed you too. She imagined you getting betrayed in the same way she did, and imagined you crying along with her. She saw you get killed by the men she is currently slaying down.

She couldn't give up. She finished the whole army, and went back to get you, wounded and exhausted. When you saw her, covered in blood, your eyes widened in fear.

You got scared of her again. She sighed "Love" again, but this time, you shook your head, and curled up in your hiding place. Mizu sighed, and kneeled by you.

She then started to write on the floor, using the blood on her. "I'll protect you." She said it as she wrote it, trying to convince you to communicate too.

You read the text, and looked at her, your eyes still so scared and vulnerable, it made Mizu's heart squeeze. She didn't know you, she reminded herself. Still...she meant when she said she's protect you.

Your hand shook as she reached out, dipping your finger in a small pool of blood that dripped down from her clothes. "Protect the Madam." You wrote.

Mizu sighed. Why did you care about Kaji right now? You're obviously scared for your own life too, so why not care about saving yourself?

"She'll be safe." She writes back. "I killed the ones who could hurt her." She finishes. It's true, she did kill everyone...but left Hamata to be slayed by Kaji herself.

Then you looked up at her again, and stood up. You followed her outside, leaving that blood ridden house.

When she brought you back to Madam Kaji, you jumped into her arms.

"They won't come looking for her." Mizu says, switching back to deadpan, as she nudged her head towards the wounded Hamata at the exit of his house.

Madama Kaji nodded while gently while gently caressing your hair.

"Still...she can't stay here. In a place like this...they will want to take her again." She sighed. Mizu's eyes widened. "I couldn't protect her once...I'd rather perish than see her be taken again."

"You want me to take her with me? She'll die by my side." Mizu responds, shaking her head.

"You're the reason she's alive. You didn't give her the freedom of death, you gave her the freedom of life. You didn't do what I asked you to...so I ask you to keep her safe."

Mizu, biting the inside of her cheek, kept quiet for a couple moments, thinking about it.

"I'll find her a new home." She says, sighing. "I'll keep her safe until then." She says, now looking down at you.

Considering now that she was alone, since they took Akemi back to her home, and Ringo left her after she did nothing about it, still...she couldn't enjoy being alone. She now had you.

You cried when Madame Kaji told you that you had to leave. You kissed her hand repeatedly, like how you always did when you nuzzled into her palm, and clinged to her clothes. After you let go, Madame Kaji signed "Love", and with one simple tear, she bid goodbye.

Later that night, after walking the whole day, Mizu set up a small campfire in the woods for the night. You sat there, not even trying to communicate, just staring at the fire. Mizu felt confilcted. She didn't know you, she reminded herself again, but deep inside she already got herself attached. She lightly poked your shoulder, making sure not to make too much contact and to scare you.

You turned to face her, your big eyes shining at her, and your features shining in the light of the camfire. Still...you had circles under your eyes, bruises on your neck, your lips wounded from you...or someone else...biting on them too much.

"I saw you reading lips." Mizu says, making sure to articulate every word properly. "I didn't know you could do that."

You tilt your head at her, then purse your lips. You pick up a stick from the ground and start writing in the dirt. Your hands move softly, gently even, as if the stick was breathing in your hand. You focused your eyes on the thing your were writing, and your gaze followed your hand. Your hair fell into your face a little, framing your features.

"Madame helped." You write, then turn your face back to Mizu, to read her lips if she responds.

"...kind of her." She murmurs, making you unable to read it. She wanted to talk to you, but somehow...it was hard. Not for the fact that you were deaf or mute, but the fact that she somehow...felt nervous. As if she made the wrong move, you'd shatter where you stand. You seemed so delicate, and Mizu knew her blood stained fingers and harsh words would only cause you harm. She really didn't want herself to be the one to look after you. Plus, she knew you were deadly afraid of men, and you saw her as one. Suddenly, she felt this strong urge to reveal herself. To make you feel safe. Or maybe because of other, more selfish reasons...to make you feel more comfortable around her. To make you open up.

"Don't be afraid." She says, now articulating enough for you to read. "I'm no man." She says, putting a hand on her chest. Your eyes widened in surprise, and wrote "Boy?" in the dirt.

Mizu shook her head. "Woman." She says, correcting you. You looked at her, utterly confused. Mizu slowly lowered her haori, revealing her binded chest. "Woman." She repeated.

Your gaze softened. You finally understood. A small smile pulled at the ends of your lips and nodded. You moved your hand again, writing again. "Fooled me." You then look at her, your smile reaching your shining eyes. Mizu chuckles in response.

"A habit of mine, yes. I do it most people." She leans back on her hands, now feeling more relaxed. She looked at your face again, and...she felt mesmerized. She felt horrible when the thought that she understood why Hamata wanted you popped up in her head.

You then start writing again, and Mizu's gaze snaps back to your hands again. "Thank you." You then give her a weak smile. "I'm not like you. I am not strong. I will die easier." You stopped for a moment before continuing. "So thank you for not letting me die."

Mizu's eyes widen. If she thinks about it, it's true, but the fact that you're talking so openly about it bothers her. "You won't die easily. You're strong too. I mean...you're still alive. That has to mean something." She says, squinting her eyes at the fire.

Mizu sees your shoulders move a little, as if you're giggling, but no sound comes out. She does imagine what your giggle would be like though. She imagines it to be soft and gentle, since that's the only way she ever seen you do anything. "True. But I wish I wasn't born wrong." You write.

Mizu presses her lips together and looks at you with pity. She doesn't know why she feels pity, she herself was born wrong too. She's a halfblood, someone who has always been a dog. Something rather than someone. "Sometimes the world is not fair." She shrugs. "But you need to make the most of your situation. You're lucky in a lot of ways."

Your eyebrows lifted, and you tilted your head, as if saying "Like what?" Mizu noticed that you were able to communicate a lot with your eyes and the way you moved your head.

"Well, for starters...you're beautiful." She said, not managing to keep her gaze on you. That was a stupid thing to say, huh? Why would she even say that? She met you the other day, saving you from some sadistic bastard, and having to take you in afterwards...she's not being appropriate.

But when she turned her gaze back to you, she saw you with your eyes wide and your cheeks flush. Oh. Did she do that?

The days go by, and wherever she goes, Mizu's first thing to do, is ask around for a new home for you. She doesn't want to bring you along to this wretched journey of hers any more than needed. You already had to see her kill a group of people the other day, and it left you pale and scared. She remembers how you looked with a drop of blood splattered across your face, and how you wiped it away with a shaky hand. She never wants to see it again.

While traveling together, Mizu learned how precious you are. She knows your past, and she sees you flinch when a man passes by you, but still you want to do anything you can for her. Even if it's small things like running the errand of buying food, running after her hat that fell off her head then got kidnapped by the wind, and sitting by yourself at a river for hours, trying to scrub the blood out of her clothes, even if it makes you shiver. Your delicate hands started to have small callouses from living out in the open with her, but your bruises faded away. Good, she though. You don't deserve to have any, so she'll never have you gain another one again.

Hm. She was planning more and more ahead. Why? Wasn't she planning to find you a home that's not beside her? She knew you couldn't be happy by her side, it wasn't the life you deserved. You deserved to find an angel of a husband, who's strong enough to protect you, coddle you daily, and never let you do any work. Who'll kiss you whenever he sees any sign of gloominess on your features, and someone who'll make you believe you're not born wrong.

And she knows you'd be the sweetest wife too. You'd put your delicate hands on his aching muscles after a hard day, massaging away the pain, then gently kiss the tip of his nose. You'd snuggle into him after feeding him something delicous for dinner, and trace the words you want to say into her skin with your fingers. Mizu would hum in response, just gently playing with your hair, letting the peace take over as she'd put her hand under your chin, making you look at her face when she'd say something, so you could read her lips. She'd never tell you about the blood she had to shed that day, only the good things. Like when she saw a small bird, and it reminded her of you, or when she managed to buy a kind of sweet you liked on her way back. She'd feed you that candy by hand too. She'd watch your pouty lips open as she'd place the sweet treat in your warm and wet--!

When did this turn into being about her? Something like that could never happen. She's a woman with a quest, not some domestic husband. Still...she wants it to be like that. She'd treat you well if she had the chance...But she doesn't. She lacks everything for that. She can't abandon her quest.

So, one day she finds an inn. The inn keeper tells her about recently losing his daughter, who was his only staff. He even sheds a tear. Mizu tells him about the girl she's traveling with.

"She's deaf, she's mute...but she's a hard worker. She can read lips, and writes well." She tells the inn keeper with a serious face. "I'm sure she won't even ask for payment if you take care of her." She says, but inside, she doesn't want to do this. She wants you to stay by her side, but...that's a wretched path. You need this. You need a peaceful life.

The inn keeper seems to be deep in though for a couple of moments before he nods. It's settled. After two months of torture, being in her care, she finally found you annew home. It's good news, right? So why...why does she feel like slashing the inn keeper's throat just for agreeing? Why does she feel the need to burn the whole inn down and running with you, hand in hand? She hates this. This dumb, annoying aching in her chest when she thinks about not staying by your side.

Your eyebrows shoot up when she breaks the news to you, and she sees you freeze. She sees the gears basically turning in your head, then...you shake your head and take a step closer to her. You point to her, then to herself, finishig the sigh by putting her hands together.

Mizu's heart skips a beat. "No, look...I can't let you stay with me. This guy, the inn keeper...he seems like a nice guy. He just lost his daughter, and he's willing to take care of you."

You shake your head again, and sign "Love". Mizu sighs. She wants to say "I love you too." but that's not how it works.

"I have a quest to finish, and you'll surely die in the process. You know that. So just...be happy about this." She says, averting her gaze. Your eyes droop, and your shoulders deflate. You shake your head again and hug her, wrapping your arms around her torso.

She hated the fact that she had to leave you, with a man no less, but she hoped she's making the right decision. She really wanted you to be happy. And if she wanted you to be happy by her side, then she needed to find her own peace first. She had to save ehrself first before she could save you.

In reality though, she knew you saved her.

After the hug ends, she looks into your eyes. "If I survive, I'll come back to you." She says, gently petting your head. Your eyes brighten up and you nod.

That was farewell, because Mizu left withouth another word.

And she meant it...she'll come back. She just wishes you'd wait for her, even if it's the most selfish wish she ever made. She sheds every drop of blood, thankful you're not there to see it. She closed her eyes every night, hoping you're doing the same too under a warm blaket, filled with warm food. And she sat sail, making a silent promise about spending the first night by your side when she arrives back in Japan.

That will be her true peace.

༊*·˚

#bes mizu #bes x reader #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #blue eye samurai mizu #fanfiction #mizu fanfic #kinuyo blue eye samurai

[netherfeildren]

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them. 

-OR- 

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy. 

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end. 

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win. 

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger. 

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now. 

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be. 

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her. 

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop. 

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream. 

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going. 

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them. 

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid. 

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now. 

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria. 

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide. 

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns. 

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply. 

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

-

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot. 

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face. 

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her. 

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial. 

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too. 

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to. 

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically. 

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively. 

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long. 

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–” 

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him. 

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself. 

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better. 

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed. 

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles. 

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him. 

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back. 

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off. 

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give. 

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into. 

-

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was. 

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well. 

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his. 

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy. 

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly. 

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man. 

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone. 

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him. 

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool. 

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high. 

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him. 

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly. 

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh. 

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously. 

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?” 

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere. 

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. 

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now. 

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it.  There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail. 

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you. 

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking. 

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm. 

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut. 

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp. 

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps. 

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin. 

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant. 

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–” 

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix. 

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him. 

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin. 

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again. 

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning. 

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper. 

-

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic. 

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another. 

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy. 

-

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog : Follow and turn on notifications for new fics!

#vic fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller/reader #Joel Miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction

[hunny-beann]

You Can; You Will...

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi! This is my first time ever writing for Dream, so if anything seems a bit off or if there are any minor lore issues, please do your best not to pay them too much mind (although absolutely feel free to point them out). That said, I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and I really hope that you enjoy it!

Warnings: Uh angst(?), is Dream himself a warning? Because he should be.

Word Count: 2,644

This had to be torture, surely.

Some evil method of malice created by some long forgotten god of pain.

Why else would Dream have been looking at you so?

Here, sitting in his rotting throne room, upon his crumbling dais, his expression as close to pained as you had ever seen it before.

"You have returned."

He stated matter of factly, though his eyes betrayed the solemn tone that his voice held.

It had hurt him to come back to his realm and find that you had gone with the others, more so than you ever could have anticipated or imagined. You could see it in the way that his fingers gripped at the arm rests beneath them, and in the way that his all encompassing presence seemed to shrink slightly, as if the very particles of him and his power that made up the world beneath your feet were attempting to flee from you.

You swallowed thickly, but managed a nod in spite of your nerves and the heavy weight that bore down upon your heart at the sight of the being before you.

"I have. I did not anticipate it, but I found that I was suddenly overcome with the urge to..."

The words 'go home' died upon your lips before you could say them, because in truth, you were not entirely sure if this realm truly was home anymore, not just for you, but to anything besides the endless sitting before you and his most loyal of dreams and nightmares.

His own creations.

Dream let out a soft hum in response to your words, before he carefully rose into a standing position, his coat swishing at his feet in that familiarly dramatic way that you remembered so painfully at present, and had once recalled so fondly in the past.

Now though, after over a century of having it as only a memory, a longing lodged deep within the confines of your soul, you found that it almost hurt to bear witness to his familiarities again.

You had buried the Morpheus you had once known in all ways but the physical sense, mourned and grieved him as if you had watched his demise with your own two eyes, never having a day pass you by where you did not think of him and the way that his voice had sounded, or that his hands had felt.

And now, he was standing before you so casually, and you could not help but view this figure before you as a caricature, some imposter sent to cause you even more pain than you had already endured.

Being an immortal human was a burden in and of itself, because it meant watching nearly all those that you loved die in the span of a lifetime, which to you, had long since started to feel like nothing in the grand scheme of things.

You had begged Death to take this weight from you, to let time have its way with your body, bones, and soul, but Destiny had seen to it that his sister knew better than to meddle with this particular affair.

A long dead family member had blessed you with what they perceived to be a "gift" long ago.

And now, you suffered while they lay buried in the ground in lands you had not seen nor touched in centuries.

So, once upon a time, Dream had meant everything to you.

Ever since the day you had met him, after once again grovelling with Death to let you go, he had become abundantly special in your eyes.

Because unlike almost everyone else around you, Dream could not die, not from the ticking of any clock, nor the feebleness of his own body.

He was the one thing you believed to be permanent.

And certainly, it had taken quite a while to warm up to the man, and far longer still for him warm up to you, but after enough impromptu meetings in Death's domain over multiple centuries, he had eventually indulged you when you asked hesitantly if you could see his realm, 'the dreaming' as he so fondly referred to it, for yourself.

And oh, what a sight it had been.

Lush rolling lands, fields upon fields of flowers, a palace so tall it seemed possible to view it from miles and miles away...

You had never wanted to leave.

And eventually, you would not have to anymore.

Not after you had fled to the dreaming after losing your very best friend to disease, her death so dirty and without dignity that you could scarcely bare to even consider it.

He had sensed your arrival, of course he had, for the realm was made of the very power that he possessed, but he had not sensed your woes, nor had he anticipated your sudden presence in his crowded throne room, searching for any familiar face that might serve as a reminder that you were not without some semblance of certainty, to prove if nothing else that you were not yet alone.

You had all but collapsed at the foot of his throne, eyes bloodshot and cheeks wet with tears as you regarded him with a pain he was all too familiar with, but had no clue how to comfort you about.

Loss.

'I can't do it anymore.'

You had told him with absolute certainty, hands clenched into fists as you struggled to hold back sobs,

'I can't endure this torture, I feel as if I have died a thousand deaths without ever having experienced even one.'

Morpheus reached forward, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, before he sat back once more, taking note of the way that, simply due to his touch alone, you were now giving him your entirely undivided attention, breaths shaky but eyes wide and trained on him, as if you had never been touched before, or maybe as if you had never expected him to touch you in the eternity that you would experience.

'You can.'

He said, voice steady and eyes cold, though almost determined looking as he spoke.

'You will.'

You felt your eyebrows crease at his words, but Dream simply shook his head slightly before you could even open your mouth to reply.

He watched you for a few moments, before finally, he decided that enough silence had passed.

'If it is easier, you may remain in the dreaming as long as you please. All I ask, is that you do not make me regret my kindness.'

Shocked, you had nodded, before finally mustering up the strength to respond.

'But why?'

You had asked, watching as the being sitting before you sighed, his gaze traveling up toward the ceiling as he spoke,

'You will not have to watch nearly as many crumble to dust here in my domain, and I can see the toll that your immortality is taking on your feeble human mind. My sister has taken a liking to you, and I do not doubt that she would want me to take pity upon your unfortunate circumstances. To preserve someone she calls a friend, I will allow you to reside here until you give me a reason not to.'

And you never had.

For so very long now, hundreds upon hundreds of years, you had remained almost entirely within the dreaming.

You had friends here, nightmares and dreams alike, although truthfully, none captured your attention in the way that Morpheus did.

And none captured his nearly as much as you somehow managed to.

You were close, bound by some firm understanding of one another that never ceased to solidify the fact that the dreaming was your home, the place where you belonged, and Dream the very host that so effortlessly kept you rooted.

Before, there had been almost nothing for you in the way of consistency or rhythm, and now, there was an ebb and flow, a push and pull, a beat to follow, and the biggest surprise of all was that you made up half of each of these things.

Where Dream would ebb, you would flow, where he would push, you would pull, and you so very easily followed along with and eventually even progressed and changed his rhythm in a way that almost made the dreaming feel as if it had two rulers.

The dream lord,

And his once missing other half, the muse of the very land beneath your feet, and of the wind within your hair.

Until one day, that all came to an end.

The king of dreamers left and did not return.

And you could not even dare try and pick up the pieces of his realm that he left behind.

It had been a shameful abandonment, one full of pain and grief, but only a few short years after Dream's disappearance, you grabbed the scarce few items that did not remind you of him or the family that you were leaving behind, and you vanished just as he had done.

At that point, the slow but sure crumbling of the dreaming had only just begun, but your cowardice had won out over your strength, and you'd quickly found that you could not bare to see it shrink into nothingness.

'You can.'

Dream had once told you.

'You will.'

He had assured.

But you could not this time.

You likely would not ever again.

You were not the first to leave the dreaming, not by a long shot.

But your absence and the meaning that it carried rang out loud and clear for all of those who had chosen to remain.

The once so honored and beloved guest of their lord of dreams had chosen her painful mortal world over anything that the realm had left to offer...

And for many, that was all the proof that they needed that their creator would not return.

You were far from the first to leave.

But you were even further from the last.

"Did you lose faith in me?"

Dream asked suddenly, and you felt yourself gasp slightly at the question.

Lose faith in him?

Was that what you had done?

With almost no consideration for the question, you shook your head.

"No."

You said firmly, watching as the endless in front of you tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes boring into your own even from across the room and down the ruined steps,

"Never."

Morpheus took a few steps toward you, and almost instinctively, you moved to lessen the space that lay between before forcing yourself to stop, hands clenched into fists at your sides, the pain of seeing your friend, who you had believed to be dead just hours ago, too great even for longing to overcome.

Dream seemed to notice this, and stopped in his tracks, though he was now far closer than before, only a few short steps away.

"Then why did you leave so easily? Why did you abandon the life that I offered you here if you had the faith required to know that I would someday return to the dreaming? Return to you?"

Your breath shuddered at the implication that he had come back in any part for you, but you chose to ignore his words in favor of fighting off his accusations of faithlessness on your part.

"I left because I could not bear to see this world that you created fall apart around me while I did nothing. It felt as if I were watching another loved one die, and I could not deal after believing that someone had taken your life as well. I was hurting, and I found that it was easier to hurt in the waking world, where pain was familiar, than it was to hurt here, where it never seemed to bite so hard. That is why I left. But I never once lost faith in you."

Dream raised a brow at that last part, and you were quick, to clarify,

"I may have thought you dead, but I did not once believe that if you were alive, you would not come back. My belief that you were dead, my certainty in that regard, came from the immense faith that I have in you, Lord Morpheus, because I could not fathom that you ever could have abandoned us or the dreaming... After years, I ceased being capable of thinking that you were somewhere out there anymore. I did not think it possible for anything to bind you so tightly away from your duties, if not for death herself."

Dream stared back at you in response to your words, as if taking them in for several long moments, before finally he nodded,

"I see. Though I do wish you would have considered the fact that I never would have allowed myself to die knowing what I would be leaving behind."

You sighed exasperatedly,

"But we know that you would not be the first to abandon your post, my lord, not the first to leave something as fickle as your universe given duties behind. Who could have blamed you if you died in spite of these things if others were able to willingly leave them?"

Your voice was small and quiet as you spoke, unsure of how Dream might react to the mention of Destruction, even when the wound was not necessarily new anymore.

You watched as the being before you stiffened, his gaze growing ever so slightly colder, before he spun around and began making his way back toward his throne, his tone firm and serious as he replied, still facing away from you all the while.

"I was not speaking of my duties to the dreaming."

He stated simply, though you could tell by his cadence that his words were anything but.

You sighed, exasperated and fragile after all that had been said thus far,

"Well what else was it that you were leaving behind that was so important that I should have known it would keep you alive then, Dream?"

The lord of the dreaming locked eyes with you as you finished asking this question, cold piercing gaze filling you with a deep regret and an immense longing as he sat upon his throne once more, one long leg crossing over the other as he all but stared into your very soul.

"You."

He said simply, voice low and gaze unwavering as he spoke, watching as that one word alone sent you staggering several steps backward, one hand clutching lightly at your chest as your feeble human mind tried to comprehend all that had happened to you in this one day alone.

"Me?"

You whispered, voice echoing slightly throughout the empty throne room in spite of how quiet it was.

"But I am not-"

"You are everything."

Dream cut you off before you could finish, eyes still boring holes into your own as he continued to watch you from his seat, as if knowing that if he moved any closer now, that you would run, run and likely never return for fear of what any of this meant for you and for the once permanent seeming fixture that Dream had so easily played within your life for so long.

You floundered at those words, vision growing bleary and spotty as you turned to rush out of the room, to be anywhere but this pale comparison of the dreaming, the once beautiful world that you had known for so very long.

You fled your home with tears in your eyes and a hand at your heart.

Dream stayed where he sat upon his throne, and watched your fears consume you again until you faded from view.

He did not try to stop you.

A broken home like this was no place for a fragile soul like yours.

And he could offer you no better than the very world he had once so kindly rescued you from.

#morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless x reader #morpheus x y/n #sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream x y/n #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless fic #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x you #morpheus x f!reader #sandman x female reader #dream x fem!reader #the sandman fic #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus fic

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Tommy x wife reader: Charlie and Ruby are theirs (no grace or lizzie) and they have a few other children, in order of their ages: Charles (Charlie) James (Jamie) Edward (Teddie) Ruby (Ru)

And just after Ruby dies and Tommy finds out he’s dying, his wife finds out she is pregnant again and she is just traumatised by it as she’s lost her only daughter and her aunt-in-law and about to lose her husband too

But Tommy doesn’t die and they have a baby girl, who they name Rose Elizabeth, because Ruby loved roses and after Polly and they nickname her Posy as a portmanteau of Rosy and Polly

Hey Love,

Sorry it took forever. This one is pretty sad and I really enjoyed writing it. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Peaky Themes, Childbirth, Child death, grieving.

Not a single dull day had passed in Arrow House. It was always loud as the children ran around causing chaos. Today was so silent you could drop a tack in the kitchen and hear it in the attic. 

You lay on the floor of your youngest daughter's room. Your little girl. The grief clenched in your chest and you felt your heart miss a beat as your body twisted in on itself. You’d never felt such a loss in your life. 

Now you have a baby in your stomach, your husband is going to die leaving you with three boys. You knew you should be with him, enjoy his presence while you have him here amongst the living.

How could you worry about anything after watching your daughter slip from the world just a day ago? You remember holding her hand and singing to her. Thomas holding it together just until her eyes fluttered closed before falling apart in a way you didn't think him capable of. 

You sat there silently. Something deep inside you felt at peace. She was safe where she was. Polly was with her. Knowing something deep in your soul had never taken away from the way your brain and body worked. 

Your body hadn’t stopped shaking since it happened. Your limbs vibrating as you lay on her pink carpet. You felt discarded like all the stuffies and dolls that lay on the floor around you. Without her to come and breathe life into you, you would stay on the carpet like a doll. 

Teddie was the first person to find you. His small body came and curled up against your side. The warmth of him seeped into your icy body. 

A mother could only stop being a mother once she had no children left. And you had three. This moment of sadness and grief couldn't go on for the eternity you felt it needed. You had boys to wrangle. Little Ruby adored her brothers and you knew she wouldn't ever forgive you if you let them down. 

With the strength of a British Mum, you brushed the tears off your cheeks with the side of your hand. You sat up even though every selfish part of you screamed to lay back down on that carpet. To rot away to a place where you could hold her again. 

“Hey, Teddie.” You whispered running a hand down the small boy’s back. 

“Mum I’m hungry.” He mumbled.

“Teddie! Dad said we have to leave her alone.” Charlie was in the doorway, with his arms crossed. His tone was angry and you could swear he looked years older than the last time you saw him. 

“Darling, never leave me alone.” You said giving him a serious look. His face faltered slightly as he took in your words. “I’m still a mum. And mum’s make dinner, let’s go. Into the kitchen.” 

Teddie was happy and you picked him up even though he was far too big for that now. Walking down the hallway, Charlie surprised you when he opened Jamie’s door. 

You sat Teddie on his favorite spot on the counter and started getting out various pots and pans. 

“She’s up.” He said and your middle boy came into the hallway. Silently the four of you made it into the kitchen. Grief was creeping in all the shadows of the room as Charlie made a fire. 

“Ruby isn't coming home is she?” Teddie asked. Charlie let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in the way only the eldest child could. 

“No, she’s with Aunt Polly now. They live in the sky.” Jamie answered softly. You gripped the edges of the pot tightly as you pushed down the intense feelings threatening to overflow again. 

The window opened and you could hear her voice on the wind that whipped around your face. 

Keep Going.  

That’s what you did. Death be dammed you’d made a deal with God to sacrifice and survive for these boys and that’s what you would do. 

With a cracking heart you closed the window and looked around the kitchen at the boy's stunned faces. 

“Please tell me you heard that as well right?” Charlie said with wide eyes. 

______________________________________________________________

One dinner down a lifetime left to go. 

The weeks turned into a month and the pain did not relent. You had no moments of peace only the love felt by shared grieving. Esme was always around now. All the kids lumped together in Arrow House like the days of the Changretta feud. She made sure your hair got brushed and your outfits matched. 

Arthur came around every day. He kept Tommy together while they worked out all this conflict. He feels a war is coming and you couldn't imagine it could be anything worse than the one raging in your mind. Alfie stops by and tells you things that confirm it will be much worse. 

Three boys, and a war. 

You put your make-up on so you have a reason not to cry during the day. 

You spend every evening with Tommy. You know what he is doing is important. It could change the outcome for the rest of the families on the planet. So you sacrifice your time with him and survive on the couch reading. When really you just stare into the fire wishing everything would burn up to be reborn as something new. 

Three boys and one more undetermined in your stomach. Your hand rested there often. You expected to lose the baby so you didn't really think about it. If they did come into this world you prayed it would be before Tommy passed. Grieving with a baby in your stomach would be easier than grieving with a newborn. But you wanted them to meet their father, even if it was for a fleeting moment. You would suffer and survive. 

Tommy finally got over himself and got a second opinion. He hated doctors and you expected him to be in a foul mood when he got back from a series of appointments in London. Alfie accompanied him back and you placed a plate of biscuits and cups of tea on the kitchen table. The kitchen was for family, but Alfie somehow managed to get an invitation out of Tommy. You were always happy to see him, but were wary of the news he often brought these days. You took a seat and he grabbed your hand and held it.  Your mind flashed back to the good old days when something so small would have sent Tommy after him in a rage. 

Alfie knew better than to ask how you were keeping. Tommy finally sat down at the head of the table, he looked pale. Too pale to drive, which explains why Alfie had come back with him. 

“I’m not sick.” His eyes closed and he leaned back against the chair. 

“What?” You whispered. 

“The f-uck-ing doctor was working for that stupid mustache piece of shit,” Alfie said his voice was venomous but his smile was unshakeable. 

“You're not going to die.” Your eyes moved to Tommy and he shook his head.  

“Going to have to wait a while longer to steal you away, love.” Alfie's voice was all humor now, but he knew it was time to let go of your hand when Tommy flashed him a look. The look of the old Tommy. 

“I’m pregnant.” You blurted out. 

“Looks like I dodged a bullet. Last thing I wanted to be raising up another little Shelby brat.” Alfie was laughing and Tommy smiled. A genuine smile. 

You were happy, and then the brutal deafening sadness crashed down on you. The sheer panic of having a child hits again and the nausea has you throwing your head back in the sink. Tommy is there pulling your hair up. 

“Like she would ever go for you,” Tommy said easily taking a sip of tea.

“Shit,” Alfie says from the counter near you. He gets a glass for Tommy to fill with water. 

____________________________________________________________

You told Esme and you both held on to each other as you cried. 

“I never thought I would say this but thank God Tommy will be alright.” She shook her head as the words strangled her. “You’ll never have to know what it’s like to raise em up with out their father.” 

You both cried on the kitchen floor for a long while. 

_________________________________________

The time came and you had high blood pressure meaning you had to do things in the hospital. Something that made everything a thousand times more painful. But that was your baby, and you would sacrifice and they would survive. 

They kept trying to medicate you and Esme kept throwing nurses out of the room screaming at them in Romani when English wasn't scary enough. In the thick of it you kept crying out for Polly. 

You didn't want these strangers to help you. They didn't care about you or your baby. They weren't family. Arthur came and spoke to Esme in the doorway for a moment. You expected news that Tommy wouldn't make it in time or that something worse had happened. 

Instead, Esme handed you one of Polly’s rosaries to hold. You gripped the cold crystal beads and felt yourself split apart over all the reasons you were crying. 

Tommy showed up and commanded the room with Esme. The window blew open letting cold air around the room and you could feel her love for you. 

You gave birth to a little girl. 

There were no pictures taken as you bawled. You got her latched on to your breast and cried and cried. The nurses kept pushing for sedation but Esme started at them and Tommy pointed towards the door. Arthur came in and read a passage from his bible for you. You're not sure why exactly but it helped. It felt like a blessing that this baby would be alright. 

_______________________________________________

You brought her home the same night, itching to get out of the hospital. You carried her in and watched all your boys get excited. You handed her off to Charlie first. 

“I love it when they look like grumpy old men,” Jamie said with a smile, Teddie let out a loud laugh. 

“She does look like an old man.” 

“What did you name her?” Charlie asked his finger tracing down the slope of her nose. 

“Rose Elizabeth,” Tommy said sitting next to him placing his arm around his eldest son. 

“Posy then,” Charlie said with a sense of finality. 

Charlie, Jamie, Teddie, and Posy. Your heart was happy and sad at the same time. 

Jamie came round and put his arm around you. 

“Love you mum.” He whispered and you wondered when he got old enough to kiss the top of your head. The boys were strong like their father, and you had no doubts they were strong enough to carry you and Posy.

_______________________________________________________________

This chunk of time was easier than it was with the other four kids. Tommy took time off. Churchill had other moves he wanted to play and for now, Tommy wasn’t involved. 

He’d sit while you breastfed in the night, he’d change nappies, and read stories. You watched him be a girl dad again and the pain was harsh and beautiful at the same time. 

Esme helped you take down Ruby’s room. The idea of moving one of the boys to a different floor or wing of the house made your skin itch. Ruby’s room needed to be emptied. 

You aired the room out and you knew that she would be happy about giving it to her sister. Esme assured you at every turn that she wouldn't be angry at you. 

_______________________

Eventually Arrow House moved on. Posy was very attached to the idea she had both an Aunt and a sister in the sky watching over her. 

The war came and what was left of the family did what they had to do. Thankfully Posy was there with you so you were never alone.

Thankfully when it was all over all your boys came home to you.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #dad tommy shelby #peaky blinds fic #peaky blinders request

[jane-john-doe-tournament]

Jane Doe (Ride the Cyclone) Propaganda:

Great singing, also she’s literally wearing a doll‘s head bc she lost hers

do they have their soul or is it rotting somewhere with their head?

BALLAD OF JANE DOE IS SO SAD AND SHE IS GREAT AND I ONLY WATCH RTC ONCE BUT SHES NY FAVE OK

cool asf

She forgets her name after her death and has no story told in the production

She's so sweet and deserves the world. Her song (The Ballad of Jane Doe) is great.

the song goes so hard just listen to her song guys please

she literally died and her head was cut off so nobody could tell who she was PLEASE let her take one (1) W

BECAUSE SHE IS AMAZING. First she already won the tournament in the musical to regain life, as she won them over with her sad wet cat energy because she did not have a head and feared that she lost her soul. Second, she died on a roller coaster and lost her head, but stole her doll's head and thats very gender. Third, throughout the musical she is used as a vessel for religious allegory, she is an angel, she is jesus, she is a demon, she is forsaken but she is purity itself. Fourthly, she is is given the identity of Savannah with the greenest eyes after the other characters who died with her hold her a birthday party, and I think thats sweet because its probably some kind of meaning I cant see but auughfhfhh shes so cool

i mean her name isn't TECHNICALLY jane doe but we refer to her as such. she's so silly!! autism powers! i don't have a lot of propaganda tbh. i would've just been surprised had she NOT been submitted

She lost her head literally when the rollercoaster derailed. She wasn't able to be identified apart from the school uniform she was wearing.

Her name is forgotten, and so is everything about her. So she’s called Jane Doe. She’s very sweet and very creepy, but she doesn’t mean it

and im asking WHYYYYY LORRRRRDDD

I LOVE HER! she died in a roller coaster accident and was decapitated, her body not being found. in the show, her head is actually just her doll’s head. the coroners couldn’t identify her, so she was dubbed a jane doe. in the game to be alive again, she ends up being voted, her name being revealed to be penny lamb. anyways she’s a little creepy and also quite silly and she does her funny little waddle like a porcelain doll (or corpse).

She deserves it! She lost her head she shouldn't lose this too.

Not convinced you didn’t start this tournament just for her tbh

They have a great song and a true air of mystery to them. They also have arguably the best song in the musical, The Ballad of Jane Doe! I would definitely recommend listening to it >:)

—She LOST her HEAD and had it replaced with a PORCELAIN DOLL —In all seriousness her story is really poignant. No one could identify her body so she arrives in the afterlife not knowing her identity and she spends the show vacillating between depressed and angry at her situation, leading to… —“The Ballad of Jane Doe”, specifically Emily Rohm’s version, might be the most haunting solo in musical theatre history.

John Doe (Malevolent) Propaganda:

Spooky gay eldritch disaster (am I doing this right?)

Could have chosen any name for himself and picked John because a kind person called him that :)

fractured piece of an eldritch god that shares a body with a private eye after being fractured. chooses the name John Doe after said private eye goes into a coma

Because he’s an eldritch god who wants to feel human and who overcame a lot of obstacles and dangers!!! He sincerely cares about the main character!!! And he chose a name himself! Isn’t he cute??? He lost his body, he almost lost his memory, he fought for his right to exist, he loves animals, he loves his friend Arthur and I love him!

Being an ass, friendship, spooky supernatural stuff, he’s got it all

My man heard the name John Doe, realized he didn’t actually have a name, and just. Took it for himself.

I LOVE HIM. MY SON. HE’S TRYING TO CHANGE AND BE BETTER AND :(((( He’s a fragment of the soul of the King in Yellow (god of trickery and suffering iirc??) that gets trapped in a book in our realm while the rest of the King stayed in his own separate realm. When a human named Arthur Lester opens the book they get linked and John gains control of Arthur’s eyes & kills his partner (oops!). They proceed to go on a quest to find a way of separating them because neither likes the situation, and at first John (or The Entity, which is what he’s called at first) just wants to trick and use Arthur, and control his entire body (through the first season he also gets a hand & a foot) even though he doesn’t remember being The King In Yellow at the time, but Arthur makes him change and become more human. His turning point is when Arthur is shot and falls into a coma for a month. They get treated at a hospital and while John waits for Arthur to wake up so they can carry on, the body itself still gets taken care of. The time John spends alone, contemplating on humanity & everything he’s seeing and learning from Arthur, as well as the way a certain nurse speaks to him every day (specifically, she greets him good morning and good night, despite the body being unresponsive, John still hears because he is an entity linked to the body) and calls him John (they didn’t have ID on when they were found so they were classified as John Doe), changes his outlook and plans for good, and he asks Arthur to call him John; from this point on he admits he cares for Arthur, looks for his wellbeing too, and in general attempts to be a better person and to live for himself. The rest of the podcast (ongoing!!) explores Arthur & John’s relationship, struggle to survive, adventures in the eldritch… All while tackling each of their issues with themselves and each other and watching them both grow. John in specific learns to be the person he wants to be, how sometimes you’ll take a step forward and two backwards; he can be cruel and manipulative sometimes but he still tries. Personally I love his journey, it’s very realistic and you can see he is trying his best, and how he wants to be better than he was as the King In Yellow, and how much Arthur has changed him and how much he cares about him because of that; and how he’s slowly growing into being his own person :) if it ends badly ill cry so hard but!!! he’s John Doe because that’s the name he was being addressed as, and he’s made it his, and being John means he’s no longer the King and that he wants to be different, and John can fail or make mistakes but it’s part of who he is now, and that’s what matters. I am So Normal About Him

JOHN DOE (Malevolent) SWEEP

OH MY GOD JOHN DOE MY BELOVED 💛💛 (watch me just not clarify that would be so funny ahah) John doe (Malevolent) 💛💛💛 my silly He's so funny he makes Arthur bump his head into a dock because he didn't say duck in time and then laughs at him 💛💛

#jane john doe tournament #jane doe #jane doe rtc #jane doe ride the cyclone #rtc #ride the cyclone #john doe #john doe malevolent #malevolent #round 4

[lilacsinjuly]

withering tree, grief lasts.

gojo x reader

summary:

after a particulary long and challenging battle, you're left with a fatal injury and decide to die peacefully at the place you realised you loved satoru.

cw: angst, you die bro, lots of hurt, grab tissues.

word count: 1.1k

likes, comments and reposts are deeply appreciated! <3 enjoy.

-`♡´-

You watched from a distance. The relieved sighs, smiling faces, conversations with ease laced into them. You watched and smiled as you realised this would be the last time you'd be filled with such comfort. You didn't want to partake in the celebrations, so you leaned against an old tree, under the creeping shadows and watched from a distance.

There was no hope, no chance of life after the injury you had sustained; you made peace with that fact with tears in your eyes and a reluctant smile for solace. You knew of no other way to spend your final few moments than on this hill, under the same tree where you realised your feelings for him.

A bitter smile crept up on your face. Him. The man you yearned for, for so long. The one who had always felt the same. All of that wasted time pining, waiting desperately for one another when the feelings had always been requited. If you had known then, how it would've ended, how you didn't make nearly enough memories together, you would've confessed much earlier, despite your doubts and anxieties.

Now, you’re back where you started, rotting away, alone on this hill, as he enjoyed himself without your presence needed.

The idea that he was happy was enough to grant you peace when you died.

Atleast, that's what you believed. You couldn't see the frantic white hair running from person to person asking if they had seen you. He could feel a piece of his heart breaking with each 'no' he had heard.

Everything felt like one big joke. There was no way you didn’t make it out alive, he did everything he could to ensure your protection. But his sanity started to deteriorate as everyone has claimed they hadn’t seen you, leaving few possibilities to your location.

You had always taken it upon yourself to check on everyone you cared for, so it made no sense as to why no one had spoken to you.

His head ached as a single question thrummed against it. Were you dead?

The thought made Gojo's whole body tremble, his breath quicken and his mind hammer.

Without you, he felt like an open wound, weakened and useless. What is the strongest without a will? Without a reason. You were his reason, and he'd tear the world apart looking for you before he accepted your death.

Taking a moment to breathe and look around, when he finally saw it and realised. Memories rushing back and bringing a pained smile to his face.

"I was here when I realised, 'toru." you had told him when you first got together. You told him how, every so often after you realised you had fallen in love with him, you'd come to this hill to empty your thoughts. Seeing the sky and the stars at night and thinking of him, seeing the world below and realising that, whilst there are countless people who had the potential to make you happy below this tiny hill, there was only one person that would ever complete you as well as he did.

"I thought you'd be here." he said, standing behind you, causing you to flinch at his sudden voice amongst the quiet you had got used to. “I couldn't celebrate without knowing where you were, because I knew you’d be miserable without my company.” he said jokingly and dramatically before noticing your lack of a response.

You sat with your hand over your injury, trying to cover the damage, refusing to ruin his mood yet your efforts of protecting him were futile.

He called out your name. "Are you hurt? Talk to me please." Satoru begged, as he rushed down to where you sat, leaning on the same old, withering tree he recognised from your confession. He kneeled down in front of you, your eyes lacking life as his own were full of despair.

He noticed your wound and his eyes widened, panicking, he tried to help but both of you knew nothing could be done.

"I always knew I’d die here-"

"You are not dying, do you hear me?" he said in disbelief, trying to convince himself more than you. But most of all, he tried to convince nature to spare you from such a fate when you had years to come by his side.

"'Toru, look at me! I'm not leaving this hill alive, okay? I love you so, so much it hurts and- and I need you to understand-" you tried to reason but he cut you off once more.

"Don't you fucking dare try and say goodbye. You can't leave me alone, I-" he tripped and stuttered over his words frustratedly as he continued to convince himself this wasn't the end. "I can't do this without you." he mumbled, voice laced with despair.

You lifted your hand up to caress his face and brush hair out of his eyes. You never liked seeing him cry. There was no feeling in the world that could compare to the one in which you saw the one you loved the most in pain because it feels like there is nothing you could do. Watching him, feeling useless knowing that if you could take all the pain away from him and endure it yourself, you would without half a second of hesitation. But you couldn't, and that feeling felt like poison.

"Please let me talk, Satoru. no interuptions, just let me talk to you." you spluttered out weakly, your face, movements and voice were losing life with each passing second and deep down, Satoru knew this, so he nodded, his face leaning into the touch of your hand as he gently cupped it, trying to drag out this last few moments. "Each and every second with you has been more than what I have ever deserved. You're too fucking good for this Satoru and you don't deserve it at all but I will always be here with you when you need me, when you're sick of me and when you feel alone because even through death you wont lose me. I can't tell you how much I have appreciated loving you and being able to love you." you smiled, going silent, though your eyes still looked into his own.

He leaned towards you, forehead against yours, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips as your tears mixed with his own for the final time. Your eyes fluttered shut, your breaths becoming fainter and fainter with each second.

Gojo pleaded you to keep yours eyes open, cradling your body closer to his own that shook as broken sobs were elicited from him as he lost yet another piece of himself.

He looked up at the darkened sky, thinking of you. Thinking of everything he should’ve done differently. Blaming himself for your final breath.

He’d come back to this same hill everyday, though he’d never look at the same sentimental tree as he did before.

No longer would it be associated with love, but grief of the one he lost.

note: cant proofread through the tears

#jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo satoru angst #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo fanfic #angst #no happy ending

[gaslightgatekeepgirlbosscombat]

Group G, Round 2, Poll 8:

Propaganda under the cut

Taylor Hebert / Skitter

Gaslight: She’s constantly gaslighting herself, like seriously all the time. Mainly because she couldn’t properly process her own emotions to save her life. ‘I’m totally fine after doing [fucked up thing]. Totally fine. It was my only option, and definitely not a result of my own deep-seated trauma affecting the way I perceive and interact with the world around me. Plus it’s not like it was even *that* fucked up. Actually, it was definitely the most moral choice in that situation. I had no other option. They forced my hand’. No they fucking didn’t Taylor. You had tons of other options, you’re just too much of a traumatized mess to recognize them. And *Worm* is well-written enough that, because we’re constantly seeing things from her fucked up point of view, we believe her. Especially when she describes events slightly yet very significantly differently from how they actually *textually* occurred previously in the text, but not so obviously that the readers notice without it being pointed out to them. It’s only during interludes from the POVs of other characters that we get a view of her without that lens of self-delusion. Gatekeep: Probably the weakest of the three for her, but somebody else could probably tell you more. Girlboss: She has the power to control bugs, with perfect coordination, infinite multitasking, and even proprioception. What does she do with that (in no particular order)? Rot somebodies dick off. Stick flies up his urethra. Eat his eyes with your bugs after he’s already disabled. Stick bullets ant up somebodies anus. Have bugs clean off the sweat and other material immediately after losing your virginity. Use your bugs to to drive a car through a city post-disaster while blind, without anybody else realizing you’ve been blinded. Get stabbed in the shoulder through bone, and proceed to monologue to the stabbed without showing any signs of pain. Line up bugs on people your shooting at with bugs on your gun to give you pinpoint accuracy. Hide massive amounts of bugs in the folds and crevices of your body, as well as in in your hair. Join a gang of supervillains. Carve out somebodies eyes. Turn butterflies into an instrument of terror. Kill a baby. You know, just completely normal things for a barely 16 (pre-timeskip) / not-quite 18 (post-timeskip) year old girl to do (most of these were pre-timeskip).

[copied from @lakesbian so credit to them]

*rotting a guy's dick off with brown recluses. on accident. *realizing due to her accident that it's actually pretty effective to put bugs on genitals and starting to threaten people with putting tapeworms up their asses on purpose. and also putting bugs up asses and peeholes on purpose. really if theres an orifice she puts bugs up there on purpose *dips her bugs in capsaicin before putting bugs up orifices on purpose so it hurts more. [skitter voice]i just dipped every tarantula hawk wasp in my villainous lair in liquid pepper spray so nows not the time to get stupid with my ass *using spider silk to create rube-goldberg machines of suffering i.e hauling a dude 3 stories up into the air and then dropping him, shattering all of his limbs on impact. all while casually holding a conversation w/ someone else *using centipedes to hollow another villain's eyes out and then putting maggots inside and just Leaving Them There with the intent of the heroes she hands the villain over to finding the maggots later and being scared of her *killed parahumans' wonder woman equivalent by putting bugs in her lungs and then using those bugs to make silk in her lungs to block out airflow. while monotone-quoting something wonder woman had said to threaten her earlier back at her as she died. wonder woman wasn't even in the room to hear it she just did it anyway. *only time she has ever successfully been jailed is when she turned herself in on purpose *made a phone call using bugs once. not villainous but very funny and iconic *used bugs to swang around a disintegration knife on a massive length of silk, killing like 50 people instantly, because she wanted one (1) person in the room dead and was willing to just shotgun that shit until it worked out for her. and then immediately after proceeded to think of herself as "not much of a fighter." because she has psychological issues. *mind-control kidnapped several thousand people once *literally made fun of god's dead girlfriend until he got suicidal and died about it *drove a car. blind. using bugs. no one realized she was blind for like 12 hours because she's a bug freak superorganism of a girl who walked around using bugs to triangulate perfectly w/o vision. also not villainous but still iconic *wanted to put 10000 black widow spiders in a shared villainous base to make costumes out of spider silk w/ and when the other dude who lived there was like "wtf can we not??" she was like "huh that's surprising. you don't want 10000 black widow spiders in your home? why? are you arachnophobic or something?" because she's a freak. *fucked, got up, and immediately made several hundred bugs crawl across her naked ass body to clean her off. because she's a freak. her boyfriend has had spiders on his dick he's just going to have to live with this *literally psychologically cannot refrain from putting bugs in the hair and clothing of everyone within a several block radius to keep track of them at all times because she's a panopticonic freak. like i'm talking "her friends occasionally talk to bugs they see under the assumption that it's her spying on them, and they're Right" level panopticonic freak. she rocks. *did i mention she's 15. world's most autistic freak 15yo dissociates hard enough to kill god more at 7

Regina George

Mean Girls became a template for high school drama movies, Regina being the meanest of the titular "mean girls"

#round 2 #group g #worm #parahumans #taylor hebert #skitter #Regina George #Mean Girls

[blacklegsanjiii]

A loved!Sanji au in which Judge was to his father what Sanji is to him the normal verse. Judge's father is the one who does all the experiments on Reiju and 1234ji. Judge, in terror and understanding as he watches his wife take the poison to try to save their sons. Judge encourages and helps Reiju's with her emotion and helps Sora with everything during her pregnancy.

Judge is so thankful one of his sons doesn't have the mutations until his father let's everything the others do slide and Reiju never helps nor hinders them. Judge patches Sanji up and tries to ensure Sanji knows he is loved, as well as Sora. Judge still has his other duties as Crown Prince so he can't see everything his children do unfortunately, but he encourages Sanji's cooking and holds him.

When Sora dies Judge is numb completely and keeps trying to find Sanji but his father has Sanji locked down in some science wing and will not let Judge see him. Then only a weeks later the king tells Judge Sanji is dead, he's not and the king shows him a look alike of Sanji dying to make it believable. Judge is absolutely wrecked after losing his wife and son. Reiju and the boys don't see him anymore, he is weak and his father won't allow it.

Sanji is in the dungeon with the mask on pleading for help and for his father but no one comes. No one except his brothers to beat him and Reiju once in a while to patch him up. When Sanji is freed the king and Reiju find Judge and give him the helmet after a few days to make sure Sanji is gone. Judge stares at it as the king informs him he would have had Reiju kill herself if she ever told him and that he was freed some days ago, he will die shortly and Judge best not disappoint him again as he gives Judge the helmet.

Unlike Sanji Judge's hands are only used for harming others. Starting with the king of Germa. Judge drops the helmet and wraps his hands around the kings neck and strangles him, watches the life fade from his father's eyes. They throw a funeral for him and Judge is crowned king but it is hollow as he sets to work on making his children human. Sets the scientists to work on restoring their skin and emotions.

When Judge sees Sanji's poster years later he cries, it's awful but it's proof he's alive. But then Ennies Lobby happens and then Sabaody and suddenly Straw Hat is the only one at the war and his brother is dead now. A couple years later Sanji is proven alive again and in the New World so Judge has Germa set course to find Sanji, Reiju and Ichiji are particularly itching to go find him so Judge laughs and sends them both off. The kids all have their emotions back but they still don't understand a lot of things.

Like showing up with Sanji, just Sanji, and not his crew? Judge is listening to Ichiji's reasoning and fuck Ichiji is so excited because he brought Sanji. Sanji is cursing and telling them all to fuck off and smoking and Judge feels hysterical at all of this. Judge then explains to Ichiji that he was supposed to wait with Sanji and his crew for Germa to come and Sanji yells back that Grandpa can rot in Hell, Sanji will never serve Germa and he needs to get back to his crew.

Judge finds out they were on Zou and holy shit is he proud! Sanji is right though and he needs to get to his crew. So he explains how Ichiji messed up("Hey!") and they will take him back to his crew. Judge is so thankful Sanji is alive. Sanji asks what the catch is because there has to be a catch, he's in Germa there has to be. But Judge is king now, he's hugging Sanji and Sanji is blinking back tears because there has to be a catch. There isn't and he is be helding by his father again and he's trying not to cry because Zeff would kick his ass if he was here, he's sure.

Then Germa gets attacked by Big Mom and there's a rescue team for Sanji. Germa is getting hit by all sides over Sanji which Judge understands the rescue team but then Sanji explains what they've done to the Yonko which makes Judge sigh and rub and his temples.

"You're mother was right." Judge groans.

"The fuck does that mean?" Sanji yells.

"I wanna meet your captain!" Yonji yells as he wraps around Sanji. Sanji is going through it because what the fuck. What the fuck.

Niji actually brings the crew to them and the Vinsmokes and Sanji are in a kitchen because Sanji is stress cooking to the max and Luffy is confused because Sanji was kidnapped? By that red guy? Okay, red guy gets a gum gum pistol. Judge says that's why they don't kidnap people, even your siblings. Nami screams and demands what's going on so the rescue team gets a half baked plan to escape that everyone immediately warns them will fall apart and it does. Immediately. Judge has Germa focus on Big Mom as a distraction for Sanji to escape and be free, like Sora and he wanted for Sanji.

Judge has the denden mushi number for the Thousand Sunny, doubting he'll ever need it because his son is in the news quite a bit.

#black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke niji #vinsmoke family #the vinsmokes #vinsmoke ichiji #vinsmoke reiju #vinsmoke yonji #vinsmoke judge #loved!sanji #one piece au #1234ji

[zombiewhor3]

IT'S NOT OKAY

carl grimes x fem reader

WARNINGS: depressed reader, angst, mentions of character death (Glenn), mentions of sad Carl, mentions of bad parents, mentions of father figure Glenn, mentions of blood, gore, murder, mentions of revenge, mentions of reader skipping meals, helpful/understanding Carl.

she laid in the same position for days, it had almost been an entire week and she'd just been rotting there like a corpse, her mind in a frozen haze while the bat slamming down on Glenn's head seemed to replay like a constant loop in her head.

and well the fact that Negan had almost forced Rick to cut off her own boyfriend's arm, she could hear his mocking and his taunts as Glenn died and she could still hear the way Maggie screamed.

Her only true father figure had died, and it was shattering her, she was shattered because of it, when she saw the eye popping out of her skull she had gotten sick, she almost passed out from the shock and well the fact she was still injured and weak from a past fight.

she was only 15 and it was so damn hard for her to even think about such a gory thought but she had to understand that this was the real world surrounding her.

She thought about in the beginning when Glenn had saved her, he had rescued her after her parents had been to careless and left her, she was no older than Carl when it happened, and there he was bringing her back to the camp to feed and clothe her.

she had grown a family because of him, if it weren't for him she wouldn't be here today, she wouldn't be here sulking in this bed, and she sure as hell wouldn't be alive.

she could feel Carl place a small kiss on her cheek as a tear slipped down her face, she had started to cry once more, she could feel him place a seat on the bed so he could face her.

he frowned seeing her cry, he hated the sight, he hated watching as she held onto her stomach while she felt sick from the sight of his head being bashed in by that bastard.

"shh it's okay" he tried to comfort her but what was the use? would it fix the fact that they were stuck under The Saviours choke hold while two of their friends were dead and they couldn't get revenge.

she flipped around to the other side to face away from him with a soft breath she let out another sniffle letting her tears fall into the white pillow case, "talk to me please you haven't spoken in days not even a hi or a response when i speak to you" he rubbed her back feeling as her tense body seemed to loosen up for him at the touch.

he had been struggling to, he had missed Glenn so much it was like a piece of his heart was missing and well he had so much rage inside him that it was starting to pull him in so many directions.

he felt like soon he was going to be torn in half from the sadness and the anger tugging at both ends of him, he wanted revenge on all of the men, he wanted to kill Negan himself for killing such innocent people because in true reality they didn't deserve any of it.

Once carl realized she was going to stay silent he got up from the bed, reaching into a bag he pulled a fresh pair of clothes out for her along with a rubber band resting amongst his wrist.

"c'mere" he spoke softly lifting up the still bloody shirt from her body. she had been sitting right next to Glenn when it happened which meant she had his blood laced all over her white shirt, now it was dried and brown but it was still his blood.

he pulled it from her body and tossed it to the floor while he put a new one on her, he helped her to wiggle out of the bloody jeans, there were dried blood patches in the knees from her digging them into the gravel to prevent a gut wrenching scream from her.

he pulled them off and slipped on a new pair of jeans on her slightly closing his eyes to give her some privacy, she sat up on the bed with his help, he knew she hadn't eaten for almost a full week.

she stared at the wall blankly before following Carl into the kitchen, he placed a green apple in her hand and a bottle of water on the marble counter in-front of her.

she hesitantly went to take a bite from the apple but a hand covered her mouth, it was like everything she looked at seemed to make her sick, she closed her eyes before taking a bite feeling the sweetness hit over her tongue as she chewed and swallowed the bit.

he was proud of her that she was slowly eating, and once she knew it she was down to the core of the apple and the water bottle that was once full in-front of her was left empty.

she wrapped her arms around Carl as she could feel more tears bittering up inside her again, "it's okay you did good, we have to try, we both miss him i know" he admitted feeling her only cry harder at the slight implication of him.

"we'll get through this together i promise"

#carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carlgrimes #rickgrimesmut #rick grimes x reader #angst #glenn twd #twd glenn angst #angst story #twd fanfiction #twd spoilers #twd daryl #twd caryl #twd maggie #twd y/n #sad y/n #angst comfort #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon imagine

[pocket-goat]

i'm not personally a fan of saints campaign from a gameplay perspective. its the only campaign i've only ever played once up until now despite liking the story and lore implications. but it hit me so hard emotionally that i was genuinely stunned and i couldn't figure out what it made me feel, let alone why i was feeling it so strongly, like i had just lost something so important to me rather than a few pixels i could see again if i just started up another campaign.

i think it's because, up until saints campaign (since i did his last of course), i had spent so much of my time trying to help moon. in every campaign save for artificers, where she's inaccessible, but even then i only found out i couldn't access moons structure when i had already trudged through all of waterfront facility with a neuron for her.

i delivered her pearl as spearmaster, revived her as hunter, reactivated her structure as rivulet, and gathered her neurons in every campaign where i had access to both her and pebbles' structure. not to mention my hours of pearl gathering, not just for completing my collection, but also because in my regular runs i enjoyed bringing her new reading material. i knew i couldn't save her, but i did everything in my little slugcat power to ease her pain.

and then i finally reach her as saint, and while i'm not forced to ascend her, thats pretty clearly the intention. and i stalled for such a long time. it felt easy ascending pebbles, it felt like a mercy to him. he wanted that for so long, right? and he was in such a state now that leaving him there to rot indefinitely felt like condemning him to an absolutely hellish existence. at least his ancients had left him functional and with the ability to contact his fellow iterators and possibly find a solution for himself. i would be leaving him with a faded music pearl and a lantern while he sat in his own rotting corpse.

but moon never WANTED to die. she actively fought to LIVE, and she was finally back to as close as she could get to her former state with the rarefraction cell! and it felt a little bit like i was undoing all of the progress of my hunter run by just killing her now. what was the point of the slag reset keys and all the neurons and the rarefraction cell? but then again, what would i be leaving her to? a world frozen over where she is cut off from everyone she has ever known, unable to reach out, her only accessible neighbour being completely unresponsive (and now dead)?

i felt better about it after she had said it was time for the time of her and her ancients to be left behind. the world had already died. her world had already died. and a new one was being born, one she need not be a part of. she seemed comfortable in the fact she would be a part of this new world only as a forgotten legacy, perhaps a mystery for future civilizations to unravel.

i have many thoughts about looks to the moon.

and i think, in my idealistic continuation of rain worlds story, after saint has ascended the sibling iterators and moved on, that their empty puppets are still treated kindly and with a quiet sort of reverence by any scavenger or slugcat who finds them. i'd like to leave them flowers.

#i got sad about moon tonight #i miss her #rain world #rain world downpour #rain world downpour spoilers #rain world saint spoilers #pocket.txt #rambles #looks to the moon #five pebbles