#these latest chapters are only giving me more reasons to hes so !!!!!!!!!!!!

[franeridart]

I love dragon btw

#my sketches #one piece #monkey d luffy #monkey d dragon #jokes aside hes my little guy i truly love him #these latest chapters are only giving me more reasons to hes so !!!!!!!!!!!! #also the thought of newborn luffy in 2.5 meters tall dragons arms…………. #Delightful

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - The Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: This chapter is set about a month before "Love Actually." So...are you ready?

Song Inspo: For this last chapter, it’s “The Book of Love” by Peter Gabriel. (It’s just lovely. I listened to it while writing the second half of the epilogue!)

Word Count: 7,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Violence and peril, angst, familiar bickering, smutty smut, bit of breeding kink, tender fluff, hurt/comfort, and an ending…

Epilogue: All My Living Time

“I’m not fucking around,” he said. “I want you to live with me.” 

Your smile was soft and bright when you took his hand. Ben wouldn’t admit it, but something in his chest stuttered to life then.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

Six months later…

You were frustrated with your roommate.

And yes, you used the word roommate, because he hadn’t seen fit to give it any other label.

You stewed in your irritation as you also stirred the beginnings of chicken tortilla soup. It was early in the morning before work, and Yvette had been teaching you how to master the crockpot. Hopefully, by the time you and Ben got home tonight, it would be ready and waiting for dinner.

Six months. You had to nag him about cabinets left open, dirty boots left right in front of the door to your shared apartment, and hell, actually going to his therapy sessions.

While that last one had taken months of convincing and cajoling, he’d caved when you suggested that acknowledging and dealing with what happened to him in Russia might help him control the nuclear power inside him. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t have to patch another hole in the ceiling.

Mind you, he wouldn’t actually talk to said therapist about anything related to his PTSD. But at least he was going. And the therapist was apparently getting an earful of Ben’s celebrity encounters, with all the explicit, gushy details.

However, even with all of this, it also sometimes felt like you were an in-house maid rather than a partner.

The latest reason for your frustration returned to you when Ben strolled into the kitchen in search of coffee. He wasn’t yet dressed for work in his supe suit; instead, still in the plain shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in.

He glanced at you, and seeming to sense your mood, he kept to himself as he found his usual mug and poured a cup of steaming French press in silence.

You took in a breath, trying to calm yourself. Maybe he’d had time to sleep on it. You closed the crockpot and went over to him. Your hand on his arm made him pause.

“Hey,” you said, “have you thought about what I asked you last night?”

Ben’s expression remained flat. “I think I already said my piece on that.”

You sighed.

“Why is dinner with my family such a hard thing for you?” you asked. Your brows furrowed. “My sister’s starting to warm up to you! And Mom just wants to get to know you. What’s the problem?”

Ben scoffed. “Your sister fucking hates me.”

You bit your lip. He wasn’t totally wrong, but in fairness, Louisa wasn’t happy to learn about why you’d nearly died in the hospital, when Vought Tower collapsed.

She thought you needed therapy for an egregious case of Stockholm Syndrome. But the more Ben worked with Supe Affairs, helping to clear the streets of out-of-control supes and cleaning up the remains of Vought, you were slowly getting Louisa to come around.

“She just needs time to get to know you too,” you said.

Ben wasn’t having it though. He rolled his eyes and tried to walk away from you with his coffee and a newspaper—aiming to get to his favorite lounge chair in the living room. It was the way he always started his morning, like the old man he was.

You followed him.

“Come on, one dinner won’t kill you,” you said. “And by the way, neither would moving your dirty-ass boots out of the doorway.”

You went over to grab said boots, and in your annoyance, you all but tossed them into the hall. Ben frowned at you, throwing down the newspaper onto the coffee table.

“Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.”

But God forbid another man even smile in your direction. Ben was possessive, protective, and claimed with all but words that you were his. And yet, he wouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was afraid of commitment, but you’d been living together for six damn months. Almost seven, if you counted the safe house.

When you found this nice, but cozy apartment in Scarsdale, you’d sat him down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, like the two of you used to in that house in Medellin.

And you established the ground rules before you two officially moved in together: 

First, an exclusive relationship meant exclusive. Meaning no fucking around. (He’d raised a brow at you.)

Second, you were his partner, not his slave. You expected him to carry his hefty weight, not only in the relationship, but around the house. (He’d most definitely rolled his eyes at that.)

And finally, don’t be an asshole, you’d decreed. “Be honest when you’re not feeling right about something. But don’t be a dick about it.” 

That cut both ways, of course, just like the other two rules. He’d agreed to all of these, albeit begrudgingly. You hadn’t really known then if he meant it.

And now, looking at him, you still had no idea if he was trying, or if he was just tired of being alone…and if you were just a convenient bedwarmer. You bit your lip once again, this time with a growing fear blooming anxiety in your chest.

“Do you even love me?” you asked.

Ben blinked down at you, and his lips pulled into a deep frown.

“Stop fucking around,” he said.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. Your crossed arms tightened, as if to protect yourself from what he might say. “You’ve never said it once.”

“And the fact that I agreed to live in this mediocre fucking apartment doesn’t mean anything?” he said, gesturing around him with a hand. “I take you out, I buy you shit. Matter of fact, I fucking spoil you.”

“And you take off whenever you feel like it, especially after missions,” you shot back. “Sometimes I don’t know where the hell you’ve gone for hours. For all I know, you’re out there doing blow with a caravan of strippers!”

While that did sound like a damn good time, that hadn’t been Ben’s M.O. in recent months. And in his mind, you should’ve known better.

“I haven’t fucked anyone but you since we moved in here,” he snapped.

Even longer than that, if he was honest. 

Meanwhile, you wanted to trust his words, desperately, but you just didn’t know if you could. 

“Even if I believe you, what’s the problem here?” you asked. Your gaze fell from his as you worried your bottom lip. “Am I doing something wrong?”

You didn’t see the way Ben’s brows knitted together, his eyes softening a bit.

“Other than annoying the hell out of me right now, no,” he replied. 

“Okay,” you nodded with a sigh. You looked up at him again. “Then just tell me the truth. What are we doing here?” 

“What the fuck do you mean?” Ben’s hands went to his waist, and once again, he frowned in irritation. “I’m here. What more do you want from me?” 

“Do you love me?” you asked. “And don’t lie to me.” 

He knew very well that you would be able to detect if he was lying. Which was why, you suspected, he hadn’t tried to. 

He couldn’t seem to answer you though…and that broke your heart.

Shaking your head, you walked away from him to get ready for work.

Your attitude at work was snappish at best. Annie had pulled you from the Surveillance department on your lunch break to join her and your friends in the breakroom, but you couldn’t enjoy yourself like you usually would.

“Smooth and creamy, all the motherfuckin’ way,” M.M. said. Sitting across from him in the breakroom was Frenchie, pelting him with a roasted peanut.

“This is why you are an unsophisticated, bourgeois, fucking fuddy-duddy,” Frenchie remarked. He was also vaping, as Annie was trying to get him to stop smoking indoors. “Extra crunchy peanut butter is the only way to do business.”

“What’s the point? Just eat peanuts if you want it that crunchy,” M.M. countered. He blocked each roasted nut thrown at him and organized them in a perfect pile on the table.

“You know what? You’re right. Smooth and creamy is how I’ll eat out your mother’s sweet and savory vajine,” Frenchie teased.

M.M.’s deadpan face was priceless. But when a peanut projectile strayed and hit you in the cheek, you leveled Frenchie with a glare.

“Can you guys not act like children for five goddamn minutes?” you snapped.

His brows raised, along with his hands in surrender. M.M. and Annie looked at you in mild surprise, and the latter with concern after the guys eventually left.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve looked tense as hell all day,” she asked. You sighed, holding a hand to your brow.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you replied. She gave you a knowing look.

“Is…something going on?” she asked. “Is it Ben?”

Most of the S.A. was still wary of Ben, while M.M. tolerated him at best. (You understood how hard he was trying.)

You appreciated Annie though. She was a good friend, and along with Hughie, she’d been another who started to come around to the idea of Ben. Not only as he occasionally worked with the S.A., but to the man himself, after she’d seen the way he did his best to save you, Yvette, and her son Devon.

You nodded at her question. You couldn’t help the tears burgeoning in your eyes. Annie scooched her chair over so she could rub your back in comfort. You sniffed and tried not to break down here in the middle of the breakroom, over your sad ham sandwich.

“We had a fight,” you admitted. Annie’s gaze was tight with concern.

“Did he…hurt you?” she asked. Her brown eyes were as direct as her words, promising her protection as well as retribution, depending on how you answered.

Your glassy eyes widened. “No. He’s not like that, he…believe it or not, but he’s never hurt me, Annie. Not once.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Okay, good. Well, tell me what happened.”

You wanted to. But before you could, both of you got an incoming text in the team group chat. It was from Grace Mallory.

She had a new mission.

Grace asked you to join the team on your first field mission since you’d returned to work three months ago. She also called in Ben, as in her words, it was another “all hands on fucking deck” situation.

Ben and Butcher eyed one another with similar stoic frowns, before they proceeded to ignore each other. Despite how you felt about Ben right now, the brief exchange almost made you smirk.

Apparently the whole I saved you with my super blood thing was awkward for both of them. You knew Ben had seen it as a means to an end. You still didn’t know how Butcher felt about it, but it seemed as if a begrudging respect had formed between the two men.

Or at least, they were civil, anyway.

“All right,” Grace said, once she saw that everyone was in attendance. “Let’s begin.”

A supe named Sapphire had been giving the CIA trouble for years now. She was moving drugs from South America to the States, to the Middle East, whoever would deal with her. And she was smart. She had a network of spies that transcended continents, and so she had evaded every attempt at arrest.

She was also a powerful supe, with the ability to channel vaporizing energy not unlike Crimson Countess had. However, this supe could spear blue shards of light through her enemies as well.  With her damn eyes.

Grace turned to you after she finished explaining the details of the mission.

“Sapphire’s internal security is advanced. Our system can’t penetrate her firewalls. You’ll need to get a hand on the mainframe from there, shut down her system. Then our Surveillance team can back you up here.”

You nodded, but in the corner of your eye, you noticed Ben frowning as he crossed his arms.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re out of practice,” he told you. “You really think you’re ready for this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I train every day,” you snapped back.

Ben’s expression fell into irritation. “Not the same, and you fucking know it.”

Butcher, Annie, and the others watched the exchange with mixed wariness and discomfort. Grace looked between you and Ben with curious, narrowed eyes.

“Is this going to be a problem, you two working together on this?” she asked.

You turned from Ben’s annoyed face and met Grace’s gaze directly.

“Not at all,” you said.

Sapphire had been spotted doing business in the Meat Packing District. By day, the building was a beef butchering factory. By night, it was apparently one of the most massive drug running operations in the city.

As such, her security team was extensive—at the front, the back, and the roof. So while Butcher, Kimiko, and Ben broke through the front, making a lot of noise and distraction, the rest of you went under.

Unfortunately, that meant the sewer. Annie lit the way through, while M.M. followed a set of schematics to find the right spot.

“It’s not my first time in the bowels of New York City, but please God, let it be the last,” Hughie quipped. You tried not to breathe the foul smell through your nose.

“Watch the fucking rat,” M.M. said with a grimace, before he set up the double-sided ladder he brought. He and Frenchie climbed either side of it up to the metal ceiling which, according to the building’s schematics, led directly beneath the factory basement.

They took up welding guns and masks to carve a large hole into the metal and cement above. And soon enough, they pushed up and slid over a large portion, creating a gap you could all crawl through. 

M.M. helped Annie up first, and she shot a few star bolts at the three men inside, who had been smoking and eating deli sandwiches. Each of them went down, alive, but groaning in pain. That allowed the rest of you to climb up and into the basement.

“We’re in,” M.M. said into the Bluetooth communicator in his ear.

“We’re cutting through her goon squad,” Butcher said. “Sapphire’s here somewhere. I can smell a massive cunt already.”

“Gross. Thanks for that visual,” Annie remarked.

From there, you all took off toward the stairwell. It was your task to find the operation’s security control room. So Hughie and Frenchie went with you as backup, while M.M. and Annie went to join the fight and find Sapphire.

It took you a few tries to find the right room. Most of them were offices. One contained wagons of discarded meat parts (disgusting). But eventually, you found a large room filled with computer equipment and a huge wall monitor with several panels of camera feeds. You and Frenchie raised your guns and took out the team inside.

Then you and Hughie went to the controls. Frenchie watched the door while you worked to disable the firewall first. You instructed Hughie on how to knock out their communications as well. And within a few minutes, your work was done. You were able to make a call to the S.A. Surveillance team.

“Hey, friend!” a cheerful voice greeted you. You smiled; it was your coworker Jess, who you’d worked with for the past two years. 

“Jess?”

“Yep! I’m helping out on this one. What do you need?”

“I shut down the firewall. I’m giving you the I.P. address now so you can connect.”

“…Okay, got it. I’m in. I can see all twenty cameras, and you! Hey, there.”

“All right, where’s Sapphire?” you asked.

“Looks like they haven’t found her yet,” Hughie said, pointing at the camera feed in the main room, filled with rows of conveyor belts, and a massive fight as Ben, Butcher, and the others made their way through the building.

“We’ll just have to help them clear each room,” you said. “Let’s go. Jess, keep an eye on us, but look out for Sapphire.”

“Will do. I’m patched into your comm now too,” she said. So you hung up your cell, and you left with Hughie and Frenchie.

You ran into more security when you left the room, more than the three of you could realistically handle as a fire fight began. You guys ran in the opposite direction, but while you veered right around the corner, Frenchie and Hughie ran left. Bullets tore in between, making sure that none of you could cross the hall to join back up.

“You guys keep going. I’ll find my own way out,” you called out to them. Neither of them liked that idea, but Frenchie nodded and pulled Hughie away when Sapphire’s security team closed in.

You kept running down the hall. You knew you were being chased. Several heavy footsteps thundered behind you. 

“Jess, I need a way out of here,” you commed in.

“You’re on the second floor,” she said. “The closest stairwell is the one you’re running away from.”

“What’s the second closest?” You panted as you ran.

“Hmm, you can cut through room 234. The exit stairwell is right on the other side.”

 “Is the room clear?” you asked.

After a moment, Jess answered. “Yep, it should be.”

"Should be?”you said dubiously.

“What the hell’s going on?” you heard Ben’s voice on the line. You heard the edge of his annoyance (and underlying worry), but you didn’t have time to talk to him right now.

“Looks clear on my end,” said Jess,“but this connection is a bit wonky.”

Damn it, Jess, you thought. When you reached room 234, the door was solid gray. There was no window to peek into, and you didn’t have time for caution, as a stray bullet nearly caught you in the head.

You ripped the door open and ran in, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it for good measure.

You turned around and stopped short. A gasp caught in your throat.

The room was huge, and it was filled wall-to-wall with white packages, of what you could only assume was cocaine. A few men were continuing to stack them. At the center of it all was a tall woman, rich tan skin, long black hair, wearing a deep blue pantsuit and killer heels. She looked like a boss ass bitch.

But unfortunately, she was also looking straight at you, raising a brow.

“Ah,” she said. A smile curved her lips, painted with a dark plum lipstick. “You’re one of the little bitches making a mess in my office.” 

Her eyes glowed blue, and yours widened. You dove for the nearest shelter—a wall of cocaine parcels. White powder exploded and wafted in the air as you ducked and ran across the room (and tried not to inhale). You drew your gun and shot out the legs of her men underneath the long stretch of table, but you yelped as bullets continued to follow you.

“I found Sapphire! Need backup in 234!” you shouted into the comm.

But when a blast of blue energy rocked into the wall directly behind you, you screamed as you were thrown forward. You landed painfully on your side, with the wind knocked out of you.

After a moment, you drew breath into your lungs and were able to pick yourself up. The exit door was close, a mere few feet away, but the second you reached for it, you had to pull back as narrow blue shards of light pierced the door. 

Sapphire was quickly approaching, just a yard or so away from grabbing you.

Instead of shooting your gun, you went for the taser at your belt and shot fast. Sapphire grabbed the end of the line like a fucking moron. Her blue eyes widened in outrage and pain when it shocked 50,000 volts of electricity through her body.

You took your chance, and you ripped the door open and fled. You just didn’t expect the bolt of energy that shot after you when you reached the stairs.

It didn’t hit you, but trying to dodge it made you lose your balance. You uttered a short scream as you were forced to jump the first flight of stairs.

You landed on the middle platform between the first and second floor. This time, you knew you twisted your ankle badly on the way down. You whimpered, holding your ankle and shin, but you knew you didn’t have time to waste.

It was a struggle to claw your way up to the guard rail. You could barely put pressure on your right foot, but you had no choice as you scrambled down the rest of the stairs. Already the door to the stairwell was blown open, and a pissed supe was on her way down behind you.

After shoving the door open on the first floor, you stumbled out and took another painful spill across the concrete floor. To your relief, M.M. picked you up by your arms.

The door behind you swung open, and before Sapphire could fire off a vaporizing blow, Ben raised his new titanium shield in front of you and M.M.

The blue energy bounced right off, and Ben used his shield to bat the supe right in the face—like swatting a fly. With a shriek, she was thrown hard against the wall.

Sapphire sunk to her knees, then the electric blue flickered out of her eyes as she fell unconscious to the floor.

When you all returned to Supe Affairs, Ben thundered down the hall towards the Surveillance department.

“Ben!” You hurried after him the best you could with a sprained ankle, bare-footed and wrapped, while M.M. and Hughie trailed behind. The others were busy getting Sapphire into custody.

Hughie was concerned for you though, while M.M. also wanted to know how you were going to try and reign in Soldier Boy.

“What the hell are you doing?” you called after Ben.

“I wanna know what goddamn moron cleared that fucking room,” he barked, but he didn’t slow down.

M.M. called your name from behind.

“Get your boyfriend in check,” he warned.

You sighed in irritation. At this point, you didn’t even know if he was your boyfriend.

But you struggled to reach him. You were practically hopping on one foot. The moment you tried to put any pressure on your right one, you faltered with a cry as you all but crashed against the wall to catch yourself. Hughie went to help you, grabbing your arm gently with a supportive hand on your back.

You didn’t see it, but that was when Ben stopped short. His jaw ticked. And he turned on his booted heel. When he saw you struggling to support yourself against the wall, he reluctantly went back. He knocked Hughie’s scrawny hands off you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

When he tried to just gather you into his arms to get the weight off your injured foot, you snapped at him.

“I can walk!” you said. “Let’s just go home please.”

His nostrils flared in irritation, but he helped you try to walk back toward the exit instead. You winced in pain with every small step.

Ben growled in annoyance. Fuck this. 

He hefted you effortlessly into his arms. You gasped and clung to his shoulders, and afterwards, you glared at him.

“I said I can walk!” you insisted.

“Shut up,” he grated out, swiftly heading for the exit doors down the hall. M.M. and Hughie watched with wide eyes while you and Ben devolved into what you did best.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you raised your voice.

He glared at you. “You’re in rare fucking form right now.”

“You’re the one being an asshole!”

“And you’re being a disrespectful brat!”

You rolled your eyes as anger burned hot in your veins. “What-fucking-ever, grandpa.”

Ben’s teeth clicked and grinded together. It took everything he had within him not to toss you. 

“You really wanna fucking get it, don’t you?”

“Suck my dick. How about that?” you sassed back, unfazed by his warning. 

Ben bulldozed through the double doors with a swift kick that shook them on their hinges. The bickering continued long after you two exited the building. 

Hughie just stared, mouth gaping, while M.M. crossed his arms. 

“That is some volatile shit,” Hughie remarked. 

M.M. scoffed, with a subtle shake of his head. 

“Nah, man,” he said ruefully. “That’s true motherfuckin’ love.”

Meanwhile, in the car, Ben drove home to Scarsdale. You simmered in the passenger seat. He glanced at you.

“Are you gonna be a hissy bitch all night?” he asked. You glowered at him.

“You’re the fucking grouch,” you shot back. In times like these, you liked to fantasize. Sometimes you wished you could rip out his spine and play Jenga with the vertebrae.  

“And you’re the one who nearly got yourself killed,” he retorted.

You took issue with this, your brows raising high.

“Excuse me? You’re really blaming me for what happened with Sapphire? You were ready to take out my friend for making an honest mistake.”

His gaze briefly left the road, turning to you in frustration. He didn't understand how you couldn't get it through your thick skull. You had been one shaky step shy of being fucking vaporized today.

No blood. No body. Just...nothing.

“Case in point, you’re the best in Surveillance," he said gruffly. "You don’t need to be in the field."

His compliment stopped you, warming you a little, but he was missing the point.

“I go where I’m needed, just like you,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me how, when, or where to do my job.”

Needless to say, it was tense for the rest of the way home.

Ben helped you inside, after which, you were determined to get to the bedroom by yourself. He watched you hop away from him with a frustrated shake of his head.

He sighed and started to peel off his gloves and untie his boots…but instead of leaving them by the door, like he usually would, he kept walking until he made it to the bedroom he shared with you. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off there.

He watched you ignore him as you closed yourself into the bathroom.

You came out of the shower a little while later. Your hair was damp, but unwashed as you hadn’t been able to stand there for very long. The wrap on your ankle had gotten wet, so you grabbed the spare one that the paramedic had given you.

Ben didn’t look at you as he took his turn heading into the bathroom. After the door shut, your shoulders slumped with a sigh.

You tried to put on some shorts, but you quickly gave up and instead put on an overlarge shirt over your underwear. You remembered then that this shirt was an old one of Ben’s, and now a favorite of yours, because it still smelled like that earthy mix of his cologne and aftershave.

Frowning, you sucked in a deep breath. And you made a decision.

By the time Ben came back out with a towel wrapped around his hips, he found you still in the bedroom. Except you were packing a suitcase—the same one he’d brought to the safe house he’d shared with you for a month.

You were stuffing clothes into it from your side of the dresser. Something churned uncomfortably in his stomach, and he approached you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded to know.

You glanced up at him, but continued packing.

“Well, you made yourself very clear this morning that we’re just roommates. So I’m going to the guest room.”

“All right, don’t get all fucking hormonal,” he said, reaching out with a hand to stop you. You snatched your hand away from him. His brows raised in disbelief.

When you tried to get past him on the way to your closet, he held fast to your arm. With an angry frown, he then grabbed your suitcase and spilled it over onto the bed. You didn’t need a fucking suitcase to move one room over. Not that he planned to let you go any-damn-where.

“Enough,” he said sharply.

You met his intense stare with your own, but your eyes were shining and red. In that moment, you both stilled. The silence was palpable. For you, it was heartbreaking.

“I can’t do this anymore, Ben,” you confessed. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall just yet. “I put my all into this, and I just…I can’t be with someone who won’t be honest with me.”

You started to grab your suitcase again, along with your discarded clothes. Ben stopped you. 

“I said enough,” he snapped. 

You then threw the heap of clothes to the floor, suitcase and all.

“Why?” you tearfully retorted. “Why should I listen to you?” 

His deep green eyes searched yours. For what, you didn’t know.

Eventually, you started to see through the cracks of his anger.

“Because I fucking love you,” he said. 

You blinked up at him, with hope stuck in your throat. But you were stubborn in your denial.

“You’re just saying that to get me off your back,” you argued. “Either you’ve just gotten used to having me around, or you just don’t feel like being alone. But you don’t really care about me.”

You knew you were saying words you didn’t mean.

You knew that wasn’t true…but you couldn’t help it.

You were more upset than angry now, seconds away from dissolving into pitiful tears. You were just stubborn enough to hold them at bay.

“Just shut up for one goddamn second,” Ben said. He held you by your shoulders, though his hands soon moved down to grip your arms. It wasn’t a painful hold, but it was firm, and quite possibly pleading.

Despite your better judgment, you gave him time to speak.

“You really think I’d stay here in this shithole if I didn’t want you?” he asked. “If I didn’t care about you?”

You unconsciously held your breath. For a long moment, he hesitated to continue.

Again, you waited for him.

Meanwhile, Ben knew he was being a coward. He’d been holding back. Not because he wasn’t serious about you, but because he’d been burned before. 

He knew he’d spent his life being a fucking bastard, in most ways. He knew he’d been wrong, and hadn’t given two shits about it. But Crimson Countess…Tess…he’d been willing to settle down with her. He’d actually told her he loved her and hadn’t been totally lying through his teeth. 

Yeah, he’d fucked around. Flirted with other women in front of her. He knew he was a hypocrite. Still, in whatever way he could at the time, he thought he’d loved her. 

And she’d lied to him. She’d gone through the motions of being with him. For fame or fear or whatever her reasons had been, she went along with it. And then she’d sold him out, along with the rest of their team. 

For nothing. Just to get him the fuck out of her life—out of the world. 

So what was he supposed to do with you? Just let you walk the fuck in, give you the deepest parts of him? A dark fucking space that he’d never given to anyone.

Well, he knew now if he didn’t, you were going to leave. But he wasn’t willing to let go either.

So…he relented. For once in his life, he told the truth.

“I love you,” Ben admitted. “In my whole damn life…I think you’re the only one who’s made me feel it for real.” 

Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. You reached out and grasped his wrist, mostly for stability as you took in his words. He took that hand, held it to his warm chest. Always warm. 

“But one day, I’m still going to fucking lose you,” he said, looking down on you. “Then I’ll be right back where I started.”

Alone. 

You looked up at him with a sad, rueful smile. 

“Not exactly where you started,” you replied. He wasn’t the same man you met last year. You pressed your free hand to his cheek.

“Taking Compound V doesn’t guarantee I’ll come out like you, with a longer lifespan.”

“It’s something the CIA can work on,” Ben said. 

“You want Dr. Baker to experiment on me?” you asked, quirking a brow. The CIA had recruited her, ironically enough.

Ben closed his eyes for a second, letting out a slight huff. “That’s not what I’m fucking saying.”

You nodded and soothed your fingers through his hair. 

“Okay, we’ll have that conversation. I promise.” Then you smiled. “But let me just have this moment…my boyfriend loves me.”

You looked into his eyes and you knew he meant it. His hands moved to your waist, around to the small of your back. You clung to his shoulders and shifted off your aching ankle with a wince. Ben noticed, and he raised you up to him. It had the added benefit of letting you reach his face easier.

He guided you into a searing kiss. You responded in kind, delving into his hair again and opening your mouth to his demanding tongue. With the tips of your toes, you pushed up from the ground and he helped you wrap your legs around his waist.

The towel he wore was starting to slip, and you shoved it the rest of the way off with your foot, until he stood in the center of the bedroom in all his glory. 

He smirked into your lips and walked you to the bed. But before he could lay you down, you broke the kiss and held his face.

“You really love me?” you asked, just to make sure. It was the part of you, perhaps still scarred deep down, that had to ask.

Ben chuckled. He rested his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You grinned, and you kissed him this time, only breaking when he lowered down to the bed. Once your back met the plush mattress, all bets were off. He wrenched your shirt up over your head, and you reached for him again.

Your lips drew a hot, wet path from his jawline to his neck, biting and sucking all along the way to that sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. His hand clenched in your hair, a deep sound caught in his throat when he felt the sharp sting of your teeth, playfully biting, then soothing with your tongue.

Your nails bit into his skin, but merely felt like teasing down his back, making a shiver trill along his spine. He all but pressed you into the mattress as he made his own descent.

Your fingers trailed up and into his hair while his mouth worked its way down between your breasts, stopping to lavish attention on each one. You made sounds of pleasure when he took a hardened nipple between his lips, between his teeth, dragging deliciously over your skin.

Your thighs wrapped around his hips again, He bucked teasingly into your clothed core, making you moan when you felt his wet tip dampening your panties.

“Ben…”

His lips curved, but he didn’t answer you. His fingers were pressing into the flesh of your thigh as he continued to tease your breasts. You’d felt how hard he was already and frankly, you were surprised he was taking his time.

“Listen,” you panted in his ear. “You’ve gotta wrap it up this time. Do we even have condoms?”

You knew for a fact that Ben didn’t buy them. 

But his brows furrowed. His mouth left your breast as he looked up at you.

“What?”

“I haven’t replaced my IUD yet,” you confessed. Its five-year lifespan had been up, and so you’d gotten the birth control device removed a few days ago.

Now, you watched in amusement at the way his lips curved into a pleased grin.

“No, don’t you even think about it,” you warned. Though you almost laughed at how excited he looked. “We’re not ready for that.”

“Why fucking not?” Ben asked. His pressed his length against your core more insistently. The idea of fucking you raw, spilling into you, putting his seed deep inside you without resistance, had his cock throbbing with anticipation.

“Ben!” You had to laugh. You two hadn’t even been living together that long, and you had just gotten on the same page after six months of trying to figure out what you were together.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want kids,” he said. And he began to ply you with tantalizing kisses along the column of your throat, down your neck, the scraping of teeth making you shudder in delight.

“I do,” you could admit. “But is right now really the best ti—”

He choked a moan out of you as his fingers pushed your underwear aside and spread your folds, then delved right in. Your core pulsed, hot and wet as his thick digits sunk deep inside you.

“God,” you uttered, gripping his hair tight. He stretched and explored your inner channel with two fingers, while his thumb found your clit with ease.

“When then?” he asked. But his hand was unrelenting, working you over until your toes curled and the coil in your lower belly began to tighten. You looked up at him helplessly.   

“Can we talk about this later?” you keened. Ben smirked and suddenly withdrew his fingers from your dripping pussy. He snatched your underwear, ripping them down the middle and making you gasp.

“No time like the fucking present,” he insisted. He lined himself up to your entrance, but you stopped him with a warning look. You knew if you let him inside you now, he was going to try and get his way.

“Ben,” you warned.

He sighed and let you stop him, but then his teasing edge faded.

Ben pressed a hand to your cheek. When he leaned down to kiss you, you felt the need and wanting behind it. 

He pulled away to meet your eyes. You softened looking up into his, because you understood what he wanted.

“We have time, baby,” you promised, stroking his chin. “We’ll have a family…just give us some time.”

He was disappointed…but he nodded. Sighing again through his nose, he clenched a hand into the now tangled mess of your hair.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re fucking mine.”

Your eyes widened. In all of this, you’d forgotten to be honest yourself. 

“Of course I’m yours,” you said. “I love you, Ben. So much, I can hardly take it.” 

He closed his eyes with furrowed brows. It had been a very long time since he’d heard those words. Maybe the first time someone had said them with any real sincerity, besides his mother. 

You encouraged him to look at you, both with your voice and your hand gently touching his face. And when he opened his eyes, you marveled at the depths there. 

Smiling, you guided him back to your lips. It was slow and sweet…until it wasn’t, deepening in passion and urgency again. Need burned inside you, so deep and strong that you couldn't take it anymore.

You slipped a hand between you to grasp his still hard cock. You caressed him a few times, letting your thumb circle around the sensitive head. Ben couldn’t help thrusting into your hand, releasing a grunt. His eyes briefly closed again as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck, down his chest.

“I need you,” you whispered against his skin. Ben nodded while you held his length poised at your entrance. He raised your hips, tucking your ankles over shoulders. For your injured one, he rubbed your calf.

“What a fuckin’ trooper,” he said with a smirk.

You smiled, but it soon fell into a moan as he began to push inside you. Every time, he stretched and filled you completely. Your inner walls wrapped around him and already fluttered with heat.

“Fuck, baby doll. Got me tight as a damn glove,” Ben remarked. You had to giggle, but that just squeezed him harder. When he began to move, it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders.

As basic as the position was, you liked being able to see his face. You knew when to spur him on, and when to just hold on for dear fucking life. But above all, he was a skilled man, and you enjoyed watching him work.

You were so consumed by it that when he came, it took both of you by surprise. He spilled into you hot and deep, but he still filled you with ragged thrusts, which hit that special place inside that made your entire body shudder with pleasure. You couldn’t help but come apart with him.

Your nails bit fruitlessly into his skin as your voice rose on a high moan. The two of you panted for breath, and he pulled out and let down your legs back to the bed. Once you felt the telltale dripping of his release slipping down from between your legs, your eyes widened. 

Oh shit, you thought. “We forgot the condom.”

Ben stared down at you, first in confusion, then in surprise. And finally, with a broad, Cheshire-like grin.

You laid a hand over your eyes as you relaxed into the pillow behind your head, trying not to laugh.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said.

“We? I was following your lead,” Ben said. He moved to lay beside you in full satisfaction, folding his hands over his chest. He looked like the cat that caught the horny-ass canary.

"Haven't you heard of, oh, I don't know, pulling out?" you quipped. Ben rose a brow at you, still with that smug look on his face.

"Not my philosophy, sweetheart," he said.

Your mouth dropped open incredulously. Your gaze narrowed, but looking into his gleaming eyes, you really just had to laugh. His smile grew.

Ugh. Whatever, you thought. For now, you closed your legs and moved over to rest your head on his shoulder. He welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

What’re the chances that I’m ovulating anyway? you thought.

After a beat, you huffed another laugh. With your luck, you’d definitely have to stop at a drugstore for a pregnancy test.

And yet, in times like these, you were happy that you caved when Ben insisted on installing a TV in the bedroom. After you both got cleaned up, it was nice to fall into bed like you used to and find something new to watch together.

There were so many things you wanted him to catch up on, and he was generally game for whatever you thought he might like.

Three episodes of The Office later though, you stopped laughing so much and fell into your thoughts. Ben noticed, tugging on a loose strand of your hair.

“What’s the matter?”

“You really think our apartment is a shithole?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I might’ve embellished.”

“Seriously. If you’re not comfortable here—”

“I’m comfortable,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “Why’re you asking me that now?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I just want you to be happy here. I want this to feel like home for both of us, but not like, boring either.” 

He smirked. “Hence the caravan of whores and blow.” 

You shook your head with a laugh. But he still saw you trying to stem off that worry. That all this wasn’t enough for him. 

Well, Ben could complain about being cramped in this three-bedroom apartment…but he knew that when he came home, he wouldn’t be alone. 

He’d be able to see your stuff on the nightstand, by your side of the bed, your half of the closet, your sweet-smelling soaps and lotions in the bathroom. All of that was familiar to him now. 

It was home, he supposed. And so were you.

The beginnings of a softer smile curved his lips, but he edged it into a smirk.  

“You’ve got something they don’t,” he said. 

“What’s that?” you asked, raising a brow. 

“You try the ever-living fuck out of my patience,” he said, “unlike anyone on the planet.” 

With a giggle, you rolled over onto his arm and chest, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Buuut…?” 

He conceded with a nod, if also a roll of his eyes. His arm lifted to once again slip around your waist.

“But no matter how fucked up it got, you stayed.”

With me, his tone implied.

“That’s more than anyone else in my goddamn life,” he said.

And that made you tear up all over again.

“So you’re staying,” you clarified, only half-teasing.

It reminded you of when you’d sat tied to a chair, wondering why the hell Soldier Boy would want to let you live. You could’ve never known it then, but you’d stared straight into the face of your future.

You didn’t know if Ben was remembering the same thing, but he smiled a little, brushing away your tears with his thumb.

“I’m staying,” he replied. Your smile brightened, and you leaned up for a kiss.

“Then we’re square,” you whispered against his lips. 

He chuckled and deepened the kiss. He turned off the TV, chucking the remote further down the bed and turned to trap you beneath him again.

“Nope.” You finished wiping your eyes and pushed against his chest. “You’re not finessing me twice. Go find a damn condom.”

He gave you a grumpy look. “Fucking killjoy.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed. You reached up and took his face in your hands.

“I promised, didn’t I?” you reminded. “We’ll get there.”

His gaze searched yours.

“Soon, not someday,” he said. You nodded, soothing your thumb across his cheek.

“Soon,” you agreed. And you reminded him, even as your throat constricted once more with emotion. “Ben, I love you…God, I love you. And I’ve never wanted this with anyone but you.”

Ben paused, but after a moment, he nodded in acceptance. You were grateful for it. Even though you weren’t quite ready yet, he wasn’t the only one who wanted a family.

While your fractured past and upbringing made it hard for you to move past your fears, your insecurities, you knew that this man made you feel safe.

For the first time in your life, you also felt whole.

Soon enough, you’d be brave too.

AN: That's all, folks. Been a great ride...

Ha! Just kidding. I'm nowhere near done with these two, even with this long-ass epilogue lol.

But honestly, no matter what part of the journey you jumped into with this story, thank you so much for sticking with me until the end. It's truly been one of my favorite stories ever to write. And I'm so glad I got the chance to share it with you. 🥹💚🥹

Next Time:

Ready for Part 2 (of 3) of "Love Actually"?

(AKA: Ben is forced to attend Christmas dinner to meet his girlfriend's whole family.)

Here's a sneak peek:

“Hey. What’s taking so damn long?” he asked. His brows were furrowed, mouth set in an aggravated frown. “I already told you. I’m not planning on being at this thing all night. So if you don’t come down here in the next ten minutes, I swear to fucking Christ—” 

Ben stopped short, as he heard your footsteps at the top of the stairs. When he looked up with expectant, pursed lips, his face subtly froze. 

“What? What’re you gonna do?” you teased. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you grasped the guardrail and carefully made your way down the stairs. These heels were no joke...

😂 Until then, let me know what you thought of the BMD finale! 💚💚

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[tkwrites]

Sarah Meets the Parents - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photo from Pinterest. Did I crop the brothers out of this photo because I couldn't find any of Quinn with just his parents? Yes, yes I did.

Title: Sarah Meets the Parents

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (OFC) 

Warnings: None? If I should add any, please let me know. 

Summary: As Requested, Sarah meets Ellen and Jim.

Word Count: 5,300

Comments: This fic has been in the back of my mind for so long. I originally didn’t intend for it to be it’s own Snapshot, but it was heavily requested, so here it is. I hope you enjoy! 

fallinallincurls asked: i LOVED your latest quinn & sarah fic and was curious if we’ll get to see sarah meet jack & luke/his parents?? I already know i’d absolutely love that fic so much omg

dasiysthings asked: I seriously hope you’re planning a chapter/s on Sarah meeting Ellen, Jim, Luke and Jack! Because the new one meeting Brady is simply the cutest 🥰

Sarah Meets the Parents

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

There weren't many things Ellen could say she knew for certain, but she did know her eldest son had never been in love. 

In high school, he thought he'd been in love as much as a teenager can without the maturity or full understanding of the concept. When he got to college, he dated, but every girl they met seemed to be in his life for convenience more than because of any kind of real chemistry. Then there was the mess with June. He'd been so in lust with her that he overlooked and defended all her actions to his own detriment. 

Quinn had been what he thought was head over heels about her. Each time Ellen tried to bring up any concerns, he bulldozed over her worry, explaining away every bad thing June said or did. The only thing he seemed to hear when Ellen brought it up was the, “I like her,” part of the conversation, while brushing aside the follow up, “but I'm worried.”

When they met her, Quinn had been nervous, almost as if he was bracing for the worst. It was a strange thing to hear him talk about how much he liked her, while at the same time acting a bit scared of how she would react to things. 

It was terrible to watch him get into that relationship, calling it love when it clearly wasn’t - at least not on June's part - and then after it finally fell apart, having to dig his way out again. 

Over the past few months, she'd noticed a change in Quinn.

He called to ask her about supporting someone in grief, but didn’t tell her anything other than he was going out with someone who had lost a parent. 

Since then, he’d talk about this girl - this woman - named Sarah every time they were on the phone. She naturally dropped into their conversations about what he’d been doing. After a month, she’d asked him, “Are you dating her?” 

“Yeah,” he’d admitted as his cheeks went ruddy over the facetime video, “I really like her.” 

Quinn often blushed - that pale skin of his didn’t hide much - but she’d never seen him blush over a girl quite like this. He seemed almost bashful. 

He told her how Sarah was in grad school, and how they got along so well. He didn’t always give details, but she could see that he was happy and more settled than she'd seen him in a long time. 

When Luke had called to ask her if she knew he had a girlfriend, the only thing that shocked her was that he was using that term before telling her about it. Even more so that he hadn’t told his brothers about her at all. 

When she found out the title “girlfriend” had come from Brady and not from Quinn himself, and they talked about his reasoning for holding back from his brothers, it made much more sense. 

Coming to Vancouver this time, she wasn’t sure if this certainty would continue to hold true or not. 

On the surface, she and Jimmy were coming in to visit Quinn and hopefully see the Canucks clinch into their first playoff berth since 2020. Their first real playoff berth since the mid 2000s. Even with all that excitement, they also wanted to meet this woman Brady liked well enough to jump straight into calling Quinn's girlfriend. 

Knowing things in his life had changed didn't prepare her for the shift she saw in Quinn when he picked them up from the airport. 

He hopped out of the car and hugged her tightly. “I'm so glad you're here,” he said before hugging Jim and helping him load the bags.

This was the same song and dance he did every time they came to visit, but this time, Quinn had a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step she'd never seen before. He was even humming on the drive to his condo, despite the city traffic. 

They were already in different territory than they’d been with June. Quinn was a little nervous now. She could see it in the tap of his fingers on the steering wheel and the way his left knee bounced, but it wasn't that same kind of bracing nervousness it had been with June. This seemed more like the jittery nerves he used to get before a big game when he was younger. He seemed hopeful. 

They talked about their flight and things back home in Michigan. 

“Are we still meeting Sarah?” Jim asked. He had a way of cutting straight to the heart of a conversation. It was a skill Ellen had appreciated all their life together.  

“Yeah, she's at my place,” Quinn said with this goofy little smile she didn’t see on him very often. “She was making dessert when I left.” 

More than just to appease her maternal anxiety, Ellen was so interested to meet this woman who had turned her intense, hockey obsessed little boy into such a love boat. 

“I think you're really going to like her,” he was saying. 

If she made Quinn this happy, Ellen had no doubt she would. 

Glancing at Jimmy in the back seat, she found him watching Quinn with a quiet intensity. When he noticed her gaze, he turned a reassuring smile on her. 

When the door to Quinn’s apartment opened, Sarah took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. This was an exciting and joyous occasion. It was also nerve wracking, sad and a little bit painful, and it was okay to hold all those things at once. She imagined welcoming each emotion into her heart and mind like Jenny, her therapist, had taught her. It was better to feel them than to stuff them down. 

Treat them as visitors, she reminded herself, no emotion lasts forever.

“I’ll go get her,” she heard Quinn say.

The excitement shining in his face when Quinn came into the kitchen made her smile.

He gathered her into a quick, tight hug, “you ready?” 

She tucked her face into his neck for a moment, holding him a little longer to fortify herself. 

“Okay, I'm ready,” she took a step back, “I don't have anything in my teeth, do I?” 

“No, you're good.”

Taking her hand, he led her into the living room where his parents were waiting, standing in front of the couch.

“Sarah,” Quinn said, finding himself less nervous than he expected, “these are my parents, Ellen and Jim. Mom, dad, this is Sarah.” 

The first thing she thought was how Quinn had pieces of both his parents: Jim’s wide smile and thick chest, and Ellen's bone structure. 

Ellen was lithe and strong - shaped like a woman who was an athlete all her life, even as an empty nester. Jim looked like a jovial dad - like most of her friends' fathers, like her own too - who played sports when they were younger, but were a bit more relaxed in their later years.

To Ellen, Sarah looked like the kind of girl she always hoped her boys would end up with. She had a kind smile and hopeful, smart eyes.

Quinn was obviously in love with her. He was practically glowing with it. He looked at her like she was the best, brightest thing in the room - like he’d never get bored of seeing her face. She’d never seen him look so lovestruck before. She didn’t know he even could.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Sarah said, extending her hand, “Quinn talks about you all the time.” 

Jim took her hand in both of his and gave her a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

Ellen bypassed her hand, and went in for a quick hug.

Quinn watched as the surprise on Sarah’s face melted into a smile as they embraced. 

Feeling the nervous energy radiating off of Sarah, Ellen tried to put her more at ease. “You're so much prettier than Quinn let on,” she said as she stepped back. They’d seen pictures of her - well one picture of her. The selfie Quinn had shared with his brothers. The photo didn’t capture how blue her eyes actually were or show any of her curvy figure. 

“Oh, thank you,” she said, a flush glowing on her cheeks.

The conversation lulled and Quinn jumped in. “Well, dinner’s ready if you’re hungry,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder, “or we can relax for a while before we eat.” 

“I’m famished,” Jim said, holding a hand to his stomach. 

“Then let's eat.” 

As they settled around the table, Ellen took note of the way Sarah helped Quinn bring out dishes before finally settling into the seat on his left. 

“So, Sarah,” Jim said once they'd all dished up, “Quinn tells us you golf.” 

She swallowed quickly, nodding. “Yeah, my dad taught all of us when we were young. We went every Sunday as a family until I left for college.” 

“I bet you’re pretty good then.” 

“I’m decent,” she said with a shrug. 

Quinn rolled his eyes. “She shot the lights out and beat us all last weekend. Petey included.” 

She gave a smile to her dinner plate, but didn’t deny it or try to placate Quinn’s feelings. Ellen instantly liked that about her. 

“What does your dad do?” 

“Ma,” Quinn cut in, an exasperated look on his face. 

Sarah lay a hand over his, “it’s fine.” Looking back to Ellen, she said, “my dad was an aerospace engineer, but he passed away four years ago.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “I forgot Quinn told us.”

“Thank you, but it’s really fine. I don’t expect everyone to remember - it’s just part of life.” 

While Sarah took the faux pa with grace, Quinn was a little embarrassed his mom didn’t remember.

“And you’re getting your PhD?” Jim asked. 

“I’m not quite to that level,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Just my masters. You really only need a doctorate if you want to teach and that's not really something I'm interested in.” 

“In Marine Biology?” 

“Zoology,” she corrected, “they’re similar fields, but we focus solely on the animal kingdom rather than ocean life as a whole.” 

“I bet that’s fascinating,” Ellen said. 

“I think it is, but I’ve always loved the ocean.” 

“So what will you do with that degree?” 

“Mostly work in aquariums, but there’s some work in conservation, which I feel really passionately about, so I’d prefer that.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “Ellen, Quinn told me you're working with the national women's hockey team, that must be really cool.”

Ellen had come into this dinner thinking she would have to drive the conversion like she had with most of the girls her boys dated. It was a refreshing change of pace to find Sarah willing to do part of the work.

“Yeah. It's nice to step into that coaching role formally for the first time. It's really amazing to see how far the sport has come for women.”

“Oh, I bet,” Sarah said. “I started following the new women's league after I met Quinn and it's cool to see them play on such a big stage.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I hardly knew anything about hockey when we met. So I started reading articles, and I subscribed to The Athletic, and I know a little more now. It's a whole world I'm still trying to figure out.”

The dedication that showed was impressive. 

“You'd never watched hockey before?” Jim asked.

“I mean, I'm sure my dad had it on during the Olympics, but I never paid that much attention to it.”

“Remind me where you're from?”

“Nevada.”

“I bet there weren't many opportunities for you to see hockey when you were a kid.”

“No,” she laughed. 

When dinner wound down, Sarah got up to clear the table. 

“You don’t need to do that,” Ellen said. “You helped with the meal.”

“You all haven’t seen each other in so long. I’ll take care of the dishes while you catch up,” she said, reaching under Jims protesting arm to lift his plate. 

Ellen smiled gratefully at her and tried to think if any of her boys had dated such thoughtful women before. 

Glad for a moment alone to gather her thoughts and emotions, Sarah loaded the dishwasher before finishing the tart. 

Surprisingly, the sadness she'd expected to feel never came. At least, not as strongly as she'd braced for. It seemed the build up and worry were worse. Instead, nerves sparked and fizzed in her stomach.

Before he'd left for the airport, Quinn had reassured her she didn’t have anything to worry about. While Ellen seemed especially friendly, she had a harder time reading Jim, who seemed to hold his cards closer to his chest.

At the very least, it was going better than when she met her college boyfriend's parents, who outright told her she was too good for their son while he sat across the dinner table. To this day, it was the most backhanded compliment she’d ever been given. It told her so much about his home life and explained the snide remarks he would make when she made a mistake or did something differently than he expected. She’d ended the relationship shortly thereafter.

As she arranged the raspberries, she hoped Ellen and Jim actually liked her, and weren’t just putting on a show to her face. 

“I like her, Quinny,” his mom said when he asked what they thought. 

He beamed. 

“I can tell she’s very driven.” 

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “I like that about her.” 

“I just worry -”

His smile slipped a bit. 

“You work in such different fields, and lead such different lives.” 

“So?”

“Well, I mean, what happens if you get traded somewhere where you’re not near the ocean?” 

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I’ve been so focused on making the playoffs,” he admitted. Plus, he had three more years in Vancouver and would gladly stay longer if it was still a good fit. 

“Like I said, I like her. She seems really sweet and I can tell you like each other a lot, but I want you to pay attention to some of the things that might not be all sunshine and rainbows down the road. Relationships are about compromise, and I'm worried some of the compromises you may have to make might cause more of an impact than you’re used to.”

“Yeah, those are some good points," Quinn agreed. "I’ll talk with her about it.” He knew this honeymoon phase would end eventually. They were four weeks from the playoffs and three weeks from her finals. The next month would be a test, that was for sure. 

A relieved smile slid onto Ellen's face. He was being far more mature about this than he had when she expressed hesitations about June. Some of the worry uncoiled in her chest.

“What do you think, dad?”

“She’s very pretty.” 

“And?”

“And what?” 

“She’s pretty? That’s all you have to say?” 

“I don’t know, Q. I just met her. She’s pretty. She seems very smart.” 

Quinn dropped it. His dad would tell him what he thought eventually, but trying to pry an opinion out of him before he was ready was fruitless. 

All the same, Jim lit up when Sarah came in with the chocolate tart. 

“That looks delicious,” he said. “What's in it?”

“It's a chocolate cream mousse over a layer of caramel in a dark chocolate and almond crust. The raspberries on top help to cut some of the richness.”

“That sounds delicious.” 

Ellen took a bite, and felt her eyes flutter closed, “Sarah, this is divine.” 

“Thank you. It was my dads favorite.” 

Quinn put a comforting hand on her knee.

“It’s going to be dangerous to have this in the house,” Jim said, joking.

“Oh, I can take it to school tomorrow if you don’t want it around,” she offered. 

“I’m not sure I’m willing to give it up.”

She laughed, and Quinn shot her a quick, reassuring grin.

“Are you free tomorrow before the game?” Ellen asked when Sarah announced she should probably head home.

“Well, I have class in the morning, and then I’m at the aquarium until three, but I’m free afterward.” 

“I was thinking about getting a manicure and wondered if you wanted to go together.” 

“Oh, I can’t do manicures because my hands are always in the tanks.” 

Ellen felt her hesitations go up. When she had asked June this same thing, June had shot her down, telling her she’d just had her nails done. She didn't seem to catch the subtext of wanting to spend some time together without the boys around. 

“But I would love to get a pedicure if that might work?” 

“That sounds great. We can do that and then meet Jim for dinner and all go to the game together.” 

“That sounds really nice.” she said before yawning, “I’m sorry, I was up at 5 this morning to study for an exam. I’ve got to get home.” 

“I’ll drive you,” Quinn offered, slipping a protective arm around her. 

He told his parents, who were sharing a silent conversation with their eyes, he'd be back and led Sarah down to the parking garage. 

As soon as they were in his car, he asked, “so, what do you think?” 

“They’re really nice,” she said. “I can’t tell if your dad likes me or not, though.”

“That's just Jim,” he assured, reaching over to lace their fingers together. “He doesn't like most people when he meets them, but he'll come around.”

They were quiet for a while as Quinn brushed his thumb over her palm. Finally, he asked, "you okay?"

The very fact that he was checking in made her swoon a little.

"Yeah. It actually wasn't that bad. I mean, I miss them, but it wasn't as painful as I expected."

He squeezed her hand, "I'm glad."

"Thank you for checking."

Briefly taking his eyes off the road, he cast a startled look in her direction. "Why wouldn't I check in?"

"I don't know, just," she matched their fingertips together, gently pushing to move his, "it's just really nice to be seen."

He understood that. Sarah saw pieces of him most of the world didn't. With her, he wasn't Quinn Hughes, hockey prodigy. He was just Quinn, and she liked all the quieter parts of him, too.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said as he pulled up to her building.

Leaning over the console, she kissed him goodbye, lingering a little longer than usual.

"See you tomorrow," she echoed once she pulled away.

He watched her walk into the building before driving home.

The following afternoon, Sarah had to race across town as soon as she was off work to make the appointment Ellen had set up at a ritzy spa downtown.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, blustering into the waiting area, “the train was late, and I was…I got here as fast as I could.” 

“It’s fine,” Ellen said, giving her a quick squeeze before walking to the desk to let the attendant know everyone in their party had arrived. 

They got changed into their robes and were seated in some fancy chairs above marble foot basins. Sarah had never done anything this lavish. She went to get pedis with her mom and sister, but that was always down at the salon in the mall.

“Have you come here before?”

“Only once, but it was so lovely, I’ve thought about coming back every time we visit.” 

“It’s very nice.”

Ellen hadn’t failed to notice the way Sarah's eyes popped when they walked into the serene pedicure room. A part of her was relieved she wasn't used to such luxury. 

“It’s a little more opulent than what I’m used to back home,” Ellen admitted with a little laugh, “but it’s nice for a special occasion.”

Sarah felt herself relax. 

Since the night before, Ellen felt a bit like she'd stepped into some kind of time warp. She'd glanced away from her oldest son, and when she looked back, everything in his life had changed. Even the phone calls and facetimeing hadn’t prepared her for the way Sarah was in Quinn’s life in what already seemed like such a permanent way. 

Instead of watching their relationship bloom like she had with Luke and Kylee, who had followed a natural progression that was easy to track as they went from friends, to dating, and now long distance with Kylee already making plans to move to New Jersey when she graduated from Michigan, she was coming into something nearly fully formed.

She was glad for this time alone to get to know Sarah a little more.

“So, tell me about your research.” 

Sarah explained about Walter and how the hormone testing was going. She was writing a publication on it for her grant writing class that semester, and hoped to have it published in a scientific journal.

“That sounds really interesting.” 

“It is. It’s wild to see how he reacts to those small changes. It’s really rewarding to gather results with such traceable data.” 

“I bet. What do you do for fun?” 

“I honestly don’t have a lot of free time. Between school and work and spending time with Quinn, there’s not much leftover, but I really like reading, and I like to golf and hike when I can.” 

“You don’t do any ocean sports?” 

“I surfed casually when I was in Hawaii, but the water’s so cold here, I haven’t picked it up again.” 

“You lived in Hawaii?” 

“For about two years. I was working with a conservation non-profit. That’s where my love for the ocean really bloomed.”

“We’re going this summer. You’ll have to give us some recommendations.”

They talked for a long time about their vacation. Sarah promised to write up a list of suggestions. Ellen wondered if she might be joining them. Kylee was staying home, but that was because of a prior engagement on her part. 

“And Quinn’s been treating you well?” she asked, bracing for the response. Not that she expected Sarah to be totally truthful to her face.

“Oh, yes,” she said, not missing a beat. “He's the best guy I've ever dated.”

“Really?” The realistic side of her never expected to hear that. Ellen knew her sons. She knew how they could be selfish and too competitive and too focused on hockey. 

“Yeah. I mean, he gets in his head sometimes, but I do too. I was just thinking last night about how he's just the most caring person. I've never met someone so driven that's so kind and dedicated to the people in his life.”

The sincere look in Sarah's face told her just how truthful that statement was. It was the fulfillment of so many of her motherhood goals all at once, Ellen nearly teared up. “I'm really glad to hear that.”

Sarah smiled, and fiddled with the robe tie around her waist.

“Have you talked to the boys yet?” Ellen asked, even though she knew the answer. 

“The boys?”

“My other boys, Jack and Luke?” 

“Oh, yeah, we talked over facetime last week,” Sarah said. 

“Was it okay?” Ellen asked, picking up on the hesitation in her tone.

“I think so? Jack seemed kind of closed off, which, from the way Quinn talks about him, I didn’t really expect.” 

“I think that’s probably Quinn’s fault. He didn’t tell them about you until you met Brady, and usually he would have, so I think Jack’s feeling a little put out.”

“I didn't…why didn't he tell them?” she asked, wondering if perhaps he was embarrassed and wanted to make sure Brady approved before he was willing to share her with his family. 

“I think you should probably ask Quinn that, but it had a lot to do with June. I don't think he totally trusted himself after they broke up. Jack will come around once he sees how happy you and Quinn are together,” she assured.

Sarah felt herself blush. Hearing Ellen, even indirectly, acknowledge how happy they were, felt like a mountain climbed, like a battle conquered. 

At the end of the appointment, Ellen laughed when Sarah pulled her own sandals out of her robe pockets to wear while the polish dried in lieu of the spa supplied slides she was wearing. 

“I have this weird thing about wearing shoes that aren’t mine,” she said, slipping on the Birkenstocks. “I know they’re sanitary, but it’s just,” she shuddered, “gross to me.” 

After they changed, Ellen beat Sarah out to the reception desk. Sarah pulled her wallet out but Ellen shushed her gently, “it's my treat.” 

“Thank you. That's so nice.” 

Jim picked them up and drove to a restaurant near the arena Sarah recommended.

As they settled into the booth, Sarah on one side, and Jim and Ellen on the other, she told them, “I like this place because they have a testing menu, so there’s always something new and interesting. I’ve never had anything bad here.” 

They talked throughout. Sarah asked Jim about his consulting job, and he explained what he did and how his coaching career helped him get there. Ellen explained more of what she was doing with the women's hockey program. 

Even though it was a bit strange and a big step to have dinner with Quinn’s parents without him less than twenty four hours after they met, Sarah was glad to have some time to talk and get to know them a little more. Jim, especially, seemed more friendly.

At the end of the meal, Sarah tapped her card to the payment device before either of them could jump in. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Ellen protested after the waiter walked away.

“You’re guests, you shouldn’t have to pay,” Sarah said.

Also, she wasn’t sixteen. She didn’t need her boyfriend's parents to pay for everything. 

 

When they got to their seats, Jim made sure Sarah was sitting between them. He usually would have put Ellen in the middle, but if she was, he wouldn’t get to talk with Sarah at all. 

He wasn’t blind. He saw the way Quinn looked at her, and knew if he had anything to say about it, Sarah would be in their lives for a long time. He needed to bite the bullet and get to know her now. 

They made some small talk, but once the game started, Sarah watched with a quiet intensity.

“You look a little confused,” he said, noticing Sarah's furrowed brow half way through the first period.

“I’m…” she paused, “I am.” 

“What are you confused about?” 

“I can look it up when we go to a commercial break,” she said, not wanting to be an inconvenience.

“I can answer you questions,” he offered.

“Okay,” she said, “but let me know if I'm talking too much.”

“How are you going to learn if you don't ask?” Ellen asked. 

“I just…I don’t want to overwhelm you, or take you out of the game.” 

Jim smiled, “we’ll let you know if you ask too many questions,” he assured. Most girlfriends he met would just watch, occasionally making comments. It was refreshing that Sarah wanted to understand Quinn's work so much.

When she smiled at him, he saw a flash of what had drawn Quinn to her. She was very pretty, but those bright, intelligent eyes made him want to talk to her. It was as if he knew she would be smart and interesting before she even said a word. 

“Okay, so as I understand it, Dallas is running a 2-1-2 forecheck, right?”

Jim blinked and looked at Ellen, who was mirroring his startled expression. 

“Right,” he said, confused as to where this was headed. Usually, when he had to explain the rules to someone new to hockey, their first question wasn’t about play strategy.

“So what I don’t understand is why the Canucks aren’t responding in kind. Wouldn’t it make sense to forecheck man to man?” 

“Well, firstly, when you’re chasing the other team down, it's referred to as backchecking.” 

“Okay, that makes sense."

He continued, “and it doesn’t always make sense to defend man to man. A lot of it depends on the way the coach wants the team to play."

“Okay, so can you explain the Canucks backchecking strategy to me?” 

“You know,” Jim said instead of getting into the very complicated reasoning behind play selection, “when you said you had questions, I expected them to be about icing or something.” 

“Oh, I asked Quinn and read the rules,” she said, flipping a hand, “I understand most of them now. I just don’t get the coach's motivation sometimes.” 

He laughed, “Welcome to being a hockey fan.”

Some of her worry eased at his laughter. Of course Quinn was right. He knew his own family best.

They continued talking through the game. Jim was impressed with the ferocity at which Sarah wanted to understand. She knew more than most of the girls his kids had dated in the past, but it was fairly obvious she got most of her knowledge from reading. Sometimes, when play went into a gray area, she would make a noise in her throat as if that would scold the refs into calling by the book. Even when Quinn ended up in the penalty box for a cross check most of the stadium was up in arms about, she watched the replay, shrugged and said, “I think that call was probably justified.” 

Even though the Canucks lost in overtime, it still gave them one of the three points they needed to get to the finals. The whole stadium was buzzing with possibility and hope. 

They all left together and Ellen drove her home. When she kissed Quinn goodbye in the back seat, Sarah tried not to feel like an awkward teen getting chaperoned, as if they couldn't be trusted on their own.

Getting back to the condo, Jim was glad for some time alone with Quinn. These moments after big games were something he cherished now that they happened so infrequently.

“You guys really rallied back in the third to get that extra point. I'm proud of you." 

“Thanks dad.” 

They talked about and dissected the game over another slice of Sarah’s chocolate tart before Quinn asked, “how was dinner?” 

“Good,” Ellen said, “though I wish she would have let us pay. She just kind of swooped in and took the bill.” 

“She does that sometimes,” Quinn said.

Truthfully, he always hated when she did. He knew she didn’t have a ton of money, and he had more than he knew what to do with.

When he brought it up, she’d shushed him with a comment about being able to pull her own weight. 

“She does it with you too?” 

“Yeah, she talks about wanting to balance out.” 

It was refreshing to find Sarah so independent. Jim didn’t worry about how she would fill her time when Quinn was on the road, or that she was only interested in him because of deep pockets or a ticket to fame.

“I don’t really know how you got her,” Jim said, “but I’m glad you did. She’s a really great girl.” 

Quinn beamed, knowing it was the truth. 

“I do think your mom’s right, though. You two need to have some conversations about the future. Set some expectations.” 

“Yeah, I’ll talk with her about it.”

"You should invite her to the Reunion," his mom said, almost off handedly.

If they wanted her at the family reunion that summer, they saw the same potential he did.

"Okay, I will."

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

#quinn & sarah snapshots #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fan fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x ofc #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey romance

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖Make it Stick: Pt. 1 The Dragon

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Mature

Pairing: Bucky x ofc x Steve

Word Count: 1103

Tags: dark!fic, mob/mafia au, mob!Bucky, mob!Steve, dubcon/noncon, sexual coercion, half-sibling incest, m/f/m, non-con drug use, mentions of torture (non graphic), double penetration, forced tattooing, forced orgasms, enemies to lovers

Summary: When his babygirl—his sweet pea, little one, puppy ... half-sister—is recaptured after her latest attempt at running away, Bucky makes a power play in front of the entire Bratva to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

Dark and smutty content below the break. Consume responsibly.

“Да. Good. Make sure she stays that way. Now, tell me everything.” Bucky listens to his henchman’s answer, pissed in general but only getting truly angry when he hears one specific detail. “She was with who?! Ублюдок!!” He takes the phone away from his face for a second as he curses in three different languages. Fucking Gleb. He fucking knew it. He’s going to cut his fucking dick off! When he brings the phone back up to his face, all he utters is a deathly quiet, “We’re in the Dragon’s Den. Get them here. Both of them.” He ends the call.

The gun at Bucky’s back has stopped buzzing. Funny, how it’s the sudden lack of pain that makes goosebumps rise to his skin. “Boss?” Natasha asks.

Bucky’s eyes flick over to Steve, who’s sitting next to the Karpovs on the couch. One moment of intense eye contact between the two of them, and Steve’s face goes wan in recognition. Tight-lipped, Bucky gives an almost imperceptible nod of confirmation. Steve squares his shoulders and pushes up to standing to go over to the bar. The guy has an almost preternatural ability to predict Bucky’s wants and needs, which is one reason why he’s risen through the ranks so fast (well, it's one, leastways). He artfully flips a lowball, knowing what this situation calls for without having to be told; ice and two fingers of the Russo-Baltique that’s so expensive, Bucky once stabbed a guy’s hand into a table for drinking it without permission.

Steve delivers the glass and retreats to stand sentinel along the wall. Bucky sips, sets it down, growls and grabs it up again. He rolls the liquor in his mouth as he fumes, a dark plan starting to form in his head. It comes together quickly, because it’s not like he hasn’t spent plenty of time fantasizing about it before now. What he’d do when he finally got her back.

His little one is tenacious and likes to make trouble. She has a penchant for running away, but she’s never lasted this long before. It’s been over ten months—long enough to put the fear of God in Bucky that he could actually lose her for good, if he isn’t more careful. So, he has to be careful, has to make a statement, send a message. He has to make it stick.

Luckily, when it comes to “sending messages,” Bucky Barnes can be very creative. Like tattooing, torture is an oft underappreciated artform. “Dimi,” he barks. “I’m expecting some special guests tonight. Go and sort things out downstairs. I want the place packed by ten—Make sure it’s with the right people.”

“Boss?” Lev pipes up, confused. He’s Karpov’s kid brother: new, inexperienced but eager, still “earning his scales,” as the boys like to say.

Dimitri jerks his head for his brother to follow him. “Boss wants a demonstration. C’mon.” He’s already got his phone out as they leave the room to get things arranged. Bucky’s “demonstrations” usually require plastic sheeting and a crowd of people who are either Hydra themselves, or else educated enough to know to keep their mouths shut about Bratva business.

“Where’d they find her?” Steve asks.

Bucky scoffs, still fuming. “Floating off the coast of Belize. On my own fucking yacht. Can you even believe that?”

“Sounds like her.”

“Lena?” Nat hums. “Who’d you send?”

“Maximoff and Belova have her.” Bucky grits his teeth at the sting as Natasha uses a wet cloth to wipe off the excess blood and ink. He can feel her scrutinizing her work. “You can keep going,” he tells her, but she ‘tsks’ in that way that only a Russian tongue can really do.

“We’ll come back to it. Skin behaves differently when you’re not relaxed.”

“I’m am relaxed!” He hears how ridiculous he sounds and heaves a long sigh, trying to let his shoulders untense to at least somewhere below the level of his ears. “I’m relaxed.”

“Keep saying it and it might come true.” Nat rolls away on her stool, peeling off her gloves with finality. “Your blood pressure and vodka’ll push the ink out faster than I can stick it. Just come over to the Red Room once it’s done scabbing and we’ll finish it then.”

She’s already packing up her stuff when Bucky gets the idea. “Wait.” He narrows his eyes at the rolling toolkit that Nat keeps in the club’s upstairs lounge just for him and his men. “Do me a favor,” he says slowly, the idea taking shape in his mind. “Run down to the shop and print out a transfer for me. Cyrillic. A small font. Something pretty but … bold. Easy to read.”

Natasha tenses. “What do you want it to say?”

“собственность дракона.”

“No,” she says, and when Bucky looks over, she’s standing ramrod straight.

“Clearly, you disapprove.”

“I’m not inking it.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he snaps, low on patience tonight, even for Natasha. “Print it out on a goddamn transfer sheet and bring it to me.”

She’s doing that dead faced thing she does—where she goes still like a doll to avoid making some expression she doesn’t want you to see. Right now, Bucky suspects it might be sheer disdain. “Size?” she asks. “Shaping?”

“One line straight up the forearm. Delicate lettering, but clear as a fucking bell to read.”

“That still doesn’t tell me what spacing—”

“You know how big she is, you figure out the fucking spacing!” he yells. “Or what the fuck am I even paying you for?!”

Natasha goes eerily still, then abruptly pivots to leave, the severe line of her hair whipping around with the motion. She’s unhappy with him.

“Red ink!” Bucky calls out, the door slamming shut after her a millisecond later. He grinds his teeth together and stands up from the chair he’s been perched in for the past three hours, carrying his drink over to the mirrors so that he can get a better look at his back.

Scales, teeth, claws. Crouched and curling across his shoulders, tendrils creeping up onto his neck, marking him as what he is: Дракон.

The Dragon.

“Will you help me?” he asks Steve, quiet now that it’s just the two of them.

“Depends on what you want me to do.”

“It depends”—No other man in the Bratva could give such an answer and expect to remain in one piece. But Steve’s gaze is steadfast when Bucky meets it and tells him, “She’s gotten away with too much for too long. It’s time to shorten the leash.”

In the mirror, Steve’s eyes darken. He nods.

Take me to part 2!

Masterlist

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#bucky barnes #steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #stucky #fanfiction #fanfic #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky au #mafia au #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x you #dark fanfic #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x oc #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #stucky x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #mafia steve rogers #dark steve rogers

[featherstorm2004]

Nana Shimura's guilt

Ok, so I'm sure plenty of people have noticed that in the latest chapter Nana has been insisting that Izuku must kill Shigaraki and that he's a wall that Izuku doesn't have to climb over. And I want to discus that as whilst I certainly don't agree with her, I find her reasons for such a perspective to be fascinating.

But let's begin with a trend I've noticed in any chapters where Nana and the vestiges talk about Shigaraki, and that's the fact that despite originally agreeing to go along with Izuku's wish to save Shigaraki they constantly refer to him as an 'it' or a 'thing' more often describing him as something less then human. And whilst it may not be surprising for the others to refer to him this way, it is incredibly disturbing that Nana his own grandmother seems the most determined to remove Shigaraki's humanity.

In fact it appears to be a theme that anyone who had a personal stake in how Shigaraki came to be are the one's most determined to ignore any sign of personhood inside him. This can be seen with Grand Torino, who despite having come to the realisation that his and Nana's decision was a mistake, seems to double down and tries to convince Izuku that killing Tomura is the better option; hell, literally the moment Shigaraki's identity is reviled he is the one to convince All Might that he isn't worth saving and that no matter his bloodline he's still a villain.

And he says this with full confidence despite the fact All For One outright told them both that he deliberately groomed Shigaraki to hate All Might and only chose him to mess with his enemy.

Even All Might chose to give up on Shigaraki very quickly and hasn't even thought about him since he found out, which is honestly really sad because of all people he should have been the one who cared the most, especially since he knows one of the only reasons All For One chose to mess with Shigaraki was to hurt him.

Which brings me back to Nanna and why she is acting the way she is and honestly, it's most likely due to a number of reasons and guilt is likely the most prominent one. After all it was her choices which led to Kotaro becoming traumatised and despising hero's, and it was because she was a wielder of One For All that her family/Tenko was targeted. Now I'm not saying it's Nana's fault Kotaro became an abuser, after all he was a grown man who was more than responsible for the way he handled his trauma however, that doesn't erase the fact that she was the root of his hatred which he passed down onto his son.

Not to mention she knows that the main reason Tenko was targeted was for revenge against her for defying All For One, so not only dose she have to deal with the fact that her son abused his child to near insanity but also her mortal enemy, who killed her, her master and tried to kill her student also groomed her grandchild to hate her, hero's and to become his next vessel.

That a lot of guilt for anyone to be burdened with and whilst it isn't directly her fault, the birth of Shigaraki is a result of the legacy she left behind.

And she obviously can't cope with that because if she did, it would basically invalidate every sacrifice she made for the sake of protecting One For All, so what dose she do? Well she makes a very human mistake and choses to ignore it. After all if Shigaraki is just a monster, a creature beyond human understanding then she doesn't have to face the guilt, "it was out of my hands, what could I have done?" "there's no point in dwelling on what could have been".

Ironically it's the same response All For One had regarding his own humanity. Essentially she's taking the responsibility out of her hands in order to protect herself because if she dose acknowledge it, it would essentially be an ego death for her and well humans are naturally programmed to protect ourselves at all costs. It's not nice but it's the truth, which honestly makes someone like Izuku stand out more.

Izuku has no reason to sympathies with Shigaraki, he has no idea what he's gone through or the history behind his creation but despite that he is the only person on the hero's side who has NEVER ignored him. Hell, even back in the mall scene where Shigaraki practically had him a gun point he still took the time to listen to him and give him a proper answer to his question and clearly what Shigaraki said meant something to him as he ask's All Might about it later.

It's clear that ever since these two have met that for some reason, whether it be the legacies they both carry or the fact that Izuku is just an innately empathetic person, these two have shared a connection. It's like Izuku and Shigaraki said, it's almost like fate has brought them together and we'll just have to see however that played out.

However, it's abundantly clear that whatever might happen between the two of them for Shigaraki to be truly be saved Nana and by extension all others who have kindly rejected Shigaraki will have to eventually accept that he is in fact human. They cannot keep pushing things under the rug because Izuku won't let them.

#shigaraki tomura #nana shimura #midoriya izuku #my hero academia #character analysis #mha #bnha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #bnha meta #boku no hero academia #bnha shigaraki #bnha deku #bnha 412 #mha 412 #bnha nana

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 1

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC) other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Not much in this first chapter. Some mentions of death and violence. I don't want to give away everything, but there are also some angsty mother/daughter moments, so be warned.

Word Count: 3468

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

The divider at the top and bottom were created by @saradika

Dean punched open the flap of the canvas tent that he'd called home for the last several years. Sometimes he really missed having a door to slam. 

Or a wall to punch a hole through, he thought as he tossed down his duffel bag full of weapons. At least the bag made a satisfying thunk against the plywood floor.

They'd lost three men on their latest raid. The raid was successful; they'd pilfered enough medication from a pharmacy in Omaha to see them through the next few months. But the reason it was the only pharmacy within a two hundred mile radius that had any meds left, was because it also happened to be Croat central. 

It was swarming with the bastards. His soldiers had done a good job holding them off, but it had eventually led to ground fighting and three soldiers had been bitten. He'd put them down quick and quiet. But it made for a long drive home.

Home, he scoffed as he dropped onto the side of his cot. Home my ass.

As he rubbed his hand across his forehead, his tent flap opened again. He also missed privacy.

One of the soldiers that had been left behind to protect the camp, stood awkwardly for a moment before Dean barked at him. 

“Not now, Johnston.”

“Uh…�� the man hemmed and hawed for a moment more. “There's a…an urgent situation, sir.”

Dean let out a huff. “There's always an urgent fucking situation. I said ‘not now’!” Dean's voice was sharp and angry. All he wanted was five minutes.

Used to having his orders obeyed, especially when they were issued in his harshest tone, Dean turned away and started to light the lamp beside his cot. Before he could spark the match however, Johnston was clearing his throat annoyingly.

“Jesus Christ, what?” Dean snapped.

“I'm sorry, sir…but Castiel, well he…he has a…a situation with a woman.”

Dean’s glare could melt ice. “What woman?”

“I think…he wants - he said he wanted to see you as soon as you were back.”

Dean ground his teeth together and tossed down the matchbook. He gestured angrily for Johnston to lead the way.

He followed the timid man through a maze of tents, aware of the eyes that followed him. He was used to that feeling. People in the camp always looked at him like that - with a mixture of awe and fear on their faces. To most of the survivors he was a little bit legend, a little bit savior, and a whole lot scary.

He was always given a wide berth.

But something more was in the air today. The evening breeze seemed to be buzzing with whispers that followed him up the stairs and into the main hall. It was one of the only wooden structures in the camp, and definitely the biggest. It was where they all gathered together when they needed to. 

He pushed through the squeaky door to find the angel standing in the middle of the room, just in front of one of the dozen massive, twenty-person, metal tables that had been constructed for large group projects like bomb making, or supply divvying. 

Dean tried to look past Cas when it became obvious there was a person behind him, sitting on the floor. But Cas just shifted so he couldn't see whoever it was, which only made Dean’s scowl intensify. Cas held out his hands towards him. 

“Okay, Dean. now just listen.” 

Dean didn’t like the sound of that, or the placating tone the angel was taking. “What the fuck is going on here, Cas?” He tried again to peer around him at the person on the floor, but Cas shifted his footing again to keep them hidden.

“You have to…before you do anything, just,,,you have to look at her. Really look.” 

He moved out of the way slightly and Dean could finally see a woman sitting on the ground. Her head was bent and around her wrists were manacles connected to heavy chains that yoked her to the immoveable table. Dean was about to once again ask what the hell was going on when the woman looked up at him and he saw her eyes - saw the perfect, blood red circle around her iris. 

Dean’s razor sharp instincts reacted without conscious thought, and his gun was out of his thigh holster and cocked, with his finger ready to pull the trigger in under two seconds. It was only Cas jumping in front of the woman again that managed to just stop him firing.

But Dean kept his gun pointing at the woman’s head, even though it was now hidden on the other side of the angel's body. 

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” He bellowed at the man who used to be his best friend, back when he still had friends. “She’s infected! Get out of the fucking way!”

Cas had his hands up again and was shaking his head. “No, Dean, look at her. Yes, her eyes show she should be infected, and yes she was bitten, but…just look at her. She’s not infected.”

Dean’s jaw ticked with his fury. “Yeah well, give it a couple hours and she’ll be strong enough to bust those fucking chains. Now, move!” He roared again. 

But Cas took a step backwards, closer to the woman on the ground. “No, it’s been days.” He looked over his shoulder. “Right?”

The woman’s voice was soft. “Almost a week.”

Dean scoffed. “Bullshit!” He shouted, unable to believe the angel’s naivete. “She’s lying.”

Cas was shaking his head and looking at Dean again. “Her arm, where she was bitten, it’s healed up.” He called back to her. “Hold your arm out.”

The chains rattled and Dean saw a slightly grubby arm stick out from behind Cas’ legs. Sure enough there was a bite on the outside of her forearm that looked pretty much healed. Dean felt something uncertain shift in his belly, but he shook it off. He knew better.

“So she’s a quick healer. She’ll still turn into a monster sooner or later. Now. Move.” He gave Cas a glare that had made lesser men crumble. But the angel refused.

“No, Dean, this might be something huge.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but the woman’s small voice spoke first. “Please. I just needed to get my daughter to safety.”

Dean leveled another glare at Cas. “Daughter?” He asked.

The woman continued speaking and Dean tried to see any part of her around Cas’ body. “We were living in the Billings camp near Piedmont, Emma and I. We’d been there just a few months when the camp was attacked. They lost a lot of people, and I got bitten. When the fighting ended and the Croats were all dead, the leaders started checking us all for bites. I knew they were going to kill me and I understood what had to happen, but I wanted them to promise Emma would be safe, but they wouldn’t.”

Dean’s hand had lowered slightly, enough that Cas shifted aside again so Dean could see the woman talking. There were tears falling from her bloodshot eyes and she lifted the heavy chains so she could wipe them away before continuing.

“She'd fallen on some debris in the mess, long after the Croats had been put down, and she had a scratch on her leg. They were sure she was infected too. But she’s not.” She shook her head vehemently. “They were going to kill her. I…I couldn’t let them. So I shoved them down, fought them off, grabbed Emma and ran. We’ve been running for almost a week. I’d heard about this camp, so I headed this way. I was terrified I was going to change before I could get Emma to some semblance of safety. But…it just never happened.”

She shrugged and shifted slightly. Her movement brought the barrel of Dean’s gun back up a fraction of an inch. She stared at the pistol for a moment and then caught his eye again.  “I just wanted somewhere for her to be safe. I understand that you want me dead. I’m…” Her throat caught and she closed her eyes and took in a deep, steadying breath. “But….” She opened her eyes again and a slight smile curved her lips.

“You don’t…you probably don’t remember me, but a long time ago - I was barely sixteen - you…you saved me.”

Dean knew he must not have hidden his surprise very well when her smile deepened. It occurred to Dean in that moment that she was really, remarkably beautiful, in spite of the dirt and the bloodshot eyes.

“My family I mean,” she continued, “you saved my family. You and your dad. We lived in Wichita at the time. We had a poltergeist. It was…it was cutting me. It carved words into me.” She put a hand on her stomach. “Words like ‘vengeance’ and ‘death’.” 

She shook her head. “I was so terrified. But you and John, you just swept in and got rid of the thing in a weekend. It was amazing.”

The long-forgotten case bubbled up in Dean’s mind. It felt separate from him, apart, as though centuries had passed in between, instead of a dozen years. But he remembered a young girl, a sweet kid with braces on her teeth and overwhelming fear in her eyes. He nodded. Yes, he remembered that smile now.

She wore it still as she shook her head and looked down. “It was a long time ago, a lifetime seems like, so I’m sure you don’t remember. But I still remember how Dean Winchester came and saved me.” She looked up at him again and her tears had returned. “So, I’m asking you to please, please save me again.”

Dean felt the same something as before, something that shifted in his gut, that felt tight and constricting. But he pushed it away and shook his head.

“You’re wrong, Y/N.” He said, as her name came back to him. He could see the surprise on her face. “I do remember you. I remember the poltergeist. I remember your family, your house. And I remember saving you.” 

He paused and let the memories retreat from his mind’s eye before he clenched his jaw. “But you’re right, it was a lifetime ago,” he shook his head, “and I’m not that guy anymore.”

He raised his gun and took a step forward aiming for a quick, straight bullet to the head, faster than blinking.

But as though time slowed down, he saw a blur of motion coming in from the side and several things happened at the exact same time. Y/N screamed and dove as far to the right as her chains would allow, Cas jumped forward to stop him, and Dean yanked his gun up at the very last millisecond before his finger flexed on the trigger, just as he saw the blur come into focus.

It was a sobbing, shaking little girl, in a tattered blue dress. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a braid and tied with a faded piece of lace. Y/N had leapt towards the child to shield her as the little one had flung herself in front of her mother. Y/N was now cradling her daughter in her arms.

Cas kept his hand like a vice grip on Dean’s shoulder where he’d grabbed him in an attempt to stop him. Though he wouldn’t have reached him in time. A feeling surged through Dean that he hadn’t felt in a long time as he breathed in and out harshly, as though he’d run a mile.

Two of his soldiers, Risa and Patrick, ran in seconds later, ashen faced and staring at the little girl. Dean yelled at them. “Why the fuck did you let her in here?”

Risa shook her head. “She got away from us.”

“Got away from you?” He continued to shout. “She’s a little girl!” 

When they didn't respond he gritted his teeth and spoke through them. “Why don’t you go see if you can handle all forty pounds of her this time.” He said, motioning with his gun for them to go get her.

As they moved to follow his orders he acknowledged what it was that had his heart beating triple time and his lungs unable to suck in enough air. 

It was fear. The forgotten, acidic taste of it was on his tongue. It had been a very long time since he’d been afraid of anything. But knowing he’d been less than a second away from firing a bullet into the body of an innocent, uninfected kid - that truth had him rattled. As did Emma’s heart-rending cries as she clung to her mother.

Risa and Patrick had reached Y/N, but looked hesitant to rip the child away from her mother. Y/N was pulling on Emma’s arms and she finally managed to unlock their death grip from around her neck. 

“Baby, shh.” She said softly as she brushed the little girl’s wispy hairs out of her face and cupped her ruby red cheeks. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re gonna be safe - “ 

Emma cut her off with a wail. “Noooo! Noooo! Mommy, I don’t wanna go.”

Y/N was shaking her head. “Hey, hey. No, sweetheart listen, listen to me. We made it here and now you’re safe.” She began nodding as Emma shook her head. “Yes, baby. Look at me, look at me, just breathe.” She said, and Emma began sucking in shuddering, choking breaths.

Y/N smiled and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You are so brave. Okay? I just need you to keep being so brave. Can you do that? Hmm?” Y/N questioned, nodding even though Emma was shaking her head in denial.

Dean caught Patrick’s eye and gave a sharp nod towards the horrifying scene. He needed them to get the kid out of there. Patrick nodded back, but still didn’t move to take her. Dean seethed.

“I love you so much.” Y/N said, her voice breaking now, but she cleared her throat quickly and continued. “I love you bigger than big.” She was staring into her daughter’s eyes. “Bigger than big.” She repeated.

“And taller than tall?” Emma asked in a strangled voice, obviously repeating an often used sentiment. 

Y/N was nodding. “And taller than tall.” She confirmed. She gave her daughter a final smile of encouragement, her palms still clasped on her flushed, wet cheeks. “You - are my little angel.” She told her before pulling her against her chest one more time, trying to squeeze a lifetime of love into the small body she held.

Dean tried to keep his features in check as Y/N looked up at him. He wouldn’t bend. She needed to get her kid out of there. Y/N sniffed and pulled back from Emma. “Okay, baby. You need to go with…”

She looked up at Risa, obviously looking for a name. “Risa.” The soldier replied kindly.

Y/N gave her a grateful smile and directed her words up at her. “Go with Risa, she’ll look out for you.” It was obviously a question for the other woman, a plea. Risa gave a curt nod of agreement.

Emma was still sobbing as Y/N lifted her out of her lap and let Risa take her away. The little girl screamed and reached back for her mother and Dean saw the way Y/N flinched as she raised her manacled wrist and pressed her fingers to her lips before sending a parting kiss to her daughter.

As the child disappeared her screams still echoed, and Y/N slumped, covering her face, her shoulders shaking.

Dean swallowed down the feelings that tried to rise in him as he watched her weep. Every person who died left someone behind to grieve them. If they were lucky. And this situation was no different. Their camp had more than a dozen orphaned kids. Emma would be no different.

But as Y/N took a shuddering breath and looked up at him, he knew he was lying. Her words to Emma had resonated in his memory, pulling forth the image of his mother’s warm hands on his cheeks after he sought to comfort her, told her he loved her and would never leave her. 

“You - are my little angel.” She’d said, her voice full of love.

And another moment, in the dark, cuddled against his mother’s chest as she held him after a nightmare, just days before the fire. Her voice had been so gentle, so soft. 

“I know you’re scared, Dean, and that’s okay. Cause I know you’re so brave too. Can you show me how brave you are?”

Y/N’s last words to her daughter echoed some of the last words he remembered from his mother and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t affecting him. But as Y/N stared up at him, he tried desperately to shake it off. It changed nothing.

Y/N’s voice cracked as she tried to speak; she cleared it before trying again. “Thank you, Dean. For keeping her here, for giving her somewhere safe to be.”

Dean shook his head. “Nowhere is somewhere safe to be.”

He could see Y/N’s fear spring back up, and he shrugged. “But she can stay here, and have the protection of the camp. For whatever that’s worth.”

Y/N nodded and closed her eyes. “Thank you.” She repeated in a whisper, and then, without opening her eyes, “I’m ready.”

Cas gripped his shoulder again. “Dean, don’t do this.” He said, his low voice barely a whisper.

Dean shrugged off his hand and stepped closer to Y/N, close enough that he couldn’t possibly miss, so that it would be instant and painless.

He felt Cas’ disappointment and anger looming over him as he extended his arm. The muzzle of the gun was less than two feet from its target. Dean cocked it again and felt his stomach swoop at Y/N’s soft, quick inhale.

His finger caressed the trigger, a breath away from pulling it when from nowhere his little brother’s voice floated into his mind, a snippet of conversation he hadn’t thought of in almost a decade - from the first time they’d ever seen the virus.

“You know I’m gonna ask you why.” Sam had said, referring to the man Dean had left alive.

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, why? Why didn’t you do it?”

He hadn’t answered his brother then; he’d been too embarrassed to say that there had been something in his soul that wouldn’t let him shoot someone who wasn't yet a monster, even if it seemed inevitable that they would be.

But now, that same creeping feeling, that same cloying sense of wrong was pulling at his soul again. It shocked him and angered him that his soul was still capable of this dithering - this pansy-assed wavering - when his head knew without a doubt what had to be done.

With the same sick, frustrated feeling, however, Dean felt his arm drop. “Dammit.” He growled, just as he had then.

He backed away and saw Y/N’s eyes pop open, saw relief flood them just before he turned and stormed away. He barreled out of the cabin and heard Cas shout after him. But he kept marching forward, trying to get himself far away from the memories that had come there to haunt him. 

But with every step away from camp, with every inch he walked into the surrounding forest, his mother and brother’s faces became clearer in his mind until he finally just stopped abruptly. Giving a shout of pure fury, Dean pointed his gun at the dead leaves on the ground and unloaded his clip into the moist earth.

He was panting, teeth clenched, as he sensed someone approaching. He whirled around, instinctively pointing his empty gun towards the noise. But he immediately put it down when he saw it was Cas. 

Instead he walked up to him and shoved the angel backwards; though even with his powers gone, he didn’t move very far.

“Don’t fucking follow me.” Dean growled at him.

But Cas just stared at him and then a smile spread across his face. Dean scowled thunderously. “What the fuck could you possibly be smiling about?”

Cas shook his head and shrugged. “I just… thought he was gone, but he’s still there. Haven’t seen him in a long time.’

Dean’s expression was confused and pissed. “Thought who was gone?”

“My friend - Dean Winchester. I thought he was well and truly gone.” He repeated. “But it’s so good to see him again.” The angel’s brilliant blue eyes were beaming so bright, they almost seemed to be alight with grace once more.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

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#dean winchester #endverse!dean x reader #endverse!dean #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #endverse #spn fan fiction series #the dangers of hope

[misslycoris]

SIGNED, ALASTOR

A little snippet of the latest chapter, if you plan to read a bit more, consider giving us a visit sweetie ♡~

THE RADIO DEMON DOESN'T MIND GROCERY TRIPS

Can of soup, can of soup, more cans of questionable soup, it was an aisle filled with nothing but canned soup. You sometimes question what that says about the current state of humanity, what with the abundance of premade soups. It helps though, and saves time and money. You took two cans and placed them in your basket, tucking your wings in as you moved to another aisle, George preferred home-cooked meals anyway so you wouldn't need to bother about it so much. You always wondered how the ones who made these cans of soup last so long inside metal cans, aren't they supposed to rust or something? You were mostly sure that the reason why most of these canned goods tasted shit wasn't because of rusting, just that the people who made it didn't put the taste into account more than profit. From one aisle to the next, you trudged on to check everything off your list.

"Well look who it is! A familiar set of wings, and an even more familiar face!" Then there came the jovial tune of a jazz band playing on the radio, you didn't even need to turn around to see who it was. "About time I got bothered again." You mumbled, focused on finding the right kind of seasoning. "Busy with the groceries?" He asked, you hummed in response, grabbing a random box of spices. "Ah ah, not that." He said, taking the bundle out and instead grabbing a bundle of different spices. "These taste better and for a much cheaper price no less!" You took a moment to stare at him questioningly, that makes for another surprise. "You seem, experienced. Been here before?" You asked, unsure but made no move to remove whatever he just placed inside your basket. "Nope! But it's a sure choice of mine! You can never trust a box to deliver something with value after all!"

You grabbed a random brand of pasta noodles only to have it snatched and replaced by Alastor. "This one is an insult to the Italians, my friend, I suggest you keep yourself far away from it unless you prefer your pasta soggy and falling apart at the seams." He said, pointing towards the now returned box of pasta. You nodded your head, checking the pasta off your list.

"You seem to know a lot about these." You pointed towards the shelf, Alastor twirled his staff and raised his chin proudly. "I happen to be quite familiar with the art of groceries! Reminds me of the good old simple days with my mother!" You nodded, looking for the next item on your list. "Your mother? That seems, oddly nice of you. I'm guessing you had good memories with her?" You took two brands of parmesan and showed it to Alastor. "Only but the best! If you think I'm any good with these, you haven't seen her in her element! She knows a good ingredient when she sees one!" He pointed towards the parmesan you were holding to your right, you returned the other back to the shelf and chucked his cheese of choice in your basket. "She seems like a great person." You meant it, with how he seemed so fond of the woman you can't even imagine just how kind she was. "That she was my friend, tough but with a gentle touch to her." Alastor hummed as he stalked along, finding a sense of nostalgia as he saw you searching for whatever it was you were asked to buy. Really, he could almost see a younger him dragging his mother around, eager and curious. Stars behind his eyes as he hoped to get things his family at the time couldn't afford, yet his dear old mother never said anything. The woman only smiled and asked Alastor to be patient and that she'd get it for him later, she sometimes did and Alastor never knew how she managed to.

He remembered all those times that she had enough to cook something special for the both of them, him eating his mother's jambalaya while listening to the radio with her. He never could quite replicate her recipe, he always got close but never could get that spark that it had when she made it. Did he miss something? But he was always there when she made it, he had the recipe memorized by heart, the measurements to a tee, and all the small tricks his mother taught him he kept under his sleeves. So what was it? Was there something his mother hadn't told him before she died? Or did it taste special because she was the one who made it?

You glanced at Alastor who was now rendered silent, the music following him now muted. You didn't want to interrupt his thoughts so you let him be, giving a moment to think about whatever it was he was thinking. His mother seemed to be a good person uninvolved with what he did to get to Hell, so that would mean that his mother may have been kept in the dark, his mother found out, or his mother died early on before he started going awry. You were certain about one thing, however, a mother like that would've never wanted her son to turn out the way he did. "I wonder which," you paused, staring at the two similarly looking products. It was then that Alastor snapped out of his trance and chose for you. "This company has a habit of copying others, so my best bet would be on the other one." His voice held no ulterior motives or malice, just him providing his thoughts and bits of advice with the intention of helping you. You went through the list with ease, Alastor on your side as he gave you a lecture on what spice to use on what type of dish.

"Don't be afraid to use spices, don't skimp on it either! It gives a needed zing to your dish! If the recipe calls for something to give it a spicy kick don't sprinkle in a few and call it a day!" He exclaimed as you got in line to pay. "What if you can't handle spice well?" You asked, you didn't want to be the first person to kill someone with capsaicin. "Then you add as much as you can without scaring them off, they'll eventually learn to handle it with enough dishes!" You didn't notice it and neither did he, but the people in front went out of their way to move, letting you and Alastor go in front of the cashier first despite being at the back of the line. One of them even eyed you intently.

"Does that work?" You asked, setting down your basket with Alastor helping you take the contents out. "You'd be surprised with how fast it happens so long as you slowly increase the spice with each meal!" You nodded attentively, making a mental note of his advice. "Have, have a nice day!" The cashier stammered, practically shoving the paper bag on you. "But I haven't paid yet," Alastor tilted his head at the quivering state of the poor bloke as you tried to balance yourself at the sudden weight shoved at you. "You have, yes you have. Please have a good day." You raised a brow at what he said, but as you looked at him he stared at you with the most terrified expression. "Please get out." He mouthed silently, eyes spasming as he put up a desperate smile. Right, you were with Alastor. Overlord and certified nightmare.

Before you knew it you were out the door, the bell ringing as you held the bag between your arms. "Well, I didn't expect to get these all for free." You laughed almost unbelieving of what had just happened. "Do you always get free service when you're that terrifying?" Alastor almost seemed pleased with himself, a small smile adorned his face. "Well, who am I to refuse such an act of kindness in Hell? People can be quite decent on some days!" He joked, and you laughed along with him. "In any case, I suppose I should thank you for it. Count my blessings right?" The crowd cheers, Alastor grinning wide. "Exactly! You're getting the hang of it!" You shook your head, it was about time you left so you bid your goodbyes and stretched your wings out.

"Should I expect you to come and bother me again next week?" He guffawed, a swing beat loud in the distance.

"You know me well already my friend!"

EDITED: Edited out a part that lacked context and added additional tags

#alastor #alastor x reader #aroace #writing #writeblr #fanfic #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor the radio demon #aroace alastor

[itswhatyougive]

Something that's been bothering me is a small detail in ST4 set design, specifically Eddie's trailer.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's the only place I remember seeing prominently displayed laundry baskets full of dirty clothes, both in the Right Side Up and Upside Down versions of the trailer.

I keep thinking back to Eddie's pointed comment to Jason Carver in the very first episode of S4, about basketball being a game where you "toss balls into laundry baskets". They drove that line home even further by having Dustin repeat it back to Eddie at the cafeteria table.

It's giving me this nagging feeling that Jason and Eddie have more history than we're led to think.

Eddie said it with such bitterness and anger, loud enough that he wanted Jason to take the bait, which he did.

The latest chapters of Hellfire in ST Puzzle Tales also reinforce the fact that Eddie is very very touchy about basketball and the basketball team. He calls it "gross" and he doesn't even want to see Lucas wearing his basketball jacket. It seems oddly "personal", this chip on his shoulder about basketball and Jason.

Do they have some kind of shared history? Is it meant literally, do the laundry baskets have some kind of significance? The Upside Down version of the trailer is stuck in 1983, is it possible three years ago or more Jason used to come over there for some reason? Or is it a figurative thing?

Part of me thinks that new Eddie Munson book that's coming out will have something about Jason in it. Flight of Icarus is set in 1984, so possibly after whatever history he and Jason had. Eddie would be a senior (first time) at Hawkins High School and Jason would've been a sophomore.

#tell me if you think this is too off the wall #eddie munson brainrot #jason carver #munver #? #eddie munson theory #eddie munson #st theories #st theory #stranger things theories #steddie fandom #steddie tumblr #eddie munson thoughts #st4 rewatch #st set design #flight of icarus #st analysis #st4 theory #eddie munson analysis #dirty laundry #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson hc #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson headcanon

[polariae]

Hi my loves!

So I would like to inform u of some problems about the fanfic Savior i am Co working on and the truth on how my Fanfic Ideas of my OC Izumi x Geto got taken advantage of. And how the tragectory of everything went on. From the start to the reason why I wanted her to stop/delete my FF.

As u know I have had my OC Izumi for some years now as a staple in my artworks and I got so much love and curiosity from yall to know more about her. I ofc had a whole backstory in my mind already fleshed out from the start for Izumi, since i just love to make up stories and backgrounds for OC characters. Its just something that comes naturally and all my maladapive daydream girlies will know exactly what im talkin about 😂 and after so many DMs about wanting to know more about her i was like, a fanfic would be amazing to do!

The problem was, English is not my first or second language and I just didnt had the means to bring my thoughts rightly to paper. I also am really invested in drawing here and that takes up all my freetime already. So i had no time or skills to make this FF work.

Thats how I came across a tumblr user who had open a requests on her page so I dmed her. I liked her other work she made with Geto (even tho it was kinda brutal) i liked her writing style a lot. So I asked her if she would like to write this story with me. We agreed that I would give her my ideas and she would write it. I saw her as a friend and trusted her.

But soon she wanted to add and change things up, she said that thats how it is with co writing and thats just how its gonna be. I was okay with that at first, since the changes were sometimes beneficial and it was fun to brainstorm with her. It was clear that this was my vision and any changes had to get through me. We both agreed on that but I was naïve and let myself get talked into things. I just wanted her to keep writing and was dependent for her collaboration.

For anyone who read the FF: The character Kai was never planned by me, it was a character she wanted to have in it, hes someone who abused Izumi in her captivity. He was like the prisonguard of her. I was like okay fine u can add him but i said from the beginning that I do not want him to touch Izumi in a sexual way.

I shouldve known immediately that things will go south as the writer said she wanted to add sexual abuse in it.

I was very reluctant but I sensed how she spoke that she wouldnt wanna write further so I agreed in just very mild things, which already were awful enough but i tried to make the best out of her wishes. Since she was insisting. And i hoped that if id agree to this mild things that that would be it and hopefully not picked up further in the story and at last forgotten by the readers.

My only thing i always said was: I dont want to have any of this abuse to interfere with Izumis and Getos relationship. That was a big thing since I wanted them to have a romantic and loving relationship further on. The NSFW scenes were planned to be sweet, and sensual especially cuz Geto wouldve been all Izumi knew sexually and her first (and Geto is just peak hotness and perfect for that) Izumi should enjoy her firsts with Geto fully.

Going on she started to change more things.. and it got further and further away from how Izumi and all was. She started to change Izumi and her personality. Shes so far off of what I pictured her to be and what was discussed. But that wasnt the worst thing.

Then the writer just started to take things to new levels, Izumi having to be forced to suck Kai off for food, Kai fingering her to her orgasm against her will etc.

Pls know that she just posted the chapters without informing me, so i always tried to talk her into removing these scenes but to no avail.

Boiling point was now the latest chapters cuz she made Izumi have panic attack and flashbacks. Worst, she made her having one as Geto and Izumi tried to take things further in the bedroom. She made Izumi think of Kai and her sexual abuse. Tormenting Izumi with memories of Kai sexually abusing her when Geto was touching her. Its awful.

And that was what made me just so so sad. Cuz Kai wasnt even supposed to be in the story at all. And now exactly what I didnt wanted happened. At this point i wasnt even invested anymore in the story cuz it just wasnt enjoyable to read about all this mess. Izumi was snappy, her personality is weird and unpleasant and it was just such a weird vibe between Geto and Izumi. The writer always talked her way out by saying thats just how trauma works ect. Without acknowledging my wishes and my OC Izumi. Izumi and Geto just were soo weird together and after this all their whole dynamic was not there anymore. It wasnt loving, it wasnt sweet.

And i would like to add that im a sucker for Angst. Like im not someone who reads fluff. But this was even for me not even Angst anymore, it was just uncomfortable.

Like it was the drop that made it overfloat. What made me not wanting to be associated with it anymore. She wrote on many Autors Notes especially the recent ones, that she does not have the drive to write more on the FF. That she healfheartly literally ended the FF today in 3 chapters. This fanfic just has nothing to do with what I imagined anymore and im sad that i gave away all my ideas away to her tbh. If i had known I wouldve never asked her to write my ideas out. It also became her most read Fanfic. We discussed sooo many cool ideas and scenes for this fanfic till the end chapters like i just dont understand why she just insists in having this sexual abuse in it and tormenting Izumi. And also drag it over so many chapters. So many of you DMed me and said hoe uncomfortable it made u feel reading the latest chapters and how the storyline just didnt seem the same anymore. Which was as u see now absolutely true.

I asked her many times on why she insists on having sexual abuse in it so much? But shes never gave me an answer, no she tries to turn in on me saying "u agreed to it". Which as I discussed with u above was not what happened AT ALL. She says she cant remove it anymore, wether the scenes or Izumis mental torment and trauma. But she COULD.

ITS A FANFIC. U can always make it work.

Its also funny how she tries to say "im doing it for free" to hint that she can do whatever she wants. In that case i just have to say; i also gave all my ideas for free like? Its insane how this is even a conversation.

The gaslighting she is doing in the chat is hard to manage and Im srsly so sad and also annoyed that this had to happen.

I wont engage in this with her more cuz I have to keep my mental health in tact.

You saw how she is turning things around, how she manipulates and changes the context of conversations. I remember vividly how the first times she laughed at how emotionally invested i was in my story and belitteling me. I created Izumi nearly 4 years ago while I was batteling severe anxiety while i was homebound. How she always blackmailed me in saying "ur not paying me so I can do whatever I want" and when I then gave her some payed content for free she is now changing the narrative as if she never asked for money. I was the one who thought we would do this for fun and was always hurt when she talked about this tid for tad mentality.

I tried to build a friendship and let things that she said pass during our "friendship" out of good faith. I was hurt how she treated me and dismissed me and my character requirements and how now that I was the one saying I dont see her as a friend anymore she turns it around to make it seem im the "mean" one for now standing up for myself. I am still shook about this disingenious behavior. I never sent hate to her even tho she tries with all her power to say so. I even insisted to keep things kind and graceful. And after she shit on me and I saw that she wouldnt budge, I stood up for myself. Also; Calling me a bitch and telling me to fuck off is no "quirky" way to talk to people as seen below. Especially in this context.

Shes now deleting every comment that doesnt benefit her on the comment sections. Im not surprised. So be it.

Tbh I do not care anymore. I just made story posts but since she showed the DMs I wanted to post the truth for u to read here as well. Iwont let this negativity from her linger any longer and give her any platform.

As I said in the DM i rather had kept this private but I had to share the truth in this matter since she spread misinformation. You deserve to know how things really went behind the scenes. And im sick and tired that my kindness is always taken advantage of.

I had to speak up for myself, my Ideas and my OC. Thank u for all that messaged me and having my back! Everyone of u sent nothing but love and support my way my heart was bursting out of greatfulness.

I LOVE YOU.

If you've read so far im so so grateful for ur time. And in due time I will tell the real story of Izumi and Geto in a FF worthy of their love.

Latesr DMs she also posted but here with context.

#notice #geto fanfic

[portaltothevoid]

God Called In Sick Today — Chapters 1 & 2

Summary: It’s the ghafia fic you didn’t know you needed… When a mission goes south, Copia is left scrambling to figure out a plan to get the mayor-to-be in favor of the Emeritus family. That’s where Arianna Diodati, the Mafia Princess of his (very Catholic) rival, comes in. He plans to use her as a bargaining chip to get what he wants. Did he place the right bet or did he take more than he bargained for?

Word count: 5.8k ~//~ Warnings: mafia au, copia x oc, death/murder, gun usage, angst, physically and verbally abusive relationship, domestic violence (between oc x oc), (brief, almost subtle) dacryphilia, kidnapping, dark copia, cliffhanger, enemies to lovers, slow burn

A/N: Surprise! It's a double feature! Fair warning, the next chapters won’t be up til I have a few under my belt so that they can be posted regularly and since I’m still working on You’re Losing Me as well… it might be a while. But I am so so excited for this, that I had to give you all a taste! Massive, massive thank you to @fishwithtitz @da-rulah and @copias-juicebox for beta reading and listening to me talk about this non-stop as I worked out the plot 🖤(photos in mood board all found on pintrest and dividers by @gothdaddyissues!)

Chapter One -- The Sermon and The Plan

It was never a good sign when Papa Emeritus IV demanded a mandatory mass that wasn’t on Sunday. Usually, meetings such as this would be for the upper echelon of the clergy and the Ghouls, but this time around, every single member of the Satan’s Ministry was in attendance. No one dared speak or even look away from their Papa as he stood, eyeing everyone in the room like the disappointed father he was. 

Those in the front row could hear his leather gloves squeak against the oak of the pulpit as he gripped it like a stress ball. His unique set of eyes, one green and one white, focused on one specific Ghoul. His expression darkened like an approaching storm, which made for his already intimidating skull-painted face to become menacing. As for the Ghoul, if it weren’t for the silver-horned mask covering his face, even Papa would have seen the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of it. He knew he was the reason everyone was here and why Papa looked beyond furious. He knew it the moment he saw the blue and red flashing lights at the docks.

“As most of you know,” the Satanic pope began, “our latest operation was thwarted by carelessness. All of you deserve to know why, but first, it isn’t a true Mass without a sermon, hm?” 

He clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to walk to his right, addressing those in the pews in front of him. “Pride and greed. Two sins that often go hand in hand. Sins which we celebrate here. It seems I need to remind you all that the celebration of sin, any sin, does not give one a free pass to do whatever the fuck they want, eh?”

He turned again, to walk to the other side of the sanctuary. “Every coin has two sides. At what point does living in sin, celebrating sins, become a hindrance? 

“Pride. An excessive belief in one’s abilities. Pride can make one think they are untouchable. Pride is the sin that pushes us to achieve greatness not just in the name of Satan, but for ourselves. And there, we find greed. A desire for wealth, for gain. But, again I ask you all, when does celebrating these glorious sins become a hindrance?” 

Now, he was in front of the pulpit. Leaning against it was a cane, something he only brought out for show or to inflict pain. While he was addressing everyone, his dichromatic eyes landed on the trembling Ghoul in the center. “Excessive or grandiose sinning becomes a deterrent when it puts the lives of others at risk, when it puts an institution, a family, that you’ve devoted your life to at risk.” Grabbing the cobra head handle, Papa gracefully jumped down to walk in front of the first row. “Many of you are aware of a mission we set out on recently. A mission to save helpless women and children from a sex-trafficking ring. There also was to be an exchange of money. These degenerates were exchanging quite a large sum of money for this transaction. Those prisoners were denied the choice of freedom we offer here. We were denied what was to be used as payment to put the malleable Gregory Osorio in our corner. We have very little time to come up with this sum to get a powerful, up and coming politician in our corner. One who could turn votes in our favor. One who would look out for us. One who would defiantly oppose the Diodati dickheads.

“This mission was not successful. By the time our Ghouls arrived, the prisoners were ‘rescued’ by the police. The money – that should have been ours – confiscated. I know many have wondered how this could have happened. Well, children, the answer is simple.

“Pride… and greed…” he spoke slowly, as he walked down the center aisle, dragging his cane along the ends of the pews. “Someone felt too secure in themselves… Felt they could just… open their fucking mouth to anyone who would fucking listen… while not realizing… They were fraternizing with an informant for the enemy.” He paused his promenade. “This was not a simple mistake. This was blatant negligence from someone who I know, for a fact, knew better. This Ghoul broke our Sacramentum Secreti (Oath of Secrecy).” He began walking again. His cane hit a pew with every word. “Internal problems will be dealt with.”

He stopped. Everyone turned to look at Papa, except for one Ghoul. Papa reached over, using the tip of his cane to force him to look at his figurehead, his boss. With a look that could kill and a wave of his hand, he indicated the Ghoul to walk in front of him back up to the sanctuary.

After twenty paces, “Ghoul, you seem to be limping. I wonder why that is… Is it because your pain and suffering is a message from La Famiglia Diodati?” he remarked snidely. 

When Papa planted himself behind the pulpit, he pointed the cane to indicate a spot on the ground. “Kneel,” he commanded. On shaky legs, the Ghoul did as he was told.

Papa dragged his gaze up to the choir loft before him, where one of his best Ghouls was waiting for the signal. Painstakingly slow, he looked back at the insurrectionist. “Per aspera, ad inferi,” he prayed. Again, he made eye contact with the one in the choir loft, giving a solitary nod.

In the blink of an eye, the Ghoul to Papa’s right jolted back slightly, a red dot forming in the center of his forehead. As deep burgundy liquid dripped from it, the congregation gasped, and the Ghoul toppled forward onto his masked face with a deafening thud.  

Papa bowed his head, but his eyes passed over everyone clutching their rosary beads in front of him. Somehow, this look was more sinister than it was at the start. “Let it be known that internal problems will be dealt with,” he paused dramatically, “by whatever means necessary.”

And with that, he turned heel and left through the back door, concluding mass.

“Do we really need Osorio this time around? Putting our efforts into driving back the Diodatis would be more beneficial,” Secondo, the second oldest Emeritus, argued. The highest members of the clergy and of the Emeritus family were gathered in their meeting room reserved for familial “business” matters. 

A leather clad fist slammed on the dark cherry wood table. “And what the fuck do you think getting Osorio on our payroll would do?” Papa snapped. Secondo just rolled his eyes in response. “We’re running out of fucking time.”

“There’s that charity gala, or whatever the fuck, tomorrow. I could just use my lascivious charm to reel in Osorio,” Papa’s predecessor and brother, Terzo, waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Papa pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back in his luxurious leather office chair. 

“Copia, he actually–and it pains me to admit this–might be onto something. That gala could be a way in,” the eldest Emeritus agreed as he pressed his elbows into the table, his fingers interlacing in front of him, as he stared down his youngest brother and the church’s current Papa. 

Terzo waved his hand and his smirk deepened with Primo proving his idea had some merit. 

“We have nothing to give Osorio! The whole point of that mission was to dangle that money in his face,” Copia countered. 

“So instead we ask him his price,” Terzo shrugged nonchalantly. 

“How many of Sal’s men will be there?”

“I believe just his right-hand, Alessio Fidanza and his fiancée and probably only a handful of his associates,” Primo relayed. 

Copia’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of the fiancée. “Isn’t that Sal’s daughter? The prim and proper Mafia princess?”

“Sì.”

“For what it’s worth, my advice as your consigliere would be to attend this gala for recon purposes only. Yes, our time is running out, but we still have time to sway Osorio.” For the first time an older woman, who everyone called Sister Imperator, spoke up. She had been keenly observing Copia’s every move, just as any mother would her son, carefully watching knowing he was especially volatile right now. 

“And Sal, what about him? He’ll be there too?” Copia asked, ignoring the woman beside him.

“As far as we know, yes.”

A wicked, devilish smile spread across Copia’s face, exaggerating the black paint reminiscent of a rat’s skull around his mouth. 

“No… Copia, what are you thinking?” Sister Imperator asked hesitantly. She knew that look. They all did.

“Oh we’ll get some information. We will find out Osorio’s price and we will get Diodati’s attention.”

“Elaborate, brother,” Secondo said wearily. They knew Copia had just hatched a plan and from the look on his face, it was going to be far from easy.

“Diodati thinks he has the upper hand, sì? We can kill two birds with one stone. Show him who has the power here and get the money from him to pay off Osorio so those Catholic fucks can’t use God as a basis for politics.”

“And how exactly… would we do that? Are we intercepting one of their shipments or–” Sister Imperator began to ask hesitantly until she was cut off.

“It’s simple,” Copia stated. He leaned back in his chair casually this time, his elbows perched on the chair’s arm rests. He waved his hands in front him as if he was presenting a physical idea. “We kidnap la Principessa di Dio.”

Chapter Two -- You Should Be Scared

The last thing Arianna Diodati wanted to do was attend some pompous charity event chained to her fiancé wearing a designer dress she hated and a fake smile. She thanked God that she didn’t have to endure the after parties; she could retreat to solitude and her husband-to-be could do whatever (and most likely whomever) he wanted there. Not knowing what happened at those parties used to ruminate in her mind like a catchy pop song… until she actually found out. 

The infidelity bothered her at first, caused her to lose sleep at night, and question her worth. She used to be confrontational. She used to stick up for herself. She used to care. Arianna learned the hard way that Alessio Fidanza never actually wanted her or truly loved her. Maybe at first he did, but as time marched on, she came to realize the only thing he cared about was having an in with the most illustrious mafia family in New York City. The closer he got to her, the closer he got to Arianna’s father aka the boss of the Diodati family, and the higher up in the ranks he rose, the less he paid her any attention – or respect. In less than a handful of years Alessio was promoted as Salvatore Diodati’s right hand man. He learned the ropes, got enough blood on his hands, and eventually helped call the shots. She was used to her father dictating her life, but now, finding herself under the thumb of another man? There were only two things she could do: watch her life pass her by from behind barred windows and pray to God someone would eventually notice (and care enough about) her imprisonment to save her.

Nevertheless, she admired herself in the mirror; for once, she wore a dress that made her feel confident. Her black cherry red curls cascaded around her face. For a moment, she could see a sparkle, or a glimmer of hope, returning in her hazel eyes as she noted how the asymmetrical dress framed her body perfectly. Satin jersey panels on the two thirds of the dress accentuated her curves as it snaked down the length of it. It draped up, slightly off one shoulder while the other was a simple strap clad with the subtle (yet signature) Versace Medusa emblem. That side of the dress was a simple satin. A slit allowed one of her toned legs to peek through adding an air of sexy sophistication to the look. She was almost smiling until she heard her fiancé behind her.

“You’re wearing that tonight?” And with that snide question, the sparkle in her eye dimmed once more, returning to their usual lackluster shine.

“Um, yes? I showed it to you, remember? You said it would be fine…” she said hesitantly, her voice dancing on eggshells, and her small smile fading.

Alessio scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Do you think I pay attention to half the stuff you show me? If I saw something like that, I would have remembered. Wear the other Versace dress. The one I had Roberta pick up for you.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Specifically for tonight,” he added, his tone proving he had little patience for her tonight.

“But what’s wrong with this one? It’s not like it’s–”

He sprung at her, his nostrils flaring as he gripped her arms tighter than a blood pressure cuff. She fought back the tears that pricked in her eyes. “You look like one of Satan’s whores. Now,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “put on the other dress.” He shoved her back, her arms flew out to find purchase on the dresser beside her so she wouldn’t fall. The few perfume bottles that toppled over made an almost deafening sound amongst the tension. Her breathing was ragged as she glared at him. His look back at her served as a warning. 

She never understood how someone who claimed to be so devoted to God could be so evil, but she had to trust God’s plan for her. This all had to serve a purpose, didn’t it?

Her eyes closed as she composed herself, doing her best to stuff down the ever-raging storm of anger that lately seemed to be constantly brewing inside her. “Yes, Alessio. It’s the one still in the garment bag?”

Slowly he rolled his head up to look at the ceiling, before bringing it back to glare at her. “Obviously, you dumb bitch. Hurry up and get fucking changed. I can’t afford to be late tonight because of you,” he spat as he walked out of their room. 

Once more, she took a deep shuddering breath, her whole body trembling on the exhale. Stepping out of her preferred dress, she left the almost four thousand dollar garment lying crumpled on the floor. 

Now as she looked at herself in the mirror again, she saw a stranger she didn’t even recognize despite the only thing that physically had changed was her dress. She noted how her eyes seemed more hollow. The color in her face had paled. There was nothing but a stranger who once had dreams and ambition staring back at her. None of this felt real. 

The worst part of it all was that under any other circumstances, she would have loved wearing this. It was a black viscose material. A slim-fitting, hooded crêpe dress with a plunging V-neckline that was much more revealing than her own choice, but this one had long sleeves and went down to her mid-calf. There was a criss-cross belt also adorned with Versace’s Medusa logo, only this one was more prominent than the one on her choice of dress. 

She let out a humorless laugh as she adjusted the long sleeves. All she wanted tonight was to feel confident, to show off some skin, because things had been relatively quiet as of late. Alessio was kept busy, his attention divided elsewhere. For the first time in a while, her arms didn’t look like an abstract painting. 

If she had been the one to pick out this dress, her sentiments towards it would have been different. She didn’t want to hide, but this was what Alessio wanted her to wear. There was no way around that unless she wanted to pay the price. Letting out a heavy sigh, she put the hood up. This dress felt like the most high end and lavish prison jumpsuit. No one would know how much it felt like she was wearing shackles, a stark reminder that her choices were never own. But at least tonight she wouldn’t have to come up with a lie to explain the fresh bruises on her arms.

A single tear slid down her face, which she quickly wiped away. With a shake of her head, she put her emotions under lock and key, tucking it away into a dark corner of her mind. She practiced her million dollar smile and nodded to herself, putting her shoulders back and her chest out –a mirage of confidence and happiness– and made her way to the Bentley that was waiting for her. 

No matter the formal event, the routine was almost always the same. Arianna would find her father, talk to and dance with who he (or Alessio) told her to, have two strong drinks (but no more than that or else she’d have to deal with a very irate Alessio), fake pleasantries with the other ladies who were just as much a prisoner to this life as she was, then once the crowd began thin, could she retreat. Tonight would be no different. At least, that's what she had assumed.

She greeted her father with a kiss on the cheek. “Arianna, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he father said, ushering over to a man that was just about six or seven years older than her. He looked just like everyone else here like he came from money and would stop at nothing to get more. “Greg, this is my daughter, Arianna. Arianna, this is Gregory Osorio, our soon to be Mayor.”

This Greg guy let out a low whistle as he looked Arianna up and down. “Sal, you weren’t kidding. She is absolutely stunning. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so many things about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” she said with a smile that would never quite reach her eyes. 

“Oh, absolutely! Your dress looks like it was made for you. Ah, how do you say it… You look… bellissima!” 

“You’re too kind. Alessio convinced me to wear this tonight. I have to give all the credit to him,” she laughed, keeping up the ruse of niceties as Alessio dug his fingers into her side. It was his retaliation for the subtle jab she just made at him, even though these people would never ever know that it was. 

“Fidanza, you are a lucky man!” 

“I thank God everyday for her,” Alessio said, giving one more bruise-worthy squeeze on Arianna’s waist. He dropped his hand when everyone’s attention snapped towards the door. The group that had just arrived turned heads as they sauntered in. 

“Who invited those Emeritus fucks?” Sal snapped. 

“Copia put a call in himself to my office about a sizable donation for tonight. I figured if he's willing to be a top donor–perhaps even the top donor tonight–they might as well enjoy some of the festivities, no?” Osorio responded cautiously. “If you’ll excuse me, Sal…”

They exchanged nods as Gregory meandered through the crowd. Sal snapped his fingers. “I want eyes on them. They’re fucking up to something. Never once have they given a shit about things like this.”

“On it, boss,” one of his men said before he disappeared amongst the throng of people.  

Arianna never liked the Emeritus family. In fact, she borderline hated them with their menacingly painted faces and blasphemous way of life. She never quite understood how they rose to rival that of her family. Perhaps they really did make a deal with the devil.

“I’m going to grab a drink,” she said quietly. Alessio just waved her off, her father already in a passionate discussion regarding something she couldn’t care less about.

She made her way to the bar, getting the attention of one of the bartenders. “Your usual, Ms. Diodati?”

“Yes, please,” she smiled. 

It wasn’t long until she felt a pair of eyes on her from the other end of the bar. She looked up to see Copia, the ringleader of the Satanic circus, staring her down like a hunter watching its prey. It sent a shiver down her spine, but all he saw was the scowl that encapsulated her face. That only made him smirk at her.

She rolled her eyes in disgust, looking away from him. Out of the corner of her eye, though, when she knew his attention was back on someone that wasn’t her, she couldn’t help herself from taking in his appearance. She hated to admit, he looked… elegant. His burgundy pants were impossibly tight in all the right ways. It pained her to acknowledge the way they perfectly hugged his thighs. He had foregone his suit jacket, leaving just his matching burgundy vest and black dress shirt and tie. His sleeves were rolled up and she could see his muscles flex as he grabbed his drink.

Her eyes lingered for a few seconds too long. This time, he caught her watching him. His mouth curled up again into a sly half-smile as he took a drink. His dichromatic eyes never left her. The instant her drink hit the counter, she brought it to her lips and weaved her way through everyone back to Alessio in hopes of putting distance between her and whatever exchange had just taken place.

Shortly after she resumed her role as the token arm candy she was, did her father tense up when a leather clad hand slapped his shoulder. “Salvatore! Come stai (how are you)?”  

“Copia,” he greeted stiffly. “To what do we owe this… surprise?” The words rolled off his tongue as if they made his skin crawl. 

“Can’t a man just be willing to support a good cause such as this?”

Sal’s only response was to purse his lips. Copia was reveling in the fact that just his presence alone was getting under his enemy’s skin. “Say, Copia, did you hear about the girls that were rescued from trafficking by the docks the other day?” A condescending smirk now replaced the sour look on his face.

Copia’s eyes darkening was the only acknowledgement of Sal’s jab he let slip. “Ah, yes, thank the Gods below they’ve been transferred from one prison to another, being treated as criminals instead of victims.”

“Well, a whore contained is better than a whore on the street.”

Copia laughed sneeringly. “Ah, and I’m sure by whore, you mean a two-bit one. Tell me, though, what are the plans after this? Anyone escorting you to the after party?” he smirked as it was Sal’s turn for his expression to darken. 

Arianna didn’t realize she was watching this with bated breath, or that she was clinging to Alessio until he shook her off him. Copia's eyes immediately darted to Arianna’s fiancé breaking free of her almost death grip to take a step towards him. “You know, since you’re here, a thanks is in order,” Alessio said cunningly. “Those girls couldn’t have been saved without the helpful information one of your soldiers let slide right off his tongue. I’ve gotta say, that was a lucky group of girls.”

“Life’s just a game of luck, isn’t it?” Sal chimed in with a shrewd smile directed at Copia. 

“And I thank you as well, gentlemen, for helping me shed some dead weight.” The tenison grew thick as the flames of their rivalry were fanned with each remark. “But, a real man makes his own luck.” He casted a quick astute glance with an accompanying nod to Sal before he turned to directly face Arianna. “Perdonami,” he murmured gently, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Arianna, e come stai stasera, principessa (and how are you tonight, princess)?” 

Her heart thumped wildly against her sternum and her eyes flashed nervously over to Alessio. She knew somehow this man’s unprompted actions would be her fault. Both men noted immediately how her body stiffened. One was amused by her fear while the other felt a pang of pity. “Bene, grazie (good, thank you),” she piped up meekly. 

“Would it be alright if I stole la bella donna (the beautiful woman) for just one dance?” he asked the two men beside him, only taking his eyes off Arianna for a mere second.

Giving Alessio a slap on the back, “She’s practically yours now, son. That’s your call to make,” her father laughed as he walked off towards the bar.

Arianna widened her eyes, begging Alessio to say no. Rolling his lips between his teeth as he pondered his decision quickly. He nodded, another sly smile curling the edges of his mouth. “One song wouldn’t hurt, eh? Careful though, she’s a pistol. Hope you can handle her. Lord knows some days I barely can.”

Copia laughed dryly. “I think someone of my stature knows how to handle one of those quite well,” he challenged, ushering Arianna away quickly.

Alessio reached out and grabbed her by the arm, just like he had earlier, turning her towards him. She inhaled sharply through gritted teeth at the pain as he had constricted her already tender bruises. “I’ll be waiting by the bar for you,” he hummed as his eyes flicked back and forth between Arianna and her new dance partner, before they lingered on her. She knew that look on his face. It was another warning. Without a sound, he let go of her, and followed the path of her father.

Copia’s arm snaked around her waist. He made it a point to do it gingerly, but that did nothing to calm her rattling nerves. “You’re trembling, cara,” he noted quietly, turning to face her, placing a hand on her hip on the same spot Alessio’s fingers left painful imprints. Her eyes fluttered shut when she involuntarily shied away from him. He eyed her curiously as he switched hands, placing one on her opposite hip and taking her hand in his other. She never quite understood the random ballroom dancing that happened at some of these parties.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

A sinister laugh quietly bubbled from him as he leaned to whisper in her ear, “You really should be.”

“And why’s that?” she challenged as they stepped in time together. Unsure of how, or why, but she could feel some of her old fire ignite inside her. 

“Now, now, if I answered that it would ruin the surprise.”

She spoke in a way so her lips didn’t move, but Copia could understand her muffled words perfectly: “My father has eyes on you, you know.” This came off as more of a warning of caution than a threat. 

“I’d expect nothing less from him. The real question is, does he have eyes on you?”

“I highly doubt it. I’ve proven to him I’ve learned from my rebellious ways,” she scoffed.

“Oh?”

“The consequences aren’t worth the… It serves no purpose anymore.”

After a few beats of silence, Copia asked, “Why do you let them treat you like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like they own you.”

For the first time since their dance began, she looked directly into his two-toned irises. Her breath hitched. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone, never mind a practical stranger, had even acknowledged her feelings or that she might have any at all. Her life wasn’t her own; it was already planned out. She could picture her life with Alessio as if she already lived. It’s mostly the reason she had become a shell, a carbon copy of herself. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a tall cliffside with no one to pull her back and no one who noticed, or even cared… So why was her father’s sworn enemy acting as if he did? And why in God’s name did it make her stomach flip and her heart flutter? “Because they do,” she finally managed to say through barely parted lips.

As the song ended, Copia regarded her with a smug, yet sympathetic look. He stepped towards her, pressing his body against hers, bringing his forehead down to hers. Standing there frozen, there was nothing she was able to do except stare into the most intriguing pair of eyes she’d ever seen. “Il mio agnellino (my little lamb)…” he purred. A devilish smile creeped onto his face. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He abruptly left her standing there like a deer in headlights with her heart hammering in chest, and disappeared into the crowd. She sucked in a deep, ragged breath as she looked around checking to see if there were any witnesses to what just happened. 

That man was evil. She knew this. He was ruthless. He worshiped the devil. He was the enemy.

And yet, what terrified her the most wasn’t his veiled threats, but her reaction to them. There was an allure to him, an air of mystique. Someone heard her faint cries for freedom… She shook it off and went to find Alessio, fearing what he would do if she waited any longer.

Arianna caught his eye as she walked up to him leaning against the bar, alone. He knocked back the remainder of his drink and forcefully grabbed her wrist, dragging her out to a deserted hallway. Not a single person batted an eyelash as they rushed past. 

Once he assumed they were completely by themselves, he forced her up against the wall. Her back stinging in protest as the coolness of the concrete seeped into her skin. Unbeknownst to the nowhere-near-happy couple, Copia and his ghouls were waiting in a nearby room. Every part of his plan was falling in place like dominos. 

“Alessio wh–” Arianna started to question, but was cut off by Alessio slamming his fist on the wall right next to her head.

While he now had her caged in, he pointed a finger in her face. “What the fuck was that about? You fucking wanted to dance with that vermin?”

She stared at him in horror. Even though she knew he would pull this card, it never made it easier any time it happened. “What are you talking about?! Did you miss the look I gave you? I wanted nothing to do with him! I wanted you to say the ‘no’ that I couldn’t!”

“You wanted–” he scoffed. “You wanted me to say no? Since when do I make your decisions for you?”

“Only every fucking day of my life!” she spat back at him, seething. Though he embodies sin and everything unholy, when Copia switched the hands on her hips, when he noted her fear… Those actions, so subtle, spoke volumes. She was reminded of what it means when a person has compassion, empathy, and even a trace of humanity inside them. If she ever experienced that with Alessio it had long be wiped from her memory, overridden by every terrible thing he had done to her and put her through.

The rage that erupted from him, the hatred that bled from his eyes, haunted her nightmares. Instantly after the words left her mouth, her whole body tensed. When the blow from his hand landed across her face, she didn’t even have time to react before he gripped her arms again, somehow even harder than the two previous times.

“You think you can just go dance with another man without looking like one of the devil’s whores? Maybe I should have let you wear that dress, since here you are, being one instead of just looking like one.” He shook her as he berated her. 

“Alessio, please, you’re hurting me,” she whimpered, tears streaming down her face as her fiancé screamed at her. His voice drowned out from the thumping music and the raucous party-goers in the other room.

“You little fucking cunt, if it wasn’t for your father I would have left your pathetic ass years ago,” he snarled through his teeth just before he tossed her to the ground like a rag doll. “Get the fuck home. I don’t want to deal with this right now. And you better think of a good way to make this up to me…” he warned before he cracked his neck, fixed his shirt cuffs, and sauntered back into the party. 

Quietly, she sobbed into the tile floor. Her body was alight in a flame of pain. “Please, God. Please help me. I can’t… I just can’t…”

A hand gently touched her shoulder. She recoiled, flinching, and pressed herself into the wall behind her.

“Oh, Principessa,” Copia tutted. He crouched down in front of her and used his thumb to wipe away her tears. She watched as he brought his hand closer to inspect how they glistened on his leather glove. His eyes bored into hers as he brought his thumb to his mouth, nearly sensually cleaning off her agonized tears with his tongue. Fear coursed through her harder than the adrenaline did when she spoke back to Alessio. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that God called in sick today,” he leaned in closer, hovering over her forebodingly, “and he sent me to handle your prayers,” he cooed disparagingly. 

He stepped back from her, offering to help her up. She stared at his hand, her eyes wide with panic. When he waved it to snap her out of her trance, she scrambled to her feet. Automatically fearing supposed repercussions. 

“How much… how much of that did you hear?” she whispered.

“All of it.” With a snap of his fingers two ghouls appeared, seemingly out of nowhere from Arianna’s perspective, and grabbed her arms. Their grip firm, but it wasn’t lost on her how they somehow managed to avoid touching where Alessio had hurt her. 

“Wh-what are you doing? Let me go. Let go of me!” she cried out, feebly attempting to wriggle from the ghouls’ grasps. 

Copia stepped forward, taking her face in his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheeks. With his face inches from hers, that diabolical smile reappeared. “I’m sorry about that too, but I can’t allow that. You see, il mio agnellino, you won’t be going home tonight.” He snaked his hands down from her face and along her neck before he leaned in so close to her, his breath tickled her ear. The way his lips moved against her skin sent shivers down her spine. “I told you. You should be scared of me.”

As he backed away from her, a third ghoul put a cloth over her mouth. Her screams were muffled as she tried to thrash and escape from her captors. Soon, her movements slowed and her vision blurred. The last thing she remembered seeing was that haunting pair of eyes, one green and one white, watching her with a smirk that rivaled that of the devil’s, before something covered her head and plunged her into darkness as her body went limp.

Next Chapter || taglist: @gorie-talks-a-lot @haelithra @love-is-all-you-need-13 @lydzlore @megachaoticstupid @onlyhereforghost  @state-of-longing @werich @whenparadiseislost 

#the band ghost #the band ghost mafia au #mafia au #copia #mob boss!copia #mob boss copia #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus 4 #papa copia #copia x oc #papa emeritus iv x oc #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost bc #ghost bc fanfic #copia angst

[genericpuff]

Honestly it’s getting tiring seeing the sobbing chronically of the cast ; Hera , Demeter, Persephone and probably more . Like it’s giving big baby cry cry energy instead of idk something proactive. Not sure if It’s just me getting that from the latest chapters???

I have two schools of thought on this.

On the one hand, I can fully understand wanting to show the vulnerability of these characters, to not send a message that emotions are bad and that people should just "toughen up". This is trying to be a "feminist" piece of work after all, and much of feminism preaches vulnerability and empathy and allowing oneself to get back in touch with their own emotions, rather than shutting themselves away from them which is often perpetuated by the societal expectations and norms of toxic masculinity.

Persephone crying as she confronts Apollo - the man who she now understands assaulted her - is understandable and real. A reasonable reaction to an emotional situation that many people can empathize with.

Hera crying as she reveals the true extent of the damage Kronos caused her is understandable and real. He's quite literally been stalking her in the recesses of her mind and it's reaching a breaking point.

But on the other hand, there's a difference between wanting to show a character showing their emotions and then learning to overcome the challenges they've presented with - whether they do it independently or learn to trust in others to help them - thus growing in the process and coming out stronger on the other side vs. using a character purely for torture porn. As much as we preach concepts like "normalize crying" in a very simplified way for the sake of being easily understood, such simplifications often result in a lack of nuance.

An entirely other subject to use as a comparison point to explain this nuance - it's like the difference between having a character who's become so jaded and disconnected from the concept of empathy that even murder becomes just a menial task to them vs. murderhobos. Murderhobos are not interesting or complex or empathetic or relatable, they're just written (and in the case of where the term comes from - Dungeons & Dragons - played) for the sole purpose of having an edgy uncaring character who thinks they're free from consequences while they fuck up the lives of everyone around them in a completely irredeemable way (and is often protected from such consequences due to plot armor, unless it's in D&D, in which case you'll likely be politely asked to either change your character for the sake of the campaign or leave.)

There's nothing to gain or learn from murderhobos. They only exist for the satisfaction of an ego complex - "I don't care what you want or how it affects the people around me, I want to kill people without consequences because that's as creative as my imagination can get in my own personal fantasy."

There's nothing to gain or grow from anymore when we get another scene of Hera bleeding mascara as she cries over her situation with Kronos while still refusing to actually tell anyone what's going on with Kronos, despite the fact that we had an entire fucking therapy speak episode where she realized she needed help. So it feels like it's purely there just to play on the trope of "sad woman is saaaad, won't anyone help herrrr?" which is really starting to learn into learned helplessness.

This is especially apparent with Persephone, who, upon causing a massive problem for everyone, has taken it upon herself to shut herself away while her loved ones deal with the problem. If she needs the time to cry and process what's going on, that's fine. But while that's happening, we know mortals are dying and that she's turning the situation into a learned helplessness pity party of "I'm a monsterrr and no one likes meeee :((((" while having zero self-awareness that yeah, she did cause this problem, and her locking herself away in her literal mansion isn't exactly going to help the situation.

I've already used Tamberlane as an example of approaching the subject of learned helplessness and how it's fundamentally different from simply being vulnerable and having emotions, but I'm gonna share it again here because it's really relevant and Persephone needs someone to give her this same wake-up call.

Considering Demeter was the one to approach her at the end of the last episode, I'm hoping she'll be the one to broach the topic with her, but judging by how Rachel's treated it so far with every character reassuring her with empty platitudes that accomplish nothing but comforting Persephone over something she caused like "Noooo you're not a monster, you're the best queen ever and you're trying her best!!" (and the fact that Rachel has spent so much time turning Demeter into public enemy #1 that her readers still can't fucking give her any shred of empathy even after finding out she lost a child, fucking yikes) I'm not holding my breath that this week's episode is gonna actually have that same level of emotional maturity or growth. This is the second time in the entire comic we've seen Persephone suffer the consequences of her actions out of many that have been harmful, some accidental, others very intentional (which Rachel has even supported her doing in a very unironic sense, it's safe to say Rachel really truly does believe that Persephone is entitled to abuse people). And judging by how things went the first time, it's hard to have the benefit of the doubt and assume Persephone is gonna actually take accountability and learn and grow from this. She didn't the last time and her character has only devolved since.

Sure, feeling like you've fucked up to such a monumental degree that you'll never be able to show your face in public again is something that's real and relatable and worth crying over... but crying is an emotional response, not the actual solution. It is a PART of expressing and processing emotions, but ultimately those emotions are not actions, just REactions. Crying is okay, crying is a normal response to grief and sadness, but if you don't actually take steps forward and continue to wallow in the sadness, blame everyone else around you for it, and simultaneously rely on everyone else to carry the burden of your own actions for you, then that's when it exits the realm of healthy emotional processing and broaches the unhealthy realm of learned helplessness and emotional manipulation.

If anything, her entire monologue in the last FP episode was more about Rachel being upset over criticism of her comic and her self-insert that, like Persephone's deal with Erebus and the "plague" that followed, she earned over not addressing the issues in her work sooner and instead choosing to double down - both through Persephone's abusive behavior within the narrative and Rachel's passive aggressive meta-commentary on that abuse being okay because "she's earned the right to lash out".

The only people in this entire comic who have "earned the right to lash out" are the women that Rachel has villainized along the way in the pursuit of giving her self-insert everything without effort or sacrifice. And even then those people would still have to rightfully answer for their wrongs and grow from them - because there is no right to abuse, there is no right to harming others, especially not if the "others" you're harming are people who were victims in their own right that you turned into imaginary enemies so you could have someone to punch down at in the absence of a spine to stand up for yourself against the real perpetrators. And in doing so, Persephone herself has become a perpetrator, who sheds crocodile tears that no one is buying because the writing is on the fucking wall.

#lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical #ask me anything #ama #anon ask me anything #anon ama

[yesimwriting]

Final Girl (Part 7)

Final Girl Series Masterlist  (currently updated chapters 1 - 9)

a/n me basically throwing the scream timeline out the window so i can have all the cute little scenes i want, let’s just pretend september/october are LONG months lol, also sorry this took so long!! 

the demon known as finals season is officially here so i’m going to be slower 😭 but...after it ends i will have a little over a month to myself! and it’ll be christmas time ! 

Series Summary:  Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Chapter Summary: Stu decides to dedicate some time to getting back into Y/n’s good graces. Or, when Stu finally learns that there’s a reason Y/n doesn’t have her driver’s license and Y/n realizes that there’s no point in resisting that little bubble Stu’s always pulling her towards. 

----

The textbook flops awkwardly against my forearm as I let one side go in order to extend my arm. I pick up an apple from the bowl on the kitchen island and move to turn instinctually.

I move the apple towards my mouth, never once looking away from my history book until a quick tug yanks the book forward. I scramble, squeezing the hard cover instinctually.

My head snaps up and I see my mom, one hand on her hip and the other on my book. “Mom!”

“Come up for air,” her voice is scolding, “Your face has been glued in that textbook for days.”

“It’s not healthy.” The voice is surprising enough for me to let go of the book. My arm falls to my side and my mom just barely grabs it in time. I blink, turning to see the last person I’d expect to see in my kitchen.

It’s Stu. I’m mad at him, some rational part of my mind knows better than to forgive him when he hasn’t so much as apologized. When he’s been off sulking and switching up between different levels of mean to overly, practically violent levels of affection, like everything’s all good and I’m a bitch for prolonging a stupid fight. And now he’s in my kitchen, standing near my mom like this is the most natural place for him to be.

I squeeze the apple between my hands. “What are you--why are you--”

“He’s checking in on you because you’re worrying your friends.” Oh. My. God. My lips part but I have nothing to say, not with that what? this is totally innocent look he’s giving me. His eyes wide and soft. “They’ve barely seen you.”

A tiny pinch of guilt settles in my chest, because while I might not currently be at my most social, there is someone that’s seen a lot of me. Billy. I don’t know if it’s because of what happened with the phone call or something else, but Billy’s been around a lot more. It feels like he understands better than others because he’s seen it.

He also has a habit of coming in through my window and spending the night to avoid his dad. At least, that’s why I think he comes. He’s only ever hinted at it in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t want to elaborate, so I don’t ask. It doesn’t bother me to have him come and go as he pleases. I wasn’t wrong when I said he was like a cat.

“Yeah, you haven’t been around,” Stu begins, “Makes me think about who you’re spending all your time with.”

Stu’s expression barely shifts, just the slight raise of his eyebrows. There’s no way he doesn’t know that Billy’s been around. “Just school stuff.”

“Really? All that time--”

“Some of us actually need to study.” God, I know Stu and I aren’t in the best place, but is he really trying to tell my mom on me? There’s a knowing glimmer behind his eye that makes me want to squirm. “So you’re here to check up on me?”

My mom lets out a sigh and shoots me a look. “Be nice.”

Stu’s smugness feels physical. He’s holding what he knows over my head, enjoying being a ticking time bomb. “Oh, she’s always nice.” His expression soften slightly, a silent cease fire.

I can finally breath again. “Thank you.” Then I remember my mom’s in the kitchen so I tack on, “For checking in, but I’m fine, just behind.”

At that, my mom places the text book on the kitchen table. “You’re young, you should go out every once in awhile, see your friends, eat an actual meal...” When all I do is give her a sarcastic look, my mom goes for the kill shot, “Practice for that upcoming driver’s test.”

Okay, she has a point. Driving practice is something that we’ve both put off. Me, because I hate feeling like I’m endangering lives, and my mom because she hates having her life endangered. “You don’t want to do that anymore than I do.”

“You need to practice because if you fail another one, you’re going to have to wait six months.”

Six months of not touching a car doesn’t sound terrible. I mean, it’s pretty embarrassing, but it also feels like a sacrifice I’m making for public safety. “Six more months of not getting arrested for vehicular manslaughter doesn’t sound like a loss.”

“Something little miss perfect isn’t good at?” Stu’s grin in his voice is loud and he’s clearly fighting the urge to laugh.

“It’s not,” I sigh, turning the apple over in my hand, “It’s not that bad.”  

My mom raises an eyebrow, “Well--”

“Mom!”

“You can’t park,” she sighs defensively, “You knocked over the recycling can last time and kept going.”

“Because I thought it was the curb, it’s not a big deal to hit the curb.”

Stu laughs, the sound loud and so amused I have to glare. “Oh, I need to get you out on the road.”

“No.”

My mom places a hand on her hip, “Nice.”

I sigh, wondering why I even came out of my room in the first place. That was me being nice. “What’s nicer than sparing someone from a potential car accident?”

“I’ll risk it,” Stu hums a little too happily, ignoring my glare. “Passed my driver’s test the first time.” Yeah, wouldn’t be surprised if that’s because his family’s loaded and because they knew leaving him alone would get a lot easier if he could drive himself places. “An hour with me, and you’ll be good to go.”

“I have to st--”

“Do you know how embarrassing it’ll be to be the only Princeton student that can’t drive?”

It’s a fair point, which means I’ll have to fight my mom’s logic with mom logic. “You’re not seriously trying to get Stu to take me driving right now.” Please remember he’s a boy; please remember your hatred of boys.

She raises an eyebrow at me and then at him, likely doing that weird calculation thing of hers. “He offered.”

Oh this is a total con. I don’t know how or what I missed while he was here and I was upstairs, but it must have been something if this is what’s happening. The feeling that I’m being played in some way I don’t really get sneaks up on me. I eye Stu skeptically, who has yet to drop his I’ve done nothing wrong expression.

“He was joking,” my words are not-so-subtly pointed, an attempt to force Stu to take the out.

The more I grind my heels into the sand, the more Stu will want it. “I’m never joking when it comes to you.”

“I think it’d be good for you--get some air, time away from those textbooks.”

How has his blatant flirting not scared my mom off yet? Maybe I can convince her that he broke up with Tatum so that she’ll shut this down. “You want to send me off with some guy you’ve barely spoken to?”

Stu lets out an indignant noise. “Are you saying I might have bad intentions?”

The inflection of his voice is so comical and him that a sense of longing rises in my chest with no warning. Despite my best efforts, I miss him. Fighting against an instinctual smile, I bite my tongue. Something about the way Stu’s gaze lingers makes me feel like he knows.

“Pumpkin, I mean this with all the love in the world, but I cannot think of a bigger mood killer than you being behind the wheel of a car.”

“Mom!”

She ignores my outrage, “And he’s one of your best friends, you say it all the time.”

Oh my god. I don’t have to turn my head to feel Stu’s grin. Ugh, I hate that it’s true and I hate that now Stu knows it. “Fine. Give me five minutes to change.”

Content to have gotten her way, my mom turns, “Be safe.” Sure, now she cares about safety. “And have fun, I need to run, I’m meeting Wells for lunch.”

Stu doesn’t give me a chance to say anything, because the second my mom’s out of the room, he moves around the kitchen island to stand next to me. Close enough that I can practically feel the warmth of his skin radiating from him. I hold my ground, tilting my chin up enough to look him in the eye. He at least owes me an explanation for all of this.

He smiles, briefly flashing his teeth. “You talk to your mom about me?”

The words come out too excited for me to dismiss them as just conceited. Too happy for me to dismiss his giddiness by telling him that it’s not a big deal. “Shut up.” I duck my head down slightly as he grins. Out the corner of my vision, I see him shift. For a second I think he might move to grab me and pull me into one of those hugs that are a lot nicer than I’d ever admit. “I need to go get changed since I’m being kidnapped.”

Choosing to only hear what he wants, because he’s Stu, he replies without hesitation, “Getting all pretty for me?”

I roll my eyes, vaguely flipping him off over my shoulder before walking up the stairs. The distance is welcome. When Stu’s right there, it’s easy to forget things and just go along with his mood, but this is not okay. I stop talking to him because he wanted space, so he just decides to ambush me? And how long was he in the kitchen chatting with my mom? Oh. My. God. What did he say to her?

Okay, okay--probably nothing too bad. She told me to leave with him. She wouldn’t have done that if he said anything that bothered her.

With a sigh, I take off my sweatpants and sweatshirt and search the chaos that is my closet for an acceptable outfit. It’s getting chilly considering the time of year, colder than it would be in Texas but not deep fall yet. I find a pair of sheer tights bundled up between pairs of shorts. Then I pick out a skirt and long sleeved shirt that matches before pulling my hair out of its sad bun. I smooth it out and fix my appearance in record time. 

Stu looks a little too pleased with himself when I finally walk down the stairs. There’s a smugness that adds to my irritation. I have a feeling he can sense my disapproval, because he pulls his arm as we reach my front door. He squeezes me into his side, I roll my eyes. The amount of comfort the hint of something normal brings me is so shocking I can’t bring myself to squirm out of his grasp. 

-----

Eyes narrowing, grip on the steering wheel tightening, I prepare to face my enemy. A tight squeezed three point turn. 

“You’re overthinking it.” 

“Am not.” 

“Just like you under thought the red light.”

“It was yellow when I saw it.” I turn my head enough to face him, “It changed color deceptively fast.” Stu draws his eyebrows together, smiling in an oddly soft way. “What?” 

My dumbfounded tone makes his smile broaden. “You’ve gotta be right about everything, don’t’cha, angel?” 

I’m not sure if it’s his words or the deliberate amount of focus he’s using, but heat rushes to my face. “No, I just--I am.” Dropping my gaze, I tact on an awkward, “Usually.” Shifting in my seat, I refocus on the parking spot. “You sure you want me to park here?” 

“It’s easy.” More like easy for him to say. When I don’t ease, Stu extends his arm, placing a hand over mine. His hand is large enough to cover mine, his fingertips long enough to splay across the back of my palm and steering wheel. He’s always so warm. “You just need to open up. Take your time turning.” 

I nod, taking a deep breath as Stu scoots back in his seat to give me some mobility. Last time he tried holding my hand through it, but I think he’s starting to see how much of a disaster I am. This is around our fifth attempt. Earlier, I got his car stuck at a weird angle between a mail collection box and someone’s truck. 

With a deep breath, I put the car into reverse. I look through the back window, cringing when the curb comes a little too close. My foot hits the break, shifting the car back into drive. I inch it forward, stop, and put it back in reverse. I hit the gas a little too fast, making it a bumpy transition, but I haven’t hit anything yet. With one last turn, the car is put in the right direction. It’s a lot further than I’ve gotten before. I straighten out the wheels, minding the back of the truck as I drive forward, and--

Oh my god! Stu cheers, I can barely get the car into park before Stu places a hand on the side of my head, pulling me towards him with no warning and placing an overenthusiastic, partially open mouthed kiss against my temple. It’s pushy and honestly a little damp, but I’m too excited to mind. Can’t have him getting too comfortable, though, so I shrug him off a little in order to high five him. His hand lingers, squeezing my hand. 

“I did it!”

“Because of your talented, amazing, hot teacher who--” 

There’s that touch of over confidence bordering on narcissism that’s been missing. “What was that last o--” 

He turns my wrist over, striking the back of my wrist  with his pointer finger. A literal slap on the wrist. “Interrupting’s rude, princess.” Stu ignores the pointed look I send in his direction. “As I was saying,” he over emphasizes each syllable, “You should appreciate me, and I can think of a few ways for you to express your gratitude.” 

I should have seen that coming. I pull my hand towards my lap, my eyes settling there as well. “Your thoughts are the closest you’re getting.” I don’t realize what I’ve said until the muttered half thought is out. Great, now I’m going to get even more of this. 

Stu drops his head back, a hand flying to his chest. “You wound me.” His other hand finds itself settling right above my knee. “And for no reason.” His fingertips are pressing into my skin with just enough pressure to steal all my attention.  

The heat of his touch bleeds through the thin layer of my tights. My body tenses. “Knock it off, I still need to drive on a highway.” 

“Why?” The excitement in his voice gives away exactly where he’s going. “Distracted?” 

I shove his arm away with a sound that’s equal parts real laugh and awkward giggle. “The only thing I’m distracted by is the driver’s test I have in two days.”

Stu pouts, sinking into the passenger seat, “Boring.” 

Taking the car out of park, I mock his tone, “Driving.”

----

There’s something about the smell of books that’s comforting. Which why the bookstore might be my happy place. Which is why we should not be here. It’s basically impossible to be mad here. 

A fact Stu definitely knows considering the way he’s casually following me around, holding an ever growing pile of books with no complaint. This was the trap all along. 

“I know what you’re doing.” 

Stu hums once in pretend thought. “What? Spending time with you?”

An instinctual ‘why, was Tatum busy’ almost slips past me. “It’s not working, I’m still mad at you.” I pick up another book, turning it to skim the summary on the back before placing it on the stack Stu’s carrying. “You can’t just barge into my house, use my mom to arrange whatever this is--” 

He huffs, half stepping in front of me. “You don’t complain when it’s Billy.” 

That is completely different. First of all, it’s much less of an ambush considering that Billy has never once involved my mom or stopped me from studying. Second, Billy also never said anything about me being around too much.

I pause, tilting my head to look Stu in the eye and tell him all of that. He’s already looking at me with wide, attentive eyes that are distinct in a way that makes me still. Analytical in a way that’s unnerving. “You--you asked for space.” Feeling antsy, I scratch the back of my wrist as I try to keep myself from saying anything stupid. “And you were mean.” 

Wow. So much for holding it together. He angles his head to the side, regarding me cautiously. “It-it wasn’t about you.” The admission is practically pried from him. “There’s a lot going on right now, but I shouldn’t have hurt your feelings.” It’s not exactly the perfect apology, but there’s a surprising amount of vulnerability there. “Don’t you miss us?” Totally not a fair thing to ask, but Stu can definitely tell that I’m easing, “C’mon, let me make it all right. I’ll get you all the books you want.” 

I do, but that’s not a fair angle. Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I sigh. “I...I can’t be bought.” 

Maybe it’s my hesitation or the way my eyebrows raise instinctually or something about how fake my words sound, but Stu smiles, bouncing on the balls of his feet so quickly he nearly drops my pile. “We haven’t gotten to the hardcover books yet.”

Damn him. I roll my eyes as I drop my arms. There is no way I’m making a big show of dropping this, but I don’t exactly have enough fight left in me to prolong this. “Hardcover? Your arms are going to get tired.” 

The pile isn’t comically large, barely coming up Stu’s torso, but it still sways when he moves a hand away from the center. He flexes his bicep. “With these guns? No way, baby. Do your worst.” 

And so I do. We walk through the aisles together, giggling at any title that Stu can turn into a joke so dumb it circles right back around to funny. He’s patient, letting me debate between different books, and sometimes even giving me actual opinions outside of just get them both. He listens when I read the backs of books and sometimes excerpts from the first page or two.

He’s a good sport about the whole thing, only poking fun at my excitement in lighthearted ways and never really complaining until we’ve been there long enough to justify the hunger he starts talking about. I never did eat that apple and it is kind of close to a late lunch time. 

“You know I’m not actually making you buy all those books.” 

“I’m a man of my word, angel.” He hums, almost offended that I’d even imply he’d lie in a joking context. “Can’t have you making me a liar.” Stu sets down the pile in front of the cashier.

The thought of someone spending money on me in any capacity isn’t something I’ve always been comfortable with. I eye him, the hint of determination behind his eyes serious as he reaches for what I’d bet is a card backed by his parents. If Stu’s trying to make it up to me, I guess this is okay for a one time thing. “All I’m hearing is daddy’s money.” 

I’m grinning despite the look of warning he gives me. “Don’t start.” Stu’s eyes narrow as he pinches my cheek too quickly for me to protest. “I’m being nice.” 

He is. The realization that I like it, like him, like this hits hard and fast. “I like you nice.” 

Stu seems to pause at that like he’s actively trying to take in my expression. It briefly feels like just another one of his analytical moments until I notice the soft, almost unaware smile ghosting at the corner of his lips. Maybe he is trying to absorb some aspect of this. “Like me enough for a lunch date?” 

“If I fail my chem quiz on Wednesday, that’s on you.” 

He shrugs, grinning a bit with the motion. “Flunk outta that whole school thing and I’d take you in. Make you a cute, little housewife, get you one of those aprons.”

I should I have seen that coming. “I’m sure Tatum would love that.” 

“Tay’s fine, she passed chem.” His smug expression earns him a glare and a not-so-gentle elbow jab. “Ow.” Despite the definitely exaggerated sound of pain, Stu still looks happy, or at the very least amused by something I don’t get. “Feel like I’m with Billy.” He mumbles the comment under his breath instinctually. “Only he doesn’t hit me as hard.” 

“It was not that hard.” 

He makes a point of rubbing the side I elbowed. “If I’m bruised, will you kiss it better?”

Stu’s joking. I know that he’s joking, which means the way that heat rushes to my face is totally unnecessary. “You’re fine.” 

-- Narrator’s POV --

The low dip of the collar of your shirt is a lot harder to not focus on now that you’re sitting directly in front of him. You’re too content to notice any drift of concentration, you just continue to take bites of your food in between topics of conversation. 

It’s been silent for a few seconds longer than normal, and that cues Stu in to the fact that your attentive gaze is meant to be something more than cute. You’re waiting for some kind of response. He scrambles, snapping his gaze down towards his drink and then back up to you. What were you talking about? 

At first it had been something about a book series that recently released its third part. Stu didn’t get much, but you were excited to talk about it. Sometimes the reminder that under your particular sense of humor and pretty face you’re kind of a dork is endearing. Then you two had talked about school, the middle of the year approaching and an upcoming unit exam in your mutual history class. And then lastly...a movie or two you wanted to see. Were you still talking about that? 

“What’d you say?” 

You blink, only slightly confused as to why it took him so long to admit he didn’t hear you. “Just that I haven’t seen the new Amityville Horror movie yet and that I’m still on the fence because of the last one.” 

“It was okay. A little slow.” You nod at his reply absentmindedly, turning the straw in your cup in an attempt to push past cubes of ice to get to bit of liquid left at the very bottom of the cup. “Like most of the series, so I guess you’d like it.” 

The comment is equal parts honest as it is an excuse to get your lips to press together in that passive aggressive way. That paired with the way you raise your eyebrows in offense always makes him want to laugh. You’re upset enough to stop the shifting of your straw. “Are you saying I have bad taste?” 

“You like the slower ones, the ones with a psychological angle. You don’t like the gory ones because you can’t stomach them.” You pout, reaching for your glass, tilting it in another attempt to get some more liquid out of a cup that’s just ice. “You’re a girl, it makes sense.” 

“So now you’re saying I have bad taste in movies because I’m a girl?”

“All I’m saying is that good, bloody deaths is more of a guy thing. That’s why girls are never the killers.” 

Your eyebrows pinch together as your fingers move that straw again. “There are girl killers.” 

“Yeah, but they don’t give the good kinda cinematic kills, y’know.” You’re debating on pushing. Stu can tell because your pout morphs into something contemplative as you tilt your head. “Need a refill?” 

It’s only somewhat of a deflection. Stu doesn’t mind conflict (clearly), but it’d be nice to get through the day while keeping the peace. Plus, this isn’t something worth truly arguing about, at least not after all the work he’s put into getting you to relax again. And you do need a refill because pushing against ice with your straw isn’t getting you anywhere. 

You can tell that the abruptness of the question is likely a sign to drop it. It’s random enough to fit into category of Stu’s casual outbursts, so you don’t think he’s actually trying to force you to cave so you decide to go along with it. “Yeah.” You both look forward, noticing that even though the restaurant you two are at is pretty empty, no one’s coming towards the back section of booths you two are sitting in. “Might take a minute, but that’s okay.” 

Stu absentmindedly pushes his cup towards you, too hyperaware of how alone the two of you are. You smile gratefully before innocently taking a sip. “Thanks.”

He nudges your foot with his own, gauging your reaction to the contact. You give him a somewhat questioning look but do nothing to break the contact. Stu takes a deep breath, forcing himself to not react too outwardly at your acceptance. Stu takes your lack of protest as permission to push his leg even closer against yours.  He leans forward, supporting himself on his forearms in a way that makes the sleeve of his shirt ride up enough to expose some of his forearm. “Anything for you, babe.”

You roll your eyes, but all Stu can focus on is the way the corner of your mouth pulls upwards. There’s a sarcastic retort coming, Stu can feel it. Your lips part just as your gaze hones in on something that makes your eyes widen. “What happened?” 

Awkward nerves spike through Stu briefly. The last time this much genuine, gentle concern was so openly displayed towards him was when you were at the hospital. Despite a concussion, the meds coursing through you, and enough trauma to constitute a final girl origin story, you still noticed the bruise on his face. A mark caused by you and the phone you threw at him in Casey’s house, but you didn’t know that, and the way you watched him. Your worry was so innocently domestic he almost couldn’t look at you. 

And now you’re regarding him in that same way, staring at a nearly healed mark that’ll likely take time to fade. A jagged line that cuts across the side of his palm and into the start of the back of his hand. Stu doesn’t remember cutting himself while dragging you away from the shattered glass. Instead, all that comes to mind is a vague pulse of pain drowned out by the panic he felt after realizing that you weren’t waking up.

“Broke a glass.” He hopes the casualness of the lie compensates for his vagueness. 

You frown, taking his hand without asking and forcing him to keep his palm exposed at an angle that makes his arm feel stiff. “Did it hurt?”

Stu’s glad your eyes are on his hand because now he doesn’t have to worry about hiding his smile. Your question came out so instinctually, so caring. Like the most important thing right now is if he was in pain. 

“Nah,” he breathes, “I was--” He pauses briefly, because it’s not like he can say that he was distracted by the fact that he might have given you brain damage or worse. “High. That’s why I cut myself. I was too high to think through picking up the glass.” Looking up, you tilt your head to the side, almost smiling. “Are you making fun of me?” 

“I’d never.” You’re amused now that you know everything’s okay. “Wanna know something kinda cool?” With the way you’re watching him, waiting for an answer, Stu decides that you could say anything and he’d agree that it was the coolest thing ever, even if it’s just a lead up to another book rant. “Okay, well not cool cool, honestly, a little morbid, but in a cool-ish way.” 

Now actually curious, Stu nods, “Hit me.” 

You let go of his hand in favor of holding up your palm. He doesn’t get it until you tap the pointer finger of your opposite hand against a deep pink line that traces up the skin at an angle. It’s only a little thicker than your natural palm lines. “If I angle my hand like this,” you lay your fingers over his, taking a second to adjust the way your hand’s sitting, “They look alike.” 

It’s true, or at least, true enough. When you tilt your hand like that (and ignore that Stu’s cut crosses over to the back of his palm), the lines are practically identical. You’re smiling, like this is a sign, an indication that your kind of hurt could ever align with his.

Stu hadn’t thought much about it before. It’s not like the scar is on his face or anywhere significant to his appearance. But now that you’ve brought it up like this, Stu thinks about maybe taking a knife to the cut again, guaranteeing that it’ll become something permanent. 

“Okay, cool might’ve been a little much, but--” 

“No, no,” Stu finally settles on, “It is cool, like a sign or something.” 

Your eyebrows draw together for less than a second as you deduce exactly what kind of sign he’s talking about. Stu can tell the exact moment you piece it together because you press your lips together, al most glaring as you take your hand back. Your leg shifts, tapping your foot against his ankle in an attempted scolding. “Shut up.” 

Already feeling like he knows the answer, Stu asks, “How’d you get that one?” 

Your fingers curl forward even though your palm is already facing away from him, a sign of insecurity he doesn’t get. “Y’know.” There’s a pause as you stare at nothing in particular. “At Casey’s.” 

The hollowness of your voice strikes him in an unexpected way. Yeah, what happened must have scared you and the phone call probably didn’t help, but there’s such a sensitivity around Casey. 

Stu’s rational enough that he can get that it was traumatic, but it’s not like Casey was some lifelong friend. She wasn’t even your best friend. That’s been him and Billy since you got there.

He tries not to focus on it, but it’s too easy to let that grade school mentality take over. That overwhelming mine. The only thing that even comes close to rivaling that is the ugly tinge of worry colored in an ugly shade of guilt that comes up whenever he thinks of the way that you looked in the hospital. 

It gets under his skin a little, thinking about what it felt like to hurt you. The rush of the moment was unmatched, adrenaline from the kill and your unexpected protests mixing together. And there was a moment, when you were lying there, that Stu liked in a way he can’t put into words. Exciting in a different way. But then he noticed that you weren’t waking up, and blood was puddling around your face, and then he found out about your concussion.

Stu rarely seriously considers the possibility that something about the way he’s wired is wrong. “You’re uh--” You’re watching with patient eyes as Stu vaguely gestures to his temple, “Okay with all that, right?” 

Your chin tilts upwards as you briefly slip away. Billy had talked about potentially over traumatizing you. That’s why Stu had to drop the idea of you getting another ghostface call while alone with him so soon. When Billy mentioned it, it felt like all talk, but now with you getting like this... 

It’s weird. The thought of pushing you to the cusp of your breaking point isn’t unappealing, but the thought of having you broken is another thing entirely. Being broken is permanent, being broken changes things. 

“Concussion’s gone.” It’s a mumbled comment. You tap your nails against the table again. “But if you’re asking about the other stuff. I don’t know, I hate to admit this because Casey’s the real victim...” Stu nods, a tiny bit annoyed that this is somehow about Casey again. You’re so much better off without her. She was a bad girlfriend, she wouldn’t have been a good friend to you. She would have managed to get in between the two of you in the long run. “But I have good days and bad days and that’s part of the reason I’ve been home so much. It sounds stupid, but--”

“It doesn’t sound stupid.” This is a better topic. A safer one. You nod once, but your expression isn’t convinced and Stu doesn’t know how to dive in. “And this is about you way more than it is Casey. Casey’s dead and you’re not.” The bluntness nearly makes you flinch, something Stu only somewhat dislikes. He didn’t mean to be harsh, but you needed to hear it. “What’s today?” 

The change is jarring enough to keep you from getting lost in your head again. “Today?” 

“A good day or a bad day?” 

Your expression turns, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. After a second of thought, you settle on, “Good. Especially now.” 

He beams. “Especially?” You nod, returning his enthusiasm with the single motion. Stu focuses his energy on gripping the edge of the plastic booth seat to keep himself from reaching over and pulling you towards him. He settles for nudging his foot against yours. “You want to get into the effect I have on you?” 

“Your ego’s plenty healthy as is.” 

“So it’d be good for my ego?” 

At that, you freeze, the coy expression on your face slipping. The flash of nerves fuels Stu. “Why are we friends?” It’s a cop out sort of comeback, and you instantly pop a french fry into your mouth to avoid having to say anything else for a second.

-- Y/n’s POV -- 

I didn’t expect to be here tonight, but my mom was more than happy to keep me out of the house. According to her, I’ve been a little too much into the books lately, but that’s not my fault. I fell behind a little after the attack and my concussion, and I will not let some sociopath ruin my GPA...or my social life.

Just because I feel like me and everyone I care about is safer when I’m home and out of everyone’s business doesn’t mean I need to cower in my room constantly. Even though that’s been pretty good for some of my grades (and I’ve written out some points of what I’ve been through recently that’d make a pretty good college essay), but that’s not the point. I can’t let that bitch win.

So now I’m here, sitting in Stu’s living room with the group, a movie that’s a little more bloody than I’d like playing. It’s okay, though. Everyone’s reaction to me showing up again was worth it. They weren’t overdramatic about it, but the warmth of it was nice.

Now we’re all a mess of blankets and pillows and couch cushions. I managed to snag a middle spot on the main couch, Tate’s head on my shoulder and Billy’s hand loosely resting against my forearm. The gesture is a barely there display of consistency that keeps me relaxed, even as the on screen action gets more and more gory. 

“Stu,” Tatum mumbles at another extended stabbing scene, “I said nothing too stab-y.” She lifts her head slightly, vaguely gesturing to me as Stu tilts his head far enough back to fully press into her knees. 

He’s been sitting with his back to the couch since we got here. I thought he’d be more annoying about it since Tatum told him to knock it off earlier in the night, but once the movie started Stu dropped it. If there’s one thing that’ll get Stu to focus it’s any movie that clearly saved a large part of their budget for fake blood.

“She’s fine,” Stu hums petulantly before turning to look at me, “Aren’t you, bugaboo?” 

I wrinkle my noise at the nickname, smacking his hand away as he reaches for my knee. Gory movies have been a little difficult for me lately, but this hasn’t been too bad. I’m surrounded by people in a well lit area and every time the action picks up, Billy runs his knuckles up and down my forearm until it ends. 

Stu pokes at my knee, trying to get some kind of reaction. “It’s not that--Stu, knock it off, I’m literally agreeing with you.” At that, he flashes all of his teeth before leaning towards me. He sticks his tongue out, quickly licking the side of my knee before I can react. Stu has the audacity to laugh as I smack the back of his head. “Stu!” 

“And...you two not fighting lasted an entire hour.” Randy sighs, glaring at us from his own seat. The pinch of actual irritation in his voice is fair. Stu and I haven’t exactly made it easy to be around us. Our casual bickering is a cakewalk compared to how we’ve been acting. Kind of more my fault than his because every time Stu tried to force niceness, that’d just irritate me more. Lots of petty comments. Lots of bickering. “New record.” 

“Oh, there’s no fight,” Stu’s insistence is loud and over enthusiastic as he leans his weight against my leg. “Me and sweetcheeks here are as strong as ever.” 

I sit up enough to gently flick the side of his head, “Keep telling yourself that.” 

Stu lets out a mock gasp, “That wasn’t nice.” 

Billy taps my arm, “Mean.” 

Shrugging a little too smugly, I sink further into the couch, “Guess I’m a bully.” 

Stu blinks, turning his head even more, “What. An. Attitude.” The over emphasis on each syllable makes my face feel oddly warm. 

Tatum shifts, lifting her head off of me and kicking Stu’s side. It doesn’t look like a totally violent move but it feels more pointed than a joking shove. The way Stu sits up straighter tells me he didn’t quite expect that. “Knock it off.” 

Frowning, Stu relaxes his back against the couch. “She started it.” 

----

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things @im-better-than-your-newborn @michibuni @bigenargy @marli-lavellan @mushy-mushroom04 @neenieweenie @lone-ray @the-ruler-of-death @andthevillainshallrises @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @dixbolik-bby @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @peachycupotea @my5tica1ien @agustdeeyaa @astrial @3ll0kittylvr420 @zoleea-exultant @slaypussypop-21

#scream #scream x reader #scream 1996 #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #stu macher #stu macher x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #poly!ghostface #poly! ghostface x reader #slasher #slasher x reader #final girl fic

[missyandthemisfits]

Souya ‘Angry’ Kawata - Big Sis Baji

A/N - Hey so got a couple different headcannon ideas floating around for this one, but I feel like Baji might only really approve of his sister dating a few folks - Souya is one of the few. Couldn’t stop writing this I love Bluebell so much 💙

Anywho

Souya ‘Angry’ Kawata x Baji’s Older Sister 

. • . O . • .

• It goes without saying that Souya would not only fall hard, but pretty damn quickly after a friendship has been established- but let’s backtrack a bit-

• Souya meets (Name) at a Toman meeting one evening, the meeting adjourned pretty quickly due to the low, consistent growl of Mikey’s stomach

Good thing it was informal, just the Captains and Vice Captains of each division, maybe one or two others 

But honestly, that begged an even bigger question; who was this vaguely familiar dark haired beauty? And what was she doing talking with Mikey and Draken so casually?

He was just about to shrug it off when Baji approached 

“There a reason you tossin’ that mean mug at my sister?”

Baji was half joking … but also half serious

He knew Angry meant no harm but it still sort of ticked him off - he’s very protective of his own when it comes down to it

“Huh?!”

- Is what Angry said, vein popping as he stuck his neck out. Now what he meant by that was ‘Was I really?’ 

We all know this boy is kinda bad at communicating with people

“There a problem here?” Nahoya chimes, already itching for a fight, any excuse would do

“Keisuke! Are you picking fights again?”

The dark haired beauty in question huffs over, stern look, hands on her admittedly curvy hips

“Relax-,” She reaches up, yanking on his ear with no remorse 

“How can I? God, all this time and you’re still causing me trouble!” 

Nahoya is hysterical at the sight of Baji’s embarrassed, defeated face. Souya on the other hand starts to grow flustered, finally putting the pieces together 

“I’m sorry about him!” She bows a bit in apology, an ear still between her soft fingers, “You’re um… Souya and Nahoya, right?”

Souya opens his mouth to speak but Nahoya beats him to the punch

“Yea, what of it? Who the Hell are ya, anyway?”

Souya gives his brother a look but she only laughs, completely unfazed 

“She’s in our class, Nahoya…,”

“Oh yeeea, must’ve been catching some Z’s or somethin’. My bad!”

Souya shakes his head and she suddenly grabs his hands in both of hers, successfully startling him

“Well it’s nice to meet you both again. I hope we can be friends!” 

He’s flustered, eyes on the ground, but stutters out a small “yea…”

From then on, at least when they decided to show up to class, she makes a point to eat lunch with them, occasionally walking them to Toman meetings 

She’s much kinder and more bubbly than what they expect, not to mention a total Otaku - something Nahoya found hilarious but Souya silently found cute

She was also very stubborn but that apple didn’t fall too far at all

Doesn’t take Nahoya too much longer to start making excuses as to why he can’t tag along - Souya is seriously confused, and honestly worried his brother has an issue with (Name) - he could be fickle like that

“Nah, she’s cool. For a girl anyway.”

Blue is even more confused

“Then…what’s up?”

Smiley starts to snicker, Angry’s brow furrows 

“Ya like her, don’t you?”

Souya feels something tug at his heartstrings-

Did he…?

He definitely enjoyed her company - the evening visits to Convenience Stores, the late night chats about the latest chapters of whatever manga, even the study sessions were pleasant. 

And at some point he’d gotten used to it- pretending his palms weren’t sweaty, ignoring his racing heart rate, chalking up the absent minded stares to ‘looking out for her’ in his mind, somehow oblivious to the fact he couldn’t keep his eyes off her-

It…was starting to make some real sense

He took a moment to exhale shakily and nodded, face the color of beets. Nahoya shrugged 

“Sooo…ask her out already.”

“WHAT?!?”

He’s panicking at just the thought, rattling off a million and one excuses like ‘She probably already has someone’ and ‘Her friendship is more than enough’

UGH so sweet, so obviously smitten

Only takes a few more days for Nahoya to lose patience & snatch his phone, typing up a message and hovering over ‘send’ devilishly 

“Either you send it or I do - what’s it gonna be?” 

Souya is mortified as he begrudgingly hits ‘send’, burying his hands into his thick hair after dropping his phone to the carpeted floor

“I can’t do this-,”

“Seriously? All you did was send ‘Can we talk’ - quit bein a wuss.”

They start to get into it and almost miss the vibration, both peering down at the screen

‘Sure! Your place or mine?’

He scrambles to get his phone before his twin, barely getting a ‘I’ll come to you!’ in before having his phone stolen again

“Wear something cute~,” Nahoya mouths the text out, pressing send before tossing the phone at his brother 

Doesn’t know  whether to be pissed, scared, or excited at this point- so be settles for a jittery combination of the three

Puts on his cleanest pair of khakis and a semi-formal, sleeved shirt because??? Reasons??? So cute bless him 

She put on just a little bit of makeup, flowy dress stopping mid-thigh, as if this wasn’t difficult enough for the boy

So nervous he’s having trouble standing - but manages to squeak out something -

His face is covered by his shaking hand and his eyes are squeezed shut, his other hand in a death-grip on his trousers

“I’m sorry…? I didn’t quite catch that one, Souya-,”

Blurts it out louder than he meant to this time, backpedaling IMMEDIATELY in an attempt to take it all back

“I- no- what I mean is- ah-,” starts to give up, “You can just…go home now…I already know it’s a long shot. Sorry I wasted your time…”

Refuses to look up

She’s hugging him close in the next moment tho burying her face into his shirt.

“Please don’t make me leave…not before I tell you I like you too.” 

He is SO shocked

Like his legs start to give out

Eventually wraps his shaky arms around her and buries his face in her sweet-smelling hair

They’re there like that for a while 

Neither of them wants to let go but eventually, a text comes through from Nahoya and Souya jumps

“S-sorry,” she waves it off, “I can…walk you up stairs if you’d like? I-I mean if that’s s-something you want!”

She shakes her head and smiles, glancing back at the apartment window

“I’ll be okay from here. Besides, my dad would totally kill me if I brought up a cute boy, or any boy for that matter-,”

His heart starts beating faster if you can believe it - so much so  he almost thinks he’s having a heart attack 

“Well… Goodnight.” She squeezes his hand before reluctantly letting go and waving, practically running back into her apartment building

He’s just…on cloud 9

Total romantic though so eventually he decided that the confession wasn’t nearly enough for this girl

Writes an entire love letter and places it in her locker, finding officially asking her out much easier that way

Before he knows it, she’s racing to embrace him outside the school gates, pulling away just enough to hold his hands gingerly with a laugh

“Honestly, I thought we were official already, but yes a thousand times yes, Souya.” 

His face heats up like it has many times before

Can’t help but tear up a little

…Keisuke is one of the last people to know funnily enough

Shocked but not bothered so that’s good

Dassa green light

In The Relationship 

Souya is so very sweet, everything done with timid, thoughtful care

Long before they even started dating, she happened to try his bento once and loved it - made mental notes on her likes and dislikes about it and started curtailing it specifically for her enjoyment 

So yes absolutely he starts making her lunch for her twice a week - she promises she’ll be just fine without it, he swears he enjoys doing it for her - he really does tho 

Random food based games like ‘Guess the secret ingredient’ after he’s comfortable enough to know she wouldn’t mind it

Grocery shopping dates, because he loves the market

Dates to anime cafes because a) she’s really into anime and b) he finally has a reason to go and try the food there - Nahoya promised he would but he’s far too easily distracted and forgetful 

Also yea, Baji’s sister? Kind of flirty when she’s interested in someone so like she flusters him on accident AND on purpose?

Definitely super cute when he’s all blushy and squirmy tho

Takes MONTHS to get to the FIRST kiss - and she’s most def initiating it, no way around that

Typically will initiate all the kisses but there are telltale signs when he wants one

Starts to play with his hands, his eyes darting from her lips, to the ground, to whatever’s in this distance, back to her lips 

Teasingly presses her nose to his, nuzzling and lying in wait occasionally 

“You’re gonna have to kiss me at some point ~”

And he does eventually work up the nerve to close the very small distance 

She becomes the official taste tester for both twins, quite the honor 

His love language is light physical affection and words of affirmation 

Absolutely melts at the lightest caress to his cheek, subconsciously leaning into it every time 

Compliments are NOT something he’s used to but boy does he love them, all of them 

They make him all tingly but the real personal ones about how pretty his eyes are or how soft his hair is or how cute he looked in that outfit last night?

He could just die and go to Heaven on the spot 

Petnames include “Angel, Honeybee, and Sweetness” 

Apologized profusely the first time he let one slip out

But she reaches for his hands, removing them from his face, and places gentle kisses on each fingertip, something she often did when he was overwhelmed - and once again he finds himself melting into her touch

So very, very soft for this girl 

Bonus 

Keisuke honestly had no idea his sister was into one of the ‘ogres’ - granted he didn’t get to see her much after the divorce

He was fairly curious as to why she chose him

“He’s so very kind and honest…always going out of his way to help his friends and family selflessly. And have you tried his cooking? It’s so good! How could I not fall for him?”

He smirked from his spot on the swing set, satisfied with answer

“Yea alright…just don’t go having any babies, I’m not ready to be an uncle.”

“What the Hell, Kei?!”

He laughed as she punched him square in the arm

As long as she was cared for and happy

. • . O . • .

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers souya #tokrev souya #souya x reader #angry x reader #tokyo rev x you #angry kawata #souya kawata #blue ogre #Bluebell #tokyo rev fluff #the first of many

[cocktailjjrs]

So, Chapter 112 is out.

We don't exactly get much of explanation or distinction from S5 ending ep.

Mori, he really just glued in the fangs for FUN! What even is the Mafia! (Plus, Dazai Laughed!) We had old man Yaoi. I am not going to talk about it as we already know what went down there. We got Kunikida, Atsushi and Tanizaki. And Gogol man being sad (it broke my heart again to see his reaction). Ngl, even i would be sad if someone killed my Situationship But not Chuuya calling out that Situationship, lol (That was my exact reaction when a friend of mine told me she was in one and how it works) SKK bickering, still. And Fukuzawa being handed the greatest responsibility.

All in all, everything we had seen so far, only an added reaction here and there.

Next chapter will most likely also follow through the rest of the episode. But nothing much is left, so chances are that we may get new content. Or latest by April.

This all seems well and good, but I'm suddenly feeling anxious about how things are going to progress further.

I've said time and again, BSD takes 'it can't get worse than this' phase and just proves it wrong again and again. We reach new rock-bottoms every time.

So, things looking up now, gives me anxiety that something is going to go horribly wrong. (Cue the flashback of the 'Two hours later' bit)

All things that can horribly go wrong:

Everything with Soukoku at Meursault. I find it so weird that we are not getting detailed explanation of how things are proceeding there. We have seen Dazai and Fyodor play mind games for so many arcs now, there is always an explanation at the end of each one. But this doesn't have that 'satisfactory' level of explanation yet. Yes, Chuuya again came to Dazai's aid, but how? How did Dazai knew that the Vampires were turned in his favor. Would killing Fyodor (if he actually is dead) really be wise? How is he sure that it was Fyodor plan all along to get killed and he played right into it? You know when things are kept ambiguous, as most things related to Prison break arc are, it means there will be some facts that will come in light later. And that's what I'm scared of because it can be anything! It does not help that Dazai is yet to take that antidote! What if it doesn't work? What is Nikolai goes for revenge? Since he love's loosing himself and that's why he fought, so what if he continues? Can Chuuya's gravity manipulation even be effective against someone like Gogol? He can just go from one place to another, dodge all of Chuuya's attacks. We also know he can use his ability with Dazai as long as he isn't touching him. What is he takes the antidote form the case before Dazai can take it? That makes him such a kryptonite for Soukoku.

Then we have,

The Shin soukoku's battle against whatever that (Fukuchi) was. Two hours, if you think about it is not a long duration of time for things to start fucking up suddenly. There must be something already laid in waiting for it to start going shit when time comes. We are yet to get the details of how the Vampirism is going to wear off. Because it does, Akutagawa was back to normal when he was fighting with Atsushi. Sskk teaming up is well and good, but can they stand against that being? They had a hard time dealing with Fukuchi only a while ago, this enhanced being will be much tougher than them. What if this also is set for failure? only for the world to be purged into more chaos? Maybe i'm being a bit to pessimistic, but i've lost confidence in the mangaka's they always do the unexpected and kill everyone's favs, fr.

That also makes me think

Will taking on the role of Mankind's leader, lead to Fukuzawa on a deeper end? We know he struggled earlier, before founding agency, with his assassination work. He had refused to work in the war for a reason. Won't this be undoing everything he's worked for so many years? Also, taking in that honor from their government (or officials, i don't exactly remember what it was. I'm talking about the appreciation symbol of katana'?' they received at the beginning of S4) that basically led them to take on that case that declared them terrorists. Won't taking the role of Mankind's Leader also make Fukuzawa susceptible to be declared as the Mankind's Enemy? This seems similar to that previous situation. Reminds me of how Ranpo called this responsibility, or last wish, a curse. And Ranpo is always right, so there's that. Maybe that's how they are going to introduce the next adversaries?

Too much uncertainty and what-ifs.

#let's all live by HCs please #then we don't have to super analyze everything #all my thinking could be for nothing other #wish i could go back #to the time where the only problem was skk's generational rivalry #no need to worry about the future #but my brain wont let me #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd spoilers #bsd 112 #bungo stray dogs #bsd manga #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #soukoku #shin soukoku #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bsd atsushi #bsd akutagawa #president fukuzawa #fukuzawa yukichi #bsd fukuzawa #ranpo edogawa #bsd ranpo #bsd fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor

[auteurdelabre]

Losing our Minds Together Part 1 [Joel x f!reader][Bill x Frank][Ellie x Riley]

Summary: As an artist by trade it's only natural that you'd agree to give your young neighbor Ellie drawing lessons. You just weren't counting on her stoic father Joel Miller getting under your skin.

Rating: 18+ (for future chapters)

Word Count:

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions) , Bill x Frank, Ellie x Riley, Tommy x Maria

Warnings: This is saccharine slice of life with smut and a Soft!Joel. You have been warned. There is smut, but when it gets to those chapters you will have plenty of warning. (That is if there is interest in my story!)

A/N: Hey ya'll I loved writing "Something to Fight For" so much, building a world for these characters to live a kinder, softer life. I couldn't stay away from the idea of another AU story for Joel x Reader, this one with less angst , our fav girl Ellie's first crush, and our fav guys Frank and Bill falling in love. Nothing like my other work, not associated with it at all, just similar in that I'm the one writin' it heh heh. But PLEASE let me know what ya'll think in the comments.

---------------------------------------

Losing our Minds Together: Chapter 1

I don't paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.

- Frida Kahlo

-----------------------------

It needs more blue.

No, no. That's wrong. It needs white, just a little dab.... There.

Perfect.

You step back from the canvas, satisfied.

The music is blasting, something moody by The Smiths. A bit before your time, but you've always had a proclivity for older things. Old houses, like the one you live in. Old furniture artfully arranged in the rooms, beautifully carved and one of a kind. Old music, like the stuff that blasts from your CD player now.

You think it's because you grew up with your grandfather. The kindest, most patient man you'd ever met. The kind of man that saved you after your parents died in the car accident. Not just in sheltering and feeding you, but in building you up again. Reminding you what was so wonderful about being alive.

He's the reason your an artist. He's the reason you're alive at all, really.

You brush the hair that's fallen into your face, feeling the dried paint there and breathing deeply as you step back and survey your work.

This one is the ocean, a trite and overdone concept, but working only with the palette knife gives it fat swathes of colorful texture. The kind that makes each wave seem possible to touch, to dive into.

Your next gallery showing is coming up, and you have a few more pieces to create. It's a multimedia exhibition, and your latest batch of ceramics needs to be fired. You sigh, thinking of the kiln you had to sell last month to pay the rent. Money is a bit tight these days, your art's not selling like it used to.

Over the music you hear the sound of beeping, high pitched. You turn, looking through the large bay windows of your studio/office.

There's a moving truck, and alongside it a silver blue truck gliding into the driveway next to yours.

New neighbors. You'd forgotten the couple across the street had mentioned that the place was bought. The place next to yours had gone unsold for so long that you just assumed it would stay abandoned forever. You'd enjoyed that, feeling more free in your backyard without the old biddy who used to live there shooting you daggers.

You take a sip of your coffee, watching as the moving vehicle backs into the driveway next to the truck.

A young girl scrambles from the front of the truck, dressed in jeans and a faded black t-shirt layered over a striped long sleeved shirt.

She walks quickly towards the house, her dark eyes blown wide.

"This place is fucking huge."

You giggle silently to yourself at the young teens observation. She can't be more than fourteen with her dark hair in a knotted ponytail. It swishes back and forth as she takes in the entire house.

You watch as a tall man with broad shoulders and tousled brown curls steps down from the truck. He's wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that pulls against his thick biceps.

"Watch it," he says without malice. "Swearing isn't exactly becoming of a young lady."

You hear a twang in his husky voice, one that doesn't match his daughter's. Texas maybe?  You've never been great at placing accents.

You watch with mild interest as he begins to unhook the ties holding the boxes in the flatbed.

"Yeah well when I see one I'll tell her," the girl replies.

You feel yourself bubbling over with laughter. She's quick. You smile around your coffee cup, watching them.

You find yourself rather fascinated with the duo, listening to them banter back and forth from your window. They carry boxes inside the house , talking the entire time. You can't hear everything, but you think you hear the words "baby" and "school".

"This place is amazing, Joel," Ellie says.

Joel. Not dad. And yet when you watch them interact it's certainly as if they are family. You suppose that he's perhaps the step dad, that the mother will be joining soon.

You consider going over, being neighborly and offering some help. But a quick beep of your watch reminds you that you're already behind on your own tasks for the day. 

///

You grunt carrying the large box of dried ceramics up the steps of the gallery. The site conditioning hits you and you send a silent prayer to whatever god is in control of temperature.  Through the double doors at the back is Frank's personal studio. He owns the gallery, recently moved here but still loves to create his own art. He's really big into textiles and ceramics.

He's the one who first taught you to throw on a wheel.

Frank was friends with your grandpa as long as Frank had lived in Wyoming. He's known you since your were a heartbroken twelve year old moving to a new city with a grandfather you barely knew.

You were coming from New York. Big city, big apple, big dreams. Moving to Wyoming had felt like a punishment. Leaving your friends and life behind.

But Wyoming is where you found your love. Art. Paint, ceramics, drawing, anything you can get your hands on.

"Honey!" Frank calls out when he sees you burst through the doors, rushing over to help you carry the items to a nearby table. He grunts, hefting them onto it along with you. 

Frank is tall, lean and impossibly handsome. When he smiles it lights up his face. He's always dressed well, chic like any gallery curator.

"You really need all these fired today?"

"Yeah," you nod panting. "Exhibition is coming up in soon. I gotta be ready. And I wanted to test some of the glazes first "

"We have those test tiles," Frank reasons. Frank always thinks he knows better about most things (which makes it extra annoying when he is).

"Yeah but you know it's not the same," you argue. "My pieces are totally different than-"

The two of you begin to debate the merits of test tiles as you unload the items and Frank places them into the kiln.

"These are great," Frank says, but you hear the catch in his tone. Great, but not like the stuff you used to make.*

"You wanna grab a bite?"

"Not this time," you say wincing. You don't want to have to say the words out loud: you're on a budget. A shitty one that means store bought coffee and no more non essential clothes shopping.

Then Frank says the two words that cause any broke artist to rejoice.

"My treat."

///

It's busy in the cafe down the street. The one Frank comes to at least once a day. You settle into the bar along the window while Frank brings over his drink and your huckleberry pie. 

You chat a while longer, mentioning your new amusing neighbors and how you're going to miss having the quiet to work.

"Is the dad cute?" Frank asks with a brow raise. Frank loves hearing about your romantic life, you assume because his is so littered with bad dates and worse boyfriends.

"I didn't get a great look at the front," you admit. "But he wasn't bad from the back."

Frank laughs around his espresso cup before you suddenly feel him tense beside you. You watch your friend's eyes go owlish behind his glasses and follow his gaze out the window.

Coming up to the cafe with a scowl is Bill. Everyone in town knows him. Bill. The quiet, intense mechanic that owns the place around the corner. The one who comes in for coffee at roughly the same time every day. You roll your eyes at your friend, taking another bite of pie.

"Frank."

"Shhhh," Frank says, pressing into you with his shoulder as Bill walks in, the bell tinkling above him. You both watch as he strides heavily to the counter.

"Black coffee."

The usually friendly barista doesn't even say good afternoon. Bill doesn't do pleasantries. He slides the two wrinkled bills towards her.

"Still that guy, Frank? Really?"

Frank is smiling shyly. He gives a short shrug of his lean shoulder, before his eyes are back on Bill. As if he feels the gaze Bill glances over, catching Frank who  pretends to be laughing at something you say.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"He saw me staring," Frank says gripping your arm and shaking it gently. "Pretend you're telling a joke. Pretend you're funny."

"I am funny."

"Really?" Frank asks, his face amused. "I've never seen proof of that."

You give his shoulder a playful push. "When are you just gonna ask him out?"

"I don't even think he bats for my team," Frank murmurs back. "How humiliating would that be? I confess a year long crush just for him to tell me he's straight? No thanks. I did enough of that in college."

You smirk at that, nudging him with your elbow. "Wimp."

Frank says nothing, simply watches from behind you as Bill takes his coffee, heading outside back to his shop.

"Thanks for the pie," you say earnestly. "It's been forever since I had anything other than something I can heat in the microwave."

"Finances still tight?"

You shrug.

"Told your grandfather not to remortgage," Frank says under his breath.

"It's not all that bad," you insist. "If my next show goes well I'll be able to pay off the majority."

If you show goes well. If not, it might be time to think about selling. The thought of selling your grandfather's place with all its memories is upsetting.

"You should think about teaching art classes again," Frank suggests gently breaking into your thoughts. "You used to love doing that."

"Yeah well," it's your turn to shrug. "Things change."

"Only thing constant is this life is death and taxes," Frank agrees. "But what I'm hearing is you have taxes you can't pay."

You go quiet.

"Just think about it," Frank urges you.

"Okay," you nod at your friend before scraping the last bit of huckleberry onto your fork. "I'll think about it."

///

Your car rambles into the driveway hours later, the sun setting behind you. You're tired, spent from dropping buying specialized art supplies in Colter Bay.

The last of your money for this month, but if it's as good as the woman in the shop promised then your pieces are going to look amazing. And you need them to look amazing. You need to make sales.

You give a groan, pulling the bags from the seat next to you. You stretch to a stand, your mind whirring with all you need to do in the coming weeks.

"Got any garbage bags?"

"Christ!" you scream at the unexpected male voice behind you, dropping the bag you're holding in fright.

The man, Joel, your neighbor stands looking aghast. His hair is sweaty at the temples, his t-shirt damp along the collar. He's been lugging boxes all day, the moving truck is gone and his truck's flatbed is bare. He has a beard, closely trimmed and the same shade as his hair. Up close you can see it's threaded with bits of grey.

You look down to your feet, your worst fears confirmed. The expensive brushes you bought have snapped under the heavy gloss varnish bottle which has cracked and leaked all over the bag and now dribbles onto the driveway.

"No," you drop to your knees, trying your best to scoop the vanish back into the bag even though you know it's pointless.

Joel drops to one knee as well, even though he can tell it's fruitless. He looks at your crumpled face as you stare at the waste, shaking your head.

All you can see now is dollars and cents being quickly soaked up by the ground.  You drop your head into your hands.

"Fuck. No. This can't be happening."

You twitch when you feel a heavy hand at your shoulder. A tentative gesture of apology from the man knelt across from you. 

"I'm so sorry," Joel says, his face twisted into genuine concern. "I'll replace 'em. Just tell me where and I-"

You're so angry. Angry about the fact that you have no money. Angry about your art not selling as well. Angry about the pitying look in Frank's eyes when you talked about the mortgage. And now deep thundering fury at the man who gapes at you with wide brown eyes.

You glare before you angrily push his wide hand off your shoulder.

"Stay away from me you fucking hillbilly."

Joel's eyes blow wide at your sudden vitriol. You jerk to a stand, bringing the ruined supplies with you. Joel is still kneeling there, staring at the remnants of the varnish. 

Without another look you rush to your house, holding back furious tears as you force the key into the lock.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller #dad joel miller #fanfiction #pedro pascal #fanfic #bill and frank #ellie x riley #romance #soft!joel #soft!joel miller #ellie the last of us #lgbtq community #lgbtq #love #pining #art #artist #a03 #a03 writer #a03 fanfic #a03 fic #read on a03 #fanfic writing #slice of life #please comment

[marunalu]

This is kind of an joke post (KIND OF) so dont take it to seriously. Its just my brain comming up with ridiculous ideas, so feel free to ignore me.

So you know, even long before the latest released chapter I always wondered as a dfo fan why afo married inko, because even if you consider some of the more popular conspiracy theories like the inko shimura or quirk marriage theory, afo NEVER had to MARRY her in the end. So why did he do it?

And after the latest chapter I think I finally got my answer: Dude lowkey hadnt realized that he had fallen in love. 🤣

Okay hear me out. The latest chapter confirmed that afo has no context or grasp what (selfless) love is, because he never experienced it himself. No parents, other guardians or friends to show him what love is or people in generell who showed and teached him kindness. Only a little weakly brother he felt a connection with he didnt fully understand and refused to let go since he was the only "possession" he had. Afo is unable to see the difference between (selfless) love and possession. Its not really something you can blame him for, thanks to the horrible enviroment he had to grow up in. To him possessing something means "love". He wants everyone to live for his sake just like yoichi. In other words he wants to feel loved and wants to love. But since he doesnt understand the difference between love and possession it seems so fucked up to us while for him it is normal.

Now back to inko. I have no idea how they could have meet. Maybe afo had his reasons to lay his eyes on her or maybe it was just a simple coincidence. No matter what it was, I like to believe that inko was not only the first person who showed afo kindness and support without the wish to gain something from him in return (like most of his followers do), but also was the first person who showed him what love (NOT possession) actually feels like.

It could be something incredible simple like touching his hand or his cheek in a caring/loving way and since nobody ever did that (if we consider his jealous reaction when he sees kudou and yoichi "holding hands" which I bet the brothers never did even as children) he would be so confused and wondering why that felt so nice and wants more of it. So he starts to obsess over her, because he enjoyed how she made him feel good (while still not getting what it actually is because he is just a mess 😅). They start to spend more time together while afo tries to find out what kind of miracle she is, what that strange feeling is when he is close to her, why his stomach feels funny and why he starts babbling nonsense every time she tries to hold smalltalk with him. 😆😆😆

So then imagine at one point afo does something kind to her in return (because he is slowly learning from her) and inko gives him a little kiss on the cheek and he is all like: WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPEND??? WHAT DID SHE DO??? WHAT WAS THAT??? IS THAT SOMETHING PEOPLE DO??? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW??? AND WHY DID THAT FEEL SO GOOD??? SHOULD I SAY THANK YOU??? WHY DO I WANT MORE OF IT??? I WASNT PREPARED FOR SOMETHING LIKE THAT!!!End result: brain.exe stopped working.

Afterwards he visits dr garaki and rants about all this strange feelings he has recently and believes he is actually sick and garaki is like: dude.... youre just in love and afo reacts like: OOOHHHHH............ and now? So after garaki explains to him VERY cautious that normally two people who are in love with each other would start to live together, marry, get children and always be there for each other afo IMMEDIATELY responses with: I WANT THAT!!! and runs back to inko to propose to her "You will marry me!" (No nos and no buts!)

#bnha #bnha spoiler #bnha all for one #bnha dad for one #inko midoriya #all for one x inko midoriya #all for inko