#and ill keep trying despite everything and ill keep on trying harder and trying to make more and better art

[gonchillunchis]

ancient josuyasu doodle (circa 536 a.d)

[artificer-real]

ive started to really despise self help posts because all they do for me is illustrate just how apparently fucked i am compared to most other people

[blackenedsnow]

Can you write me a Shadow the Hedgehog x Female Reader, but movie Shadow version and the reader has DiGeorge Syndrome a rare medical disorder that I have, idk about any prompts or summary atm, anything will do :3

a heart’s shadow

WARNING: Mention of chronic illness and medical trauma, implied violence

PAIRING: Movie! Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader with DiGeorge Syndrome

NOTE: I may have gotten his personality completely wrong (let's hope not) but I hope you enjoy anyway! Sending you lots of love <333

SUMMARY: Shadow abducts you as part of a calculated plan but soon discovers your health struggles, which remind him of Maria. This realization shifts his cold purpose into something else.

The hum of machinery filled the darkened corridor. Shadow’s red-tinted eyes scanned the area, unyielding, calculating. Dr. Robotnik’s orders were simple: take a hostage to ensure leverage against Sonic. Anyone nearby would do.

He found you on a bench by a park, bundled against the chill, your breath coming in slow, deliberate measures. Shadow had no reason to think twice about you, but when he closed the distance, a brief hesitance stirred within him. There was something… different.

“You’ll do,” he muttered to himself, voice cold as he stepped forward. Before you had a chance to scream, the world became a blur of black and crimson.

When you came to, you were somewhere unfamiliar, an industrial space with harsh lights and the lingering scent of oil and metal. Panic clawed at your chest as you tried to sit up, but a sharp twinge in your side reminded you why that was a bad idea.

“Good, you’re awake,” a voice came from the shadows.

You turned toward the figure stepping into the light—small, black-furred, and with eyes that pierced right through you. Recognition struck. Shadow the Hedgehog.

“Why am I here? Why… why me?” Your voice trembled, but there was an underlying defiance.

His expression was unreadable. “You were convenient. That’s all.”

It wasn’t true. Not entirely. Shadow had noticed the slow way you’d been breathing, the way your hand pressed against your chest as if steadying something fragile. Something about it gnawed at the edges of his focus, but he dismissed it as irrelevant.

Hours turned into a day. Despite his original intention to keep you confined, Shadow had been uncharacteristically quiet and watchful, observing you from a distance.

When you tried to stand, the stumble in your step was enough to make him act. “Sit,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “You’ll hurt yourself further.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, though your trembling hands betrayed you. “I’ve been through worse.”

Something flickered across his face—a rare softness. “Explain.”

You weren’t sure why you did, but the words poured out before you could stop them. The surgeries. The way your heart worked harder than it should. The moments when simple things—like standing too quickly—felt like scaling a mountain.

Shadow listened, his arms crossed but his eyes filled with something akin to recognition. When you finished, you expected him to dismiss you or make some cutting remark. Instead, he just nodded.

The days stretched on, and Shadow’s demeanor began to shift. Where there had been silence, there was now a steady rhythm of his presence—a glass of water set beside you when he thought you weren’t looking, the careful adjustment of the space to make it more comfortable.

“What changed?” you asked one evening as he handed you a blanket.

Shadow hesitated, his gaze fixed on the floor. “You’re not what I expected. You’re… stronger than you seem.”

“Strong?” You laughed bitterly. “I can barely make it through the day without—”

“Strength isn’t about perfection,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “It’s surviving despite everything trying to break you.”

It wasn’t just empty words. Shadow understood. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened when he spoke, the unspoken weight he carried.

One morning, you woke to find Shadow in a room—not the cold, sterile space you’d been confined to, but warm place. He had taken you somewhere safe.

“You’re not taking me back to Robotnik?” you asked cautiously.

“No,” he said simply.

“But why—”

“Because I don’t work for him anymore.”

He didn’t elaborate, but you didn’t need him to. The walls Shadow had so carefully built around himself had cracked, just enough for you to glimpse the truth. He hadn’t saved you out of pity or obligation. Somewhere along the way, you’d become important to him.

Life with Shadow wasn’t easy—he was blunt, stoic, and often distant. But he was also fiercely protective, learning the intricacies of your condition without complaint. He’d carry you when you were too weak to walk, stand vigil during your worst days, and remind you in his own quiet way that you were never alone.

“Why do you stay?” you asked him one night, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you, his gaze steady. “Because you remind me of her. Of Maria.”

You reached for his hand, resting yours over his. “I’m not her, Shadow. I’m not perfect.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you’re worth fighting for.”

[fear-is-truth]

PRISON GF!READER

a/n: quick note ! from what i’ve gathered, only a few states allow conjugal visits, sadly north carolina isn’t one of them. so in this au, i’ll still focus on the emotional & relationship aspects. as for why he is in prison, it’s for second-degree murder

prison gf!reader, who has been together with rafe long before his arrest and was already deeply in love with him, even though everyone warned her about his reckless behavior.

prison gf!reader, who cried the first time she saw him in his prison uniform and tried to hide it behind a brave smile so he wouldn’t feel bad.

prison gf!reader, who talks to his lawyer as much as she can, trying to stay updated on his case and doing everything in her power to advocate for him.

prison gf!reader, who gets defensive whenever anyone speaks ill about her boyfriend, firmly believing he’s so much more than his mistakes.

prison gf!reader, who visits him every chance she gets, dressing up and trying to look her best for rafe despite the circumstances.

prison gf!reader, who saves every penny to afford the gas for her trips and commissary money so he doesn’t feel like he’s going without.

prison gf!reader who spends hours writing long, heartfelt letters to rafe, telling him about her day, gossiping, and assuring him that she’ll wait for him no matter how long it takes.

prison gf! reader, who has memorised rafe’s inmate number and automatically writes it down without thinking whenever she sends him something.

prison gf!reader, who sneaks in little photos of her clad in lingerie (or sometimes full-on nude) in the letters she sends him.

prison gf! reader, who has a small scrapbook full of his letters that she’s read so many times, they’re crinkled and worn from handling.

prison gf!reader, who decorates her bedroom with little mementos: polaroids, stuffed animals, perfume and jewelry he gave her.

prison gf!reader, who daydreams about his release day and all the things they’ll do together, from going to the beach to just holding him in her arms for hours.

prison gf!reader, who keeps track of the days until his release with tally marks on a little calendar.

prison gf!reader, who brags to her friends about how protective he is, even in prison, because he still asks about anyone she’s been hanging out with and gets jealous over hypothetical scenarios.

prison gf!reader, who refuses to let anyone flirt with her, always proudly reminding them that she has a boyfriend who she’s madly in love with.

prison gf!reader, who reassures him constantly that she’s not going anywhere, even when he’s moody or distant on phone calls because she knows he’s just frustrated with his situation.

prison gf!reader, who still celebrates his birthday, baking a cake and telling him all about it in her next letter or visit.

prison gf!reader, who takes late-night drives alone, imagining he’s sitting in the passenger seat like he used to, and talks to him like he’s there.

prison gf!reader, who has dreams about him coming home, and wakes up heartbroken and teary-eyed when she realise it wasn’t real.

prison gf!reader, who keeps a folder on her phone of the photos they have together, scrolling through it whenever she misses him too much.

prison gf!reader, who has considered sending him a care package, even though it’s against the rules, just to make him feel closer to home.

prison gf!reader, who promises to visit every week, and when life gets in the way and she misses one, he reassures her that he understands, but she can hear the hurt in his voice.

prison gf!reader, who talks to wardens and guards politely, knowing they can make his life harder if they don’t like her.

prison gf!reader, who gets nervous before every visit, wondering if he’ll look different or seem upset, only to feel her heart flutter the second he smiles at her.

prison gf!reader, who gets so excited when he calls, even if it’s just for a few minutes, and tries to make him laugh so he doesn’t focus on the negatives.

prison gf!reader, who fights back tears when he admits he feels like a burden sometimes, assuring him that she loves him and will never stop fighting for him.

prison gf!reader, who holds his hand across the visitation table, tracing circles on his knuckles with her thumb.

prison gf!reader, who makes an effort to stay positive around him, but he always notices when she’s sad and implores her to take care of herself.

prison gf!reader, who bites her lip when rafe leans in close during visits, voice dropping lower as he murmurs how much he misses you and how he can’t wait to have you all to himself when he’s out.

prison gf!reader, who feels the ache in her chest when she sees the new bruises or scratches on him, but doesn’t press because she knows he’ll only tell her when he’s ready.

prison gf!reader, who listens intently as he tells her stories about the fights he’s been in, pretending to scold him but secretly impressed.

prison gf!reader, who gets flustered like a schoolgirl seeing her crush when rafe makes comments about how pretty she looks, telling her that she’s the hottest thing that’s ever walked into that visiting room.

prison gf!reader, who gets embarrassed and squirmy when he smirks during visits and says, “if we were alone right now…” leaving the sentence hanging just to watch her reaction.

prison gf!reader, who gets tongue-tied when he talks about all the dirty things he’s going to do with her the moment he gets out.

prison gf!reader, who clutches his hand during visits when he promises he’ll be better for her, tears welling in both their eyes because she knows how much he means it.

prison gf!reader, who holds back tears when rafe talks about his regrets, squeezing his hand and telling him he’s not his mistakes, even when he struggles to believe it himself.

prison gf!reader, who hates saying goodbye after visits, lingering until the last second even though the guards are ushering her away.

prison gf!reader, who feels her heart rate increase every time rafe calls, especially when he starts with, “hey, pretty girl,” in that soft, low voice that only she gets to hear.

prison gf!reader, who lets him guide the conversation when he’s in a sullen mood, knowing he’ll open up when he’s ready but needing to feel in control first.

prison gf!reader, who lets him rant during calls when he’s frustrated, knowing he doesn’t have many people to vent to, and she’s the only one he trusts.

prison gf!reader, who laughs when he jokes about you smuggling something in for him, but his tone shifts when he quietly says, “the only thing i need in here is you.”

prison gf!reader, who loves it when he mutters things like “i’d kill for one kiss right now” during phone calls, and she knows he means it.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[aredraw]

Hello! First of all I love the redo of BABTQFIM and the redesigns. Also I have a question, what will be changed in each character? Like obviously the infantilization of Mugman and how Felix seemed as a twink with Oswald- 😭😭😭 and will you keep the inspiration of Indiana Jones with Felix? When I first knew this I WAS WISHING to see Felix like Indy, but keeping the calm and stern personality that had in the comic.

Hell yeah I'm keeping the inso of Indiana Jones in Felix! He is literally the coolest guy you'll ever meet! scoot over Bendy- cause IM his BIGGEST FAN! Keep reading for LONG discerption of characters.

Anyways- Bendy is going to be less err...chibi..? And more his age cause aside from Oswald(35) and Felix(34), Bendy is the oldest(25)

Boris(20)will also be more mature and assertive. Since Bendy got sick, their roles have shifted. Bendy was the one who would cook, do chores, and work- but now Boris takes care of it despite Bendys protest.

(Boris tells him things like "Helping you is what makes me happy." even though he is filled with worry and dread) Bendy wants to spend the rest of his uncertain life making Boris happy, and Boris wants to spend the rest of it making Bendy happy. It gets harder when Bendys condition continues to worsen.

Oswald, is still depressed, only change is that he's a little better at hiding it now. And really, he only stuck to Felix for as long/much as he did to feel some sort of comfort. Hes kind of using Felix to pretend his wife's(Ortensia) still there since they look really alike (i mean srsly I'm making them the same height and giving them similar mannerisms)

Though Oswald will eventually come to see Felix as their own person and finally treat him more like a friend and less of a replacement. This is when and only when Felix starts to like Oswald.

Felix is focused on his career, and adventuring but loves the family vibe of Micky and Oswald (plus kids) He doesn't crush on Oswald immediately, just finds him fairly handsome and sweet but doesn't explore the thought too much or tries not to.

He convinces himself that Oswalds "closeness" is nothing to read into (Oswald will eventually explain why he acted so close and apologize for using Felix, later seeing and treating him like hes Felix and not Ortensia) THATS when Felix starts to feel close to Oswald and gets a crush. NO HE WONT BE A FUCKING TWINK! but he will get a little awkward. Think like Jake English from Homestuck.

And yes, Oswald will still have feelings for Felix even after he stops seeing Ortensia in him. He'll just notice they(his feelings) didn't go away but doesn't let it show till later. Hes chill like that.

a fun flip around.

Cuphead(23) and Mugman(23)-

Cuphead is trying really hard to keep a lighthearted vibe with Mugman, since it takes place pretty recent to when they gambled their souls (ill eventually draw what happens after) But yeah- Cuphead is more hesitant to make "in the moment" decisions now, he is terrified of messing up again- but at the same time is trying to take on more responsibilities, trying to act like hes changed and grown up. He stresses himself out and is playing it up that hes in control of everything, telling jokes and always trying to "handle" things to make it up to mugman.

Mugman- Hes less bothered by things that used to scare him. i mean hes lost his soul, so why would he waste his time being good? hes been good all his life and now his after life doesn't matter. Hes going to hell no matter what he does. so.... he doesn't try so hard to follow his morals anymore. Hes most likely to stop caring all together .

This is perfect, cause hes suddenly gonna be forced to care a lot more when he realizes how stressed cuphead is.

Another role shift :) God i love issues. (really hope i can show these things about the characters in the comic T^T) I'm not the best writer.

If you got more questions or confused about smth, then feel free to comment and ill try to respond when i can. -Anyways im tired, goodnight.

EDIT: Keeping Felix Australian-

[boxeom]

(18+ cw. yandere, cw. sort of dubcon (reader acts like they aren't into it, they are), cw. light pain play, cw. brat taming if you squint, soft dom, spanking, punishment, rough fingering, implied overstimulation, mentally ill Colonel Caleb, the gloves stay on, based on a miserably horny dream I just woke up from, not proofread- I need this gone)

Colonel Caleb who's bending you over his lap after your last little stunt... he doesn't get why you can't just listen to him. As much as he wants to keep you inside and never let the world see you again, you're free to roam Skyhaven all you'd like. He doesn't want to clip your wings. He just wants to make sure you know there's still a leash. All you had to do was keep your location on.

Luckily, Caleb had the forethought to install a modification on your phone that tracked you through your proximity to the many solar towers throughout Skyhaven- even if you turned your phone off. He'd even gone out of his way to make sure you didn't find out. Now, though? Caleb realizes he's loosened your leash too far for comfort. You are straying too far from him. And you know it.

All you had to do is listen. Is that really so much to ask?

He doesn't like having to punish you, but he can only give so many passes until his patience starts to wear thin (and even then he still tries to handle you with care). His grip around your wrists tightens whenever you try to squirm or pull out of his hold. A stern gloved hand strikes sharply against your bare ass each time you don't give him the answer he's looking for.

"Why did you go there?"

"What were you doing?"

"Who were you seeing?"

In truth, Caleb already knows everything. You've gotten better at hiding things over the years, but you're not nearly as silver tongued as you think you are. He just wants to hear it from you. He wants to know that you know what you did was wrong.

For every lie, a spank. For every attempt to play dumb, a spank. For every teary eyed plea to let you go, a spank (though it takes all his willpower not to give into you when you're looking up at him like that). He's not that sadistic, he doesn't particularly enjoy seeing you miserable. So- as always- he gives you concessions and rewards. He massages the welts that are swelling on your skin, cooing and murmuring to you about how you just need to answer his questions and he'll make you feel so good. He kisses you as much as you want because he needs to remind you that he's not the bad guy here. He gives you breaks, gives you time to catch your breath and think about your decisions and how you want to navigate yourself from here on out.

When you've finally realized that he's not letting this go (which takes some time- you're far too stubborn), you're spilling everything. And, of course, he's proud. You apologize and swear you'll never do it again through sniffles and hiccups (though there really was no reason to say sorry, there's nothing you could ever do that would make him keep his forgiveness from you). It's like a switch gets flipped the second you're being your sweet self again. Caleb thanks you sincerely for your honesty as he presses soft kisses to the crown of your head, soothing you and talking you down. He praises you for taking your punishment so well and promises to make it up to you.

And he does.

You've completely soaked his pant leg throughout the entire ordeal. It seems some of that distress you'd been playing up was just an act. You certainly fooled him.

Three leather covered fingers slide easily inside you (despite the whines of "it's too much" you insist upon). You're tight and drooling down his wrist. He goes slow at first, works you up and up and up until you're complaining that you want it faster and harder. He's fucking you on his fingers mercilessly- pressing against that spot that has your legs twitching and kicking uselessly behind you without sign of letting up anytime soon.

By the third orgasm he's wrung out of you, you're begging him for a moment of pause. Which he, (un)fortunately, doesn't give you. As much as this is a reward, it's a lesson. You need to know what happens the next time you do this, after all.

[bnnysweets]

WILL YOU STILL LOVE ME IF TURNS OUT I’M INSANE?

abby x bpd!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. i labeled like “bpd!reader” bc i have it and it’s inspired by how much i wanna comfort during crisis, but you can read it thinking just about mental illness in general. i listened to the whole the record album by boygenius while writing this!

warnings: angst & comfort. reader has a crisis and abby helps. talks about voices inside reader’s head, bad past memories and fear of abandonment. mention of self harm but it’s very brief. modern au. readers is called baby, sweet girl and angel.

when you both started to live together you agreed ‘bout the cameras, abby work a eight hour shift and you were almost graduating, but despite that, you still spent a bunch of time alone at house, so the main reason was security. you are a little unpredictable while going through a crisis and sometimes self destructive, abby just wanted to keep a eye at you.

today was one of those days when you did everything as you should, everything was alright until the voices in your head told you it wasn’t. you arrived home, went to the gym, did your homework, cooked and bathed, you were laying on the couch scrolling through instagram when suddenly it hits you, a felling that you are nothing, just absolute hollow.

at first you were just crying, it was okay, nothing new, but everything escalated quickly, your heart was beating so fast that you thought it would stop, you vision almost completely black and you had lost when was the last breath that you took properly.

abby was exiting the parking lot when she thought about checking on you, she opened the app to see the camera footage and saw you sat on the ground, with your knees pressed against your chest, rocking backing and forth and trembling like you were naked at alaska, she called you immediately and looked what would be the fastest way home.

“hi baby.”, you didn’t answer, abby could hear you crying and trying to catch your breath without any success, “i saw it on cameras, i know okay? you don’t need to say anything just listen to me.” you let a little “mhm.” and she was a little bit more calm, just to know that you still could listen to her without your mind disturbing it. “i’m coming home, almost 10 minutes away, i need you to try your breath exercises, i know you think they don’t work but i need that you at least try them.” you started to do without thinking twice, “you’re such a sweet girl, you know that, right? i love you so much, you’re the most precious person that i’ve met, the kindest, sweetest and smartest. i don’t know what is going on your mind, what they’re saying to you or what you’re remembering…but nothing of that define who you are. you are so much more than anything, and i mean, anything that happened to you, you are so much more than what your mind try to convince you that you are. sometimes i even think you’re an angel on earth. i need you to know that, you know that? that you’re a angel? you make heaven a true place when i’m with you. don’t let they say to you that you’re not making progress because you are, everyday i see how much you try to be the better, and trust me, you are. i love you. i’m not going to leave you. we’re are all good”.

“i’m sorry abby.”, her heart stopped, finally you were talking, “i’m sorry i’m this shitty girlfriend, always disturbing you, i love you so much, so so much but i don’t deserve you. i’m just empty.” and now her heart shattered, her foot stepped harder on the accelerator. she was already on yours street but for some mysterious reason the traffic was horrible, she parked in the first empty space she spotted and got out of the car, running towards your house. “nothing can make me hate you, nothing. i don’t care if your mind say to you that you don’t deserve this but you do, you deserve love, gentle love. love without fear, without turbulence, and i’m more than happy to give it to you.” she took a deep breath, “now, may you please open the door?” you left your phone on the couch and rushed to the door.

when you opened it abby was catching her breath, her eyes lit up seeing you, you were a sight for her sore eyes, even when you looked like this. she grabbed you and closed the door with a kick, you hold her so tight that you felt alive again, you felt your heart stopping hurting, she was the best medicine. she carried you to the bed you shared, “i love you, i love you, i love you, i fucking love you, you understand me?” she positioned you on top of her, she was holding your face delicately with a hand and with the other she was smoothing your back. “you are not mad at me?” you asked, even fearing the answer, “oh my love, how could i ever be mad at you? how?” her hand moved from your chin to your cheek, caressing it, she looked at you like she could truly see you, without see all the bad things that went through your mind, all the bad things that you did, all the bad things you always remembered, she could comprehend and appreciate you, even when you were a mess, she loved you even when you couldn’t understand why.

“i’m sorry.” you said and she took your hand in hers and kissed it, “why are you sorry for?” she looked at you with those eyes again, those eyes that you were always able to saw how much she cares for you, “i’m sorry for being like this…for always be a burden, for never being stable, for not being able to give you a normal relationship.” you started to spiraling again and faster than the light abby put her hand on your chest, where you heart is, and she started to breathe really calmly, deeply, and without noticing you were following her rhythm. when you finally calmed down you rested your head on her shoulder, she moved to the edge of the bed to reach the little table beside the bed, she opened the drawer and grabbed your medication and your water bottle, she offered to you and you took them.

“what is a normal relationship?” she asked softly and you let a little scoff, “it’s one that you don’t need cameras to see if i’m not going to harm myself just because my mind hates me.” abby guided your head to look at her, “so a normal relationship is one without you? without your intensity?” you nodded, “yes, it’s one without me being so extreme about everything.” abby caressed your face, “so i would never be happy in a normal relationship.” your eyebrows furrowed, “what do you mean?” she put her fingers on your lips, like she was admiring, “if i won’t have your intensity i don’t wanna it. i know that most of the time it makes your life very hard but it also brings so good things to your life and consequently to mine.” you looked confused but before you could say anything she answered, “when we started dating, on our second month together i already knew we would work out, you know why? because you were so transparent that i already knew you, your reactions, your likes and dislikes and i already loved them. you never lied to me about anything, even when you broke my favorite watch. you remember when you had a fight with one of my best friends because they said something bad about me behind my back? and when i didn’t believed on you, you didn’t get mad, you explained to me what was happening, you showed me proof. this is what makes you the person that i want to spend the rest of my life with. i understand your condition, and that sometimes you’re going to relapse, but every single time it happens i’m gonna to be here, to comfort you, to you talk to or just cry, i don’t mind it. i love you, you are so much more than a diagnostic.” when abby stopped talking you pecked her lips, “thank you.” you said and hugged her again, “you don’t need to be thankful babe, i just doing my job.” “well you do a very good job.” she giggled, “it’s because i fucking love it.”

dividers by @byuvly

[mira-atakirina]

When she got sick:

Lo'ak:

— Don't cough on me! I'm going hunting soon, I don't want to lie next to you, — he pulled back a little, worried he might get sick. He couldn’t hide his slight concern but still made a promise. — Don’t worry, I’ll still visit you in the upper camp and in your room. And to keep you from getting bored, I’ll tell you all the things that happened while you were gone.

— Try drinking this, Grandma says it helps with colds, — he said confidently, suddenly offering you the spoon. You shook your head in refusal, sighing tiredly. Lo'ak sometimes forgets that everything he offers you might be toxic to your body.

At that moment, it was clear how much he cared for you — he was trying so hard, despite his clumsiness. Yes, he sometimes made mistakes, but his sincere desire to help was evident, and that made him even more endearing in the eyes of the one he was trying so hard to heal.

Neteyam:

For the Na'vi, illness is a rarity. Unlike Lo'ak, Neteyam doesn't keep his distance, understanding that you can't use traditional Na'vi remedies. The young Na'vi, without hesitation, asked his father how the Sky People treat illnesses and care for each other when they're sick.

— I made you some herbal tea, — he said, entering your room, carefully holding a small cup. Steam spiraled from the cup, dancing gracefully, dissolving before starting the dance again. Even with your stuffy nose, the pleasant aroma filled your lungs.

As you slowly sipped the tea, his golden eyes gazed tenderly at your pale face.

Spider:

With a leap, he sat on the edge of the bed. — Tough case, how did you manage to get sick? — he asked, dripping some sweet syrup onto a large spoon. As you began to cough, he quickly pushed the medicine into your mouth. The girl coughed even harder.

— Oh, sorry, — he awkwardly patted you on the back.

Jake was definitely caring while his friend was sick, but he also had a playful side. Together with Lo'ak, they performed like clowns, trying to cheer you up with their antics.

Ao’nung:

“I told you bathing in cold water wouldn’t end well,” he said as he sat behind you. You were too weak from the cold to take care of yourself, so Ao’nung took it upon himself to tend to your hair. He didn’t really know how to care for a sky person properly, but he was trying in his own way.

He did his best to help you deal with the fever, even though he knew others could take care of you too. Still, Ao’nung—reluctantly or not—continued to look after you. He gently gathered and braided your long hair, or simply brushed it if it was short. He also brought you the cleanest, most refreshing water he could find, understanding that keeping your body hydrated was important for recovery.

Roto:

"Look what I brought! Just for you!" — the Na'vi sang cheerfully as he stepped into the room, holding a bunch of colorful seashells. He had found them on the beach that morning and instantly thought they might lift your spirits.

Roto didn’t really know how to treat someone like you — a sky person. But he knew one thing for sure: he could try to make you smile. He sat down gently beside you and began to softly massage your hands and feet — a warm, careful touch full of quiet care.

If you were being grumpy, he paid it no mind and just kept going with a playful smirk. But if you turned quiet and distant, he grew concerned. Like a lost kitten, he would linger close by, never far — sometimes at your bedside, other times at the door, always watching.

Now and then, he’d start talking about silly things — a funny fish he saw, or noisy birds that nearly landed on his head. He just wanted to see you smile, even if just for a moment.

Norm Spellman:

When you fell ill, Norm didn't panic, although his concern was evident. He knew how important it was to monitor someone's condition, and his knowledge, gathered through years of medical research, enabled him to help effectively.

He carefully covered you with a blanket, checked your temperature, and quickly prepared a herbal infusion he knew from his medical studies. His calm demeanor helped him stay collected and attentive. He made sure you drank plenty of water, understanding how crucial it was to maintain hydration during an illness.

Norm's care for Y/n went beyond just treating her — he also tried to provide emotional support. When she was particularly weak, he would sit beside her, talking to her, making sure she didn't feel lonely or bored.

Askuuk:

"Lie down," he said firmly — and that single word was enough to make you obey. His commanding tone left no room for argument. Arguing with him would only make things worse for you.

You're not his only little sister. Askuuk has experience taking care of younger siblings, and he knows exactly what to do when someone falls ill. In moments like these, he turns into a real "mom." The moment he hears a cough or sneeze — that's it, you're under full observation. Well, figuratively. But still.

Behind Askuuk’s indifferent expression hides quiet worry. For the Na'vi, illness is rare — but you're a human child, much more fragile. He simply can't leave you alone. He needs to stay close at all times: changing the damp cloth on your forehead, checking your temperature, giving you medicine on time, and even watching over your breathing as you sleep, just to be sure you're okay.

Sometimes, thinking you're asleep, he gently adjusts your blanket and lets his gaze linger on your face for a moment longer than usual. He may be quiet, he may seem stern — but deep down, he cares as deeply as any lloving brother.

Erao:

"Want me to play on your nerves?" he grinned widely, stretching his lips into a mischievous smile. It seemed like Erao thought playing the drums in front of his sick sister was the best thing to do. Rather than risking his life near Askuuk, he chose this strange amusement.

"Alright, don’t frown, I’m just kidding!" he quickly moved the drums off his lap and placed them on the floor. He then approached you, gently taking the towel from your forehead and, without pressing too hard, turned it to the cool side, softly touching your skin.

Despite his pranks and teasing, it was clear that he genuinely cared for you. Even in moments like these, he was ready to be tender and caring, even if you didn’t fully agree with his methods. He might joke around, but he was always there, ready to support and take care of you, no matter how picky or irritated you were.

And even if his jokes weren’t always the best, Erao knew that in those moments, it was important for you to feel cared for.

[fanficfox]

Not So Helpful Study Buddy (NSFW) Part 2

(based off of this post, fem!reader x schlatt, college twink schlatt (before fame), intoxication, weed, submissive schlatt, edging/handjob MDNI) ✨Part 1 Here

After you and schlatt finished the blunt, you both decided it was time to just lay down in his bed. the high from the weed just completely taking over the both of you. schlatt put on one of his playlist with some of his favorite easy going melodies to listen too. on any other day, schlatt could just listen to these songs and enjoy them without batting an eye. but the weed has him feeling so lifted the songs sound so new to him and better then he thought was possible. he’s hearing sounds he has never noticed was there before and it feels like it’s his first time listing to these songs, despite being very familiar with them. You lay next to him in his arms. your head on his chest as you hear him hum along to the music. you can tell schlatt is enjoying himself right now. but you can make him feel even better. you start to give his neck little kisses and nibbles. schlatt is feeling very responsive and sensitive right now. he lets out a few whimpers, he bites his lip and tilts his head giving you better access to his neck. “fuck baby that feels so good, keep doing that” he moans out. you smile against his neck and start to nibble on his ear. he starts to squirm a little trying to gain composer over himself but he can’t help how good he feels. your hand creeps down his chest, brushing over his tummy and landing on his growing bulge. you giggle loving the effect you have on him. “oh what do we have here hmm?” schlatt gasps when you start to fondle him over his shorts, he tries to speak but his brain is clouded from the weed and pleasure it just comes out in desperate breaths and moans. “awe baby, can’t think straight can ya? too overwhelmed?” schlatt whimpers and nods, his eyes closed shut. he was feeling overwhelmed in a good way. you and schlatt have done things like this before and have had plenty of sex but this is the first time schlatt is high so everything is heighten. you start to tug on his shorts “how about we get these off of you” schlatt doesnt was anytime and rips off his shorts, leaving him exposed from the waist down. you start to play with him. your hand pumping up and down his shaft as you lock lips. schlatt moans into your mouth then breaks the kiss “fuck toots, please please don’t fucking stop” his face is contorted with pleasure and a hint of worry like you might stop at any moment. you shake your head “i won’t stop puppy, as long as you keep begging me” you start to kiss his neck a again bitting down a little harder this time, showing him who’s in control right now. he lets out a louder whimper as your hand picks up speed. schlatt to starts to buck his hips up into your hand to get more friction but you stop and pull away and he groans “no no no baby, why’d you stop?” he’s whining at this point his voice filled with desperation. “because you’re not in control i am, don’t move or ill stop again” you’re voice is thick with authority and you’re high off of more then weed. you’re on a power high. schlatt just nods and settles back into the bed, his muscles relaxing. you start to pump him again. you slowly get faster and you can tell he’s getting close. “oh god toots i’m gonna cum, fuck im so close” you nod and kiss his cheek “i know baby i know” schlatt licks his lips and looks at you with needy eyes. “please baby, can i please cum? please i’m begging you” you shrug “i don’t know. do you deserve it?” schlatt nods eagerly “yes baby i do…i’ve been a good boy and i work hard. i need this….please baby please” you think it over for a second then agree “ok baby you can cum” schaltt smashes his lips into yours as you give him a couple good pumps and he explodes all over you hand, it drips down his shaft and onto his balls as well. he breaks the kiss, breathing heavily trying to catch his breath. “good job baby…you were such a good boy for me…” you say peppering his face in kisses. schlatt’s cheeks turn rose red and he can help but break into a beaming smile. “thanks for the study break toots, but i think i should get back to work now” you pout and grab onto him before he could move to far.

“are you sure? doesn’t a nap sound better?” schlatt looks unsure. he turns to look at his books on his desk then looks back at you. he just shrugs and says “one nap shouldn’t hurt” and you smile loving how he easily gives into you. you both clean up then settle back into bed. schlatt drape his arm around you, pulling you closer. you lay in a spooning postiton, you being the little spoon. soon enough you both drift off into a peaceful sleep.

[sneezeshame]

the weather wizard is coming down with something. everyone can tell; the sky starts to look a bit cloudy despite the official forecast from the tower being clear skies. it gets cloudier as the day goes on, and eventually a new notice comes in the evening, issued to the kingdom, confirming what they already know-- they aren't feeling very well, it might be a touch of a cold, and the skies will be cloudy with possibly some rain over the next few days, as opposed to the scheduled three days of clear weather and preplanned light rain on thursday. they apologize for the inconvienience.

meanwhile in the tower, the wizard feels weighed down, like their head is full of sand. their throat hurts. the only way to handle getting sick is trying to control the symptoms, so the weather is impacted as little as possible. they get in their pajamas and crawl into bed, sniffling, embarassed; they always try very hard not to get sick, and they aren't sure how this bug slipped through their defences. their partner consoles them; everyone catches a cold sometimes, and people understand that. a lot of viruses have been getting passed around in the kingdom lately, and they've been working harder than normal to keep the normal rainy season weather away. the only thing they can do is get some rest.

but the night is rougher than they expected. it's normal for them to cause a couple rainstorms when they're upset or ill, but they wake up in the middle of the night with their throat hurting badly, shivering, the first sneeze of the cold tickling in their nostrils. when they sneeze, lightning strikes and thunder rumbles, so they try to stifle them; but the reflex at all makes the clouds come in denser. their head aches.

the wizard tries to sleep, but they have to juggle the symptoms and end up sleeping poorly. in the morning no sunlight comes in the window; the whole kingdom is cloudy, and they're in the bathroom taking cold medicine, trying to keep off the rain that seems inevitable. indeed it is; their nose is getting stuffy, and it's getting harder to hold back the sneezes. their partner takes their temperature, and to their suprise they're running a little fever. a stream of hot tea and soup follows them going back to bed with a second blanket, propping their head up on pillows to help keep the incoming congestion at bay. the worse they feel, the worse the weather will be, and so they need to keep themselves as comfortable as possible; unfortunately, the stress of catching a cold and sending unpredictable weather on the whole kingdom already has them upset. they take pride in having good control over the weather, but anyone with eyes can see that whatever is happening in the tower, they're feeling worse than they'd hoped.

about lunchtime, later than usual, another forecast goes out: this cold is worse than they originally anticipated, and there might be some storms coming. they don't know when or how bad. they apologize profusely.

meanwhile, they're starting to stuff up. they keep a tissue box and cold medicine close by. their fever isn't changing, but their throat throbs. they never get sick. they're breathing through their mouth by dinnertime.

"How're you feeling?" asks their partner, setting soup on their nightstand.

"Why dodd you jusd loog oudside," says the wizard miserably.

"I can do that already," their partner says. "I'm asking how you're doing, not how the weather is."

"I-- huuETCHOO!" they sneeze. thunder rumbles; a few drops of rain fall. "Drying do geep the raid frob fallig. Snnxxt."

"That still doesn't answer my question," says their partner.

"I'b sigg," they say, irritated. their voice is sounding a little hoarse. they sneeze again; thunder again in the distance; the clouds are grey and heady with everything they're holding back.

"You should just let it fall," their partner says. "They've been pampered with perfect weather for months. a little unpredictability won't hurt anyone."

the weather lets up a little when they sleep, but unfortunately that's getting harder to do. they can't breathe through their nose anymore, their head and throat both hurt, they have chills from the fever, and they just feel lousy, lousier than they usually do when they get sick. they take more cold medicine at 1am and lay there with purple-ringed eyes, sniffling, feeling themselves get worse.

a little before sunrise, the rain starts falling. they're huddled in blankets with their box of tissues in an armchair in the tower, their feet in hot water, trying to breathe. their voice is a rasp and it hurts to talk, so their partner issues the weather report: this cold is worse than they expected, and they're managing their symptoms as best as they can, but there are going to be some bad and unpredictable storms the next few days, as well as clouds and rain.

and the rain does come. the steam from the hot water unstuffs the wizard slightly, but it restuffs and hour later while they're laying in bed, sneezing and shivering, their face pale and their nose red. they're able to take a nap over lunchtime, and even though they're snoring loudly around the congestion and swelling in the tower, the rain almost goes away; but their sleep is troubled, and when they take back up with the feeling of their sinuses pounding on their face and their tonsils and larynx throbbing, they realize their partner was right: storms are coming.

they start at around dinnertime, when the wizard's fever reaches 101. the clouds darken angrily, and the rain starts to come down hard as the wizard fights the third night of what's turning out to be a massive head cold. they can't sleep, they feel too sick, and so they take pillows and blankets from their bed to the couch in the living room, watching tv and avoiding the weather channels.

the rain comes down beating against the windows that night, but their partner doesn't need to know the weather to know how sick they are. their fever rises to 102 in the early hours of the morning and stays, officially the sickest they've been in years, and they convince them to shuffle back to bed and try to get some more upset sleep. they've started to get a cough, chesty and tight, that causes the wind to stir and rush past their windows.

in the morning, the king sends his well wishes and a doctor their partner requested, who confirms, after taking their temperature, examining their throat and nose, and looking both outside and at the pile of used tissues on the bed that they've caught either a horrible cold or a miserable flu. sleeping medicine and cough syrup is all he can provide other than waiting it out; fluids, rest.

their partner sends out another weather forecast: the wizard is down with something bad, possibly the flu, and it isn't very managable. severe thunderstorms are possible, as well as high winds.

the wizard lays in a feverish daze, their body aching, their head swimming with heaviness, their sinuses pounding. they're propped up staring into the thick drapery around their four poster bed, which has been pulled tight all day-- light makes their head pound harder. whatever bug was ravishing their system, they really DO feel miserable. they take all the medication they can like clockwork every four to six hours, and yet none of it seems to make a dent. they decline any soup for dinner and lay there with a fat blue ice pack pressed to their forehead and sinuses, pressed there by their partner, listening to the storm outside.

the storm outside is as horrible as their cold. their sniffling and sneezing and coughing is constant, and when it stops, they're so ill that the rain keeps coming down just as hard. when they get into a deep, painful hacking fit, the wind outside howls and moans through the kingdom. when they manage to dose off for a bit, exhausted in bed, the thunder seems more distant, and the rain comes down not as hard-- and then they wake up with a thunderous sneeze and it returns again.

in the middle of the night, they're running a fever of 102.4, and their partner runs a warm bath in the clawfoot bathtub in the adjacent bathroom. after some coaxing they manage to get the wizard to undress and sit blearily on the side of the bed, a thick bathrobe wrapped around them, staring into space with half-opened eyes. they slip their feet into slippers and stand slowly, every joint creaking, trudge to the bathtub with their partner and slide in.

"What do you think? Cold or the flu?" their partner asks, after they've been sitting and breathing in the steam for a while.

"...I duddo..." the wizard croaks. lightning flashes in the window as they sneeze again, and thunder rumbles in the dark clouds. "...baybe the flu... snxxxt, guu-huhh..." the wizard looks blearily at the windows with a cough. "...whadd a bess..."

"You can't help it."

"Snnnnxxxtt. Ughhh..." They cough miserably again, and the wind howls. "Baybe dodd," they say. The storm outside is violent and churning, and the change in pressure alone makes their head feel even more like it might burst.

The morning comes with the rain less violent than it was the night before; their fever broke, and they're back in the four poster bed with the curtains pulled tight, asleep in a cocoon of blankets and quilts, tissues stuffed up their flaming nostrils. as much as they want this to be over with, their partner knows this is how they'll stay probably into the next week, and they do-- the storms ease up but the clouds and rainstorms stay for another week, as they battle a sinus infection and a touch of bronchitis.

Please excuse the cloudy skies, the forecast says. I'm still feeling under the weather from whatever knocked me off my feet last week. I appreciate the patience. Sunny skies ahead, hopefully.

[myownwholewildworld]

13. DEATHROW

chapter 12 | ao3 | series masterlist | chapter 14

pairing: post-outbreak!joel x f!reader. summary: tommy's ill-placed trust brings you to an impasse. a/n: uhmmm... hi... the only thing i'm going to say is that i'm really sorry. please know that writing this chapter took an emotional toll on me and was crying towards the end. if you're sensitive to certain topics, please heed the warnings. i will tell you though that there will be a happy ending, i promise. as always, i appreciate comments, reblogs and likes, and if you do all three, i'll treasure you forever. take care, lovelies <3 x warnings (spoilers!!): 18+, mdni. some fluff until it isn't. explicit gore, violence, murder. miscarriage. angst and grief. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov. dividers by @\saradika-graphics w/c: ~5.2k. taglist aka the drama wagon at the end of the chapter (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!)

“Fuck, no,” you grunted, turning the keys in the ignition while your other hand tightly gripped the steering wheel.

The Jeep’s motor spluttered, wheezing as you tried to bring it back to life. Pressing on the gas pedal, you spun the key around again to no avail.

Last night you should have checked on the battery. Having thought about it and then not doing it was infuriating, but at the same time you couldn’t blame either Joel or yourself for it.

You both had been so focused on the conversation, your fears being washed away, that preserving the life of the car battery had dropped several spots in your list of things to worry about. It wasn’t every day that Joel opened up to you, so when he did, you hadn’t dared stop him.

Despite the simmering fear under the surface of your skin, the excitement outweighed everything else. A much-needed ray of happiness among the darkness. Even though it was still too early, you couldn’t wait to welcome this baby into the world. To introduce them to Joel. Imagining him holding your baby, nestled in his arms, him pressing a soft kiss on their forehead…

Your chest swelled with emotion, a wave of warmth overwhelming you, filling your core. You definitely couldn’t wait.

And yes, there were infinite threats out there, but you and Joel would keep them all at more than arm’s length. This baby would be loved, protected. Joel would not let anything happen to any of you, but neither would you ― you would do absolutely anything and everything for them. Whatever the cost.

A big part of you was sure that Tommy would do nothing with the information he had unearthed about you. After all, he was your friend and Joel’s brother. You liked to think that, despite how he ditched you both when you were bit back in Chicago, he still cared about the both of you. Having spent months with him in the wilderness, he had been like the big brother you never had. Always the older sister, you never had someone looking out for you when you were younger. Tommy had filled that part in a sense, albeit briefly.

Joel, on the other hand, was keen on leaving, hence why you were trying to resuscitate the Jeep. Blamed how his brother had changed solely on Laney. And although you agreed that Laney had been an extremely bad influence on Tommy, she could not be the only culprit here. Tommy had decided, of his own free will at first, to get involved with that group, to drown his sorrows in alcohol and harder drugs.

But he would do nothing that would put Joel or you in harm’s way. Despite it all, he was a good person, just a tad lost. Tommy would eventually find his way back to his brother, to family. You were darn sure he would make an amazing uncle.

Grunting, you jumped out of the car, keys dangling from your gloved fingers. Trudging towards the cabin, Joel came down the steps to meet you halfway through in the overgrown path.

“Any luck?”

“Nope, sorry,” you apologised although were not sure why. You handed over the keys. “I should’ve checked the battery last night.”

You unintentionally pursed your lips in frustration, but Joel’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip to soften the gesture. Your eyes flickered to his as his fingers splayed across your jawline.

“I could’ve checked too and didn’t. This ain’t on you, baby,” Joel reassured you. “We’ll find an alternative, don’t worry.”

You pecked the fingertip of his thumb, which earned you one of his lopsided smiles, tiny dimples sinking in his cheeks. Joel was always a sight to see, handsome as he was, but when he grinned, his whole expression shifted. The worry would ease its grip on him, the crow’s feet around his eyes accentuating and the skin on his lips tensing into a boyish smirk.

No wonder he had such an effect on you. Couldn’t be any other way. Because Joel Miller was gorgeous on the outside, but it was his heart what you treasured most about him. His passion, his predisposition to help those who needed him, his good intentions, his kind nature towards you was what stole your heart.

Yes, he could be a huge prick sometimes, but it was out of fear, of love. Not that it was a good excuse for some of his behaviour, but you knew he was trying his best.

“What’s crossing your mind?” he probed, sensing your absent-mindedness.

You shrugged, a half-smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Nothing, just mentally listing the reasons why I love you,” you whispered as he bowed down, replacing his thumb with his mouth.

“Oh, yeah? I bet it’s a long list. Care to share?” Joel taunted you, lips moving against your as he spoke.

You chuckled, slapping his shoulder playfully as you stepped back.

“Stop being a flirtatious tease, Miller. You’ve already knocked me up, you don’t need to impress me anymore,” you joked.

His hand slipped to yours and pulled you into his hard, broad chest. You couldn’t help but titter when his arms wrapped around you in a bear hug. Joel kissed the crown of your head, his palms sliding down your back until both cupped your ass to press you on him.

His mouth made its way to yours lazily, his lips prying yours open with ease. The tease of his tongue swirling around yours pulled all air out of your lungs, his wet warmth pouring into your thirsty mouth. His tongue retreated and you whimpered lowly, for him to lick back in your mouth with ravenous need.

Joel broke the kiss a minute later, gasping for oxygen. You panted as well, slightly flustered.

“I may not need to, but I definitely want to impress you every single fucking day of our lives together until death do us part,” his tone grew darker, more intense, as he mumbled such words against the soft skin of your lips.

Your heart jolted, the bare intensity of his promise making you shiver with raw love. Warmth settled in your core, his pledge a reassuring blanket that nothing would break you apart. You knew he meant every single word, which made it even more significant to you. You didn’t think you could ever love someone else the same way you loved Joel ― it would be simply impossible.

Your eyes got glassy, a finger brushing your waterline as you laughed it off, taking a step back.

“Stop it, you’re gonna make me cry,” you said, a chortle loosening the emotion in your voice. “I don’t think I can even blame the pregnancy hormones for that.”

Joel cradled your face, his thumbs stroking your cold, wet cheeks. His brown eyes softened as he leaned in for a chaste kiss this time. Then his forehead rested against yours intimately.

“I do mean it. I love you. And this baby too,” he hummed, one hand drifting down and then up the hem of your padded coat until it landed on the bare skin of your belly. His thumb trailed an invisible line below your belly button. “I don’t think you understand how much, sweetheart.”

You swooned. How could you not when Joel was talking like that? You liked him being so vocal about his love for you, for this baby, because you knew it was rare.

Hugging his neck, fingers laced at the nape of it, you pushed him down for another kiss, his warm palm still stroking the skin over your womb.

“I do understand, because I feel exactly the same. Now stop this before I lose my mind and lock you up,” you laughed against his lips.

“As tempting as that is, you’re right. We need a vehicle,” he sighed loudly, almost exasperatedly, while he stepped back from you. “We’ll go into town, see what we can find.”

“I can stay here with our supplies, so we don’t have to carry everything with us,” you offered.

“No, you’re coming with me. Tommy knows we are here, it isn’t safe anymore. We go together,” his steely tone told you he would not be convinced otherwise.

“Do you really think Tommy would come back and do something rash? I highly doubt it, Joel. He’s your brother, he wouldn’t harm either of us,” you reasoned with him, knowing it was a lost battle.

“It’s not him I’m worried about, but the others he’s with if he opens his goddamn mouth.” He had a point, so you didn’t argue anymore. “We’ll hide some things in those bushes over there, so you don’t have to carry that much weight, and then if it’s safe, we’ll come back to retrieve everything else.”

You nodded, sliding your hand in his and squeezing it.

“Let’s go then, it’s freezing out here.”

Joel’s senses flared the whole time, even the twigs breaking under his heavy boots made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up. The nagging feeling stalking the back of his mind kept him on edge, checking his surroundings at all times.

Oswego felt alien, otherworldly even. Joel had not set foot on this town for years―decades―and nothing had really changed. But the atmosphere had, the mist adding a layer of mystique to how he perceived it. Being here felt… wrong. His skin bristled at the thought, instantly turning around to check on you. Again.

“Yes, I’m still right behind you, just like the last twenty times you’ve checked, Joel,” you mocked him with a gentle smile in an attempt to ease his uneasiness.

Joel pursed his lips, swallowing the snappy retort. His mood had soured with every step closer to the dam on West River Road. With no cars to be seen, you had to venture further in than what he had anticipated.

“I know, just making sure no one is following,” he said instead.

You did not deserve his spoilt temper.

Slowly coming down the hill, you both got to the asphalt. The dam was on your right, fenced off and in big disrepair. The water was pouring over, the winter almost forcing the river to overflow.

Joel quickly moved to your side, keeping you close to him, as you both walked northwards.

“See that red-bricked building? Tommy once got inside and almost didn’t make it out. He tripped over some bare cables, and they came in contact with water… It was a shitshow,” Joel recalled, trying to get his mind off that nagging feeling that made his skin crawl. “He almost electrocuted, got a nasty burn on his hands.”

“And let me guess, you went after him to try and stop him from being even more reckless,” you added, intertwining your gloved fingers with his.

Joel cocked his head, looking at you askance with a subtle grin. You knew him too well by now.

“Damn right I did. That kid could never be left unsupervised,” he tutted at the memory. “I had to break him out while the guard was chasing us. When our old man found us, he was not impressed.”

You chuckled, a melody to his ears in this decrepit world. Joel loved the sound of your laughter, how easy going you were when worry was not gripping you tight. He gently yanked at your laced hands to push you into his side, his arm quickly draping over your shoulders as you trudged forward through the thick layer of snow.

The light screech of distant tyres made him stop right away, his alertness going through the roof as he turned around to discern where the noise was coming from.

His heart jostled against his chest, blood rushing through his eardrums with anticipation. Danger was nearby, Joel could sense it.

He pushed you towards the trees on your left.

“Go, hide in the woods, but don’t strand too far,” his voice was unusually calm, especially considering how his heart pounded, threatening to break a rib.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“Someone’s coming. Trust me,” he pushed you again, this time with more urgency. “Please.”

Your eyes widened when you heard the car approaching too.

“It can be anyone. Doesn’t have to be―”

“I said go.”

“But you―”

“I’ll keep ‘em busy. I’ll be fine. Go,” he insisted, keeping calm even though the fear bubbling inside him was asking him to yell.

Finally, you nodded, a last squeeze on his hand before you ran towards the cover of the woods.

Drawing a deep breath in, with the coolest demeanour he could muster, Joel faced northwards and kept on walking, pretending he didn’t know you were being followed.

Soon enough, a vehicle approached him from behind, his whole body stiffening in preparation for what was to come. His left hand gripped the leather strap hooked to his shoulder, while the right tested the weight of his riffle’s stock. Blood pumped thick through his veins, mind rushing at lightspeed.

Joel dared to shoot a sideways glance to the trees, checking you were nowhere to be seen. His relief was short-lived when he noticed the trail of imprinted footprints on the snowy, frozen ground, a clear path leading to where you were hiding.

If he could throw up his heart, Joel would have done so there and there. But he couldn’t fix that, not now, so could only pray that whoever was following would not spot them.

Not whoever ― Joel knew who they were, as sure as the sun would rise over the horizon tomorrow morning. You were adamant that Tommy would not give you up, that his little brother would smarter than that. But Joel knew better than that ― knew Tommy too damn well. Although he probably meant no harm, his need to belong, to find his people, was far greater than anything else. A fucking irony, if you asked him ― Tommy had him, had you, but apparently neither of you had been enough to satiate his longing.

It had always been like that though, so why was he surprised? Even as a kid, Tommy would find the shittiest people he could to hang out with, and then it was up to Joel to get him out of dire situations.

A loud honk coming from the car derailed his train of thought. Halting suddenly, the riffle’s strap came off his shoulder, the barrel weighting heavy on his left hand while his right pawed the grip.

Joel slowly turned around to face four people coming out of the Jeep. He recognised Laney straight away, the woman who had gotten Tommy’s head up his own ass. A baseball bat rested on her shoulder. The three man that accompanied her were strangers to him ― all of them had drawn their guns.

Fucking outnumbered, but his coward of a brother was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey there, Joel. Long time no see,” Laney greeted him, a wide smile showing her crooked, yellowed teeth. “Going somewhere?”

Joel eyed his opponents, pondering how to get out of this unscathed. His hand tightened around the riffle’s grip, but he kept it steady. Didn’t want to force a situation he wasn’t sure he could win.

“No, just aimlessly walking around,” he barked back, snappy.

He had no time for pleasantries.

Laney laughed, closing the distance with the three man right on her back.

“I see. Tommy was telling us all about how you have forgotten about Sarah already and decided to replace her with another shot at parenthood. Is that right?” She stopped six feet away from him, her grin spanning across her mouth like a fucking clown.

Her words hit him like a motherfucking lorry. The most primal anger flared his nerves, his vision reddening at the thought of Tommy airing his personal life to fucking strangers. Could he not trust his own fucking blood anymore? Why the fuck would Tommy tell her anything about Sarah?

He wasn’t replacing her. Never could, would never even try ― Sarah was irreplaceable. This baby could never supplant Sarah. He’d love them to death―already did―just as he had Sarah. Tommy should fucking know that.

Displaying the highest forms of control for the sake of you both, Joel stood there, white knuckles under the fingerless gloves. He petted the trigger, wanting to give in to this urge ― the urge to right a wrong. But he had you and the baby to worry about, couldn’t be so reckless.

“Did that clicker you call your girlfriend eat your tongue or what?” one of the men chipped in, snickering at his own tasteless joke.

Of course Tommy told them that too. When would the younger Miller ever learn to shut his fucking mouth up?

“What do you want, Laney?”

“Ah, well, you see…” she shrugged, folding arms. Joel wanted to wipe her smile off her stupid face with the blow of his shotgun. “This is our town now. And we don’t like having fucking pregnant clickers around here, Joel. Have you considered the kind of monster that is gonna come out of her?”

Fury crawled up his throat, closer now to losing his goddamn composure. Joel had to blink a couple of times to clear his vision from the tinge of red buffering around his eyes.

You’re the fucking monster, leave my family alone, you bitch, was what he wanted to yell, but instead forced himself to try and diffuse the situation.

“We’ll leave. There’s nothing here that would keep us in this place,” and by nothing, he truly meant no one.

Tommy’s betrayal stung like a swarm of raging wasps.

“Ditching your brother already? Wow,” Laney cackled like a parrot. Then tutted, her head cocking to one side. “Bit late for that, I’m afraid.”

“Let go of me, you bastard!”

Your high-pitched shriek froze the hot blood running wild in his veins. His head snapped to his right, just in time to see a fourth man dragging you out of the woods, grabbing you by your hair as you kicked like a madwoman to break free.

His heart literally stopped, brain trying to catch up with what was happening. He had missed the moment the fourth guy had diverted from the group to track you down through the snow. And Joel was afraid you would pay for his inattentiveness.

A dense knot swelled in his throat, his lungs straining to get some oxygen in. He couldn’t afford to panic now, nor to lose his goddamn mind, but the urge to give in to desperation was overwhelming.

You were everything he had left in this godforsaken world. Joel couldn’t lose you too, not to his brother’s stupidity.

So he persevered, forcing himself to remain calm. The seconds dragged on like a thread being pulled off a blanket, time standing still the moment that vile man threw you to the floor.

On your fours, you fought for a gasp of air before the same man yanked at your hair again, another painful scream as he forced you on your knees.

“You son of a bitch,” you spat, feeling your scalp pinching with the pull.

For a moment you avoided Joel’s gaze, because you knew what you would find there: helplessness. The same you were feeling right now. But his eyes were burning a hole right through your face ― and you finally met his glare.

Even if he had a tight grip on his composure, you could feel his anger, his guilt, his rage. To someone else Joel might look eerily calm and steadfast, but to you, who had learnt everything there was to know about Joel Miller, he looked like a man in penance.

Your captor slapped you, the blow pushing you onto the frozen ground again. Your skin prickled at the contact, a grunt slipping through your lips ― but that was all you would show them.

Joel moved towards you suddenly, a reaction he could not have suppressed even if he wanted to. But the moment the other three men pointed their guns at him, you regretted him doing it. Luckily, the sound of the firearms being cocked stopped him before he could reach you.

“Look, it doesn’t really need to be this dramatic, Joel. You get in the car, we take care of her, and we drive you to your brother,” Laney spoke as if you were not there.

Why did people had developed the ability to talk about you as if you were an object, as if you were not even present? What the fuck was wrong with people? Had they stopped seeing your humanity because of a fucking bite?

“No, you get in the car and leave, before I kill y’all,” Joel muttered under his breath.

Only when you saw the feral look in his eyes, did your heart start racing. This could only go down one way, because Joel would not let them do anything to you. For his own preservation, you wished he did, so one of you could make it out alive.

Launey laughed, followed by the four men.

“You reckon you can take on the five of us?” she taunted, her teeth becoming yellower with the white background. “You are delusional.”

Joel was not someone who took being challenged graciously. You had seen him unleash his temper before, and how that had turned out for the men who tried to rape you. He had not only killed them both, but then spent hours hunting down every single member of their group on his own.

This, though, was different. Joel had already three guns pointed at him.

You felt the shift in the atmosphere before the rest, the twitch in his jaw alerting you that Joel was at his wit’s end. His pose stiffened almost unperceptively, one finger slowly sliding towards the trigger. He didn’t need to communicate with you ― you knew what was about to happen.

Joel lifted the riffle, turned around promptly, and shot the man who had dragged you out of the woods. His body fell to your side with a muffled thud.

Then hell broke loose, the three men coking their guns at him in an instant, stepping in front of Laney to protect her.

“Don’t kill him, Tommy wouldn’t forgive me,” was her only order.

Two of the men holstered their guns, one of them still keeping Joel at gun point, and lunged forwards towards him. A second shot knocked the second man down, while the other two grabbed at Joel’s shotgun’s barrel. A fight ensued while they struggled to get hold of the firearm.

Your pulse accelerated, forcing you out of your state of shock as you raised to your feet, hand slithering to your back to grab your own gun. You would fight besides Joel even if this was the last thing you did.

Then Laney’s body blocked your vision, the baseball bat swinging in front of your face.

“Where do you think you’re going, you fuckin’ clicker?” were her only words before the bat swayed again, hitting you harshly on the sternum.

Your lungs evacuated all air, leaving you mouthing for a gulp of oxygen. Your knees quivered and you managed to stop the fall, your nails digging in the dirty snow underneath. A second shot of pain ran down your spine when Laney hit your back with all the strength she could muster, and both your arms and legs gave way, your gun falling and dropping a few feet away from you.

Your face kissed the white blanket beneath as you crawled onto your side, still trying to catch a breath, wincing and panting, clutching at your chest. This much pain could only be caused by a broken rib, the stabbing feeling worsening with every breath you tried to get in.

“You’re disgustin’,” Launey snarled before she started kicking you, her boot and the bat taking turns.

She hit you everywhere, but most of the blows landed on your stomach. You crouched down, protecting your head as best you could, while searing pain cursed through your body, sharp and dull at the same time.

You could still hear the struggle between Joel and the two men, and you hoped he would prevail. But you couldn’t wait for him to help you, not with the burning cramps taking hold of your whole body. Another minute of this beating and Laney would end up smashing your skull open ― it was only a matter of time.

Through the agony, the worst pain you had ever endured, you rolled onto your back as the woman kept on hitting you with boots and bat. Not the best idea, but it was your only chance to reach for your gun on the ground.

Laney was so focused on you, she didn’t even notice the moment your fingers wrapped around the grip of your forgotten gun. With no hesitation, your finger slid to the trigger, and pressed it.

The bullet lodged right between Laney’s brows ― a millisecond later, she fell on her back.

You drew in a breath, then a trembling sigh escaped your lips, trying to slow down your heartbeat. A cloud of mist lingered in front of your mouth. Closed your eyes for a minute, trying to reign in the pain coursing through your being.

Tilting your head to one side, you saw the last two men on the floor. Joel was on top of one, fisting and punching his face until his head cracked open. A pool of blood tinted the white snow, and only when his brains were spilling over onto the ground, did Joel sit back and look in your direction.

You saw the fog lifting off his mind, his rage forgotten the moment he landed eyes on you. Those brown orbs you loved suddenly widened with fear and his face expression completely transformed into anguish.

“Baby, no,” he whispered with despair, crawling his way to you.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled the moment he reached you, helping you sit up and hugging you so tight you feared he might break the last of your ribs. “Joel, I’m fine,” you reassured him.

All your body ached just as if you had been put through hell, but you were alive.

“No, no, no, no,” was everything he could murmur, his lips pressed onto your temple. His breath so warm it was soothing. “No, no… can’t be… I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Oh God, please forgive me. I’m sorry…”

Joel started to rock back and forth still holding you, his eyes so broad and glassy you knew you were missing something.

That was when you looked down and saw the blood staining your jeans where your inner thighs met, leaking through the fabric onto the snow underneath.

For a second you didn’t―couldn’t―understand what was happening, why you were bleeding so profusely.

And the moment it hit you, your lungs tore apart with the loudest scream you had ever let go of.

Joel saw realisation dawning on you, your eyes a window to your instantly broken soul. He cradled your face so you would only look at him. You almost wrestled with him, trying to get up, but his arms kept you bound to him.

The void in his chest grew bigger and bigger with every screech and cry you emitted, breaking him down until tears spilt over his waterlines. This couldn’t be happening ― losing another child. One he had only started to love; one he had let himself wish and hope for. One he promised he would protect at whatever cost. The idea of a family with you, snatched away in the blink of an eye.

He had tried getting to you the moment he saw Laney approaching you, tried to attack her, but the two men had tackled him to the ground and beat him almost to death. Only got a tiny reprieve when he saw you kill Laney before one of the attackers struck him in the head. Then Joel’s instincts kicked in and didn’t simmer down until they were both dead.

Joel had been so focused on eliminating the last two threats, he hadn’t stopped to check on you ― his survival instinct too strong to ignore. Now hated himself for it, for letting Laney get to you, do this to you.

Because of his ineptitude and tunnel vision, you had miscarried. He had not been able to protect you, this baby of yours. Just as he had not been able to protect Sarah almost two years ago. He was a motherfucking failure.

But he couldn’t break, not now when you needed him the most. He had to be strong for the both of you, because your pain was much, much greater than his.

“Baby, don’t look,” he begged you, palms framing your face while his thumbs swept away your tears. “Please, don’t look.”

“J-Joel!” you wailed, your arms draping around his trunk and burying your face in his coat. “No… our baby…”

His hand landed on your crown, pressing you gently onto his chest, his dead heart breaking a tad more.

Joel pressed a kiss on your forehead.

There were no words to describe the loss, the grief for someone none of you would ever meet. Would they be a baby boy or a baby girl? What would they look like? Would have they taken after you or him? Would have they grown to be a happy, chirpy toddler? Their first steps, their first words ― so many firsts gone, firsts neither of you would ever witness.

You both remained there for what felt like hours, Joel hugging you tight, rocking you in an attempt to calm you down, calm himself down too.

Only when the bitter cold started to filter through your clothing, making you shiver, did Joel help you stand up. His arms slipped under your body, and he carried you to the car while you cried your loss in the crook of his neck. Made sure you were comfortable on the seat, put your seatbelt on, and jumped into the driver’s side.

Joel was a man on a mission. Not on a hunting mission―Tommy was dead to him―but on a mission to get you to safety so he could tend to you.

Little did it matter how much he was hurting. Your sobs had quietened down, your face tilted towards the window. On the reflection he could see the dried tears on your soulless eyes, but the moment they drifted down to your lap, you started quietly crying again.

He felt so damn helpless, the only thing he could do was to remove his coat and place it on your lap. He tugged at you again, embracing you without speaking a word. You hugged him back, silence lingering between the both of you, grieving together.

Time was a funny thing, because neither of you realised that darkness had begun to win over the light. With the night approaching, he needed to find somewhere safe to bunker down. After what felt like hours, he kissed your forehead and sat back up on the driver’s seat.

The vehicle roared alive, and Joel pressed the gas pedal like a man on death row.

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981 @fancyyoouu

@smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille @harriedandharassed

@thepalaceofmelanie @eternallyvenus @theoraekenslover @vickie5446

@hiroikegawa

[physalian]

“Why doesn’t the villain just kill the heroes?”

Ah, plot armor. If you want to be a real go-getter and think up a more creative way for the heroes to always narrowly escape death out of sheer dumb luck, the villain being too slow on the draw, or the villain simply not thinking of it in the moment, you have to come up with a reason for why the villain doesn’t just kill the hero.

Four examples today.

1. Zhao & Aang

In “The Blue Spirit,” Aang is captured by Zhao, a man normally not above anything to further his agenda, including murder. The Avatar is the largest obstacle in his way, second to the Earth Kingdom, and all he has to do to take Aang off the gameboard is to kill a twelve-year-old. He’s got Aang in chains, not quite powerless but harmless enough, and could do it quickly.

So why doesn’t he? Per Zhao himself, if he kills Aang, the Avatar cycle will continue, born into some random water bender that may take them years to track down. Sure, they’ll be harmless for a few years and the Fire Nation might get lucky and find them easily, perhaps even sway the new one to their side, but what if the waterbending Avatar is born into the Foggy Swamp? Or they end up having to kill them, too, and then have to track down an earthbending Avtar across the entire Earth Kingdom? Does Zhao really want to take that chance when he can just keep Aang alive? Just barely?

Of course not.

Killing the hero in this case might stop the immediate threat, but it will just delay the inevitable, thus it’s in the villain’s best interest to exploit a loophole while likely committing war crimes in the process. He gets to secure a Fire Nation victory and make Aang suffer for the rest of his life.

Ozai doesn't kill Aang until the first chance he gets, which just so happens to be the series finale. And we all know why Aang has a no-kill policy.

2. Sam, Dean & The Angels and Demons

Hahaha it’s the show known for its refusal to kill its heroes. We’re gonna ignore everything past season 5. There’s obviously meta reasons—kill the main characters and you have zero supporting cast that could realistically take over the show.

But in season 4, despite multiple deaths already for both of them, so begins the “if you die we’ll just bring you back” threat, because they’re angels and angels can do that. Similar to Aang, Sam and Dean risk a fate far worse than death if they don’t cooperate with Zachariah’s plans. He happily gives them both a slew of diseases and illnesses to get his way whenever he gets the chance and reminds them both that if they just kill themselves to escape the Apocalypse, he’ll happily revive them. The Demons won't kill Sam and Dean because they're necessary to further their own plans by breaking certain seals on Lucifer's cage, though they're not above breaking bones and killing bystanders.

Fate worse than death is a popular threat, but usually the heroes offing themselves is still a viable, if deeply unpopular, option. Supernatural removes it entirely and for such a simple little detail, it does a lot to make their survivability believable.

3. Batman & Joker

Ahh the age old furious rant by people who don’t understand Batman: If Batman killed his villains they’d stop busting out of Arkham and murdering innocent civilians, Batman has so much blood on his hands—

Babe. Babe, he’s a comic book character. By his very nature, he can’t kill his villains otherwise he’d have no rogues gallery. Comic books are like a giant board of Monopoly, going around in circles and occasionally having a timeout in jail.

But the in universe reason there’s no killing has been essayed about extensively and so has why Joker doesn’t try harder to kill him, but I couldn’t not include these two. Batman does not kill because he is not judge, jury, and executioner of his villains, most of whom have mental health issues and while they certainly know better and their crimes aren’t justified, his villains need actual therapy and help and medication, not death. Even those who he might agree must be stopped and there’s no other way except murder, Batman himself will not be the one to pull the trigger. He must remain a hero, so that no matter who he comes across in the dark alleyways of Gotham, they know he’s not here to kill them, be it criminal or victim.

Joker doesn’t kill Batman for a much simpler reason, and Heath Ledger literally says it: “I won’t kill you because you’re too much fun.” He does not need a more convoluted reason, he enjoys the game, the chase, the tug of war (most versions of him, at least) and to kill Batman would be to end his greatest form of entertainment, and the only person probably in the whole world who is neither afraid of Joker nor dismissive of him as simply a freak.

4. Optimus and Megatron

Optimus Prime and Megatron are very similar to Batman and Joker but with literal eons of history between them. In most serialized Transformers media, as opposed to movies where the plot is more urgent, Megatron both wants to win Optimus over and just can't quite let himself finally win. Who is he without his rival, after all this time?

Optimus is in the same boat, refusing to kill him because he's still holding out hope for Megatron's redemption, that there's a peaceful way to end this war (no matter how much collateral both leaders end up causing). Shit gets real whenever Optimus breaks the unspoken rules of their no-kill rivalry and Megatron gets incredibly pissy about it because he's in love.

—

Suggestions to workshop this plot hole in your own narrative:

The hero staying alive is absolutely paramount to the villain’s plan (in which case, you have to have rock solid reasons for why they keep narrowly escaping capture)

The villain is so confident in their plan that they don’t even consider the hero a proper threat

The villain doesn't really have a bodycount, but if they kill the hero, suddenly all the other powers that be will take them seriously and they'll have a huge mess on their hands

The villain is so full of themselves or so in love with their rival that it’d break their heart to have to kill them just to win

The villain is simply not capable of murder either physically or morally (perhaps because the hero is a child)

Killing the hero would make them a martyr and the villain would end up with a far bigger mess on their hands when the lone hero is replaced with an avenging army

The villain is too proud to simply kill the hero and wants to win fairly in a proper fight on the battlefield and not take the cheap and easy shot

The villain does not have a phyiscal form or real presence in the plot, acting through their minions, and their minions are incompetent

It’s simply not fun if the hero dies/the hero is the only one who understands them and they’d lose far more than they’d gain by killing them

The villain still wants to try and win the hero over and is so dedicated to this path that they regularly sabotage their own plans desperate to change the hero’s mind

The villain firmly believes in a fate worse than death and while the hero’s survival isn’t crucial to the main plan, they want the hero to watch their own failure/become the villain’s minion/ prisoner/ partner by the end

There’s a million examples out there to pull from and I could keep listing them all night. So long as whatever it is doesn’t come out of nowhere or open a plot hole of “why didn’t they just do that earlier?” you can get quite creative.

One last example that’s a personal favorite of mine to implement: In Eternal Night of the Northern Sky there aren’t too many opportunities to ask this question, but when it does arise, Villain A has Hero B as a meat shield, and while Hero B’s love interest, Hero C, is more than happy to shoot through them to incapacitate Villain A, the person they take orders from isn’t so reckless, which later leads to Drama and Issues.

[simp999]

Ahem. Since my last request was a fumble, could I ask for a more platonic x reader where the reader is in their mid teens? They are pretty good at fighting, and almost never complain under any circumstances, but one day they come down with an illness that was worse than any other sickness they had ever had before. They try to tough it out, but end up breaking down in an isolated corner because they can’t take it anymore. Idk, after that I was just hoping for a Medic-centric comfort story.

Medic, Engineer, Sniper x Sick! Teen! Reader

Wc: 0.7k

A/N: No worries my guy!! Thank you for requesting!! I changed a few things up a bit and chose a few characters, I hope that cool- and I hope this isn't too short! I think I might start doing shorter fics from now on

Masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your head throbbed and pounded as your clothes became more drenched with sweat by the minute. But you had to live up to their expectations, you had to continue making them proud. You heaved as you dragged one foot in front of the other, doing your best to drag your compound bow to the respawn room after cleaning it the night before, preparing for today’s battle. You had woken up like this- pain filling every inch of your body and barely able to walk on your own without the aid of the walls surrounding you. 

You had managed to make it just barely into the game room before immediately collapsing to the cold, hard floor. The last thing you heard was a few shouts and hurried footsteps, along with the sound of your bow clattering to the floor. 

You woke up in the lab’s bed, drenched even more. You felt somebody wiping a stray hair that was sticking to your forehead away, then it went to check your temperature. The action was cut short when they noticed your eyes flutter open, quickly beginning to ask you lots of questions. Your eyes darted and your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words that seemed to mesh together. The lights being so bright and everything seeming so loud wasn’t helping. Medic quickly took note and did everything in his power to ease any pain or annoyances. He dimmed the lights, and only allowed two mercs to stay in the waiting area. You felt a nice cold, wet cloth on your forehead, calming you immediately. He spoke with a much softer tone, asking you questions slowly. He was still a bit panicked- this had never happened to you before. 

You had been with the mercs nearly a year now, replacing Scout as the youngest. Despite him being pissy at first, you were now closer than ever with a sibling-like dynamic. It was nice being the teen of the group, almost feeling like you had nine scary dads protecting you; but it also had its downsides, mostly stemming from the fact that you’re still all cold-blooded killers. Which meant the expectation was that you could do great in battle, or so you assumed. You placed all these high bards for yourself, always wanting to make the mercs proud. Some were harder to please than others, such as Spy compared to Pyro who would often clap and grow excited at any little thing you managed. Soldier was the hardest on you out of them all, seeing that you had lots of potential at such a young age. There’s a reason you’re here. Medic and Engineer often had to remind him that you were still a teen.

You did your best to never complain, even when you felt like you were too exhausted to keep doing pushups or run around the base for the 100th time. You had placed the expectation that you had to keep up with the grown men on your shoulders, and you’d gotten used to it.

“Did something happen?” 

You tried to speak, but your voice was caught in your throat. It burned. You lightly shook your head, and it felt like it was spinning. 

Medic’s brows knit with worry as he studied you, deciding to allow the two other mercs in for support in aiding you. Even just for moral support for yourself. With the sweetest Texan accent, one of them spoke;

“Awh, Honeybee, ya shoulda told us ya weren’t feelin’ well, sugar.”

The other one nodded and he adjusted his sunnies, continuing to wipe a clothe over your prized bow. He knew you did your best to take great care of it, so he opted to do it himself. 

“Mhmm. Worried ‘bout ya, Roo.”

Engie listened to Medic’s every word- from getting you water to removing or adding a blanket, while Sniper- despite not being a big fan of physical contact, allowed himself to hold your hand in his with a very loose grip, running his thumb soothingly over the back of your hand. He rarely whispered small nothings to you, reassuring you.

“You're gonna be okay, bunny. You’ll be okay. We’re here for ya.” 

.

.

.

Mar. 6. 24

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

With Edge, Nox, Wine, Chief and Torpedo, could we have an S/O that has a chronic illness but is afraid of being seen as weak?

The Boys go to visit their S/O on what happens to be a bad pain day, and find their S/O looking miserable and half dead. They somehow the cooked for themselves but explained that the neighbors brought them groceries and they had to keep taking breaks while prepping and cooking. And despite looking kind of out of it they keep trying to downplay it?

Underfell Papyrus - He acts like he didn't see anything and slowly but surely takes over the kitchen to replace you until you realize he's doing everything and that you have no choice but to sit down and relax because he's not letting you cook again. He won't comment though. He can respect you not wanting to talk about this. I mean, it would be pretty hypocritical of the guy who can hide fractures for weeks and wait for them to hurt to the point of agony to say something lol.

Horrorfell Papyrus - He doesn't buy your bullshit and tells you to go rest. It can wait or he can do it instead. Since the Underground, he's a lot more aware of his and other people's limits and you're clearly at yours so stop playing brave and let him help. Well, it would have been nicer with sweet words around that, but Chief is Chief so deal with it. He meant well at least.

Swapfell Sans - He tricks you by asking you to check if he has a shard in the feet, only to force you to lay down on the damn couch so he can massage you to ease the pain. He feels guilty you feel like you have to hide your pain (even if it's part of your personality) but he's too awkward to ask straight if you're ok so he's using other ways.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He asks once if you're fine and you shake it off. Wine can see you're bullshitting him, but that's fine, he has a plan. He pushes you to your limits by asking you more and more things until you break down in his arms, and then he casually says to stop lying to him and to go to sleep. The method is probably not the best, but he tried. He can't force you to go relax, so he makes you work out harder until you can't work so now you can relax. Elementary logic.

Mafiafell Papyrus - Torpedo can feel your pain and he gets very protective because he hates seeing people he cares about hurting. He takes a few days off to be here to help with the chores and to put you back to bed every time you put a foot on the floor. You rest with a movie in bed, he works. He scolds you every time you refuse. Do you want to hurt more? Go to rest this instant!

[redwayfarers]

not to me, not if it's you

wayfarer. mc/melchior larkspur. set post game. gen, 1,7k words.

Settling down is not a new practice for Melchior. He did, long ago, many a time; he welcomed family and descendants that way too. It is not a bad thing, everything considered. He’d simply forgotten the little details of it. Thankfully for him, he now has someone to pass his knowledge to and thus revise. 

As to the receptiveness of his pupil, well, he cannot say there’s nothing to be desired. It’s hardly Cassander’s fault, though. Being born magiani in a world and a culture that despites your very existence does not yield itself to a lot of domestic bliss. 

“I halfway expect to die in a fight or something,” Cassander says, once. He doesn’t look all too pleased with the world that day. These moods strike him, like an oddly built mechanism, in a way Melchior has yet to decode. “This domestic shit feels unnatural.” 

“Unnatural?” Melchior raises his eyes from the manuscript he’s working on to pointedly stare at him. 

“Yeah! It’s like I’m waiting for a roof to fall over my head, or to trip on my own fucking sword and bleed out in the kitchen! Is this how you people with magic are all the time? Peaceful? Sounds like a fucking scam, that’s what it is. You’re scamming me right now.” 

Melchior knows better than to take the bait. Cassander is simply looking for a fight to calm his nerves. “You can always leave, if that’s what you’d prefer,” Melchior says calmly. 

Cassander huffs. “Work’s scarce. By the time I find any you’ll be who the fuck knows where and this thing between us? Scattered to the wind. Dead and buried. Only fond memories until we both live out our remaining centuries.” 

Melchior stares still. “And do you want that to happen?” 

Cassander holds his gaze for a long time. He taps his fingers on the table, trying so hard to sit still under the onslaught. At some point, however, he drops his hand fully on the table and presses until his nail beds turn pale. “No,” he says, and his voice breaks. “It’s just that– Fuck. Why am I like this?” 

Melchior sighs. Cassander isn’t looking at him, shoulders bent under the weight of his own head. Hair shadows his face against the bright daylight that reflects against the gold in his long ears. Parts of  the tattoos covering his arm hide with him, yet the brightness of the roses on his forearm catches attention. 

Almost enough to make Melchior miss how his shoulders shake. 

Chair creaks as he rises, settling the papers that rustle when his hip catches on them. His slippers make no sound when he rounds the table and comes to stand by Cassander’s side. With a gentle hand, Melchior removes hair from Cassander’s shoulders; the curls, heavy and coarse, seem as ill equipped for such soft touch as Cassander himself. 

Cassander breathes a little cry-laugh. “I’m trying to be miserable here,” he says. “Stop trying to make me laugh.”

“That was not my intent,” Melchior responds. “I was trying to offer solace.” 

Cassander lifts his head and looks Mel in the eye, bewildered. “I know,” he whispers. “I don’t think solace will fix my head, but– Look, I don’t mean half the things I say, okay? Especially not– not this. You con people, sure, but you’re not playing with my heart, and here I am, accusing you of doing your job. No, that sounded wrong. Go scam rich people, I don’t care. Do your job elsewhere. I am not your job. I’m just an impossible to deal with fuckbuddy you keep around for whatever fucking reason and I’m making this even harder for you.” He blinks. “Not like that. Not all the time, anyways. I’m sure you’re not hard for me right now. That’d be weird. You’re angry, right? You’re probably so angry deep down but you’ve seen a lot of nutcases like me–” 

“Cassander,” Melchior says in a low voice. Cassander nods and looks away. “Go weave, or sew. We will talk later, after you’re not one hair’s breadth away from jumping out of your skin.” 

“That’s an order, boss?” Cassander says, in a strange voice. 

“Alternatively, you can kick something,” Melchior adds. He isn’t angry, not really, but he is starting to feel like conversations need to happen later. If today needs a boss, he will step up to the task. “No fights with the crew. We cannot talk when you’re like this.” 

“Got it,” Cassander says, frustrated. He stands up and marches to the door, playing with the tail ends of his hair. He closes them louder than intended; Melchior watches for a few more moments before he sits down again and rubs his face with his hands. 

It is true he is not angry, but he would be lying if he said these moods of Cassander’s didn’t make him exhausted. It is hardly Cassander’s fault, of course; no sane person would choose this kind of suffering. He doesn’t take any of the accusations personally, either. Were he younger, were his life less full of a senseless number of years, perhaps. Now, all he does is sigh deeply and rub his temples. 

He loves Cassander. When he chose to invite him into his life as a partner, he knew it would be through joy and difficult times alike. That same love makes it difficult to watch him struggle, but he knows far too well that Cassander needs to make the call himself. There are people who can help; he just needs to reach out. All Melchior can do is wait and pray. 

The manuscripts glare at him in an accusatory manner. He feels restless. He’s suddenly all too aware of the half-empty cup of tea Cassander had made him, and he downs it with a grunt. 

Someone knocks. 

“Melchior?” Kit’s head peeks through the barely open door. “We need you at the rehearsal. We can’t seem to decode one of the scenes.” 

Good, Melchior thinks. There’s work to be done before he can talk to Cassander properly. That’s good for taking his mind off things a little. 

***

Evening falls on their little troupe. Running a company of actors requires a lot of time and a lot of work, a work Melchior deeply enjoys, and time spent with his people, his friends, never a time wasted. 

However, his thoughts turn, ever so slightly, to Cassander throughout the day. Melchior hasn’t seen him at all since breakfast, and the troupe hasn’t either. He trusts Cassander can take care of himself; he’s a Wayfarer after all. His heart aches a little every time he remembers what had happened, but he brushes it off. 

It is, after all, temporary. 

Cassander finds him when Melchior retreats for a pause. His clothes are fresh, his hair braided away from his face, long and sad. There’s a bruise on his right hand. 

“No civilians were harmed in the making of it,” Cassander says by way of explanation. “I was trying to stick it to the wall. Sero taught me just how hard I can hit it before I break my hand.” 

Melchior blinks. “What?” 

“You never had wall hitting lessons?” Cassander tilts his head. “You never had a don’t rage at other people talk? It was either the wall or some unfortunate fucker. Lots of dwarves today for some reason.” He stops. “I don’t like kicking people while they’re down.” 

“Are you less angry now?” Melchior redirects the conversation and rubs his neck. “Will you bite my head off?” 

“Depends if you’re a dwarf,” Cassander says, in a joking voice. “For real, though, I’m not as on edge as I was today. I don’t know what triggered it, but I did feel like my skin was too tight and I figured talking to people further while I’m like this will just make me feel worse.” He sits on the bed and taps the place beside him. “Uh, I’m sorry about that. How you have the patience for me is beyond my wildest dreams. I would’ve kicked my ass out of here long ago.”

“Fortunately, no such luck,” Melchior responds. He looks at Cassander’s awfully bruised hand. “Where’s your medical kit?” 

“I can do it myself,” Cassander mutters and pouts. It’s unintentional, but delightfully adorable nonetheless. “It doesn’t hurt, it’s not as bad as it looks–” 

“I need your medical kit,” Melchior orders gently. 

“In the first drawer by the bed,” Cassander gives in, putting his hand gingerly on his lap. Melchior takes the kit out and sits beside him. 

“You sweet, poor man,” Melchior whispers and takes Cassander’s hand. He hisses a little when Melchior kisses the bruised knuckles. 

“What are you doing?” His voice goes a pitch higher, embarrassed. 

“Kissing it better,” Melchior simply says and opens a jar of herbal-smelling salve. Cassander doesn’t move his hand away, though he does hold it a little stiffly, when he starts rubbing it into tender flesh. 

“I’m not a kid,” Cassander says - whines - as he stares pointedly at his injured hand. “I can take care of it myself. Sirin taught me well enough–” 

“That I do not doubt, but let me take care of you. You’re not helping anyone by punishing yourself.” 

Cassander looks away. “Go fuck yourself,” he says, with no real heat. He huffs. “I– Fuck off. Just. You don’t– For fuck’s sake.” He sighs deeply and with feeling. 

“What happens when you love someone,” Melchior continues, gently spreading the salve, “is that you will have patience for them and not abandon them when it gets difficult. What happens is you take care of them, even on their bad days, even if they inconvenience you. Because this is a partnership, no?” 

Cassander is quiet. 

“This is a partnership, Cassander, not servitude,” Melchior repeats, massaging his fingers. “I welcome inconvenience from you because it means you are my equal, just as you welcome inconvenience from me.” 

“And the sex thing?” Cassander sounds strained. He flexes his hand.

“That is sex,” Melchior replies. “Relationships are more than just sex. If I ever make you feel like you are not cherished, I trust you’ll tell me.” 

Cassander lets out a chopped breath. He pulls Melchior closer and buries his face in the side of his neck; his eyelashes, wet with tears, tickle Melchior’s skin. 

Melchior puts the salve down and wraps his arms around him, lets his hands rub Cassander’s back and buries one of them gently, yet firmly in his hair. 

One mistake does not make the lesson less worthwhile. 

[analogwriting]

The Other Side of Paradise

Chapter 24: Melon and the Coconut

Killer x gn!reader word count: 2.5k a/n: well, we're getting closer and closer to the end. only a few more chapters. depending on how much word vomit i have, at least. might double if i end up writing too much for some of these chapters lmao. i've got most of my apartment packed away and everything is ready to go, so i'm hoping i can focus on this now so ill have it finished by the time i move (two and a half weeks) which means it's lockin' in time babeyyyyy taglist: @kattywhomper @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @ttalgi @animesailor9 first|next

After you dropped the news of who you would be touring with, everyone locked in even harder than before. You tried to tell them what they were doing had been perfect, but they wanted it to be more than that. They wanted to go above and beyond for you. They wanted this tour to be unforgettable and completely wipe the floor with Victoria Punk.

Papas, Rek, Quincy, Emma, and Pomp all end up flying in despite your protests. They had even cleared whatever schedules they had, they were fully committed to this. As much as you didn't want them to burn themselves out on your behalf, it did fill you with a new sense of motivation. You wanted to work even harder so their hard work wouldn’t go to waste. 

Papas, Rek, and Quincy all worked with Hop. Quincy worked on the outfits, she had planned on making a few different outfits for each of you with different themes and all tying together. Her plan was to make a whole story for your outfits, she had even come up with a timeline in which you should wear what. Whatever she planned, you’d listen to. She was the professional with this, after all. You were just going to show it off.

Papas and Rek flew in for everything to do with the stage. They were going to plan lighting, props, sound mixers and effects, everything to do with the stage - that was their expertise. They were going to work with Quincy as well to make sure the outfits still looked good with their lighting ideas. They planned on telling the story right along with her. They all had something crazy planned and you were going to let them just do it.

Honestly, if this worked out, you thought about just hiring them all full time. Once you started really making money, you wanted your friends with you. You had already planned on asking Papas and Rek if they wanted to tour with the group to do sound and such. They were freelancers anyway, so it worked out perfectly. They could do what they wanted.

Pomp locked himself up with Bubblegum to help him work on the masks. He just finished his engineering degree and said he had come up with some programs to help you with your idea and make it better. He wouldn’t specify what about it that was different from your idea, but he was excited to try it out. You just let them do their thing.

Emma worked with Dive for the giveaways. She helped find items and made them look presentable. She even went as far as helping Dive livestream some giveaways. She was never on camera to keep the facade of the group being anonymous and to keep Victoria Punk from figuring out who you all were. She always operated behind the camera. She was very good at slight of hand and changing her own voice. It was amazing to watch.

Everyone was working even harder than before and there wasn't a doubt in your mind that this was going to be one of the best tours anyone has ever seen. Though, you could just be biased with your friends, but you genuinely thought it as well. You had full faith in them. Even if people ended up not liking it, you would love and that’s all that mattered. But you knew in your heart that it was going to be loved by a lot of people.

You, on the other hand, still had those stupid meetings with Doflamingo. You could've sworn he did it on purpose just to try to sabotage you in some way - try to eat up your time. You knew he didn't really like you, just liked the money you brought in. Didnt offend you any because you couldnt care less what the he fuck he thought. You did everything for the fans. 

You assumed that he thought by eating up your time, things wouldn’t get done. He knew you were smart and clever, but he didn’t know that you had full faith in your crew to get things done without you overlooking their every move. Everyone was working in their expertise, you trusted them to get things done and do them well. You’d let Doflamingo think he had the upper hand. You’d be his distraction if it meant that your team could get everything else done in a timely manner. The days were going by quickly, there wasn’t a lot of time left.

However, even the king of petty couldn’t keep up the daily meetings. Rather than every single day, they were now every other day or couple of days. It seemed even the self absorbed CEO was too busy even for his own pettiness. Thank fuck. You weren't sure you could take it anymore. You already wanted to ram your head into the wall at full speed when you listened to him speak.

Today's meeting was just like any other. As usual, you and your manager were on time, but the other two always just waltzed in whenever they pleased. Well, Doflamingo came in whenever he pleased, Diamante was just up his ass. The ceo didn’t care or respect you or your time and it showed, but what could you do? You weren’t near big enough to go independent and with a company as big as DQE, you knew if you tried, they’d squander whatever success you had without even trying.

Corazon was busy zoning out, staring at the wall as he usually did during these meetings. You were messing around in your bag, looking for a pen. You heard the door open but didn't bother looking up until you felt your manager tense next to you. This makes you look up at him, then the door, before freezing alongside him - nerves clenched, bones go cold.

Coming in with Doflamingo and Diamante was none other than Kid and Killer. Of course it was the two people that you didn't want to see most - though, it was hard seeing any of them. You had been fortunate enough to not see them since your last encounter. Until today. Fuck.

You could feel Doflamingo's eyes on you, an amused smirk on his face. Does he know? Your eyes flickered to Corazon. Did he say something? No. He wouldn't do that. You trusted him and you didn't do that lightly. You didn't mean to brag, but you were a great judge of character…well aside from the four that fucked you over most, but other than that, you’ve had a perfect record. 

Your eyes go back to the group that just walked in. The universe just wanted to fuck with you, thats for sure. 

Kid's eyes landed on you and he immediately glared at you. He opened his mouth to say something but Killer put his hand on his shoulder and he grumbled, pouting. You knew he wanted to chew you out, continue the tiff from last time. He was a person who kept grudges. It seemed Killer still kept him in check too. That was like the blind leading the blind though. They’re both trouble makers.

At this moment, you were so glad you had your mask on. It added a layer of protection in a way that you couldn't explain and it was easier to recover and act like you weren't just shocked to your core. It was a lot easier to play the role of a serious band leader. You weren’t about to give away everything and let Doflamingo have the satisfaction of messing with you. Fucker.

You took a silent, deep breath, composing yourself. Corazon looked at you and you just nodded, reassuring him that you were fine. You'd be fine. Just stick to the role that you played, they were none the wiser. Everything was fine. 

The meeting was mostly the same as every single other pointless meaning that was held. You didn't know why you were here - it was just a waste of time. Doflamingo just yapping away and no one else really cared what was being said, except ass kisser Diamante who chimed in to just agree and inflate the man's ego. 

Your eyes wandered around the room, falling on the two from the other band. They looked a lot different than they used to. They looked more grown up, rugged. Tired. Seeing them like this in a more natural state, you were really able to take them all in. They looked the same yet so different. The years were rough on them, weren't they having the time of their lives? They ditched the rest of you, so surely they were just fine.

Your eyes stopped on Killer and you noticed he'd gained quite a bit of muscle. His hair was much longer and bigger. You wanted to put your hands in it. You caught yourself looking a little too long and cursed at yourself for doing so. You were slowly accepting you’d never fully be over him.

You turned your attention back to the piece of paper in front of you full of notes. Not necessarily from the meeting, just your own thing outside of all of this. It was notes about the tour, the next album, a to-do list, some doodles.

Your eyes wandered back to Killer. Fuck, you missed him. You missed everything about him. You missed coming home to him, his comforting words, the safeness he made you feel. He was your home for so long. Now that he was close, you just wanted him to take you into his arms again - to tell you it was all going to be okay. You wanted to be home again. Maybe he also still thought of the two of you? There was no way he completely just cut out every thought of you, right? All those years just tossed aside? There was no way, right? He walked out of your life and you couldn’t help but wonder sometimes - what the two of you would’ve been now.

These oceans were far between your hearts - the breathing has gotten too hard. It was slowly getting to you. You can’t fight it, you can’t breathe.

You felt a tug on your sleeve, pulling you out of your trance. You looked over at Corazon who gave you a raised eyebrow look. The universal sign of asking if you're good. You nodded, patting his arm. You would be fine. You weren't going to let them get completely to you. They already had a little bit, but you wouldn't let them make you break. One deep breath later and you felt a little better. Took a moment, but you were good now.

“Alright, that's all for today. Don’t forget, we start recording in the studio next week for the two groups.” Doflamingo said, clapping his hands together, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Kid immediately jumped up. “Thank fuck. I thought I was going to have to ram my head into a wall,” he said, stretching and popping his back. “No offense, Mr. CEO, I just don't like sitting cramped up in a room this long.” He chuckled, shaking his head and heading for the door.

Doflamingo didn't even pay him any attention, instead looking at Corazon. “I need to speak to you in my office for a moment, if you will.” He nodded at him before heading out the door. 

Your manager glances at you and you nod. You'd be fine. You planned on going to see Papas and Rek. They needed a third opinion on lighting. When you looked at lights and bright colors all day, it helped to have a fresh pair of eyes look at things to make sure it was fine. Corazon nods at you in response before heading out with his brother. 

You didn't realize until now how much you didn't need to verbally speak with your own manager to communicate with him. You two would basically talk the whole meeting without saying a word. Neither of you spoke the last couple hours yet quite a bit was said. You realized you did this often too. Always during meetings. You were always just exchanging looks.

You were quite thankful for that. 

You were putting your notebooks in your backpack. The noise in the room died down as everyone left. The door closed and you let out a deep breath you didn't know you'd been holding. All the tension left your body as you were able to relax a little bit. You closed your eyes, taking a moment to steady yourself and reground. Then you take a deep breath once more, turning around only to see Killer standing there. 

You jump, holding yourself back from yelping. Fuck, how long has he been there? Why the hell was just just standing there? Why didn't he say anything? Shit. Did he figure out who you were? Hold on, why didn’t you notice him? Dammit, were you still relaxed around him? You usually weren’t too aware of his presence because he didn’t pose a threat before, but you figured that would’ve changed. Maybe you were tired.

You just nod at him, planning on just leaving before realizing that he was blocking the door. Your only exit. Fuck. Tension started seeping back into your bones. Was this planned? What did he want? Your mind drifted back to the thought of him figuring it out.

The two of you stood there at opposite sides of the room just staring at each other. Neither of you said a word. You didn't know why. You couldn't bring yourself to say anything. Hell, what was there to say? He wasn’t saying anything else either. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking either. You used to, but not anymore. It hurt.

Eventually you were able to shake yourself out of your funk. 

“Can I help you?” You kind of already started the façade of someone who was kind of a dick, so might as well keep it. Your tone was sharp and crisp. You didn’t have time for this.

Killer didn't say anything, just stared at you. It made you squirm. A wave of unease passes over you. Something feels wrong. What was going on? Was this planed?

“Well, I'm going to he-”

“Take off your mask.” You froze, taken aback. Several blinks at him later, you found your voice.

“Huh?”

“Take off your mask.”

You take a step back as he takes a step forward. “Why would I do that? It's kind of my whole schtick.” 

He walked towards you and you kept backing away. He began to reach his hands out, clearly going to rip your mask off himself. You made a face, putting your hands up to defend yourself. “What are you-”

“Y/n, please.” His voice was soft and barely above a whisper and it broke you.

The stars aligned in that moment because without a beat you said, “who the hell is that?” Which startled him enough to let you maneuver around him and run out the door and to Corazon's office for safety.

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