#seeing a pattern in the characters I like?

[rivereverie]

Just some observations on Astarion learning to see that he is loved

I just saw a clip of Astarion's response to his partner cheating on him with Mizora and it got me thinking. While his entire reaction is very telling and meaningful in its entirety, one line stood out to me:

"I really thought there was more to you. That you were better than other people"

This was striking because it immediately reminded me of something else he says, in the scene after his siblings attempt to capture and return him to Cazador:

"You're the only one. Other people don't have a heart like you. You're you. No one is like that."

These lines feel a little odd at first, because Astarion isn't known for putting the PC on a pedestal. I don't think that's exactly what he's doing here. I think these lines are just capturing the inner chaos and contradiction that naturally come with the gradual unraveling of a long-held worldview. At this point, Astarion is able to process that one person cares for and accepts him, but only one. They must be an outlier: an exception to the rule. Surely they're something special.

Obviously this isn't true, though, and the next step is for him to learn that the PC isn't actually unique in their ability to accept and care for him him. In fact, Astarion is already loved by others and just doesn't see it. This line of his is beautifully contrasted by Karlach's reaction to Astarion's near-abduction. She is righteously angry and protective because she loves Astarion too.

"I dare Cazador to sent more lackeys our way. This is our territory. I'll crack anyone who tries to come into my house and hurt my people."

Earlier in the story, we get a similar moment during the confession scene, showing again how Astarion isn't always able to see the truth of what others feel for him.

When he says this, he sounds surprised. Like the idea of a friend is a revelation. This kind of broke my heart when I first heard it, because I thought it was obvious to him that he already had friends, in both the other companions and my character. But I think a part of him genuinely was stuck in that old thought pattern of assuming that anyone who showed interest in him just wanted to use him. This also makes it clear just how divorced sex is from affection in his mind and experience. Though they've slept together at least several times and grown more emotionally intimate too, Astarion still needs confirmation that the PC actually cares for him.

I made a post once about the two triggers for Astarion's confession here, which further reveal his mindset: going out of your way and into danger to get his scars translated, or choosing not to force him into complying with Araj's dehumanizing demands. Both of these things are concrete demonstrations of respect and care for him and what he wants. Astarion knows very well how empty words can be, so actions are what finally help him believe that the PC cares about him, and gives him the impetus to confess.

Later, If you break up with Astarion, his reaction is extremely telling in that he regresses slightly from this healthier mindset he had developed:

"I can hardly blame you. I don't exactly have much to offer right now, beyond new burdens to carry."

Typically, we witness any traces of Astarion's self-deprecation filtered through irony or dark humor, so his vulnerability in this moment is stark.

He claims that he has very little to offer, but that just isn't true. He may be going through a bit of a crisis, but he is still a shockingly good partner given the circumstances. He is unwaveringly supportive, caring, and clearly tries to lighten his partner's emotional load when they begin to feel the strain of responsibility. Not to mention, just being himself still makes him perfectly worthy of being loved. In any relationship, there will be times when one person needs more support than they themself can give, and that doesn't mean that they aren't enough. We're seeing, yet again, that he sometimes just doesn’t recognize how deeply he is valued by others. At this point, maybe a part of him still feels like he needs to be of service in order to be accepted, let alone loved. I also personally interpret this line as partially concerning his insecurity around not "providing" his partner with sex at this time, reiterating this deeply internalized belief that he needs to perform in order to be valued.

All of these little moments add so much subtly and humanity to his character, and make his development feel natural and earned. The payoff is clear after Cazador's death, when we get to see his new confidence:

He doesn't have to ask "really?" this time.

"You believed in me - believed I was enough just the way I am."

He truly knows now that he is loved.

[livewiretabletop]

Effective horror is not easy to write. Horror and comedy are very similar in how they are executed however written horror can be far harder to land than written comedy.

In theory they both work in the same way:

Set up: a situation occurs in which the reader needs to begin to feel an emotion.

Tension: that feeling is held and elongated until youre ready to pay off those emotions.

Punchline: something big happens in which the reader feels the fullest extent of the emotion intended. This is the section where written horror will always suffer.

With comedy you can easily make a reader audibly laugh, with horror in a written form you will not be able to make a reader jump with fear. Writers cant rely on jump scares and a consistent ambient soundtrack like you can with a horror game.

So to write good horror you need to turn elsewhere, as you are rarely going to “scare” a reader. I learned this while running horror tabletop roleplaying games, specifically Call of Cthulhu, as players and readers are very similar concepts.

To scare a reader, your goal is to unnerve them and make them remember something that made them uncomfortable, uneasy, or anxious. They arent going to jump and scream, instead theyre going to second guess themself the next time they see a shadow move in their room.

To set up good horror I follow 3 simple steps:

Change your voice: the moment I begin to set up a scare I change my authorial voice, I use shorter more visceral words replacing “she wandered down the hall, her eyes drifting from place to place” with “she walked, quickly. Her legs shaking, her eyes running around the shadows”. This change tells the reader that something is amiss and they will unconsciously notice it.

Darkening word choice: this ones rather simple, I change my descriptions from standard to uneasy. “The couch was burgundy leather with pillows at each arm” to “the couch was a red leather, dark as blood”

Remember your theme: whatever the main monster, killer, or general spooky of your text is needs to be given credence in every scare. This drills the pattern of fear forward. If your killer uses a knife, describe the glint of moonlight as blade like. If your monster eats flesh, describe food in detail and relate your characters emotions to grotesque foods.

Remember, you arent going to get a scream. Your goal is to make your reader anxious, uncomfortable, and make them look at their day to day life differently

After all

Meat is Meat

If you want some examples, check out my horror rp blog @research-duck

[kuruptt]

BILLY HARGROVE X READER

That’s My Girl Pt.2

Click here to read Pt.1 first !!!

**SUMMARY - After rescuing Billy from the Mind Flayer and relocating to Hawkins to be with him, you embrace life with your new family. El showcases her abilities and spies on Billy. Assuming his words of affection were for another girl, you grow distant. Seeking solace, you attend Tommy H's party and drink uncontrollably, only to confront a disturbing figure from your past, Oliver Miller, your recently released from jail, abusive ex boyfriend, prompting Billy to intervene and protect you. Angry Billy, Protective Billy.

**TRIGGER WARNINGS - Heavy Violence, mentions of trauma and abuse, flashbacks of abuse, abusive ex boyfriend, controlling behaviour, swearing, kissing, mentions of drowning, heavy, uncontrollable alcohol use. This fic is not for the faint heart, please proceed with caution. I do not take responsibility if this triggers you, it is your responsibility to read the trigger warnings, they are there for a reason.

WORD COUNT - 8k

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY !!!

I do not own the rights to the following characters, other than Tiffany Anderson and Oliver Miller, who I created myself, all other characters are created and owned by the Duffer Brothers- Stranger Things.

I do NOT consent to have my work posted , translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here, it has been posted without my permission.

Requests open !!!!! :)

—————————————————————————————-

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, painting soft stripes across the rumpled sheets. Last night felt like a dream, a reunion so tender it still tugged at the edges of your heart. You were cocooned against Billy, his arm was a heavy, comforting weight around your waist and the other was propped gently under your head. The air around you was thick with the lingering scent of his unique, almost musky warmth of his skin, a scent you had missed more than words could say.

Billy, on the other hand, seemed to of barely slept. Dark circles smudged above the creases of his under eyes, but they sparkled with an intensity that made your stomach flutter.

As you shifted slightly, his grip tightened almost immediately. You were wearing his white, lifeguard sweater, the faded print barely visible, but the soft cotton was like a second skin. It had ridden up in the night, exposing the curve of your hip and the pale expanse of your back.

Billy's fingers traced a lazy pattern along your spine, each touch sending shivers down your skin. He chuckled softly, a low rumble that vibrated against your ear and you got the feeling that he was teasing you about the sweater. You snuggled closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck, legs wrapped tightly around his torso and arms swung lazily over his broad, muscular shoulders, while you breathed in the familiar scent that had haunted your dreams for so long.

Opening your eyes felt like surfacing from a deep sleep, your eyelids heavy and your mind still hazy with the remnants of dreams. The first thing you saw was Billy's face, his gaze already fixed on you with an adoring expression. There was a tenderness in his eyes that made your heart ache, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken words that hung between you. A slow smile spread across your face, mirroring his own and you knew, in that moment, you’d never leave his side again.

"Good morning, Princess.” Billy said through a warm smile.

“What time is it?” (Y/N) yawned.

Usually, you woke up before Billy, so you were surprised to see him already awake.

"Ten thirty. How’d you sleep?" Billy asked.

Your confused expression melted into a smile.

“So good!” (Y/N) said through a full bodied stretch.

“How did you sleep?” She whispered, while returning the question.

"Perfect.” Billy replied, through a delicate smile that sat softly on his face.

You knew he was lying, his eyes were bloodshot red and his hair was neatly in place. He'd been watching over you for the entire night.

“Mhm.” (Y/N) teased.

“I need to get you to Hopper's today, so you can get settled in. I'll give him the rundown on everything. It's his day off, but he could get called in for work at any point. You can stay here a few more nights after we’ve worked everything out, just until my dad comes home.” Billy explained.

“H- Hopper?" (Y/N) asked with a puzzled look on her face.

"Oh, shit, sorry, uh- El, you remember the girl, from last night with the uh- the- the powers? Hopper's her dad, well, kinda.” Billy clarified.

(Y/N) tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Kinda?" She questioned.

"It's a long story. He took her in and adopted her, that's all you need to know for now, I’ll explain the rest when you’re settled in.” Billy promised.

The sound of approaching footsteps flooded your ears and just a short second later, Max swung Billy's door open without so much as a courtesy knock.

“(Y/N)” She called, voice low and soft.

“Jesus... What now!" Billy snapped.

(Y/N) playfully pinched Billy's bare chest, silently telling him to be nice to Maxine and turned back to her with a warm smile painted across her face.

“Yeah?” (Y/N) responded.

"Uh- I was wondering if you could help me... I'm having girl problems." She whispered behind the palm of her hand, gesturing for (Y/N) to follow her.

“Yeah, of course! I’ll be right out.” (Y/N) said, voice riddled with concern.

You turned to face Billy, a sudden impulse drawing you closer and gripped his chin between the soft tips of your index and thumb, feeling the slightly rough stubble beneath them. You brought his face forward and kissed him on the cheek a handful of times, each press of your lips a small, deliberate act of affection. Billy lowered his lashes until they eventually fluttered shut as he received them. He felt your palm cradling his face, the soft pressure grounding him in the moment. Feeling your touch, your presence, made him fill with a love that was both overwhelming and indescribable.

“I’m gonna go and help Max and then I’ll get ready, go take a shower, I’ll be done by the time you get out.” (Y/N) said, convincingly.

You unfolded the bedsheets, the crisp cotton rustling softly in the quiet room. Pushing yourself up from Billy’s bed, you felt the slight dip from where you had been laying, the warmth lingering faintly beneath your hand. You stood, the wooden floorboards a sharp, icy cold, shock beneath your bare feet and reached up, you gathered your hair, the strands cool against the back of your neck and quickly tied it into a messy bun, a quick tug and tuck and you were done. You slowly made your way to the door, each footstep echoed faintly in the otherwise silent house and left Billy to his own devices.

You headed for Max’s room. The door was slightly ajar, a slither of light spilling into the hallway. Inside, Max was sat at the edge of her bed, her leg bouncing nervously.

"Hey, Max.” (Y/N) said, her voice soft in the doorway.

“Oh, hey, uh- so here’s the thing, I don’t do all of the thoughts and feelings crap and I know you already know that, but I missed your stupid ass and I wondered if you wanted to hang out with me and El today, just the three of us?" Max asked, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"Thought you were having girl problems, huh?" (Y/N) said with a smile, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Yeah well, I didn’t wanna ask in front of Billy, he’d of tried to keep you to himself, he’s like a rash, a smelly, annoying rash." Max said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Okay, okay, fine… Let’s do it.” (Y/N) said through a slight chuckle.

“I’ll go and throw some clothes on and then we’ll get outta here, sound good?” (Y/N) questioned.

“Sure.” Max replied, a smile painted across her face.

You rushed back to Billy’s bedroom, a sense of urgency driving your steps. But as you glanced around, reality hit hard, you had no extra clothes with you, nothing, other than the ones you wore last night. And those clothes… they reeked of a smell you couldn’t quite describe, a mix of damp and something vaguely otherworldly, a lingering souvenir from the Mind Flayer, they looked like costume from a bad dream, they had definitely seen better days.

Panic began to settle in. You pivoted sharply, your bare feet sticking and peeling against the wooden floor, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. Every second felt like an eternity as you charged down the hallway, desperate to escape the smell of evil. Reaching Max’s door, you paused, catching your breath before cautiously poking your head inside.

“Uhhh- sooo, I have no clothes.” (Y/N) blurted out, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

You needed to borrow something, anything, and fast.

Maxine returned your giggles with a playful smile of her own, understanding the urgency in your situation. She scurried over to her wardrobe, a vibrant collection of colors and patterns and began rifling through the hangers. After a moment, she turned heel and greeted you with a pair of well worn denim shorts and a bright yellow t-shirt, the fabric soft and inviting.

"Here, these should work.” Maxine said, handing them to you with a reassuring smile.

"Thank you, thank you, you’re a life saver!" (Y/N) exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.

With the borrowed clothes in hand, you darted back to Billy’s room, trying to be as quick as possible against the clock.

Reaching the room, you wasted no time in pulling the t-shirt over your head, the soft cotton a welcome relief against your skin and started tugging the shorts up, the denim clinging to your waist, you felt a sudden presence behind you. Your heart skipped a beat as you snapped back, eyes widening in surprise.

Leaning against the door frame, Billy stood there, a captivating figure against the well lit room. His body was still glistening from the shower, water droplets tracing paths down his perfectly toned muscles, highlighting the sculpted contours of his chest and arms. His hair, usually a wild mane of unruly waves and a riot of volume, was now a look of defined spirals that clung close to his head, almost dry from the rough towelling.

A soft, white towel was draped casually around his neck, adding to the effortless allure of his presence. He was wearing his signature black shorts, the ones he always wore to work out in, the dark fabric complimenting him perfectly against his sun kissed skin.

A moment of silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breathing. His gaze was intense, unwavering and filled with an undeniable admiration. A subtle smile played on his lips as he spoke, his voice a low, husky murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

"You're beautiful.” He stated simply, the words carrying a weight that resonated deep within you.

You offered Billy a shy smile and a quiet ‘thank you’ before crossing the space between you. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you looked up as he framed your face with his large, warm palms.

“So, I uh- I’m going to spend the day with Max and El. That okay?" (Y/N) questioned.

Billy scoffed playfully.

“Jesus, that little shit's obsessed with you. You’ve barely been here two minutes and she's already trying to take you from me.” He said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Soooo… That a yes?" (Y/N) pressed.

"Sure, whatever. I'll hang with Tommy while I wait. Just call me when you're ready. Max knows the number, you'll be fine." He reassured.

"Okay, yeah." (Y/N) replied, unable to suppress an excited grin.

"But we’re talking to Hopper first. I need to make sure you have a place to stay when my dad gets back." Billy's tone brooked no argument.

"Okay, Billy.” (Y/N) agreed easily.

Moving to Hawkins hadn't been on your radar. Back in California, you had a solid group of friends, nights blurring into mornings with parties and laughter, a deliberate escape from the fractured reality of your life. You'd lived with your friend, Tiffany Anderson, for years, ever since your parents got divorced and had left you adrift. The move wouldn't raise any eyebrows or cause concern. You were used to relying only on yourself, Billy knew that.

He dressed quickly, sticking to his signature denim on denim look, his commitment to it almost consistent. A denim jacket with equally favoured denim jeans, the texture of both pieces slightly worn but undeniably stylish. He paired the look with his black boots, that clearly showed signs of age but still looked great and grounded the outfit, while the black belt, its buckle understated, cinched at his waist and finally, beneath the layers of denim, a crisp white tank top completed the look.

Seeing Billy in his usual attire sparked an idea. You remembered that you couldn't wear his denim jacket from the night before because it needed a good, long wash… Either that or it needed to be tossed in the trash.

"Can I borrow another jacket? Mine, well… Yours, still smells like shit, it’s bad. From last night, I mean.” (Y/N) joked, hoping he wouldn't mind.

“Yeah, sure, don't need to ask me, baby. Help yourself next time.” Billy said casually.

He grabbed another denim jacket from his wardrobe, one he hadn't worn in a while since he'd outgrown it and slipped it over your shoulders.

Looking up at him after thanking him, you blurted out a very quick, "I love you, Billy."

Billy met your gaze directly and then latched hungrily onto your lips, his tongue swirled against yours for a good few seconds, followed by a playful nibble at your bottom lip. He pulled away gently, a wide smile lighting up his face along with your own.

“I love you too, baby.” He responded softly. "Come on, let's go before we miss Hop, you can keep the jacket.” He finished.

You quickly pulled over and laced up your white Converse shoes and hurried down the hallways and into Max's room.

“You ready?" (Y/N) asked, after knocking lightly on the door.

"I was born ready.” Max replied, a phrase she used quite frequently before opening the door and stepping out to meet you.

The three of you made your way towards the front door, you and Maxine sharing giggles that echoed slightly in the confined space of the thin hallway. Billy trailed behind, a soft scoff escaping his lips, not because he was angry at your enjoyment, but from a yearning to reclaim the time lost during your year apart. Today, your first day back with him, felt as though Maxine had unknowingly stolen the time he could’ve had with you.

Billy held the door open, gesturing for you and Maxine to pass him. As you did, a sharp, playful slap landed on your rear, eliciting a quick turn of your head in surprise. Your jaw hit the floor and your eyes pierced through his. Billy's smirk was full of mischief as he shut the door behind him. The three of you hurried down the weathered steps and settled into the plush leather seats of Billy’s car.

“Ready?" Billy asked, tucking a cigarette between his lips.

A chorus of approvals followed.

“Yeah.” (Y/N) replied, with Maxine adding an impatient, "Yes, go!"

With a flick of his lighter, the cigarette was lit, Billy turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life, filling the air with its powerful vibrations. Shifting the car into gear, Billy navigated the streets at a reckless speed and headed for Hopper’s place.

——————————————————————————-

“It’s nicer inside, I promise.” You heard Max say as the three of you fixed your gaze onto Hoppers cabin.

Billy looked over at you in the passenger seat.

“It’s temporary, I promise.” He reassured.

The car crunched to a halt on the gravel. You climbed out, leaves rustling below you and headed for the front door, Billy guiding you and Max trailing behind. The old wooden steps of Hopper's cabin groaned and creaked with every footstep. Before Billy could even raise his hand to knock, the door swung inward, revealing Hopper's imposing figure.

“Hargrove.” He greeted, his voice a low rumble, "what brings you here?" He finished.

A flicker of excitement lit up El's face as she peered from behind him, her eyes locked onto you.

“(Y/N)!" She exclaimed, waving with excitement.

You returned her smile, a sense of nervous anticipation swirling inside you.

“Got a minute?" Billy asked Hopper, a hint of urgency in his voice.

“Sure, but make it quick. I'm on a tight schedule, it’s supposed to be my day off.” Hopper replied with a slight huff, his gaze shifting between Billy, you and Maxine.

After a hurried explanation from Billy and El, Hopper's stern expression softened. He relented, agreeing to let you stay with them and take you in as one of his own. Questions about your parents and previous living situations hung in the air, but upon understanding your circumstances, a sense of protectiveness washed over him. He saw someone in need of a home, just like El.

El, meanwhile, was overjoyed at the thought of having a sister, a normal, sister, someone new to share her life with, someone she could trust.

A visible weight lifted off of Billy's shoulders as he gave you a reassuring nod, a silent promise of safety.

El, bubbling with excitement, grabbed yours and Maxine’s hands, pulling you towards her room. As you stepped inside, a wave of nervousness hung over you, but a shout from Billy stopped you in your tracks.

“Hey, call me when you're ready to leave, okay?" He said firmly.

“Yeah, sure, see ya later.” (Y/N) replied, offering a small smile.

A fleeting pang of disappointment crossed Billy's face as he realized he wouldn't receive a proper goodbye, your usual kiss on his cheek and a tight hug, but he masked it with a nod, understanding your eagerness to bond with your new sister.

Hopper, after a few more passing words with Billy, announced that he had to leave for work. Promising to be on your best behavior, you watched him disappear into the woods, heading for his truck, leaving you alone with El and Max.

An hour passed in a flurry of conversation, as you delved into the depths of El's life in Hawkins. But El's attention soon drifted, her thoughts consumed by Mike, her now ex boyfriend. Max, too, was grappling with a recent breakup with Lucas, the aftermath of a petty argument.

“Oh, don't worry about it.” Max said, trying to lighten the mood. "He'll come crawling back to you in no time, begging for forgiveness. I guarantee you, he and Lucas are probably wallowing in self pity, going, 'Ohhh, I hope they take us back.'" She giggled. “God, what I'd give to see their stupid faces.” Maxine added.

Max's attempt at humor fell flat as El's eyes widened, an idea forming in her mind. You and Maxine exchanged a silent, questioning look before turning back to El.

Seizing the opportunity, El grabbed the old radio, its static filling the room and blindfolded herself. With a deep breath, she focused her powers, attempting to tap into the world of Lucas and Mike.

“Is this really going to work?" Max asked, skepticism lacing her voice.

"Holy shit, this is insane!" She exclaimed, but El quickly silenced her.

“Max!” She hissed.

“Right yeah, got it, quiet.” Max replied.

For a few minutes, the room was filled with nothing but the crackling of the radio and El's focused concentration, but soon after, giggles erupted as she relayed snippets of Mike and Lucas’s conversation, followed by their gross, typical, boy behaviour.

“Oh, wait, spy on Billy!" Max exclaimed, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she looked in your direction.

Eleven nodded her head in silence and focused for the second time and a thin, trickle of blood escaped from her nostril.

“What’s he doing?” Maxine asked followed by uncontrollable giggles that escaped your lips.

“He’s… Talking. To a- a boy.” El said, her brow furrowed in concentration under the soft fabric of the blindfold.

You knew it was Tommy H. Billy had already told you he’d be spending his time with him until he picked you up. But a strange pang of… something… resonated in your chest.

“What’s he saying?” (Y/N) asked, trying to sound casual.

“He wanted, to spend, the day with her… but. It. Is. Not. Fair on (Y/N).” El said, parroting Billy’s words, her eyes darting around under her eyelids as if the words themselves were moving objects.

“What, who? Me?” (Y/N) asked, glancing over at Max in confusion.

Max shrugged, the same confused look on your face, now on hers.

“I think so, I don’t know.” She said.

“He says, he did. Not. Think. That he was ca- capable of feeling like this again. She. Changed. Everything.” Eleven continued, her voice strained.

El lowered the blindfold and looked straight at you, her expression unreadable.

“What. Is. Capable?” El asked.

“It means power, like he didn’t know he had the power to feel like this again.” Max blurted out, a little too quickly. “What was that about?” She asked you, her eyes searching your face for an answer.

“I don’t know.” (Y/N) responded, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

Another half hour passed. You all made Eggo’s and started to watch a movie. Billy's words echoed in your mind, stirring a confusing mix of emotions and Max, kept glancing over at you with a knowing look in her eyes.

“Hey, why don’t we uh… Why don’t we go to the mall? Get you some new clothes? Anddd, I heard Tommy H is having a party at his place tonight. You should go, get to know everyone, make friends.” She stated, a little too brightly.

“We- are, her friends.” El said, her voice laced with a hint of anger and jealousy. She didn’t like the idea of sharing you with anyone else.

“Yes, we are, but we’re practically sisters too. She needs to meet people her own age.” Max said, her tone softening.

Hopper knew Maxine was coming over and had already put a sum of money in the cupboard under the sink, just in case her and El decided to go somewhere. You had your own money too, the money you entered Hawkins with. It wasn’t much but it was enough to get you from A to B. You’d taken it from your old denim jacket and stuffed it into your new one before you left his house. So, you were more than prepared to go to the mall.

The journey began with a dash to catch the departing bus. A flurry of laughter and shared excitement filled the brief ride until finally, Star Court Mall emerged into view, signaling the start of an exciting outing.

——————————————————————————-

The hours you spent at the mall evaporated in a flurry of fabric and laughter. You'd managed to score a couple of new outfits and something perfect for Tommy H's party tonight. Max and El, on the other hand, had stocked up on snacks and sweets, but they hadn't neglected their own wardrobes, each selecting a stylish outfit for the both of them.

The three of you pooled the last of your funds for a bus journey back home, where Hopper, having left work early, greeted you with a warm smile as you entered. You were the last to be welcomed and as you stepped inside, Hopper turned to you.

“Hey kid, settling in okay?" He asked, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

A warmth bloomed within you, a sensation unfamiliar and comforting. You'd never known a father figure before and the feeling was both new and welcome.

“Yes, thankyou.” (Y/N) responded, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“Is it okay if I call my friend? Just to let her know I'm okay?" (Y/N) inquired, gesturing towards the wall mounted telephone.

“Sure kid, it’s right there.” He replied, pointing towards the wall and turning back to the tv.

You picked up the receiver and punched in the familiar digits. Your friend, Tiffany, answered almost immediately and the next five minutes dissolved in a burst of excited chatter. You gave her your new home's phone number and she promised to stay in touch. Tiffany's hatred towards Billy was more than clear and she strongly disapproved of your decision to leave her and your friendship behind for him. The call ended abruptly and you turned back to Hopper, a knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

“Everything okay?" He asked, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Yeah, uh, could I maybe get a ride, back to Billy's place?" (Y/N) asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought he was picking you up?" He replied, his gaze questioning.

“Yeah, uh, plans kinda changed.” (Y/N) said, avoiding his eyes.

“Yeah, sure kid, come on.” He agreed, his tone softening.

He rose from his seat, finished the last of his beer and grabbed the keys to his truck, opening the door and waiting for you to pass him.

“See ya later, wish me luck!" (Y/N) called out to El and Maxine, a nervous energy bubbling within her.

“I'll be back soon, you won't even notice I'm gone. Max, I'll take you home in an hour.” Hopper added, his voice firm but reassuring.

And with that, the two of you were gone and the rumble of the truck engine faded into the distance.

——————————————————————————-

Back at Billy's, the dress you'd chosen along with heels, for Tommy H's party were sprawled across Billy’s bed, the other options left behind at home. You'd let yourself in through his window, a familiar act he wouldn't mind, though you knew you should have probably given him a heads up first.

You began shedding your old clothes and slipping into the new ones, the tight, black mini dress that molded to your figure almost perfectly. Suddenly, you heard the distinct growl of Billy's Camaro rushing down the street and pulling up outside.

You were stood in front of Billy's mirror, putting the final touches on your hair, when you heard him enter the house. His boots echoed down the hallway, a loud, thud that grew louder with each step until he stepped into his room.

“Jesus, (Y/N)! What are you doing here? Why didn't you call me? I've been waiting for hours.” Billy exclaimed, his voice laced with confusion and annoyance.

Assuming his words that El had repeated back to you were meant for someone else, you ignored him, focusing on your reflection. You decided on a half up half down hairstyle, with two strands left to fall that framed your face.

“Hey, do you hear me? I said-" Billy reached out, palm up and hand open as he gently aimed for your arm, only to be cut off swiftly.

You brushed past him before he could make contact and grabbed the little black heels from his bed, slipping them on and buckling them up at a quick pace.

Billy’s eyes shifted to his bed, noticing the bag that you put Max’s clothes back into.

“Did you go to the mall?" He asked, his tone switching to curiosity.

Again, you ignored him and his frustration grew.

“At least tell me what you're getting all dressed up for.” He pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation.

"I'm going out, Billy. Give it a rest.” (Y/N) spat, her voice sharp.

He sighed and ran his palm that was now covered in sweat, over his face.

“Where? Wit- With Who?” He pressed, his questions tumbling out in a rush.

You scoffed and pushed yourself off of Billy’s bed, straightening your posture as you did it.

“Billy, stop.” (Y/N) demanded, her voice firm.

You snapped around and headed out of the bedroom, your heels clicking against the creaky, wooden floorboards and Billy trailing close behind.

"What the fuck is going on with you, Huh?" He demanded an answer, his voice rising in anger.

Remembering Max's directions, you knew Tommy H's house was within walking distance, even in the heels you were wearing. You opened the front door, the hinges groaning slightly and stepped out into the evening air.

"Jesus, are you at least going to call me when you need a ride this time?" Billy called out, his voice laced with sarcasm and worry.

"I'm not coming back here, Billy. I'm going back home. I'll see you when I see you, I guess.” (Y/N) replied, her words dismissive.

You started walking away from Billy's house, the sound of your heels crunching against the sidewalk echoed in the quiet street. Anger at your boyfriend lingered, but his number, memorised from your California days, was the only number in Hawkins that you knew, you’d have to call him for a ride at some point, you knew that, but Billy didn’t, he assumed your new father, would pick you up and take you home.

"When will I see you again?" He shouted after you, his voice filled with uncertainty.

Again, you offered no response and continued your walk, leaving Billy standing in the doorway alone, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt until finally, he snarled and slammed the door shut. He wanted to rush after you, to stop you in your tracks and demand answers, but he also wanted to give you the space, not only that, he had to wait in for Maxine to get home.

The walk to Tommy H's stretched on for what felt like an eternity, clocking in at a solid twelve minutes. As you neared the house, the thrumming bass of the music intensified, a strong vibration that spilled out onto the street. You paused, a flicker of doubt crossing your mind , the attraction of retreating home was strong. But you plucked up the courage, straightened your shoulders and headed for the front door.

Upon entering, an unfamiliar face greeted you.

"Hey, (Y/N), you're Billy's girlfriend, right? The new girl in Hawkins? I'm Nancy, Nancy Wheeler, Mike's sister.” She said softly, her tone warm and welcoming.

“Oh, yeah, hey! It's so nice to finally meet you, I've heard so much about you!" (Y/N) replied, genuinely pleased.

"All good things, I hope.” Nancy said with a smile, her eyes briefly scanning your outfit. "You look amazing. Let's get you something to drink." She added.

Nancy smoothly guided you through the crowded living room, introducing you to a few of her friends. Among them was Steve Harrington, recently single after his breakup with Nancy in favor of Jonathan Byers. Steve's eyes lingered on you, a moment longer than necessary, a spark of interest flickering within them. As the night progressed, you found yourself drawn to Steve's easygoing charm and quick wit. Laughter flowed freely between you, and you discovered a shared sense of humor that felt instantly comfortable. A connection sparked and a bond was instantly formed. In that moment, amidst the pulsating music and swirling bodies, you and Steve silently acknowledged that you had found a new best friend in each other. Although Steve had a crush on you the second he laid his eyes on you.

You tossed back the last of your oddly sweet drink and allowed Steve to lead you back onto the makeshift dance floor.

Steve was aware of your relationship with Billy. Infact, everyone in Hawkins knew. During your time in California, Billy had made it clear to anyone who dared show interest that he was still devoted to you, that no one could ever replace you in his heart, but it didn’t stop Steve from spending more time with you, it was a connection he couldn’t ignore, even if he couldn’t ever, address it.

Just as you were about to flag Nancy down for a refill, a voice cut through the music, calling your name.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N), it's for you." A slightly sweaty individual thrust the cordless phone into your hand.

Your face tightened and scrunched with annoyance as you snatched the receiver, holding it to your ear.

“Billy, I told you-“ (Y/N) began, but a voice on the other end swiftly cut her off.

"Heyyyy, pretty lady."

A cold dread washed over you, constricting your throat. A knot of fear twisted in your stomach, mirroring the one that tightened in your chest.

"Wh-who is this?" (Y/N) asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Come onnn, you know who I am…" The voice was laced with a chilling familiarity. "Thought you could get away from me, huh? Lock me up and throw away the key?" The words hung in the air, heavy with menace and the party atmosphere seemed to fade away, leaving you standing alone in a spotlight of terror.

Oliver Miller.

He was your first boyfriend, before there was Billy, there was Oliver.

Oliver had been in jail for the past three years due to his abusive behavior towards you, his sister, and his own mother. His animosity towards women was evident throughout his many relationships.

After a six month period, his relationship with you ended when he was taken into custody, marking the final instance of physical violence against you. Billy, aware of Oliver's actions, harbored a desire for retribution but was unable to act due to Oliver's imprisonment. Billy vowed severe consequences should Oliver ever be released.

“What do you want, Oliver, how did you get this number, how’d you know where I am.” (Y/N) questioned, voice laced with fear.

Until suddenly, everything clicked into place.

Tiffany's betrayal cut deep. Spitefully, she revealed your new location in Hawkins to Oliver, choosing to inflict pain for your choice of Billy over her. Tiffany's call to your home was answered by El, whom she manipulated with a false urgency, extracting your whereabouts at Tommy's place. Max's unwitting shout of the number and address sealed your fate.

"See you soon, pretty girl.” Oliver's voice lingered in your mind, a chilling promise.

Uncertain if he was truly nearby, you initially dismissed the threat. The distance to Hawkins seemed impossible, a full day and night's journey. Besides, you reasoned, your new father was the chief of police and Billy, despite your unresolved doubts, would undoubtedly defend you.

Seeking solace, you retreated to the kitchen, each step triggering a fresh wave of painful flashbacks. You poured one drink after another, the alcohol numbing the edges of your fear. Half an hour blurred by and you stumbled, losing your balance against the counter. You were way over your limit, but just as you braced for a fall, strong arms encircled you. You tilted your head to face the person who just helped you and there he was…

Oliver.

Disbelief clashed with terror. How could he be here so soon? Where was he staying? From where had he called? How did he find you? Panic seized you, your heart hammering against your ribs, your breath catching in ragged gasps. Tears streamed down your face as he lifted you into his arms, carrying you out into the garden in an attempt to get you to catch your breath, before explaining his presence.

After a few frozen moments outside, you managed to steady your breathing enough to understand his words, though each inhale still hitched with suppressed panic.

“So, where’s Billy, huh? Your little boyfriend not here to protect you?” He chuckled, the sinister sound grating against your raw nerves.

“You know he’d beat your ass if he was, Oliver.” (Y/N) stated, trying to project a confidence she didn't feel. It was a desperate attempt to regain control, to remind him and herself of her strength.

“Hey!” He shouted, his grip tightening on your arm, the sudden force pulling you uncomfortably close. The pressure was a sharp, painful reminder of his physical dominance.

The flashbacks crashed over you again, a tidal wave of traumatic memories. Each detail, each sensation, flooded your senses and your eyes welled up for the second time, blurring your vision. A cruel smirk played on Oliver’s lips as he witnessed your distress.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I scaring you?” He said sarcastically, his tone dripping with false concern. It was a calculated move, designed to undermine your resolve and increase your fear.

“Let go, Oliver, please.” (Y/N) pleaded, the words barely a whisper. Her voice trembled, betraying the depth of her vulnerability.

Oliver’s grip remained tight, his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes like cold, predatory stones. He got off on your fear and drew power from your helplessness.

“You didn’t think I’d find you, huh?” He questioned, his voice a low, menacing rumble.

“Why are you so bothered about me? Why not someone else?” (Y/N) asked, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush.

You sought any explanation, any reason to break through his obsession.

“Because you, belong, to me.” He hissed, each word a possessive claim, a brand burned into your soul.

“No. I, belong, to Billy.” (Y/N) retorted through gritted teeth, the defiance a fragile shield against his increasing control. It was a declaration of independence, a refusal to surrender yourself to his twisted desires.

The comment made Oliver’s blood boil to an extreme temperature, he shoved you against the brick wall of Tommy H’s house with a force that felt like a battering ram and seized a fistful of your hair, sending you crashing down to the ground. Your face slammed against the floor, the impact so violent that a sharp, sickening pop resonated from your nose. Agony erupted as blood flooded your senses, swirling your vision and choking your gasps. A scream, born of sheer terror, clawed its way out of your throat, a desperate plea in the face of unimaginable horror.

“Nancy, Steve!” You cried out, voice cracking as you did.

Oliver loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole as his hands clamped onto your face. His grip was tight, unescapable, enough to leave a burning, florid imprint on your skin. You were trapped, a helpless puppet in his cruel game.

“Now you listen to me and you listen to me good, you bitch-“ Oliver, foaming at the mouth with anger, was abruptly cut off as Steve, with a surge of adrenaline, yanked him away from you and slammed him against the floor.

Before Oliver could react, Tommy H was there, adding his weight to Steve's, making sure Oliver stayed pinned in place.

The screams tore from your throat as Nancy wrapped her arms tightly around you.

“Oh my God, (Y/N), are you okay? Someone, please, call Billy, NOW!" She urged, her voice laced with panic.

"Get off me!" Oliver yelled, his voice muffled.

Steve, fueled by anger, silenced Oliver with a sharp punch to the jaw. He and Tommy H dragged him well away from you and across the other end of the garden, the sound of his clothes scraped against the concrete along with his groans that filled the sudden silence, they created a safe distance between you and your attacker.

Moments later, the roar of Billy's Camaro echoed through the entire house and garden. He burst in, slamming the door against the wall on entry, unsure of the situation, only knowing that you were hurt. Billy moved through the house as quickly as he could, his breaths heavy and uneven.

“(Y/N)!" He called out, his voice filled with urgency.

“Over here.” Nancy responded.

Billy snapped his head to the sound and burst through the towering glass doors, his haste evident. He scanned the frost kissed garden, the manicured hedges and empty flowerbeds, bare under the night sky. His eyes darted around until he spotted you, nestled in Nancy's arms on the unforgivingly cold ground. A wave of relief washed over his face, quickly followed by a surge of concern. He rushed towards you, his footsteps quickening as he closed the distance.

Reaching your side, he knelt, his breath misting in the bitter air. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before gently touching your arm. His gaze flicked between you and Nancy, seeking answers. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the stillness broken only by Billy's ragged breaths and the distant gusts of wind. The weight of the situation hung heavy.

Billy’s eyes fell to the pool of blood that spread across the floor. He looked down at you, your face streaked with tears and fear, your hands clutching your nose, blood seeping through your fingers. Your new dress was ruined, your skin stained and your hair matted. You finally looked up to meet Billy’s gaze and lunged forward into his arms, seeking safety in his embrace. Confusion clouded Billy's eyes. You sobbed, gasping for air against his chest and he held you close, while cradling your head.

“Baby… Who, the fuck, did this to you? Huh, Tell me.” He demanded, gently pulling your head back.

You coughed and took in a shaky breath.

“O-Oliver, he's here, Billy, he's here.” (Y/N) cried, fear gripping her voice.

“Who? A guy hurt you? A guy, did this to you?” Billy's said, his voice edged with fury.

“Oliver Miller, my ex, he's out of jail and he's here.” (Y/N) managed to say.

Billy released you instantly and turned, ready to hunt down and confront Oliver, only to see him right there in front of him, laid on the ground, pinned down by Tommy H and Steve Harrington. There he was, the man he had fantasised about unleashing his darkest thoughts onto, for countless nights.

Billy stormed over, fuelled by pure, uncontrollable anger radiating off of him like heat from a furnace. His eyes, usually a vibrant blue, were now dark pools of fury, that reflected the rage within.

“Motherfucker!" He roared, the word tearing through the air like a jagged shard of glass.

Without hesitation, Billy's boot connected with Oliver's stomach, the force of the blow causing Oliver to double over instantly, a strangled cough escaping his lips. Steve and Tommy, sensing the volatile situation, wisely retreated, creating a buffer of space around the unfolding violence. Billy, relentless, continued his assault, each kick a brutal punctuation mark in his furious rant. Finally, he knelt, seizing Oliver by the scruff of his neck.

“You think you can lay your hands on my fucking girl?" He hissed, his voice a venomous whisper that promised unspeakable pain.

Billy unleashed a series of hard blows, each one a hammer strike against Oliver's face. Over and over, the punches landed with sickening thuds, an unstoppable barrage of torture. No one dared to intervene, paralyzed by the sheer intensity of Billy's rage. Even you, usually the voice of reason, found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to break through the fiery, red haze of his fury. He kept punching Oliver, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing in the tense silence, until he suddenly stopped and stood up. He bent down, grabbing Oliver by the collar and dragged him towards the shimmering surface of the pool. With a grunt, he rolled Oliver onto his front and plunged his head into the cool water.

“You like abusing women, huh? Makes you feel tough?" Billy spat, holding Oliver's head just above the surface for a torturous moment before dunking it back under.

Bubbles erupted from the depths as Oliver desperately fought for air, his limbs flailing weakly. Billy yanked him out, rolling him onto his back, Oliver coughing up water as it spilled from the corners of his mouth.

“I get it, I. I. I get it, man, just- just stop, okay.” Oliver pleaded, his voice trembling with fear and pain.

“Stop? You want me to stop? Did you stop when my girl asked you to? Huh?" Billy roared, punctuating his words with several more brutal punches to Oliver's face.

A quick glance, a silent exchange that passed between Steve and Tommy, a mutual understanding dawning in their eyes. They knew that if they didn't act fast, Oliver might not survive, and Billy, would face the grim consequences of his actions. The duo rushed forward, grabbing Billy and dragging him away from Oliver's battered body.

“No! Let go!” He screamed, his body writhing against their hold.

“Billy!" (Y/N) called out, her voice laced with desperation.

He snapped his head towards you, his eyes momentarily clearing, replaced by a flicker of recognition.

“Please stop, that's enough now.” (Y/N) pleaded, her voice soft but firm.

The fight seemed to drain out of Billy as he rushed towards you, scooping you into his arms as if you were a lifeline. He turned to Tommy, his face hardening once more.

“Deal with him.” He ordered, before carrying you away through the gate at the back.

And with that, Tommy had Oliver pinned and Steve, ever the responsible one, had already contacted the authorities. The wail of sirens grew louder, piercing the night as police cars arrived on the scene. You were now safely nestled in Billy's lap, the soft blanket a small comfort against the lingering fear. Billy's Camaro seemed like a haven as he held you tightly.

Hopper arrived with the urgency of a man who loved you. He crouched at the car door, his eyes searching yours for any sign of lasting harm.

"What the hell happened here, (Y/N)? Hey, kid, look at me. I’m here, okay? Tell me what happened." His voice, though laced with anger, was grounded in a deep well of concern.

For the next fifteen minutes, you recounted the events, each word a painful reminder of the terror you had just experienced. Hopper listened very closely, his pen scratching furiously against his notepad. With each detail, his expression darkened, his protective instincts rising to the surface.

Finally, after quite some time, Oliver was led away in handcuffs. Hopper, his face grim, turned back to you.

“I’m going to put him in jail for as long as I possibly can.” He vowed, his voice low and dangerous. "I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he’s in the worst place imaginable."

A glimmer of hope flickered within you.

“Can you really do that?" (Y/N) asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Hopper's eyes hardened with determination.

“I can do anything I want, kid. I’m chief of police… Take her away from here, Billy, far away. Get her cleaned up. Bring her home in the morning when I’m back. I’m going to make sure this little..." He paused, struggling to contain his rage. "I’m going to make sure he gets what’s coming to him. Go.” He finished, his voice softening slightly as he looked at you.

Billy, his jaw tight with suppressed anger, gave Hopper a thankful nod. He carefully settled you into the passenger seat, his bloody and bruised hand lingering on yours for a moment before starting the engine.

As he drove away, Billy held your hand tightly, his silent presence a reassuring anchor in the storm of emotions swirling within you. The rhythmic hum of the Camaro and the steady pressure of his hand were the only things that were keeping the darkness at bay.

——————————————————————————-

Arriving at Billy’s, he carried you through the front door, down the hallway, and into his bedroom, cradled in his arms. The scent of his familiar cologne mixed with the metallic tang of blood filled your senses. He sat you upright on the edge of his bed, the worn fabric of his blanket soft against your legs. Billy rushed to the bathroom, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence, and returned with Susan’s first aid kit. He tried to be as quiet as possible with Max being asleep in her bedroom. Kneeling at your feet, his eyes were filled with a concern that warmed you despite the throbbing pain in your face.

“This is going to sting a little, alright sweetheart?” He said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

He took out an alcohol wipe, the sterile smell sharp in the air, and began gently wiping away the blood from your nose. Each touch sent a fresh wave of pain through you, and you winced, tears streaming down your face.

“Do you still love me?” (Y/N) blurted out, the question laced with insecurity.

Billy paused, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What, why wouldn’t I, baby?” He questioned, his voice thick with a hint of hurt.

“We spied on you, Mike and Lucas too, but Eleven heard you say that you wanted to spend the day with someone else and that it wasn’t fair on me, that you didn’t think you were capable of feeling like this again an-“ Billy cut you off, his hands gently framing your face.

“No, no, baby, no! I was saying that about you! I wanted to spend the day with you, but I knew it wouldn’t be fair to keep you to myself when I knew you wanted to hang out with Max and Eleven. And I told Tommy I didn’t think I’d feel like this again because I never thought I would. Then you came back and changed it all, all of it was about you, baby, every word, you. No one else, never anyone else.” He reassured, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

Tears welled in your eyes, relief washing over you in a tidal wave.

“I thought tha-“ (Y/N) started, but he wouldn’t let her finish.

“No, don’t ever think that again. I love you, only you, do you understand me?” He asked, his voice firm but tender.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. Billy leaned in, landing a soft kiss on your lips, careful to avoid contact with your nose. The kiss was a silent promise, a reassurance that cut through all the noise and doubt.

He continued to clean up the blood from your face and neck, his touch gentle and soothing until finally, he guided you to the bathroom, the cool tile a sudden shock to the warmth you felt under the bridges of your feet. The water turned a shocking red, a miniature whirlpool carrying away the last remnants of the fight down the drain. He dried you off with a soft towel, his eyes never leaving yours, and then carried you back to his bedroom.

The room was lit by the lamp that stood tall next to the bedside table, along with the overhead light, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. He helped you undress, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He gently guided you into one of his oversized shirts, the fabric soft and familiar against your skin as it swallowed your frame.

Billy pivoted and started to undress himself, his movements slow and deliberate, until he was stripped down to only his shorts. He turned off the overhead light, leaving only the warm glow of the lamp, knowing you wouldn’t want to sleep in complete darkness tonight and settled beside you, pulling you close until you were pressed tightly against his chest.

“You’re okay, baby, I’m here, okay, I got you.” He reassured.

Billy played with your hair, his fingers tracing patterns on your scalp until your eyes fell heavy.

“I love you, baby, I love you so much.” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too, Billy.” (Y/N) responded, her voice barely audible.

Shortly after, you fell into a deep sleep, safe and secure against Billy’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful slumber. Billy stayed awake for most of the night, his eyes scanning the room, his mind racing, going over and over the same part of the night, but staying alert to any sign that you might need him. He was your protector, your safety blanket, and he would do anything he could to keep you safe, Infact, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do, to make that happen.

Part 3 anyone???

Click here to read Pt.1 now!

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[kamospeach]

(any pics without tags are bc i didn't know who they belonged to!)

plot: suguru's getting antsy, his ex-lover isn't looking his way on the field anymore

content warning:my sweet sugu is a little perverttt (we won't be seeing that yet), angstyyy, i love writing about trust issues and character development

dean's (aka peachy) yap: the last of the angst i promiseeee

“touchdownnnn!” the announcer yelled through the speakers of the stadium. that was the sound of the star football player of your university throwing a 45-yard pass. this was his third time making a play like that in this game alone. you wish you weren’t even there at this specific moment and time. you hated having to cheer on your ex as he won yet another game.

so it started a cycle, geto threw a pass, and you cheered. a pattern that was performed every saturday, in your home stadium or away. your reaction was what fueled his passion to play. yeah, you heard me right, he made plays and did the most because of you. whenever he assisted a touchdown, there you were cheering on his team. i mean, you had no choice, of course.

so that was why whenever suguru did something in the game, he’d look at you, always finding you looking right back at him. he read you like a book he knew you missed him, that or he was too cocky to admit that he missed you and he was now projecting. 

when the game was over, you sat around with the cheer team, talking about any and everything. the football team had won, of course, thanks to suguru’s never-ending efforts. before the game, suguru asked you to stay behind so both of you could talk. 

if you weren’t still slightly in love with him, you would've said no, but here you were waiting behind just to see him. he sauntered out hair down, wife-beater, and sweats. he walked towards you with a cockiness that clearly showed he was expecting you to stay behind.

“what?” was all you said, and he smirked. he had always loved your fiestiness.

“how did i do?” he asked, getting closer to you so he could tower over you. suguru was a self-proclaimed pervert; he liked seeing you look up at him. it reminded him of all the times you were on your knees, lips wrapped around his-

“seriously?” you scoffed, walking away from him, and he grabbed your arm. “let me go sugu… i mean- suguru- geto? fuck it just let me go.” you were conflicted on what to call him and he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love the way you said his name.

“you can still call me sugu…” he says, letting go of you like you asked. “you’ve always liked calling me that,” he gave you his signature smile, and you laugh. it wasn’t funny, but the audacity of this man was hilarious. he knew you saw him as goofy, at least that’s what you called him when the two of you broke up anyway.

“really? you care what i like now? you’re full of shit geto.” you spat turning around walking to your friends. they were waiting for you so you all could go get ready for the after-party.

“ya okay love?” your friend asked, rubbing your shoulder, knowing how you get about geto. you

were very, very, very in love with him. you would do anything for him. he knew that you knew that, and yet your relationship still failed.

“i’m fine, yeah.” you say as you look out the window, reminiscing on the times you and suguru spent together, the breakup, all of it.

4 months ago

“see you tomorrow!” you yelled out to the other girls on your cheer team. practice was over, and you waited in your car for suguru to get out. he had a spring football game tomorrow, a few hours away from the university. you were supposed to cheer at the basketball championship game, so the two of you won't be able to spend time together.

so you waited an hour after your practice for suguru, the clock finally hit 8, meaning they should be done. but one hour turned into two, and two into three, three into four, and so on. you ended up falling asleep, and when you woke up, it was 1 am, going on 2. you checked your phone, seeing one text from suguru.

‘can’t come practicing late.’ 

he sent that at 9:30, about 45 minutes after you had fallen asleep. no missed calls, no extra texts, nothing. he didn’t even try to make sure you were safe, and that was the worst. so, without hesitation, you made your way to his apartment. 

you were prepared to make a scene, sure you had shame and self-control, but not today. you were about to make sure this conceited cocky- the door swung open to suguru with his eyes half closed. just boxer's, hair messy, and sleep in his eyes.

“you open the door like this for everyone?” you asked, and he just blinked, not sure what you were doing at his apartment. “why did you text me instead of calling me and telling me you weren’t coming anymore?” you asked, and he cleared his throat.

“thought you were asleep, so i just texted you and hoped you’d see,” he said voice still groggy, and he rubbed his eyes trying to adjust to all the lights you turned on around the apartment. “i didn’t get in until 12 anyway.”

“so you practiced until 10?” you asked, lightweight, not believing him, and he sighed, nodding.

“it’s our first game back since the fall, of course, i want to do the best i can,” he explained, and you nodded. you both were working on your trust issues he was getting better but you seemed to be stagnant. 

“i don’t like when you don’t respond it makes me over think.” you explained trying to use your hands to further explain your point. his face was deadpanned almost as if he was angry at you. 

“look no offense but i don’t care about what you like or whatever. we were supposed to work on our trust and i’ve done that for you but if you can’t focus on improving with me then do it without me.” he ranted and your eyes got wide. was that his shitty way of breaking up with you.

“are you breaking up with me?” you asked confused and he shook his head dropping on the couch. he didn’t say much just ran his hand through his hair as he thought.

“i’m not, i’m just saying that you’ve been fine since we’ve been close together for a while. we got together when things were slow and when i wasn’t as busy. so you haven’t had a chance to work on your trust issues, and so i guess the blame is halfway on me,” he grumbled head still in his hands and you stood there frozen as you listened to him. 

“so do you think i’m better off leaving then?” you raise a brow and suguru sighs with a shrug.

“i think i’m stunting your growth. if we do break up it would only be because i want you to be better,” he admitted. truthfully suguru didnt know the best decision himself. he wanted to be your boyfriend and to graduate with you, he even thought about after. how a few years later he’d work on getting married to you. but if you can’t trust him you’d just suffocate him.

“so then let’s breakup. that’s what you want that’s what we’ll do.” you nodded tears now running down your face. you wiped your tears but it was futile as the waterfall poured. suguru knew your crying voice and took it upon himself to engulf you in a hug.

“i don’t want to but i love you and i want you to trust me the way i trust you, before i end up resenting you.” he whispered in your ear and you nodded. you both pulled away from the hug he wiped your tears kissing your lips one more time before you left.

present time

the party was everything you expected it to be, loud, smelly, hot, and chaotic. you liked it because it meant you were bound to get crossfaded. you and your friends held each other’s hand as you navigated through the dense crowd. once you made it to the kitchen of the frat house drinks on drinks were poured. 

you were throwing shots back like there was no tomorrow wanting to forget about suguru for a while. but just your luck you had a filthy nerdy leech that was a constant reminder. satoru gojo. 

“what are you doing here?” you asked satoru who shrugged looking just as confused as you. 

“suguru invited me i’m just tagging along. met a girl too, she invited me so i’m following the crowd i guess you could say.” he laughed and you nodded understanding. you were kind of in the same situation as him just following the crowd.

“i getcha.” you say as you passed him a shot that was passed to you and he denied it. you shrugged your shoulders taking both shots in front. “well looks like my crowd moving, see you later yeah?” 

“yeah see ya.” he smiled as you walked away with your friends and they went to hang out with the football players. as if running into satoru wasn’t enough now you’re sitting in a circle of people. and dead across from you is suguru who was smiling and laughing with his friends.

the lighting was great but just for him, his jawline was enhanced in the light. this couldn’t be real here you are drunk (and in the process of getting high) staring at your ex almost lovingly. minutes were going by and your were getting higher and higher. and while you were getting crossfaded suguru was getting finer and finer. you felt it was practically illegal to feel this way about someone who you were no longer romantically affiliated with.

“are you okay?” one of your friends asked and you sent him a small smile.

“just peachy.” you mumbled standing up to go get water until someone came up to you. you’ve never seen him before but he was clearly flirting. his words were started to blend together and his face was almost not even there. he started to sound like a friend you knew so your body became laxed.

his hands gripped your waist and you spoke with him casually. you were now drinking whatever your ‘friend’ had poured for you. all you knew is that your blinking felt extra slow and the floor was spinning. 

after a while your friend who asked if you were okay came looking for you. he was getting suspicious as to what took you so long to come back outside with the group. until he saw your almost limp body leaning on some guy who he had never seen before either. he stormed towards the two of you both snatching the drink out of your hand. 

“what are you doing?” he asked you and you shrugged not even sure who he was at this point. he watched your behavior and then looked up at the man who was with you. “who the hell are you?”

“does it matter? who the hell are you?” he copied his question whispering in your ear to calm you down. but now it felt weird and your brain seemed to register that you may or may not be in danger. 

“do you even go to this school? i’ve never seen you before.” he questioned the man and his body became stiff against yours. strangely this was the only thing he did that raised red flags for you.

“so? do you know everyone at this school or somethin’?” he grumbled and your friend found him suspicious so he grabbed you arm to pull you away from the man but he didn’t get anywhere with that. “don’t touch her, come on let’s go. you do want to leave with me right?” he asked you and your head slowly tilted to the side as you looked up at him. you were still struggling to make out his face.

“no you won’t, she doesn’t even know you, she’s coming with me.” he said lightly pulling you towards him. you were now caught inbetween the two men one wrist in the strangers hand and the other in your friend’s.

“i-...” was all you could manage before you heard a voice. the only voice that you could identify throughout the foggy haze that was your brain.

“neither of you will be taking her home.” he said as he walked over to you. you didn’t need to see suguru’s face to know it was his. his long hair was enough for you to know it was the man you once and still do love.

“sugu…” you said walking towards him and the two men had no choice but to let you go. before you knew it suguru had his hand around your waist.

“he didn’t hurt you did he?” he asked and you shook your head. even though you weren’t exactly sure how you got into all of that. you both made your way outside to his car that you wasted no time getting. he pressed the 1 button, and it immediately went to your settings, the way you liked it.

“you never took that off?” you asked looking up at him with eyes that had him questioning his actions 4 months ago.

“why would i? this’s your seat.” he said putting on your seatbelt but before the door closed you had to say one more thing.

“thank you, sugu.”

“anything for you.” was all he said before he closed the door and got in the driver’s seat to take you home.

to be continued...

one two three four five six

university masterlist

taglist (open):

@grignardsreagent @stardollwrites @keraawrites @soldmysoulto @k-a-m232 @ac27dj @buttershea07 @ane5e @satorupied @charminstasia @miksolosss @nanamisbbygirl @beabamboo @sweetshrew @gurllss @rhicambo @v3rdee @vamppirez @y8zuriha @probablynotleahhhh @snapcracklen @emma-37 @thabiddie23 @sunset-euphoria @ami-s-k @angelita-uchiha @antikaiii @meganwiththebody @certifiedchangbinlover @desirehorizon @meowshiki

[goddamnitmahtin]

Real Robins Can Fly

( a dc x dp prompt)

As a part of a charity event, Bruce holds a cosplay contest where contestants show off their cosplays, explain their processes and even show off a little if they have a talent of some sort that kind of fits the theme of the character.

Problem? Everyone he invited to be judges at the event are league members and they all had a case suddenly interfere so Bruce and his colleagues can’t show up. So he asks Dick to round up as many of his siblings as he can to be judges for this event. The lineup ends up being Dick, Jason, Tim, Stephanie and Damian. Duke was almost able to make it but he got caught up with work.

Dick was surprised that Damian even wanted to come considering he was drowning himself in studying for his finals. He was about to graduate high school and wanted to make sure his gpa was flawless. Nevertheless, he found a way to drag his youngest brother out of the library and into the judges panel.

The contest was fine. Most people dressed as local vigilantes or villains that were easy to recognize. There were some really good ones. There were a few that none of them recognized. A few only Tim recognized. Apparently they were from animes or something.

The day dragged on and on, all of them having to stop for breaks at different points. Dick needed to get up and walk around because sitting in one place for too long made his joints hurt. Jason had to leave to do breathing exercises when a really accurate second Robin cosplayer came through holding a crowbar of all things. Tim had to leave a few times to make phone calls as co CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Steph called the babysitter (Cass) a few times about her now 2 year old daughter. And Damian used every single one of those breaks to cram in more studying.

What nothing that day could have prepared them for was the last contestant. The 13 year old boy walked onto the stage with a huge smile in a perfect replica of Dick’s very first Robin suit. Down to the last detail everything was correct. Except that… it had been torn up and damaged in places and there were painted on bruises and wounds in the places missing fabric. Part of the mask was ripped off and being held in the boy’s hand. And the face underneath that broken mask looked just like Tim.

Tim: *after recovering faster than everyone else* Wow. What a suit! What’s your name and tell the process of creating your cosplay.

Danny: *smiles* I’m Danny! I’m 13 years old and I wanted to be Robin! Robin is my favorite vigilante because he’s an inspirational figure for younger people. I decided to design my outfit based on the very first Robin in his first ever suit that he was spotted in but I wanted to pay homage to all of the Robins so I changed it up a little bit. I studied the Robins from the past in photos and was able to come up with at least one thing from each.

Steph: I see. Could you show us these homages?

Danny: YES! *his eyes glowed green in excitement, catching Jason and Damian off guard* I designed the suit itself to look like the first Robin as he was the pioneer of the Robin title but I made the entire outfit from materials only used on the current Robin. As you can see the color scheme for the suit is more muted than the original as the current Robin uses shadows and corners more for attacks than the others did.

Damian: *smiles slightly*

Danny: I chose my wounds and distresses in the costume based on photos of the second and third Robins. They took more physical blows than the rest did. *pointing to each wound, pointing to one in the abdomen* This one is just a theory of mine but I think the third Robin might of at one point had a surgery around here from his fighting style. He would protect his abdomen from attack more.

Tim: …… I see.

Danny: And the fourth Robin was a deviation from the pattern because she was a girl that didn’t have the dark hair that all the others had. She wasn’t Robin for very long but her style and decision making were more unpredictable than the rest so if you just give me a second… *fidgets with his gloves for a moment* Whole watching her footage I noticed how her hair was accounted for in her fighting style without it ever getting into her way. *slides off his glove* So on my wrist I have a replica of the headband she used in her suit but smaller so it’s more of a bracelet.

Steph: *noticing how accurate it is* Oh- wow-

Jason: That’s really impressive Danny. Tell us a little bit more about how you actually created the suit. Your process.

Danny: Well the entire thing is made of an armored flex material that I made in my sister’s basement. I studied pictures of all of the Robin suits and noticed parts of the fabric that stood out and made my prototype from there. *smiles* I have a small sample for you guys to pass around! *hands Jason said sample*

Jason: Oh that’s really impressive-

Tim: You said you made it in your sister’s basement? How did your parents feel about it?

Danny: My parents are gone. It’s just me and Jazz. I spent all of my money on the materials to make this. I’m hoping to win because the prize money will be enough for her to buy a car so she can find a new job. And maybe with the rest I’ll finally be able to go to space camp this summer. I’ve always wanted to go! But we could never afford it.

Steph: *covers her gasp softly* Oh-

Damian: Did you have a talent you wanted to show off for us today?

Danny: YES! *pumps his fist excitedly*

Damian: Could you demonstrate that for us please?

Danny: Okay! *climbs up the light tower next to the stage and hangs from the metal bars like a proper gymnast before jumping off, flipping and grabbing frames and pieces of rigging to swing from, replicating old tricks Dick used to do as Robin that he learned in the circus before flipping down and landing nimbly in the center of the stage* Tadah!

Dick: *absolutely shook* Why did you- choose that as your talent?

Danny: Real robins can fly. So why can’t I?

After Danny leaves the stage, it takes a few minutes for them all to collect themselves from that. Especially Dick.

Steph: So that Danny kid is gonna win.

Tim: 100 percent. He was able to recreate the fabric we make our suits out of through pictures!

Jason: We better not tell Bruce or-

Damian: Too late. I already texted father. He’s drafting adoption papers as we speak.

Dick: *who was planning on doing that himself* Dammit!

Damian: I for one, am thrilled at the prospect that this Danny child will take up the Robin mantle when I leave for college.

Steph: Well real robins can fly so why shouldn’t he? *smiles*

Dick: Stephanie I’m literally going to cry.

[patchw0rks]

Ok, reread of scum villain vol. 2 has been accomplished. Here are my thoughts and just things I wanted to note down (disclaimer: make sure to read these knowing the important context that liushen is my favorite ship lol)

I can't get over the Shen-Mu-Liu trio. Those are SQQ's BOYS and watching them interact is very fun. I also love that Mu Qingfang is medicine-pilled in the way that Shen Qingqiu is monster-pilled. Little did we know LQG is actually the most normal of the three

Shen "im just here to cause problems" Qingqiu saying "I know to get my way all i have to do is bat my pretty eyelashes at YQY and he will fold like a house of cards"

SQQ basically telling LQG that he's so strong so he must row the boat, and LQG is just absolutely FUMING because of how attracted he is to SQQ

SQQ referring to LQG as gege ah my heart

More of SQQ causing problems by trying stick Yang Yixuan onto LQG, which I love because you KNOW that in his grief post-Hua Yue City LQG went "fucking WATCH me"

Ngl I've read enough fanfic to realize that people don't really capture LQG's full personality. The usually make him so shy and tsundere that he's barely able to get a word in (Lan Zhan gets similar treatment) but no, he's just as catty as the rest of them

I need to figure out the timeline of how long Shen Yuan had been reading PIDW, it's endlessly important to me

LQG and MQF being like "our beloved little shixiong, please don't fret your pretty little head, just sit there and relax"

There really is some excellent physical comedy in SVSSS, like when SQQ is confronted by LBH and just defenestrates himself. You know that one scene in Angel Beats? Yeah it's exactly that

Qi Qingqi's eyebrows have now been brought up for a second time and it screams gender envy to me. Why are you as a "cis man" admiring a women's eyebrows so thoughtfully? So much to where it's the first thing you bring up about her appearance?

"Why?! Why were two grown men neurotically discussing a pice of clothing while surrounded by staring eyes?" never change Shen Yuan

I'm actually such a simp for Liu Qingge, i'm literally highlighting every mention of him and every word he speaks. I did not appreciate the Liuber my first time reading. He's also so incredibly tsundere "huff puff i can't believe you can't even ride your sword...get on"

Ugh I actually cried while reading the big confrontation. This did not happen my first read, but man it just got me. Also the very subtle POV switch that happens so we don't get any insight into SQQ's thoughts as he prepares to self-detonate

Mushroom Shen Qingqiu!!!! My Beloved!!!!!!! Def one of my favorite parts of the whole series. I think there are so many ways to play around with this character (hence my AU) but also there's this degree of freedom about it where even his internal dialogue is much more loose and less concerned with acting the part

Oh my...he referenced the succubus adventure...

Im sorry how did I completely black out the scene of LQG and SQQ playing hot potato with his corpse?!!?! Remember what I said about physical comedy!!

"Even a few hours ago, he genuinely wouldn't have cared where others (especially those of the same sex) touched him. They could touch wherever they liked, please go ahead" -- Things only said by straight who are 100% comfortable in their sexuality. Yeah. Totally

There are still good moments of seeing SQQ's dissociating himself from the events of the series and just treating everything and everyone as if it weren't "real," and how these thought patterns shift. Once again I think this would be a very fun thing to play around with and explore more

LIU QINGGE!!!! STOP MAKING ME SAD!!!!!!!! HE YEARNS SO MUCH

[justnamedjosie]

i'm honestly so relieved to see so many people actively defending ragatha due to the latest episode.

after watching ep 5 i immediately had the feeling people were going to hop on the ragatha hate train, she's a well written female character who has normal human flaws just like the rest of the members of the circus, she slips up and says something insensitive to jax about whatever incident that caused jax to lose his friend (which by the end of the episode she owns up too and apologizes for by the way), yet people saw this and instead of being like "wow this character made a mistake and apologized for said mistake because nobody is perfect and everyone slips up and says something mean every now then, wow she's such a real and complex character!". we got "she's the devil incarnate".

like please get me to understand why you guys HATE this girl, these fans are literally repeating the same behavior that they showed towards pomni and gangle. it's a very uncomfortable pattern i'm seeing in this fandom of female characters being ripped to shreds for simply having flaws, like any well written character would have. and then seeing the male characters (mainly jax obviously, though i have seen the same behavior with caine a bit) be excused of literally any fault of their actions because of whatever reason they can pull out their asses at any given moment.

like no, jax shouldn't be justified or in any way excused for his behavior towards the other members just because he has issues. if that's the way these fans think then i'm honestly surprised they don't give ragatha the same treatment. like i'm not saying that any of the characters shouldn't be held accountable for their mistakes just because they have problems, hell no. i'm saying after learning that ragatha grew up with an absolutely awful mother, which would definitely explain her people pleasing behavior towards everyone, that those fans would be a lot more empathetic towards her, but i guess not.

i truly don't understand. like i love jax as much as the next person, but i can acknowledge that he's not a good person and his treatment of the others is wrong, no matter what he's internally dealing with. his issues that are slowly being revealed to us EXPLAINS his behavior, but absolutely doesn't excuse it. so it truly boggles my mind that ragatha can make these mistakes (which are so much smaller than what jax has done to others) and she's immediately deemed horrible and unforgivable. make it make sense.

at best it's simple favoritism over their favorite character that can do no wrong in their eyes (which in the process they completely mischaracterize them) and at worst it's blatant misogyny. i truly don't know what else could explain the influx of hate towards ragatha. it's okay if you don't like ragatha, not everyone will like the same character. it only gets frustrating (to me at least) when these people hate a character for something that isn't true in the slightest and that they completely made up.

the silver lining to come out of this is personally i've seen more ragatha defenders than these fans. i'm glad there are people who actually understand her character and can appreciate how well written she is! ragatha has made her way into being one of my favs on the show, and i can't wait to see where her character will go from here.

(also this isn't supposed to be a jax hate post or anything, like i said i love jax. i just really dislike how the fans have been treating him and by proxy ragatha as well.)

[absynthe-mind]

I have an nsfw Mortarion request, if that's okay? Kind of like Space Marine Husbandry Sentience but a bit more like 'Mortarion gets isekai'd into a universe where people as tall as primarchs aren't totally unheard of.' He gets taken in by some sweet, gentle woman, 10 ft (approx. 3 m) tall (so... still a few feet/1 m shorter than him XD XD XD) and a creature of swirling skirts and radiant, almost overwhelming, joy - who sees his dark, wild hair, his haunted eyes, his rail-thin frame, the layers of scars on his hands and face, and sees beauty, not terror. Someone who cares for (AND FEEDS) him. Who gives him space and privacy but welcomes him with open doors - and open arms.

He rapidly becomes almost dangerously obsessed - not yandere, but... idk, just Grade-A obsessed. This man is seeking her out just to be around her; slinking into her room like an abused animal daring to seek affection - and receiving it when they ask (and when they don't). Just totally obsessed - though he doesn't always show it like others would, nonetheless his mind is almost constantly on the topic of her. She shows him around her garden, lush and full of animals, flowers, and life. She invites him to nap with her, and after barely a breath, he agrees - so blindly does he trust her, despite himself.

One day, he can hardly help himself, as they're in the garden together. He pins her face down in the garden, under some rose bushes, as they hang heavy with flowers. As he pulls a vial of oil from his pocket to slick himself for her, half expecting her to struggle, he finds instead that she's lifting her hips and practically begging him to have her.

Take it from there, if you so desire! ✨️✨️✨️

Mortarion (Oneshot) - Her Garden, f!reader

Strap in, it's a lonnnggggg one. I didn’t mean it make it this long, I promise, it just sort of kept evolving over multiple writing sessions into this…. It is also extremely indulgent, but what is fanfic for if not indulging?

(Also I love when requests give me loads of direction and show me how much you love a character <3333)

TW: injuries, mental self-degradation, somnophilia, masturbation, dub-con elements, overstimulation, fucking, knot, crying

Taglist: @druidwolf21 , @incrediblethirst , @bookandyarndragonwritesdark , @saintsylestine , @justeverythingnothingelse

The warp was as it always is - unpredictable. 

This time definitely shot every minor time delay out of the park however.

Taking stock of his body is no difficulty, and his outward appearance at least bore no changes. White hair greyed and streaked with reds and browns fell around him in slightly matted chunks. His skin was still ashy and taut with countless scars and frame still gaunt.

Despite the lack of obvious physical change, his body and mind felt tired, weary and feverish, as though he’d spent hours slogging through the worst pits of Barbarus. His lungs were heaving just to keep up.

What was more unusual was his position, splayed out flat across mossy ground, looking up at the underside of gigantic trees, backdropped by a clear evening of a deep midnight blue.

He ought to start moving, to survey his surroundings and make plans to return to the Imperium as fast as possible, but lying on the soft and spongy forest floor, looking up at the sunset and beginning of the night’s sky… he didn’t recognise the stars. Which meant he was very, very far away.

There was no familiar pattern that could be seen in the Milky Way from any angle, so he was in a different galaxy at the very least.

At least he was on a planet that was so far hospitable to basic living conditions, trees grew here, utterly huge as they were, and the rest of the forest looked just as ‘normal’ from his position on the floor, if not a little bigger than average.

There were plentiful plants and he could hear what could be considered ‘average’ woodland creatures, even if everything seemed far larger than usual. Perhaps an overabundance of oxygen creating megafauna, he mused idly, a far cry from a death world in any case.

The air was good here too, clean and fresh. Gulping it down was certainly helping clear his pounding head and heaving lungs. He needed a few minutes of rest and, and he did his best to convince himself it would not be the difference in getting back from what was evidently such a remote place. 

Even though he desperately needed to recover somewhat, the guilt started to gnaw at him. He had a legion to lead, planets to liberate, work to do. Discomfort was a torment he could bear.

Up, get up, start moving. 

There was work to be done.

He is brought from his musings by the distant sound of movement, a large animal, larger yet than the birds and insects he’d heard - but still far away yet. 

That's all it takes to have him on his feet in less than a moment, in protest of his spasming muscles. The world tilts and goes white for a moment for a moment before settling, and then with vision slightly swimming he tries to properly scan his surroundings.

There was every chance that the fauna here was violent, and while unlikely to be deadly to him, they could be potentially very unpleasant to deal with. Especially in his current state.

His whole body tenses as he strains to listen, the creature still too far away to see yet. 

It almost sounds like a human, or at least something walking on two feet, but the weight of the steps is all wrong, too big, too tall - but not heavy enough to be one of his sons or even a brother.

He shifts, deciding that hiding as best he can around a tree is his most optimal choice. Running would get him noticed, and though he stuck out like a sore thumb against the landscape the tree trunks were big enough to at least mostly obscure him.

It was unlikely whatever it was could be much of a threat to him, even weakened as he is, but it would be best to scout before making a decision.

Whatever it was kept walking vaguely towards him, though their current trajectory would pass quite widely by the clearing he landed in. They’re close enough that he can hear far more clearly. 

Footsteps, they are distinctively footsteps. He tries to mentally catalogue what it could possibly be, but thinking hard is becoming more and more torturous, and he’d know soon enough.

It comes into view - and almost throws completely off guard.

The creature was not an eldar or other xeno scum he was expecting, not even a strange two legged animal.

It was a human woman. A very tall woman, but a woman for sure.

She was almost as tall as him, just a few feet short, but taller than any baseline or astartes he’d ever seen or heard of. Couple that with the fact she seemed to be idly strolling through the woods in some form of dress, basket in hand, and he was thoroughly confused.

For a long moment he debates whether or not this is in fact some form of extremely realistic hallucination or dream, but the discomfort of his afflictions is too stark and sharp to be imagined and it just feels so real.

Before he can mentally orient himself, the woman furthers his confusion and starts humming. Nothing intelligible, just some old, sweet sounding song with mumbled words every so often. The type of song he heard the mothers of his village singing to their children oh so long ago.

She seems happy too, joyous - especially so for a lone woman walking alone in a forest on an evening, even if he can’t hear anyone else in the vicinity. Perhaps the wildlife and society here was extremely peaceful.

Or perhaps she was incredibly naive. 

Naive enough to not have noticed him at least, even though he’d sure his attempts at stealth are subpar, and she hasn’t noticed his clumsy trail leading here either.

He’s tempted to call or, or spook her, take advantage of her foolishness to remind her the universe is never kind enough to warrant a loss of vigilance. Something stays him though, perhaps the pounding in his head, or maybe the strange and slightly mesmerising way her skirt swirls and flows around her as she walks without a single care. 

It’s clear when exactly she spots him. 

He tries to edge around the tree so she can’t see him but he can still observe and ends up making a low hiss of pain before he can stop himself.

Her head snaps towards him, the next verse of the song dying on her lips as they pull into a slightly worried frown. Perhaps she was not entirely naive then.

Eyes find his amber ones easily despite the growing darkness and his partially hidden form, sweeping him up and down. He feels more scrutinised than he ever has before, more seen than even when his gene-father looks upon him.

Her gaze pins him in place like he is the animal he thought she was, piercing through his every defense. To his surprise, she doesn’t recoil in shock, in horror at the mere state of him.

He knows he looks more corpse-like than alive, his skin is withered and layered with scars even without the fresh and old blood alike coating him. At the very least he must appear like some deranged, crazed forest murder.

Instead her gaze is a mixture of unexpected things, worry, concern, curiosity, kindness, pity.

She takes a half step towards him, making some gentle soothing sounds with her hands raised in non-agression.

“H-hello - a-are, are you okay?” she questions him with a tilt of her head, stuttering to begin with before finding her resolve as she takes another measured step forwards.

He can understand her - it’s not gothic, no language he can place in spite of his strange implicit understanding, which sends him further spiraling. He knows it will make his life on the planet far easier, but trying to wrap his head around the devolving situation is making his woozy head even more unsettled - and he’s not sure he can afford that in his current state.

‘Are you okay?’, the words bounce around in his head like live ammunition in a raging gunfight, but he makes no move to answer.

She seems to take his silence and lack of action as an invitation as she takes another slow step towards him, bringing her barely more than five meters from him. Another step starts to close the distance further, before she missteps at the sound of a strangled cry.

He looks around in a panic at how he could have missed another sneaking up on them before rather belatedly realising he made the sound. He could never admit it, but no small amount of fear sets in as he begins to comprehend how bad his condition actually is.

At least it stops her in her tracks, but doesn’t scare her off, if anything, she looks more resolved, more concerned.

Her hands slowly come down, reaching into the basket. She pulls out some sort of jerky ration and a bread roll along with a water skin, tentatively offering it out to him with another step forward.

It takes the last dredges of his energy, almost all his effort to keep from laughing. She’s treating him like some scared, wounded animal - like he’s not a primarch. He could snap her in half, he could tear through her throat in barely a split second, he could - 

His hands suddenly meet something hard and wet. The forest floor. 

He can’t breathe. She smells sweet. 

When, when did he - 

She’s looking down at him, right in front of him, food put away. Her hands are warm on his shoulders. He prefers it when she was smiling like earlier, not this semi-pained grimace.

Waking up is strange, but not bad.

He knows something is wrong. Firstly, it’s far, far too soft. Secondly, he is well rested. Thirdly, he’s clean.

The beds in apothecaries station don’t feel like this, they aren’t cozy, warm and they certainly don’t smell intoxicatingly sweet and floral. Theoretically, he needs to wake up and gain a practical understanding of what on Terra is going on, but he can’t bring himself to break the spell he’s under.

He wakes for a second time, soft sunlight warming his face, but it’s not the light that wakes him. Someone is moving near him. 

He sniffs the air. They have food too. 

As though the very thought summoned it, his stomach grumbles. 

The sound is accompanied by stifled laughter. Laughter?

His eyes fly open, remembering the previous day’s events with lightning fast recollection. 

He seems to be in far better condition than when he first arrived at least. Limbs are stiff and heavy, but no more so than usual - importantly his head is no longer pounding and throbbing. The difference in his cognitive ability is frightening when he considers the changes.

Even though he’s only been awake for moments, alertness is immediate for a primarch, which makes the snug warmth and dreamlike quality to waking all the more disconcerting. It has his hairs on end and hackles rising even with the complete lack of threat. 

Sitting takes no effort as he easily props himself up, taking in the whole room at once.

The room is large, which makes sense given the size of the woman who found him. A large arched ceiling with exposed wooden beams supports a variety of hangings, tapestries and plants. 

Sunlight streams in through a window that takes up the majority of the opposing wall, creating some sort of seating space filled with plush looking blankets and pillows, along with a built in shelving space for books. He can just spot some climbing flowers peeking over the windowsill. 

The rest of the room is similarly filled, a colourful weaved rug across warm wooden floors, a dresser with little flowers painted up the sides, even the bed he is in is cozy and blended to the space despite the lack of matching pieces. 

Colourful and mismatched but downy bedding seemed to perfectly fit the half-canopied frame and drapes. The only thing that felt out of place in such a cozy space was him. The contrast of his pale, scarred hands against the duvet setting him apart as an intruder.

His bare skin rubs against the fabric but it doesn’t scratch or irritate, yet it isn’t silken like the bedsheets provided in the palace, it’s simply soft and fluffy. Even though he’s nude, he doesn’t feel exposed while beneath it.

It registers that his skin is clean. Clean of dirt, blood, debris - some of it having likely caked up for weeks now. She must have washed him down while he was asleep, even his hair feels much lighter.

Finally, he allows himself to focus on her, stood in the doorway with a tray of food and a disarming smile. He’s not sure why his body reacts the way it does, stomach tightening and churning slightly, though he reasons it’s likely the combination of the strange situation and the side effects of his strange warp trip. 

It’s different, seeing her in the warm sunlight with an earnest smile. 

He tries to think of her as a serf, an overly enthusiastic, naive serf who is bringing him food.

It helps very little. 

Everything about her screams gentle, kind, from her stance, to her smile, to her eyes.  For a human she’s dizzyingly tall too, putting her on par with his shorter brothers, which also sets her apart in his mind - making her more equal to him.

The way she looks down at him with some unknown emotion is so overwhelming that he feels like squirming in his skin, so he inspects the rest of her more closely in the daylight.

Her dress is changed for a flowing shirt and skirt combination, the shirt a slightly off white and revealing supple collarbones and the tops of her breasts, while the skirt is long and light green, accented by a circular leather and bronze belt.

There is a distinct lack of scars or markings on her skin that grace almost every Imperial citizen. He would accuse her of being a softened noble if not for the slight soil residue, smell of dirt and fact he was quite sure they were still in the forest they’d met in.

Completely lost in the mentally staggering situation, he almost misses when she starts speaking, approaching him with tray outstretched. 

“- hungry? You must be, poor darling. How are you feeling?” he catches the tail end of her sentence, and finds himself flushing at her mothering tone as she comes right over and without further ado deposits the tray in his lap.

It's a decadent meal by any account, some fruits he can’t name already cut up in a bowl with some form of yogurt, a few pastries, and to top it all off three peeled boiled eggs served over some form of grilled, spiced meat. He can’t help but stare at it for a long moment, fully cut up and prepared for him and prepared to eat with ease. A far cry from usual Imperial rations, even those set aside for primarchs. 

He finds himself lacking words, throat dry and face flushing as she lingers near him, adjusting the bedding around him. She raises a hand as if to stroke his hair before pulling it back, clearly thinking better of the endeavour. 

He’s glad she did, because he already feels disconnected and staggeringly out of place just existing in what he can only describe as a homey paradise. He’s never been in a place like it, not in cold deep space, not in the Golden Palace, and certainly not on Barbarous. Just sitting in such a space has him feeling jarred, he doesn’t know how he’d react if she began petting him.

She’s already clearly carried him here, stripped him, washed him somewhat, and put him to bed like an infant. His mortification is tempered by the fact he was unconscious, though the feeling of unease creeps up his chest the more he thinks about how he was so easily incapacitated. 

There are worse fates to be had while alone on an unknown planet in such a state - though he can only wonder what the debt for her services will be, what exactly she’ll be expecting of him.

If it comes to it he could always out run her. She may know that land, but in comparison to him, she has a shorter gait, looks less toned - he’s certain he could escape.

It occurs to him that he really ought to respond, what was it she’d ask him…

‘How are you feeling?’

“I am feeling well now.” his voice is raspy, tone clipped. It’s not a lie, he’s not sure he’s every felt better actually, despite the weariness and high alert his body is on.

He doesn’t ask about anything yet. It’s better to let her broach topics and play his cards close to his chest. Letting her know who he is, where he’s from and more importantly what he’s capable of is not in his best interests. 

Her smile brightens in genuine delight, and his stomach flips uneasily.

“Well that’s good news! You gave me the fright of my life last night you know?” she replies with an easy laugh, “Enough chatter for now - you’d best eat up, I can hardly tell you from skin and bones!”

Her face flashes with relief, even from his curt words, barely even a proper sentence, and she softens again as he simply nods and begins methodically eating - she was unlikely to have poisoned rather than killed him outright, plus any drugs would more than likely be ineffective against him.

“I’ll leave you too it a bit then, don’t worry though, I’ll be back in a moment,” she gives him that gentle smile he’d first seen her with and disappears with a swish of her skirt.

True to your word, you return before he’s finished wolfing down the meal, pile of clothes in hand. His are nowhere to be seen, but the new ones you lay at the end of the bed are too big for you, and the colours are more muted and reminiscent of his.

“I hope you don’t mind, your clothes were in pretty bad shape so I got a hold of some new ones for you. Nothing crazy, simple pants and shirt I’m afraid” you explain, and he looks at them sharply, totalling up the costs you’re wringing from him with these kind smiles and generosities. 

You continue on, not waiting for his reply, “Ah, I almost forgot introductions in the wake of, well everything really! So have you got a name, handsome?”

A wink at the end of your question makes him certain you’re joking with your flirtations, but they still flicker something in his stomach, annoyance perhaps.

“Mortarion.” he states simply.

If it's an odd name for the new planet he’s on you make no mention of it, simply smiling brightly and clapping your hands together.

“A lovely name, well Mortarion, I’ll let you get dressed then we can get you settled in properly - this room can be yours for as long as you want it, mine is just down the hall” you inform him.

That startles him a little, this cosy, intimate space filled with little touches was a guest room? 

He nods curtly. Getting dressed he can do, then the negotiations would begin.

You refused to let him negotiate or pay you in any form.

Not that he had money to pay you with, but seemingly no labour to be done nor any form of exchange he could promise you would be taken. He’d even promised to return with riches once he’d established himself, but you had raised an eyebrow at him in a manner which left him floored and slightly lost for words.

He can’t remember anyone ever treating him so casually.

You’d firmly told him to ask if he needed anything, and to come and go as he pleased.

The obvious conclusion was that you were far too soft for your own good, and that he would have to stay for a little while and repay you somehow.

Days pass much the same after that initial introduction.

He helps with whatever you ask of him, be it chopping ingredients or firewood. You never ask something difficult of him, and always praise him ardently for such a good job.

It confuses him greatly still, these tasks are not difficult ones, no great feat of strength or engineering, and he wagers any baseline could likely complete them with little difficulty. Also, it isn’t like he’s doing you a great favour to earn such praise - he owes you.

You house him, clothe him and feed him for some unfathomable reason, he doesn’t deserve platitudes for doing the bare minimum to somewhat earn his keep with you. He doesn’t deserve the soft smiles that crinkle your eyes.

“Thank you, that’s perfect,” you say, with your eyes locked onto his. 

It makes him weak in the knees because it’s strange, and you shouldn’t act in such a manner. 

Just like the nickname you’d given him, ‘Morty’. 

You call him by it when you call him for a hearty, home cooked dinner, beckoning him to sit with you, and he does.

Every mouthful feels like sin.

He’s taking food from you, he’s not doing anywhere near enough to earn the luxury you give him. A plush room, frequent bathing and food fit for the Emperor.

Guilt bubbles up in his throat and threatens to consume him as he thanks you.

Filling the rest of the day, you both talk, passing the time with an ease he hadn’t expected. You coax stories from him he hadn’t expected to share, and in turn talk about your own life, how you’d ended up in the woodland cottage, your hobbies - everything.

He leaves every night, convinced that he’ll start making proper attempts to return to the Imperium. To return to the work of his father, to the crusade and his legion. He’ll pick up the mantle of the Pale King once more and don his mask. The poisons of Barbarus will feel like home again, not this place.

He comes back every night, wiping off the evidence of his wander through the forest before he enters, knowingly entranced by the life he’s begun here. 

Though he starts up one final routine, one you’re involved in per say, but not aware of.

He’s not sure what starts it, the urge, but one night he slips into your room while you sleep. Despite his primarch hearing, he needs to see you, see you breathing, see you still there, not vanished off into the night like he’s taken to doing.

Every night since that very first time he finds himself in your room, bathed in moonlight and just watching.

The cycle continues: he helps where he’s needed in the day, eats with her, pretends to go to bed, sneaks out telling himself that this is it, and later finds himself in her bedroom, just watching, breathing her in. 

The guilt continues to eat at him, but he slowly stops bothering to leave, not deluding himself further with the idea he can actually stay away. She has him completely hooked, it’s useless to deny it any longer. Instead, he just lets the maelstrom of emotions eat at him until he can’t stand it any longer.

That’s when he ends up in her room for the evening, when those thoughts get too loud and he needs to be near you for them to quieten.

Tonight is no different, the moon casting her room in a pale silvery light that illuminates you like an angel.

You roll, turning slightly and mumbling incoherently. It’s not uncommon for you to do so, and occasionally he catches snippets of words. They range massively between talking of fruit and whispering his own name.

The first time you did so, he panicked so heavily that sweat pooled on his brow and the back of his neck, thinking you’d woken up.

Then when you made no further move, safely asleep, he calmed down and realised you’d simply been dreaming. Of him.

It was natural, natural. 

You lived together, people dreamed of their lives, he was a part of your life. You dreamed of him sometimes. 

Sometimes, when you dreamed of him, when his name tumbled from your lips, he thought you moaned. It was wishful thinking, just hearing you dream of him had his cock half-hard, but when you said it just right, like you were begging him, he would have to leave your room back to his own.

His scrap of cloth was well worn, the crustiness reminding him of how his skin used to be similar, hard and crumbling. Yet it served its purpose. A vial of oil was never something he’d had to keep on hand before.

He never lasted long on the nights when you said his name like that, only a few oil slicked strokes and he was spilling over, murmuring your name just like you’d said his.

The guilt grows worse again then, the clarity that came after washing waves of shame over him as he slips into his own bed for the night. He resolves that on nights like those he wasn’t allowed to go back to your room, that he had to make up for it by working harder the next day too, going the extra mile even if you’d never know why.

You’d tossed and turned a little more than usual tonight, mumbles more frequent but less coherent. 

“Mortarion-” his name tumbles from your lips.

His next breath in is shaky, a slight hiss sounding as he sucks in shallowly.

“Mortarion?” you say, far less sleepy. More panicked, more awake.

“Morty, is that you?” she asks, a slight tinge of fear to her voice as she moves to quickly sit, rubbing her eyes desperately.

You'd woken up.

As desperately as he wants to run, his feet hold him fast to the floor.

“Yes,” he says, fear in his voice echoing yours, fear that you’ll throw him out screaming, “it’s me.”

“Oh.”

You hum, clearly thoroughly awake now.

“Well don’t just stand there, hmm?” she says cheerfully, all hints of fear gone as she scoots over in the bed and lifts half of the covers in a clear invitation to join her.

That’s how a new nightly ritual is born. Not every night, albeit most nights, you go to bed alone and wake up with a large man cuddled right up next to you, silvery hair fanned out around him and a peaceful expression on his face.

You often wake him in the morning with a dollop of moisturiser to the nose, carefully rubbing it into his cracked skin.

It’s early spring when he first arrived, and now in mid-summer he feels like he’s finally finding his footing here.

Though it’s still ‘her home’ to him, no matter how often you correct him that it’s his too for as long as he wants it.

No longer does he sneak out guiltily every night, instead sleeping in his own bed and occasionally slinking into your room, seeking out that affection he’d begun to crave worse than a hive-world addict.

It’s easy to justify in the night, when you’re bleary and half-asleep while you’re inviting him to lay next to you. Now, when you’re both just relaxing in the garden and you beckon him over? His stomach does aerial acrobatics as his feet obey you.

He settles next to you on the cool grass as directed, head tilted slightly while he waits for you to explain.

“It’s such a nice summer day, we really ought to take the rest of it off,” you say to him with an indulgent smile.

Ah, a day off. A novel idea to him at first, but you had insisted on them often, taking full or half days as you pleased, and forcing him to do so too. 

She pulls him down towards her, and he offers no resistance, letting her arrange him until his head is nestled into her lap. He’s glad to be faced away as his cheeks light up in a furious blush.

“Comfy?” she asks, her fingers threading through his hair.

He nods, nuzzling his head into her thighs as he does, and the feeling of his cheek against the soft fabric separating their skin sends tingling through his whole body.

She leans back into the tree behind her, one hand leafing through the book in her hand, the other idly stroking his head and hair. His hair that caught the sun in brilliant shades of silvery grey, hair that was always soft, clean and untangled these days.

The sun beats down on them both, partially shaded by the tree, warmth making his body go completely lax. He doesn’t feel himself drift off to sleep.

Days pass, and he tries to resist, he really, really tries.

You’re alone together again in the garden, a perfect day. Light breeze, shining sun, and chirping birdsong. It was decreed to be a day best spent gardening, so you’d dressed in a skirt you didn’t mind getting a little dirty and dragged him outside.

Then it happened. The scent of your floral perfume and natural musk mingling with the scent of rich earth and roses you were both tending to threatened to overwhelm him, and his cock sprung to life with need.

It wasn’t the first time, of course, but normally he was alone, able to work it out before seeing you again. The need within him was raw and animalistic, made harder by the fact you were kneeling, bent over with your hands on the ground in front of him.

He does try to resist, whole body straining to save the one good thing he has.

He fails miserably, and before his mind knows what his body is doing he’s atop her, body pining hers down completely. She’s oh so soft beneath him, face pressed into the earth, hips up in the air as one of his legs holds both of hers down at the bend of the knee. 

A low moan escapes him that starkly contrasts her cry of shock, and one of his hands snakes into his pockets to pull out the vial of oil he’d taken to keeping. 

His head feels like it’s throbbing, heart pounding as he rips the crotch of his pants wide open and begins pouring a liberal amount of oil over his cock. She wasn’t a baseline who would need significant preparation, but she deserved far more than this even, and certainly not the pain of dry friction. Precum was already leaking from his painfully hard dick as he gave himself a few quick strokes to spread the oil. 

His head buries itself into her shoulder, breathy moans echoing in her ear as he prepares to beg his apologies. He doesn’t expect to be forgiven, he expects to lose everything he’s gained so far and go live exiled into the woods. 

What he doesn’t expect is for her ass to grind into his hips, rubbing desperately against his as her back arches downwards and presents the rest of herself to him. 

“Please, Mortarion, please - I need you” she pleads, and he loses the thin shreds of control he had left. 

She needed him? By the throne…

He pulls himself off her back and rips away the skirt, fabric falling to ribbons beneath his fingers. 

A wild, guttural moan vibrates through him - she isn’t wearing a lick of underwear, presenting her fully exposed slit already glistening beneath him. She was already wet, already slick, for him.

He sinks into her velvety folds without a second thought, and her heat clenching around him is so completely divine that he almost finishes right there. It takes every inch of his strength and control not to, determined to hold on at least a little longer. 

She feels better than he could have ever imagined, and the way she keens as he buries himself within her has his dick twitching inside her before he can even think to start moving. He’s only been in her for seconds and he doesn’t think he could ever live without her warmth, he doesn’t even think he can move from this spot - wrapped completely around her and completely dazed.

It’s not until she starts whining and writhing beneath him, trying to fuck herself on his cock rather fruitlessly that he starts up again. 

He slides, backwards, only a few inches, dragging the length of his cock slowly and deliberately down her sensitive walls, before almost stutteringly thrusting himself back in. 

The clench of her wall around his is more addictive than any high and it elicits sounds from her that would put the choirs of Terra to shame with how heavenly they were. His name over and over on her lips, a sound he would never tire of hearing.

His pace quickens, sloppily pulling out further and further while thrusting with more force in every stroke, every bounce of her body against his punctuated with a wanton cry.

The curve of your ass presses into his abdomen with every stroke, and the soft jiggle sent electric throughout his whole body, sensation starting to overwhelm him as it combined with the myriad of emotions and feelings raging through him.

Like a man possessed he keeps driving his hips into yours, over and over in a frantic rhythm, managing to plunge himself deeper each time. Heavy balls slam into her clit and serve to make her squirm more with the pulsing pattern it creates.

The scent of you drives him to madness as he flattens himself into you, his chest coming flush with your back so he can inhale your hair and feel all of your body against his at the same time.

His arm comes beneath her head, caging her against him and shielding her face from being repeatedly fucked into the dirt any further. Your lips and warm breath against his skin sending tremors through him was only another added bonus.

The other arm comes around underneath, sliding her shirt up and palming at her stomach needily. His fingers claw into her soft flesh, moving further upwards with every grope until he finds her breasts and clumsily latch onto a nipple.

“Yes, yes, there!” you cry out, muffled by his arm as you continue to rock and bounce back into him.

The praise spurs him onwards, rolling your perked nipple in what he hopes and prays is the right way to have you feeling the way he is, though he doubts that he could ever make you feel the way he does right now, on the brink of mentally shattering.

“More, more please!” you whine. 

You want more, you want more, you want him.

“Morty, please, please, I’m going to -” there’s no need for you to finish your sentence as he feels the moment you cum around him, squeezing so tightly he can barely move and making his vision blank with white.

Immediately, he follows suit, shooting ropes straight into you and fucking the cum up further with every thrust. Despite the endless torrents of cum he’s seemingly producing and speed at which he’s still going, very little ends up leaking out. Every drop that does, however, sends him further in to a frenzy, angling himself till he’s fucking harder and deeper.

He’s still pounding her through both of their orgasms when he feels it, something he’s not felt before when jerking into his own hand, his cock is almost burning, throbbing like nothing he’s ever experienced.

It makes him shudder and come to a stop while buried deep inside, gasping and clawing.

When the base of his cock begins swelling, he has absolutely no idea what to do except stay put, sheathed completely inside of you and moaning like a whore still. It swells more and more, inflating like a balloon locking him into you, and he can’t help but feel secretly delighted by this new discovery.

After a long moment, the two of you just lying there, bodies and fluids mingling, she begins coming back to reality somewhat, body twitching beneath him.

She looks down with a heavy lidded gaze, speaking softly, “Honey darling, what is that?”

He has no answer for her, not knowing himself, instead he holds her closer and tucks her head under his before responding, “I-, I don’t know.”

The pleasure that crashed over him and almost consumed his mind and body receded a little as he admitted it, and he thought back on what he’d just done.

Pounding her like a beast isn’t how he wanted to take her, he wanted to woo her, treat her as softly as she ought to be, but when she drools into the arm positioned under her head and still whispers his name like a prayer he can’t bring himself to care.

A little bit of hope blossomed in his chest. 

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let him stay, let him treat you properly.

He shifts slightly, resting his weight onto her without crushing her, letting him inhale her scent deeply and relax slightly. The knot stays firmly lodged, shooting waves of residual pleasure through his core.

Guilt still gnaws at him slightly as he reminds himself of who he is. You, a sweet, beautiful, divine thing were trapped against him, trapped against a monster - a beast.

“I��m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, shame welling up in his throat.

You tilt your head back around to look at him like he’s certifiably insane, and then manage to slur out words that sound like, ‘What for?’

There’s a look of pure bliss and innocence on your face that sharply contradicts the position you’re both in. The way you look at him like a man, not a primarch, not the pale king, just seeing straight into him and staying, letting him stay has him breaking down into tears.

They stream down his face hot and fast, dripping onto your back at an alarming rate. He can barely see through the bleary, watery film they create over his eyes.

It’s difficult for her to reach around and comfort him with the position the knot holds her in, but she somehow manages to caress his face and wipe away the bulk of tears while hushing him gently.

“Hushh, none of that, you did so well, you’re doing good for me, honey,” you gently reassure him, but the words only serve to make his chest shake with choked sobs.

Her fingers give up on clearing the tears and instead brush against his face, then his neck, trailing down to his torso as she traces simple shapes and swirls into his skin until he calms a little.

“What am I going to do with you, hmmm?” she teases, but her tone is so light and gentle that it feels like she’s making a promise, “I think that I’m going to have to take you home, wash you up and cuddle you all night long. Now how does that sound?”

‘Like heaven’, he wants to reply.

Instead, he simply nods, dropping his face into the crook of her neck and letting the tears run out.

Some time later, she stays true to her word, gently disconnecting from him and leading him back up to the house with a dopey smile on her face and a hand firmly grasping his.

He could get used to this, very used to this.

And maybe, just maybe, he can stay forever too.

[bittertasteofhoney]

Like Real People Do | Ch. 7

Sometimes

Summary: Suddenly, the outside world creeps in and those monsters that never get into Jackson catch you just beyond the gates. For the first time, both Miller brothers are terrified of losing you.

|| angst, guns, gunshots, gunshot wounds, infected, clicker, jackson!tommy, jackson!joel, smut, jackson!tommy x f!reader, reader is afab, tommy au, maria and tommy are not together in this fic||

Notes: The torture continues…please accept my virtual hugs and kisses as recompense. Pssssst... we’re almost at the end, folks! One (or two) more chapters to go...

The characters, names and characterizations belong to HBO Max and The Last of Us franchise. This work is my creative property and aside from re-blogs and shares, I do not give permission to share or copy my work without permission or consent.

Previous Chapter.

In an uncharacteristic move, you took a few days off work to avoid the Miller brothers entirely. You only left your house to pick up your weekly rations. Apart from that, you lay in bed longer than necessary, padded around the house, tidying up and sitting on your back porch, just watching the flow of Jackson pass you by. 

By the third day, you were absolutely losing your mind. You added yourself to the patrol lineup, taking the second patrol with Joel on a particularly gloomy Wednesday morning. You felt the pressure in the air long before you hopped down your front porch. By the time you met up with Dina, Jesse, Ellie and Joel, you had a headache brewing that you knew was far from over. 

Today was going to be a fucking delight.

When you joined the circle of familiar faces for the morning briefing, you caught Joel’s eye. They looked sad and closed off, which caught you off guard. You blushed, remembering how you left him hanging in the mess hall and offered him a sheepish smile. It did nothing to change the expression on his face. Almost chastised, you looked at the ground while the first patrol’s leader finished filling everyone in.

Your ears perked up when you heard the word ‘infected.’ You looked at the spindly brunette and tilted your head in confusion. Sure, you sometimes spotted infected miles from the settlement, but you were more likely to come across raiders than a genuine clicker. The most action patrollers got was shooting them from miles off. It had been a long time since anyone got closer enough to risk an attack. So long that you’d never heard of it happening during your time at Jackson.

Your chest tightened with anxiety, and you glanced at Joel, who looked as if he had reapplied his well-known, hard exterior. He didn’t look as anxious as everyone else in the group; he seemed almost calm. 

Your mind drifted back to Tommy’s throwaway comment about Ellie and Joel and the horrors they encountered on their way to Jackson to find him. You remembered coming across infected, which was a regular occurrence for the duo, given the number of miles they covered.

With a nervous buzzing energy, the group of patrollers paired off. You walked alone to the stables while Joel hung back to more than likely give Dina and Ellie a lecture, and by the time Maple was almost entirely tacked up, he finally strode it.

He muttered a low sorry for keeping you waiting, which you nodded to in response. You ran your fingers through Maple’s mane while you waited, humming to yourself and tracing patterns of little importance. After a few moments, you jumped to see Joel watching you from the opening of his horse’s stall. 

He blushed when he was caught looking. “You ready?”

You nodded, shaking off the embarrassment and leading your horse into the morning light. 

The patrol was tense, and not just because of the possible infected in the area. Joel was doing his best not to be angry at you and Tommy, but his ego was preventing him from acting rationally. He felt like an idiot for going on about how pretty he thought you were to his brother and for pushing into your free time whenever he worked up the nerve.

He felt like he was doing nothing but bothering you.

Meanwhile, you tried to keep your composure as you scanned the treeline again and again for any slight movement. Everything made you jump, whether it was a squirrel or a breeze. After a while, your nerves were frayed, but it was still a welcome distraction. You could be wondering why Joel was avoiding looking at you, but you didn’t let your mind wander in that direction just yet. 

One hour passed, then two, then three, until finally, the static of the walkie-talkie interrupted your tense reconnaissance.

At first, you couldn’t make out the words coming from across the channel. There was so much interference that the person attempting to whisper on the other line wasn’t getting anything across. It wasn’t until you heard a bone-chilling scream that you knew something was gravely wrong. 

Your wide eyes flew to Joel as the two of you attempted to calm your spooked horses. 

He quickly jammed his finger on the call button. “Ellie?! Dina? Jesse?” Each name was punctuated by a tense moment of silence before he continued down the roll call. Everyone marked themselves as safe until he called for Isaac. No answer .

“Fuck!” You kicked your legs into your horse’s haunches, causing Maple to fly off. Joel screamed your name behind you, but you ignored him and headed for the East trail. 

On your own walkie-talkie, you heard Joel tell the rest of the team to stay put and that he and you were responding. You heard his horse’s hooves behind you a few moments later. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Going to help Isaac. What the fuck does it look like?!” You leaned in and communicated to your horse to speed up again. In a breath, you felt a hand grab the back of your shirt before it shifted to your horse’s reins to slow it down. “Joel, what the fuck!”

He shot you a murderous look. “We can’t just go in guns ablazin’. We need to be smart about this or he’s not the only one who’s going to get hurt.” 

You panted and looked at him before nodding. “You’re right.” You let out a breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. He’s just so green and he sounded so-”

“I know. We’ll get to him. I promise.”

He didn’t promise that Isaac was going to be okay. None of you could promise that. 

He released your reins, and the two of you continued in that direction slowly until you were just a few minutes away from Isaac’s predicted location. You tied up the horses and dismounted before continuing on foot. 

Each step tested your resilience as the stress within you built and built before almost becoming insufferable. Where the fuck was he?

You moved ahead of Joel, veering a bit to the right in the underbrush before you heard a light moan. You froze and turned your head slowly to see Isaac’s crumpled form leaning on a fallen tree. 

Joel, attuned to your rhythms, paused and looked at you. You didn’t even bother looking back before nodding your head. He quietly raised his gun and began scanning your immediate surroundings while you took one painfully slow step after the other to the newbie.

Once you were finally to him, you let out a breathy exhale and knelt on the ground. He looked up from his fetal position, and the fear in his eyes rooted you to the spot. You wanted to whisper that it would be okay, but you knew that was too much of a risk right now, so you just nodded and tried your best to communicate that he was safe now.

It was going to be okay.

Slowly, you removed your backpack and placed it gently on the ground. Your fingers found your zipper, and you paused. Would this be quiet enough? You closed your eyes and began to move the piece of metal over the track before the sound of branches cracking halted your movements. 

All three of you froze. Then, the unmistakable click permeated the air. Your head snapped up to see a mushroom-like split face hurtling itself through the thick brush and into the air to tackle you. 

It couldn’t have been more than a second, but you still reached around to grab your pistol and open your mouth to scream Joel’s name. It was just a second.

But in that second, you were thrown down onto the ground by the clicker’s weight. You screamed and barely registered that your pistol had been knocked out of your hand. 

All you could think about was how you could not die this way, so you pushed against its neck, straining against the supernaturally strong monster. 

It was maybe two seconds.

Just two seconds. One for each shot that rang out. 

One came from Joel. Perfectly positioned to hit the clicker right in the head, knocking it partially off you and to the ground.

The second came from Isaac, who somehow, in the thrall, managed to grab your pistol, aim it at the clicker and mistakenly shoot your shoulder. 

Your head fell back against the ground as you panted in pain. Joel ran over to you, kicked the infected off you, and palmed your body, checking for any signs of bites. When he clocked the gunshot wound in your shoulder, his world completely froze. 

You met his eyes, and both of you panicked. 

“It’s okay, Joel. I’m okay. He didn’t mean to. He’s green-”

Joel launched himself at the kid, and you rolled onto your side to crawl over to them. “Joel!”

You tried to grab the back of his flannel, but fire tore through your upper body from the movement. You fell back with a pained whimper, and Joel immediately stopped after hearing you. 

He was over you in a second.

You tried to give him a smile. “It’s not that bad. I just need help getting up.” He nodded, grabbed your good arm, and slowly helped you upright. 

You looked at Isaac, who was practically in tears. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be okay. It was a mistake. You were trying to help.” He hiccuped and nodded. God, he was just a fucking kid. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. You spotted a gash on his knee and closed your eyes. “You’re okay, right?” 

He nodded again, scared to look at anyone but you.

Joel continued to glare at him. “This is the last fuckin’ time you’re on patrol. You’re on gardens or construction or whatever the fuck. Not fuckin’ patrol. You’re lucky she isn’t dead, or you’d be. Got it?” His voice was venomous. 

“Joel.” He turned to look at you, and you just shook your head. 

He looked away and helped you back to your horses with a dejected Isaac following behind. 

It was a fast and painful ride back to Jackson led by a paranoid Joel who was scared you’d lose too much blood. Isaac struggled to keep up with your pace, and even you had to admit it made you dizzy. You leaned back against Joel and closed your eyes, trying to focus on literally anything so you wouldn’t be sick.

The real frenzy began when you were cleared to come through the gates. Multiple persons crowded around you as Joel helped you off the horse, and you couldn’t even focus on any of them. 

It wasn’t until you heard someone scream your name that the world came into focus. Tommy. You were sitting on a bench in front of the city council while one of the town’s medics temporarily dressed your wound when you saw him sprinting down the street to you. Joel, who was leaning in front of you, snapped his head in that direction. His already dark look became stormier once he saw his brother. 

The medic pressed a cloth into your shoulder, and whatever it was soaked in made your wound sting. Your head fell forward, and Joel looked back at you with concern. 

You heard your name again, and suddenly, two Millers crouched before you. One looked ready to punch someone, and the other looked scared out of his mind. 

“What the hell happened?!”

“She was shot, Tommy, what the hell does it look like?”

“How the fuck did this happen?”

“That fuckin’ newbie you approved to go on patrol today. It was too soon. If I see his ass on patrol again, I’m fuckin’ draggin’ him back to the gates myself. She could have died Tommy!”

“And you don’t think I fuckin’ know that?!”

Their bickering was making you light-headed. They screamed at each other, only an inch apart and probably a moment away from exchanging fists instead of words. You looked over Tommy’s shoulder to see a scared Ellie and Dina watching the scene.

You caught Ellie’s eye and gave her a smile, mouthing, ‘I’m okay.’ She nodded, still looking afraid but slightly calmer. 

“Joel.” Your quiet interruption caused the two brothers to freeze.

“Can you help me to the hospital so they can get this bullet out of my arm so I can go the hell home?” 

He quickly moved to help you to your feet, and you tried your hardest not to look at Tommy, who looked like you just shot him as well. 

By the time night fell, the bullet was out of your arm, and you were safely deposited onto your couch with a grumpy Joel watching over you. 

“Can I get you anythin’? Water? Coffee? You got any food?”

You shook your head. “Not hungry. I’m okay, Joel. It’s just my arm.”

“You could have died today. This shouldn’t have happened.” It was taking everything in this man to avoid pacing nervously. 

In a quiet voice, you said, “Please. Stop reminding me. I know.” He looked at you with dark, sad eyes. “All I could think was ‘please don’t let this be it’. I was fucking terrified.”

He moved to sit next to you on the couch. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged and winced at the movement. “S’not your fault. We know this could happen. And today was just the day it did.”

He just looked at you, his chocolate eyes full of so many questions. Before he could ask them, someone started banging on your door.

A muffled voice carried into your home, sounding an awful lot like your name spoken by Tommmy in terrified tones. 

After a few bangs, you looked at Joel. “Please tell him to go. I…I can’t. Not right now.” You bit your lip in pain as you slowly stood and walked toward your staircase and up the stairs. 

Joel watched you with a confused expression but didn’t say a word. He thought you and Tommy were together, so why did you suddenly not want to see him? He would’ve done anything for you at that moment, so he waited until you were up the stairs before answering the door.

“Tommy. She’s resting. Let her rest.”

Tommy’s voice cracked. “I just want to see her, Joel, please.” He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Joel just shook his head. “I don’t know what you did to fuck this up but she doesn’t want to talk right now. In her own time.”

The younger Miller huffed and took a step back, nodding. He swiped his hand across his face before nodding again. “Fine. I’ll be back. Tell her, please. I’ll get some more banages for her and pick up her rations.” 

With a mental list forming, Tommy bounded down the steps to find anything he could do to make this just a little easier for you. When his brother was down the path and onto the street, he walked back inside and locked the door.

He looked at your staircase. He imagined walking up there to meet you, but he could never have predicted these circumstances. 

He found you sitting on the edge of your bed, nervously fiddling with your fingers. You lifted your eyes to glance at him when his frame filled your bedroom door. He leaned against it, crossing his arms.

“Is he gone?” 

He nodded.

“I’m sorry, Joel.” Your voice cracked, and he bounded over you again, squatting before you.

“Hey, hey.” He gingerly placed a hand on your knee and squeezed. You look at him through watery eyes. “I don’t know why you’re sorry. Hell, we all have reasons to be apologizing to you right now.”

You laughed and sniffled. “I…Tommy and me…”

He nodded. “I know.” 

Your eyes widened. “How…how did you…?”

“You both were careful but there were little things.” He shrugged, stopping himself. Like hell was he going to admit he was rooting for himself to win your affection. “Should’ve known. Tommy was never much good at staying away from brilliant women. I just hope he knows you’re too good for him.”

Your eyes filled with tears again as you crumpled forward to bury your face in your hands. The emotions of the past few weeks and the day caught up to you in roiling waves that had you fighting against the undertow of your emotions.

And through every tear, Joel held you and promised it would be okay.

Tag List :) @lemonboi @spnfic85 @keseqna @elegantduckturtle @woodxtock

[toniejestblog]

Don’t mind me, I’m just thinking how culturally and socially we are conditioned to choose Verso’s ending.

Disclaimer: This is not anti-/pro- any Ending (even if I skew a little). This is just me trying to make sense of it, outside the discourse and interpretations concerning character perspective and intrinsic motivations (Verso and Maelle), agency and its theft, micro vs macro scale of the worldbuilding, the sentience of Lumière citizens and value of art, and, letting go of the grief. In this ramble, I focus solely on the storytelling element across majorly Western cultures, our mortality system, and how this would unconsciously bias our choice.

Another disclaimer: I’m all for healthily processing grief. Sadly, I don’t see it in what was shown in either ending. I see it, however, in events that could potentially happen later in both endings.

Obvious spoilers under the cut.

Point I: the Monomyth, i.e. the Hero comes back to their world changed, once the journey is over

In countless media we see characters embark on beautiful journeys across other worlds, be in different dimensions, alternatives timelines, or fictional universes. These stories also often feature antagonists who struggle with grief and the desire to reverse loss at great cost. Such narratives almost always resolve with a “return”: the hero had their adventure, they’ve grown ("You will know love and you will know pain" Maelle's canvas mother said), and now it’s time to go back to the “real” world, the one that matters (cue the Monomyth).

However, I wonder if the above character archetype/story structure can be so easily applied to Clair Obscur due its own unique worldbuilding.

To say that Alicia (now Maelle) has "grown enough" in the Canvas, and must return to her "original world" is based on the classic reading of the Monomyth, and this view posits her as the typical heroine who is an intruder, or visitor, to a different realm and who ultimately needs to leave (she falls into Canvas as Alice falls into Rabbit Hole). But Alicia, although literally, doesn’t just fall into the Canvas—she lives two full lives within it, and thus, enters a liminal stage. She spent two different lives in two different dimensions, and her existence had two very different natures (one reborned as Maelle, a Canvas mortal, and one as Alicia, an outsider god). The classical western storytelling would argue against that liminality. The comeback to the "real" world is inevitable.

Farah Mendlesohn, in Rhetorics of Fantasy (2008), discusses "portal-quest" fantasies, that is narratives where protagonists enter magical worlds through portals but must eventually return. These stories preserve the “real” world’s dominance and often serve as allegories for growth and reintegration. If we apply that frame here, choosing Verso’s ending mimics this familiar pattern. But Clair Obscur at the same time resists that closure. The story could be not about returning, but remaining and transforming (Alicia becoming not a Paintress in the end, but a Curator; but that's for a different post).

It’s okay if anyone sees it in this way, you can feel any way you like about the game. But personally, I think of Barthes' concept of the “Death of the Author” (1977) which argues that player interpretation is shaped by cultural templates. This would explain why, most people, could be naturally drawn to Verso’s ending (for this particular reason amongst other reasons), because that’s what we are used to; firstly by the character archetype and secondly by the story structure.

Point II: Death gives meaning to life

It’s interesting how we only attach meaning to life if there is death. How life is only worth it if it ends, just like everything else. If it's not ephemeral, it's not beautiful. The finality of death is what serves for us as a warning and guiding point. We grow and change because we can die one day. This belief runs deep in Western existentialism. Heidegger argues that only through the awareness of death (Being-toward-death) can individuals live authentically (1927). Moreover, we are constantly reminded of the threat of immortality and how it strips away morality, humanity, and any meaning to our actions in a very nihilistic way.

The destruction of the canvas brings closure and finality, and, because it ends in ultimate death (in and outside the Canvas), it gives meaning to Verso’s life. And we want his life to have meaning, we want all our deaths to matter. But Verso’s life and death are also more than the ones he had outside, or inside, the Canvas.

For me, In Clair Obscur, it feels like projecting our, players’ reality, and assigning value from our mortality system, onto the game’s reality. And understandably so. But the game ‘s world offers its own systems.

Painted!Clea says "Don’t worry, death in there isn’t final. Every Canvas has its own rules. And I find death a boring outcome. Don’t you, Alicia?"

Young, original Verso gave Gestrals the reincarnation river, what they call "the gift of new beginnings" which is, ultimately (very importantly) a voluntary decision on their side. The argument I often see, is that in Maelle’s ending she robs people of mortality, as she can revive them with her godlike Painter powers, and thus, makes their life meaningless. There is no direct evidence supporting that (and as most things in both endings it relies on speculation), and moreover their new found immortality (or renewed mortality) does not have to be as binding for them as it was for Painted!Verso. Multiple lifetimes can be as beautiful and valuable as only one. For P!Verso, his painted life was not really his own and thus he found no silver lining in it (not to mention it being stained by other people's grief). Maelle-Alicia, in her second life which was her own and not bereft of agency, found purpose and inspiration (similarly to characters in Pratchett's Thief of Time (2001)).

(Bonus) Point III: narrative structures, we love parallelism

Eagleton (2003) argues that Western narratives fetishize tragedy as morally redemptive and aesthetically satisfying (Verso's continuous sacrifice which starts the story and ends the story).The Clair Obscur begins with creation of the Canvas and ends with its destruction. This mimics Genesis-to-Apocalypse narrative arcs prominent in Judeo-Christian storytelling traditions. Verso's ending offers rhythm and symmetry. (At least on the surface) it's a cleaner cut with much less space for speculation than in Maelle's ending. Her ending feels more emotionally and ethically complicated ergo narratively unfinished. Its ambiguity is more post-modern than Verso's more traditional,classical ending.

TLDR; We repeat familiar narrative patterns from (Western) storytelling culture which is built around dualism (life/death, good/evil)("You think in false dichotomies" Lune tells us and Verso), and we gravitate towards familiarity and closure they offer. We’re drawn to the hero who returns, to death as the validator of life, and to the ending that "makes sense" in our cultural logic. But what if Clair Obscur asks: what if sense-making lies elsewhere?

You choose where.

[maxdibert]

It’s been a minute since i read the books but didn’t the Marauders used illegal spells on their victims, there’s the guy that almost died because they increased or inflated his head too much. The only difference between illegal and unforgivable that I can think is that illegal has a way to be reversed, which doesn’t make it better! The marauders still used nasty magic to bully people but the double standards and their fan’s hypocrisy are never ending

And so is their illiteracy

The whole point of SWM is to set the tone for the seven years we didn’t see. It’s not a matter of perception or Snape’s biased pov. That’s exactly what the marauders were, why their fans never stop to think that if the assault was an isolated incident then the crowd would be in shock, or Lily would be surprised by James asking-bribing her to go out with him?

I mean, as if Rowling hadn’t made it crystal fucking clear that the Marauders were bullies. And not just because of what they did to Severus —which is already bad enough— but because Remus and Sirius themselves tell Harry straight up that James used to hex people in the hallways just because he felt like it. Like it was a casual hobby or something. And then, on top of that, we have official records —not biased memories, not Snape’s “perception”— actual school records stating that Sirius and James used an illegal spell on a guy called Bertrand Aubrey. Illegal. Not “questionable,” not “borderline,” not “a cheeky prank.” Fucking illegal. And if it’s illegal, it’s because it’s dangerous as hell. But of course, since they were the golden boys, the pretty ones, the teacher’s pets, they got away with everything. Always.

And the worst part? It’s the same goddamn pattern every time: two against one. Always ganging up. Always with numbers. Always with power. They knew nothing would happen to them, that no one would hold them accountable, so they just did whatever the hell they wanted. And still, even with all that evidence, people are out here saying it’s just “Snape’s biased perspective”? Are you kidding me? So what, Filch was sharing Snape’s hallucinations? Sirius and Remus just made it all up too? The school records were forged during one of Snape’s PTSD episodes? Come on. They just can’t handle the fact that the romanticized image they built around the Marauders falls apart when you actually read the damn books.

Honestly, these people either haven’t read anything properly or they’re so used to being spoon-fed by YA novels written like the audience has the cognitive level of a toddler that they can’t handle any subtlety in storytelling. It’s the literary version of the Nolan Syndrome: unless you explain something 40 times with dramatic music and a slow zoom, they just don’t get it. They don’t know how to read between the lines, they miss the tone, they completely overlook the fact that Harry’s horror when he watches that memory is the emotional core of that entire scene. They can’t seem to grasp that Rowling chose that specific moment not because it was an outlier, but because it was the norm. That wasn’t a “bad day.” That was the usual shit Snape had to endure. It was systemic.

So no, it’s not “in Snape’s head.” It’s on the damn page. It’s in the words of the very characters you worship. It’s in the school’s official records. It’s in Harry’s reaction. It’s embedded in the very structure of the narrative. But no, they can’t accept it. It kills them to admit their faves were the aggressors. That their beloved Marauders were entitled little bastards with way too much impunity and absolutely no self-awareness. But hey, if you need gifs and bullet points to understand basic storytelling, maybe the problem isn’t Snape. Maybe you just don’t know how to read.

[lexithestarqueen]

I love how Rumi's patterns look like open wounds :D

I love seeing my favorite characters in extreme pain :3

[lostsyren]

Sofia/Rafe/Kie…OBX’s Latest Love Triangle?

I think I’ve finally understood why I can’t get behind the Sofia/Rafe/Kie love triangle plot line, or any kinda interaction between the three characters with a shipping dynamic in mind.

The (clearly fabricated) rumours or Rafe and Kie becoming a thing, while Rafe and Sofia are trying to patch things up (?) is just odd. And having both of them be linked to him in a romantic sense gives the impression he is a prize— something to be coveted and fought over. His affection is worth something.

When it is not. (I’m not talking about fanon and policing who you can and can’t ship— do whatever!! Purely talking about the narrative of the show!!)

If anything, his affection is an affliction— it actively hurts the person who he bestows it on. Whether that be Ward, Wheezie, Barry etc.…he’s hurt them all in some capacity. Trying to “save” Ward by killing the Sherriff. Offering Wheezie drugs. Dragging Barry into his bullshit.

And he does the same thing with Sofia tenfold. We see his affection multiplied, thus the affliction Sofia feels is multiplied too. (This point is disputable cuz objectively, the other people in his life have been affected way worse…BUT I think Sofia suffered more in the sense that she was so high off the ground on the fantasy that Rafe fed her, that when it inevitably came crashing down, she fell harder, as she loved him more [don’t wanna hear anything, that girl LOVED that man, she lost all self respect idc!!]).

So, if we’re to suddenly have a plot point where Rafe and Kie go through an arc of growth and healing together, and Rafe becomes a viable option for her as a love interest, then this affection as affliction pattern will be lost. It will be wildly out of character. There should be no world where getting with Rafe Cameron promotes growth and healing, which is what Kie’s arc should be heading towards.

[ And if we consider what their relationship would look like if it was in character…

Firstly, I don’t think Kiara will hold him accountable. What power does she have? She can anger him, she can remind him of his mistakes. She’s fearless and just. But Rafe wouldn’t just bend so easily to her word. (Don’t bring up Singh’s mansion pleaseee, he was only nodding his head and biting his tongue cuz he was about to get killed, his compliance was not because of kie). Secondly, Rafe will probably get violent. Anytime anyone mentions his crimes, he gets defensive. He is not hurting kie because he wants to fuck her in some weird sadistic power play, he’s hurting the thing that’s making the noise…the object that’s announcing the trauma that he hides from. (That’s why the “I’m a killer too” line was so odd…why is he admitting it?? I feel as if him being cognisant of the fact he is a killer should’ve been more profound😭) And thirdly, someone who can’t shut up even if her life depended on it, and someone who will physically subdue a person if they’re saying something he doesn’t like, having a romance seems so stupid…when they can’t even have a conversation. ]

Okay I went off on a tangent. Lemme get back to the point— Sofia and Kiara both liaising with Rafe gives the impression that Rafe is being proffered as a prize.

The ‘who will he choose/who is better for him’ narrative that it will imply, is so odd. And this fandom is already doing that (I’ve probably written some post about this too cuz it literally points you in that direction of thinking).

Like please, get that man away from kiara. If they do bond, it becoming romantic will feel so out of place.

I understand it looks like I have a contradictory perspective, considering I ship him with Sofia. BUT his relationship with Sofia only highlights his character better imo. It clarifies he isn’t villainous all the time, but it also conveys he can’t be with someone unless that person enables him blindly. Them developing Rafe and Sofia’s bond further will be interesting to see, now that the wool has been peeled off both their eyes; Rafe is once again struggling to deal with a betrayal from someone he trusted/loved/cared about, and Sofia being forced to actually assert herself if she wants to be with him and save what they had. It pushes both their characters in a direction where they’ll get developed whilst also retaining their nature.

And Rafe is clearly NOT the prize in this situation. He’s not acting as Sofia’s saviour, or saving grace, he’s not helping her (even if he thinks he is).

I feel as if Rafe and kie shippers lean into this idea of Rafe being the one to aid Kie and help her come to terms with her grief– and that is the catalyst to push them towards each other…but idk that concept is so unappealing and odd to me. Sofia acts as a great romantic foil, where Rafe’s character is augmented…his harshness, his volatility, his cruelty. I just think people find asinine reasons not to like her character because they genuinely view her as an impediment to their ship rather than looking at her character objectively.

And then comes this stance of well there’s other characters that are more important than Sofia who Rafe should have scenes with…and I agree, his relationship with Sarah is indisputably the most salient one and deserves development/closure. But it’s a TV show…you can have more than one storyline… stop pulling reasons out of thin air to get mad at the fact Fiona was spotted on set and her scenes are with Drew.

Conclusion is, yayyyy Sofia/Fiona are getting more scenes, and I’m excited to see what they do with her. But I really hope that it doesn’t involve Kie cuz it will just worsen/obfuscate the development for Kie, Sofia and Rafe.

[boycottthetestaments]

Elisabeth Moss on June and Serena — Why It’s Not Just Wrong, It’s Dangerous

🗣️ “I view them as the great love story of the show. They do love each other. If love is truly understanding somebody and loving them despite every invitation not to, and understanding who somebody is, that’s June and Serena.” – Elisabeth Moss

Let’s be very clear about something:

This is not revolutionary.

This is not feminist.

This is not Margaret Atwood’s message.

It is the glorification of a trauma bond, and it erases the very real abuse June endured.

💥 What is a trauma bond?

A trauma bond occurs when a survivor forms an emotional attachment to their abuser, often because the abuse is followed by intermittent kindness, or because the abuser controls access to safety, power, or protection.

In The Handmaid’s Tale, Serena Joy was an architect of June’s suffering. She helped enforce rape, sanctioned child theft, and co-created the regime that institutionalized this violence.

For Elisabeth Moss, an executive producer, to frame this dynamic as “love” or “beautiful” is not only grossly irresponsible, it’s a betrayal of every survivor who has tried to escape or recover from abuse.

📚 Margaret Atwood’s message

Atwood’s original novel was about systems of control, the loss of bodily autonomy, and how patriarchal regimes weaponize women against each other, not in a way that romanticizes it, but in a way that critiques it.

She showed us how women like Serena are not exceptions, they are tools of authoritarianism. They protect the system for the sliver of power it affords them. The Testaments continues this critique: Lydia manipulates the system, but she is not a hero, nor is she a martyr.

The idea that June would “love” Serena, in the romantic or soul-bonded sense Moss describes, contradicts the very heart of Atwood’s cautionary tale.

🧩 The Pattern

This isn’t just one comment.

It’s part of a broader trend in Season 6 and its press campaign to:

• Reframe June’s abusers as misunderstood allies

• Vilify characters like Nick, who were actually resisting from within

• Flatten love and resistance into toxic forgiveness and power consolidation

• Gaslight the audience into thinking they misunderstood what they’ve seen for six seasons

🚨 Why This Matters

This isn’t just about bad writing. It’s about narrative responsibility. When you romanticize abusers and ask audiences, especially female audiences, to accept “love” from the people who harmed them, you’re not telling a bold story. You’re selling a dangerous lie.

📣 We see the revisionism.

We remember the truth.

And we’re calling it out.

[shinygoldenangel]

Lauren French the TikToker is way gorgeous then your mom.

I recently spent some time scrolling through Lauren’s TikTok, and I have to be honest, i wouldn’t call her gorgeous. “Cute” feels like a more accurate word, especially for someone who’s still early in their journey. Almost every single post she shares is of herself in bikinis, over and over again. That kind of content sends a very clear message: “pick me.” It’s like she’s fishing for attention, relying on looks alone without showing much else. And that same pattern repeats itself on her Instagram page. There’s a sense that she’s stuck in this loop of posting the same kinds of photos and videos, hoping that’ll be enough. But here’s the thing, it’s not enough. It never is. And honestly, to me, it comes off as lazy. Not because she’s not pretty because she can be, but because she seems to be expecting everything to come to her just by showing up looking a certain way. That’s not how anything worthwhile works.

Contrast that with my mom’s story. My mom is not some TikTok star or Instagram influencer who gets endless likes for posting bikini pics or selfies. She didn’t get handed things on a silver platter. My mom worked incredibly hard like, physically, emotionally, mentally hard every single day of her life to carve out a place for herself in the world. She is a mother of two kids, and despite all the challenges that come with that, she continues to absolutely kill it in her career. She balances parenting, work, and her own ambitions with a level of dedication and grit that’s honestly awe-inspiring. Watching her push through exhaustion and setbacks to build a life she’s proud of has been one of the most important lessons of my life.

I know Lauren’s situation is different. She’s likely the only girl in her family. She’s probably never had to hear “no” in her life. I know her parents spoil her rotten. And that’s totally understandable, every family is different, and some kids grow up with more privileges than others. I’m not here to judge her upbringing. But I do know what it’s like to be that kid who gets everything they want without working for it, and I also know how that feels when you suddenly realize that it’s not enough to just coast on that.

Before my mom got pregnant and gave birth to my little sister, I was that kid, too. I had a pretty easy life compared to some, but what truly shaped me was the time I spent traveling with my mom and watching her model for years. I saw firsthand what it takes to be successful beyond just looking good in pictures. I saw her wake up early, work long hours, face rejection, and still get back up every day. I saw the sacrifices she made missing events, pushing through pain, and never giving up on her dreams. Even now, I watch her and learn from her. That kind of real-life hustle and perseverance can’t be faked, and it definitely can’t be bought or inherited.

There’s something truly special about watching someone you love transform their life through hard work. It’s inspiring. It makes you want to be better, do better, and push harder. It shows you that real beauty isn’t just about how you look, it’s about the strength and character you build along the way.

So here’s a modeling picture of my mom. This is what gorgeous looks like, not just the surface, but the soul behind the image. This is what true success looks like. It’s earned, not given. It’s fought for, not expected. It’s about heart, resilience, and a relentless drive to rise, no matter what life throws at you.

Lauren, if you ever see this, take it as a gentle challenge: Don’t settle for easy or lazy paths. Real growth happens when you push yourself beyond your comfort zone, when you work hard even when no one’s watching, and when you build something meaningful with your own two hands. It’s never too late to start proving what you’re truly capable of and when you do, that’s when you’ll know what real gorgeousness really means.

[legalandnotease]

This post.

The thing that aggravates me the most is that people are acting like Thunderbolts was *the* first time that Bucky's arm was treated like a joke, when really this has been happening since Infinity War, but TFatWS was the first time it was actually removed. Honestly that whole scene in TFatWS was painful. Not only does he not seem to think his opponent touching his shoulder is off and like - move... but he also wasn't aware that there was a killswitch on the arm. The situation is rendered absurd by Sam asking "did you know they could do that?" after its removal.

(...and *do not* get me started on the gross rhetoric that scene gave rise to in which people started saying the Wakandans had a right to confiscate Bucky's *weaponized prosthetic* because "they gave it to him therefore they own it". Yes, the Wakandan arm is a weapon.

Yes I do understand why T'Challa gave it to him- and I do understand the fate of the very world was at stake. Bucky would probably have been happy to fight Thanos either way but the fact still remains. That new prosthetic was given to him for the express purpose of *fighting*. Bucky knew that- its why he says "where's the fight?" the instant he sees it.

The implication that the Wakandans had a right to remove it for doing something they didn't like is disturbing in two ways. First because its literally weaponizing part of his body which BTW is exactly what HYDRA did to him.

Second there's the idea that disabled people don't own thier own ability aids and have a right to use them as they see fit. Like, someone gives Matt Murdock new sight stick and they - have the right to take it away if he represents someone they don't approve of?The implication that fully able people have the ultimate control over disabled people's bodies is actually gross.

Last of all, its hardly a shock that Bucky's arm became a running gag when *hours* after he got we had Rocket making that quip and *then* several more jokes about it in TFatWS. One character calls Bucky "the bionic staring machine" (it might've been Sam) and another calls him a "cyborg". You can dismiss both oas a harmless jokes if you want (many do) but to me its part of a pattern. First of defining Bucky as nothing more than his disability, and second of mocking and minimizing both the disability and the tramatic events which resulted in him becoming disabled in the first place. A pattern that started in 2018 and still hasn't ended.

Its no surprise really that we got the vile Nebula giving Rocket his arm as a Christmas present plotline the following year. It bears noting with that as well that whilst fandom today denounce and try to distance themselves from that scene at the time people were actively *asking for* it to happen. They *wanted* Rocket to "get the arm".

At very very least in Thunderbolts we had Ava showing enough consideration to pick up the arm when an incapacitated Bucky couldn't and carrying it for him until he asked for it back. (Then you remember that Ava also has a bodily difference... so it at least read that as one disabled person looking out for another). Last time it was "ripped off him" that didn't happen and the time before that he had to pick it up himself whilst Sam just made a joke at his expense.

You know what the worst thing is though @nrilliree? It isn't the casual ableism of the last 7 years. Its that one of the writers of Civil War actually suggested that Bucky's arm being blown off wasn't intended to be sympathetic. It was intended as a narrative "punishment". He wasn't being treated with respect even in Civil War.

Y’kno, for all of CA:CW’s faults, at least it never treated Bucky’s left arm as a joke.

When Bucky loses his arm in this film, it isn’t because he suddenly forgets how to move away from an opponent that’s suddenly in his space and touching him (TFATWS) or he throws some clearly ineffective punches at an enemy and, for whatever reason, doesn’t think to change his strategy (Thunderbolts), but because he got blasted by Tony Stark’s arc reactor point blank after using an incredible feat of strength to try and stop him. And when his arm is blown off? It’s treated with the appropriate amount of shock and horror. It frames it as a terrifying moment for Bucky and makes him feel incredibly sympathetic. He just lost a part of him in an extremely brutal fashion in the fraction of a second. It wasn’t something he could’ve predicted or easily avoided (unlike future instances where he loses his arm…again 🙄).

But now? Now his arm is used as the butt of stupid jokes. Rocket wants to buy it. Nebula STEALS IT off screen to use it as a Christmas gift. Bucky spills some sauce on it and the only way to wash it is by running it through the dishwasher. He now has to lose it at least one ☝️ time in every new thing he’s in like it’s some quota that has to be filled. Like. The MCU writers seriously can’t think of anything involving Bucky’s arm that doesn’t take away his dignity as a disabled person while also showcasing him as the strong, competent fighter he is?

Literally the only genuinely funny thing involving his arm is when he threw a punch at Peter, leading to the latter catching it and immediately exclaiming how cool it is. And that happened in Civil War!

I don’t know. Civil War definitely could’ve been a much better film, but at least it got that part right.