#she would be probably something between 18 and 21

[sgt-legrant]

{𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐏 // 𝐇𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧/ 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧-𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐔}

London; The heart of an empire, humming in the tunes of industry, politics and a faint whisper of revolution. Streets buzzing with people and carriages, and in middle of all of that, two young women navigated their way through the crowd, chatting and laughing.

"This way; we have to be fast or all the good fabrics will be gone!"

Lucienne held her cousins hand and guided her through the people, her goal: the most famous and luxurious seamstress of the City. On their way, they spotted a small commotion, a small flock of young men; probably soldiers who were drawn to enlist soon.

Lucienne watched them for a moment, spotting at least one.... maybe two good looking ones in the flock.

Only when her cousin called out for her, she snapped out of it again and she realized, that some people were looking at them; clearly recognizing them as the great granddaughters of General Moreau.

Immediately, they made their way to the seamsstress, still giggling on their way; before they managed to snatch some good fabrics for their dresses; soon the ball season would start again and both of them finally had their debut into society.

Lucienne wasn't paying much attention, when she left the boutique, so she ran into someone.

"Oh my; i'm so sorry!"

[orphicsun]

˗ˏˋ BOTTOM BITCH ˎˊ˗

pairing: chatroom frequenter ellie williams + femdom!reader

warnings: 18+ content, chatroom depravity, brief interaction with a horny weirdo on a chatroom before reader meets ellie, voyeurism, sexting, video/phone sex, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, use of a dildo, nipple play, use of names (ma'am + mommy + good girl + slut), both reader and ellie are at least 18 (ellie is described to be 21 but feel free to imagine her as any adult age), praise and slight degradation kink, reader is just bored at night and ellie is implied to be chronically online (as she is a chat room frequenter and, well...)

a/n: this is purely a work of fiction. i'm not encouraging anyone to go interact with people in sketchy chatrooms.

loose inspo creds from this vi artwork!

summary: you're a bit of an insomniac, not a desperate horn-dog on chatrooms. it's too late to talk to your fellow normal people, so you resort to sites you wish could be cleansed of the horniness. only, you fold the second a certain freckle-faced lesbian puts a forum post out for a new dom to talk to.

www.chitchat.gg. 

The link stares at you without much appeal. You haven’t touched Omegle in years, nor do you miss it. At least, you don’t miss the incels you’ve encountered in those horrific chatrooms. 

It’s safe to say you don’t miss the dicks, don’t miss the M42 horny, and you surely don’t miss the weird kinks the users hold shamefully behind doors, laptop screens bright with crickets’ ambience as a backdrop between the hours of 1-4am. You don’t miss the men, is probably what you’re really feeling. 

It’s too late and you have a busy day tomorrow–you promised yourself you wouldn’t need to take a shower tonight, that you’d make sure to tuck yourself in your bed with the sleep aid of scrolling through nostalgic minecraft youtuber content until you felt a content type of exhaustion, not the usual five-hours-of-sleep and so forth.

You would take a shower in the early hours of the day. You’re not a night owl; you enjoy the early, productive mornings. You don’t take desperate naps after a day shift and then fuck up your sleep schedule, but maybe all of those affirmations are deluded with your lack of self control. 

It’s late and you’ll regret it in the morning, but here you are for the first time in years, staring at your Google browser’s selection of links. Some are so obviously the darkest, the ones proudly advertising “share pics without registration!” or “connect with men and women for one-on-one fun!” 

No, you’re really just bored. It’s far too late to send the infamous “wanna call n play fortnite” text to everyone you talk to on a regular basis. You’re not desperate enough for social contact that you’d ever scrounge around discord servers, and you definitely wouldn’t join a server full of randoms. That is a disaster waiting to happen, not even a weak affirmation. 

It’s just your late-night logic telling you that clicking on this seemingly safer link would be any better, but here goes nothing. 

↵ enter

With a few forwarding clicks, you’re in. You could opt to find something with your interests, but you’d like to explore the entirety of people available to you first, and still, you stay hopeful that the days of horny chat room men dominating surface-level sites like these are in your bitterly nostalgic past. 

You are now chatting with untroubled porcelain. Say hi!

untroubled porcelain 

M

You can already tell where this is going, but you save an ounce of hope for humanity within you. You begin typing, soft keys clacking underneath your fingertips, hardly lit by your shitty laptop’s brightness. You make a few typos at first, oh well. 

cunteater reader

F. How are you? :) 

untroubled porcelain 

good. wyd? 

cunteater reader

just chilling in bed. hbu? 

untroubled porcelain

what are you wearing? 

You immediately groan and close the tab. You can’t say you’re surprised, but your hope isn’t completely dwindled. You instead open a new link within the browser: www.freechatnow.com

You hope to be able to weed out the sexual from the harmless bored, scrolling through forums and various selections of chatrooms. It’s already quite promising when the website requires age identification to actually talk to anyone through it. 

Live Cam Chat 

Adult Chat

Sex Chat

Singles Chat

Lesbian Chat

Gay Chat

Cam Chat 

Roleplay Chat

Video Chat

Intrigued by the lesbian chat option, you swiftly select it. After scrolling through what seems to be men dominating the chat, you sigh and exit out of the chat. You’re about to completely close the tab and your laptop and call it a night, but suddenly a forum stands out to you. It’s contradictory, but you click it.

21F lesbian. dm me please. 

That should make you close your laptop altogether, but something inside you feels a small pang of arousal. Maybe men are the problem, not sex chats. 

So, you send the first message; you’re a bit cautious at first. 

cunteater reader • 1:56 PM

hi. I saw your post on the forum. 

You hit send and stare at the screen. You feel a bit perverted, and a small bit of self shame bubbles up inside you. Is this really what you’ve resorted to to pass time?

You would never say you’re chronically online–you’ve got a part-time job at Taco Bell 15 minutes from your apartment, you frankly just don’t have the time to keep up with the revolving door that is the internet. So, you ask yourself: what type of person are you even reaching out to?

However, the moment your laptop audibly dings with a response, those feelings fade rather fast. 

subbydyke21 • 1:59 PM

hi<3 my pussy is so wet rn and i want 2 touch myself. tell me how? 

Your face feels hot now, and the slight tinge of arousal that was sparked when you saw the forum turns into wetness clinging to your underwear. This person can’t be anything but another desperate, horny person, and yet you find yourself suddenly in the same predicament. Maybe it’s the overtime, the lack of availability to simply download Tinder and find a normal person to have sex with. You mumble something about dignity as you type. 

cunteater reader • 2:00 AM

yeah. just start slow for me.

You cringe to yourself. You feel so out of your element with this, like a small sense of logic and shame is holding you back. 

subbydyke21 • 2:03 AM

wishing it were you. can i show you?

You panic for a moment–here you are, hair messy in nothing but a baggy t-shirt and underwear. Your mind runs through random what-ifs. What if this person is a level 10 weirdo? What if they doxx you? What if they stalk you?

You’re thinking with your cunt, though. 

cunteater reader • 2:07 AM

yeah 

(-)

Waiting for the call, even just the 10 second wait, is anxiety-filling. Your foot taps against your carpet until subbydyke21 finally answers. 

You hope your eyes don’t widen too much on camera, but you can’t stop yourself from slightly gawking. There she is, and she doesn’t at all look like a weirdo.

Her camera is a bit blurry, but her features make up the face of a woman who is actually quite attractive. Shaggy auburn hair pulled back in a messy bun, a soft nose covered in splotchy freckles as is the rest of her face, green eyes that you can barely make out the tone of in the dark of her room, and generously full lips. She is gorgeous, almost in an androgynous way. 

You take each other in for just a moment, and then she speaks. “Are you comfortable with, like, seeing me and stuff? You don’t mind?”

Her voice is rougher, raspier than you would’ve expected from the person you initially reached out to, but you also can’t help the heat it sends through your body, specifically down below. 

“Um, no. I mean, I don’t mind.” 

She nods. It’s a bit awkward, especially after what she had said to you, but neither of you comment on the previous desperation. It’ll build up once again. 

“Okay. Name’s Ellie, but I think we should call each other by names or somethin’ like that.” 

You spin a strand of your hair between your fingers, not exactly looking at the camera. “Like what?”

“Anything you want. You can call me a good girl, a whore, a slut, baby. I’m whatever you want me to be.” She clears her throat and you’d like to comment on the blush spreading all over her cheeks, but you’re too flustered yourself. “And I’ll call you something like.. mommy or ma’am.” 

“That’s fine.” You adjust in your seat, pulling your rolly chair close to your desk. 

“So, ma’am.. would you like me to touch myself?” 

“Go ahead,” you guide. You know you’re quiet, almost shy with it, but Ellie doesn’t mind. 

“Would you like to see me squeeze my tits for you, ma’am?” 

You nod. The general insides of your thighs rub together, craving friction; you’re glad Ellie can’t see anything below your torso. 

Ellie carries her laptop to her bed, giving you the entire view of her body. Clad in undergarments, she tosses the bra over her head, leaving her pert breasts on display for you. You don’t comment, but she can see the way you stare through the camera, watching her squeeze and roll her nipples between her fingers until they stiffen at the attention. You can only barely catch the way she pants as her actions intensify, and you’re completely mesmerized. 

“Call me a good girl, please.” She stares at you straight through the camera, and the awkward feeling you’ve been clinging to is tested. 

“You know you’re a good girl. Look at you, though. Do you show everyone on that chat site your tits, or am I just lucky?”

You hear the whines through the laptop audio, Ellie pulling at her nipples while squeezing her thighs together. “Only you, I promise. It’s only been you, ma’am.” 

“Good girl,” you repeat softly, your voice still a tad shaky with nerves. “I wanna see you rub your pussy now.” 

She quickly nods and lays down on the bed in front of the laptop, hastily shedding her boxers. You can’t see the amount of arousal that was pooling in the crotch of the fabric, but there is a visible shine of slick all over her pussy. And fuck, if that isn’t the prettiest pussy you’ve seen in a while. 

You don’t even see where the last piece of clothing lands nor do you care. You can’t take your eyes off of the exposed slice of heaven between her parted thighs. Her head rests against her bed as she begins to touch herself, just hesitantly, as if waiting for your guidance. 

“Atta girl, just like that.. keep your fingers on your clit and just rub it for me, baby. Slowly.” 

“Fuck, mommy,” she moans, trying her hardest not to just rub her pussy raw. It already feels overbearing for the poor girl, but she wants more. 

“You like getting yourself on camera? Makes you feel good, huh?” You coo, eyes not leaving her body. 

“It’s not enough..” she whines. “Please, I wanna use my dildo. Can I fuck myself with my dildo for you?”

Just the thought of seeing her dripping pussy stuffed full with a dildo makes your clit throb with need. You’re quick to shove your own hand down your underwear. “Yeah, baby. Be a good girl for mommy and fuck yourself.” 

You miss her body the second she stands up, but soon, she is laid back on her bed, a bright purple dildo in her hold. It’s pleasantly large, with much more girth than you expected it to have.

“Just tease yourself for a little bit, baby. Rub your clit with it for me.” 

Ellie eagerly rubs all over her swollen, reddish-pink clit with the flared tip, and your own fingers slide between your lips and into your cunt. You groan, nearly closing your eyes at the feeling. 

“Are you touching yourself, ma’am?” She asks, voice already ragged. 

“Couldn’t help myself,” you admit. That confession only turns her on more. 

“Can I please fuck myself? I need it right now. I need to cum with you.” 

All you can do is nod, but Ellie is already lining the toy up with her hole and shoving it deep inside her hole. She hardly takes a moment to adjust to the sudden stretch before she begins fucking herself with it, making sure to open her legs wide enough for your viewing pleasure. 

“Oh my god,” you moan at the sight. “You’re so fucking hot, you know that? Taking it in your pussy so easily. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Ellie laughs shakily. “Of course I have. I’m a whore.” 

“That you are,” you easily agree. You fuck yourself hard with two fingers as you watch her slide the dildo in and out of her hole, always leaving just the tip nestled inside before ramming it until the base is flush to her skin. 

All you can hear are the wet sounds of her wet pussy as she pounds it shamelessly and her noisy moans, and you’re sure she can hear your own wet sounds through her laptop. 

“Touch your clit, baby. I wanna see you rub your clit while you fuck yourself,” you tell her, working your own with your thumb. 

She uses her free hand to frantically rub at the beating nub, fucking herself so fast the camera nearly blurs her movements. “Fuck, feels so good. I need to cum, please. Please let me cum,” she desperately begs you. 

“Yeah, you wanna be a good slut for me and cum? Go on, let go. I wanna see your pussy cum on camera.” 

Your words easily have her hole squeezing the dildo, cum seeping out of it and visibly coating the toy. The sight, paired with her slutty moans sends you barreling towards your own orgasm. You throw your head back against your chair and moan as you practically hump your hand, trying to milk your peak for all its worth.

After a bit, you and Ellie both calm down, breathless and satisfied. Ellie throws the dildo on her bed and sits up, sheepishly looking at you. 

“Umm, that was..” 

“Yeah.”

“Wanna do it again sometime?”

“Yeah.”

taglist: @femme-tobe, @sulliefimmie, @klallx, @mytaping, @pryncess123, @therealhexstrap, @piercedome, @violetszn, @saturnhas82moons, @tombstonergirl, @sawaagyapong, @lucyaries, @caitlynthighs, @prettyinpink69, @usuck, @s7nburn, @hellokittyfeenie, @ssijht, @starberr1, @ruevu, @ruelezz, @littlefallenangel111, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie, @tphmnv, @raindroprose23, @liztreez, @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @elliesngirl, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @l0veylace, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @vahnilla, @plasticl0v3r, @g4ys0n, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs, @mysexy-anxiety want to be tagged? click here!

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, tension, suggestive, bickering

I sat on the edge of my freshly assembled bed, staring at the space that would be my "room" for the foreseeable future. Nick and I had spent most of the evening putting the bed frame together, with Chris lending a hand to drag the mattress up two flights of stairs. It had taken all three of us and a lot of complaining, but at least I had a proper bed to sleep on now.

Matt was gone off on some date, not that I cared. His absence, honestly, made the whole moving in process a lot less tense.

My little makeshift room was.. cosy, to put it nicely. A double bed took up most of the space, leaving just enough room for a small mirror, a desk, and a clothes drawer tucked neatly against one wall. With the tight layout, I had a single straight path to walk from my bed to the stairs. Functional, sure, but not exactly homey.

Nick was already in his room, snoring loudly enough that I could hear it from here. Chris, on the other hand, had retreated to his own room, probably wiped out again after hauling the mattress. I envied how easily they seemed to relax. My muscles ached from acting like Bob the Builder all evening, and my brain wasn’t far behind.

I flopped back onto the bed with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. It was strange being here, surrounded by their world but not fully a part of it. Still, the alternative, being out on the street or scrambling to find a new place, was far worse.

I sat scrolling aimlessly on TikTok, letting myself unwind after the chaotic day of moving in. The glow of my phone screen lit up my little area, the sound of videos a comforting distraction. I figured I’d give myself a few more minutes to relax before heading downstairs to do my skincare routine and brush my teeth.

I kept scrolling until a rustling sound from one of the lower floors made me jump. My heart raced for a moment, my body on high alert. I wasn’t used to the random noises in this house yet, the creeks of old wood, the zing of appliances, or the occasional thud of someone moving around.

Then, I heard Matt's voice, accompanied by the distinct click of heels on the floor. My stomach dropped.

He brought the girl home.

I glanced at my phone. 00:40. God, that meant she was staying the night.

As they made their way up to the living area floor, their voices carried loud and clear through the paper thin walls. I cringed.

Their conversation was casual, punctuated by fake giggles from her. “Your room’s so nice, it’s like a cabin.” she gushed, her voice sugary sweet.

“It’s alright” Matt replied, his tone dripping with smugness.

Ew.

I muted my phone and sat still, debating whether I should head downstairs now or wait until the coast was clear. The thought of running into them made my skin crawl. They were clearly standing at the doorway to Matt’s room. So much for brushing my teeth anytime soon.

I lay there, my phone clutched in my hand, frozen between irritation and discomfort. Their voices were loud enough to hear every word. It felt like I was listening in on something I shouldn’t, but I didn’t exactly have a choice.

Then came the sound of heels again, clicking closer this time. My heart sank as their voices drifted toward the living area, closer to me. Great.

A soft laugh escaped the girl, followed by a low murmur from Matt. Then, silence.

But it wasn’t silent for long.

They’re kissing. On the couch.

The unmistakable sound of kissing reached my ears, loud and clear. My eyes widened in disbelief. I sat up, my head spinning with secondhand embarrassment and irritation. Did he not realize I could hear this? Or worse, did he just not care?

I clenched my jaw, trying to drown out the sounds with a pillow over my head. It didn’t help. Every smack of their lips was like nails on a chalkboard.

I groaned softly to myself, debating whether to storm downstairs and remind him I lived here now, or just endure it until they either moved to his room. Either way, this wasn’t exactly shaping up to be the peaceful, comfy evening I had hoped for.

I grabbed my airpods from the drawer and popped them into my ears, desperate for some form of escape. Nothing. They were dead.

Great. Just perfect.

The obnoxious sound of their smooching was still banging in my ears like an unwanted soundtrack to my night. Even Nick had stopped snoring now, so I had nothing else to drown it out. I glanced around my room, trying to figure out what to do. There was no way I was going to lie here and endure this.

My eyes landed on my skincare bag and toothbrush. If nothing else, I could make a point of walking downstairs and acting like I had no idea they were there. Maybe the sudden interruption would make them move it along, or, at the very least, stop.

I stood up and grabbed my things, taking a deep breath. My airpods may be dead, but I could at least pretend they weren’t. As long as I looked convincingly oblivious, I could save myself the embarrassment of outright acknowledging the situation.

Before walking down the stairs, I mentally rehearsed my best surprised face. My heart was thumping louder than I cared to admit as the sound of them kissing, and other noises, grew louder.

I rounded the corner into the living area and stopped.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, forging surprise as I pulled out one of my airpods. “Didn’t realize anyone was here.” Being honest, I didn’t even have to pretend to be shocked, since the sight of this girl straddling Matt on the couch was enough to horrify me.

Matt froze, his hands still draped on the girl's ass. The girl on top of him looked equally startled, her lipstick slightly smudged.

“Uh, hey..” Matt said, his tone clipped. “Didn’t think you’d be up.”

“Just doing my skincare” I said innocently, holding up my bag and toothbrush. “Don’t mind me.”

Without waiting for a response, I walked toward the bathroom, not making eye contact, ignoring the tension radiating from the couch. My heart was still pounding, but at least the obnoxious kissing had stopped, for now.

I quickly got to work on my routine, splashing water on my face and scrubbing at my skin like it could wash away the awkwardness of the situation. My movements were brisk, my toothbrush scrubbing furiously as if speed could get me out of here faster.

As I brushed my teeth, I heard the distinct shuffle of footsteps outside the bathroom. My stomach tightened, anticipating another run in, but the sound moved away, followed by the soft click of Matt’s bedroom door.

Finally.

Relief washed over me. At least now they were behind a closed door. I no longer felt like an unwilling participant in whatever was going on. I finished my routine in record time, putting my things back into my bag and sneaking out of the bathroom as quietly as I could.

By the time I made it back to my room, I could feel the tension leaving my shoulders. I placed my skincare bag back on the desk and sank onto my bed, letting out a long exhale.

I grabbed my phone, intending to scroll until the remaining awkwardness faded. But as I stared at the ceiling, the muffled sound of laughter drifted faintly through the walls. It wasn’t nearly as intrusive as before, but it was enough to remind me of the thin walls around me, and how much I’d need to get used to.

I clenched my jaw, pulling the blanket tighter around me as if that could somehow block out the sounds filtering through. The muffled laughter had shifted into something unmistakably intimate, and my stomach churned at the realization.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to focus on anything else, the ticking of the clock, the buzz of the fridge downstairs.  But it was no use.

Every sound was crystal clear.

I could hear them, the creak of the mattress, soft whispers I couldn't quite make out, the moaning. God this was worse than the kissing. So much worse.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I muttered under my breath, sitting upright. My pulse was racing, not out of embarrassment anymore but sheer irritation. This wasn’t just awkward, it was infuriating. Was this intentional? To make me hate living here?

It was like they were testing the limits of how much this house, and I, could take.

A frustrated sigh escaped my lips. This was my first night here, and already, I was questioning if I’d made the right decision. It’s temporary, I reminded myself. Just temporary.

But as the noises continued, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of resentment. For Matt’s complete disregard, for the lack of privacy in this house, for the way my life had taken such a turn that I now had to endure this.

I was in and out of sleep all night long. I woke up feeling like a zombie, my body heavy and my eyes barely staying open. I checked my phone, barely three hours of sleep. One hour for each round Matt and his guest had last night. The memory of it made my skin crawl.

Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffled to the mirror and grimaced at my reflection. Dark circles hung under my eyes like a badge of exhaustion, and my hair was a mess from tossing and turning all night.

The house was eerily quiet now, almost as if mocking me. Of course, Matt was probably passed out after his marathon night. Lucky him.

I grabbed my phone and typed out a message to Nick:

"Do you guys keep earplugs in this house, or is suffering a rite of passage?"

I hesitated for a moment before deleting it. No need to drag Nick into this. It wasn’t his fault.

Instead, I sighed and decided to make the best of the morning. I could unpack more, maybe take a walk, or even look into noise canceling headphones because there was no way I could survive another night like that.

But as I turned to leave my room, that tinge of resentment hit me again. This was Matt’s fault. He could have been a little considerate, knowing I was just down the hall, or whatever you’d call my little corner.

I walked down the stairs into the kitchen, the house feeling too big and too empty in its silence. Coffee. I needed coffee before I even thought about dealing with anyone today.

I sat at the kitchen table, my head resting in my hands as the Keurig gurgled behind me, the sound of coffee trickling into the cup almost soothing. Almost.

Chris waltzed upstairs, his energy a stark contrast to my sluggish state. He was as fresh as a daisy, a casual smile on his face as he leaned against the counter. “Morning!” he said, grabbing a soda from the fridge. “How’d you sleep?”

I looked at him, deadpan, and decided on sarcasm. “Wonderful. Like a baby.” I muttered, my tone laced with just enough edge to hint at my actual feelings.

Chris raised an eyebrow, catching on. “That bad, huh?”

I shrugged, not wanting to dive into the details of Matt’s activities last night. Instead, I turned around and grabbed my coffee, taking a sip hoping the caffeine would kick in soon.

Chris leaned on the counter, his tone shifting to something more focused. “So, about the new drop for Fresh Love. Think you can come up with some sample ideas for patches by tomorrow? I’ll work on the colorways. I’d like to get it sent off before I go to Vegas.”

Vegas.

The word snapped me out of my haze. Right. Chris and Matt were going away for three nights, then coming back to LA for just one before jetting off to Hawaii for two weeks with Nick.

I blinked, the weight of everything hitting me at once. Between moving, the sleepless night, and now this, I’d completely forgotten how much pressure I was under with work. My mind raced through ideas, trying to piece together something coherent.

“Yeah” I said, nodding despite the slight panic rising in my chest. “I’ll figure it out. Patches by tomorrow, right?”

Chris smiled, his confidence in me evident. “Knew you’d have it covered. And hey, don’t stress. We’ve got this.”

Easy for him to say, I thought as he grabbed his soda and strolled back downstairs, leaving me alone with my spiraling thoughts and a mountain of work.

I grabbed my sketch pad from my room and set up at the kitchen table, my hand slightly trembling as I flipped it open, the faint lines of the new designs already starting to take shape.

It was quiet in the house, Nick and Chris had just headed out for some meeting, and Matt had yet to leave his room. The weight of the silence felt heavier with each passing minute.

Two hours passed, and my head began to throb, a dull ache spreading behind my eyes. It was a mix of exhaustion from the lack of sleep and the mounting pressure of the work I still had to finish. I looked down at the sketches in front of me. It was progress, at least. So, I decided to pack it in for the moment. A nap was probably what I needed most.

As I stood up from the table and gathered my things, I heard the soft sound of footsteps from the hallway. I looked over my shoulder, and there he was, Matt, strolling into the kitchen like he hadn’t just spent the entire night with some girl, oblivious to the fact that I was the one who had been kept up by the sounds of it all.

I couldn’t stop myself from speaking up. “Well, doesn’t someone look fresh after their wild night last night” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is your guest still here?”

Matt raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by my tone. “Jealous?” he shot back, his usual smugness back in full force. “And no, she’s not. She left early this morning.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Well, I hope she’s off somewhere having a lovely nap” I said, crossing my arms. “Because I know me and her got the same amount of sleep last night.”

There was a brief moment of silence between us. He didn’t flinch, but I could see a flicker of guilt flash across his face for just a second before it was gone.

“Look” Matt finally said, his voice more casual than usual. “I didn’t know you were going to be up all night. If I’d known, I would’ve been more-”

“Considerate?” I finished for him, unable to hold back the bite in my voice. 

Matt ran a hand through his hair, clearly irritated now. “Fine. You’re right. I get it. But you know I can’t exactly control when someone stays over, right?”

I didn’t reply immediately. He was right in some sense, but the fact that he hadn’t even considered the noise, the situation, or what I might be dealing with.. it pissed me off.

“Whatever” I muttered, turning to head back upstairs. “I’m going to try and get some sleep. I don’t know about you, but some of us actually need it.”

I didn’t wait for his response as I stormed off, my blood still boiling from the interaction. It wasn’t just about last night, it was about the constant tension, the lack of boundaries. It was becoming too much.

As I made it up to my room, the ache escalated into a full blown migraine. By the time I flopped onto my bed, it felt like a jackhammer was drilling into my skull. The sunlight streaming in from the open doorway to the stairs hit my eyes like daggers, and the heat of my poorly ventilated room wrapped around me, suffocating and relentless.

I tried to block it all out, pulling the blanket over my head, but every random creek and distant sound in the house grated on my already frazzled nerves. The sensitivity was overwhelming, each small discomfort magnified to unbearable proportions. My chest tightened as I fought back tears.

It was too much, too much noise, too much heat, too much light, too much stress. I curled up tighter, clutching my blanket and wishing for the sweet relief of darkness and silence.

I could feel my body resisting every movement, but I knew I had to do something to make it stop. I couldn’t lie in this room anymore like this, suffocating in the heat, with the light stabbing at my skull. Maybe if I opened the windows in the living area and pulled down the blinds, it would let in some fresh air and block out the brightness. The windows here were huge, maybe that would help.

With a pained groan, I pushed myself off the bed and stumbled towards the stairs. My head felt like it was going to split open with every step, the harsh light of the house almost unbearable as it hit me like a brick wall. I gagged, my stomach turning from the intensity. But I pushed through, gritting my teeth and forcing my body to move.

When I reached the living room, I collapsed onto the couch, already winded and shaky. I stretched out, trying to reach the top window to open it, my fingers brushing the edge but not quite able to grip the latch.

Just as I was about to pull myself up further, I heard Matt’s voice behind me. "What are you doing?"

I paused, swallowing down the bile rising in my throat. "I have a migraine" I said, my voice rough and strained. "My room’s too bright.. too hot.. trying to make it cooler.. darker. Trying not to get sick." I kept my back to him, hoping he'd let me do what I needed without pestering.

But I knew Matt, he’d always have something to say. I was just waiting for it.

“If you want to sleep in my room, I mean.. it’s got blackout curtains, and it's way cooler than in your room..” he suggested, his voice more neutral than before.

I didn’t even look back at him, still focused on trying to pry open the window. "After what went on in your bed last night" I said, sarcasm seeping into my voice, "it’s the last place I want to be."

There was a brief pause, and I heard him sigh behind me. Then, I heard his footsteps approach the kitchen.

“I get it” he muttered, though I didn’t quite believe him. He probably didn’t care what happened, but he was probably just saying something to avoid further confrontation. “You want me to grab a basin or something? In case you get sick?”

I glanced over at him, my expression barely more than a grimace. "Yeah, that'd be great" I said, my voice barely above a whisper, absolutely sweating. “Please.”

I could hear him rummaging around for a moment before he returned with a shallow plastic basin. I didn’t want to admit how grateful I was for the small gesture. My stomach churned just thinking about what had happened the night before, but I didn’t need to explain myself anymore.

“Here” he said, handing it to me, his tone a little softer than before. 

I nodded weakly, too exhausted to argue, and just wanted to crawl back into my space and hopefully get some sleep.

“Thanks” I muttered, but it didn’t feel like enough. It was just a small act of kindness, but with everything going on, it felt like a relief.

As he walked away, I took the basin and held it under my arm, crawling up the stairs to my room. I placed the basin near the edge of my bed, just in case. I climbed back under the covers, pulling a pillow to my face, and tried to block out the world. It wasn’t going to make my migraine vanish, but I hoped it would give me some relief. 

I was wrong.

Suddenly I hear a knock on my fake wall, I let out a slow breath, the migraine still pounding behind my eyes as Matt’s voice cuts through the silence.

“I’ve changed my sheets..” he says, poking his head through the entrance to my room. He looks less irritated than he did earlier, though I can’t tell if it's genuine or just a matter of convenience. “The offer’s still there, or you gonna keep being stubborn? I mean, you’re not gonna get any rest like this.”

I shift uncomfortably, weighing the option in my head. My room was stifling, bright, and getting worse by the minute, and Matt’s room was.. well, it was still Matt’s room, but at least it would be dark, cool, and quiet.

The migraine was winning, and at that moment, I just needed relief. I was tired of feeling like a burden, tired of pretending I didn’t need help.

"Fine" I say, finally giving in. "I’ll take you up on the offer."

“Good choice” he mutters, not sounding as smug as he usually would. “You can’t keep living in a sauna.”

I don’t respond, too drained to argue. He steps back toward the door, preparing to walk back down the stairs.

“I’m going to head out for a bit, so make your way down when you want” he says, clearly wanting to wrap this up, as he turns to walk away.

I shuffled toward the entrance to my room, the floor creaking beneath my feet. I walked downstairs and toward his room, the familiar discomfort of being in his space only adding to my already scattered nerves.

When I opened the door, I was immediately hit by the cool air that seemed to welcome me. The room was dark, the blinds drawn tight, and the bed looked inviting, a stark contrast to the mess of my own space. The girl was right, it was nice and it did look like a cabin.

It was much quieter in here, no random noises or heat beating down on me. I could feel my headache ease just slightly, as though the room itself was offering me some relief.

I set my things down on the edge of the bed, feeling the exhaustion hit me again. It wasn’t ideal, but it was definitely better than the alternative.

As I settled into Matt's bed, the sheets cool against my skin, I couldn't help but feel how odd it was to be here. The space was familiar, yet so unfamiliar at the same time. The scent of him lingered in the air, mixed with the faint traces of cologne. It felt almost wrong, like I was stepping into a part of his world that wasn’t meant for me.

The bed was comfortable, but the proximity to Matt's life, his space, his things, was unsettling. I found myself shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t remind me that I was lying in the very place he'd probably shared countless nights with someone else.

It wasn’t just the room that felt off. The silence between us, the awkwardness of me being here in the first place, how he was making it awkward. I closed my eyes tightly, hoping to force the discomfort away, but it lingered, gnawing at the back of my mind while the migraine hit at the front.

It wasn’t my bed. It wasn’t my room. It wasn’t supposed to be me here.

But for now, it was where I had to be. And as strange as it felt, there was nothing left to do but sleep and hope that when I woke up, things would somehow feel a little less.. weird.

a/n: matt being.. nice?

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[idkshithead]

having a bad day .ೃ࿐

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

╰┈➤ ❝ seong gi-hun x fem!reader ❞

ʚɞ ๋࣭⭑ — tws: age gap (reader is 25, gi-hun is 47) mention of murder, mention of self-harm, pts.

ೀ ⋆.˚ — genre: fluff!

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ — summary: you've had a really shitty day so when u get home from university your bf is there to comfort you and cheer you up.

・❥・ — a/n: hii! i’m new here and this is my first time publishing a ff🥹 i wrote this out of boredom so idk if it’s good. also my first language isn’t english so i’m sorry for eventual mistakes, i appreciate every kind and constructive advice on how to be better(no insults or hate tho!)<3 if i think your comment is hateful or disrespectful or anything like that, i’ll delete it! so be nice pls🫶🏻

❕ — warnings: timeline is season 2 but i changed his age. if you don’t like age gaps/have problems with them GET OUT👉🏻

enjoy! ❤︎

It was 9 PM in Ssangmun-dong and you were walking down the empty, rain-soaked street you travel every day. You were carrying a heavy backpack, the straps digging into the skin of your left shoulder, a sign that it was full of notebooks. The dim streetlights flicker, casting a dull glow across the wet floor and your footsteps were covered by the constant "pats" of the rain drops falling to the ground. The downpour was rentless and it was drenching your clothes and your nice hair but you barely seemed to notice cause your mind was wrapped up in something else. It had been a very tough day and you wanted nothing more but to be in your boyfriend's comforting arms.

His name was Seong Gi-hun. You weren't korean but you thanked God you moved there when you were 18 cause if you didn't, you probably wouldn't have met him. The day you two crossed paths was almost 4 years ago and you remember it like it was yesterday: he used to have a gambling addiction and thanks to your friend, who brought you with her to gamble, you found him. Or even better, he found you cause the very first time he bumped onto you as he was getting chased by some men; meanwhile the other times, you went to talk to him cause you found him pretty cute and...pathetic.

At the time you were 21 and he was 43 but you really didn't care about the age gap. Plus, he looked younger than he actually was. The first weeks you two started to date as close friends and soon you learned he’s got a 10 years old daughter and an ex-wife. They divorced because of his addiction which led to him having several debts that he couldn't pay. His daughter's name was Ga-yeong and she was very sweet, just like her father. She liked you even and you, of course, liked her back. As the days went by, Ga-yeong revealed you her father's secret: he liked you and every time he knew he was going to see you, he would put up nice clothes and adjust his hair; and she hoped you would like him back but God, how could you not like him? He was such a gentleman, so sweet, so respectful, so caring; this headed to both of you starting a relationship (a serious one too), and at first it was hard due to his addiction. Firstly because every time he didn't pay his debt in time, he would get beaten up and threatened to be killed. So many times you would yell at him cause he spent all his money, and the one you gave him, to gamble but you understood that yelling and getting mad wasn't the right solution of solving this, thus you got used to it and you were determined to help him go through that shit. Later you met his mom and his childhood friend whose name was Sang-woo and you were actually surprised they didn't think less of you just because you were younger. If you were in your native country, everybody would look at you as a person of no value and would think he was a pedophile, even tho you were a grown ass adult. Before him, you've been in a toxic relationship for 2 years; between cheating, threats and punches, you managed to leave that guy.

Gi-hun, on the other hand, treated you so good it was overwhelming, to the point that you didn't even think you deserved to be treated like this, to be loved and you were glad he proved you wrong so damn sure you weren't gonna let go of him just because he was older. He helped you going through your self-harm addiction, he helped you with your traumas and insecurities. Basically, he was a mix of the perfect yet worse man to date.

Not even a year later tho, he disappeared for a whole week without any news or informations. You were so fucking worried about him and you never stopped calling him and searching for him. You even talked to his mother every day but she always said she had no clue of where he was and the police, of course, didn’t give a shit. Often times you thought that he got himself killed due to his non-paid debts but you really didn't want to think about it so you liked to think that maybe he was out of town and didn't call you. Or maybe he just decided to cut off contact with everybody and left. In that time, your own self-harm addiction got worse due to the stress and the fact that he had left. Everything went down once more. Your life was falling apart and you didn’t know what to think at this point. Was it your fault? Was it his fault? You didn’t know.

Yet he eventually came back to you, all injured as if he had been in a rough fight and apologized to you so many times as you cried and punched his chest due to the all the overwhelming emotions you didn’t manage to let out. He told you he found his mom dead in his house. In some ways, you felt guilty that you didn't help him with the medicines for her cause you had some money but most of it would go to the men he had to repay. He talked about the games he’s done, about all the murdered people.

You couldn't believe him, of course and thought he was just very drunk but the day after you realized it wasn't like that.

A year later he wanted to move in America to go to his daughter but soon changed his mind when he knew that the recruiter of those games was still out there so you both moved to a motel as he searched for him all day, every day.

He barely slept and he started to smoke more, which broke your heart to see him like this. So tired, so traumatized and you realized that the old Gi-hun would never come back, even tho a part of him was still the same when he was with you. When he finished to pay his debts, thanks to the money he earned from those sick games, he called Mr. Kim, the boss of loan sharks, to help him find this recruiter.

The only times you saw each other, tho, was in the evening cause in the morning you went to university while he kept searching for that man among the city. He always apologized to you for never spending much time together but you always reassured him that it was completely okay and that it was nobody's fault. You knew how insecure he got after that traumatic event tho you tried your best to comfort him. After he lost Sang-woo, Sae-byeok and Ali; after he saw so many innocent people die because of the God called money. They all died in front of him and sometimes he could still see their blood on his face, on his hands, on his body. Everywhere.

He became even more possessive and protective over you to the point that he made you install a gps on your phone or any other device you owned, in case you’d be in trouble or something and he eventually taught you how to shoot cause you asked him.

So here you were, 2 years later, having a shitty, rough day, soaked wet due to the rain, heading back home and already feeling guilty cause Gi-hun had to comfort you from your stupid, dumb and idiotic problems. You didn't even know if he was home by that time and if he wasn't, you would go take a shower and eventually fall asleep on the couch while miserably trying to wait awake for him. As always.

When you approached the motel you both lived in, you grabbed your keys from your pocket and opened the principal door. You entered and closed it before taking your way up the stairs. Once you reached the door of your shared apartment you opened that one too, slowly closing it behind you. You weren't expecting Gi-hun to be home but when you heard his voice, you felt kinda relieved.

"Y/n? Is that you?" you heard him say. You didn't answer and you didn't know why. Maybe cause you were so tired you didn't even have the strength to breathe, to say the least.

You took off your shoes and walked through the small corridor before reaching the living room and put the keys on the round table at the center of the room. You quite ignored your boyfriend who was very worried when he saw you completely drenched.

"Hey..why didn't you bring an umbrella with you this morning?" he asked softly as he approached you and rubbed both of your shoulders. You were glad to hear his loving voice after a long day.

You let your backpack fall on the ground, causing it to make a loud noise and grabbed a small, broken umbrella which was in a side pocket of the backpack, before placing it on the table, too.

"I did." you managed to say. Your voice was barely audible and you were on the verge of breaking down, thing that he immediately noticed but before he could talk, you threw yourself onto him to hug him. Your arms wrapped around his body tightly as you cried quietly. His nice yet smokey smell invaded your nose and you took all in. You didn't pay attention to his outfit but you were so sure he was wearing his usual baggy pants and large jacket.

He didn't think twice before holding you tight against him and his right hand found its way to rub your hair while the other rubbed your back. He had this way of hugging you, of comforting you as a way to shield and protect you from the world that you didn't even know how it was possible but that's how his hugs, his touch made you feel. It has been a long time since you last cried and let go of everything in front of him but that night you really needed it.

"It's okay baby, I've got you. I'm here." he mumbled softly to your ear. He slowly started to rock himself back and forth, as if you were his little child afraid of monsters hiding under the bed.

He didn't ask you what had happened cause he knew it wasn't useful in that moment. He knew that all you wanted was comfort and reassurance. He didn't care that you were all wet and soaked, he cared about trying to make you stop crying and he managed to do so since you calmed down after some minutes. He pulled back slightly, enough for him to be able to see the sad look on your face.

He cupped your cheeks and wiped your last tears away.

"It's okay. You let it all out?" he kindly asked you and you slowly nodded. He wanted to make sure your chest didn't feel as heavy. Then he leaned in and placed a soft, tender kiss on your forehead.

"How about you go take off these wet clothes and take a shower while i prepare the couch for some cuddles to cheer that sad pretty little face up, hm?" he asked while moving a strand of hair out of your face.

"And then maybe, if you feel like doing so, you tell me what's gotten you so upset." he then added.

His voice was so soft, sweet and full of love it made you want to cry again out of happiness but you fought the urge. He somehow always knew what were the right words to say and in which tone he had to pronounce them. It was incredible. That man was incredible.

You slowly nodded and he escorted you to the bathroom as he told you to call him for anything you needed. He didn't hurry anything, he told you to take your slow and nice time, he would be there waiting for you.

You softly thanked him and closed the bathroom door, opening the water in the shower. You really didn't know what good things you did in life to have someone as loving as him as your partner but you preferred to not question anything and to just appreciate everything he gave you, everything that life (or God) gave you.

You knew he told you to take your time and to wash yourself slowly and stuff but you were so happy and enthusiastic to cuddle with him, that your shower lasted 10 minutes. When you got out, you could hear him doing stuff on the other side of the wall and you called out his name.

"Yes, my love?" said he while opening the door. He had a small yet genuine smile on his face and you knew he was doing all of that just to make you feel better.

"Can you...bring me one of your shirts..?" you mumbled.

"I know they're much larger than my size but-" you were cut off by the door closing. You didn't know exactly why he shut the door on you talking but you really hoped he didn't mean to do so. Later, he returned in the room, holding a stuffed clothed in between his hands, turning out it was one of his large shirts.

He walked towards you and handed you the cloth, before cupping your cheeks again and kissing your temple.

"You know you don't owe me any explanation. Whatever you want, i'll give it to you. You could ask me to wear my underwear and i wouldn't question it." he explained gently.

"Even tho that would be weird." he continued and chuckled slightly and you did so. You felt a warm feeling in your chest. A feeling that only he was able to bring you and you will forever be grateful to him.

"Thank you.." you murmured and smiled.

"There it is that pretty smile." he said and pinched your cheeks gently, causing you to widen your smile.

He then told you he would wait for you as you got dressed and later he dried your wet hair cause he didn't want his girl to make such efforts when she was so tired already.

A few more minutes passed by and after you got all showered, dried and dressed, you were both laying in each other's arms on the couch. Your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around your body while one hand stroked your soft hair.

"You feel like telling me what's wrong?" he asked softly, in which you answered with a nod.

You began by explaining that you hadn't slept much the night before, which was the main reason you woke up already feeling upset and exhausted. You were so tired that you really didn't feel like going to university, but you had a test and knew you had no choice, so you forced yourself to get up. Just when you stepped out of the apartment, it started raining heavily, and you got all wet because your umbrella wouldn't open properly. Once you finally made it to the university, you sat down to take the test, but you were so distracted by your exhaustion that you were sure you had messed up every single question. Your mind wasn't in the right place, your eyes felt heavy, and you couldn't focus. Everything felt like a disaster. After the test and the rest of your lessons, the wind picked up on your way home and your umbrella finally broke so you had nothing to protect yourself, leaving you even more soaked. And as if your day hadn't already been terrible enough, a car sped through a puddle and splashed you completely. You felt overwhelmed, defeated by the anger and stress that had built up throughout the day.

As you were telling all of this you still felt kinda upset but when he spoke again, you really forgot the reason of why your day went bad.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, my love. You should’ve called me, i would've picked you up with the car." he said with disappointment. Not towards you, but towards all the factors that made you so sad and also at himself. He could’ve gave you a call instead of focusing on finding that son of a bitch.

"I didn't want to bother you..." you mumbled, as your fingers traced comforting circles on his clothed chest.

"You know you never bother me, y/n." he said firmly. He didn't like the fact that you could even think you were a bother or a burden to him.

"Yeah but what if right when i call you, you find the guy you've been searching for years?" you asked and got your head up slightly to look at him. You could feel his hesitation before answering but when he did, you knew he was sincere.

"I'd still pick you up. As much as i wanna find that man, you come first. I didn't put so much effort in us for nothing, you know." he smiled slightly at his last sentence and placed his large hand on your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

"Hmm.." you murmured and sighed. You gently rested your chin on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath you and the warmth of his body comforting against your skin, while your head remained slightly turned to face him, allowing you to study his face closely. Your gaze lingered on each feature—his relaxed yet tired expression, the curve of his jaw, the corners of his lips slightly turned upward—capturing every detail that made him, him, as if you were memorizing them.

You didn't know how he managed to look that handsome for his age. Not that he was that old, but still.

"Have you been sleeping these days?" you kindly asked him. You knew, deep down, that he would always look after you, putting your needs before his own, but at the same time, you saw how little care he took of himself. It was as if he neglected his own well-being in favor of focusing on everyone else; you, above everyone. Every time you noticed him pushing himself too hard or ignoring his own health, you'd find yourself gently scolding him, urging him to take a moment for himself, though you knew he'd brush it off. In the end, this was just who he was.

"Yes, a bit." he answered and you could feel he was being honest but still decided to make sure.

"Are you sure?" your tone was low and comforting, yet full of worry. You noticed the small bags under his eyes, you noticed his tired expression and often times you would feel guilty that he had to reassure you while he was feeling so defeated.

"Yes, i'm sure." he said sweetly and pinched the tip of your nose softly.

You subtly pushed yourself up, enough to lean your face closer to his, and pecked his lips. Your chest was now in contact with his and your hands were placed one between his hair and the other on the soft mattress of the couch, surrounding yourself.

"You look so tired..." you whispered while caressing his scalp. Your faces only inches away. He moved his hand to grasp your waist while the other was still on your cheek.

"Yeah but you always bring all my energies back.." he whispered back, causing you to smile a bit.

Your eyes wavered all over his face, admiring everything about him as your pupils dilated some more, as if turning into a heart shape. You didn't know exactly what did u see in him, but you saw something. Maybe that's how real love feels like: inexplicable. Almost as if it's no sense.

Then, you sighed and looked away from him.

"I'm sorry." said you while resting your head next to his. He looked at you confused.

"For what?" he asked and adjusted himself so that he could look at you but also be in a comfortable position. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You swallowed hard.

"I don't know..that you gotta take care of my shit while you're already feeling defeated and stuff.." you explained, almost whimpering.

"I notice how tired you are every day..we barely see or talk to each other before the evening and when i see you like this i feel like a burden or like i'm not doing enough for you...i don't know, i just miss you.." you added. You didn't want to add more pressure and stress on his shoulders but you needed to tell him.

You saw his expression on his face, focused on listening to you and all your rantling and he looked sad.

"Y/n..." he started.

"Honey, don't say that again. Yes i am tired but that doesn't mean i don't gotta take care of you when you feel down as well. Just because we're both not having the best of the days, it doesn't mean we gotta ignore each other or something like that. I take care of you cause i want to. Cause it makes me feel better when i manage to bring your smile back." he gently explained while playing with some strands of your hair, in a desperate attempt to soothe you.

"I'm sorry we barely see or talk to each other during the day, i wish we both had more time one for the other even tho at night i try to stay up as much time as possible, even if you are asleep cause i wanna make up for lost time." he continued, hoping you'd understand his words. You lowkey wished things went different. Wished that he never went to play those sick games.

"Yeah but...i don't know, i just wish i could do more for us, for you. You always take care of me but i never do enough to take care of you.." she said. Your tone of voice hid a hint of sadness in it.

"No, y/n. You do more than enough and that's what matters. I will always appreciate the little things you do cause i know how much effort you put into them. I know you love me, i know you care about me. I don't have to worry about anything else." he said. He knew you wouldn't believe him but he hoped that he managed to reassure you even if it was just for the moment.

You nodded slowly at his words and accepted them. You hid your face into the crock of his neck and snuggled against him, holding him as tight as you could, wanting to enjoy his company, his warmth for the night. His fingers found their ways in between your thin hair and caressed your scalp while the other hand was busy holding you against him. He wanted to protect you from everything and everyone. He wanted you to feel safe and he'd do anything to not let you get hurt.

He started to whisper reassuring words in your ear to facilitate your sleep.

“Please don’t ever leave me, Gi-hun.” you mumbled.

"I won’t, I'm here, love. I'm not going anywhere. I've got you." those were the last words you heard from him before you sweetly murmured: "I love you.." and drifted off to sleep.

He kissed your head tenderly and whispered an "I love you, too" muffled before closing his eyes and fully relaxing his body under yours, feeling his thoughts drifting away into dreams.

So there you were, both laying in each other arms after days full of stress and pressure, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable and to rest for the night.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 21

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If we died tonight, I'd die yours,"

summary: joel found you

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 21

masterlist!

previous | chapter 20

next | ending

The cold seeped into your bones, icy and unyielding against the concrete floor, and you could feel every bruise, every cut, every ache in your body.

The pain was an unrelenting, throbbing reminder of everything you’d endured, but that wasn’t the worst part. What tore at you now was the horror of seeing Emma, your best friend, taken from this world in a way you wouldn’t have believed possible had you not witnessed it with your own eyes.

Her life, her laughter, her warmth—gone. Because of you.

A sob caught in your throat as the weight of it crushed you. Emma hadn’t deserved this; she had a whole life stretched out before her, full of hope and love.

She had just started it, a new chapter, a new promise. And now, because she’d tried to save you, it had ended in unimaginable horror. The images wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t stop replaying in your mind.

Jim—God, he was probably gone too. Gone, because of you.

Desperation clawed at your chest, leaving you empty and hollow. You could feel yourself slipping, hope draining out of you like a slow bleed, and something bitter was taking its place.

A deep, aching question clawed at the edges of your mind, one you’d never dared ask before, but one that refused to stay silent any longer: 

Why would God let this happen to you?

You’d loved Him, stayed faithful, tried to be everything you were taught you should be. And yet, here you were, in the darkest pit, left to rot. 

Why?

Tears blurred your vision, and somewhere between the sobs and the silence, you felt something break inside you.

You stopped praying, stopped hoping for anything good. The words, the comfort, the promises—all of it felt hollow.

You were empty now, just a shell of everything you once believed.

The door creaked open, and in he came—Negan, his footsteps echoing like the toll of a death knell. He looked at you, pity mingling with something else in his gaze, a twisted satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy.

“Aw, look at you,” he cooed.

“See, doll, I didn’t want it to come to this. But you had to go and make things difficult. If you’d just listened to me—if you’d been my good girl—none of this would’ve happened.”

The rage bubbled up, scalding and raw. You looked at him, every ounce of hatred burning in your eyes. “What did you do to her?” The words barely made it past the tightness in your throat, but they were laced with venom.

You could feel it, the sickening truth—whatever he’d done, it was something worse than you could imagine.

Negan chuckled, an unholy sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t you worry about her,” he said, a dark glint in his eye.

“I took real good care of her.” The words lingered, taunting, but before you could say anything more, he pulled a medical kit from his bag, the glint of a syringe catching your eye.

Panic shot through you, and you scrambled backward, heart pounding. “Don’t… don’t touch me!"

Negan’s eyes softened, his tone suddenly too gentle, too calm. “Relax, princess,” he murmured, reaching for your arm. “I just need you to play along for a bit.”

But you jerked back, thrashing against his grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracked, fueled by the horror churning in your chest, the feeling of his hand on your skin like a brand.

The gentle smile on his face vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous stare. His grip tightened, bruising, and in one swift motion, he struck you across the face, the impact leaving stars in your vision.

“Listen to me, you stupid little bitch,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly. “I’m done asking nicely. You’re going to be a good girl and do as I say, or you’re going to wish you had.”

You barely registered the sting of the needle as he plunged it into your arm. The world began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edges, and you fought it, clawing for consciousness, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

But the drug took hold fast, dragging you down, down, until the world was nothing but darkness.

***

The address Negan gave led Joel to an unassuming neighborhood, quiet and tucked away, where homes lined the street like silent sentries.

Everything here was normal, almost obscenely so, and the ordinariness of it all set his nerves on edge. How could something so terrible be hiding behind these closed doors?

How could neighbors go about their days, clueless to the horror lurking so close? He took a long, deep breath, steeling himself, fingers grazing over the cold metal of his pistol holstered by his side.

He wasn’t a fool; he knew this was a trap. But nothing—nothing—would stop him from stepping into it if it meant the chance to see you alive again.

Before he entered, Joel slipped his phone from his pocket, sending his location to Tommy, leaving the device outside on a rock by the front gate.

He couldn’t afford distractions; whatever came next would be a fight to the end.

As he made his way up the steps, he felt it in his bones, that tether connecting him to you, stretched thin but unbroken. He knew you were here, somewhere behind these walls, waiting, needing him.

His heart ached at the thought of what you’d endured. It wasn’t right—none of this was right. 

Inside, the air was thick with rot and rust, the scent of decay seeping into Joel’s lungs as he moved through the shadowed house.

Every step felt like a descent deeper into hell, each room echoing with the silent horror Negan had constructed within these walls.

The quiet was suffocating, pressing against his senses as he advanced with tense, deliberate steps, the weight of his weapon a cold comfort against his side.

The metallic smell of blood seemed to seep through the walls, thickening the air like rot as Joel moved down the dim corridor, his gaze fixed on the heavy big metal door at the end.

Blood was smeared across its surface, a dark, cruel stain, like the mark of some unholy ritual. He forced himself to breathe through the nausea rising in his throat, steadying himself with a muttered plea.

Please, God, let her be alive.

With a rough, trembling hand, he pushed open the door, entering a space so silent and hollow it felt like stepping into a tomb. The walls were metallic and gray, shimmering faintly under the dim, flickering light.

A hulking freezer stood in the corner, and around it lay instruments of terror—chainsaws, rusted wrenches, and knives coated in dried blood.

This was no ordinary room; it was a pit of nightmares.

He barely took three steps before his gaze froze on the horror ahead—a headless body hung from a butcher’s hook.

With a dress dangling from her shoulders, hair matted against blood-smeared fabric. For a sickening moment, his heart stopped, every nerve screaming as he tried to push down the dread that it was you.

But it wasn’t.

He knew you. The shape of your body, the softness of your shoulders, the line of your arms. Relief coursed through him, but only for a split second.

Desperately, he moved toward the freezer, steeling himself for whatever horror he might find. Inside, jars lined the shelves—heads frozen in twisted, agonized expressions.

Women. Girls to be exact. They don't look older than 20.

His stomach churned violently, but he couldn’t look away. And there, in a fresh jar, he saw Emma’s familiar face, her eyes closed forever in a peaceful, sickening slumber.

His chest tightened as the desperate, icy panic surged within him. He’s taken them all.

As he backed away, his gaze landed on a large object draped in thick canvas, its edges sagging like a dark secret. Swallowing, he approached, slowly pulling back the cover, revealing a small dog cage, lined with soiled fabric and stained in red.

It's you.

He could barely breathe as he took in the sight, disbelief warring with hope. Inside, you lay motionless, your body crumpled and cold, pale in the dim light, bruises shadowing your face and arms.

Every inch of you looked fragile, lifeless. Joel’s heart shattered, the pain so raw it made him stagger.

"No... no," he whispered, stumbling forward. "No.” His voice cracked, shattering the silence.

He dropped to his knees, frantically reaching through the bars, hands trembling as he fumbled with the lock.

It wouldn’t budge, metal biting into his hands as he yanked, pulled, and beat at it in fury until finally, with a final, desperate heave, it gave way.

He pulled your body in his arms, a wave of coldness seeping through his skin as he held you close, brushing a shaking hand against your cheek, as if he could will the warmth back into you.

“Baby…I’m here.” His voice was barely a whisper, as fragile as he’d ever been, a man torn open.

He pressed his ear to your chest, desperate for any sign of life, but your skin was cold, your pulse faint to nonexistent, the quiet threatening to consume him.

"I'm here now… open your eyes, babygirl," he whispered, voice raw and trembling, searching for any flicker, any faint sign of life.

He leaned close, brushing his thumb over your bruised skin, trying to will you back to him. "Doll… please… open your eyes. I'm here."

His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body trembling with the weight of the moment, and yet—somewhere, deep in his bones—he felt you.

You couldn’t be gone. Not you. This couldn’t be happening.

Desperation clawed at him as he murmured again, “I’m here… please, please… doll…” The sound of his voice, broken and laced with grief, shattered in the silence.

He clutched you tighter, pressing you to his chest, a hollow ache blooming in the very marrow of him. "Please… don't do this to me, baby…"

"Don't do this to me..."

For the first time in years, Joel prayed.

He’d long forgotten how to ask for mercy, how to whisper words into the void and hope something beyond him might listen.

But here, in this moment, he found himself clinging to the last, fragile remnants of belief, calling out to a God he’d long turned away from, begging—pleading—that you be spared.

His lips moved in a silent prayer, the words barely more than a broken murmur, all his hope wrapped into each fractured plea. Please… don’t take her. Don’t let her go.

His world collapsed into this single, unbearable moment. Everything—the pain, the emptiness, the years he’d spent buried in his own grief—shrank down to this: holding you, willing you to stay.

A part of him whispered that you were gone, that he’d come too late. It sliced through him, the pain cold and merciless, tearing at him from the inside.

But he couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. He held you tighter, as if he could pull you back to life with sheer, desperate force.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispered, his voice a soft plea, thick with tears. "You promised me… remember? You promised."

His tears fell onto your skin, mingling with the blood that marred your face, his grief seeping into every inch of you. He bent his head, pressing his lips against your forehead, his tears hot and relentless.

Every memory, every moment with you flashed through his mind, a lifetime of love condensed into seconds. The laughter you’d shared, the softness in your eyes when you’d look at him—all of it now hung in the balance, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

Joel's grip tightened, his arms wrapped around you like he could shield you, even now, from everything dark and vile in this world. "Please, come back to me," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath, the words pulled from the deepest part of him. 

Come back.

His chest ached, his heart beating against a wall of sorrow so thick it was suffocating. And still, he held you, as though love alone could tether your soul back to him, could fill the silence that had swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, the silence between you shattered as you gasped awake, air flooding into your lungs in a desperate, rattling breath.

Joel’s heart jolted with such force he almost pulled back, but instead, he held you tighter, his relief an overwhelming wave crashing over him.

You thrashed weakly in his arms, vision blurred, disoriented and terrified, your voice breaking in panicked cries. "No! No! Don’t touch me!"

"Hey, hey… it’s me. It’s me," he murmured softly, his hands gentle on your shoulders as he tried to calm you.

His voice was thick, a rough whisper, barely holding back the tears of relief as he drew you closer, feeling the steady warmth of your breath against his chest.

"Joel?" He felt you relax, and slowly, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go, Joel wrapped his arms tighter around you, silently thanking whatever force was left in this world for bringing you back to him.

"Thank you...Thank you God," he whispered to God, to bring you back.

Your blurred vision cleared, and as your gaze fell on his face, the tears came, spilling over in a torrent of relief, of exhaustion, of love.

You clung to him, like a child, letting out every fear, every longing, until the weight of his presence seemed to ground you, to make you feel safe again.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your voice trembling, breaking.

He pulled you close, pressing his lips to the side of your head, his words soft and steady. "I got you. You’re safe now… I’m here now." His heart clenched as he felt you collapse against him, trusting him to carry the weight of this moment.

The horror of everything he’d witnessed, everything he’d feared, lingered on the edges of his mind, but with you here in his arms, he could finally breathe.

He then kissed you, you kissed him back.

The warmth of Joel's embrace, that kiss—long, desperate, everything unspoken between you poured into it—all of it felt like salvation, like drowning in relief only to be pulled into air and held there, safe.

Your lips pressed together in a fierce, shared need to feel every ache, every moment of fear, longing, and love—the kiss deepening as if it could carry every bit of pain you’d endured and let it dissolve in his arms.

For a moment, it was just the two of you against the horror, the emptiness that had swallowed you whole.

Here, with him, you are finally feel alive again.

But then, the moment split open. A shadow loomed behind him, and a chill ran down your spine, the dread slithering into your heart before you even turned.

You pulled back, eyes wide, breath catching as you saw Negan standing there, his mouth twisted in a cruel, dark smirk.

In his hands was that familiar bat, glinting under the dim light, raised with lethal intent.

"NO, JOEL—" you managed, your voice breaking as terror surged through you, but it was already too late.

The bat crashed down with a sickening, brutal force, and Joel’s body crumpled beneath the blow.

“Joel!” Your scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate. His form lay motionless, blood slowly trickling from the wound on his head, staining his face as his eyes fell shut.

The sight shattered you.

Negan grabbed you, yanking you away with unyielding strength. You kicked, you clawed, but it was no use. “NO! Don’t do anything to him! Please, don’t hurt him, don’t—” But your pleas fell on deaf ears.

He threw you back into the cold, unforgiving cage, the door slamming shut with a merciless clang.

"NEGAN, NO!" You pounded against the bars, fists slamming as you screamed. He only watched, amused, as though your desperation was an orchestra he enjoyed conducting.

Across the room, Negan dragged Joel’s limp body to a chair, binding his hands and legs with thick, rough ropes. He worked meticulously, each knot tight, his gaze never leaving Joel's battered face.

Blood dripped from the wound on Joel’s head, trailing slowly down his neck, and you felt a crushing helplessness as you watched him, your voice cracking as you screamed.

“Joel! Joel, please… wake up…”

You clawed at the bars until your nails split, your hands bloody, but the steel held fast.

The reality of the moment sank into your bones like ice, each second stretching with dread. "NEGAN, PLEASE!" you begged, your voice breaking, but he only turned toward you with a mocking, cold look.

"That’s the last time he’ll get to touch you," Negan sneered, disgust twisting in his voice as he gestured back at the spot where you’d kissed Joel, where you’d clung to him like he was your last hope. “Disgusting.”

***

Joel’s world flickered back to life in fragments, his mind swimming as he fought the waves of blackness pressing against him.

His head throbbed with a searing pain, and his vision blurred as he forced his eyes open, seeing only flashes of movement and shapes at first.

Then, bit by bit, his sight cleared, and he could see you through the haze, slumped against the bars of a cage, tears streaming down your face as you called his name, desperate and broken.

His heart twisted at the sight, fear tearing through him as he tried to reach for you, only to feel the bite of ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles.

He was bound to the chair, unable to move. Panic settled into his chest, sharp and unforgiving. “Doll…” he managed, his voice hoarse and shaky as he struggled against the restraints, the blood from his wound still warm, trickling down his neck.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cruel, like the edge of a blade scraping against bone. "Well, look who’s finally awake,"he jeered, stepping into Joel’s view, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted pleasure.

Every word that left Negan’s lips felt like an assault, each syllable laced with venom.

The sight of him, standing there so casually, was enough to stir something inside Joel that was deeper than fury—it was primal, raw, a burning hatred that ignited within him.

Every muscle in his body screamed to break free, to get to you, to tear Negan apart. He pulled at the ropes, feeling them bite into his skin, but they held fast, as immovable as the horror that had unfolded.

"I'm going to kill you," Joel growled, the words thick with rage and the promise of retribution. The air around him seemed to crackle with violence, his every word a threat, his every breath heavy with hatred.

Negan’s laugh was low and cruel, a sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Without warning, he drove his fist into Joel's stomach, and the sound of it—the sickening thud—echoed in the room, a sharp crack of pain that sent a wave of terror through you.

“No!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands reaching helplessly through the bars, as if you could stop the onslaught with your mere presence.

Negan wiped the blood from his knuckles and smiled. "You think you can save her, huh? Think you can play hero, Miller?" he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn.

"C’mon, you can’t be that stupid. You really think I’d kill her? Please… she’s way too much fun to kill." He sneered, another brutal punch landing on Joel’s face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.

Joel’s eyes were darkened with pain, his mouth now filled with blood, but the fire in him didn’t waver. "I’m gonna fucking kill you," Joel spat, the blood dribbling from his lips, his voice hoarse with fury.

Negan tilted his head, studying Joel with a twisted grin. "Tough guy, huh?" he said, mocking the very idea of Joel’s strength. "Well, let’s see how tough you are when you can’t do a damn thing about it."

Joel’s heart was thundering in his chest, the pulse of his veins matching the brutal rhythm of the punches he endured.

But his spirit didn’t falter; it only burned brighter with every insult, with every blow that landed on his battered body.

Negan circled him, like a predator sizing up its prey, leaning in close, his voice thick with venom as he whispered into Joel’s ear. "What were you thinking, huh? That you could just walk in here and stop me?" He chuckled, shaking his head, his voice dripping with mocking pity.

"We were fine without you. Hell, we were thriving without you." His eyes flicked over to you in the cage, a dark glimmer in them. "She was happy, you know. Didn’t need you to be in her head. But here you are, playing the white knight, trying to save the girl you don’t even fucking deserve."

Negan's voice was like poison, dripping from his lips with a slow, deliberate cruelty, each word laced with venom meant to tear Joel down, to twist the knife deeper.

He knew the weight of Joel's guilt, the shadows of his past, and now, he was going to use it against him.

"You think you deserve her?" Negan’s tone was mocking, cruel, his eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure. "You? You think you can be her hero, Miller? You’ve known her since she was a little girl, right? Since she was three? And now you’re fucking her?" His voice rose with each word, the venom thickening, as if he could make Joel choke on the very idea.

"Disgusting."

Joel’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t respond—not yet. Not when Negan was playing with fire, fanning the flames of his mind, trying to ignite a spark of doubt in his heart.

Joel remained silent, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his gaze burning holes into the floor beneath him.

Negan was trying to gaslight him, make him feel like the monster, make him believe the lies about his relationship with you.

Negan leaned in, his breath hot against Joel's ear, like a shadow whispering sweet poison into his soul. "You really think you’re a hero, huh?" He chuckled darkly.

"You think you’re saving her? You’re just like them, Miller. Just like Ben. Just like that goddamn pedophile you killed. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it—taking matters into your own hands, playing God, playing judge, jury, and executioner. You’re the same fucking monster they were. You’re just too stupid to see it."

The words sent a cold shiver through Joel’s veins, like ice water splashing against his skin.

The ghosts of his past clawed at him, the blood-stained memories that had been haunting him for years now bubbling up to the surface. He had killed Ben and Jamie. Killed them to protect her. 

"You killed them because you want her to be all yours. Not because you want to protect her,"

Joel’s jaw clenched, but his mind started to churn with the doubt Negan planted, each word a tiny crack in the wall Joel had built around himself.

He had been justifying everything, hadn’t he? His actions… the things he did for you. It was all for you, wasn’t it? To protect you.

But Negan was playing with fire, and his words were like gasoline—burning through the edges of Joel’s sanity, forcing him to look at the truth through a new, ugly lens.

“God,” Negan’s voice dropped to a low murmur, almost conversational, “I watched her for a long time. Long before you even fucking noticed her.”

He stepped closer, his breath sour, smelling of something rotten, something foul. “The first time I met her father… I was going to repent. I was going to change. Hell, Naomi told me to visit Reverend Gibson, to clean up my act, to find some peace. I was gonna find salvation. All those other girls—bored me. But then… I saw her."

"She was in that white sundress, innocent, pure. I thought—" He let out a dark laugh, shaking his head. “I thought God wanted me to have her, Miller. Maybe she was my redemption. To have a pure, sweet, innocent soul to redeem my sins."

"But then you showed up. Like a fucking rat you have to showed up for God's sake!"

Joel felt his breath catch, like he was drowning in the weight of Negan’s words, each one pressing down on him, pushing him deeper into a pit of guilt and self-loathing.

Negan’s laughter was sickening. It clawed at Joel’s chest, and the air felt thick, choking. “You… you played the fucking hero, huh? You couldn’t leave well enough alone."

Negan walking circled him, "You thought you could save her from her misery just because her father disciplined her. So what, Joel? Girls need to be fucking taught!"

"I agree with her father on that one. She was a brat! and oh she still is!"

The silence was deafening after those words. They hung in the air like smoke, choking the life out of Joel, filling him with a slow, creeping dread.

His mind spun, the thought of you, so innocent, so pure, now tangled in his web. Negan was poisoning everything, every memory of you, twisting it into something ugly, something perverse.

Negan didn’t stop, his words like chains tightening around Joel’s neck, dragging him deeper into the muck. "You led her to you, Joel. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t."

"You acted like you could protect her. But you can’t even protect yourself from your own past, can you? You’re so goddamn broken, so messed up. And now you’re just taking advantage of her. 

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a storm of guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. Was he—had he really led you here? Was he really just as bad as Negan said?

Negan’s voice dropped to a mocking whisper, dragging the words through Joel's mind like claws on glass. “She was your daughter’s friend, Joel. Ellie’s friend.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Joel’s ear.

“Don’t you feel disgusted? You’ve fucked your daughter’s friend. That’s how far you’ve fallen.”

Joel’s head swam, the weight of the words crashing over him, drowning him in a sea of doubt and self-loathing.

His grip tightened on the ropes, his knuckles white, but there was something else now—a spark of something dark, something cold in his chest.

"What do you think Jane would say, huh?" with the mention of his late wife, Joel's body tighten up.

"You think she’d be proud of you, molesting Evelyn’s daughter? Evelyn, Jane’s best friend. You’re disgusting, Joel. All of this? It’s on you."

Negan continued, his voice a low, mocking growl, pushing Joel to the edge. “You’re no better than any of us. Look at you, Miller."

"You took advantage of her. She was just a little girl who needed someone to teach her. And you? You saw an opportunity, didn’t you?”

"You are pathetic," Negan's word hit like a snake's fangs, stung through Joel's heart.

Joel clenched his fists harder, his body trembling with rage, fear, and a deep sense of self-loathing. His throat burned as he fought to keep the tears back, to keep from choking on the agony of his own thoughts. The floodgates were closing, but they were trembling, about to burst.

What has he done?

Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom now. He couldn’t focus. His mind was torn between the images of you—so sweet, so innocent—and the cruel words that Negan kept throwing at him, one after another.

But then, through the haze of doubt, through the suffocating weight of Negan’s venom, Joel heard your voice.

“No!” You screamed, your voice breaking through the madness, a raw, desperate plea.

“Joel, don’t listen to him!” The words trembled on your lips, an echo of everything you needed to say, everything you wanted Joel to hear.

"Don't listen to him!" you screamed again, your breath ragged, your throat burning from the effort. The sound of Negan’s poison lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and thick, but you couldn’t let it smother the truth.

You needed him to hear you. He needed to hear you.

"Joel, look at me!" you pleaded, your hands gripping the bars of the cage so tightly your fingers turned white.

Every word Negan had said felt like a bullet to your heart, but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t—let Joel fall into the same trap. He was better than this. 

He is better than them.

"You’re not like them, Joel. You never were!" The words spilled from your mouth, raw and desperate, desperate to break through the fog that was clouding his mind.

You needed him to see the truth—the truth that was you and him, the life you shared, the love you both fought for in the darkest corners.

"You love me. In your own way, but you love me, Joel! You saved me! You gave me a life I never thought I deserved." Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you were feeling, the deep well of emotion that surged between you both.

"Joel, I love you."

"I love you, Joel. and you love me, you are my savior, you saved me."

"Look at me! Look at me, Joel! Don't let him under your skin, please,"

Negan, on the other side of this fragile moment, stood grinning, eyes glinting with amusement, as if watching a puppet fight its strings.

He saw Joel waver, saw the flicker of doubt and fear, and he thrived on it. His smile was nothing short of wicked, enjoying the chaos he had stirred.

He had set his trap, and now he watched, savoring the confusion that was slowly chipping away at Joel’s resolve.

You could see Joel, fighting against the chaos in his own mind, the weight of Negan’s twisted words pulling at him like a chain.

His eyes flickered, lost, haunted, caught between his past and the present, between the lies and the truth. But then—then—he looked at you.

For a moment, it was like time stopped. The world held its breath, and all that existed was you and him.

His gaze locked on yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the raw, unspoken love, the pain, the guilt, the shame, but also the fight.

The fight to break free, the fight to protect you, the fight to keep you safe.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft but steady now, as if you were trying to calm the storm that raged inside him.

"You are so much better than this. You’re not like them, Joel. You’re not a monster. You are the best father Ellie and Sarah could ever want, Joel. They will be proud of you, she would have. The best man I have ever wanted, you're my protecter, the love of my life, you are my soul, Joel."

But as you cried out to him, Negan’s smile twisted into a sneer, his patience running thin. "Enough with your fucking mouth!" he growled, turning to you with fury, his hands reaching for the cage, yanking the door open with a violence that made you flinch.

"Shut up already."

Before you could react, Negan was on you, his hand slapping across your face with a sickening force, sending your head whipping to the side.

The sound of the slap echoed in the room, louder than your scream. The sting spread like fire across your cheek, your eyes filling with tears that blurred your vision.

For a moment, the world spun—his presence, his cruelty, all of it was too much to bear.

With that, Joel—Joel is awake.

In that instant, the haze lifted from his eyes. The fury, the protectiveness, everything that made Joel Joel came rushing back.

His muscles strained against the ropes, his eyes flashing with an intensity that would have burned holes in the walls if he could.

He was no longer the broken man Negan had manipulated, no longer the victim of his words.

He was the man who had fought for you, the man who had saved you.

"You son of a bitch!" Joel roared, the raw anger in his voice like a clap of thunder. His body surged forward, every instinct screaming to protect you, to break free from his restraints.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" He screamed, his hands were shaking with rage, but that was the only thing that kept him grounded—the unrelenting need to destroy the man who had dared to lay a finger on you.

The rope binding Joel's wrists strained as he twisted, trying to force the knot loose, his mind ablaze with fury. Every word Negan spoke chipped away at his restraint, his heart hammering with hatred.

The sight of you in Negan's hold—his arm around your neck, the gleaming knife pressed to your throat—made Joel’s blood boil.

But he knew he had to keep his wits; one wrong move, and you’d be lost.

Negan grinned, tightening his grip around your neck. His voice was dripping with mockery as he taunted, "What’s the matter, honey? Scared now?" He leaned closer, his sneer twisted with sadistic pleasure.

"Oh, Joel, why’d you have to ruin everything? If it wasn’t for you, she and I—" he paused, savoring each word, "we’d have lived happily ever after."

Joel’s hands shook as he worked against the restraints, his heart pounding. Negan’s twisted words were knives slicing into him, each one crueler than the last.

"She’s delicious, Joel," Negan sneered, his voice sickly sweet as he ran his tongue along his teeth. "The way she tastes... can’t get enough of her." He licked his lips exaggeratedly, taunting Joel, mocking him with every vile syllable.

"You should’ve known," Negan laughed, pressing the blade closer to your skin, just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"Stop it, Negan, please," you whimpered, tears spilling from your eyes, the despair twisting in your voice.

Negan only tightened his hold, his voice low and cruel. "What’s the matter, honey? You were enjoying it too, right?" The words crushed you, and you turned your face away, unable to look at Joel, a sense of shame sinking into your soul.

Joel's fingers scraped against the ropes with renewed desperation, his fury almost blinding.

Negan’s voice slithered through the silence, every word laced with cruelty. "You know," he continued, "I thought of sharing her around with the others. She made me good money, after all. She knows how to entertain… they paid well. Maybe you’d want a turn, too, Joel. She’s… profitable." He laughed, a dark, rasping sound that reverberated in the room, tightening the coil of hatred in Joel’s chest.

"I’m gonna kill you," Joel growled through gritted teeth, his voice a low, venomous promise.

"Ah, ah," Negan teased, pressing the blade harder against your skin, making you wince. "I’m not finished yet."

Negan’s voice softened, a calculated cruelty in every word as he continued. "But I started thinking... she can’t stay young forever. Thought maybe… it’d be a shame not to pass on those… charming qualities of hers."

"And wouldn’t you know it, Joel, she was carrying a piece of me inside her. That's right, My child!"

"She didn’t agree, of course… but a little force never hurt, right?"

Joel’s heart froze at Negan’s taunts, every word tearing open old wounds he’d buried deep.

Each sentence was a twisted knife, slashing at the walls Joel had built to keep the pain, guilt, and memories at bay. Negan’s voice was venomous, slithering around the broken dreams Joel had long since given up on.

He felt the darkness creeping back—the part of him that, years ago, had once loved fiercely, only to lose everything in one brutal instant.

But pregnant? His mind reeled, the word pounding in his skull like a drum. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, carrying his child—his child—pierced through the numbness in his heart.

He could barely breathe, the thought of you enduring such horror while he was oblivious igniting a fury so primal, so fierce, it nearly drowned him.

Rage tangled with a crushing sense of failure. He wanted to rip Negan apart with his bare hands, make him pay for every ounce of pain he’d inflicted.

Negan’s twisted laughter cut through his thoughts. “Yeah, she wanted a family, Joel,” he sneered, lips curling in a malicious grin.

“She had this fucking unrealistic idea, delusional bitch. You. Her. Playing house. Kids. The whole perfect life fantasy. But she knew, didn’t she?” Negan’s gaze pierced Joel, mocking him with each word.

“You were scared of it, scared of screwing it up like you did the last time. I mean, how could she not know? You’ve got ‘haunted’ written all over you. Lost control, didn't you? When you killed your own family,” Negan laughed, as if savoring each jab.

Inside, Joel’s heart twisted. He remembered the night like yesterday. Now he was left with nothing but ashes and guilt that hollowed him out from the inside.

Every part of him was screaming to shut Negan up, to wipe that smug look off his face. But it was true, wasn’t it? Deep down, he was scared—scared of losing again, scared of failing you the way he’d failed before.

But you, you were different. Despite everything, you stayed.

Despite the darkness he carried, the broken parts he tried to hide, you’d somehow found something worth holding onto.

That fierce loyalty of yours was like a light in the pitch-black cave of his heart, something so pure it almost hurt to look at.

You were stupid, he told himself, but the truth was you were braver than he ever could be.

You had this impossible, relentless hope—the dream of a life together, a family, even though he’d told himself it could never be.

You had loved him, flaws and all, even when he couldn’t love himself. And now, the thought of what Negan had done, the way he’d shattered that hope, drove him to the edge.

"But this stupid bitch killed my baby before they could feel their daddy's voice,"

Negan's words echoed in the dim room, each one twisting deeper into Joel's heart. The pain surged through him like wildfire. You'd done the unimaginable for him, sacrificing more than he could comprehend, and now here you were, your hope and loyalty used against you like weapons.

It was more than he could take—Negan was tearing away the last pieces of himself, bit by bit. Joel's fists clenched tight, knuckles white, straining against the binds holding him back, desperate to shut Negan up, to take back what had been lost.

Negan’s voice grew sharper, each taunt slicing like a blade. "You see, Joel? this bitch is loyal and fucking crazy, she killed her own child for you! just to make a new baby for you!"

"She killed her own kid—for you. All that love, all that loyalty, wasted on you."

"But it’s over, you hear me? You and her? Done. I’ll make sure she forgets you. And when I’m finished with you, there’ll be nothing left."

The world narrowed to this single moment. Negan, too consumed with his taunts to notice, didn’t see you move.

In a swift, silent motion, you grabbed a jagged tool from the ground behind him, the weight of it heavy in your hand. You swung it, heart pounding, and plunged it into Negan's chest with everything you had.

Negan gasped, staggering back, his eyes flashing with fury and shock. In an instant, he retaliated, plunging his knife into your side.

The pain ripped through you, a white-hot flash as you felt the blade sink in, stealing the air from your lungs.

"Joel..."

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the throbbing ache and the look on Joel's face—his eyes wide, pure horror carved into every line, as he screamed for you, voice raw and desperate. 

"NO!"

Your name fell from his lips, a broken prayer, just as you stumbled back, collapsing onto the cold ground. Negan kicked you aside with brutal force, your body sliding across the floor as you fought to keep your vision steady.

You could barely hear Joel’s cries over the rushing in your ears, his desperate shout, the anguish that filled every word, but you felt his presence as if he were right there, holding you.

The sound of wood splintering filled the room as Joel threw his weight against the chair, shattering the binds that held him. In one furious motion, he was on his feet, lunging at Negan with a force that seemed to shake the air.

They collided in a storm of fists and fury, each punch landing like thunder. Blood smeared the floor, echoing the carnage that seethed within Joel’s heart, his fists fueled by a rage that seemed boundless.

Every blow was a release, a reckoning for the agony and fear Negan had unleashed.

Through your blurred vision, you saw them—Joel, relentless and unyielding, his fists raining down on Negan, every punch charged with a love he’d never put into words, a love you could feel, pulsing through every beat of your wounded heart.

The scene before you felt like a twisted nightmare, each moment a struggle to stay present, to push through the pain as blood seeped from your wounds.

You clutched your side, feeling the warmth slip between your fingers as you pressed down, refusing to give in. You had to stay awake. You had to stay with him.

Joel was still fighting, his fists relentless, fueled by desperation and a love that spoke louder than words. But Negan’s laugh rang out, mocking, dark.

“Tough guy, Miller? Is that all you got?” Negan’s face was bruised, bloodied, but he still smirked through it, as if even this pain was just another game to him.

"Bring it on!" Negan said. Joel didn’t let up, his fists a storm of anger, of love, of every unspoken promise he’d made. He was protecting you with everything he had.

But in a flash, Negan’s hand found his bat, and with a brutal swing, he sent Joel flying backward, his head colliding with the floor.

As Joel’s head slammed against the cold ground, a sickening thud reverberated through the room, a sound that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

But Negan loomed over him now, his eyes alight with a sadistic joy. “My turn,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again and again, each blow ringing out, a sickening thud that filled the room.

"NO!"

Joel tried to stand, tried to fight, but he was slowing, his strength waning. Blood pooled around him, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were glazed, his face pale.

Blood ran from his temple in a dark, winding river, and you could see the light beginning to fade in his eyes, the haze of consciousness slipping further with each ragged breath.

His gaze found yours, as he tried to smile, to offer you one last reassurance. You felt a surge of panic rise in you, raw and consuming, as you screamed, “NO! STOP IT!" you saw Negan bash his bat to Joel over and over again.

But Negan laughed, a deep, sinister sound that filled every corner of the room. “Look at you, Miller,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again, the force of it making Joel’s body jerk, each strike ripping pieces from your soul.

“You really thought you could win?”

Your vision blurred as hot tears slipped down your cheeks. The pain in your side was blinding, your own blood pooling beneath you, but nothing compared to the sight of Joel—your Joel—bruised, broken, and bleeding, his life slipping away with each heartbeat.

“Wake up, Joel,” you whispered, a plea laced with desperation, but your voice cracked as you saw him begin to fade.

"WAKE UP!" you screamed, “Please, Joel. Wake up!” You tried to rise, but agony shot through you, your body weakening under the weight of your injuries.

All you could do was lie there, helpless, watching as the man you loved was torn apart before your eyes.

Negan paused, his cruel smile widening as he noticed Joel’s lips moving, a faint whisper escaping.

“What’s that, tough guy? what did you say? oh my God! tough son of a bitch! look! he tried to speak to you!” He laughed looking at you as Negan point to Joel laying in the ground blood all over him, mocking, stepping back just enough to give Joel room to speak.

Joel’s head lifted, his bloodied face turned to you, his voice broken but determined.

“C-close… your eyes, doll…” His words were barely audible, each syllable a struggle, blood trickling from his mouth as he tried to form the words.

He lifted a hand, reaching out to you, trembling, his fingers stretching to bridge the aching space between you.

You shake your head crying, "No...Joel...", The world closed in around you, the weight of your love for him too heavy, too fierce, to bear the thought of letting go.

Tears blurred your vision, and you choked back a sob, heart shattering as you whispered back, “You can’t… I can’t lose you.”

"J-just, c-close your eyes, you're gonna be okay," he said again, blood now coming out from his mouth again.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with tears. No, you thought, this can’t be it.

The man who’d become everything to you—the man who’d fought against his own darkness just to hold onto yours—was fading. You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t lose him.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your gaze fell to the floor.

It's your gun. Your bible and your gun you hadn't see in a long time.

The gun and the Bible Frank had given you, lying just within reach beneath the table. A fire rekindled within you.

A fury as deep and fierce as your love for Joel, you need to save him. This man would fight to his last breath for you, and you'd do the same for him.

Then you began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward the weapon. Negan, too caught up in his victory, hadn’t noticed, his laughter grating on your raw nerves.

“Oh, don’t worry, Joel,” Negan sneered, leaning over him with twisted delight. “I’m gonna take real good care of your girl here. Good night.”

But before he could swing, before he could deliver that final, sickening blow, you rose to your knees, aimed the gun, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The sound shattered the silence. Negan froze, the shock evident in his wide, stunned eyes as he stumbled, blood blooming across his chest. You fired again.

You didn’t stop. Y

He looked at you, eyes narrowing, but you held your ground, staring into him with a steady, unyielding gaze.

Again and again and again, you pressed the trigger, feeling your breath hitch with each pull, each impact sinking deeper, as if each shot was tearing away the chains he had wrapped around you.

You are screaming as the fury poured from you, pouring all the agony into each pull of the trigger, trying to emptying every last round into him, watching him fall, watching his face twist in horror as his strength faded.

Finally, the gun clicked, empty, but you weren’t finished. Dropping the weapon, you stepped forward, picking up his bat.

The weight felt righteous in your hands. Standing over him, you paused, staring down into his eyes, watching the realization settle—he knew he’d lost.

Negan’s bloodied mouth twisted into a smile, his laughter hoarse and fading. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice broken, taunting to the very end. “All grown up now.”

Those were his last words.

You raised it high and swung the bat with everything you had, unleashing everything he’d taken from you, every wound he had caused, every hope he’d tried to crush.

The sound of cracking bone echoing in the room, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat as you brought it down again and again and the bone shattered beneath you.

The world faded, reduced to the rhythmic, furious release of pain, until nothing was left but silence, his broken body beneath you.

You dropped the bat, chest heaving, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

And then you heard it—Joel’s voice, barely a whisper, calling your name, grounding you, reminding you of who you were beyond the fury.

You turned toward him, your body swaying with the weight of pain and exhaustion. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself wanted to hold you back, to stop you from reaching him.

But you pushed forward, collapsing beside him, your trembling hands finding his blood-streaked face, brushing against his stubbled cheek with a gentleness that defied the violence you’d just endured.

"Joel… hang on," you whispered, but the words barely escaped your lips, thick with tears.

His head lolled against you, his brown eyes finding yours, and the blood pooled in his hair shimmered like some tragic halo.

You could feel the strength slipping from his body, a slow ebbing tide that pulled him further away with every heartbeat.

"Look at me, doll," he murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper, his hand lifting with a tremor to brush your cheek, his thumb sweeping away the tears that blurred your vision.

"You’re… you’re gonna be okay."

You shook your head, gathering him closer, your blood mingling with his as you pressed his head to your lap, cradling him as though you could shelter him from the world that had dealt you both such cruelty.

"No, we’re gonna be okay," you insisted, your voice breaking under the weight of it, a plea wrapped in promise.

"Don’t leave me… please, Joel. I can’t do this without you."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his bruised face as he tried to smile, each line etched into his skin telling stories of a life spent fighting—and now, his final fight slipping through his grasp.

He lifted a hand, pressing against the wound on your side even as his own blood stained your fingers. Every breath was shallow, every word a strain.

He leaned his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes barely focusing but still on you, clinging to this moment, to you.

"I’m sorry, babygirl," he whispered, as if the words themselves could bind you together just a little longer.

“No. Don’t… don’t do this to me, Joel,” you begged, pressing your hand harder to his wound too, as if the pressure alone could stop the flow of time, of everything that was slipping away.

You cupped his face, tears falling onto his skin, mingling with the blood that soaked you both. "We’re gonna be okay. We have to be."

But even as you spoke, darkness edged into your vision too, the room narrowing to the beat of your shared breaths, slow and unsteady.

His fingers held yours, entwined in a desperate grip that softened as his strength faded, his pulse a faint echo in your hand. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words raw and cracked, filling the hollow spaces between you, the ache and loss that could never be spoken. “I’ll always be with you.”

The world blurred, the pain and fear blending into a strange calm as you traced your fingers over his face, memorizing every line, every scar.

"I love you so much, Joel," you whispered, voice barely a breath, pressing your lips to his forehead, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the man who had become your salvation, your strength.

He looked at you, his gaze softening, his hand falling to rest against your cheek one last time. "I found you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the darkness began to claim him.

In the distance, a sound broke the silence—a wail of sirens, voices muffled and faint, calling yours and Joel's name.

You heard your own name echoed, felt the vibration of the world rushing toward you, but it felt so far away, unreachable.

“Joel?” you whispered, weak and fading, your vision blurring as exhaustion pulled you under. Joel didn’t respond, his head resting still against your lap, his breathing shallow, slipping away from you.

Your name rang out again, closer now, a voice that you knew—a voice that felt like home.

"Tommy," you managed, a faint smile softening your lips as your gaze lifted, catching sight of his familiar face before the darkness claimed you.

“He found us.”

And then, like the soft closing of a book, everything faded into black.

HANG ON PEOPLE, WE STILL GOT ONE MORE FINAL CHAPTER!

[linka-from-captain-planet]

conspiracy theory: Alicia was older than 16 when she entered the canvas

in the shot of Alicia and Maelle back to back, Alicia is noticeably taller. This is a Choice - often in media, relative height is used to differentiate between teens and adults... even though in real life, most people reach their final adult height in their mid-teens. At 16, Maelle should be as tall as she'll ever be, but Alicia seems to imply she's got some more growing to do

before her name is known, Painted Alicia is called "Unknown Woman" in subtitles, and Maelle refers to her as a "woman" in dialogue

Clea may have given her siblings a hard time, but it's hard to imagine a ~13 year old pulling a ~1 year old's hair as the record "Clea! Don't Pull Your Sister's Hair!" implies Clea pulled Alicia's

in the Monolith memory of Aline teaching the three kids to paint, it doesn't seem like she's teaching one child and two older teens

in the Endless Tower, Fading Woman Clea says that she and Verso created the Gauntlet while Alicia read alone in her room, indicating Alicia was at least school age then. Young/Fading Boy Verso has many lines about Clea growing up and leaving him behind, so it's unlikely Clea was doing this when she was like 20 years old when Alicia was 7ish

All that above is pretty flimsy, but it doesn't feel unreasonable to take them as hints. It's pretty clear that Clea and Verso were close in age and grew up peas in a pod, until Clea probably hit puberty felt she outgrew him, and Alicia came along later and messed up the entire family dynamic. But 10 years later? It seems a big gap for how involved the children are with each other. It feels like they grew up in the same house at more or less the same time.

Renoir and Verso treat her like a teenager, but they're also Renoir and Verso. Clea is the most objective of of the family, and when Alicia feels Clea is babying her, Clea rebuts, "I know you aren't a child, but you aren't grown either."

Adulthood throughout history has been defined different ways, often tied to things a person did - marry, serve in the military, etc - rather than just reaching an age benchmark, and that age benchmark definitely wasn't always 18. In France, the age of majority was 21 until the 1970s. Alicia could be 20 and a minor by every measure, or say 21-22 and not mature enough for Clea to regard as an adult despite being a legal adult.

How old she literally is isn't that important, but it would add some ~layers~ if she were older than she lets on, or lets others know she is. You'd think that Maelle-Alicia would have something to say about having to be 16 again if she wasn't, but she sees life in the canvas as a second chance - and she craves an attentive caretaker. So, maybe she doesn't mind it, or maybe she just doesn't want to change the way people like Lune, Sciel, Gustave, Sophie, etc perceive her as their daughtersisterneice

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 27) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

Chapter 27

It’s bizarre to be so close to All Might. He’s the object of so much of Tomura’s hatred, and you’ve laid your fair share of blame on him, too – the Number One hero, the strongest and the fastest, able to save everyone except the person who matters most to you. But that’s not who he is anymore. Right now he looks so thin and fragile that even your hatred could break him in half.

The words leave your mouth in a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“Present Mic left you in the interrogation room to teach you a lesson. He was not authorized to do so. When we came to retrieve you, you were unconscious.” All Might coughs into a handkerchief. “There is an unusual amount of strain on your heart.”

You don’t want anyone thinking about that. “Is this some kind of good cop, bad cop thing?”

“No,” All Might says. All Might’s not a good liar. “If you choose to view it that way, perhaps. Your relationship with Present Mic is adversarial. I have hope that you can help me with something else.”

“With what?”

“You said something to Present Mic before he terminated the interview,” All Might says instead of answering you. “You appeared to take the blame for Shigaraki Tomura’s ascent as a villain. I’m interested in why you said that.”

You clam up. All Might doesn’t look worried. “You were unconscious for quite some time,” he says. “It gave me the opportunity to compile some research I’d been conducting. You see, it didn’t strike me as an accident that the first town Shigaraki destroyed when the war began was your hometown. The destruction was telegraphed enough in advance that most of the residents were able to evacuate, and I took the opportunity to interview them, to see if any of them could tell me something about you. The picture that emerged was similar to the one that emerged when I spoke to your friends, family, and coworkers, with one important difference. Nearly everyone in your hometown who spoke of you spoke another name in conjunction with yours.”

He sets a tablet down on the bed in front of you and presses play on a video. The woman speaking looks vaguely familiar to you. You don’t know why until you hear her voice, and realize with a jolt that she’s your preschool teacher.

“Oh, she and that Shimura boy were always together. You couldn’t separate them,” she’s saying. “I never saw a pair of students as close as those two.”

So it was obvious from the beginning, what you and Tenko were to each other. Someone prompts the interviewee from off-screen. “What was he like?” your teacher repeats. “A little emotional, but the sweetest boy you’ve ever seen. It was terrible, what happened to him.”

She keeps talking, you think, but All Might swipes to another video. This one is from a neighbor on your same block. “I saw them walk home together from school every day. They lived across the street from each other.”

All Might swipes again. Your kindergarten teacher, now. “— worst case of puppy love I ever saw. Kids are all or nothing at that age, but things weren’t the best for either of them at home. They probably felt like it was them against the world. If what happened had happened to her instead of him, he’d have gone just as insane as she did.”

“We’ll return to that in a moment,” All Might says. He lifts the tablet out of your lap. “There are no official records of the fate that befell the Shimura family, and the memories of those who lived on the street are clouded. They do remember, however, how you reacted to what you found in the Shimuras’ home, and that allowed me to piece together a likely course of events. Everything points to Shimura Tenko’s quirk awakening unexpectedly, and the surprise combined with a child’s lack of control led to his family becoming casualties.”

He consults his folder. “The neighbors reported shouting from inside the house earlier that afternoon, and some stated that they could hear a child crying in the yard. Late-breaking quirks are known to activate in states of heightened emotion. It seemed likely to me that Tenko did not intend to kill his family members — and the reports from those who knew you both do not describe a child with an innate desire to harm others. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

You catch yourself nodding. “To me, this answers two of the questions that have been plaguing us with regard to a psychological profile of you,” All Might says. “How you first encountered Shigaraki, and why you would choose to side with him. And it bears out a theory that I have held for some time — that it is possible, in fact, necessary, to save Shigaraki Tomura.”

Your eyes well up before you can stop them. Your breathing hitches, and no matter how hard you dig your nails into your palms, it doesn’t help. You flip your left hand, sink your nails into the back of it, and pull hard, trying to ground yourself, but All Might snatches your hands away. “Please don’t hurt yourself,” he says anxiously. “You are not in trouble. You are among friends. I understand that this is likely the first time anyone has expressed the idea to you that Shigaraki can or should be saved —”

“Stop saying that!” Your voice cracks, shatters. “You don’t want to save him. You want to kill him, just like everyone else! I’m not going to help you hurt him! I don’t want anyone to hurt him ever again.”

Your heart rate is escalating. All Might is gesturing anxiously, trying to calm you down, but you talk over him, struggling to catch your breath. “You want to know why I made the bullets? That’s why! So the next time one of you tries, I can take away the only thing any of you care about! I’m not stupid. I know what you want to do! If you want to kill him, you’ll have to kill me, too!”

You regret the words the instant they leave your mouth. It’s a clue, the biggest one you’ve ever left, but All Might doesn’t react even slightly. He keeps your hands separated so you can’t scratch and speaks calmly. “Do you believe his current state is your fault because you couldn’t save him when you were children? If my research is correct, you tried harder than anyone else. While there’s no record of his disappearance, there’s a lengthy record of your efforts to find him in the form of police reports, school incident responses, and medical records. Your efforts didn’t cease until you were placed on a not insignificant dose of risperidone.”

That’s an antipsychotic. Your parents put you on an antipsychotic so you would stop looking for Tenko — and as if that wasn’t enough, they wiped your memory, too. Fury begins to bubble up within you. All Might keeps talking. “You were a child. It was not your job to rescue him. It was my job, and I failed him,” he says. Your chest goes tight. “I’m tired of failing him. I believe he can be saved, and so do you. Will you help me do it?”

“Why do you need me?” Your voice is hoarse. You can’t be fooled. You need to be careful. “I’m not a hero. I’m nobody.”

All Might shakes his head. “You know Shigaraki better than anyone else,” he says. He rises from his chair. “Get some rest, and think about what we’ve discussed. In spite of what some of my colleagues may have said, it’s not too late — for either of you.”

All Might is tricking you, or trying to trick you. You’re almost certain of it. There’s no reason why a hero would conclude that you could be saved, let alone that Tenko could, and there’s no way they’d ever ask you to help them save him. You’re a villain. There’s nothing redeemable about you at all in the eyes of heroes. You deserve to rot in Tartarus forever. Why is letting you die a step too far? Society’s made their decision about you; that’s why you’re here. You aren’t worth saving.

Except Midoriya Izuku saved you, didn’t he? And All Might took the time to learn about Tenko’s past through you, to see that he hasn’t always been the way he is now. Should you have spoken up more, explained how much of the boy you knew is still present within the person he is now? Maybe. As long as they aren’t trying to trick you. As long as it isn’t all a ploy by the heroes to learn as much as they can about Tenko. To make him easier for them to kill.

You don’t know what the right thing to do is. How is it that it was easier for you to choose to step into your role as Tenko’s sidekick than it is for you to try to save him? Was it because it was just you, because the only people you had to trust to do it were the same people you’ve always trusted — yourself, and your best friend?

But you’ve learned to trust other people, too. You trusted Kurogiri to protect Tenko along with you. You trusted Kazuo to tell you the truth, even when you didn’t want to hear it. You trusted Mitsuko and Ryuhei to help you, not to sell you out. You trusted the League, some of them more than others, into wanting some of the same things that you want. You even trusted a few members of the Meta Liberation Army, by the end. Trusting people hasn’t been a mistake. Yet.

Your heart is racing again. You can’t tell if it’s because something’s happening to Tenko or because your own anxiety is driving it onward, but you press your hand against your chest and try to take deep breaths. All Might left the call button on the bed. You can press it if something goes wrong. In the mean time, you need to calm down. And by the time someone else comes to talk to you, you need to have made a decision.

All Might comes to talk to you the next day, but he’s not alone. You don’t know who he brought, but they want to talk to you by themselves first, and All Might asks if that’s okay with you, like you have any kind of choice in the matter. You say yes. Of course you’re going to say yes. All Might leaves, and someone else slips in through the door. Someone you recognize. “Midoriya.”

Midoriya Izuku’s gaze is flat as he looks at you. “It’s Deku.”

“I’m not calling you useless,” you say.

“What I call myself is my business,” Midoriya says. “That’s my hero name. You’re a villain.”

“I still don’t call people useless,” you say. “Does using your real name feel like that much of an insult to you?”

Midoriya’s eyes flash, and in them, you see the echo of an anger you recognize, a moment before he forces it down. You recognize that, too. “You took away Kacchan’s quirk,” he says. “Why did you do that?”

“So he wouldn’t blast me in the face,” you say. Midoriya’s expression twists. “I was supposed to let him hurt me?”

“You were trying to take away Aizawa-sensei’s quirk, too. Why?” Midoriya asks. His voice pitches upwards, cracks, and you remember all at once — he’s just a kid. “You know what it’s like to be quirkless. How could you do that to someone?”

“Because I don’t think that being quirkless is the worst thing that can happen to someone,” you say. “It’s not even close to the worst thing that’s happened to me.”

Midoriya looks like he thinks you’re out of your mind. Like he can’t imagine why any quirkless person wouldn’t hate every second of their life. An impulse boils up within you, an impulse to twist the knife, but you crush it. You’re a villain, sure. You’re not that kind of villain. “Do you have other questions for me?”

“Why did you decide to be a villain?”

That one pulls you up short. “You can’t save people unless you understand them,” Midoriya says. He looks tired. Way too tired for a fifteen-year-old. His hands are laced with surgical scars. “I don’t understand Tenko. I’ve tried, and I can’t. But you do, so maybe if I understand you — and you understand him — maybe I can make him stop.”

Your stomach clenches, and it’s not just because you’ve heard someone else use Tenko’s real name. “You want to kill him.”

“No!” Midoriya visibly recoils from the idea. “I want this to stop. I want my friends to stop getting hurt. I want people to be able to go home, if there’s anything left of home. I just want this to be over fast, and killing Tenko won’t end it. Just like letting you die wouldn’t have.”

He looks at you, holds your gaze. “I want to make it stop, but there’s a right way to do it and a wrong way, and I want to do it the right way. So tell me why you became a villain.”

You want to tell him, but you also feel like this is above his grade level. Midoriya looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “I know you guys are in love. I heard it.”

That strikes you as weird. “What do you mean, you heard it?”

“In One For All.”

You sit there with that for a second. “Tell me about what happened after I fell. Then I’ll tell you why I’m a villain.”

After you fell, Midoriya caught you. As soon as you were on the ground, heroes took you away, hid you from Tenko. Not that Tenko had a chance to look for you. He was taking critical hit after critical hit while the heroes tried to overwhelm Super-Regeneration and kill him, and according to Midoriya, something was wrong with him. “It didn’t make sense,” he says. “Based on what he’s able to do now, he should have crushed us. But it was like he was fighting himself.”

Your heart sinks. “We knew he’d gotten a bunch of quirks, and we knew one of them was probably All For One,” Midoriya continues. “I knew he wanted One For All, so I left the battlefield, hoping he’d chase me, and he did. When he tried to take it from me, we wound up in the world of One For All.”

“The world of One For All?”

“Where the vestiges of the past wielders live,” Midoriya says. You don’t know what to say to that. “Tenko was there, but it wasn’t just him. There was something else in there, like a shadow, and it was talking to him. Telling him you were dead and nothing mattered anymore.”

That breaks through the cloud of despair your failure’s left you suspended in. “I’m not dead.”

“I tried to say, but I can’t talk in that world yet,” Midoriya says. That makes as much sense to you as everything else Midoriya’s said so far, which is to say it doesn’t make any sense at all. “The shadow looked like it was Tenko’s, but it wasn’t him. It it kept trying to move without him. And then it moved him. Like he was a puppet or something. I was right there, but they weren’t fighting me anymore. They were fighting each other.”

Your chest goes tight, shortening your breath again. “Everybody had caught up to us by then,” Midoriya explains. “When I woke up, I knew it wasn’t Tenko fighting. I could see the shadow — Tomura. And I guess Tomura didn’t like how the fight was going, so he withdrew, and the rest of the army went with him. If he hadn’t —”

“It would have been the end of hero society,” All Might says from the door. “The end of Japan as we know it. We couldn’t defeat him. And since then —”

“We know which one of them is in control when a battle happens,” Midoriya breaks in. “You can tell when it’s Tomura because he’ll — hurt himself — while he’s fighting. We think it’s to stay in control of Tenko’s body, but we’re not sure. When it’s Tenko, he fights different. He destroyed the city where UA was, but we’d thought he was headed somewhere else, so the evacuations were still going on when they got there. The whole city fell apart from Decay, but none of the refugees died from it. He destroyed everything but them.”

“In short,” All Might says, “The alternate personality – Tomura – cares nothing for life. Tenko appears to.”

Of course he does. Tenko’s killed people — a lot of people — but he doesn’t kill indiscriminately. Thousands died in Deika City, but Tenko was defending himself, defending the League, defending you. The deaths of the Creature Rejection Clan were on Spinner’s behalf, the murder of Overhaul’s minion one piece of revenge for Magne. Tenko doesn’t take joy in killing people. Even when you played games as children, he just wanted to win. He never wanted the villain to die. All Might leaves the doorway and comes closer. “We need to know how the alternate self came to possess Tenko’s body. And if there’s any way to help Tenko regain control.”

“It’s really important,” Midoriya says earnestly. “If there’s anything that — um, are you crying?”

It’s kind of a dumb question. You’re absolutely crying — head in your hands, headache already building, struggling to breathe while your eyes stream and your nose runs. You know what’s happening here. “Tenko and Tomura are the same person,” you say. “The shadow is All For One.”

There’s a split second where Midoriya and All Might simply stare at you. Then they both start talking, talking over each other, trying to get you to explain. But there’s nothing to explain. It’s all so simple. You thought you’d saved Tenko by swapping out All For One, but it didn’t work. Some part of All For One escaped, or snuck through, or something — or maybe it’s your fault again, because All For One came back after you let yourself get captured and almost killed. Either way, you screwed up royally. You lost your best friend, again, and this time the only person who could have stopped it is the same person to blame. You.

It takes a while for you to calm down enough to speak, to remind yourself that it’s not over until both of you are dead, that as long as you’re both alive there’s a chance. Midoriya and All Might want to help Tenko. All Might seems to want to help you, too. You’re locked up here, unable to reach him, but the two of them could. And that means you need to tell them what they need to know to save your best friend.

It takes explaining. A lot of explaining. Neither of them are getting the details, but they pick up enough of the big picture to understand what you tried to do. Mostly. “All For One is still in prison. How could Tenko have been given the original quirk?”

“All For One has a copy, so the doctor could give the original to Tomura. They had extra copies of it, too. And a Nomu that could make copies of things,” you say. Midoriya scribbles something in a notebook. “I swapped the original for a copy.”

“Could the doctor have swapped it back for the original without your knowledge?” All Might asks. You shake your head. “How do you know?”

“I destroyed it.”

All Might coughs. “What?”

“You destroyed All For One,” Midoriya repeats. “How?”

“The quirk factor is in his hands. His palms. They had them on a slide. I tested them to make sure they weren’t copies and then I cut them up.” You’re not sure why they’re looking at you like that. They asked. “It was the only way I could think of.”

All Might nods briskly, but he still looks supremely creeped out. “Since you made the switch, and you were present during the entire process, what is your best guess as to what happened?”

“I think –” You can’t burst into tears again. You dig your nails into the back of your hand. “The imprint of Sensei’s personality was still there. It couldn’t take over unless Tomura let his guard down. Now it won’t go away, but it doesn’t have full control over him. Tomura is still there.”

“What if we cancel his quirks?” Midoriya asks. “That would get rid of All For One, and we’d win.”

“It won’t be so easy. Remember, his speed and strength were sharply increased even when Eraserhead canceled his quirks,” All Might cautions. “We’d be better off if we could simply target All For One. You said it’s in his hands?”

“If we can’t land a good hit on him, there’s no way we’d be able to cut both his hands off,” Midoriya says. You feel like you’re going to be sick. "Besides, he’s got that regeneration quirk now. If we cut them off they could grow back just like they were.”

“He had the quirk for several weeks before the attack,” All Might says, “and the takeover occurred at a moment when Tenko was vulnerable. What would it take for him to regain control on his own?”

You think you have an answer. You don’t want to say it. It’ll sound really self-serving, and you don’t need to, not when Midoriya’s in the process of getting there on his own. “We’ve noticed that Tenko’s more likely to be in control when members of the League are present. Which might be why All For One’s been sending them away when he’s not. As of the attack in Yokohama the only member of the League who’s still with Tenko is Spinner. All the others have been sent elsewhere, or — um —”

He glances at you, guilty and uncomfortable, and somehow you know what he’s trying not to say. “Was someone hurt?”

“Giran was killed,” All Might says. He looks like he feels bad. You feel worse. “By Endeavor, in the battle for Kyoto. Compress was badly injured during an ambush of Shiketsu High. It’s unclear if he’ll survive.”

You swallow hard. “What about Toga?”

“The PLF fighters we’ve captured indicated that Toga’s gone underground. We’re not sure why, or where she is currently. If we could contact her —”

“Twice has gone missing, too,” Midoriya interrupts. “Nobody’s seen him since the battle at your headquarters.”

“And Dabi?”

“We don’t know,” All Might says. “All For One may have sent him on a mission, or may have had him killed. He hasn’t been seen since Kyoto.”

The League is scattered, or dead. All For One wants Tomura to feel hopeless, to feel alone. Tomura can’t fight back against him because All For One’s taking away the things he fought for. If you can give him a reason to fight back again — “I think we have to,” Midoriya is saying to All Might. All Might nods. Then they both look at you. “What do you think?”

You think you missed something. “What?”

“If the problem is that All For One is taking away Tenko’s friends, we need to give them back,” Midoriya says. “And since you’re his oldest friend — and the only we have who isn’t, like, dying — we need to give him you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, lodging there painfully. He can’t mean it. He can’t be thinking of letting you go. “Hiding you was an error,” All Might says. “If our theory is correct, your perceived loss cemented All For One’s control. If we are able to return you to Tenko’s side, and if you are able to help Tenko reassert control, then perhaps we can bring this to an end.”

“You mean — negotiate?” You want more than anything for them to let you go, but you can’t lie to them. “Even if he’s himself, there’s no guarantee he’ll do that.”

“No, but there is a chance. Which is more than we’ll have from All For One.”

You can’t argue with that. “It shouldn’t just be her,” Midoriya says quietly. “He needs all his friends. As many of them as we can get.”

Your heart is beginning to race. You recognize the feeling of your body speeding up to try to match Tenko’s needs and force yourself to take deep breaths, to lie still. The less energy you burn yourself, the more you’ll have to send. You wonder where he is. What’s happening to him. If he’s injured because of a fight with the heroes or if it’s because of something All For One has done to try to maintain control of him. He’s alone there. All For One’s gotten rid of everyone except Spinner — Spinner, who you were able to warn months ago that something might go wrong with the quirk transfer. Spinner, who definitely knows Tomura well enough to know when Tomura’s not in control. The plans All Might and Midoriya are making are a vague buzz in your ear. You need to let them know that it’s Spinner they have to get a message to, Spinner who will help them get you back to Tenko. You open your mouth to speak, but your chest feels tight, and spots fill your vision. Before you can say a word of warning, everything goes black.

<- Chapter 26 Chapter 28 ->

taglist: @frog-fans-unite @enyaaa2222 @tannyr98 @atspiss @baking-ghoul @boogiemansbitch @handumb @agente707 @warxhammer @shikiblessed @cheeseonatower @koohiii @xeveryxstarfallx @stardustdreamersisi @lacrimae-lotos @aslutforfictionalmen @evilcookie5 @issaortiz @lvtuss @f3r4lfr0gg3r @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69

[gerbiloftriumph]

So, how old is King Graham, anyway? Speculation under the cut, with dev statements and other supporting details! (but it's all speculation.)

To begin, we need to decide how old Graham is in the knightly tournament. Lead concept artist Evan Cagle once had a Tumblr, and once answered fan questions, but it's since been deleted. With the power of Wayback, though....!

The relevant piece is here:

This is also how supported by files in the game itself are organized, by general age blocks.

(interestingly, Achaka isn't called by name in the game files, but simply called WellKnight.)

So, Graham is in his teens, for certain. Old enough to drive. One could argue he's 16, with that rodent license, as that's traditionally when kids learn to drive. But he's clearly planning on moving away from home, and he has been to school and graduated. "I started looking for knight jobs while I was still in the academy, but once I graduated all the opportunities had dried up."

I propose, therefore, that since he's clearly graduated, he's slightly older. My guess? 18. In America, at least, people tend to graduate high school at 18, maybe looking for colleges, and they're old enough to join the military (knighthood). Possibly 19 (I truly don’t think younger works for how old he Must be at minimum in ch2), but I'm going to stick to 18, personally. (Grachaka fans, enjoy!)

Also: "You don't like the taste of lanky teenager" doesn't preclude 18, let's go.

How long was he a knight for Daventry before he was king'd by Edward? That's very unclear. However, his model doesn't change much (I think his hair gets a little longer? or is that just his cowl), and his concept art doesn't change much (it's just a hat adjustment and that little bit of scruff that I love oh so much). So, he's probably not that much older between contestant and king.

We've got to do some speculation here, and I'm going to select 3 years as a royal knight of Daventry. That would give him time to grow as Edward's favorite and establish himself in the space, without necessarily changing too much facewise. Maybe it's less time based on how little he's physically changing at this point, but I need him to get into his 20s for chapter two for the concept art and model name, and Edward needs at least A Single reason to crown this kid, even if the guards do say that this tournament "could lead to the throne of Daventry itself!"

Therefore, I'm going to put him at 21 years old in the prologue.

21 is another milestone in America, where you can start drinking legally, so it feels right to me to put him here at a big change in his life, even if in Daventry he's almost certainly been enjoying that mead for a while now. ;)

He's crowned immediately upon his return to the castle with the mirror, so he's got to be king at 21.

HOWEVER. There's something coming up soon that requires him to be, at minimum, 22 years old at some point in this year, if not older. I'm very fond of character birthdays being the date the game came out. Therefore, Graham's birthday should be July 28th, as that's the day the reboot came out on PC (2015).

I'm also fond of the idea that each chapter takes place in a different season in Daventry, Ch1 obviously being Fall, Ch4 obviously being Winter, Ch3 seemingly Spring with those bright greens, which leaves Ch2 in Summer. Monsoon seasons are often in Summer, which lets the rain Graham experiences be a typical Daventrian summer. Perhaps, July?

I propose Graham turns 22 in his captivity. Prison birthday! Sorry, your majesty.

There's a specific reason he's got to be 22 here. It's the absolute youngest he can be, so it suits his concept art. Why?

Taylor Fey.

Bramble is pregnant, and while we're not sure how far along she is, we're going to say Taylor's due soon, because we need Graham to look like his teen self for concept art reasons, and we also need to get him into his 30s for his next mile marker in concept art and game model naming convention.

In chapter three, if you visit the Feys, you get this exchange:

Graham: "Where's Taylor?" Bramble: "He's at home. Probably cutting up our curtains again." Wente: "When I was that boy's age, I would roll dough for hours every day after school in me ma's shop. But not my boy. He doesn't have the stomach for hard work." Bramble: "Or the stomach for sweets. Can you imagine? An eight year-old, not liking sweets? It's not like frosting is an acquired taste."

Taylor will eventually move to Serenia, to become the tailor, haha.

But! The important thing! The conversation reveals that, in chapter 3, Taylor is eight years old. So, eight years have to pass between ch2 and 3, and Graham's got to be in his 30s.

Therefore, in the goblin prison, he needs to be 22 years old, at minimum. (also, sidebar of mostly irrelevance, if you go straight into a 4 year college after graduating high school at 18, you probably get your first real job at 22, mmm delicious imposter syndrome in your first real adult position, except you've got a kingdom on the line this time.)

So. In Chapter 3, he shall be, to me, exactly 30 years old. (he's probably going to turn 31 in a couple months, as I'm sure this chapter takes place in the spring, for how warm the days are and cold the nights are, as Graham complains about in the tower.)

That lets him hit all the markers he needs. Barely, sure, but it works so far.

Now, again, we need a liiiiiittle speculation. We need 18 years between Ch4 and the Ch4!Prologue, to account for Alexander. And Graham probably doesn't propose to Valanice right away again.

Now, the youngest he could be to make the ages and everything work is 32. But that's a remarkably fast dating, marriage, twin time turnaround. Neese might be into it, Vee probably wouldn't. So, we're going to age him a bit. So, he could be 32, but I think he'd rather be 34. That feels like they have time to court (properly this time), be engaged, prepare royal documentation and all the other things required, and then have twins.

(you could argue 33 too, or push it much older, 35 or 36 or more, if you wanted, so long as you don't push out of the 30s for the model name convention, but I'm going to settle here on 34, personally.)

The important part is that 18 years pass, for Alexander to grow as Gwydion and escape Manannan (if we want to be super pedantic, he's 17 and a bit, but whatever, this is fudging and speculation and I'm not carefully considering where Graham's birthday falls in the year either or I'd get confused).

So, he's about 52 years old now!

Fantastic. This is the last time we have Josh Keaton voicing our younger Graham, and then we leap ahead to Christopher Lloyd and our Huge Glorious Kingly Beard.

Chapter Five, thank you, finally. The devs give us an actual age.

Olfie: "Yeah, your skin does look fantastic for 86." Graham: "Well, that's a shame… I'm 77."

Thank you, thank you.

Now, we have one more age to hit. Bedridden modern Graham. We have a little cheat here, too. Not in the concept art, which just lists ?, but in the game models. He's in his 90s.

Alexander and Rosella are in their 50s in the modern day now, as their game models say. If my math is right, Alexander should be 43 in Ch5's adventuring portion. So I need to add at least 7 years to get the twins into their 50s in the modern sections.

I'm not great at math, and I'm juggling a lot here, so correct me if I'm wrong, but if my math is right, modern day Graham *should* be 84 at a minimum now. But his model says he's in his 90s.

But if we make Alexander 56 in the modern day, I think we can make Graham 90.

So, he's probably exactly 90, for the character model naming convention.

I dare not figure out how this fits in classic series--which isn't helped by Graham apparently having gray hair at a younger age probably due to that heart attack at the end of kq3.

So, there we have it. My personal bad math and staring at concept art and game files and trying to make guesses about my favorite king and his ages.

tl;dr:

Ch1 - 18 (graduated high school) Prologue - 21 (he needs to be in his 20s, this works) Ch2 - 22 ("happy birthday," sing the goblins, off-key) Ch3 - 30 (aaaalmost 31) Prologue 2: Electric Boogaloo - 34 (...maybe) Ch4 - 52 (depends on the ch4!prologue) Ch5 - 77 (huzzah, stated!) Modern Day - 90 (for the models' naming conventions)

But what do you think? Decent mathing? Totally wrong? Would rather take a stab at it yourself and get Gwendolyn and Gart's ages involved? Let me know~!

(edit: I was waiting for tea to steep, so I just hastily muttered my way through classic ages too, just because it's probably not that hard to line up, so...here's that:

#tin pointed out he’s 19 in the classic game’s hint guide so he could be 19

#I think he gets crowned at 19 then tho in the classics which…good luck dude

#I wonder where classics smoosh in there—it’s probably not that hard to be honest

#kq2 is just ch3

#kq3 and kq4 take place within days of each other when he’s 50something in ch4

#kq5 is probably a pretty quick turn around too#so if we say Graham is 52 in kq3 and 4

#let’s say he’s 53 or 54 at most in kq5

#and I think Alexander pines for a year so he’d be 55 or 56 in kq6

#alex probably marries cassima at 21 then

#and then maybe a year or two again for kq7 and rosella is probably 22 or 23

#I didn’t play kq8 hahaha

#mind if rosella is 56 and I think Gart is 16

#40’s probably fine for a boy—especially with a fairy husband#my interpretation of Gwen being 12 is trickier but maybe Cassima is younger

#or MAYBE it was a whole thing and everyone was very worried about her pregnancy

#imagine jollo and all the citizens trying to keep her safe and healthy and it being kinda scary)

[anyamaris]

Acquiescent

Pairing: Yeonjun x F!Reader

genre(s)/au(s): Non-idol au/Smut

word count: 2879

Trigger/Smut (if applicable) warnings: 

Rating: R

Synopsis/Summary: A night out with friends peaks your younger friend's interest in what it might be like to be a with an older woman.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, vulgar language, sexual language, reader is older than Yeonjun, mentions of drinking, mature 18+ minors DNI. Reader calls Jun baby boy, good boy, use of pet names.

A/N: This was supposed to be for Kinktober for @whatudowhennooneseesyou but I failed her completely and I'm so sorry. It's unedited and I am le struggle lately for writing but I wanted to get it out!

It would be nothing without @sanjoongie though and I want to say Happy Birthday again, even though you knew I was already writing this. You truly made me actually finish this. This fic was always with you in mind 🤍💜🤍

@frenchkisstheabyss and @yoonguurt thank you both so very much for beta reading this, I appreciate you both so very much!!

Tags- @cultofdionysusnet @ksmutsociety @lapydiaries@wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @wooahaeproductions @changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @starillusion13 @duchesskaren @minki-moo @woosanbby @curse-of-art

@cafekitsune Thank you for banners and dividers! 🤍💜🤍

The sounds of laughter and glasses clinking fill the small restaurant as the drinks are refilled around your small gathering.

You hold your glass steady as your friend pours for you, tittering in delight at the topic being discussed.  

“Oh come on, you can’t be serious.” Ty says as she sets down the bottle of soju, returning to her mimosa.  

“He probably is. Some men don’t even know about that kind of thing.” Nari adds wryly, sipping her gin and tonic as she leans back to study the man in question.

You can’t help but grin as she glances at Hyunjin, shaking your head at the knowing look they share.

“With all the women flocking to you, I can’t imagine you’ve never-” you start, raising an eyebrow as you speak.

“Look-just because I’ve been approached alot doesn’t mean…” he interrupts, a red starting to stain his cheeks.  

“Why are we even talking about this?” Changbin chimes in, his signature pout making an appearance as his own cheeks darken.

Suppressing a giggle, you can only shake your head at them.  

“Honestly, always being in control is tiring.” Seungmin finally pipes up, shrugging as he sips his beer.  

Nodding at him as you raise your glass, he clinks his against yours without a hint of shame.  

Ty bumps your shoulder as she raises her chin to Yeonjun, eyeing him with amusement.  

“It’s all those younger girls, Jun.  You need an older woman to show you what you’re missing. ” She states, leaning back and smirking, kicking you under the table.

Nari just snickers along with everyone else as half of the table just erupts into loud noises as everyone tries to change the topic even as Wooyoung and Beomgyu come close to shattering a nearby window with their laughter.

Sighing at her blatant comment, you just decide to join the fun as the conversation continues around you.

Leaning over almost conspiratorially, you give Yeonjun a once over as you whisper-

“Noone’s ever had you beneath them as they stroked your pretty hair and called you their good little boy? Shame.” 

You can’t help the rush of pleasure at his reaction: those big brown eyes widening, the parted lips, the flush of heat to his cheeks, those adorable front teeth sinking into the plump flesh of his lower lip as he tries to adjust himself across from you.  

Ty and Nari knew all too well your little attraction to Yeonjun.

Shit, all the men surrounding you both were attractive, but there was something about the man currently avoiding eye contact across from you right now that had you smacking yourself out of your delusions more often than not.

He was younger than you, and he was always surrounded by beautiful women.  

Why not?

Between him and Wooyoung, there was a certain amount of charisma that just made people want to be around them.

But they were your friends, fantasies be damned.

Still, getting that adorable reaction to your words…you couldn’t help but feel a slight giddiness from it.

Or maybe it was just the drink.

It takes two sets of knocks to draw your attention from the draft you’re editing on your computer, the second set louder and more demanding.

“Mmm-yeah yeah, coming!”  you say aloud, taking a moment to change a sentence before you finally disengage from your work.  

Checking the time on your phone as you approach the door, you’re momentarily stunned to see it’s past 11pm.

Without a second thought, you yank open the door to a sight that is entirely unexpected.

It takes your brain a moment to process the tall man standing in your hallway, his eyes wide as he freezes at the sight of you.

“Yeonjun?” you say, glancing at your phone once more as if it has all the answers.

Yep, 11:32pm.  

“Hi.” He says simply, looking suddenly nervous and lost.

“Hi…? Is something wrong? It’s late…and I don’t think you’ve ever come over alone?” You inquire, tilting your head at the seemingly anxious man fidgeting before you.

“No! …yes? Maybe-I….I have to know-” he stutters out, and you can’t help but giggle at his sudden agitation and his inability to look at you.

“Well come inside, jeez. I don’t mean to laugh but-” you shrug, grasping his hand and tugging him inside.

“Can I get you a drink?” You ask him as his gaze darts around your place.

He merely shakes his head, his eyes finally resting on you as you look at him curiously.

He suddenly smiles, shaking his head as he runs his hand over his face.  

“I must be insane…” He murmurs, confusing you even more.

“Junnie?” you ask, taking a step towards him in concern.  

Maybe something really was wrong, and he’d come to you for advice about something.  

You likely shouldn’t laugh at him, so you find yourself reaching out to brush back the little strands of hair falling over his forehead as you test his temperature.

Unexpectedly, his entire body jerks at this gesture.

“Fuck-I just-” he catches your wrist, backing you into the nearest wall, his throat working as his eyes drift down your body.

Realization kicks in all at once, making you dizzy.

Here you were at 11pm, wearing only a tshirt and panties, with a sexy man all but pinning you to your wall.

Not a baggy t-shirt either, heat creeping up your neck as he studies you.  

Normally you could care less what others think of your curves, how your comfy clothes hug your contours, the way your nipples poke through the filmy material of the top with nothing between to shield them from sight.

Curves weren’t friends to gravity and the only thing keeping you from spilling out was the flimsy fabric holding your tits up.

Shaking off the mild self consciousness, you patiently let him take the sight of you in as you study him in return.

The tiny little noise leaving his throat as he rakes his gaze over you has your lips curling, a warmth pooling in your lower stomach as you finally come to terms with his reaction.

“Do you normally show up to women’s apartments and ogle them this late at night?” you chastise him, clucking your tongue and raising your eyebrow at the hand holding your wrist.

His eyes snap to yours, his cheeks flushing in shame as he drops your wrist like he’s been burned.  

“No-I just...I’m sorry, my head is a mess after-” he halts, turning his gaze from you as he attempts to take a step back.

Amusement swirls with desire as you watch him fumble with his words, embarrassment clearly washing over him.  

Before he can put any more distance between you, you step forward, reaching out to slip your palm against his cheek to turn his face back to yours.  

Wide, dark eyes meet yours as your thumb caresses his cheekbone, not wanting to give him the chance to back down now.

“After what, Yeonjun?” You all but purr at him, drawing out his name purposefully.  

Your nipples brush his chest as you close the remaining distance between you both, reveling in how his lashes flutter at your simple touch.  

A strangled noise escapes his throat as you press more firmly against him, his obvious arousal telling you everything you need to know.

Yet…you want to hear him say it.

“Use your words, Junnie…be a good boy.” You hum at him as his trembling hands hesitantly come up to rest on your hips. 

His hooded eyes seem to darken as the soft breath leaving him tickles your lips, your proximity allowing you the chance to study his handsome face up close.

You can’t stop from tracing a finger over the sweet little freckle below his eye as the younger man struggles with his words.  

“I…want to know…” he rasps out, voice heavy as his fingers tease over your hips.

You nod as he formulates his words, tracing his cheek until you can brush the pad of your thumb over his lush lower lip.  

“I understand.” You hum, deciding to stop torturing him as his dark eyes all but plead with you to put him out of his misery.

Before another word is uttered, you are backing him up into your room, to the edge of your bed where the back of his knees hit the mattress.  

“You’re not drunk are you, Jun?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him as he sits down heavily onto your bed.  

Shaking his head emphatically, he only lets out a small noise of denial as his hooded gaze rakes over your body.  

“Good…we can’t have that.” Your words are soft, gentle, as you run your fingers into his dark hair, allowing him a moment to take you in.

“You’re incredible…” he hums, his hands reaching out to seek the plushness of your hips again.  

“Mmm…why thank you, Jun…but why don’t you lie back and let me appreciate how delicious you are tonight, hm?”  

His pleading eyes meet yours as your lips twitch up into a smile, running your fingers along his wide shoulders before you gently press him back down onto the bed.

“That’s why you’re here, to be my good boy and obey, right?” You murmur, admiring the long, lean man as he falls back onto your pile of pillows.  

Gods, the way you’ve always imagined him this way, high cheekbones flushed with arousal, pouty lips pink, that tongue darting out to wet them as a small whine of need thrums from his throat.  

The dark tendrils of his silky hair contrast the white fluffy pillows as he sinks into them, adjusting himself so he’s spread out before you like the most enticing buffet.

Words aren’t spoken as you climb onto the bed with him, parting his knees so you can position yourself between his legs, the soft give of the mattress making way for you to settle in nicely.  

Every hitch of his breath only spurs you on, taking your time as you place your hands on his chest, running them down to the waistband of his jeans only to tease at the button.

“Please-” He whimpers, a single lift of his hips punctuating the request. 

“You’ve never had anyone take their time with you, have you?” You ask him, toying with the pull of his zipper as you release the small metal button.  

He shakes his head, the irresistible pout almost sending you spiraling as his front teeth sink into the plump flesh.  

Tearing your gaze from his handsome face, you trail your eyes down his long body, finally taking in how much the poor man is straining against the material of his jeans.  

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” You ask softly as you slowly tug down his zipper, flicking your eyes up to see his reaction to everything.

His eyes are glazed and shining brightly, throat working as little gasps and moans escape from him.  

“Yes…fuck …. Yes I can’t stop…” He groans, anticipation parting his lips as you tug down his jeans from his lean hips.  

“What did you think about, Jun?” you ask as you lean back and tug them off completely, tossing them to the side.  

It’s your turn to bite your lip now, admiring how his erection fills his boxer briefs, twitching seemingly with every little touch and word you speak.

“So many things-” He swallows, words cutting off as you press your palm gently to the throbbing bulge, running your hand up gently as his back arches from the friction.

“You look so sexy like this, Junnie…like you’re going to come undone just from a simple touch from me.”

His lashes flutter as you bring your fingertips to the waist of his underwear, teasing along the line of skin there.  

“Please…please-” he mewls, his begging turning to tiny moans as you finally give in and tug down the fabric keeping him from you.

Without hesitation, you wrap your fingers around his thick length and stroke gently from the base to tip.  

A strangled moan leaves your lovers’ lips as you twist your wrist, collecting the warm precum leaking from him to coat your palm.  

“You’re so pretty, Yeonjun.  Do you like it when I touch you like this?” You ask him softly.

His head jerks as he nods frantically, his hips lifting gently from the bed as your hand runs back down his length.  

“Fuck-yes-feels so good.” He whimpers, practically thrusting into your hand.

You just smile at his urgency, biting your lip at the sight of him writhing for you like this.

Dropping your free hand, you cup his tightening balls in your hand, kneading them gently as you watch his throbbing cock leak even more for you.

“Oh FUCK!” He moans loudly, eyes flashing open to look at you, then down to what you’re doing to him.  

Waves of pleasure wash over your body as you scan down his body, biting your lip as you work your magic with your fingers.

“Remove your shirt.” You all but demand, and he does so without a second thought, tossing it aside before falling back against your pillow.

At this point, you’ve soaked your panties through and your inner thighs are starting to get tacky, all because of the sexy man spread naked before you.

His cheeks are completely flushed now, hair fanned out across the pillow, arms beside him as he grasps at the sheets.  

“Good boy…” You coo at him, breath catching as his hips jerk, his stomach muscles clenching deliciously.  

“So close-” He whines, as his cock throbs in your grip.  

“Not yet, baby boy.  You can hold on for me, right?” You ask him gently, slowing down then removing your hands from him completely.

The loss of contact has his eyes pleading with you, little noises mixed with his panting as he reaches for you.  

“I need you-” He begs, and you can only give him a soft smile as you climb up him, positioning your knees on either side of his hips.  

Your stomach flips, internally tense and as needy as he is but you want to make sure this is all for him tonight.  

As soon as you straddle him, his hands are roaming up your sides to the sides of your tits, using his thumbs to skim your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt.  

“You’re so fucking sexy…” He breathes out, his teeth biting his lower lip as you rock your hips along his cock.  

“So wet for you, Junnie…” You hum, reaching between you to push your panties to the side for him.  

His lips part in anticipation as you guide him to your cunt, lifting slightly to rub the head against your folds before slowly sinking down his length.  

Your cries mix with his as he enters you, his hands immediately leaving your tits to grasp your ass as he sits up and his mouth meets yours.  

Before you can even recover from the stretch of his cock, he’s crying out your name as he buries his face in your tits, his fingers digging into your asscheeks.

You allow him to guide your movements as you rock your hips, your fingers entwining in his silky hair.  

“God you’re so fucking hot, baby boy-” You cry out, already feeling the coiled tension building in your lower stomach, “Doing so good for me, that’s it-”

His words are unintelligible as his moans and cries build, his mouth occupied by wetting your clothed nipples, nipping his way up to your neck to bury his face as you begin to clench around him.

“Oh god, oh fuck, fuck -please-” he whimpers as you finally feel the cord within you snap, clamping tightly around him as your climax causes you to go tense in his arms.  

Wordless cries echo off the walls as his breath starts hitching, pulling back to watch your face contort in pleasure.

“I’m gonna-gonna cum, fuck!” He cries out.

Grasping a handful of his hair, you immediately lift off him, reaching down quickly to jerk him to completion as his eyes roll back in his head.

Hot, thick spurts coat your hand as he whimpers and whines, choked gasps finally devolving into panting as your movements slow, little shivers shaking his body with every stroke.

“Good boy, Junnie.  Shhh,” you coo at him, loosening your grip in his hair to smooth it and pet him, placing small kisses to his temples, then his cheeks, finally brushing your mouth over his plush lips.  

“Mmmmmmpphhmmm…” is the only noise he can manage as you both collapse onto the pillows, your fingers still teasing along his length.

Each little quake and gasp from the overstimulation just has you smiling as you admire the spent man beside you.

“Say it again, please…” he whispers, opening those dark eyes to gaze at you in awe.

“Ask nicely.” You hum, bringing your messy fingers up to taste his mess.

His eyes roll and it takes him a moment to recover from the sight, but then he finally responds.

“Please say it again….mistress.” 

“Good boy.” You croon at him, a sly smile creeping across your lips.

“Let’s see how good you can be….it’s going to be a long night.” 

[munsster]

Hiiiiiiii loved your Eddie munson x wealthy!reader fix, I was wondering if you could do a billy Hargrove one? Thank you bby💗

billy with a wealthy s/o

A/N: its 100% giving reluctant allies to lovers gif cred: @selinasdalton

Warnings: partying, drinking/smoking, insults (mostly playful), pet names (sweetheart), implied sex

the FIRST thing i thought of was reader rolling with the popular crowd

ie harrington, tommy, carol etc

and seeing billy for the first time at a party

honestly, he probably offers you a drink or better yet a smoke

and you’re disgusted (horny)

and he thinks he’s totally gonna score (you accepted his drink offer)

neither of you really remember how or when it started

you can never agree on an anniversary date

but you both know he fell first

mainly because he was absolutely floored by just how many insults you had ready in your back pocket

“the ball goes in the basket, airhead” “you look like rob lowe if he was a woman and a munch” “my dog could sink more free throws than you and he’s 20 years old”

honestly, he was a little flattered by your creativity

which is why he knew he had to get in your pants somehow

and the first time you invited him over to your house, you wouldn’t hear the end of it

“hey, richie rich, where’s your robot maid?”

“oh, it’s her day off”

“…”

“i’m kidding,” you tease, “she’s not a robot”

he does not know how to handle the amount of shit you spoil him with

“billy… i really like your necklace”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“i can buy you a new—”

“i dont need a new one, sweetheart”

and you don’t know how to handle the fact that he doesn’t want to be spoiled

but you eventually figure out how to be sneaky with it

making him lunches (con caviar), ‘accidentally’ misplacing his shoes so you have to buy him new ones, taking him to fancy barbershops and paying half the cost so it still seems like he’s paying the full price

some may say it’s manipulative. you say it’s loving.

and the first time he buys you a meaningful, mildly expensive gift, you tear up a little bit

you bringing him to the golf course and finding out 1) he’s really good at golf and 2) he is excellent cougar bait

not that you want the over 60’s hitting on your man, but it’s very sweet when they send him drinks and call him a handsome young man

you definitely encourage him to play into it with some “how are you young ladies this evening?” and “don’t you have to be 21 to sit at the bar?” action

he has his fun with it, but he really only does it ‘cause it makes you smile

would never BEG for anything…. but he DOES get really sad when you don’t bring him to the mall to watch you try on shoes or sweaters or whatever.

yeah, if there’s something he’d beg for, it’s that

he lives for the moment you walk out of the dressing room, do a twirl, and ask (like clockwork) “do you like it?”

his answer is always yes, but you claim to know the differences in his tone that indicate what he actually likes

sometimes, if he’s lucky, you’ll let him sit inside the dressing room. watching you change. watching you change.

he is the reason you’re both banned from sears at starcourt

the first really expensive watch you gift him is INSANE

it has like four dials and you said something about alligator leather and 18 carat gold

he can’t decide between wearing it on special occasions to preserve its value or never taking it off because he loves you

when you do stay at his house, usually no ones home

but you have met max

and she likes to stay away from you

but you took her to get a new skateboard and you think that might’ve helped her warm up to you

just a smidge

now she lets you gossip about stupid boys and watch shitty action movies with her

she even promised she would go as croft’s robin for halloween if you swore you’d go as wilson’s batman

that was an interesting halloween for billy

your mansion house has this shiny ass gramophone in one of the downstairs offices

and you told billy that the last thing that had played on it was a glenn miller ‘best of’ album

and that was just not good enough for billy

so one night, he brought over his twisted sister vinyl and convinced you to dance with him while what you don’t know blasted through the brassy pavillon

he also may or may not have convinced you to make out with him while the rest of the record played

even though you drive a brand new, cherry red benz (convertible, he might add), you still love it when he drives the two of you in his camaro

but you also let him drive your car whenever he wants. and he wants to most of the time.

in fact, he’s pretty sure he drives your car more than you do

he also loves to let you dress him up

and do his hair (please practice that cute hairstyle you saw on him. he’ll think about your hands in his hair for hours on end)

even if youre just going on a chill diner date, you still drag him into your (now shared) walk-in closet and pick out these satin shirts and pressed slacks and the shiniest shoes he’s ever seen

but of course, most of your dates are lavish and breathtakingly creative, anyway, so he’s already dressed accordingly

his new catch phrase is something along the lines of “what happened to eating somewhere normal. like pizza hut”

sometimes, his only requirement is “as long as there’s no chandelier”

you flatter him so often, he gets grumpy on days you forget to call him handsome (or pretty boy, which has really grown on him)

typically, he wouldnt go for all the fuss and feathers, but he likes to see you happy.

and boy, does prettying him up make you happy

seriously, you get the wildest look on your face. it’s fulfilling enough that billy feels safe to say he’s content being your ken doll forever

if you’d let him

masterlist

[miyakazashi]

The M family Age question

Ever since Akira-sensei revealed Ron's age, I've always been curious about the other characters ages, especially the M family, since they don't even have an age range to go off of, however in some chapters from part two of the series, we finally get some clues to use...so here are those clues and my little analysis

*If I get anything wrong in this analysis, I apologize in advance

*Beware of spoilers (ch.96 and onwards)

I'm focusing on Mylo, Winter and Alice, since they're the ones currently alive in the series, and also the ones we have more info about.

First is to make sure we're all on the same page, even if most people probably know this

From Chapter 72

Mylo's the first child, Winter is the fourth, and Alice is the fifth and final one, with 5 of them (plus teo and the other one who died in a feud or something), for the ages to make sense, there atleast needs to be a one year age gap between each of them (because it wouldn't make much sense for their parents to give birth twice in a year, and we're counting 9-10 months as a year btw)

Next is...

Alice Moriarty's age reveal

From Chapter 115

From here we can tell that, she's probably 16-17. she says that she was going to take over the M family at age 17, but "six months before that" Mylo got defeated by Ron.

With that, now is the time to pinpoint where we are in the timeline right now, first is when the cruise incident happened

From Chapter 96

October 25th would've been when the cruise arc ended, aka the "six months before that" Alice mentions, with the "that" meaning the day she turns 17. With all of this we can assume her birthday to be around April, which is close enough to Mylo's birthday(March), so it's probably okay to not take their birthdays into consideration, since they would turn one year older around the same time.

*Assuming she's roughly 16 years and 9 months old, we can round that up to 17 since we don't need to consider the months

In conclusion, Alice is probably 17 years old

From the same panel from Chapter 115, the line "That's the same age as when you became head of the family", tells us that, Mylo was 17 when he became the head of the moriarties, in a later scene we learn that, that's the same age he was when he shot Alice dead (or rather, attempted to do so)

From Chapter 115

Even though this doesn't really help us right now, I still thought I should mention it, just in case it was ever mentioned at what age did Alice supposedly "die". Though I don't recall it ever being specified.

With Alice's age and the one year age gap between all siblings, we can get a rough estimate of-

What age do each of the Moriarty siblings need to be atleast?

*Basically, the youngest they can possibly be

Mylo 21

The second son 20

Teo 19

Winter 18

Alice 17

It would look something like this, but then in a later chapter, this is said

From Chapter 146

Mylo is confirmed to be the one behind the bloody field trip (the one in charge of it), which means, atleast 5 years would have had to pass after he became head of the M family, which would make him atleast 22 in the current timeline

Finally, Winter being the 4th child, would need to be atleast one year older than Alice, and atleast 3 years younger than Mylo, which would make Winter around 18 or 19 years old

From Chapter 72 (this isn't important,I just think they all look adorable in the flashbacks)

In conclusion,I think that Alice is 17 yrs old, while Mylo is probably 22 yrs old, and winter's probably 18 or 19 yrs old.

Than again let me remind you all, that except for Alice, these are just the ages they atleast need to be

However I think there is definitely more to this, since I don't actually think only 5 years passed after Mylo became the head of the M family, I mean it's hard to believe that the first thing he did after becoming the leader, was to make Ron's life miserable, not to mention since Ron is canonically 23, this begs the question, is Mylo older than Ron or younger than Ron ? And also, is he older than Toto ? Or maybe even Spitz ?

That's when you come in, if you have any thoughts about this, whether you have evidence from the manga or if it's just a headcanon, I'd like to hear what everyone has to say about this, so please share your thoughts

[anthurak]

So with Ghostfuckers providing a fair bit of detail on how our four main characters came together and the formation of I.M.P. proper, I thought it would be fun to dive into the potential timeline of Helluva Boss again. Because at this point, I think we can actually glean quite a bit of information from what the show has stated or hinted at.

First off, the confirmed ‘hard dates and times’ we can look at to establish a broad, overall timeframe for the show:

We have Spring Broken taking place (shockingly) during Spring Break, putting it in March.

We have The Harvest Moon Festival coinciding with the actual Harvest Moon (not some Hellish equivalent, but the proper Earth moon), putting the episode on/around September 17th.

Then we have Unhappy Campers which actually notes a specific date with a poster showing that Millie’s big show takes place on July 17.

Finally we have Apology Tour taking place specifically on Halloween, aka October 31.

And now Ghostfuckers has Millie mentioning that it’s been ‘over a month’ since Blitzo and Stolas broke up, meaning either The Full Moon or Apology Tour, which puts us pretty squarely in early December as the current time of the show.

This means we are looking at a total of one year and nine-ish months between Spring Broken and Ghostfuckers.

Which in turn, given the indeterminate amount of time between the first three episodes, I’d say likely puts us at just shy of two years since the start of the show proper with Murder Family, and DEFINITELY a little over two years since Blitzo’s first night with Stolas, getting the Grimoire and the start of I.M.P.

Something that is actually further corroborated by Blitzo’s comment in The Full Moon about Stolas letting them keep the book for ‘another year’, implying that episode likely took place near around the ‘anniversary’ of Blitzo getting the Grimoire from Stolas. And I think we can all appreciate the dramatic irony/angst of Stolitz imploding almost two years to the day as their first night together.

So with a proper timeframe for the show as a whole established, what other interesting things can we glean?

Well for one, I think a couple of seemingly innocuous lines in Western Energy can actually tell us a fair bit about LOONA. Which funny enough, kind of confirms the official creator statement that she is 22, but also makes it a bit more… nuanced.

You see, Blitzo mentions in Western Energy that it’s taken him five years to get an appointment for Loona’s hellbies shot. Now obviously, we can assume that Blitzo started trying to get this appointment not too long after adopting Loona.

Combined with what we know about Loona being less than a month from turning 18 when Blitzo adopted her, this not only confirms that it’s been about five years since Loona was adopted, but also means that Western Energy actually takes place not too long before or after Loona’s birthday. Given that the next episode is Unhappy Campers, probably in the April/May/June range. And also that Loona is actually 23 at this point.

And what’s really funny about this in regards to the official statement of Loona being 22 is that, if anyone else remembers, we actually GOT that statement sometime between the releases of Ozzie’s and The Circus. Which WOULD be a point in the show when Loona IS 22.

Even though Loona would definitely be 21 at the actual start of the series, then turned 22 likely sometime between Spring Broken and C.H.E.R.U.B.S. then turned 23 sometime around Western Energy.

Admittedly I’m not sure how any of this might be actually relevant or otherwise significant aside from simply having a good idea when Loona’s birthday is, but I think it’s a fun detail nonetheless.

Now speaking of characters with confirmed ages that the fandom has become way too fixated on, let’s talk about Octavia.

Obviously, given that we are way over a year since Loo Loo Land, Octavia is DEFINITELY NOT 17 anymore. Heck, given that we’re clearly close to two years since that episode, Octavia could easily be 19 at this point. Remember that unlike Loona, Octaiva being 17 was mentioned officially before she even appeared in the show, meaning that we really HAVE to assume that she is 17 in Loo Loo Land. Other than that, the only mention we have of Octavia being 17 is in The Circus, which really only means that the present-day portion of that episode (along with Ozzie’s and Queen Bee, given that they specifically take place the night before) takes place less than a year after Loo Loo Land. Like if those episodes take place in early-mid October and Octavia’s birthday is in November, then she would be 19 at this point.*

And while we’re on the topic of Ozzie’s, Queen Bee and The Circus, ANOTHER notable detail that might be easy to forget is that Ozzie’s happens to take place on Moxxie’s and Millie’s one-year wedding anniversary. Which gets particularly interesting given what we now know from Ghostfuckers.

We know, or at least can infer, from Millie’s narration (“that year I spent getting to know your ragtag team”) that Millie joined up with Blitzo, Moxxie and Loona about a year before they formed I.M.P. Which in turn also coincided with Blitzo’s and Stolas’s reunion, given that Blitzo is shown to have the Grimoire in the flashback of the four moving into their new offices.

What makes this interesting is the fact that Moxxie and Millie seem to have been ALREADY married when Blitzo got the Grimoire and set up I.M.P. Which given, again, that Ozzie’s specifically takes place on the M&M’s one-year wedding anniversary, I think REALLY narrows down the timing of a number of events.

Like given that Ozzie’s takes place AFTER both The Harvest Moon Festival and Truthseekers, we have to assume that Moxxie’s and Millie’s wedding likewise probably happened after September.

And we know from The Full Moon taking place shortly before Halloween and the previously-discussed lines from Blitzo implying that it’s not too far off from the ‘anniversary’ of him getting the Grimoire from Stolas, that Blitzo’s and Stolas’s first night together probably happened in-or-around October.

So… putting all of these together, I think we can in fact narrow down Moxxie’s and Millie’s wedding, Bitzo’s and Stolas’s first night together AND the start of I.M.P. all to October.

Millie’s and Moxxie’s wedding, and by extension the events of Ozzie’s, Queen Bee and the present-day sections of The Circus, probably happens at the start of/early October.

Then just a few weeks, or even days, later, Blitzo tries to swipe the Grimoire and has his first night with Stolas. Heck, you want a fun theory/headcanon? What if Moxxie and Millie getting married actually spurred Blitzo into accelerating his ideas/plans for a human-assassination business and going after the Grimoire? Because he wanted to have a better business/life for Moxxie and Millie?

Which then puts the ‘moving in’ flashback from Ghostfuckers and the proper start of I.M.P. in late/end of October. I mean, given that Murder Family and a number of other episodes have released on Halloween, and given the apparent in-universe significance of the date for demons we learned about in Apology Tour, it would be rather appropriate for the Immediate Murder Professionals to have opened for business on Halloween.

And one other notable detail about Millie joining Blitzo's crew specifically a year before the proper start of I.M.P., meaning three years before the current time of the show, is that this gives us about a two year window (really more like a year and a half given Western Energy) wherein Blitzo recruited Moxxie.

Now, will any of this be actually relevant or important to the story going forward? I mean, probably not much. I imagine it's mostly just the hard-dates I mentioned at the start which establish an overall timeframe for the show that are really worth keeping in mind.

I will say that Octavia being old enough to inherit her father’s position and power does feel like a chekhov’s gun that could become important in whatever ‘Goetia Trial’ it’s looking like we’ll see in the next episode or two.

But mostly, this is just some fun analysis and ramblings.

--

*Which of course perfectly lines up with how much Octavia has been emphasized by characters and narrative alike to not be a CHILD anymore. Like as of Western Energy, she’s apparently considered fully capable, at least by law, of inheriting all of Stolas’s position, power and holdings should he die, which was the entire reason Andrealphus wanted Stella to call off her hit. Which would line up perfectly with Octavia having turned 18 sometime between then and The Circus.

[call-me-swercy]

What I think the ages of the warriors are, even though literally nobody asked

Cleon-27

I feel like just by the fact that Cleon is the leader that she has to be the oldest or the second oldest. I don’t think she’s in her 30’s yet though. Cleon gives very big sister vides like she’s constantly looking out for the other girls and would do anything to put everything on her shoulders so the other warriors didn’t have to deal with it. I mean she literally sacrifices herself not knowing if she will be killed or not so the other girls can run and get to safety.

Cochise- 27/28

I think Cleon and Cochise have known each other for a while like before all the other girls so I feel like they would be around the same age. I don’t know why though I feel like Cochise may be just a bit older. She feels like she knows what she’s doing most of the time. She just has an air of confidence about her that makes me feel like she has been doing what she’s doing for a while.

Cowgirl- 26

I don’t think cowgirl is super young and I don’t feel like she’s as old as Cleon and Cochise so I put her in the middle. I definitely feel like she’s the type of person though that might act younger than she is because she was held to a higher standard when she was much younger and now she’s trying to get those carefree years back.

Mercy- 25

Mercy is definitely like middle 20’s she seems very confident in their abilities and I don’t know just a vide I get from her. I also feel like she’s older than Swan I think Swan acts older than she is but I think Mercy generally acts her age.

Ajax- 24

I also feel like Ajax has a very good understanding of herself and her abilities and what she’s good at. Honestly I feel like she might act younger than she actually is whether that be from trauma or something else.

Swan-24

I honestly think Swans on the younger side, I feel like her being Cleon’s second came as a shock to her because of how young she is compared to some of the others but I think that she had to grow up fast and I think she actually acts older than she is most of the time.

Rembrandt- 22

I feel like Rem is the second youngest but I don’t think she’s teen age. She sounds and kinda acts younger than the others but it feels like that’s just her personality I also feel like she’s probably pretty small compared to the others so people often think she’s younger than she actually is. (She is also one of the girls who sings about getting “messed up on coconut champagne” so I feel like that line kinda showed that she was over 21 even just by like a year.

Fox- 18

I don’t think fox’s lines would include how young she is if she was only the youngest by like a year. I think theirs a pretty big gap between her and the youngest of the other warriors. I also headcanon that the warriors found her when she was much younger and because she didn’t have anywhere else to go that they took her in. She also has multiple lines worrying about her worth as apart of the warriors and I feel like that could be because she was just given more gang related responsibilities because she is now an “adult” but she’s still a teen with a lot more to learn.

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts Tour, which affords me the opportunity to be supremely self-indulgent]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) 13: laugh (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

Is this still the number for John Watson?

John pauses, thumb hovering. Before he can choose a response, another message flashes in.

It's Harry

He nearly drops the phone. Or maybe he nearly throws it against the wall. Hard to say. 

His reflex to caretake wars with his lingering resentment of her absence. But he knows he would regret ignoring an olive branch… or whatever this is.

Hi

Everything okay?

No small talk, got it

Yes I'm fine, good in fact

and no I'm not going to ask you for money

He breathes in deeply.

I'm glad things are going well for you

And he is, at least in the abstract.

Thanks

I know this is the part where I'm supposed to ask how you are

But you know I'm pants at texting

Can we just have coffee or something?

John taps his phone to his lip absently and considers his options. A public reunion seems like it could be a volatile mistake, not to mention it's 7pm on a weekday. Sherlock is at the lab, Rosie is having her after-supper blanket time, and John is catching up on charting.

And to be honest, he's pretty bored.

Come to mine for tea?

Harry's three dots wibble for a while, which John supposes is fair.

Right now?

With my schedule, I have to take opportunities where I can

Okay, yeah, I'm free

He sends her the address, feeling both pleased and annoyed. One would think that hitting his own rock bottom would make him more sympathetic towards his sister. But really, it just piles helpless anger on top of guilt on top of anger, ad nauseum.

He's not even sure she knows he's a father, for Christ's sake.

Turns out, she doesn't. She walks through the door he holds open for her, and stops abruptly when she sees Rosie. 'Oh my God,' she breathes, staring. 'Oh my God. You--' She turns to John, eyes wide. 'She-- Johnny. She's yours?'

He nods, and despite everything, he feels his face curve into a proud smile. 'Her name's Rosie.'

'Can I--' Harry indicates the blanket with a sharp movement. 'Can I say hello to her?'

'Yeah, course.' He follows her, and folds himself down behind Rosie. 'Sweetheart, this is your Aunt Harry.'

Harry makes a bit of a squawking noise, probably at the 'aunt' bit, but tamps it down. 'Hi, Rosie,' she manages, her voice rough but determined. 'It's lovely to meet you. What are you playing with?'

'Avocados,' Rosie mostly manages to say, then holds one up for Harry without hesitation. Harry takes it with a giggle, and before long they're thick as thieves with a pile of emoting avocados between them.

Harry glances up at him when there's a lull. 'So. The dad life is treating you well, yeah?'

He hesitates, then nods. 'It is now.'

She eyes him, but doesn't ask about what came before now. Instead, she says, 'I'm just going to ask, alright -- who's the other parent?'

He raises an eyebrow. 'Why d'you say there is one?'

Her eyes twinkle. 'Because you do not have the fashion sense to have bought her this outfit. Your bird rich, then?'

He coughs. 'Well. No.'

She waits, though he can see she's trying not to be annoyed by his reticence. She's never understood people wanting to keep things private. 'No?'

'My… flatmate. He's able to buy her things I don't give a toss about, yeah.'

She blinks. 'You have a gay flatmate?'

John feels his ears heat up. 'I do, yeah.'

She seems weirdly impressed. 'You've come a long way from being a rugby lad, haven't you?'

He snorts. 'I'm learning how to do plaits, if you'll believe it.'

'She's not got enough hair for that yet.'

'Sherlock--the flatmate--insists it's a useful skill, though I've no idea why.'

She doesn't reply, and he looks up from where he's helping Rosie with her current avocado. 'What?' he asks, though he knows it's useless. Harry is no Sherlock but honestly, she doesn't have to be, because his emotions have always been written all over his face. It's a curse and a blessing.

'Oh holy shit,' she breathes out.

'Language,' he admonishes reflexively.

'Sorry, I mean-- Holy noses, Johnny.'

'Don't be smug.'

'Oh, I take no credit for this, I always knew the overcompensating locker room talk was hiding something.'

He rolls his eyes, but his lips are twitching. 'Yeah, insecurity about willy size.'

'Okay, ew, first of all. Second of all-- What the--' He gives her a warning look. 'Ever-loving heck.'

'Short version?' She nods quickly. He decides to also give her the slightly-less-mad-sounding version. 'Got married, got pregnant, had baby, wife passed away, realised I had feelings for my flatmate. Who is a man. And who is effectively fathering my child.'

She claps her hand over her mouth, and for a moment he fears she's going to cry, but then realises she's laughing.

'Oi, that's just not on,' he protests.

'But it's ridiculous!' She holds out a hand to him placatingly, speaking through continued laughter. 'It's lovely and sad and all that, but you have to admit--'

There are tears escaping the corners of her eyes, and he feels it begin to bubble up in his chest, too. Her laugh has always been a thing of beauty, of loud, annoying, contagious, unforgettable beauty, and he can't help it.

And she's right, really. It is kind of ridiculous.

He lets out his own laugh, finally, and reaches for her hand.

[❤️]

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 27/27

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26, UPDATE

I debated which POV should I use for this. It was either Vaggie or Charlie.

But then I didn't think I was ready yet to dive into Charlie's inner thoughts after the events of the last chapter.

------------------------------------------

Satan: When the death of the King was announced to us yesterday morning,

Vaggie darted through the palace halls, her steps nearly floating as her wings fluttered slightly, reducing her weight. She could have flown, which would have been faster, but there was a strict rule against flying inside the palace to protect the many precious things that belonged to-

Satan: there struck a deep and somber note in our lives

Anyway, Charlie had banned any kind of flying altogether after a priceless vase was accidentally shattered.

Satan: which resounded far and wide.

As she zoomed past, the servant imps bowed and greeted her politely. She usually returned their greetings, a blend of kindness and a dash of guilt compelling her to do so. Despite the fact that none of the exorcists had killed any Hellborn during their exterminations, it didn't ease her conscience.

She wasn't Adam.

Satan: It stilled the clatter and traffic of all hellish life

Adam.

She wondered where he was now, after taking off with Lute and setting off the bomb that had essentially turned everything to shit, disappearing into the buildings of Pride.

Even she wasn't sure if Charlie could grant that kind of forgiveness.

Vaggie cursed at yet another empty room, soon finding herself at a dead end.

Her movements halted when she caught a glimpse of something flying past the window. She gripped her spear tighter.

Satan: and made countless millions of demon kind throughout the seven rings...

She must have looked pathetic because one of the butlers in the room (Azaeloth, Your Grace) took pity on her and pointed up.

Of course.

Satan: ...pause and look around them.

Vaggie thanked the imp before turning on her heels and heading toward the rooftop.

She probably opened the door a little harder than necessary, the heavy thud echoing in the quiet space, but Charlie didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, her expression remained unreadable against the backdrop of Hell's red sky.

Satan: The late King, who assumed the heavy burden of the crown when he was cast out of the Heavens,

The rooftop balcony overlooking all of Hell is one of the places Charlie often frequents when it all gets a bit too much. It ranks third only to the Hotel and a secret room whose location even Vaggie doesn't know.

Vaggie takes in the sight of Charlie, and it's the same thing she has been seeing for the last two years.

Tired.

Satan: lived through every minute of this struggle

The former exorcist stays by the door. Despite her earlier rush, she just waits. Waits. And waits.

She waits until Charlie releases a sigh and makes a motion with her hand, granting permission to come closer.

Not once does Charlie turn to look at her. The weight of the world seems to press down on her shoulders, gaze fixed on the landscape below.

Satan: with a heart that have faltered but a spirit never broken.

They were still together, and Vaggie liked to think that their love was as strong as ever.

But ever since—

Ever since then, an invisible wall had manifested itself between them. And she understood, really she did. It didn't make it hurt any less.

Vaggie missed the old Charlie.

Satan: In the end, death came as a friend.

Vaggie: Hey.

Vaggie greets Charlie, moving to stand beside her to overlook Pride. The Ring doesn’t look as good as it did back then, but everything was fixed relatively quickly, thanks to their experience with turf wars and the destruction that came with them.

Charlie still doesn’t look at her, but there’s a twitch in her clasped hands.

Satan: And after a gruesome battle of bloodshed,

Vaggie bites the inside of her cheek at the stillness of the moment.

Vaggie: How long have you been here? You'll catch something in this cold.

Cold. Hell is cold.

And it's not right.

Oh if the humans who keep saying 'when Hell freezes over' could see it now.

Satan: and after a sacrifice for those who look up to him,

Charlie: I'm fine, Vaggie. Is something wrong?

Yes! Vaggie wants to yell at her. Yes, of course there's something wrong! Their home is wrong. Their whole life is wrong!

But she can't. God knows they've had that conversation too many times before. It always ended ugly.

Satan: he fell asleep,

So she stills herself and chooses her words carefully.

Vaggie: No-uh, not at the moment. But I got word from Angel that it looks like they caught a few intruders south of the Pentagram. They wouldn't tell me anything yet but..

Charlie finally turns her head to her, a raised eyebrow prompting Vaggie to continue.

Vaggie: I caught a glimpse of a feather and I have a pretty good guess it's the same reason why they are being as discreet as possible.

Satan: as every soul, human or demon, who strives to be free and nothing else in the world, may hope to do.

Angels.

After Him-

It was a massacre, and she participated in the exterminations. She knows what killings look like, but what she witnessed then still makes her stomach twist with discomfort to this day.

Only a few managed to escape to Heaven, while some opted to hide deep underground in Pride, afraid and perhaps forgotten.

Those brave enough to venture outside went straight to the palace or hotel, hoping to find a way back to Heaven.

Satan: Now, we must leave the treasures of the past and turn to the future.

But there is no more Heaven.

Satan: Resilience have been the reigns of the late Majesty.

At least, that's what they think. No rescue missions, no communication, no nothing.

Heaven has been silent, and the only indication they have of its still-beating existence is the glowing white sphere up in the far sky.

That's why angels still take the risk to go to them.

Satan: All of the greatest periods in our history unfolded upon his hands .

But none of them ever make it.

Satan: This new age comes at a time when demonkind stands uncertainly poised..

Charlie: I see.

At the corner of her eye, Vaggie sees the flying figure circle around the city again like a dog guarding their home.

Like a predator looking for its prey.

She reaches out to take Charlie's hand, squeezing it for comfort. For her or for Charlie she's not sure.

Vaggie: Let's go inside. I don't like being outside with that... thing.

Satan: …on the age of catastrophe.

Charlie eyes the flying entity with an expression of cold, hard anger mixed with devastation. The look is gone as soon as it came.

Vaggie would have that look too if it had the face of her dead father.

Satan: I, whose existence was passed in the noble, unchallenged, and tranquil glories of the Luciferian era

She gave Charlie another squeeze but the other doesn't reciprocate.

Vaggie feels like Charlie's slipping from her hold. Her hand tightens just a bit more around her lover's, afraid that if she loosens then Charlie would be gone.

And she can't let that happen.

Satan: may well feel the thrill in invoking once more,

Charlie, who no longer shies away from judgemental eyes.

Satan: the prayer,

Charlie, who stands straight and tall, like a beacon of demon hope.

Satan: and the anthem;

Who looks too small in her royal mantle.

Satan: Long live Charlotte Morningstar,

Who looks imposing as the original Devil with the crown sitting on her head.

Satan: Her Majesty,

Her former self tucked far away inside.

There's a screech of a car down below and a cacophony of distressed voices.

Charlie: They're here.

Satan: The Queen of Hell.

Charlie: Let's go.

------------------------------------------

Lucifer is truly dead here guys. Or is he? 👀

The Crown reference.

The Satan parts is the speech said at Charlie's coronation. Just like in The Crown, she became queen as soon as the former King died.

Fates of Alastor, the Sins, and the others will be addressed in Story 3 of this series!

Yes you read that right. There will be one more story for this. And it will still be Lucifer centric, but the POVs will bounce from character to character.

A trilogy! Wow, I can't believe this.

Thank you all for reading! To those who have supported this story from the very beginning, you were all my motivation and inspiration. I love hearing your theories, your critiques, and your fanarts.

And if you have any questions, my asks and DMs are open! I'd be happy to answer anything to the best of my abilities without spoiler <3

This work is my pride and joy and you guys loving it made me even more proud of myself.

So thank you.

This story is dedicated to the me that couldn't find the fanfic I'm looking for and said fuck it I'll do it myself. And of course, to our dear Lucifer Morningstar.

[donnatroia]

I really really wanna know more about Donna Troyyy, so far I love her so much but I don't wanna be the type of person who claims they love a character then can't name 5 things about them. I wanna do her justice and really understand her character and purpose. I also don't wanna read something that completely mischaracterizes her because I'm aware that there's a LOT of that these days. I was hoping you could give me some recommendations to read after my tests?

Thank you so much if you do, and have a wonderful day! <3

I think I can help with that! Luckily donna's characterization is pretty solid & consistent in any comic up to around 2006. i would be wary of more modern interpretations of her but for most of her older appearances you don't really have to worry about bad writing.

The number 1 rec for donna is always New Teen Titans, that's where pretty much the majority of her appearances and character development take place in the 80s and 90s. The whole series is very long though so if you want more specific recommendations that focus on her I would definitely read ntt vol 1 #38, vol 2 #7-9, #18-21, #47, and #50-55. Issues 18-21 especially are probably my number one rec for donna if you're interested in seeing her flaws and struggles; those four issues took place when the titans were kind of falling apart, donna had to step up and call the shots, and it's a really neat insight into her character that i don't think gets quite as much attention as arcs like her origin stories. You'll probably honestly get a good feel for her if you pick any couple of arcs from NTT and read them through.

Wonder Woman (1987) #126-136 is a very important arc that reiterates donna's borderline horror dimension-bending origin weirdness. Titans '99 is a must-read for her, and jumping off that the Return of Donna Troy miniseries is like... Thee donna comic of all time so i would definitely recommend that. In between ntt and titans 99 she was in things like green lantern and darkstars but honestly the biggest things for her character you have to know from that time are that she and terry got divorced, she was dating kyle rayner, terry tried to take custody away from her, and terry & robbie died in a car accident.

There are way more detailed and comprehensive rec lists you can find in my donna tag if you're interested- I left out arcs like total chaos which are narratively very important for her but i don't think are quite as good a showcase for her as a character- but I think if you just want to get a feel for her character these are a good place to start. if you want like a primer on some of her major character traits i can definitely provide that lol:

donna is an incredibly emotionally intelligent and kind person who is a very good listener and always ready to help, which is why she's pretty much the #1 trusted person every single titan goes to when they need to vent. unfortunately being the appointed Fixer of All Problems Mom Friend when you're like barely an adult gets pretty overwhelming and is a very unfair weight to put a person; you can see this start to grate on her in titans 99 especially. something I like about donna is how open and honest she is with people about her struggles. most characters in the superhero genre would rather die than admit they need help and will never ever talk about their problems without being forced to, but donna isn't like that. if you ask her what's wrong she's going to be honest and tell you what's bothering her. she struggles a LOT with trying to appear 'perfect' in everyone else's eyes, and is really motivated by seeming to have it all together even when she doesn't. this is fueled a lot by her not being born an amazon and not knowing where she came from; the fact that for a lot of ntt she doesn't know her own history really gets under her skin. donna's identity issues are a HUGE part of her character especially later on as retcons and reboots get folded into her story. her past doesn't make sense. she has like nine competing backstories. she's one of the only people to remember the world pre-crisis on infinite earths and has literally been been forced out of existence and remade through pure memories, not to mention all the times dark angel forced her to live different lives until she reached rock bottom as a punishment for diana lol. in one origin she literally is not a real person and was just a mirror twin of diana. the main tagline associated with her is 'who is donna troy?' lol. which i think is fascinating and a very fucked up existence.

Anyway! I can talk about my girl all day. I hope this was at least a little bit helpful!