#'take my mind take my body take my father's conscience from me'

[kalicocal]

guilty conscience

[betterbooktitles]

"I’m certain I’m not the only millennial who feels we as a nation have taken a dizzying turn when it comes to drugs. I remember a uniformed police officer showing up once a week in 5th Grade (a year before Sex Ed) to explain how to avoid buying and taking drugs. Luckily, I already knew the dangers of the drug trade because I had seen The Usual Suspects. I knew cocaine was a bad thing to buy, sell, or steal, especially from a drug kingpin. The D.A.R.E. program, however, let me know how important it was to say no to anything fun, including alcohol. At least until I understood a little algebra first. We did role-playing exercises where we walked one by one toward the portly police officer and he casually asked if we wanted to hit a mimed joint with him. All we had to do was say “no” and walk to the other side of the room, defying the only rule I knew about improv. We wrote essays about how important it was to preserve our pristine bodies and minds, obviously unsullied since we had yet to take the class teaching us how puberty was going to defile them both. I’m still mad that my friend Nicole’s essay beat mine in a contest, and she got to read hers in front of the whole school all because she had the benefit of an older brother who took too much acid and sat in her room all night talking about why the existence of light proved God was real. My essay about a time I saw my friend’s dad drink a beer and then drive his truck somewhere was also good! We signed pledges to enter the new millennium drug-free. We took the red pencils that said “Friends Don’t Let Friends Do Drugs” and sharpened all of them down to say “Let Friends Do Drugs,” “Friends Do Drugs,” “Do Drugs,” and simply “Drugs.” Despite that little rebellious act, my friends and I spent a solid six months swearing we’d never put any harmful substance into our bodies besides every form of candy available.

Imagine how I feel now as a D.A.R.E. graduate becoming my dad’s drug dealer. It’s less thrilling than I thought it would be. Between my father’s warning not to hang around one specific neighborhood in Cleveland as a kid and nearly every TV show about drugs, I thought I’d always be buying marijuana from an intimidating dude who definitely had a gun and would use it immediately if he thought I was wearing a wire. Instead, I now buy marijuana from a well-lit storefront that looks like the Apple Store. I’ve even gone to a place where a guy with an iPad explained what each available strain would do to me. I buy what sounds good with all the confidence of a man pointing at items on a menu written in a language he can’t read. I put it all in a cardboard box. I place a book on top. I mail the box to my dad from my local post office. I tell myself the book is to hide the contraband crossing state lines, but in truth, the book is what clears my conscience. I want to send my dad something edifying while also sending him the drug that all of America worried would make me unable to read if I tried it once. The unrequested book is a red herring to distract from the vice, like when you were young and didn’t want to buy condoms outright at the store so you cushioned them between a pack of peanut M&Ms and a magazine. Hmm, what else did I need, — right, while I’m here — might as well pick up a few condoms.

Right as marijuana becomes legal in most states, I’m about done with the drug. I’ve had three good times on edibles, and one of them was when I felt nothing and fell asleep at 9:30 PM. I’m flabbergasted that my dad likes edibles. He seems to be a man free of anxiety. Case in point, I once brought him some THC lozenges to our summer holiday in Chautauqua, and around dinner time I told him “You might want to only take half of what I gave you” to which he replied, “I took it hours ago.” He was stoned and no one noticed.

While I’m stuck in my head, stoned or sober, wondering why I didn’t take some acting gig 15 years ago, wondering if I’ll ever make enough money, worrying I’m doing everything wrong including in this moment as I write this sentence, my dad is enjoying himself.

Judith Grisel, the author of Never Enough: The Neuroscience And Experience of Addiction, describes using marijuana as throwing “a bucket of red paint” on your brain. She was approaching the stimulant clinically in terms of how it differed from the laser focus of other drugs (THC reacts with many receptors in the brain, cocaine focuses on one), but now every time I smoke, I think of the red paint metaphor. While other people seem able to crank an entire joint and do insanely complicated stuff like function at their jobs, I am reduced to a gelatinous blob, on top of which my eyes and brain are navigating a dream state that, like many dreams, isn’t all that interesting the next day. Mostly, I get high and can’t decide what I want to watch on TV or what video game I want to play, I realize how hungry I am, and then I fall asleep with cereal still stuck to my teeth. Pot, for me, is like the squid ink hitting the screen in Mario Kart: I can still see where I’m going, but everything gets a little harder to do, and the panicked half-blindness makes everything slightly more chaotically fun."

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Other articles include:

An essay on Claire Dederer's book Monsters and movies made by monsters.

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[janaispunk]

no one has to know what we do

chapter 2 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: Try as you might, Dave and you can’t stay away from each other.

word count: 4.4k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that Dave pulls, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, sooooo many pussy slaps (don’t look at us), pet names, let me know if anything is missing!

a/n: co-written with my love @joelscurls, who unfortunately couldn’t write this entire chapter the way we had originally planned, so you’re stuck with me again. if you notice that some parts are better written than others, those are most likely hers haha <3 this is lowkey my favorite thing that i’ve ever put out, and i hope you like it as much as i do 🤍

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The phone feels like a paperweight in your hand. It’s late — you should be sleeping, but you know it’s useless to even attempt shutting your eyes. It’s too loud in your head right now — that promise of just one time blaring: a warning. Still, you can’t help but consider ignoring it, texting David and begging to see him again.

It’s probably a bit pathetic, yearning for a man who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you beyond a one night stand. Daydreaming about the timbre of his voice, the stretch of his cock. Getting his phone number from your father, who’s none the wiser. Your father, who is asleep in his own room just down the hall. Being home for the summer has never felt like such a burden.

Guilt eats at you as your fingers hover over the screen, David’s contact front and center. It would be so easy to send him a text right now, let him know you’re thinking about him. About the other night. But your conscience reins you in. Your father’s face flashes behind your eyes — rage and disappointment painting his features scarlet, and you drop the phone beside you on the mattress with a huff.

It’s difficult to even imagine the inevitable severity of his reaction if he ever found out. He’d probably cut you off, the revelation of you whoring around with his friend — and the possibility of this news getting out, tarnishing your family’s pure reputation — more than enough for him to disown you.

You hate him sometimes. Hate the life he’s forced onto you. You’re not even interested in studying law — not really. You never had a choice, though. It was determined before you even graduated high school that you’d follow in your dad’s footsteps. And as long as he’s funding your studies, your future, you have no right to complain. This is the life you should want. The life everyone wants. He reminds you of that fact regularly. Him, and his countless snooty club buddies.

But David — David is refreshing.

He doesn’t come from old money. He doesn’t pinch your cheeks and talk around you rather than to you, declarations of you must be so proud aimed at your father as you stand awkwardly to the side. You’re pretty sure he’s the first person outside of your professors to really look at you, take interest in anything you have to say in… god knows how long.

You can still feel his eyes boring into you. The subtle but tactful brush of his leg against yours under the table. The exhilaration that had thrummed in your veins. He’d made you feel something. You’d almost forgotten you could feel anything apart from stress and agitation. And as you lay in bed, mind swimming with arousal and impending remorse, you fear you may not be able to control yourself much longer, consequences be damned.

He’s not expecting you to reach out.

Why would you? You’d mutually agreed on that night in his car being a one time thing — just a hookup; something he would’ve done before meeting Carol. Something he should probably be doing more often now. Except you’ve somehow sunk your teeth in him, injected him with a sort of venom.

Because all he can think about is seeing you again.

It’s wrong — beyond wrong. You’re so young; still in college, for christ sake. He never met you before the other night, but he’d been stationed overseas with your father when your mother was pregnant with you. He still remembers reading the letters she’d sent in care packages over his shoulder, the ones detailing her symptoms, what foods she was craving.

Strawberries. She always wanted strawberries. Maybe that’s why you’re so sweet.

He’s never been with a woman like you; never had someone trust him with so much vigor. Your needy little pleas, your vehement obedience, your desperation to take all of him in the driver’s seat of his car — you are nothing short of intoxicating.

Still, he tells himself you’re off limits. Trudges through the days that follow with the thought of you bouncing in his lap fogging his head. Struggles to focus at work and recovers in an increasingly poor manner when called on in meetings.

And then, late on a Friday night, you text him.

He only knows it’s you because you tell him so — your full name flashing across the screen followed by an apology for messaging him so late. You say you’re out with friends, and he’d probably have guessed anyway by the typos littering your sentences.

Seconds after the first, another text comes through:

[1:23am] csnt stop thinking about u. pls see me again i promise i won’t twll anyone

Fuck. Fuck.

His muscles tense; his cock twitches in his boxers. And before he does something stupid, like responds, he sets the phone face down on his bedside table. Stalks off to the bathroom with the intention of taking an icy-cold shower, detoxing himself best he can.

He hasn’t even closed the door yet when he hears it ring.

The rhythmic jingle drones through his studio apartment, and he all but leaps at the noise. Sure enough, it's you, calling him drunk in the middle of the night.

His head swims. He presses ‘answer’ anyway.

“David?” Your voice sounds so sugary-sweet, cloying with innocence. He can hear people in the background, maybe your friends, talking about getting another round of drinks.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks first. You tell him yes; say you're waiting on a rideshare.

He exhales. And even though hearing you is making him dizzy with a fucked up sort of desire, echoes of your pleasured sounds ringing in his ears, he manages to maintain composure when you say, “can I please come over?”

“Don't think that's the best idea,” he mutters. The lack of conviction in his words would likely be painfully obvious if you weren't intoxicated. But you are, and you whine through the receiver at his rejection.

Dave fights to ignore the increasing stiffness in his boxers.

“Please,” you beg. Fuck, he loves the way you sound when you beg. “I just got off the phone with my dad…he doesn't want me coming home so drunk; said he's working on a case and I’ll be a nuisance.”

His heart breaks for you. For the girl who just wants a father who loves her, who sees her as a person with feelings. Dave can't imagine ever treating his daughters this way. Would never dream of it.

“C-can I?” your voice sounds through the speaker again — softer, less sure. Like you've prepared yourself already for the blow of him rejecting you too.

“Can't– can’t you stay with one of your friends?”

You sigh, defeated. “I want to stay with you.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. God, it would be so easy to say yes. To go and pick you up from the bar himself, bring you back to his place. Help you sober up a bit and fuck you until you can't take it anymore. But he can’t; he shouldn't even be speaking to you right now. He needs to cut this off. Needs to make it clear to you that you can't reach out to him again.

“You– we can’t.” He’s stern, direct. It pains him. “The other night shouldn’t have happened.” True, though he doesn’t regret it. Not one bit.

You’re quiet on the other end of the line for a second too long. When you finally do speak again, your voice breaks.

“You don’t like me?”

He’s going to tell you that of course that’s not it, that he’s been thinking about you constantly, that he wishes he could get you out of his fucking head. But he doesn’t get the chance. Because your friends are laughing boisterously around you, then, sounds growing more and more muffled through the speaker, and you’re telling him rather unceremoniously that you have to go.

The call disconnects with a beep.

You wake the following morning with a dizzying headache, daylight burning a hole between your eyes. With your friend still soundly asleep, you slip out of her room and then her apartment; find yourself home just as your father is getting ready to leave for work.

His travel mug sits on the entrance table as he pulls his shoes on, and you're immediately met with the smells of coffee and his leathery cologne.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he mutters as he grabs his briefcase. You don't dare look him in the eyes, lest you be met with their disapproving stare.

“Hi,” you reply, small and non confrontational. When he doesn't answer, you continue past him, begin your ascent up the stairs toward your room.

“Not very appropriate for a young professional, going out and getting wasted. Your future employer could've been there. Could've seen you acting like an imbecile.”

Annoyance furls behind your temples; makes the pounding in your head grow tenfold.

“Well then they probably won't be my future employer,” you snip.

“Probably not.”

You hear the front door close behind you and, with an agitated sigh, drag your feet the rest of the way up the stairs. You fall onto the covers of your bed, well aware that you should probably shower, but your body feels too heavy, in no way ready to move again just yet.

When you pull out your phone, ready for some mindless scrolling to numb your thoughts for a while, you’re met with a notification that sends your heart racing.

Have fun last night?

From David, sent five minutes ago.

You hastily scroll up, reading your own texts from last night, full of typos and barely coherent. csnt stop thinking about u. Your head falls back with a groan. You had gone out to forget about him, not to drunkenly confess your feelings to him in the middle of the night.

Now that you’re thinking about it, you also vaguely recall speaking to him. You tap on your call log and sure enough, there’s his name, only minutes after you texted him. You have no idea what you might have said to him, only a blurry memory of being upset about something. Great, this is great.

Sighing deeply, you go back to messages.

i was very drunk. sorry for bothering you

His reply comes almost instantly.

Who said you bothered me?

You’ve only met him once, and yet you can picture his smirk as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

Dave is sipping his coffee, black, no sugar, and listens to Jim going over his plans for the both of them going golfing next weekend, humming occasionally.

It pains him, looking at the man in front of him, while your voice from last night is still ringing through his head. How hurt you sounded, looking for a place to stay, not being welcome in your own home.

When Jim stands up to leave for work, he remains seated, gesturing towards his half eaten bagel, but assuring the other man that he doesn’t have to wait for him.

You still haven’t left his thoughts. If anything, the longing he feels for you has gotten worse since you told him how much you want to see him again. And he’s so tired of denying himself the one thing he really wants.

He’s patient, chipping away at the bagel until he sees your father’s gray Dodge peel out of the parking lot. And then he gives it another 10 minutes, just to be safe.

Come join me for coffee? I’m downtown at Roasted Beans.

You respond moments later — such an obedient little thing, you are — letting him know you’ll be there shortly. He finishes off his drink, discards the cup along with the bagel wrapper, and orders two fresh coffees.

He sees you before you see him. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly, you look so cute as you scan the cafe. You’re wearing a sundress, the blue fabric dancing around your thighs with every turn of your body, and Dave finds himself entranced by you.

You smile when you finally catch sight of him, your entire face lighting up and he smiles back without a second thought.

You shouldn’t meet him again. You really, really shouldn’t. But the conversation with your father this morning keeps replaying in your head, the disapproval weighing heavy on you, the feeling of being unable to do anything right.

You long for someone to look at you without judgment, for the sound of good girl against your skin. You long for David.

After last night and the fact that he obviously didn’t invite you over, you had thought that for him, maybe it really had been a just one time thing. Like you both had agreed on multiple times.

But then he’d texted you again, asking you to meet him. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you got ready, eager to see him again, despite knowing better.

On the drive over, you run through countless discussions in your head, trying to decide what you’re going to say to him. You have to be reasonable. There’s too much at stake. David is a mistake that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. You’re just going to meet him because he asked you to, because that’s the nice thing to do. It’ll just be coffee, nothing more.

Your resolve crumbles as soon as you see him. His eyes are already on you, their expression so full of want that it makes you ache. You walk over, feigning confidence as you slide onto the chair next to his, a quiet greeting on your lips. The deep, smooth sound of his voice when he returns it is enough to make you melt.

He has already ordered for you. It’s a small thing, rationally, but it’s once again more care, more attention than you’re used to. Warmth is spreading through your chest, but you try steeling yourself, forcing out the words that you’ve prepared to say.

“Listen, I want to apologize about last night. I shouldn’t have– I wasn’t thinking straight, I’m sorry for bothering–”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He interrupts your nervous stuttering, his hand gently wrapping around yours on the table. “I already told you that you didn’t bother me. If anything–” He sighs, his grip tightening. “I’m the one who’s sorry, you were looking for somewhere to stay, I shouldn’t have turned you down like that.”

It breaks Dave’s heart, seeing how you’re making yourself smaller, how ready you seem for him to scold you. Your quiet You don’t like me? still echoes in his mind. How your own father didn’t care where his daughter spent the night, as long as she didn’t come home. Didn’t bother him.

He clocked the way your eyes widened in surprise at the coffee that he got you, how you huff a relieved breath when he assures you again that he’s not annoyed with you. You’re so sweet, so deserving of being loved and cared for, and he so desperately wants to be the person who does that for you.

He felt the same pull from that night towards you as soon as he laid eyes on you again, and it’s only gotten worse, now that you’re right next to him, now that he’s touching the soft surface of your hand. He vividly remembers how your skin felt under his fingertips, how you writhed against him.

The urge to get just a taste of that again becomes overwhelming. He holds your gaze as his fingers start gliding over your thighs under the table, inching towards the hem of your dress. Your lips part, the softest whimper escaping your throat at his touch.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t be touching you like this, shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. Can’t stop thinking about you. I want to stay with you. How is he supposed to keep away, to stop himself, when you come to him so willingly, so desperate to be wanted?

“David?” Fuck, he loves that you call him that. “Will you take me home with you? Please?”

He can tell that you’re scared to ask, bracing yourself to be rejected again. He’s not nearly as strong as you think he is.

“Yes. Come on.”

He pulls you to your feet and out of the door before either of you have the chance to change your minds.

He’s a bad man, shouldn’t be getting off on having total control over you like this. He’s probably sick; should see that shrink Carol recommended a couple months ago after the divorce was officially finalized. But the way you’re looking at him — with the same big-eyed, doleful stare you’d given him that first night — tells him you want this. Need this, even. You long to relinquish control to someone other than your hawkish father.

So pliant in his lap, limbs all gooey and relaxed under his touch, it’s clear that you trust him. Maybe more than he trusts himself.

You’re spread out on his couch, clothes hastily discarded as soon as the both of you stumbled over the threshold, already entangled in each other. He’s led you to the living room, the thought of fucking you in his bed, of your presence lingering there, your scent permeating his sheets, the last invisible line that he’s determined not to cross.

He has been toying with your body, collected your wrists in a hold over your head and told you to keep them there while he flicked and tugged on your nipples, sucked marks into your skin while you writhed underneath him.

He’s taking it slow, now that you’re here with him, now that he has the time to thoroughly break you down and put you back together again.

You’re already soaked when he sinks a finger into you, your tight walls clenching around him immediately. You coo up at him — a needy little noise that has his resolve disintegrating in seconds flat — and you look relieved when his hand loosely wraps around your throat.

“Please,” you whisper then, and he tuts.

“You want me to take care of you?”

You nod.

“Then you take what I give you. No begging. Do I make myself clear?”

Another noise — this one smaller, stuck in your throat — and he’s pulling his finger out of you again, lips curling into a cruel smile.

He doesn’t give you any time to prepare before the first slap lands on your already-throbbing clit. You can’t help but shriek. In response, he tightens the grip on your throat slightly. Gives three more stinging smacks in quick succession. Dave almost doesn’t notice when your eyes begin to roll back. He does notice, however, when your hips begin to roll upward, your body chasing his hand.

“Oh, such a good girl you are,” he praises.

Slap.

“You love this, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” you moan, garbled and a little breathless.

Slap.

“Pathetic little girl. Bet you could come just from this, you’re so desperate. Couldn’t you?”

You gasp.

Slap.

“Answer me,” Dave demands. “Or I’ll stop.”

It’s almost comical how quickly you sputter the word yes, eyes desperately pleading with him to keep going. And he’s almost shocked just how badly you needed this. In this moment, any guilt he’d been feeling is replaced with the desperate desire to give you exactly what you crave.

He slaps you again, a little harder this time, and you wail. Your legs are trembling, but you make no move to close them, keeping yourself spread wide open and accessible for him.

He’s throbbing, fighting the urge to sink his cock into your tight heat, but he wants, needs to know how far he can push you. How far you’ll go for him.

You’re dripping onto his cushions and he collects some of your slick with his fingers, rubs them against your clit. Your skin is burning under his fingertips. He teases the oversensitive nub with gentle touches, relishes in the way your eyes are glued to his face, the way your lips are trembling as you’re silently pleading with him.

No words are escaping you, and you’re so good, making him so proud with how you’re following his commands.

He slaps your clit again, and again, and again, until you’re a babbling mess, your throat constricting against his grip and your back arching as you come with a cry. Wetness floods out of you and you’re shuddering in his hold, broken whimpers of his name falling from your lips.

He watches with sick fascination, almost unable to believe that he drove you to this point. How much you enjoy being treated like this. That you’re just as twisted as he is.

When you come down, your arms weakly reach for him and he scoops you up, pulls you into his lap until your face is nuzzled into his neck.

“Good girl,” he coos, gently stroking your hair, “you did so good.”

He gives you a few moments to rest, tracing shapes across your back, until his fingers dip deeper, gliding over your ass and between your spread legs, where you’re still so fucking wet.

You squirm under his touch, needy little sounds traveling up to his ears once more. “Please,” you whisper.

One hand grabs into your hair, pulling your head back until he can see your face. You look wrecked. Pupils blown wide, your eyes wet with tears, but what really gets him is the way you look at him. He had worried, for a second, that he might have been too rough, but there’s only pure trust and longing in your eyes.

“I thought I told you no begging.”

You bite your lip, furrow your brow in that adorable way of yours. “I’m sorry. It just– it all feels so good.”

He presses his thumb down on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.

“I know it does, sweetheart. You need more?”

You nod quietly, your eyes wide and pleading.

“Alright then.” He turns you over so quickly that you gasp, scrambling for a second to get your bearings. You’re on all fours, your legs still spread, your ass on display for him.

He had wanted to prepare you a little more, to give you several of his fingers first before he stretches you out on his cock, but he can’t possibly hold back any longer. Judging from the loud moan that you let out, he thinks that you like the sting of him sinking into you unprepared.

It’s even better than he remembers, your slick walls engulfing him so tightly. He starts pounding into you, the depth of his thrusts jolting your body forward and forcing more sounds from you.

He wants you to still feel him tomorrow, wants you to remember him, wants to stake a claim that he knows he doesn’t have. He groans your name, his fingers digging into your hips, greedy for every part of you that he can reach.

Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, giving yourself to him like this.

“Come on,” he growls, reaching down to find your clit again, rubbing in tight circles. “Give me another one.”

You cry out, pushing back against him. So fucking eager. He lands two quick slaps on your ass and you fall apart, trembling wildly as your walls pulse around him and you scream out his name.

He can’t hold himself back any more and follows you over the edge, pumping into you once more and holding your hips pressed against his.

You both collapse down onto his couch, a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs and quick breaths. You curl your body into his and he presses kisses against your cheeks, your temples, your lips.

Slowly, as he’s coming back to his senses, the guilt settles in.

He lets go of you much too quickly, stands up and starts getting dressed quietly. You watch him for a moment, wracking your mind for something to say, before he looks at you.

“Get dressed. I’ll drive you home.”

He sounds cold, distant. So different from the man who just took you to heights that you didn’t know existed until now. You suppress a shiver and get up hastily. Suddenly, being naked around him feels much too exposed, too vulnerable for your liking.

You pull your dress over your head and slide your shoes back on, but one crucial item is missing.

“Did– did you see my underwear?” you force yourself to ask. He shakes his head, not gracing you with a verbal answer.

Eventually, you give up the search and follow him down the stairs and into his car. The silence grows, until its weight is pressing down, almost suffocating you. You steal glances at him, but his eyes are fixed on the road, staring straight ahead, never wavering. A muscle in his jaw is ticking.

The mix of his spend and yours is pooling between your legs, but it makes you feel dirty now. You force down the lump that’s building in your throat.

When he stops in front of your house, you scramble out of the car without a word. You don’t know what would be worse, if he said goodbye like nothing was wrong or if he remained silent. You don’t want to find out.

It’s late in the evening, you’re lying on your bed, eyelids squeezed shut, willing sleep to finally overtake you. Thoughts keep spiraling through your head, so many questions that you have no answers to.

He asked you to meet up, for fuck’s sake. You don’t understand why he’s treating you like this, but you’re determined to not let it happen again. Just two times, you think with a bitter scoff.

Your phone vibrates on your bedside table, indicating a new message.

[11:55pm] I can’t stop thinking about you either.

Attached is a photo. A photo of a familiar lacy scrap of fabric, grasped in his hand and covered in milky white cum.

It’s filthy, and wrong, and you feel yourself getting obscenely wet at the thought of him touching himself with your missing panties clutched between his fingers.

Maybe just one more time.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[miguel-ohara-wifey]

okay hear me out… headcanons for spiderverse men that’s like how they act when their s/o is pregnant

I know I said I’d focus on my cowboy!Miguel fic but I’ve been waiting for this request! Ask and ye shall receive

Spiderverse men when there s/o is pregnant headcanons

Tag list: @alliwriteistrash I figured you’d like this

Rating: 18+, hurt/comfort, fluff, Angst

Peter B Parker

-Peter and you have tried at a baby for ages, but stopped before hand because some new threat emerged for Spider-Man, career opportunities you had to make priority, or some financial problems came up. Overall it hasn’t been ideal timing whenever you two wanted to try.

-Your body had other plans however, after a few days in a row of getting sick in the morning. Food tasting weird and having a sickly feeling in your stomach. You had to take a pregnancy test just to ease your anxiety. Unfortunately it didn’t, it was positive. Your body immediately starts to shake, you throw up for an entirely different reason.

-the twitching under your skin from fear stopped when you threw up. But your mind was still fraught with catastrophizing thoughts. What if you need an abortion, what if Peter doesn’t want the kid anymore, how would you play this when he gets home? Is Spider-Man even meant to have a child?

-You knew you couldn’t hide it from him in good conscience, when Peter arrives at your home with the groceries like he promised. Joking about the latest villain of the week he took down. You can’t help but start sobbing right when you spot his brown eyes. Not even knowing why, when he huddled you gently. Wiping your tears away asking what’s wrong. You relent how you took a pregnancy test and it’s positive.

-Before your knee jerk apology can be made he embraces you, conscious of your stomach in the tightening of his body around yours. He whispers how great that is, all your fears laid dead before you. But you still kept crying, expect out of pure joy. Peter meet you eye too eye, clearly joining in on the sob parade.

“You’re gonna make a daddy honey…I can’t wait.”

Miguel O’Hara

-You knew it wouldn’t be pretty when you told Miguel you were pregnant. Especially because you were going to have the baby. Miguel was furious, you two have been casual for a long time. You knew of Miguel’s past with Gabriella, not like he makes an effort to hid it. For fucks sake initiates get the holographic slide show of his trauma.

-Miguel isn’t characteristically raving and violent in this rage, not like you’ve ever felt unsafe around him. However you’ve seen enough of his anger to know it burns hot. But this was the cutting chill of dry ice, he plainly told you he’s not going to be the kids father. If you want the kid, you’re on your own. You sob and scream at him how he’s an asshole.

-He doesn’t exactly argue against that point, in fact he doesn’t argue at all. Just nods and leaves as you sob in defeat. You knew this would happen, he’d break your heart in the end. Yet the smallest speck from the deepest crevice of your mind believed otherwise. Cause you want him close. Miguel would always assure complete low commitment and non-existent emotional entanglement when you two started dating. Work is his true love and he wouldn’t dare let you compete.

-The day after, you slept in till the afternoon. Not even wanting to make yourself breakfast even if it meant silencing the gargling of your stomach. You hear a knock at the door. You figure it’s a package that got sent to you by accident. So no matter how terrible you feel you get out of bed. Opening the door, you see Miguel with your favorite breakfast meal from Panera.

-You angrily squint at him asking if he thinks this’ll make up for ditching you. He says it doesn’t, his eyes reddened from crying. He just says he knows you probably haven’t had any food yet today because of your argument. But he is sorry, he’s going to be there for you and the baby. He was a fucking asshole, your entire relationship. He loves you and never wanted to admit it. For what it’s worth he’s here for whenever or however long you’d have him.

“It’s okay if you’re still mad at me…but I know you’re craving this so just have some food.”

Hobie Brown

-This was a shock to both of you, you’ve always been safe despite all the kinkiness you get into. You’ve always had protection upon protection on top of taking regular std tests.

-Despite this shockwave through Hobie and your lives, the moment you tell him you want to keep it. He’s on board, he gets a head start on baby proofing the apartment. Engineering makeshift baby monitors and safe toys for the baby to play with. He starts reading parenting books and setting up the baby’s room in his off time. Making the room a vibrant red, doesn’t matter if the baby’s a boy or a girl. You’re gonna raise them to be a punk.

-Also watches after you carefully. Even when it means leaving his station as Spider-Man for a day. You and the precious future you’re carrying matters even more to him. He’ll be sure to get everything you crave. Even if he has to teach himself how to make sponge cake. If that’s what his baby mama wants it’s what his baby mama gets. He didn’t exactly get it, but you appreciated the sentiment regardless.

-Unfortunately now truly the worst of your pregnancy signs present themselves. You throw up almost every other morning, your favorite foods now don’t taste like anything cause your tastebuds have turned against you. And you’re fatigued easily so you have to take a few weeks off helping the movement. On top of the fact you always feel heavier and heavier as every day goes by.

-When your mood swings are at there highest to boot, you find an excuse to yell at him at any point. So he knows it’s best to leave the house for a couple of hours for you to cool off. Not to dismiss your feelings, but knowing his presence only exasperates your rage spike. So when he comes back with store bought sponge cake for you. You sob and apologize for getting mad at him. He takes it in stride, he knows this road will be bumpy as everything else is. But you’re in it together.

“It’s alright love, and don’t worry I won’t torture you with my sponge cake I bought you some…”

Spider-Man Noir

-Once you ask your darling to open the oven to take out what you were making. He saw a single bun on the rack, right after asking why there’s a bun in the oven. A second later he puts two and two together. He rushes over to you, via sliding on his knees against the wooden kitchen floors to your stomach.

-He sends pecks all over your gut while massaging it with his head. Almost already trying to hear your baby, his baby. Whispering as if your future child can hear you through its very tiny molecules. You giggle at this man’s infatuation with your stomach. Sure he’s always loved every part of you. But now he has two angels in his life.

-He unleashes all the parenting books he stocked up for just in case he’d ever be a dad. As well as makes you promise to quit work in a week to focus on yourself. He begins doing most of the chores you did around the house. Doting on you head to toe, not that you’re going to stop him. Especially when your mood swings begin to hit. You become extra clingy and needy.

-But his heart breaks when you say you’re sorry for not being as pretty anymore now that you’re starting to show. He’s devastated, he thinks you’re even more gorgeous now. The fact you’re carrying your soon to be family. His whole world, how could he not find you all the more irresistible? He corrects such by going down on you that night. “Having sex with a pregnant woman makes the baby a pervert later in life” be damned. You must know how much he can’t get enough of you.

-After such he cuddles you into him like he always does, his stringy brown locks mixed with sweat. As he can still taste your orgasm in his mouth. After you started to breath steadily again, you relent you believe him when he says he knows you’re the sexiest woman alive. He smiles so innocently despite the unholiness of the situation, he cloaks your body in a cool blanket. Kissing you on the cheek and telling you need sleep now.

“It’s never a labor to love you, and our family. Don’t forget that darlin…”

[bunnibitez]

Messy Hands - Part Two

Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader AFAB

Summary: Miguel just can’t get you off his mind. As a result, he’s always there when you need him most, whether you like it or not.

Word count: 4.6k+

CW: 18+ so MDNI, NSFW, mentions of blood, acts of violence, SA(NOT MIGUEL), stalking, jealousy, possessive behaviors, toxic relationship, mentions of death, slow burn, no use of Y/N

A/N: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO GET OUT BUT I PROMISE ITS GOOD!!! THANK YOU TO MY BETA READER @jshookthighs I FUCKIN LOVE YOU

Part One here

Time never stops.

It marches on, dragging the corpse of yesterday behind it. Time never ceases and neither does the on going battle behind closed eyes and clenched fists. No matter how many deep breaths are sucked in between gritted teeth, no matter how much he prayed, begged, kicked or screamed, time marched on. Taking it’s toll on the world and his soul as it did. With time came its companion, decay. A devious creature that preyed on the innocent and beautiful, corrupting it with it’s touch. That’s how Miguel began to see it all. It was a matter of time until his brain too rotted away until his skull was nothing more than an empty cavity to host his rage rather than his conscience. Every day he could feel the threads of his sanity being pulled taut, and every day he doubted how much longer he could go without being the cause of a fucking masacre.

Wrath.

Rage.

Justice.

So much “justice” due. That’s how he saw it. So many people had done wrong by him; tore him apart, brick by brick. Hurt the people he loved most just to get to him. Until one fateful night, he was left with nothing but a beating heart pumping weakly in a dirty alley, left to die. His chest still tightens at the memory of her. Stolen innocence snuffed out too soon. And yet the ones to blame were left unharmed, hidden behind the ivory walls of their mansions, never truly getting their hands dirty.

Cowards.

If only he had the chance, he’d slaughter them. Watch the life drain from their pathetic bodies as they’d squirm and writhe in pain. Begging for a bullet. But Miguel would take his time with them though, he was patient and knew better than to grant them a sliver of mercy. It was the only lesson his father ever taught him.

But that all would come in due time. Miguel was patient, capable of biding his time until his prey found themselves tangled in his web and unable to escape. But until then much like time, Miguel marched on; dragging a little corpse behind him.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Weeks had since passed at this point, breezing through late spring and bleeding into early summer. The days after the mysterious brute entered Bellagino’s were tense, leaving Mr. Caparelli flighty and panicked. The stout little man could often be found pacing in the kitchen, muttering to himself with a distraught look painted on his face. You didn’t dare ask why he seemed so frightened since his ‘friend’ came to visit, mostly because you yourself seemed a little terrified of him as well. In lieu of your best efforts and his divine features, the man was cold and seemed pestered by your presence at your last encounter. Despite this though, you seem to find yourself staring at him more and more. Since the meeting with Bellaginos’ owner, Miguel had begun to visit the quaint little restaurant every other week or so.

Miguel couldn’t find the motive behind his actions truly. He raked his brain for an answer, disturbing the cobwebs in his head to try and understand why he had to mindlessly sit here and watch. Sit and watch this run down old restaurant like a dog. Sit and feel his shoulders slump as the soft hum began to tune out the buzzing in his mind. He’d come in and plop down at the same little table in the center of the room and the owner would bring him the same ice water with lemon.

For the first two weeks, he had attempted to convince himself it was purely to ensure that Caparelli wouldn’t run out on him. Sure, getting to watch the pretty little thing behind the register try not to stare was fun, but these were just business trips. What did it matter that he started coming in twice a week? What did it matter that he’d feel a twist of disappointment when he’d walk through the creaky little door and not see you in your usual spot because it was your day off? It was just business.

That is until finally he had no choice but to confront the truth. It came at him, sitting in his lap, oozing through his gut and making his stomach tie in knots. It made him nervous and queasy, forced to hide it all behind a stonewall mask. It felt foreign, his thoughts jumbled as he began to lose focus on it all.

‘There’s no way. It’s just work.. It’s just..’

It was a warm night in July and an unusually busy Friday evening at Bellagino’s, due in part to the ongoing festival at the Brooklyn Bridge Park. Fairy lights twinkled overhead in the outdoor dining area, each seat filled with couples and gaggles of laughing friends. Miguel almost didn’t recognize the place with it so full of life. The building had an unfamiliar glow to it that simply complimented it, turning it into the homely feel of a little Italian cottage. Turning his attention to the windows as he approached, he saw you, floating around tables with a smile on your face. His lips parted slightly as he watched you, glowing like an angel in the warm lights.

In your element, twirling to avoid guests with ease, plating food and drinks without spilling a drop. You moved with grace and poise, completely unbothered and confident. It was a complete parallel to how you acted when Miguel was there.

That’s when he felt it. A tugging at his chest and the tightening of his lungs as he held his breath. He could feel his heart thrumming as he stood there, starstruck. For the first time, it wasn’t just a subtle hum, it was a goddamn symphony. A cacophony of harmonious melodies blended together to form the tune playing behind his eyes as he gawked in awe. He couldn’t think straight, his own thoughts being muffled out and pulled to the back of his mind. Sweaty palms clenched into tight fists as he closed his eyes and tried to shake out the cotton filling his head.

‘Think O’Hara… Breathe dammit…’ he reminded himself.

A large hand brushed back loose curls as he inhaled slowly through his nose. He knew he couldn’t stand there staring at you all night like some love stricken fool. He forced himself to move, to draw closer to the siren that called his name without even knowing he was there. His knees buckled, faltering for only a moment as he approached the door. Pushing through, his nerves got the better of him for just a split second and his instincts slipped as his eyes merely tracked you throughout the bustling restaurant. Forgetting to duck his head like he usually did, the top of Miguel’s forehead smacked into the doorframe with a soft thud.

He winced, inhaling sharply as he stumbled inside for a moment. He grit his teeth, more so from annoyance rather than pain. He shut his eyes, hoping to drown out the throbbing at the front of his skull if he rubbed it hard enough. He was grateful that almost everyone else seemed too enveloped in their own mindless conversations to even notice he’d arrived.

Almost everyone.

Approaching Miguel, you looked up at him. His hulking frame would’ve been intimidating had it not been that he slouched a little as he held his head. For the first time since you met him, it made your eyebrows draw upward in concern.

“Sir, are you okay..?”

It took Miguel a moment to open his eyes, his scarlet irises glancing down at you. Slowly he took in the shape of you, nodding his head sheepishly as he swallowed. His hand fell away from his head as he tried to regain his composure. This had been the first time since your initial meeting that you’d spoken to him. Once again, that honey voice triggered the euphoric hum in the back of his mind. Once his gaze met your eyes, he felt his heart skip a beat. They were dazzling and full of genuine concern for him. The kind of eyes that men write poems and hymns about. Sweet irises that he could swim in, but he feared that if he dove in, he’d never come up for air. He’d never seen eyes like yours before. So awestruck that the only response he could give you was a low hum.

You looked down, feeling your bravery caught in your chest. Your eyes darted down to your feet and you cleared your throat, trying to remember the usual script you ran through when a customer arrived.

“R-Right, well… Table for one..?” You asked sheepishly, reaching for a menu. For a moment, Miguel feels his heart stutter. All the confidence you just had somehow managed to seep away in his presence. The way you kept your gaze glue to the floor made him frown, biting the inside of his cheek gently. He could feel the tension rising, an awkward wall you were starting to build. For half a second, Miguel felt a twinge of panic wash over him. He looked at you, searching your body for an out, a way to make things better, to make you less afraid. He swallowed thickly, scrambling his brain to try and think of something to say to lighten the mood or even make you laugh.

“Does it look like I’ve got anyone with me?”

‘Fuck.’

It comes out flat and sarcastic, not charming or teasing as he meant for it to. He internally cringes at himself as he sees the way you retract from him.

“Oh… yeah… Sorry, sir.” You mumble out and begin to guide him to his usual spot. The broken tone of your voice feels like a punch to the gut. A twist of his innards that has him wishing he could turn back time. He’s never been this awkward or nervous before. Usually his callous behavior is intentional and pointed, but now he feels it just makes him look like an ass.

“I’ll be right back to take your order…” Soft spoken and sweet, you place the menu down and walk away. Once seated, he pinches the bridge of his nose in self frustration, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets out an annoyed sigh. He’s never been like this before, never been this much of a mess because of a woman. Usually his suave and charming nature takes over and he’s able to seduce anyone he damn well pleases, but for some unknown reason; you broke him. He groans quietly and shakes his head slowly, feeling the butterflies now pooling in his stomach.

‘Aye carajo, get a hold of yourself..’

It feels like his brain is on fire, criticizing every way the interaction went wrong. He feels his gut twist, pinching his nose with enough force that it starts to hurt and his knuckles turn white. The throbbing only continued as his frustration grew. His face practically morphs into a snarl as he sits and waits. Opening his eyes, he glares down at the menu before him, a pleather bound book with the edges peeling away. He tries to refocus his attention on literally anything else than his blundering attempt at conversation.

Miguel is left grumbling to himself when you return to his side. Silently you place a glass of ice water with a lemon wedge bobbing about the glass beside him. Fear beats quickly along side your heart as you wordlessly reach out your other hand, gently clutching a crude ice pack. It was nothing extraordinary, a little sandwich baggie filled with ice chips and wrapped loosely in paper towel. It’s placed on the table beside the water with care. Miguel eyes it for a moment. He feels his stomach twist again but this time its a different feeling. It flutters and it’s soft with smoother edges than before. His cheeks just hardly flush a softly pink as his features remain contorted into a grimace. Without turning his head more than two inches, he looks at you from the corner of his eye. Your eyes are once again glued to your feet, trembling hands reaching to the pen and notepad tucked int your apron. With your head down and your nose nearly buried to the paper of the little booklet, Miguel can’t see the heat that’s spread across your face.

“A-Are you ready to order..?” You squeak out in a voice hardly above a whisper.

Miguel swallows, clearing his throat as he lifts his head. The pink on his cheeks is beginning to darken as your gaze peers over your little notepad and into his crimson eyes. His face melts from frustration, his brows furrowing just a little as he stares back, trying to remember his words.

“No.. I.. Just the water is fine.” He manages to force out. His hands are absently pulling at the cheap white fabric tablecloth as he looks at you. He swears that if he could freeze time at this moment, he would. The way your gaze softens as you look at him, has him biting his tongue just hardly. The butterflies are flapping wildly about in his stomach. Miguel’s canines dig into the tender flesh as he tries to ground himself, distract himself from how pretty those lashes would flutter as he forced you to look up at him from your knees. Would you let him hold your face still while he pounds into you- he wonders.

Your eyes flit back down to your book and you nod your head.

“Y-Yes sir. If you need anything, j-just call for me.” You hold the little name badge pinned to your chest for him as if he hadn’t eyed it the first twelve times he came in to watch you work. With that, you turn on your heel and leave him. Scurrying to another table while Miguel is left merely watching.

The subtle throbbing beats against his head like a drum before he glances down at the icepack you brought over. It feels so tiny in his hand. He lets out a little groan as he presses the baggie to his forehead, relishing in the relief it just barely provides. He can’t help the smile halfheartedly pulling at the corners of his mouth as he sits there.

‘She really didn’t have to do that…’

But he hardly has a chance to bask in his appreciation when he hears it, just barely audible amongst the chatter.

“Aww c’mon sweet’art. I bet I could show ya a real good time.” The man drawls out, clearly drunk from the second pitcher of sangria he and his buddies were splitting. He’s got a toothy and sloshed grin spread across his face as his hand glides up the back of your thigh. You look mortified, eyes silently screaming for help.

Miguel feels his lip twitch as he rises up from his seat.

“S-Sir please stop..” You squeak out, too quiet for the pickled bastard to hear or care. His hand is pulling back, gearing up for a smack, when suddenly a wide tan palm wraps itself around his wrist. It’s grip is tight and overwhelming when Miguel yanks, nearly dragging the drunk out to the ground in the process.

“No la toques, pendejo.” Miguels spits with venom as he twists the man’s arm. The usual hum that played in your presence was washed out by his rage. No one should be allowed to touch you, especially not some wasted shithead. Gritting his teeth, Miguel has to remind himself that he’s in public. Eyes fly to watch the scene unfold. He grumbles lowly as the man cries out in pain before Miguel practically tosses him back into his seat. He scrambles, nearly falling out of his chair to get back from you and Miguel.

With parted lips, a little gasp escapes you. Miguel feels his conscience flooding in as he looks back at you. Wordlessly, he jerks his head towards the door and starts heading for the exit. His eyes are cold, commanding almost. He grumbles something out loud to Caparelli about leaving in Spanish as his grasp nearly tears the creaky little door off it’s hinges. His eyes trace over you once more before he turns his back on you and lets out a gruff, “C’mon.”

Sticking close behind, you slip out the door as he holds it open.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The night air is warm, the remnants of the summer heatwave still staining Nueva York. It’s mostly quiet aside from the drone of car engines as they pass by. You’re silently keeping pace with Miguel, feeling your chest rattle from the whole interaction. Frightened, confused, and over in a flash. It makes you ball your hands into tight little fists, frustration quietly bubbling up in your chest. In that moment, you froze, retracting into your shell in the hopes that you could avoid confrontation all together. You’re biting back tears as they prick at the corners of your eyes. Your mind is brewing with what ifs and how badly it could’ve gone when suddenly, his voice pulls you from your thoughts. It’s low and sultry with the fleeting taste of a Spanish accent. You couldn’t really hear the words coming out of his mouth, too busy being lulled by the sound of him. You jerk your attention to him, eyeing his lips for a moment before forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Hm?” Is all you can manage.

“I said, do you live around here?” His voice cuts through, fully grounding you and bringing you back to the present.

“O-Oh.. yea. About five blocks thata way.” You tip your head to the left. “I can just walk.”

Miguel nods his head before starting to lead the way down 48th street. You open your mouth to protest his accompaniment but let the words die in your throat. Walking side by side with your head down, you could only let your thoughts wash over you again.

Miguel lumbered on the side of the concrete closest to the street, grumbling as he kept his eyes forward. Loathing boiled inside his stomach, frothing from his mouth in a string of Spanish curses and death threats.

“If I ever see that fucker again, I swear… Llevaré su piel como un abrigo.” He growled to himself, plotting and mentally preparing for the literal hell that he was going to drag that stranger through. His fists were clenched tightly at his side, burning white until he heard a soft sniffle. Pulling himself away from his thoughts, he turned his head to face you.

Your eyes were still glued to the sidewalk beneath you, tears rolling down ruddy cheeks despite how hard you tried to keep them from spilling. The quiet sounds you made were a result of the runny nose that accompanied your tears. It all just felt so overwhelming, so scary. In a moment of quiet and scarce vulnerability, you tried to be brave. But it was so so hard.

Miguel felt his heart sink in his chest. Thoughts of annihilation and revenge washed away. Softened eyes stared down at you silently as he tried to form the right words to say to you to make the pain and fear melt away. But he couldn’t. Miguel was all too aware of the fact that he lacked the necessary eloquence. It pained him to see you trying to bottle it all up. His teeth sunk into his cheek as he scrambled internally. Finally, he loosened his tightly balled fist, letting it hang limp.

Rough, large knuckles brushed up against the back of your dainty hand. The gentle ghost of a caress, hardly grazing your flesh, almost like he was afraid you’d shatter. Warmth radiated off his hand as once again, it swept across your skin, featherlight. Your head lifted, attempting to gaze up at Miguel, but by this time, he’d turned his head away from you in a shallow attempt to hide his growing blush. Whether it had been due to your tear-blurred eyes or your own volition, you stepped hardly an inch closer to the giant, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

The rest of the trek back to your shabby apartment was quiet, muted were the sounds of Miguel’s grumbling. They were drowned out by the sounds of your indistinct humming. It was nearly impossible to hear, but it was the only thing Miguel could focus on as the two of you passed through your neighborhood. Entering a large, ten-story building, Miguel was only able to remember where he was in the flickering yellow lights of the hall to your apartment door.

Standing before your apartment, he swallowed thickly. Palms sweaty and the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge as you turned your back on him to unlock the door. You looked so small, so delicate, and so fucking pretty. He felt his heart race in his chest, nearly forgetting all together the events of nearly twenty minutes ago. Right now he just wanted to come inside with you and hold you in his arms. He wanted your body pressed against his chest, lulling him to sleep in the comfort of your bed. He wondered if those sheets smelled as sweet as you did, felt as soft to the touch. He tried to wondered if he’d prefer to rest his head amongst your pillows or your thighs, but he already knew the answer.

‘Please… please let me come in cariño… let me make you feel better… let me take care of you, just for tonight…’ he prayed to himself as he watched you open the door with caution.

Doe eyes stared up at him as his lips parted to speak. Just your gaze forced him mute. Rubbing the tears from your cheeks and smiling up at him with warmth and fondness, he thought he was going to fall to his knees right then and there.

“Thank you.. I-I really appreciate everything, sir.” You said gently, hardly above a whisper. It made Miguel savor your voice. The way it made his brain tingle and swim felt better than any liquor he’s ever had. He wanted to hear more of you, but more than anything he wanted to hear you say his name.

“It was no trouble at all. But please chula, from now on just call me Miguel…” He tried to offer the same warm smile you did but could hardly manage anything more than a sweet little smirk. Despite his expression though, you could see the light in his eyes. It was dull and flickering, but it was there, growing. You nodded your head and gave an airy half chuckle.

“Heh okay… Well then, good night… Miguel.” You spoke in the sweetest tone you could manage. Miguel felt a shiver travel down his spine. His cheeks flushed lightly and he swore he could feel his heart pounding behind his eyes. The way his name fell from your tongue made him weak and practically feral. For a moment he considered sweeping you off your feet and fucking you into the couch just so he could hear you say his name like that again. But instead he stood there, attempting to bite back his animalistic urges with his canines as you began to slip into your apartment. The door gently closed as he watched, standing there and thinking about all the ways he’d make you scream his name.

He tries to shake the thought loose but can’t. He can’t stop thinking about how sweet and obedient you’d be. How much you make his heart flutter and how crazy it drives him. Miguel feels a stirring in his chest, a queasiness that makes him feel sick for a moment as reality strolls back in. The fires of rage being stoked once more in your absence as he remembers what brought him to your apartment in the first place.

He can practically already taste blood on his tongue when he recalls the drunk from the restaurant. How terrified he made you, how something worse could’ve happened had Miguel not’ve been there. Through the haze of his anger he makes a decision, you’ll never be without protection again. He’ll always make sure you’re safe, constantly under the watchful eye of the family. Fuck if he could, he’d guard you himself, day and night.

No matter what or how, he’d keep you safe from the scum that roamed this city. He wouldn’t let the only pure thing in his life be tainted or taken away. Not again. God forbid anything did happen to you, Miguel would have to burn the whole city to the ground.

From that day forth, whenever he couldn’t watch over you himself Miguel would have one of his Spider’s watching over you. Jess or Ben would be the one’s usually sitting in an unmarked vehicle outside of Bellagino’s, stalking in the shadows to make sure you got home safe, reporting back to Miguel as he worked.

For a short while it satisfied him. That is until one night Jess reported she saw you opening the door for some friends, ushering them inside with glee as they carried bottles of wine and board games. Jess tried to explain it was fine, beyond normal even. But Miguel didn’t care. In fact he’d stopped listening to her the moment she said there was a man amongst the group of 4 that were permitted entry. Who the fuck was he? Why did he get to be so close to you? Jealousy washed over him, filling him to the brim.

‘It’s just for her protection…’ that’s what he told himself. Over and over again. Even when he had Peter install the little devices inside your house, while you were off at work. Miguel felt a tinge of guilt, sitting and watching you work with a smile on your face from his table. Meanwhile hidden surveillance cameras were being put in your bedroom, your kitchen, your bathroom, and your living room. It ate at him a little that he worried so much. But how could he not? He couldn’t let anything bad happen to you. This was for your safety, he knew better than to let you out of his sight. The last time he wasn’t watching carefully enough, it cost him… her.

No. He wouldn’t bury another person he cared about. Not when he had the power to do something about it this time. Not when you just started to warm up to him. You finally started to look him in the eye when he sat down at his usual spot. You finally started to smile at him and bless him with that angelic laugh. You started to loosen up and even stop and chat for a few minutes. Once on your break, you just sat and talked to him for the whole thirty minutes, telling him about your day and terrible jokes you thought he might like. All just to see him smile and laugh back at you. He couldn’t just let you slip away. Not when he knew what he’d do if he lost you.

As little as you knew it, you were holding his shattering mind together, keeping him from falling apart. If only you understood how much he needed you.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Time never stops. It marches on, dragging the corpse of yesterday behind it. Time never ceases and neither does the on going beating of hearts and whispers of hope that pray for a better tomorrow. With time came its companion, decay. A mysterious creature that made room in the world for new hope and potential. Miguel didn’t always enjoy time’s passage, nor did he adore it’s companion decay. But with the two, a third party marched, carrying a flag of promise and beauty. With time and decay, tread growth. A glorious and shining ray for tomorrow, growth lit a path for time, giving way for hope.

Everyday that he saw your glowing face, he could feel his heart beating and mending, little by little.

But Miguel was patient, slowly learning to accept time and the company it kept. He knew to bide his time and earn your trust. He knew that with time, you’d be his.

Taglist

@whisperwispxx @eatally @moonvoidpng @unicornbabygremlin @chshiresins @iloveyouall234-blog @amber-content

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hi!

I’m wondering if I could request a sanjixreader about the reader taking a hit that was meant for Sanji but he didn’t realize, yet the reader kept fighting? I’ll leave the ending up to you.

Thank you, and I hope it’s ok

Keep fighting x Black Leg Sanji ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :

i'm really sorry for the amount of time this request took me?? it had been sitting in my drafts FOREVER and I kinda forgot about it I am so DEEPLY SORRY. this was so fun the to write and literally one of my favourite requests ever, so I hope this matches your expectation and that it would be worth the wait!! thank you for being patient with me. hope you enjoy this <;33 +1k words | gender neutral | mention of needles? | usual one piece violence. feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee.

A soft breeze blew out Sanji's burning cigarette, brushing through his blonde hair almost revealing his left eye. There was no way he could have survived the next attack - he was exhausted from the battle, his enemy being the strongest he had ever met before. Trying to take a puff from the cigarette he kept holding between his lips, Sanji wanted to taste nicotine one last time. As death approached him, all he wanted was the bittersweet company of his dearest friend; he wanted to feel his lungs being hugged by the warm smoke entering his airways, like a mother holds her child. That was it - he didn't have any strength left. Maybe that stupid marimo was right all along, maybe his captain deserved a stronger wing by his side.

Sanji stood still in the middle of the battlefield, waiting for his final act. He kept his eyes closed, his mind wondering what could have been if only he had a better father, if only he didn't let everyone down.

"Wake up, you useless cook!"

Was this death? Did Zoro follow him into the afterlife? No, no. It couldn't be.

"Sanji!"

Zoro screamed again, the metal sound of his swords almost serving as a background melody for the horrors of the battle. Passing an hand through his hair, Sanji noticed he wasn't bleeding - he wondered where was the headache coming from. Running his hands over his body, he noticed how he didn't feel any excruciating pain: no broken bones, no bleeding. Yet he passed out - maybe he just overestimated his enemy; maybe, he underestimated himself. Finally regaining conscience, Sanji looked around the battlefield - and a part of him wished he never did.

Your figure was moving swiftly on the battlefield, but your attacks were slower, weaker than usual. All you could do now was avoid any fatal blow, trying to recover from the one you just received. It didn't take long for Sanji to notice how you were covered in blood, your usual combat style being impeded by the metal piece stabbed in your leg, crossing your limb from one end to the other.

Biting his bottom lip, Sanji lit another cigarette. He was furious, rage galloping through his veins and giving him a rush of adrenaline he never felt before. He felt his muscles tighten, full of a strength he didnt believe he possessed - you protected his life with yours, using your own body as a shield. How could he be so weak? How dare he put you in so much danger? A sea of emotions flooded Sanji's thoughts; he was proud of you and your strength, yet he was scared, frustrated - mad at how he failed to protect you. His eyes were filled of admiration and worry - you endured a critical hit yet you kept fighting.

"Let me."

Sanji was quick to step in, putting his body between you and your enemy. Winking at you with the sexiest smirk painted on his lips, Sanji finally put an end to the battle you both had been fighting for too long. Before he could realise it, you were already lying on the floor unconscious, exhausted from the battle and all the wounds you endured.

The next thing you saw when you opened your eyes was a torchlight, pointed directed at your pupils. Too confused to follow the light as Chopper just ordered you, you tried to stand up. An heavy hand on your shoulder stopped you from moving, forcing you to lay on the mattress.

"Not so fast, mon coeur."

A familiar voice finally said, the French accent in his words revealing his identity straight away. You smiled weakly, realising the hand on your shoulder was Sanji's. Sighing, you stayed still whilst Chopper finished his job. You were full of bandages and stitches, an IV drip connected to your arm.

"Was it really that bad?"

You whined, when Chopper finally closed his medical kit bag. You saw the reindeer nod, dragging one of his little hoof onto his face.

"You're lucky to still have your leg!"

Chopper whined, frustrated with the way you were minimising your injury. Tears started forming in his tiny eyes, making you nod and fall silent - you knew he was genuinely worried and he was probably right about it.

When Chopper finally left the room, you felt Sanji slowly sitting down on the side of the bed, your mattress slowly sinking.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Sanji finally says. His tone is calm and full of worry, yet his words stung like salt on an open cut. His hand slowly reached your face, caressing your cheeks, his fingertips delicately tickling your skin. Biting your tongue, you hold back your explanations - he probably knows you were only trying to protect him, yet he was ready to scold you like a little child. You were fine, injured but alive. And you would do it again if you had to - protecting the love of your life from a potentially fatal blow? You would do it again in an heart beat.

"I love you."

These three words slip out of Sanji's mouth in a whisper, almost as if he didn't want to let them go. But now they were out in the open, filling the hospital room you were lying in.

"I love you and I want you to stay alive."

Sanji reiterated, clearing his throat. The words almost got stuck in his throat - flashback of the battles coming to him again in a blur. Seeing you collapsed on the floor, covered in blood with countless wounds all over your body. It was too much to take. He always thought nothing could scare him anymore, he always thought that there couldn't be a bigger pain than the one his father inflicted on him. But that was before this, it was before always losing the love of his life because he wasn't strong enough.

"I love you too, stupid cook. I love you and will stay alive to save your ass." You giggled, causing him to blush. Sanji stared at you for a second, the softest of smiles forming on his lips before he leaned down, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. You were safe, you were his.

[riayawrites]

Something Different ~

Pairing: Archeron!reader x Azriel

Summary~ When reader gets dropped into the cauldron they emerge as something different and ancient, As they struggle with fae life and their new body she learns that maybe she isn't alone in her battles.

Content Warning: mentions of trauma, depression, ed, fluff and trauma-bonding

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I knew my life was over the moment me and my sisters were forced out of our newly made home by brutal force, and dragged into another land.

The first few minutes of the cauldron were somewhat... peaceful. A stark contrast to the screams of my sisters and her faerie companions. The dark muddled water seemed to become light and airy and warm as I forcefully was thrown into the ancient, deceitful thing. Not like I decided to put up much of a fight anyways, at that moment I chose to let the cauldron invade my body and mind. It's not like it mattered anyways. As the cauldron sensed my relent towards its actions it decided to make things worse; ten-fold. A sharp piercing pain ripped its way through my torn and battered nightgown and all through my back, it was truly a pain like no other, the sounds of bone breaking and skin tearing sent me over and I lost conscience in a blink of an eye.

"She's been out for so long.." I distinctly hear as I awaken from my week - no probably month slumber since the cauldron. I open my eyes and squint from the warm beaming sun on my skin and the soft cotton sheets on the rather large bed I am resting on. I turn my head and open my mouth to speak yet no words come out.

A while goes by of me staring at the ceiling in silence before a figure comes into sight. "I see you are up miss." I turn my head to the side to see a tall woman with skin as dark as the night sky, with ears pointed and long with cascading black hair. She was truly a sight. I finally say my first word "Where am I.." I ask in my dazed confusion and slight emptiness. "You are in High Lord Rhysand's town house in the Night Court miss." "Your sisters and the others are all downstairs if you wish to join them I will help you ready." I take heed of the mention of my sisters and a great wave of relief washes over me when I realize all 3 of my sisters are safe. Ive always been the caring and nourishing one of all my sisters, being the 2nd eldest daughter I stepped in and took on a role of a mother in the absence of our own. My duties all arranged from making sure our old cabin stayed together by cooking and cleaning and even taking desperate jobs in town to make a pitiful income for my father and sisters to survive. In my spare time I loved to bake, but that was before we lost our fortune. My main hobby became singing as that was a way to express myself without it costing.

I gently arise from the bed with the help of Nuala- as she calls herself. My first steps in months to the bathing area and I realize something is off.. My steps glide almost gracefully and I seem to be, lighter and smoother with my motions. As I get to the bathroom I take a look in a full length mirror in my bathing quarters as I gasp as I see what is staring back at me.

I look in the mirror to see a beautiful fae woman with pointed ears and locks of long healthy hair that seemed to grow down to my lower back. I take a closer look at my body just to admire it, I've never been a bone skinny girl even when we were poor, always having curves on my hips and slight hourglass figure and fuller breasts compared to the women in my village. But now those features are gracefully implicated and only seem to heighten my new body. I hear Nuala compliment me and start to run water for me to get into and wash.

After a few minutes of an annoying bath with painful reminders of the cauldron, I'm faced with tons of beautiful dresses sparkling and shining each one better than the other. I choose a shimmering black off the shoulder long sleeve mermaid dress that was comfortable to walk in and has soft material. I sit at the large vanity whilst Nuala brushes my long wavy hair and pins it to the side, letting it freely fall down my sides. I take one final look in the mirror and mentally prepare myself for whats awaiting down at dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My chest feels heavy and my steps dragged as I walk down the many steps of the town house, taking my sweet time to admire my sisters many paintings carefully hung on the walls of the house. I hear chatter and laughs coming from the dining area as I make my way down. I step into the light of the dining area, an aura of glitter and.. light? seeping from my pores and around me. All conversation stops and heads turn my way while I assess the room.

There's my sister, Feyre and her husband Rhysand. A smile graces the corner of my mouth before I drop it and look at everyone else. It's a beautiful fae woman with curled blonde hair and striking blue eyes near Cassian; the war general. I believe her name is "Morrigan". I see a pair of captivating dark blue eyes staring at me almost assessing me in a way that makes me avert my eyes from his gaze.

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AN- sorry to end like this lol first fic, planning on making more parts with her power

[ask-funnybunnydoll]

Hi!

I think I have to move on.

You may have noticed that all of a sudden my posts have become less and less frequent. That's not on purpose I simply don't have the motivation to keep this ask blog going. I made this blog at the peak of my TADC hyperfixation because I knew it would give me the boost to work. At the start I made like, what? 2 a day, wowzas! Then it became like every other day posts. It's not that I don't enjoy the blog, the ship, the asks. Hell, the asks were the best part of this, I love just seeing what you guys come up with for these three and I get to do the even more fun part of drawing the answer.

But I still have no motivation to keep this going. And I have fixated on something else if you follow my main.

So, thank you for being here and still liking my posts even if I hadn't posted often. This was the most fun I've had and being my first ask blog I ever created just makes it more important to me.

I probably won't ever revive this blog but I'll keep it open for you. And if you want to see what the story I originally planned out was gonna be then check below the cut! Or if you wanna stay curious and theorize then just scroll by. Thank you again, hope ya have a great day and year. I hope my shit was at least okay to you.

I'm not gonna lie. Most of the stuff was just created along the way of drawing. I was like, huh this would be cool let's add that in. And ofc I didn't get to any juicy lore in this but it would've been rushed because I didn't plan beforehand... which you probably could tell xd

For Pomni, here's the plot twist: she's dead and her conscience was updated into the game to keep her somewhat alive. She worked in the place that created the game, she even took part in putting people in there. The entire game was just an expirement to test if immortality was possible, but of course.. everyone goes insane in there so they have to keep on and keep on trying with more and more people to get anywhere. They wait until someone goes to edge of absolute insanity and that's when they take them out of the game, their bodies are still kept alive and they go back to normal. They forget everything that happened while in the game. For Pomni she died just after her conscience was converted to the game, for others they were forced to go while alive. Who killed Pomni? Well, her boss, the head of the experimentation. Why? Idk 😭

For Jax, I gave him a dark story. He was isolated in his home and kept away from the outside world, which is why he lacks empathy, because he simply doesn't know how to feel that way when he never really had knowledge of emotions outside or even inside his home. His father was emotionally and physically ab4sive so.. that didn't help. He latched onto his mother the most but they never saw eachother often. That's all I had for him in mind.

For Ragatha, she lived in the country on her own land with her husband. Yup! She had a husband and a daughter too. Husband was a total jerk and she couldn't leave because she didn't want their kid to experience separated parents. She's a doll in the game because it resembles the doll she made for her daughter.

I also had some plot that I made up in my mind. Like.... Pomni at the end would be the last one alone in the digital circus. That being since she's dead she would just be yknow. Dead if she left the game. Jax and Ragatha leave but only because Pomni forces them. Again don't know how, I probably would have made it up while I went along with the story. So, Pomni is just there alone, with Caine. And she lives like that for eternity. She doesn't go insane anymore and it isn't as lonely as it used to feel like. It would feel like home kind of. But she would be there, longing for her partners forever unless she decides one day to just. Yknow, die..

Also since Jax and Ragatha would forget everything after they leave the game, they just don't remember they were in a relationship and would live their lives like before. Sad and lonely.

Goodness, I forget I make the most sad stories ever sometimes 😭

[drabblesandimagines]

Kitty (part 13)

Parts 1-12 here. Rei x (afab) reader

-

You’re in Kyu’s car – the front passenger seat this time, your duffel bag in the trunk. You are a little worried you’re about to wake up though, find yourself in your bed at the refuge and it had all just been a taunting dream. You’d even pinched yourself just to make sure. You can’t help the smile on your face – so excited at the prospect of seeing them again, seeing Rei again…

“Kitty, I haven’t exactly been 100% honest, but you’ll understand why I couldn’t have been in front of Hikoti.” You’d gone up to your room to pack and say goodbye to the others whilst Hikoti and Kyu had gone over some of the finer details. Hikoti had seemed somewhat worried about this family connection coming so out of the blue, especially when Kyu said they were happy to take you in today, on New Year’s Eve. He blagged his way through. After all, he was your supposed social worker.

You look over at him. “W-what about?”

“Well, they don’t know that I was there...”

Your stomach tightens – what does that mean? Are you not going back? Was this a trick, was this a…? You force yourself to stop – a technique taught in one of the therapy sessions – catastrophizing.

“..but I am going to take you to them.” He continues, side-eyeing your expression. “A lot has happened. This was still the right choice in keeping you safe – I stand by that, and so should they - but the danger has passed and my conscience wouldn’t let me hold off any longer. It’s clear they all miss you and I know you miss them. From what Hikoti told me, it seemed they’d actually been quite beneficial to your recovery already… somehow.” He still doesn’t sound convinced.

“Y-you said all, s-s-so Miri’s with them t-too?”

He nods, his face settling into a more solemn expression. “I’m sorry to say this, but Misaki is dead.”

That catches you by surprise. “The c-c-cancer t-took her s-so soon?”

“No. Ogino did.” Kyu hesitates. “He’s… He’s the man who tried to visit you.”

You push that bit of knowledge to the back of your mind, your concern for the precious little girl far more important. “Is M-M-Miri hurt?”

“Miri’s fine – not a scratch on her. Happy to be back with her papas. I’m not sure they’ve told her about Misaki’s death yet. She didn’t witness it, thankfully – slept through the whole thing.”

If it weren’t such a somber topic, you would’ve smiled at that – Miri did sleep like a log – but you don’t really know what to say. It’s horrifying. You weren’t sure what you thought of Misaki, you’d only had the one interaction with her, really, but it was clear Miri adored her and it’s awful that she met such a horrendous end. And then this Ogino had come to the refuge… What was his plan if they’d let him in? What would he have done if they hadn’t called the police to get him to leave?

“Misaki’s murder obviously demonstrates how serious everything was.”

“Y-yes, of course. B-but…” you swallow, a little afraid of the answer. “..w-what’s changed?”

“Ogino is dead, for one.” Your body relaxes at that - that’s a relief. “Secondly, Rei and Kazuki have left the Organization for good. I’m not sure exactly how they pulled it off, but from my intel they made a clear enough statement that the Boss no longer holds an interest in them or their activities.”

You can tell he’s holding something back. “D-d-did they g-get h-hurt?”

“They were shot, yes. Kazuki in his shoulder and leg, but he’s doing really well as far as I’ve seen. Rei’s injury was… is”, he corrects, “a little more permanent.”

“H-how?”

“He shot an important nerve in his right arm – he might not be able to use it again. He did it deliberately, to make himself worthless in his father’s eyes, apparently.”

He did it to himself? You can’t imagine the pain, the desperation… “P-p-poor Rei.”

“Kazuki said he doesn’t seem particularly fussed – happy it achieved his aim. Something else has been getting him down, though.”

“W-what?”

He smirks. “You know.”

You feel the heat fill your cheeks.

--

You’re surprised when Kyu doesn’t take you to the riverside apartment, instead taking you to a café. He unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, encouraging you to take a seat at the counter as he goes round the other side, starting to make a coffee. He looks at your puzzled expression and then his watch, “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

The bell rings above the door as it swings open and the newcomer caught you off guard. Kazuki’s eyes are cast down, hands in the pockets of his long green coat as he enters.

“Hi, Kyu, what did…?” He trails off as he looks up and sees you sitting at the counter. The door closes gently behind him as he stares in disbelief. “Kitty?”

“H-hi, Zuki.” You smile, nervously. Your last interaction with Kazuki had been tense and now you know that Kyu hadn’t even involved them in his plan you’re a little wary of what his reaction is going to be.

You shouldn’t have worried. Kazuki strides over, wraps his arms around and crushes you into his chest into a hug. “I’m so sorry.” His voice is muffled into your hair as he holds you. You wrap your arms around him in return.

“It’s o-okay, I un-understand why…”

“No,” he pulls back a little, but still keeps you close. His voice is choked. “I didn’t handle that right at all. I was so intentionally cruel. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Y-you were u-upset. Kyu t-told me w-why, it’s okay. I p-promise.”

He squeezes you tight again, almost in disbelief, before looking at the man behind the counter. “What’s going on?”

“Kitty was doing so well there, they thought it was time she thought about coming home. So, I told them I found her family.” He replies, shrugging. “Which is true, right?”

“Yes, a proper family!” Kazuki beams, but then looks down at you hesitantly. “If you can forgive me, that is. I feel so awful.”

“Zuki…” You chide, “There’s n-nothing to apologise f-for. H-honestly.”

He squeezes you tight again, releasing a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

“Where’s Rei and Miri?” Kyu interrupts – he’d asked all three of them to come.

“He said he’d rather stay home with Miri,” Kazuki sighs, finally releasing you. “You were rather coy what this was about, Kyu, I’m sure his answer would’ve been very different if he had known who was here.”

“Is h-he okay?”

Kazuki shakes his head. “He misses you – a lot. Pining, I’d say. He’s been sleeping with that lion he got you ever since.”

You smile at that, you’d been the same with his t-shirt ever since you’d found it in your bag.

“Can I s-see him?”

“Like I’d say no! We’re staying at a different place, though. We’re having a little party tonight – I was going to grab some bits and pieces for it after whatever Kyu wanted.” Kazuki thinks for a minute. “Kyu, do you think you could drop off Kitty later this afternoon? It gives me some time to prepare and I think you’d make an excellent New Year’s Eve gift for Rei and Miri...”

--

Rei’s been silent most of the afternoon since Kazuki returned. He’d asked what Kyu had wanted. The blonde had shrugged it off as another box of Miri’s things from Misaki’s apartment. He wonders briefly why Kyu requested they come pick it up – he’s been by the house often over the past week, keeping them supplied with heavy duty painkillers, acquiring a sling for his arm, but that’s about all that can be done for it. Miri has questions, obviously, about why her papas wince sometimes. He tells Miri he had an accident, explains why Papa Kazuki helps him put the dangling limb in and out of the sling every day, why he can’t play video games with her right now, but he’s been passing on his wisdom, trying to teach her where the shortcuts are. She finally got her Morio Kart 2nd Edition.

There are still guns in the house – of course there are – but being here allows them to relax a little. Miri is excited for tonight - he’s not convinced she’ll last until midnight, but the little girl is determined to try. From what Kazuki had also brought home from the city, it seems the blonde’s plan is to keep her plied with sugary snacks. He lamented not being able to bake a cake – his shoulder won’t allow him to mix as well as he’d like at the moment. Rei wonders if you’ll be having a party tonight.

Kazuki and Rei are sat either side of the sofa, Miri’s in a party hat, sat on the floor and on the last race of the championship. Kazuki’s phone buzzes - one new text from Kyu. It takes all that’s in him not to smile as he reads it. He doesn’t want to give the game away just yet.

Gift for you to ring in the New Year. Can’t stop – dropped it at the door.

Rei gives him a questioning look as the blonde gets to his feet, sliding his phone back in his pocket. Kazuki answers before he can ask. “Text from Kyu. He’s dropped us off something. I’m just gonna go grab it – probably food or something.”

He nods and turns his attention back to the screen, watching Miri finish the lap.

“Second! Good job, Miri,” Rei compliments as the overall results come up. She’s been practicing hard with his tips and tricks. The little girl turns to beam at him, but then she lets out her patented squeal of joy instead at something behind him. He looks over his shoulder, wondering what on earth Kyu has sent to elicit that reaction from Miri when his breath catches in his throat.

It’s you. Your face is a little flush from the cold, your hands clasped in front of you and there’s a nervous smile across your face as you see him, but it’s you. Kazuki’s standing behind you, clutching his sweater over his heart, obviously trying not to cry.

Rei blinks as he gets to his feet. He’s worried you might disappear, you’re a hallucination from the painkillers, surely… Miri beats him to the punch.

“Kitty!” She squeals again, throwing her arms around your legs. “You’re back!”

“Hi, M-Miri,” you bend down so you can properly embrace the little girl. You’d missed her so much, glad for her enthusiasm and warm welcome in that moment.

“Are you feeling better?”

You nod. “L-lots better.”

“Good! And you won’t leave again, right?” She tilts her head, questioningly. “Papa Rei’s been so gloomy!”

You look up to Rei at that point – he still looks stunned. “Well, w-we can’t have a g-gloomy Papa Rei.”

Miri bounces on her heels. “But you’re staying?”

“She sure is, Miri,” Kazuki ruffles her hair before crouching down. “Say, I think Papa Rei has some things he’d like to talk to Kitty about – boring grown-up talk. How about you and I make some cookies to add to the spread for later, hm?”

“Yay!” Miri yells, tugging at his sleeve in excitement. She’s been wanting to bake all week but Kazuki had to keep putting it off because of his shoulder. He’s happy to be a little stiff in the morning to give Rei this moment though.

“You can thank me later, Rei…” Kazuki calls in a sing-song tone of voice as he and Miri leave the room, leaving the two of you alone.

Rei still hasn’t said anything, he’s just staring at you in disbelief and you’re feeling a little nervous. It’s silly how much you’ve dreamt of this moment, thought of what you’d say when seeing his face again, but now your mind is blank of anything.

“H-h-hi.” Start off simple. Even though Kyu and Kazuki had warned you of Rei’s injury, it hurts to see the limb strapped up in an immobilizing sling, holding it in place against his chest. You can’t even begin to imagine the pain he’s gone through.

You swallow. “Are y-you okay?” You regret it as soon as you say it – of course he’s not okay. “I m-mean…”

“I’m sorry.” Rei steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you at last. You think he’s going to wrap you into a hug but he drops to his knees, bowing his head so low his forehead is touching the ground. “I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“No, n-no,” you kneel down in front of him, your stomach sinking as you understand his intention. You place your hand on his shoulder, “Get up, please.” You’ve seen this act before – whenever the men at the house had disappointed him they often begged for forgiveness in the very same position. He’d loved every second of it, cackling as they mumbled apologies into the floor, deciding what their punishment might be. “S-sit up, Rei.” The demand feels a little foreign coming out of your mouth, but it works. He pushes himself back up onto his knees but keeps his head cast down. “Can you ever forgive me?”

You reach your left hand forward, placing it gently on the side of his face and tilt it up with the heel of your hand, hoping that’ll he meet your gaze. He has tears in his eyes – you can tell he’s trying his best to hold them in – keeping his eyes cast to the side. “There’s n-nothing to forgive. P-please don’t cry over me.”

“The last thing I ever wanted to do is hurt you, Kitty, I swear it.”

 “Rei,” you lean forward, placing your right hand on his face too so he finally meets your eyes. You want him to see you’re sincere. “It’s a-all right. I understand.”

“No,” he lifts up his left hand and pulls down your right hand in a light grip down onto his lap, squeezing it desperately. “I promised you that you could trust me. I just… I couldn’t see another way out. My father, he…”

“Kyu ex-explained everything. I k-know you just w-wanted to protect me, protect all of us.” You interrupt. “Please, l-let’s get off the floor, o-okay?” You remove your left hand from his face to get up, but his hold on your right hand remains firm as he continues to explain.

“I thought if I cut my ties, you’d all be safe. That I could go back to the life I had before, not feeling or caring… but I failed. I’ve missed you so much.” His voice breaks as he says it, a tear rolling down his cheek. You can’t stand to see him hurting so much. You wrap your left arm around him, trying to coerce him into an embrace. He lets go of your hand and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his chest. He smells so much better than you remembered – the scent of him had become faded on the t-shirt that you’d cuddled with those weeks apart - and his touch makes your heart beat faster. He leans his head on top of yours, savouring the feeling of having you in his arms again.

“I missed you t-too,” your face is pressed into his chest and you can feel his heart thudding. “But I understand w-why you did it. I’m n-not upset or mad, I p-promise.” You mumble.

“I will spend every minute of every day trying to make it up to you.”

“No,” you pull back slightly. “T-the only person who needs to f-forgive you is y-yourself. You were k-keeping me and Miri safe. Please.”

He stares at you for a moment, scrutinizing your face. “Was it awful?”

“No, it w-was helpful, actually. T-they were all r-really nice. It was good for me…” you smile, shyly, before continuing, “But you’re even b-better. You make me feel whole, Rei.”

 “I’ll never let you go again, as long as you’ll have me.”

You bury your head back into his chest again for a moment, savouring his touch. “Come on, l-let’s get off the f-floor.”

He nods, though he seems reluctant to let go of you altogether. Your limbs are untangled for just a moment as the two of you get to your feet before his arm is wrapped around your waist again.

“I don’t want to waste another second if I can help it, Kitty, but I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, so…” his cheeks flush slightly red as he meets your eyes, “may I kiss you?”

“Please.”

He leans forward and presses his lips against yours ever so gently, as if you might break at his touch. It’s a little clumsy, the both of you nervous, but perfect all at the same time. It starts off slow, the two of you trying to feel each out a little as he pulls back slightly before kissing you again. Your head is tingling with each of his soft kisses and you’re not sure when it happened, but your right hand is flat against his chest, your left hand tangled in his hair, trying to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes up against your lips, parting them open a little more…

“Hey!” Your heart stops at Miri’s indignant shout and you pull apart, though Rei’s arm remains firmly around your waist as the two of you look towards the door. You can feel the heat in your face and your breath is caught in your throat, so you can’t imagine how you look. Miri has her hands on her hips and a pout on her face as Kazuki stands behind her, snickering. “Papa Kazuki said you kiss at midnight!”

“Well,” Rei smiles as he looks at you, adoration in his eyes, “we were practicing.”

--

Epilogue

Lips pressed gently against your forehead wake you up. “Mm.” You mumble, happily, feeling refreshed for once. Rei’s hair is loose, hanging down around his face as he leans over you.

“Morning,” he smiles back and leans down. “I love you,” he says, quietly, before kissing your lips. When he pulls away, he looks down at the cot at the end of your shared bed. “Somebody slept through the whole night.”

“Hm. She knows it’s an important day.”

Rei had been terrified as soon as you found out you were pregnant. It had been a surprise to the both of you. Your relationship had continued to develop slow and steady over the past ten years, each trying to heal through your own trauma. You’d slowly began to become more and more intimate over the years and though your period had returned, it was sporadic, never quite settling into a regular pattern. It was only after you’d thrown up four times in an hour one morning from the aroma of dishes they were cooking at the diner that Kazuki had gone out and came back with a box of pregnancy tests, sending you off to the bathroom.

Rei would never say it aloud, but it was clear he was worried what it would mean if the two of you were to have a boy. He still had nightmares about his own upbringing and his father, and though you had all moved away from the Organization and hadn’t heard anything in the last nine years, it still lurked at the back of their minds. Nightmares of his father coming to reclaim a Suwa heir – not that he’d let him get 100 yards within his family ever again. You’d gone for a scan to find out the sex as soon as you could, and he couldn’t hide his relief when the technician said it would be a little girl. You weren’t sure who was then more excited at the news, really – Kazuki, Miri or Rei.

“Miri, time to go!” You hear Kazuki call.

“Coming!” The teenager shouts back, before there’s the loud thumps of her descending the stairs.

“Well, Aiko,” you smile at the little girl, bashing some blocks together on the ground whilst you got ready for the day. After tying Rei’s hair up in a ponytail, he’d headed downstairs to start breakfast for Miri and help Kazuki prepare for the breakfast rush a little later on. “We better go and say goodbye to big sister, hm?” Aiko turned one last month and is an absolute joy. The happiest baby, full of smiles and a playful personality, a sweet face and her father’s black hair. You pick her up in your arms and carry her carefully down the stairs as she babbles away, walking into the tail-end of the conversation where Kazuki is…crying? Typical.

“I know you snuck out early yesterday to drink with the ladies,” Miri taunts.

You look over at Rei behind the counter, hoping for clarification but he offers back a half-shrug.

Miri spots the two of you and smiles. “Plus, Papa Kazuki, you still need to worry about Aiko here. She’s got a few years catching up to do on me.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that…!”

“Aiko, look,” you interrupt, trying to defuse whatever it is you’ve walked into, “Miri’s all ready for her first day of high school. Doesn’t she look so grown up?”

“Come here, baby sis!” Miri holds her arms out for a cuddle, but Aiko is already holding her hands out for someone else, squealing when she sees the object of her desire.

“Oh, she wants to see her Uncle Zuki, don’t you, sweetie?” The blonde takes her into his arms, bouncing her up and down, gently.

Miri frowns, placing her hands on her hips at her little sister’s betrayal.

“It’s the goatee.” You reassure the teenager.

“No, she just loves her Uncle Z… Ouch!” He winces, as her little hand grabs at his chin and tugs, forcefully.

“More she loves grabbing.” Miri laughs.

“She has her father’s strength.” Rei chimes in as he places a plate down on the counter with his specialty dish. “Come on, Miri, you need to eat anyway.”

“It’s great you have a special and all, man,” Kazuki walks around the counter with Aiko, wincing as her little hand is still entangled in his goatee, “but don’t you wanna expand the repertoire a bit?”

“Why?”

“You really are a one-trick pony.” Kazuki sighs. Aiko is reaching out for Rei now with one arm, her other still gripping onto Kazuki’s chin. Rei had been so scared to hold her at first, terrified of dropping her so much so that he’d only ever hold her if he was sitting or lying down. His arm was obviously irreparable – the way he had intended it to be to protect his family - and he’d gained back only a little strength and grip in it over the past ten years, but his confidence had developed and he always managed to wrangle her in place. After a little tussle, Aiko finally releases the blonde’s facial hair to settle in her father’s arms. Rei places a kiss on your daughter’s forehead and it makes your heart swell seeing the two of them together.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s great!” Miri squeals, the same way as she did when you first met her after taking a bite.

“I have to agree with them, Zuki. Everyone raves about it.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Miri drops her fork and runs towards the door.

“Little early for school, isn’t it?” Kazuki sounds puzzled.

“Follow me, please!”

Rei passes you Aiko as he follows Kazuki out behind the counter, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he does so. He still makes you blush after all these years. He slips an arm around your waist as you walk out the front of the diner and see Miri fiddling with her beloved selfie stick.

You stand in front of Rei, as usual, Miri in the middle and Kazuki to the side. Miri frowns at the image before looking at Rei and Kazuki. “Come on, we’re family, aren’t we?” Miri chastises. “Get closer, you two.”

“Huh?” Rei looks down at you but Kazuki clocks what Miri means.

“Oh, come here, you big lug!” The blonde loops an arm around Rei’s neck, bringing him in close. You’re standing in the middle of the two men now, holding Aiko tightly in front of you, Rei’s hand on the small of your back and Miri’s to the side.

“What’s a mouse’s favourite snack?”

“Kitty!” The camera clicks – the photo showing you, Rei, Kazuki and Miri all looking in surprise at Aiko and her first word.

--

Thought it was fitting to end this on part 13 as I think we all thought we were getting 13 episodes! Thank you so much for everyone's support during this series - I think this ended up being nearly 45,000 words! I'm open to dipping back into Rei and Kitty's relationship (I know a lot's happened to them between the end and the epilogue) so let me know if there's anything you'd particularly like me to write about <3 Thank you again for all the comments, reblogs and follows! Love Ghostdog x

[unclewaynemunson]

Wayne Munson would never take hush money from the government.

He’d never trusted the government. He’d known that the American Dream they tried to sell him didn’t exist; he’d known that since his parents moved him and his brother from the south of the Appalachian mountains to Indiana, only to end up in a trailer park working day and night at the quarry. He’d known that the cops would always treat trailer folk with a little extra suspicion ever since the first time his brother was sent to jail. He’d known that the hospitals were less willing to help people like the Munsons ever since his mother could’ve survived her illness if it weren’t for their lack of money. He’d known that he would never be more than a laborer at the plant ever since his education became an unaffordable luxury for his father. And he’d known that the mysterious energy lab at the edge of town had some shady business going on ever since he got called in to fix one of their power outlets and had to sign some sort of statement that no, he had not seen the kid in the hospital gown with the shaved head that he definitely had seen wandering around the hallway.

The years after that only made his distrust of the government grow. It was one thing after another: the misidentified body found at the quarry, the girl who got poisoned by the same mysterious substance that had infested his buddy Eugene’s pumpkin harvest, the mall that killed many of his friends’ businesses in town before it burned down - not to mention the way his nephew got treated by school officials and attendance officers.

The way the government shamelessly blamed Eddie for murdering three teenagers, easily making some sort of scapegoat out of him, doing nothing to find him and help him while he was probably hiding somewhere scared out of his mind, had been the final straw. So when he finally got reunited with his nephew, who was barely even alive and had apparently been doing those government folks’ jobs for them along with some other kids, he laughed square in their faces when he read the documents they demanded him to sign.

“You take me for a fool?” he asked the man in the neatly pressed suit sitting opposite him.

“Mr. Munson, we only ask you to collaborate for the good of this country, and -”

“You think I care ‘bout the good of this country? You think I’m a patriot, huh?” Wayne glared at the man. “I been livin’ in a trailer park all my life. Lost my mama to your hospital, lost my brother to your justice system, lost my own future to your corporations. And look - look at this boy here.” He couldn’t help it that his voice cracked as he gestured helplessly at Eddie’s pale face, tubes in his nose and surrounded by beeping machines. “Lost my nephew to your twisted little science experiments.”

The man seemed unmoved. “You know just as well as I that we’re the ones taking care of the bills that are currently keeping him alive, Mr. Munson.”

“Don’t you dare hold that over my head,” Wayne answered, coldly. He knew he had the upper hand; he could easily spill all their dirty little secrets to whatever party was interested in them. And if he truly lost Eddie, nothing would be holding him back.

“Look, Mr. Munson, why don’t we settle this in a civilized manner,” said the man. “We can provide you a new trailer - maybe even a real house, how about that? We can give you enough money to get you and your nephew comfortable.”

Wayne scoffed. “And where was your money when me and my buddies at the plant needed a raise? Where was your civilized settlement when we had that strike to demand safer working conditions and all we got were budget cuts? Where was your willingness to cooperate when -”

“Let’s keep to the subject at hand, Mr. Munson, and -”

“Oh I’m keeping to the subject, alright! You know what, I got a counter offer for you: you make sure that my boy gets the very best treatment there is; you make sure he gets outta here healthy and safe; and you use your hush money to grow yourself somewhat of a conscience, do something with it that’s actually useful for this town’s community, something that’s gonna help them instead of destroy them further. And then, maybe, just maybe, I will sign those papers of yours. How does that sound, sir?”

So when Eddie woke up, Wayne had nothing to give to his nephew. Their living room had a crack in its ceiling that would always remind the boy of what happened there. Their pantry was still stocked with canned food and their water still ran cold half the time. But they were used to that, and Eddie had never asked for more than Wayne’s love, a bed to sleep in, and some food in his belly. And this way, Wayne’s dignity was still intact. He could look at himself in the mirror. More importantly, he could look into Eddie’s eyes. And Eddie’s eyes, those beautiful wide eyes full of emotion, could look back into his, full of life and love and understanding. That was something which couldn’t be bought with dirty hush money, and it was the most important thing in the world.

[queer-is-future]

Curious if the show is going to address this diary entry of Claudia’s from the book Merrick. This was written in a diary Louis was not aware of. It completely calls into question Claudia’s actual motivations behind what she did.

“September 21, 1859

It has been so many decades since Louis presented me with this little book in which I might record my private thoughts. I have not been successful, having made only a few entries, and whether these have been written for my benefit I am unsure.

Tonight, I confide with pen and paper because I know which direction my hatred will take me. And I fear for those who have aroused my wrath.

By those I mean, of course, my evil parents, my splendid fathers, those who have led me from a long forgotten mortality into this questionable state of timeless ‘bliss.’

To do away with Louis would be foolish, as he is without question the more malleable of the pair.”

Louis will do as I wish, even unto the very destruction of Lestat, which I plan in every detail. Whereas Lestat would never cooperate with my designs upon Louis. So there my loyalty lies, under the guise of love even in my own heart.

What mysteries we are, human, vampire, monster, mortal, that we can love and hate simultaneously, and that emotions of all sorts might not parade for what they are not. I look at Louis and I despise him totally for the making of me, and yet I do love him. But then I love Lestat every bit as well.

Perhaps in the court of my heart, I hold Louis far more accountable for my present state than ever I could blame my impulsive and simple Lestat. The fact is, one must die for this or the pain in me will never be sealed off, and immortality is but a monstrous measurement of what I shall suffer till the world revolves to its ultimate end. One must die so that the other will become ever more dependent upon me, ever more completely my slave. I would travel the world afterwards; I would have my way; I cannot endure either one of them unless that one becomes my servant in thought, word, and deed.

Such a fate is simply unthinkable with Lestat’s ungovernable and irascible character. Such a fate seems made for my melancholy Louis, though the destroying of Lestat will open new passages for Louis into the labyrinthian Hell in which I already wander with every new thought that comes in my mind.

When I shall strike and how, I know not, only that it gives me supreme delight to watch Lestat in his unguarded gaiety, knowing that I shall humiliate him utterly in destroying him, and in so doing bring down the lofty useless conscience of my Louis, so that his soul, if not his body, is the same size at last as my own.”

Merrick

Anne Rice

[basicallylilballofbat]

Snow by Ricky Montgomery is so Dead Poets Society coded

"I'll always be that short little gloat, always clearing his throat like he ever had something to say"

"When I go, bury me six feet in snow, here we are wasting our chances for the last time and when we go, I'll try not to be so slow"

"Take my mind, take my body, take my father's conscience from me"

"Summer's over, love had left her, screaming at the screen. Oh, and it's understood that the both of us are no good"

[nalyra-dreaming]

Season 2 trial prediction/speculation

Claudia's diary entry (from Merrick) being read out loud on stage and used to judge her.

(That would put a very interesting spin on it all, and we know from episode 4 that one diary was in Paris.)

"It has been so many decades since Louis presented me with this little book in which I might record my private thoughts. I have not been successful, having made only a few entries, and whether these have been written for my benefit I am unsure. Tonight, I confide with pen and paper because I know which direction my hatred will take me. And I fear for those who have aroused my wrath. By those I mean, of course, my evil parents, my splendid fathers, those who have led me from a long forgotten mortality into this questionable state of timeless 'bliss.' To do away with Louis would be foolish, as he is without question the more malleable of the pair. [...] Louis will do as I wish, even unto the very destruction of Lestat, which I plan in every detail. Whereas Lestat would never cooperate with my designs upon Louis. So there my loyalty lies, under the guise of love even in my own heart. What mysteries we are, human, vampire, monster, mortal, that we can love and hate simultaneously, and that emotions of all sorts might not parade for what they are not. I look at Louis and I despise him totally for the making of me, and yet I do love him. But then I love Lestat every bit as well. Perhaps in the court of my heart, I hold Louis far more accountable for my present state than ever I could blame my impulsive and simple Lestat. The fact is, one must die for this or the pain in me will never be scaled off, and immortality is but a monstrous measurement of what I shall suffer till the world revolves to its ultimate end. One must die so that the other will become ever more dependent upon me, ever more completely my slave. I would travel the world afterwards; I would have my way; I cannot endure either one of them unless that one becomes my servant in thought, word, and deed. Such a fate is simply unthinkable with Lestat's ungovernable and irascible character. Such a fate seems made for my melancholy Louis, though the destroying of Lestat will open new passages for Louis into the labyrinthian Hell in which I already wander with every new thought that comes in my mind. When I shall strike and how, I know not, only that it gives me supreme delight to watch Lestat in his unguarded gaiety, knowing that I shall humiliate him utterly in destroying him, and in so doing bring down the lofty useless conscience of my Louis, so that his soul, if not his body, is the same size at last as my own."

I WANT IT

[reesdomain]

10 Reasons why I will defend Joel’s choice. Cause I’m bored so why not?

SPOILERS AHEAD!!! IF YOU DIDN’T PLAY THE GAMES BEWARE

1. The vaccine wouldn’t “work” in any sense of the word. I don’t care that Druckmann said it would, which if you ask me is just a convenient plot hole cover. One thing I appreciate about the show, is how they dive into the history of the cordyceps infection/outbreak and just how unique it is. The doctor we see at the beginning whose immediate advice is to bomb the city, shows just how grave the outbreak is period. Especially since no cure or vaccine had been made before. Mind you, this woman had to have at least 25-30 years experience in the field and her opinion obviously held weight.

For something this grave, you would need advanced technology and advanced expertise to even begin to create a “vaccine” for it. The fireflies med team was literally made up of a bunch of amateurs. We come to find out Abby’s father had at best two years of experience that I believe were in undergrad and definitely not a residency. It also needs to be pointed out that general doctors and surgeons do not account for every field in medicine. Specializations exist for a reason. I don’t think there was a single virologist or even neurologist in that room, yet they were attempting brain surgery? The other subjects died most likely because they were being operated on by the equivalent of “Grey’s Anatomy doctors”. Not because they HAD to die.

2. Even if we entertain the thought that they would somehow be able to pull a vaccine from Ellie. How would they “save the world” or “save millions”? I get that in fiction anything is possible. But with the world they created in the tlou 1, it’s just hard to imagine in this context. There’s a matter of manufacturing what would need to be hundreds of thousands of vaccines just to start. Which need significant resources. Then there would be distribution. How will you spread these vaccines around? What about language barriers? Do the fireflies have translators that can travel? Mind you, the fireflies are a terrorist organization. Do we really think they would not try to get a political leg up from this? People try to make them out to have a noble cause, but do they really? Or do they just want to save what’s left in an attempt to have power over what’s left?

3. Ellie’s immunity is pure luck. A mutation that prevented the cordyceps from taking over her. Much in the same way some people are allergic to seafood or nuts but a good chunk of us aren’t. Hell the mutation doesn’t even prevent her from being attacked by the other infected. The only thing it ensures is that she doesn’t become a “zombie” in affect. Which brings me to my next point.

4. What’s the rush? Ellie herself said she had plenty of questions for them. Which we know why they didn’t let the poor girl even get the chance to ask them. But Ellie’s immunity is something that seems more logical to study and get an understanding of before immediately jumping into surgery. What is it about her blood or body chemistry that prevented the infection from overtaking her? Soon as she got there, she was on the table without even the chance to say goodbye. Which once again, reaffirms the fireflies were taking desperate shots in the dark.

5. Informed consent went out the window. People keep saying what Ellie “would” have done or chosen for herself. Even Abby. The thing is we’ll never know. Because they took that choice from her. Marlene shouldn’t have even bothered to tell Joel what would happen. But she was a selfish dirtbag who wanted him to validate her. She knew what they were doing was wrong and I honestly think she knew nothing would come of it. Her pathetic attempt at trying to “reason” with Joel was her way of soothing her own conscience. Also they took Joel’s supplies and walked him out without it and the reward they promised him. They were never going to make good on their word.

6. You have cannibals, child rapists, slavers, and all the likes running around doing whatever they want with no care in the world. Not much world left to save when humans will always manage to be the biggest threat to other humans and forms of life. Regardless of a shared enemy or objective.

7. Abby’s father was a coward and a hypocrite. When posed the question of whether he would do what they did to Abby, he was silent. Now unlike those who don’t value consent, we know that anything other than a definite yes is a no. Abby’s father would have likely took the same course of action as Joel ( albeit not as a good lol) if Abby had been immune. And this is even with Abby giving her hypothetical consent to go ahead with the surgery. That should tell you everything you need to know. If “saving millions” was not so important for the surgeon to sacrifice his own daughter, than it was ridiculous to hold anybody else to the same standard. Also I like how Abby had her opinion on what SHE would do as if that mattered. Funny how taking someone else’s life and loved one was fine until it was her dad. But I try to give Abby credit for her redeeming qualities.

8. The “world” is owed nothing. A lot people don’t like to admit it but it’s the truth. Since the beginning of time earth has moved in cycles. Species come in and go out all the time. Humans are no different though a lot of us have tricked ourselves into believing so. For all we know the cordyceps was just the next step towards a new phase. Notice how in the show they are connected through channels and more receptive of one another. The remaining uninfected humans are most likely just fighting against inevitable change.

9. Joel was not the only person killing to survive. Both in the game and in the show it is bought up almost as if Joel was doing it for thrills or something when that was not the case. Especially in the show. The last episode tried very hard to infantilize Tommy in comparison to Joel. “Tommy was just following Joel.”

I’m sorry, but Tommy “ex war veteran who can’t accept he’s now a communist” Miller is not some little boy who was forced along by his big brother. He was a fully grown man who was fine with killing even before the outbreak and was in his element after. The fact that Maria even tried to pull that out her ass made me disgusted with her a bit. Especially since she too was no stranger to killing. “Those people tried us.” No I think the cute indigenous couple was right. Their group had just threatened what as far as they knew, was just a man and his little girl traveling with being shot to death or mauled by dogs.

10. When it was all said and done, Joel became an even older man and tried to change and become better. He tried to leave the mess of the past behind him and tried to mend things with Ellie. Despite how she treated him, he never stopped loving her and never regretted his decision to save her. Even as he was dying, I’m sure he only thought about his other babygirl being safe. He got an unfair lot and did the best he could it with it. Lord knows other people in that universe fell into deeper, unnecessary forms of depravity that Joel for the most part steered clear of.

[kim2248]

Deeply curious about Ronin's reaction to Y/N's death pre-Skybound retcon ESP @/the other ninja *insert eyes emoji here because trying to add them locks my keyboard's typing ability* mayhaps I'm just wanting to cackle over their faces over discovering this money laundering headache of theirs that comes and goes morally ambiguously went through an "accidentally adopted a child arc" while they weren't looking

Ahhh my very first inbox message, thank you anon!

Just so you know, this one request sent me spiraling and writing an entire alternative ending to Season 6 where I guess Jay doesn't reset everything?? And plenty of father-child angst so enjoy!

///

''Took ya long enough, you missed all the fun.'' Ronin quipped after throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at the approaching Jay.

''You find (Y/N)?''

The silence he was met with was enough to make him turn around again, doing a double-take as he looked at Jay's hollow stare and his blood-trenched gi, still red and wet in places, although some of it had begun drying and turned into a shade of dark purple. A beat of silence passed where none of them dared speak, even Nadakhan was silent.

''Jay.'' Ronin's voice was trembling. ''Where is (Y/N)?''

Jay wasn't answering. Ronin repeated his question with more emphasis, taking one step towards the Lightning Ninja whose eye's were still fixated on the ground. The thief felt his heart drop at all it could imply and before long, he was up and running towards the ruin of a building Jay had come from, his breath growing labored and eyes growing panicked as he quickly scanned the cracked pieces of concrete lying about.

Maybe they'd been hit by some of the rubble. Maybe they just had their leg stuck under some and that's why he couldn't find them. Maybe they were just unconscious and that's why he couldn't hear their voice anywhere. Maybe it was anything but what he thought it would be.

Ronin called out their name, hoping for an answer. Nothing. He made his way through the remains of the temple, jumping over what used to be a wall and entering what looked like a ceremonial hall. The ground in front of him was caved in and when he looked down, he felt his blood run cold in his veins.

He froze. There was no adequate reaction to what his mind had to comprehend. Quietly, he felt his conscience curse himself for ever growing attached to a stupid teenager that decided to squat in his flat one day.

Ronin had seen many dead bodies in his life; of his enemies, of strangers, of his dearest friend. But nothing seemed to come close to what he saw that day.

Their head was twisted to the side, Ronin thought if he'd had to see their face he actually would have started crying on the spot, their arms were splayed out on either side of them and a puddle of blood had started pooling beneath them, the rocks scattered around partly painted in bloody handprints and smears.

Whatever had happened to them hadn't been an accident. Someone had killed them. And whoever that someone was, Ronin would make them pay.

Meanwhile, outside of the building the remaining Ninja were growing more than concerned.

''Jay, what's going on, talk to us!'', Lloyd said and put a hand on his shoulder.

''It's…the…he-'', Jay stuttered as he looked down at his hands which were dark red from the dried blood. He could still see the live fading in their eyes.

''Ohh, I understand now'', Nadakhan throatily chuckled, ''My, what a conundrum that must be for you, Jay. Two people so close to you being at each other's throats, quite literally. Now, who do you care about more? You've already forgiven a killer once, haven't you?''

''Jay, what's he talking about?'', Kai asked next to him.

The ginger bit his bottom lip in worry and turned his face away from the other Ninja, fists clenched tight. His eyes landed on the Djinn Blade on the ground. Nadakhan must've dropped it when he was shot with the venom.

''Funny how much can change just because of one simple wish, isn't it, Jay? Say, I'm curious, which one made it out alive? My bets are on the dagger-wielding one, though I would expect they would have some qualms about repeating past mistakes-''

In a rush of anger, Jay picked up the Djinn Blade lying on the ground and struck Nadakhan mid-taunting-laugh with an aggravated yell. The Djinn turned into a little orange light as the grating sound of stone breaking shattered through the air and islands around them started to slowly fall apart.

Before anyone could get a word out, Jay was shoved around and seized by the collar of his shirt by an angry Ronin, lifted up until his feet hung a few inches above the ground. Behind him, Nya could be seen, eyes wide and still in her white wedding dress, though the hem of it had been soiled by the mud it had been dragged through.

''What did you do?! What happened in there?!''

''N-not me-'', he could barely get the words out in the chokehold Ronin was holding him in.

''Well who was it, then?!''

''Guys?''

Everyone turned around to the person that had spoken. 'The Ninjas faces dropped, Ronin let go of Jay out of shock who promptly fell to the ground with a quiet 'oof'.

''COLE!''

All the Ninja except for Jay rushed to hug Cole and bombard him with questions.

''I-it was him…he…killed them.'', Jay quietly said with hurt eyes, gently massaging his neck where the collar of his shirt had dug into. Ronin was the only one who heard it, but it was all it took for him to walk up to Cole and punch him square in the face, knocking him over.

Immediatly, Kai, Zane and Lloyd moved to stand in front of their teammate while Jay scrambled to get up and hold the thief back from punching him again together with Nya.

''OW, what is wrong with you, Ronin?!'' Cole yelled as he sat up, clutching his now bleeding nose.

''What's wrong with me?! What's wrong with you! You killed (Y/N) and you have the balls to just show up and let yourself be celebrated like some kind of deity returning from the dead!'', he accusingly pointed at the Earth Ninja on the ground.

The ground shook and a few more remaining islands started plummeting towards the ground.

''Guys, I think we better get out of here before the entire island comes down!'', Lloyd yelled.

///

Hope you enjoyed this! So yeah, basically Ronin gets really angry and starts physically assaulting people because do you really think that mf would express his grief in a healthy way? He would undoubtedly cry later once he can be 100% sure he's alone and then probably uproot the entirety of Djinjago's remains to find their corpse and give them a proper burial. Aaand then he would probably vow to never let anyone get close to him ever again. And maybe turn to some mild to severe alcoholism. We'll see.

[leslutdepointedulac]

Happy Deathday to my main girl Claudia! (Deathday as in the day she was turned, not the day she actually died).

September 21st 1836

This is my birthday present from Louis. Use it as I like, he tells me. But perhaps I should like to copy into it those occasional poems which strike my fancy, and read these to him now and then?

I do not understand entirely what is meant by birthday. Was I born into this world on the 21st of September or was it on that day that I departed all things human to become this?

My gentlemen parents are forever reluctant to illuminate such simple matters. One would think it bad taste to dwell on such subjects. Louis looks puzzled, then miserable, before he returns to the evening paper. And Lestat, he smiles and plays a little Mozart for me, then answers with a shrug: 'It was the day you were born to us.'

Queen of the Damned

It's also the day she started plotting Lestat's murder and control over Louis.

September 21, 1859

...Tonight, I confide with pen and paper because I know which direction my hatred will take me. And I fear for those who have aroused my wrath.

By those I mean, of course, my evil parents, my splendid fathers, those who have led me from a long forgotten mortality into this questionable state of timeless 'bliss'.

To do away with Louis would be foolish, as he is without question the more malleable of the pair.

Louis will do as I wish, even unto the very destruction of Lestat, which I plan in every detail. Whereas Lestat would never cooperate with my designs upon Louis. So there my loyalty lies, under the guise of love even in my own heart.

What mysteries we are, human, vampire, monster, mortal, that we can love and hate simultaneously, and that emotions of all sorts might not parade for what they are not. I look at Louis and I despise him totally for the of making me, and yet I do love him. But then I love Lestat every bit as well.

Perhaps in the court of my heart, I hold Louis far more accountable for my present state than ever I could blame my impulsive and simple Lestat. The fact is, one must die for this or the pain in me will never be sealed off, and immortality is but a monstrous measurement of what I shall suffer till the world revolves to its ultimate end. One must die so that the other will become ever more dependent upon me, ever more completely my slave. I would travel the world afterwards; I would have my way; I cannot endure either one of them unless that one becomes my servant in thought, word and deed.

Such a fate is simply unthinkable with Lestat's ungovernable and irascible character. Such a fate seems made for my melancholy Louis, though the destroying of Lestat will open new passages for Louis into the labyrinthian Hell in which I already wander with every new thought that comes in my mind.

When I shall strike and how, I know not, only that it gives me supreme delight to watch Lestat in his unguarded gaiety, knowing that I shall humiliate him utterly in destroying him, and in so doing bring down the lofty useless conscience of my Louis, so that his soul, if not his body, is the same size at last as my own.

Merrick