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wilwheaton · 3 months

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For some odd reason, moderator Jake Tapper told Trump in the beginning that he didn't need to answer the questions and that he could use the time however he wanted. Trump ran with that, essentially giving a rally speech whenever he had the floor and was unresponsive to the vast majority of the questions. He made faces and insulted Biden to his face, at one point calling him a criminal and a Manchurian candidate. If anyone had said 10 years ago that this would happen at a presidential debate they would have been laughed out of the room. After the debate when most of the country had turned off cable news or gone to bed, CNN aired its fact check. [...] Even had Joe Biden been at the top of his game, he would not have been able to parry all those lies and he shouldn't have been put in the role of being Donald Trump's fact checker. His choice was to either ignore the lies and let them stand so he could use his time to make his own case or spend the entire debate correcting the record. It was not a fair fight. It's obvious that Biden's terrible performance has caused panic among Democrats and liberal pundits and analysts. The calls for him to withdraw are loud and meaningful and it's going to be a very rough period in this campaign whatever happens. For me, this isn't really a question. As long as Donald Trump is on the ballot, I will vote for the Democratic nominee. If it's Biden or someone else, the calculation remains the same. Nothing is worse than another Trump administration and I suspect that at the end of the day Democratic voters will agree with that. So it's still a matter of those undecided voters in swing states, just like it was on Thursday morning.

CNN's debate was no fair fight

CNN, yet again, gave Trump a national stage to vomit an endless stream of unchecked lies, and today, CNN is telling itself and anyone who will listen that the network and its moderators did a great job. That’s just plainly false, and America is paying the price for their failure.

That doesn’t let Biden off the hook. Biden had a terrible night. He was so bad, it’s allowed the political press to completely ignore not just how much Trump lied, but what he lied about: January 6, all his indictments, his Covid response, and on and on. President Biden was a disaster, and his campaign should be at DefCon 1 to try and repair all the damage. I am terrified that his awful performance will obscure his surprisingly good record and leadership in the post-insurrection era, and give the political press an excuse to run with “Biden is old” in the face of Trump’s endless lies, his felony convictions, his pending trials, and all of his criminality. Someone at Salon said that Trump didn’t win, but Biden absolutely lost. I can’t argue with that, even if the facts are all on Biden’s side.

I’ve seen President Biden on TV today, and even last night after the debate, where he didn’t come across as an ancient dude who needs a walker on his way to some Matlock reruns. He looks and sounds like the SOTU Biden we all expected would show up last night. I have no idea why he was so awful for 99% of the debate (the campaign says he has a cold), and I have no idea why the guy who is showing up to speak to supporters today, and who delivered the SOTU didn’t show up last night to save America from Trump, again.

But we have to live with this reality now, and I hope like hell that the Biden campaign, the candidate, and the entire Democratic party apparatus scrambles like fucking crazy to get all hands on deck to fix this, and remind voters that

This isn’t about BIden vs. Trump. This is about America vs. Project 2025.

There will be no second debate where Biden can try to salvage something out of the wreckage of this one. Trump has everything to lose and nothing to gain. Trump will crow about how he won, and declare he has no reason to debate again, and he’s right. Biden had one shot and he absolutely blew it. The moderators did not help, but the campaign had to have known they wouldn’t, and it sure looks like they didn’t prepare Biden for what we all knew was coming. I don’t know how those same people stop the bleeding, and if they can’t, America and the world are in real, real trouble.

But we all have to remember that we have a choice to make in just a few months. Right now, and probably on election day, the choice is between Joe Biden and Democracy, or Donald Trump and Fascism. It’s stark, it’s clear, it’s binary, and I can not believe that it is even a question. I just hope that there are enough voters out there who will understand that we do have a choice. The options suck, but we do have a choice.

Please choose Democracy. Please choose America. Please choose the future world our children will inherit from us.

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janumun · 6 days

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Nomos (Xavier - NSFW/18+)

Pairing: Xavier/Queen Reader (based on Xavier’s first myth) Word Count: 3.7k Tags: religious imagery/desecration sex, angst, evol bondage, oral sex, orgasm denial, Knight Xavier on his knees repenting to his Queen MC, spoilers for Xavier’s first myth, female dominating, canon divergence, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

Summary: The Queen of Philos had sacrificed her heart ultimately and along with it, part of her humanity, in the wake of Xavier’s failed Backtrack mission; binding it to Philos’ core for eternity. Now, returned to her, centuries after, Xavier seeks his Goddess’ audience, and her forgiveness, within the stone-cold chambers of her castle.

But centuries suffered alone, and with her heart now gone, she is a former frigid cast of the woman he used to love. Xavier is adamant on repenting, even if it costs him his life this time round.

[A fic where Prince Xavier manages to return to Philos but he is too late; his Queen has long thrown her powerful core, her heart, into Philos’ centre and now, she has nothing to offer Xavier but her bitter resentment.]

O celestial body of mine, Slumbering adrift in darkness, Which never heeds the whispers of life, Till it fades into oblivion, nothingness.

The rolling echo of thunder — knelling an approaching storm — was the only sound that rippled across the heavy, cold silence that had settled itself across the throne room. Wan shadows clung to the wide, dismal stone pillars of the great hall. Barely quelled by the flickering protocore lamps interspersed on either sides of the room.

A looming, stone figure of the Goddess adorned the space right behind her great throne, staging Her chosen Sovereign to rule and obey, for all of Philos to see, placed by Her will upon the throne. The Goddess; doused in cool shadow, her sculpted eyes stared down glacial and unforgiving, set into regal stone. Her great Sword aimed at length towards the altar Xavier knelt at.

The flagstone beneath his knee was a harsh and frigid reminder; Xavier considered, not for the first time how it too had frozen in on desolate isolation, just like his Queen’s majestic figure in front. She stood tall and silent — the paradigm of dignity she’d forced herself to be, for the sake of Philos... and for the sake of a lover who’d refused to accept the wretched Crown of a King.

Solitary and unattended — he’d allowed her to experience the empty desolation that came with a Sovereign’s crown of lonely leadership. And yet, even confined to the yawning silence of her frigid throne room, she’d ushered Philos into an era of prosperity. While he—

Xavier had failed her; her hopes, her dreams... her yearnings he’d turned blind to each time she’d granted him the soft brunt of her affections sifting like stone against his heart. So in love with her — she would never know — and yet, the distance he’d maintained stretched flimsy in between them; closer than friends, stranger than lovers.

The burden of her past life, their first life, lived in futility, through a heart that brought her no end of pain until it had burned her life out of existence — and in turn, ended his, in spirit — with her untimely demise.

And he had — in misguided intentions, she viewed them as — refused to let the cycle of tragedy repeat once more, in the sacrifice of her sole being. As Xavier, prince of Philos. And a mere man in love with a woman. The one heart he could never bear to let go. In the name of a ‘greater good’, his father, the previous King had called it such. For Philos.

To hell with a nation his father and his wretched co-conspirators had painted from the ground up, drenched in the blood of numerous sacrifices before her. Xavier had wanted no part in the perpetuation of that horrifying ritual.

Desperation had eventually led him to adopt far perilous measures, to prevent her oblation in this lifetime — two centuries spent in between their tentative meetings, and then several countless more spent traversing the stars and through worlds in search of a solution. To prevent Philos’ downfall without the need to hold on to age old rustic customs.

And he had promised her, his beautiful lonely Queen, a victory he had failed to bring to her feet. Swore to her in centuries past, when she’d still looked upon him with love naked in her gaze and worry taut in her features, that he’d search for a better path for Philos from among his travel in the stars, while she’d resolved to stay behind as their planet’s sole Sovereign; their Goddess incarnate.

The tender warmth of her skin as he’d traced her features into memory on their last meeting all those centuries back, within the plaza rife with life; a reminder of what they were fighting for. The way she’d layered her own hand against his, letting her eyes drift shut as if she too wished to forget their fast-looming separation.

And on the day of her coronation, he’d left her, branded as a traitor. Chancing one last, proud look upon her majestic form as she’d leveled the blade of her sword against his shoulders apiece, in their private ceremony of two, knighting him as her Grandis Knight.

A fleeting, tentative touch of her palm she’d pressed against his shoulder in farewell, determined eyes staring into his from beneath the weight of her crown as she’d wished him well.

“The fate of our nation rests within your hands now, Xavier. And should you fail, the entirety of Philos shall have to pay the price for the Prince’s failings.”

Her delicate hand had tightened against the pressed shoulder of his regalia, not caring for the badges of honor there, digging into her skin. “May the Goddess be with you. Goodbye, Xavier.”

Xavier’s eyes flitter shut in resigned recollection; the very last touch of her warmth still fresh in his mind. In the flex of gloved digits against the badge attached to the hilt of his sword, one she’d gifted to him, in lieu of her star tassel.

Now, as he kneels at her feet, she hasn’t even moved to touch him. Hasn’t deigned him worthy enough to afford even the mercy of her hands on his body, even if just to strike him. In ire or curses; Goddess, his heart and body have missed her so dearly. And yet, this is not the time for personal weakness. But repentance. And Xavier has always been one devoted to his cause, his one sole duty; to live and serve, to die or be tortured by her will alone.

His Demiurge regent, his sole Queen.

She observes great clemency as is expected of a Sovereign of her stature, when her steps shift closer; the dignified brush of her mantle pooling about her feet. Soft fur fabric brushing against the polished heel of pale shoes, the slip of bare skin through the part of her flowing robes at her legs, filling his line of sight as it remains firm, fixated upon the ground. For she has not allowed him leave to freely gaze upon her form. And Xavier is her Grandis Knight, committed to propriety of duty, if it is for her alone.

He, however, dares: gloved digits reaching for the sweep of her queenly cape brushing the stone-cold flagstone. The pads of them skimming the soft of fur that lines its edges. And when she does not move to refute his brazen touch, he curves his fingers into the fabric and guides it up to his lips, lashes descending shut as he lays a kiss against the cloth, in show of the proper reverence she deserves. “I have returned, my Queen.”

Xavier feels her shift above his genuflecting form, a response she utters in the voice he has missed. “Why?”

“I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary for my failure, your Majesty. If it is my life you seek—”

“Why have you returned now?”

“Forgive me, your Majesty.”

“You are far, far too late.” The first hints of displeasure seep into her intonation, accusing strains of heat Xavier prefers to the thick monotone she’d employed previously.

“Forgive me, your Majesty.”

An explicable tremor breaks across her still form; minute, missable, were it not for how finely attuned he is to her mannerisms, her emotions, her simmering ire.

“Why have you returned now, after all this time? You made no promises.” She asks once more, cool resignation in her voice.

He stares fixedly at the sight of her feet, a response she seeks from him, he has no answer to.

Silence stretches long and taut, infinite, in between them.

“After the first five hundred years spent waiting in futility...” she deliberates. “I finally concluded that you’d died. Perished among the unknown.”

His fist, sunk into the unyielding cold floor at his knee, crushes tighter at her words. “...Please allow me to look upon your Majesty’s face.”

Her footsteps glide forwards, another step closer. Ignoring his entreaty, she resumes, “I continued to make excuses for your failure to return.” She pauses.

“It brought me some modicum of comfort to know you had not just abandoned me but that you were simply no more.” The terrifying frigid inflection of her voice numbs Xavier’s heart — cool tendrils of dread coiling vines within his chest, like their first life, he’d held her within his arms. Watched the life pool out of her eyes, leaving her dull and lifeless within his embrace.

She has lost her heart once more, and the mere thought has Xavier’s nerves driven to near devastation.

But he is here, he knew of the consequences. And he is here, to bear through them, to accept his Sovereign — and beloved’s — ire; no matter if she remains full or half. She is all he draws breath for, all he fights for, the pinnacle of his existence and his desires. His guiding star, his monarch, his God.

“Forgive me, your Majesty.” He speaks, once more.

The first signs of emotion other than cool resentment thread through her low voice: furied indignance. “Utter insolence.”

The heel of her shoe rises before his very gaze — Xavier’s eyes falling shut to accept the brunt of her oncoming strike. One that does not come. He feels her press the harsh tip of it, instead, underneath his jaw, knocking his face upwards so that his eyes meet hers, glacial turbulence within her gaze. “How does it feel to be demeaned as if you were a mere traitor, at my feet? Do you feel as violated and desolate as I too did all those years ago?”

She is kind, she remains so gentle; her punishment, she considers it humiliation for him to be put at her feet when it is anything but. As if it could ever be. She offers him her worship instead, and so he follows her regal command.

Pitching his face to dig deeper against the tip of her shoe, his eyes remain devoted upon hers. Gloved fingers he brings to curl, slow beneath the sole of her boot to support, mouth skimming a kiss of reverence to the polished surface.

Ire and heat fulgurate within her gaze at his brazen actions, she continues to watch as his mouth parts, pink tongue darting forth to slick a slow, deferential path against the cool leather of her shoe. “This is not punishment enough, your Majesty, when your Grandis Knight has been ever prepared to end his life at your feet, were it your will.”

The spark of heat within her gaze retreats and shutters itself behind its glacial curtain. “Do you remember what it is I told you when you embarked on your journey, my Knight?”

“I do.” He murmurs, just as she digs the edge of her heel deeper against his cheek.

She rips herself away from his worship, sweeping right up close against his kneeling figure, until he can catch the drifts of her perfumed scent emanating from her bone-ivory robes. Can feel the brush of the silken cloth adorning her thighs, against the tip of his nose.

Wretched, blasphemous desire churns vicious within his belly at having the woman he loves this close, after centuries spent without her — a woman that is not his, never will be. Immoral desires of a sinner for Philos’ Mother. A woman — and their nation — he brought to ruin by his own hand; Philos’ branded traitor.

“I told you,” she speaks, in the neutrality of a Sovereign, “that were you to fail, all of Philos would have to pay the price for the Prince’s failure.” She stills. “And I am Philos, I am centered to Her core. I am Her life-force as she is mine. Our people paid a hefty price for our peace, oh Grandis Knight.”

Xavier’s face sinks forward, brushing the edges of her silken robes against his cheek. “Forgive me, your Majesty.” In the harsh clench of his jaw; and when she does not move to spurn him, he devotes a kiss of resigned reverence to the cloth above her thigh. Her body loses part of its stillness at the action.

“Even after all this time...” she murmurs under her breath. “You refuse to address me by my proper name, like a foolish coward.” A slipping fracture of something akin to torment in her voice.

Xavier lets his mouth glide further up across the lustrous cloth in begging of her pardon, for the ache he has caused, has continued to cause to her. To Philos. For his protection that he has always known held a double cutting edge to itself.

He drifts towards her other thigh, mouthing proper worship onto it and his Queen — benevolent, tender in heart still — lets the Sinner at her feet do as he pleases. Canting his gaze heavenwards to watch as she allows; her own eyes that burn into his kneeling form, observing him from her place on high.

Her legs shift, allowing Xavier the fleeting sight of unblemished skin in between the loose flow of her fabric and like a devotee starved, he’s drawn to the catch of her inner thighs revealed with the slight disarray of her robes beneath his questing mouth. Finding her undeniably warm when his lips brush near the junction of her thighs at bare skin.

“My Knight—”

“You may call me by my name, your Majesty.” His hungering tongue slips past his lips to lave gentle at her. “After all, I am no more than servant to your Majesty and her great throne.”

“Grandis Knight, you are—”

“I am your Xavier, your sinner.” His hot gaze rolls up towards hers and beseeches. “So, please call me by name so you may curse at me.”

He feels the fire of her indignant resentment sputter within her gaze, receding the glacial indifference of it. Her cold fingers slink into his hair and wrench harsh at the argent strands, ripping a groan free of Xavier’s throat. The very first gift she makes of pain, to him, one he receives with the reverent ardour it deserves.

Xavier heaves forward once more to settle in between her legs, nosing at the fabric of her mound, breathing in her scent. Teeth catching at the cloth that keeps her concealed from view before he loosens it apart with a violent jerk of his head.

Moisture glistens tempting in between her folds — the firm press of her digits against the back of his head is the sole permission Xavier requires to engulf her entirely against an open, hungering mouth, a low moan of desire breaking past his throat at the intoxicating taste of her on his tongue.

He laps up at her; a man starved — one he is, after the emptiness of her endured in his soul, the burdens of his failures and desires commingled in the wet lave of his tongue from base to hood. Slicking the edge of his tongue against the pearl at her apex. Her low sigh follows the incessant push of his face deep into her mound, his nose brushing at the curls of it, accepting the gift of her benevolence.

“Did you know, my dear Knight—” her voice skitters mildly in pleasure with the press of the tip of his tongue, cleaving gentle into her slit. “It did get easier.”

Her wetness seeps past her opening and onto his fervent tongue as he dutifully swallows. He feels incredibly parched, open mouth pressing deeper against her as he works her pleasure, tongue slinking into her depths. She clenches around him at the intrusion, knocking a muffled groan free of his throat.

“When time finally ran out for your chance to return and Philos neared the end of its life, with our people on the brink of desolate death,” her breath jolts. “I marched out there.”

His brows knit into a severe frown, stroking his need for her ire to sheath itself deeper into his body. He requires it; his Queen’s rightful anger so that he may take all of it and her, let her bruise her emotions into it, until the moment she’s used him up to her heart’s desires and she finally weeps and hurts no more.

And so, his lashes descend with the tight spasm of her fingers carded through his hair, steering his mouth however she pleases.

“And I willingly bound my life force to Philos’ core so that it could continue to live. Cut out the part of me that loved and felt until I turned myself into something entirely non-human for the sake of our people. A true God.” A slow, desolate string of weak sound tapers out of her body before it augments itself into mirthless laughter that rings hollow through the great, empty space of her throne room. “It was all too easy to do so, in a world I knew my Star no longer existed. For my heart had beat for him alone.”

A heavy bludgeon of agony rips through his chest, tries and clambers its way out of his body before Xavier tamps it mercilessly in the gentle scrape of his teeth against her tight bundle of nerves. Her violent shudders, he feels buffets her limbs before he’s reaching out for her on instinctual, fervid desire in the clasp of gloved palms against the sides of her legs, trekking his touch up her thighs. A low moan parts her lips at the touch.

Xavier’s audacious attempt at desecrating his God further underneath his obsidian worship is foiled in the twin blades of light that cleave around his wrists, whipping them swift and away from her body to shackle them together at the base of his spine.

His body jolts through the glaze of his desires, part sense rending through the thick of pain knocking at the back of his breastbone to realize she’s forced his submission in the resonation of her Evol against his. Emulated his Light seamlessly in the binds of radiance — befitting of Philos’ Sovereign — wound tight at his wrists. Even centuries past now, she remembers the precise shape of his Light.

He tests a flex against his restraints, finding they do not give an inch. “You’ve grown far too bold in your time away,” her voice is a cold dagger that scotches itself right beneath his ribs. She heaves him away from her body, reluctant mouth drenched in the strings of slick and spit that trail from his mouth to the soaked space of her legs. “Grandis Knight, what makes you think you’ve earned even an ounce of me to embrace as you would, a lover?”

“I have not, your Majesty, forgive—”

Severing through the rest of his apology in the quiet catch of Xavier’s breath when the sole of her heel comes to rise, knocking a firm, uniformed thigh apart to reveal the indecency of his arousal to her gaze, straining painful against the placket of too tight trousers.

The edge of her heel trailing the inside of his thigh, she switches towards the heavy length of him. Brushing the underside of his arousal, Xavier’s shoulders tense in heavy need at the barely present stimulation. Before her heel sinks firmer against the length of him, jolting a groan free of him. “Does that feel good then?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” He breathes heavily.

“Look at you, coming apart under the mere, filthy touch of my foot.” Her brow bunches in an irked frown.

“No part of you—” His voice breaks apart into quiet, ragged breaths at the stimulation of her heel against the increasingly sensitive strength of his arousal. “—is filthy to me, your Majesty.”

Xavier tugs against the leash she’s made of her fist at the back of his head and she allows him, in that moment, to arch forwards and nudge the part of her dress aside. Sink into the wet heat of her; a man imprisoned to her tender mercies and the flood of her taste in his mouth.

He works her open against his tongue, laving at her desires. Back and forth, he doesn’t let a single drop spill past his hungering mouth until he feels the tell-tale evidence of her orgasm in the insistent clench of her walls.

Her hips gyrate forward in tandem to the suck of his mouth against her tightened bead and Xavier lets his shoulders fall slack to allow her free reign of her release as she grinds herself against his tongue to a precipitous finish. The gush of her desires Xavier drinks down, humming in dazed arousal, to have let her find her relief; used as her personal seat of pleasure, to be tossed at her will alone.

Her hands flitter about his head, curling on either side of his jaw to pull away from the heaven of her body, and up as she descends, her mouth settling against his in a violent kiss he receives with vehement pleasure.

Releasing herself, slow, from him only when her desire to breath turns overbearing. The edge of her thumb slips just past his damp bottom lip, urging his mouth open further. Before she spits against his revering tongue and instructs him to, “Swallow.”

Xavier’s mouth clamps shut on instinct, working the taste of her against himself. Gaze flittering in darkening, vicious desire at the heat of his Goddess’ gift.

A low hush of withering laughter leaves her mouth. “I’ve tethered a rabid beast to my side.”

Her thumb and index cup about his jaw, coaxing his gaze to remain on hers, bright, burning. “Swear to me,” she speaks. “Swear that your loyalty shall never lie with another.”

He feels his Queen curl a tremulous fist into the robes at his shoulders, crumpling the fabric hard in between her fingers. “Swear that you shall remain mine, my Grandis Knight, for all time. That you shall never abandon me again, Xavier.”

His gaze quivers in fleeting emotions for a moment’s weakness, steel gray resolve returning once more to utter his vow renewed.

“I have always been yours to have or reject, your Majesty. This Knight — his Body and Soul is yours alone to wield.”

Making of himself, a promise, he commits to her in the life she shall have; to end at the sweep of her sword, should he ever dare renege on it.

Declaring himself, at long last, in his clear devotion; to his one Queen and God.

Tagging: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @dangerousluv1 , @webmvie , @aria-tempest , @raendarkfaerie , @lamentinee , @unhingedsillygod , @tiredas

(Skipping folks who do not have tagging permissions on, so they cannot be mentioned, unfortunately)

I had the angsty pleasure of reading Xavier’s first myth for the first time a few weeks back and with the help of a Xavier main friend and inspiration drawn from Xavier’s prayer pose in photobooth, this fic was born. I hope you enjoyed your read!

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated, if you are so inclined, lovelies!

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM! You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to chat or just squeal with me about hot characters, in general.

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adverbally · 24 days

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Take Me Where My Future’s Lyin’

———

Steve hangs up the phone in a daze. Muscle memory takes over to lay the receiver back in its cradle. His gaze catches on the worn plastic, the kinks disrupting the cord’s neat coil.

“Hey, was that them? What’d they say?” Eddie sticks his head into the kitchen, a smile stretching his mouth wide with excitement.

The exact details of the conversation are already falling out of Steve’s memory, like water through a sieve. Are they even important, as long as the message was clear? “I didn’t get it,” Steve croaks.

Eddie freezes in the doorway. “What?”

He doesn’t think he can get any more words out, not with his throat squeezing like this, but he has to try. Eddie’s looking at him with so much worry, reaching out to comfort Steve without even knowing what happened, and it’s making Steve’s vision swim with tears. “I didn’t get the job. They’re going with someone else.”

“What the hell?!” Eddie protests. “You’ve been teaching there longer than anyone else who applied. You’re practically already the acting department head!”

“I know.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. They’ve been saying that all week, convincing themselves that Steve was the best candidate and he was sure to get the promotion. He had even believed it, after his last interview had gone so well. “I, um. They wanted someone with more leadership experience.”

Eddie’s growl of frustration isn’t directed at him, the logical side of Steve’s brain knows, but it still feels like it is. Probably because Steve is so frustrated with himself. His principal had personally encouraged him to throw his hat in the ring, telling him how proud he was of Steve for taking on extra responsibilities for the department and staying on top of everything despite the chaos of testing season. Apparently, that hadn’t been enough.

“You’re the best teacher in that whole damn school, they’re idiots if they think Linda Smith is going to do a better job than you,” Eddie is ranting indignantly.

Steve barely hears him. He can’t stop replaying the phone call in his mind, how Principal Lane had wanted to tell Steve about his rejection personally, before he could hear it through the grapevine. How he had promised Steve that he would find another way to help him advance, send him to training or some other bullshit professional development to put on his resume. How impressed the whole interview committee had been with his answers and his performance.

Just not impressed enough.

The disappointment sits like a rock in Steve’s gut. He‘ll have to go back to work on Monday, where every other second grade teacher will know that he applied and wasn’t good enough, and he’ll smile and shake Linda’s hand and congratulate her on getting the job he wanted. Hell, he’ll probably even have to help train her.

“Stevie?”

Eddie is blurry when Steve looks up at him, but he can make out enough to see his outstretched arms, waiting to pull Steve into his embrace. When Steve’s face crumples, Eddie is already hugging him close, kissing his temple.

“I know it’s just a job but I really wanted it,” Steve tells Eddie’s collarbone. His shirt smells so good, and he doesn’t want to move away to talk or breathe or let Eddie see him cry.

“I know, baby,” Eddie agrees. He does know; he’s been there for all the excited planning, helping Steve brainstorm ideas for how to spend his impending pay raise, looking at houses for sale and thinking about home improvement projects and creating an itinerary for a trip to visit Robin.

Steve shouldn’t have gotten so invested, no matter how optimistic he’d been about his chances. He had seen their future, with a big house full of kids and a job he was really good at and Eddie, loving him and believing in him, and he’d been ready for it. Now that door has closed and it hurts all the more since he’d gotten his hopes up.

“There will be other jobs,” Eddie murmurs to him. “We’ll get there eventually.”

“Yeah,” Steve sniffs against Eddie’s chest.

“In the meantime, we can have ice cream for dinner and talk shit about Linda.”

Steve’s laugh is wet but sincere. Whatever their future holds, he thinks he can handle it as long as Eddie is still there to figure it out with him.

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #yes this is about how I didn’t get the job I spent all week interviewing for #but worse because I don’t have an Eddie to cuddle me #AND I also broke my ankle this week 🙃#take that Steve #I win #or lose I guess in this case

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ineffablyruined · 1 year

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Chekhov's Contract

Back again for Day 3 of the Nice and Accurate Prophecies event.

How Will Our Hero Cope?

Today, we let's talk about Crowley. Within the span of a few hours, Crowley has gone to Heaven and learned of another plotted End of the World, watched the closest thing he has to an archnemesis (Gabriel) run off with his demon love of a meager four years and suffer no consequences for it, and left his heart shattered on the floor of the bookshop as the love of his life chooses a job promotion over him. He's not doing great. So what is in store for Crowley in Season 3?

It's honestly hard to predict because there is just so much open space to play with. He could do anything and not one of us would be surprised.

Sleep for a century? There's precedent. Get extremely drunk for weeks on end? That's on brand. Go tit for tat and take a leadership position in Hell just to cancel out Aziraphale in Heaven? Seems unlikely, but I also wouldn't be surprised at that level of petty lashing out.

But I did find one thing. At least, I think I did.

There was, I have now convinced myself, a Chekhov's Gun in Season 2 that I haven't seen anyone talking about. (Apologies if you're out there screaming and I just haven't seen it. I did try searching!)

When Beelzebub kidnaps Crowley from the Bentley and takes him to Hell to discuss the Gabriel situation, they make an offer to Crowley that Crowley later accepts. And what is that?

Find Gabriel for me and you can have whatever your nasty little heart desires.

And what does Crowley do in Episode 6? Finds the writing on the box that tells everyone Gabriel is in the fly. He finds Gabriel for Beelzebub.

Just to emphasize that again - Crowley fulfills his side of a verbal contract forged with the Grand Duke of Hell.

He's now owed whatever his heart desires. And as we've seen, Heaven and Hell operate like businesses. Contracts must be fulfilled. (Excuse me while my little lawyer-nerd heart sings over here.)

And we also know that he's aware that Heaven has plans for Armageddon 2.0.

Where he would absolutely deserve to wallow after all the utter bullshit drama he's gone through, I don't believe that's Crowley (no matter how much fun it makes to write in fanfiction). Crowley isn't just going to sit back and watch the world burn.

In the past, when Crowley has wanted to run away, it's only ever been with Aziraphale. Sure, he threatens he's going to head to Alpha Centauri even when Actually rejects the offer, but he doesn't do it.

And now? Running away with Aziraphale isn't an option because he's gone.

Crowley has nothing left to lose. So he's going to throw his entire self into saving the world, with reckless disregard for his own safety.

And he's going to have a blank check from Hell to do it.

#gomensnaap #day 3 #good omens #good omens meta #good omens spoilers #crowley #good omens s3 thoughts #good omens s3 speculation #how will our hero cope?#Chekhov's Gun #gos2 #go2 #gos2 meta #crowley good omens #good omens season 2 spoilers #David Tennant

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ssivinee · 11 months

Text

✧Mirroring Bluebird✧

BEBE! Bada Lee x BEBE! F Reader : You are the younger sister of Noze and had gone viral at the same time as her. While working under SM, you meet Bada and become a core member of Bebe, but what if you get the same treatment your sister does, just like in the first season?

Word Count: 2.3k

Note: Basically doing my req for the next few days, lol. Reader goes by a stage name! Something light as of rn. Also very much not proof read.

Character Vision Board

Gaining popularity in the Kpop industry as a dancer was quite common. There were multiple examples, but one of the most viral ones to date was the Noh sisters, Noh Jihye and Noh Y/n.

Generally known as Noze and Nova, the two of you were cast by Kai while he was looking for dancers for his debut. Kai was certainly particular with the dancers he chose, being meticulous about the entire process but seemingly making the right decision for his career when the two of you blow up. How couldn’t the people fall in love with the two of you? Your visuals were practically the same.

As the younger sibling, the only noticeable difference was your height, hair color, eyes, and lips, yet if you took a selfie with your sister, there wouldn’t be much of a difference. You were known for your iconic hair, which was colored black with a hefty midnight blue ombre, and full lips that were usually colored in a dusty pink.

During your time as Kai’s dancer, your sister began to stray away from SM entertainment, trying out for other artists, but you were content, staying put in the current company. That’s when Bada started appearing as Kai’s dancer during festival performances.

The very first time you and Bada crossed paths, an in-house choreographer was instructing her on how to perform a routine for the water bomb. During that encounter, you not only met Bada but you also got acquainted with Lusher and Tatter. You hit it off quite nicely with the trio, but you couldn't help but be captivated by the tall dancer. Her natural leadership qualities and the budding connections she formed with all three of you marked the start of your group, which would later be known to the world as Bebe.

After a year of being friends, you and Bada put on your big girl pants, deciding to act on these feelings. So, after dating for a few months, you two became a couple.

It was pretty cute. At first, you'd post pictures of your charming little dates with the dancer in the background, yet her face was always out of the frame. As you softly launched your relationship to the world, people in your comments went into a frenzy, assuming you were dating a man because of the clothing glimpses they could catch.

As time went on, your posts started to take on a distinct resemblance to Bada's. The timing, the themes, and even the locations you both chose became remarkably similar, to the point where your fans couldn't help but connect the dots. That's when all hell broke loose, as the realization hit: two of the hottest dancers in the K-pop industry were, in fact, a couple.

Of course, they’d eat it up.

Four months ago, Bada had accepted the invitation to Street Woman Fighter, but she had to complete the team first. Bebe only currently had you and the Lee duo and Tatter, so you and Bada took some of your friends and students to achieve a successful team. Minah was a dancer in SM who had been close to you and Bada for some time, so picking her was a breeze. Then Kyma and Cheche were Bada’s students, while Sowoen has been yours for the past year.

So when the time finally came when every group was introduced, while crews were still shocked over Jam Republic, they couldn’t help but be surprised at the two big names under Bebe.

“Bada?” Lady Bounce Biggy gasps, seeing the tall dancer and her resume. Then the screen flashes again, showing your face and work experience. Everyone is shocked; your pretty face is an unanticipated surprise. “Season 1 had Noze, and now we have Nova in season 2?” Cera of Mannequeen says, choking a little when seeing your face. “Aren’t her and Bada together?” Halo of Wolf’Lo asks, pointing accusingly at the screen as her team nods.

“Is that healthy for a relationship?”

“Will they be able to compete properly?”

“Doesn’t seem like they’ll be taking the competition seriously then.”

Those were just a few comments the two of you got. Expecting that already, you walked in with your crew as you were the first to enter the fight zone. As you all entered, Sowoen was the first to hit the stage and saw your team logo on the screen. “Bebe~” The maknae squeals as you enter. You, hand in hand with Bada, smile at the youngest.

“Okay. Let’s take a seat,” Bada announces, and everyone sits, you positioning yourself between Bada and Tatter. “I can’t believe this,” Lusher tells the crew, and Tatter nods, “Me either.” “There must be other teams,” Lusher says as she scans the room, seeing everyone else's crew logo.

Bada hypes herself up, saying she likes it as her grip on your hand tightens. You smile, rubbing your thumb over her knuckles, but you hear “What It Is” by Doechii playing on the large monitor before you can speak. The younger girls send a yelp, seeing the crew's evaluation video playing.

“Who’s the most popular choreographer on that team? Bada?” they hear Mina Myoung say. Then 1Million shows up on the screen, Lia Kim saying a few words, “The choreographer, sweeping the choreography field. A hot choreographer,” the girls cheer their leader on at the soft praises as you lean your head on her shoulder, a proud smile beginning to form on your face after hearing all the recognition your girlfriend got.

“Nova is really popular, too,” Yeni Cho points out, and Baby Sleek nods, acknowledging your skills. “She’s a really entertaining performer. An eye-catcher for sure.” Chocol states, and you redden at the statement, causing Bada to pinch your side. You look at her, offended by the action, but she gives you a fake look of irritation, “Try not to fall for anyone else here.”

You giggle, seeing her pout a little, “You know you’re the only one for me, baby.” She smiles, leaning her head on top of yours as the video continues to roll. “Other than Bada and Nova… the others are just kind of there,” Capri says, and you shake your head as Bada scoffs, “Shall we watch it over there?”

She doesn’t even wait for a response, just pulling your arm to the center. When everyone follows, they listen to Ling of Jam Republic, Gooseul of DeepNDap, the rest of Lady Bounce, and some of Wolf’Lo stating things about Bada and your crew.

Yeni Cho popped up on the screen again, “She’s more popular compared to her dance skills.” That makes Bada chuckle, finding the comment amusing. You knew your girlfriend wouldn’t be affected by the comments made about her. She would be by what was said about her crew, though.

Of course, you weren’t safe either. “She’s just a pretty face like her sister,” Yoonji of Mannequeen says, and the other girls nod. “She’s just gonna be another Noze of this season,” Redlic points out, more in an evident tone than a hateful one.

“Her and Bada are gonna have to carry Bebe hard.”

“Nova’s Bebe’s mascot. She doesn’t have to do anything.”

You laugh at the comments, none affecting you in the way they're supposed to, but Bada, on the other hand, seems to be fuming. As much as you got praised, most of it was for your looks. You had told Bada beforehand not to let it get to her and just to expect it, but Bada couldn’t help but fume at the comments.

As you all sit down, you notice her face going red and squeeze her hand in reassurance, whispering to her, “It’s fine, babe. We just have to show them why they’re wrong.”

“They must be idiots to think you aren’t a good dancer just because you're pretty,” she tells you, rolling her eyes. You softly turn Bada’s head with your fingers, “Calm down.” Bada sighs when making eye contact with you, her body relaxing as you all wait for the next team. “They really shouldn’t underestimate pretty faces,” She says with a hum as she fixes the strands of hair covering your face.

Lady Bounce then comes in, a bit too rowdy for Bebe’s liking, and as the purple team took their seats, your gazes never wavered. You and Bada stared hard, causing some girls to shiver, especially with the dark glint in your eyes. Bebe loved calling you a serpent because you are the scarier sister, and your tall height also added to the scary factor. Your eyes are as compelling as a snake's and always intimidate people who meet you. Lady Bounce's face going a bit indifferent at the dancer's glares.

Then Mannequeen comes down, Bada meeting Yoonji’s gaze. As they come down, the team stands in front of the two tall ladies, and the rest of Mannequeen hype the girl who dances the Rover choreo in pure silence. All you could hear was her dress and heels clacking as the young girls of Bebe giggle. Bada just smiles condescendingly and bows, “Thank you~.”

You kept the unamused look, brows almost furrowing in disgust as Yoonji stopped. You mumble, “What was that?” yet make sure she hears your words. Seeing her hesitant face told you that she heard it loud and clear. As everyone begins taking their seats, Kang Daniel comes out, gives the introduction, announces the judges, and goes to change as they’re told.

When returning to your seat, everyone’s eyes go wide at the sight of your pants. You had a row of stickers on one leg, back and front. “She got like 7 on one leg, right?” Kristen mumbles to Latrice, who nods after counting the stickers on her leg. “Damn, that's rough,” Audrey says, knowing none of those stickers weren’t from anyone on Jam Republic.

“I’ll prove them wrong,” You tell your entire team, who look obviously angry for you. “They targeted you, and for what?” Tatter frowns, and you just pat her head with a tight-lipped smile.

When the battles are announced, 1Million’s Redy is called first, and she picks Bada. You were aware of the situation before. Bada explained that she was beginning to get too busy then, and Redy had already blocked her number before she could reach out. The timing was wrong, but you also understood the younger girl’s perspective.

“I just don’t respect you,” Redy simply states, but when Bada calls the girl “Soobin-ah,” everyone feels the second-hand embarrassment of Redy. When the battles begin, Redy isn’t bad, and you feel like you saw similar aspects of Bada’s style, probably due to them being on the same team previously. When Bada began, though, all eyes were on her, and NO ONE looked away, not even for a second.

Bada entertained the crowd, making sure to have her own fun. As she ends the dance, she peaks at you, winking, making you laugh. She sure knew how to tease people, you included, and used it to her advantage. Sometimes, it made you wanna curse how attractive she was. The battle concluded with Bada winning 3 to 0, and she smiled.

She runs over to you in a crushing hug, and you giggle due to her heavy breathing. “You did good,” she nods as your hands caress her long hair. More and more battles then transpired, and you pretty much only paid attention to a select few. That was until you hear Tsubakill’s Akanen being called up. “The person I have no-respect for is… Bebe’s Nova.” You perk up at your name, smiling at your first battle of the night.

“Akanen-san, why did you choose Nova?”

“To see if the pretty face can show a pretty dance,” her tone felt intrigued by the idea of you, and you smirked, “I can show a dance. It just won't be pretty,” all you heard were “Oo’s ~” and “ah’s~” from other teams as you jump a bit, shaking away any straying nerves. Akanen goes first, and you hated to admit it, but you were impressed. She did her best to taunt you despite your height gap, which made you look down on her. At some point, she approaches you and imitates a hitting motion. Bada, her girlfriend reflexes kicking in, pulled your arm back, trying to create space between you two, but you weren't budging.

So when the music switches, you feel yourself getting hyped at the sound of “Kiss Kiss” by Chris Brown. When the chorus hits, you hit an air baby, and when landing on your feet, you glided on the floor only using your knees. You ensured everyone’s eyes stayed on you, commanding the stage in a way every other crew wasn’t expecting.

As everyone hears ‘kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss,’ you imitate kissy faces while shaking your hip as you follow it with a head whip. Following the synth in the back, you hit a crisscross that goes into a heel-toe pattern, and as you hit that, you end the dance with a slight shuffle.

While you danced, you heard basically Minah, Sowoen, and Lusher could be heard cheering for you loudly. You check back behind you, Bada giving you a proud smile and a curt nod as her arms stay crossed. That’s when the judges also reveal your score of 3 and 0. Bebe jumped and cheered, bringing you into a large group hug as Bada stood back, watching the younger ones praise you. “Okay, okay, stop hogging her,” She tells them, pushing their heads away jokingly.

Bada pulls you into a hug, arms embracing your neck as she gives your head several pecks. You giggle at the feeling, and you just smile, slightly looking up at her. “You did amazing out there.”

“Thanks, leader-nim,” you tease, and she pokes your side, rolling her eyes and letting out a light laugh. “Oh, be quiet,” she says, giving you a quick peck to shut you up real quick.

Tag list (OPEN): @chipswsauce @nimixe @yooqui @eeeetaetterswife @efyyylee @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog @ssc7514 @kayascar @mrsdacherry @angel-hyuckie @letthemagicc @linda-botello @hyynee @only-minghaos @noraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @sun-nyy @tikitsune @xiakiyama @v2br33zyy

#ssivinee #gxg #wlw #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee #street woman fighter x reader #bebe #bada lee x reader #swf2 #bebe x reader #bada lee x fem reader #swf 2 x reader #swf x reader

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sonofthesaiyans · 6 months

Text

Hats off to Jean Kirstein, the Scouts' unlikeliest hero.

Honor dictates that I say a few words to honor the birthday of one of the 104th's strongest and most naturally gifted soldiers.

Jean Kirstein is a character who, at one point, I would have said had one of the most impressive arcs of any individual character in Attack on Titan. Once content to keep himself to the sidelines in service of the royal government, Jean has really come a long way from when we first met him in the early days of season one.

Jean has always been abrasive and cynical, holding on to no fantasies about the miserable world he and his friends have long been trapped in. But in spite of all he's gone through, he's shown a keen sense of judgement and natural leadership that has allowed him to survive again and again in a situation he at one point would have been all to happy to look the other way, and never turn back. In a world where insanity dominates between the Titans and humanity, Jean always seems to know what to do even when he's at an utter loss of what the outcome could be, and he's so often been a voice of reason when faced with the panic of his comrades or the zeal of his friendly rival turned mortal enemy, Eren.

His old pal Marco recognized this potential in Jean, and it seems Marco's words have resonated strongly with Jean long after his own demise. Understanding what was at stake, he took a hard look at what he signed himself on to and charged at it head on. Through and through, he's proven a dependable ally to those serving by his side and ultimately, under his own command. One of Jean's greatest assets, and perhaps in his own mind his greatest curse, is his nobility. Whatever his faults and failings, Jean has always sided with the greater good, and is one of the most incorruptible characters on Paradis. He's been pushed to his limits every bit as much as the rest of his circle......And through it all still stands tall.

By no means flawless, and I actually have some far stronger opinions about Jean in spite of the fact that I rarely ever comment on him around here.......And that's a discussion for another day.

For tonight though, gotta acknowledge the impressive track record of a guy who probably never should have been a Scout in the first place.......And somehow has lived to speak of the experience after going through Hell and back time and time again.

Seriously, Jean Kirstein would have been a worthy contender to become Commander of the Scout Regiment, or second-in-command under Hange and/or Levi. Whatever the case, he's certainly been an asset to the greater cause of freedom, and perhaps understood the meaning of what that was far better than Eren himself EVER did.

Keep moving forward as you always have, Commander Jean.

Happy Birthday to a man worthy of wearing the Wings of Freedom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh, and one last thing; If you really do truly love Jean, then for the love of all that is good and just.........

Do NOT even think about it with the lame as hell Horseface jokes. I think the fact that I acknowledged not just Jeanmarco, but also "Jeankasa" up here is being pretty generous as it is. So please, don't push it, alright?

Besides, I can name five other characters who look more like horses than him.....

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daytaker · 9 months

Note

Hello! I’ve viewed your blog a few times and i really really like the way that you write, so when I learned that asks were i couldn’t help but make a request. Can we get some headcaons of the brothers meeting MC’s family for the first time and already Mama MC doesn’t like any of them because “they took away her baby.” Sorry if this is a little cringe.

But of course!

(Part 2: The Dateables + Luke)

"Mom, Dad, meet seven of my boyfriends."

...is what you want to say, but you know better than to panic your parents and fluster your totally platonic demon friends at a time like this.

And what a time it is. Here you are, surrounded by your parents, an aunt, your grandpa, and your sister, trying to calm your mother down from yet another diatribe about how you can't just get up and leave for a year---I mean, God, the police were looking for you! The police! You realize we thought they'd find your body in the woods somewhere? How could you do this to us?!---when suddenly:

Knock, knock. Knock knock knock knock knock knock. Thud. Thud. Thud.

"MC! Hey MC!"

"Mammon, if they hear you, you'll ruin the surprise!"

You and your relatives stare at the door. Then they all look at you. You give an awkward smile.

"Just give me a minute... I think those are some friends of mine..."

You really wish you lived somewhere besides a one bedroom apartment, but honestly, impossible in this economy. So you don't have anywhere remotely private to tell the brothers to scatter until the dust clears. In fact, the instant you open the door, Asmodeus flings his arms around you and kisses you on the cheek---in full view of your family, mind you!---and Beel shoves a box of half-eaten chocolates into your hand. Then seven voices are all clamoring for your attention at once on one end, and another five behind you. There are thirteen individuals in this tiny apartment, you realize, and you don't even have enough seats for your family to all sit. Your sister's seated on the floor.

"Heyyyyy guys, now's....not a great time...." A smile is plastered to your face as you tip your head in the direction of your extremely concerned parents. "And...seriously? It hasn't been two weeks yet."

Mammon looks confused, then indignant. "What? ...Hey, what the hell? You're already makin' new friends?! We really that replaceable?!"

Lucifer, who stands in the back holding a balloon bouquet with a jarringly serious expression on his face, speaks up. "I believe those are MC's relatives, Mammon. It seems we came at an inopportune time after all."

"Relatives?!" Asmo and Mammon hurry on over to give them all a good look-over, the others curiously observing.

"You're MC's mom, aren't you! Oh, MC! I see where you get your cheekbones!" Asmo gushes as your mother stares at him like he's from another planet. Which he sort of is, in a sense.

"MC? Who are these people?" your grandpa asks with bewilderment and not a small amount of concern.

"They're, um..."

"They're hot." Your sister waves her fingers at the group, and you wish you had perma-died in that attic.

You need to explain yourself quickly. On the spot. You'd already told your family you'd had a bit of a quarter-life crisis and gone backpacking across the country for the year, working through the mental collapse that living in the 21st century inevitably caused, so you ride off of that. These are a ragtag bunch you met on the road, you explain. You'd spent the better part of last year roughing it from the hills of Kentucky to the forests of Washington with these guys, and you'd become incredibly close as a result. You'd lived together, laughed together, loved together, and some of them even tried to kill you on a few occasions.

("'Tried'?" mutters Satan, and Belphie gives him a death glare.)

Under the leadership of the charismatic eldest brother, Lucifer, you'd become so close that it felt as if your very souls were somehow tethered---

"I'm sorry, 'Lucifer'?" Your mom has had just about enough of this. She approaches you with a look of heartbreaking concern in her eyes and cups your face. "....Baby, did you join a cult?"

"Who does she think she is, callin' 'em that?" seethes Mammon under his breath.

"Mammon, she's my MOM."

"Alright, I think I've seen enough." Dad gets up and eyes the boys sternly. "I dunno what you've been doing with my child, but it's gonna stop, you understand? I've got a homicide detective on speed dial because of you clowns."

"Is this where they get their assertiveness from?" speculated Levi to Beel, who simply shrugged.

"Listen, I think you're all just...misunderstanding each other!" Son of Gardonus, where are you even supposed to start? You grab the nearest demon---

(Individual brothers are below the cut!)

Lucifer

"This is Lucifer."

He gives you a look that says 'you really are as stupid as I've sometimes feared'. Why didn't you come up with a fake name?

"That was a joke."

Good, things are still salvageable.

"Because following his instructions is a lot like being in Hell."

He hates you.

"If that's the devil, then call me a sinner," your aunt says, sipping her third glass of wine.

"His real name is Boris."

He hates you so much.

"Pretty well-dressed for a man who spent a year on the road," observes your Mom with undisguised distrust. "Let me guess: while you were out gathering food and panhandling to survive, he stayed indoors doing whatever the hell he felt like doing, and at the end of the day, you'd take everything you'd earned and hand it over to him, and he'd toss you some pittance in return."

"How does she know that?!" Mammon gasps.

You try explaining to your mom that there was no cult, but she hushes you remorselessly.

You beg Lucifer with your eyes not to kill your entire family please. It seems to work.

Mammon

"Mammon, these are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is Mammon. Mammon, say hello."

"Hello. Agh! Dammit! You're really gonna use that now?!"

Oops. Pact magic. It can be a little unpredictable at times. You ruffle his hair apologetically.

The two of you were pretty much inseparable over the last year, you explain. "Best buds, pretty much." He was the first of the group you got close with. Mammon seems extremely proud of this.

"Please tell me 'best bud' isn't a euphemism, MC." Your dad gives you a pleading look. "I don't know how many more surprises I can take today." You two seem far too affectionate and touchy-feely for his liking.

Your sister grins at him from her seat on the floor, which seems to embarrass and confuse him tremendously. He's refusing to look at her. Poor guy. The two of you do look a lot alike...

Levi

"This is Levi."

"Ah, that almost sounds like a normal name. Why Leh-vee, though? Why don't you pronounce it LEE-vie?

"It's short for Leviathan," he says before you can stop him.

Your sister starts cackling and Levi is very embarrassed and indignant but mostly confused.

"Is this like a cult thing?" your aunt asks. "Naming everyone after biblical demons?" She nods and raises her eyebrows, impressed, and lifts her glass in Lucifer's direction.

"And you've been out roughing it in the great outdoors?" your grandpa asks.

"Errrr..."

"Yes, he has."

"Hmm...." Grandpa stares at Levi without a word, and your sister cackles again, and Levi looks like he'll either start bawling or go full demon and kill everybody in a sort of panicked rage. You return him to his brothers.

Satan

"This is---"

"I'm Derek. Nice to meet you."

You side-eye Satan. Apparently he was not taking any risks of you straight up calling him 'Satan' in front of everyone.

Your sister and aunt both look disappointed by this name, which seems to please Satan a whole lot.

"So," your mom says, thinking this little introduction has gotten off to way too friendly a start, "you're another one of MC's... 'friends', are you?"

"Yep," you say, refusing to acknowledge that there was any innuendo to read into.

"How the hell did you get wrapped up in a cult, Derek?" your aunt asks incredulously. "You look like you came straight from a prep school... Or the Ivies, or something. Kid, let me tell you what." She points a finger at Satan without giving him an opportunity to respond. "Let me tell you, you're gonna kick yourself when you're old and ugly and you realize you wasted your time in a cult looking like you were headed to a game of polo."

"You should've given yourself a cool name like those other guys," your sister throws in.

"Guys, please."

"What? At least the other guys had character. Lucifer, the sexy vampire prince, or something. Mammon, the... Is he a himbo or a bad boy?" ("A himbo," you confirm.) "Mammon, the hellish himbo! Leviathan, a literal fish out of water! But him? This guy's just Derek from IT." Your sister blows a raspberry and gives a thumb down. "Next."

Behind you, you hear Lucifer mutter, "Mammon. Levi. Hold Satan back."

Asmo

"This is Asmo. Please don't tear him a new one, he's---"

Your sister shakes her head. "I would NEVER. This guy looks like so much fun. Like, I'm getting shopping all day, clubbing all night vibes, am I right?"

Asmo winks at your sister, and she blushes. She blushes. You're in awe.

"Hellooooo~! I'm Asmodeus, and it's wonderful to meet you all!"

"You're the one that kissed my grandchild," Grandpa recalls, raising an accusatory finger at him.

"But MC loves when I give them kisses! Surely you all understand, right?"

....

"Right..."

....

Motherfucker, Asmo just charmed your family.

Beel

"This is Beel. Beel, this is...everyone."

"Hi. Good to meet you." Beel is very polite, if a bit uncomfortable.

"Well aren't you a drink of water and a half." You hate your aunt so much sometimes.

Beel frowns. "I'd rather have something a little more filling than water."

You see a look in your aunt's eyes and you jump before she has the chance to strike.

"If you say you're on the menu, Aunt Gina, I swear--"

"What's 'Beel' short for?" your mom asks sternly.

"Beelzebub," Beel answers with an adorable but also infuriating level of innocence.

Your sister is cackling again.

Belphie

Hey, where'd Belphie go?

You look around, confused.

Oh. He wandered to your room while everyone was distracted.

He's sleeping on your bed, hugging your pillow. And drooling on it.

Your relatives stand behind you, observing the scene somberly.

"What's he on?" asks your sister in a whisper. "Like... he's definitely on something, right?"

"Freeloader. That goes for the whole lot of 'em. At least this one is honest about it. Just walks in and treats the place like it's his." Your dad is very annoyed.

"He's got narcolepsy," you insist. You don't know enough about narcolepsy to be sure if that seems like a reasonable excuse, but you're counting on your family not knowing either.

"How the hell did you all get around with a narcoleptic?" your aunt asks, elbowing Lucifer in the ribs. "Hah! Oh, MC, sweetie, I need a refill."

When you manage to get the brothers out of your apartment, you turn around and face your family. They're staring at you.

Your sister breaks the silence. "So like... how many of them have you--?"

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maxphilippa · 10 months

Text

An Small Analysis Post On Lightbulb, Because I Hate How The Fandom Butchered Her Character As A Whole.

I'm making this post mostly as a reminder to myself To Not Hate Lightbulb because I actually think she's a pretty interesting character, but the way the fandom portrays her kinda ruined my interest for her.

The fandom's portrayal of Lightbulb ultimately just sticks to the nonsensical/silly aspect of her, which is pretty much what Lightbulb didn't want on canon to begin with. Interpretations and all that are understable, but I would like to just point out some things about Lightbulb. She's not just whimsy and sillyness and nonsense, her whole arc is about literally Toxic Positivity, Lack of Compromise, Lack of Leadership skills, Lack of Connection With Others and Unhealthy Copying Mechanisms.

Now Max, what the hell are you talking about? Well.

I personally think that Lightbulb is a genuinely good character. The way she copes with stuff really makes you see that she's really not doing great mentally. Of course, toxic positivity and sillyness may be her way to cope, because if no one sees her being vulnerable, they will never know what may hurt her the most.

I do think that she cared for Marsh in the same way Paintbrush did, but dare I say she also lacks emotional intelligence when it comes to comforting others or accepting those feels. Why talk about them seriously when you can just joke around and make them laugh about the issue? Of course that didn't happen.

Lightbulb has attachment issues, she doesn't want to be left alone, and she doesn't seem to be conscious over the fact that her attitude and way to approach others IS why she never truly got too many significant relationships at all until the very end, only for all of her friends to leave.

Having a "I don't care :]" attitude only did it so much worse for her on an emotional stand point because she ended up caring so SO badly for the remaining members of her group, and when her team was going down, she didn't know what to do or what to say at all. On late s2 she's actually getting the needs of her teammates and their struggles.

But I want to note something here. The reason as to why she "ditched" Test Tube so quickly on the alt dimension ep was because she thought that she found people that got her, people who were going through it but just wanted to keep thinking positively, and at the end of the day, that just doomed her. Because she realized that they weren't like that. She didn't find anyone that got how she felt.

You can only hide so much things with laughs and shenanigans and attitudes and addictions, before you realize that you have to own your mistakes and have to ACTUALLY TRY to be a better person.

Now, I don't think that Lightbulb meant things to go that way.

Thus all of these things are so much sadder when Fan and Test Tube get eliminated and Lightbulb is left alone. For the first time she ACTUALLY tried to let go off her unhealthy copying mechanisms and got close to people and lost them on the process. She lost all of her team because she didn't care seriously enough.

She's alone.

She doesn't like being alone at all.

So she's currently suffering the consequences of her actions.

And she doesn't like being alone.

Lightbulb struggles so SO much with having healthy relationships and healthy connections because she never was honest with herself at all. And when she realized that in order to be close to others, you have to grow and let yourself feel, it was far too late.

Her whole team is gone because of her lack of care for it and how she sucked at being a leader despite being an light to them, her unhealthy copying mechanisms indicate that she's been like that for a long time, and that the attitude she took was in order to cope with things feeling so so bad.

I really want to see what they'll do with her once s2 is back again. But for now, we can only hope so much.

#inanimate insanity #ii #inanimate insanity invitational #ii 2 #ii 3 #inanimate insanity lightbulb #inanimate insanity fan #inanimate insanity paintbrush #inanimate insanity test tube #ii lightbulb #ii fan #ii paintbrush #ii test tube #max overanalyzes characters

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bullet-prooflove · 4 months

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ATF!Series Part Five: That Kind of Love - David Hale x Reader, Jax Teller x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@hatersaremymotivators@bennykk@kelpies-shed

ATF Series:

Part One: A Rabbit You Don't Want To Chase - Stahl makes an unwelcome return to David's life.

Part Two: Fucked - Stahl fucks up you entire life in pursuit of Jax Teller.

Part Three: Hell or High Water - David visits you in jail.

Part Four: Damage Control - David tries to contain the damage and makes a decision about the future.

Everyone thinks the relationship between you and Jax was just sex but the truth is it wasn’t. There are things that Jax told you throughout your time together that he has never told another person. His suspicions over his father’s death, his dismay at the direction the club is taking under Clay’s leadership, how trapped he feels by the legacy that’s been foisted upon him.

Those three months you’d spent together he had found himself falling in love. You were so different than the other people in his orbit, open, free spirited and you didn’t say a single thing you didn’t mean. That’s the reason he’d had to end it with you, because you were so unapologetically yourself it was detrimental.

When he hears you’re leaving for Santo Padre, he knows you won’t be coming back. The art scene over there is bustling, it’s the perfect place for a budding artist especially one of your calibre. He is surprised that Hale’s going with you. That man hasn’t taken so much as a vacation day since he graduated the academy and how he’s taking an eight week sabbatical so that he can that he can be with you over the summer.

It's just another way that Jax would have failed you because if he were in Hale’s shoes, he wouldn’t have been able to leave Charming, Clay would never have let him.

All of this shit you’ve been through recently, the arrest by Stahl, the vandalism charges, losing your placement in San Franisco, all of that’s on him. You’d had it in your power to put him back in prison, to take down the club and instead you’d set your life on fire. He’d like to think it was because of him but the truth is, he knows you were protecting Hale. If Clay thought you were a threat he would have come after you and Hale, he would have got caught up in the crossfire.

That man would do anything for you, he’d proved it when he used all of his political leverage to keep you out of jail. The promotion Hale had been seeking, it’s gone, he doesn’t have the juice for it anymore but he doesn’t seem to care. His priority is you, it has been since the very beginning.

When Stahl shows up at the club that night to wipe that in Jax’s face, he sees the writing on the wall. This bitch, she’s not going to stop just because the two of you have hightailed it to Santo Padre. She tells him as much as she sits in her car in the Teller Morrow forecourt, the engine still running. She’s going to follow you, try and use the Mayans connection to come at SAMCRO. Those guys may be running legit now but there’s still skeletons in their closet, ones that could lead back to Charming.

That’s the reason he gives Clay when he shoots her at point blank range in the head, he was protecting their business from a possible RICO case but the truth is, he was protecting you because Stahl. That cunt was never going to stop, not until she destroyed you, Hale and the club.

They make it look like it was the IRA. It makes sense to the AFT, she was tracking Galen, and now they’ve found her on the outskirts of town, carved up with the Butcher of Belfast’s signature. When Galen turns back up in Ireland, the investigation is torn from their hands and the ATF withdraw from Charming once again.

The night before you leave for Santo Padre Jax turns up outside your house. He wants to say goodbye, to tell you that you’re safe, that you don’t have to worry about repercussions from Stahl or the club. He barely has time to get off his bike before he sees Hale’s Jeep already pulling into the driveway. The other man doesn’t see him, he’s too busy collecting his bags out the back of his car.

You’re wearing one of Hale’s t-shirts and a pair of his boxers shorts when you open the door. It rankles Jax to see you in another man’s clothes, he remembers the mornings you’d slip from his sheets wearing a shirt of his that barely covered your ass. Hale smiles when he sees you, his fingers threading through your hair as the deputy kisses you with a tenderness he had never exhibited before he met you.

This is what love looks like, Jax understands, the kind of love that he can never give you.

He waits until you’ve gone inside before he starts his bike. He doesn’t want to infringe on your life any more than he already has. You deserve a man who puts you first and Jax has always known it could never be him.

Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#david hale #deputy chief hale #taylor sheridan #soa #jax teller #david hale x reader #deputy david hale #sons of anarchy

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ladykailitha · 4 months

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Well Met By Moonlight Part 14

Hey all! Because I'm working strictly on Paper Hearts and Sweet Home Indiana exclusively until they're done, I thought I would put out chapters of this, Icarus (metal band), and Never Hold Back Your Step...(boy with a bat book 2) this week to tie you over until I can get back to them.

The poll wanted me to continue this one and Never Hold Back Your Step, so show me how much you love this story. Because people it is going to get juicy good and hella twisty and you really don't want to miss out on that. ;)

This is a very Nancy heavy chapter and as always she comes off very nuanced.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

****

Steve had two thorns in his side. Tommy Hagan and Murray Bauman. Jonathan had gotten his mom and Hopper to back down by citing actual pack law.

He suspected that Nancy had given him that little tidbit to throw in their faces.

It was nice to have the younger generation on his side. Well, most of it. There was still the matter of Tommy.

But now it was time to let Nancy in on what had been going on in the pack.

“I wish you had come to me sooner,” she huffed after he had explained everything and shown her his proof.

“Would you have come to me if the shoe was on the other foot?” Steve asked sharply.

She folded her arms and looked down at the ground. Steve raised an eyebrow at her and she threw her arms in the air.

“Fine!” Nancy cried, throwing her arms in the air. “I wouldn’t have gone to you, I would have gone to Jonathan first. But at least I would have gone to another pack member instead of a keeper, Steve.”

Steve curled his lip and she took a step backward. “Keepers are bound to a scared trust and while Tommy has broken his, Robin would never.”

“Platonic soulmates, I know, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So you keep saying. But she isn’t your female alpha, she isn’t even a werewolf Steve.”

Steve drew himself up to full height and glared at her. “At what has this pack done to show me any loyalty? It goes both ways, Nance and frankly all I’ve gotten since I came back to the pack is suspicion and distrust. Where’s my loyalty, huh? Where is it?”

She looked down at her feet again and sighed. “You weren’t a pack member for ten years, Steve and then you come back, in just a year you’re alpha. Like the rest of us have grown up together. Played together as children and then as puppies when we changed. We know everything about each other, but nothing about you. Then you start to change things and we’re just supposed to take it?”

“Yeah?” he said. “Okay, I’ll walk away. Hopper can take over or hell, give it straight to Murray. He’s the one that wanted it so bad after Hop was taken. See how you fare under his alphaship. If you guys have no loyalty to me, I’ve got none to you.”

He shook his head and walked away.

“Steve!” she cried. “Wait!”

Steve whirled back to face her. “What? You wanted me gone, so I’m leaving.”

“Of course I don’t want you to leave!” she huffed. “God, that wasn’t what I meant at all.”

“No?” he growled. “Because that’s what it fucking sounded like Nancy. What? You think Jonathan would be a better fit?” Nancy didn’t answer but her look said it all. “Because let me tell you, the Byers boys are the best of us, but both are straight up pacifists. They would make for terrible alphas.”

Nancy refused to look at him.

“And besides,” Steve finished with a smug grin, “Jonathan would back me in a fight for alpha, not challenge me and you fucking know it.”

She let out a long sigh. “God, how did you get so smart?”

“I’ve always been, thanks,” he huffed. “School stuff? I’m absolute shit at, but leadership and knowing the right play for the whole team? That comes as naturally to me as breathing. I don’t know it’s all the sports or if I was good at sports because of the natural ability to lead. Either way, there is no adult male in this pack better suited for alphaship and you can’t argue that.”

She looked up and stomped her foot. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“You better get used to it,” Steve said with a wink. “It’s going to happen a lot.”

Nancy clenched her fists and set her jaw. “You are the best leader for the pack as much as it literally pains me to say it, but you have to understand that all we saw was how rich and popular you were in high school. Captain of several teams, friends with Tommy and Carol even though you weren’t pack. King Steve. And then you come back to the pack after high school and the first chance you get you challenge for alpha and fucking win. That fight with Murray was the most brutal fight I’ve ever seen.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “In what way?”

“You don’t fight like a wolf, even in wolf form,” she muttered. “You don’t even fight like an animal most of the time. It’s like... the wolf is only a vessel for you. Instead of being ingrained into your psyche like it is for the rest of us, you are still aware. You fight the way a human would if suddenly given four legs and a tail. It’s frightening to watch.”

He blinked as he thought about the implications of that. “I don’t have the socialization of a wolf pack, so I fight and think differently. That’s why everyone is worried about where I’ll take the pack. Because you think I’ll try to separate you from your wolf.”

Nancy bit her lower lip. “Exactly that.”

Steve nodded and then transformed. “So teach me how to be a wolf.”

She smiled and transformed, too. Maybe they weren’t friends, but they could be allies and Steve was okay with that.

****

Nancy had learned a lot that day. About Steve and why he didn’t know how to be a wolf and it was a secret she would take to her grave. She learned that she was only the fourth person ever to know about what really went on at the Franklins. Behind Wayne; who was there; Robin, his best friend; and Eddie, his boyfriend.

And if Steve was to be believed, and she had no reason not to, Wayne had told Eddie, not him.

So she was the second person Steve had personally told and that was a lot of trust he had placed in her.

But it also stirred memories in her mind of the day the pack had been informed that the Harrington’s were dead and that Steve was going to be living with another couple until he came of age.

She had been pretty young herself, but she remembered how Wayne and Hopper had almost come to blows about it.

Hopper had yelled that the pack was as safe as houses and Wayne said the house was a condemned building.

She remembered it because she thought the phrase was hilarious. But regardless there was someone else who was there. Someone who was fighting to keep Steve in the pack, but she couldn’t remember.

Nancy rubbed her forehead between her eyebrows as she thought.

She shook her head.

She had bigger fish to fry. Steve’s threat about banishing those that had threatened his alphaship had stirred up a lot of feelings in the pack that she as female alpha had to try and smooth out.

The pack had only banished two people ever since Hopper had taken over the remains of the shattered Harrington pack after Wayne had torn them to literal pieces.

Just then she heard an argument break out. Josh had been swapped out for Chase and she could hear his raised voice.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Pat?!” Chase hissed. “Joining these flea-bitten mongrels?”

Nancy frowned. Maybe Chase should have come to the compound first, rather than Josh, because it sounded like Chase had been overly influenced by Billy’s style.

“How about not dying?” Patrick snapped back. “Billy wasn’t going to change me and Steve was willing to try. Vampire’s don’t need consent to change you, but werewolves do. And so yeah. I fucking consented. I didn’t want to die.”

“Better dead than a werewolf,” Chase said. “Hanging out with the vamps was fun. But all this is hard work and the stench of rotting meat.”

Nancy reached a point in the woods where she could see them, but they couldn’t see her.

Patrick shook his head. “He saved me twice, Chase. Even Jason is impressed by how respectful Steve had been about the whole thing, especially since we nearly killed him.”

Chase blanched. After those six weeks at the coven, he had forgotten the reason for the whole exchange program in the first place. That they could have been thrown in jail for attempted murder.

He looked down at the ground. “Shit, man. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course you’re grateful to Harrington for saving your ass. It’s just so much has changed in so little time that I loss track of all that...other bullshit.”

Patrick sighed. “I know, it all seems like it’s from another life. But Wayne has said that he’s going to recommend to the DA that we get a year of community service under his eye and it won’t go on our permanent record so we can still go to college.”

“That’s decent of him,” Chase said. “He could have made things really bad for you.”

Patrick shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think Jason is being genuine. He’s still angry about getting caught by Eddie Munson of all people.”

Chase frowned. The rivalry between Jason and Eddie Munson was the stuff of legends. Jason would bully the Hellfire Club kids, and Eddie would stand on table tops in the cafeteria ranting about basketball players were only good at putting big orange balls in laundry baskets.

It was actually Eddie and not Billy who had stepped in between Chrissy Cunningham and Jason when he found out she was a vampire and not some pure Christian girl who would stay at home once they were married and pump out his babies.

Chrissy could have defended herself considering how strong she was as a vampire, but Eddie had still stepped between them. Chase was sure that if the principal hadn’t walked by just then, that Jason would have decked Eddie.

“Especially now that Eddie is the same supe Chrissy is,” he said slowly.

Patrick nodded. “I worry he’s going to get caught up in something that might get himself killed.”

“Jason is such a bone head,” Chase said shaking his head. “Why did we follow this guy again?”

Patrick threw back his head and laughed. “Because he was captain of the basketball team, dating the head cheerleader, and hot as fuck.”

Chase let out a startled snorted. “Yeah, okay. You’ve got me there.”

They moved away from the clearing and there was a tap on Nancy’s shoulder.

She yelped and whirled around, coming face to face with Murray.

“Jesus!” she hissed, putting her hand on her chest as she fought to catch her breath.

“You shouldn’t be eavesdropping on people,” he said with a smarmy smile.

She returned his smile with a tight lipped version of her own. “Well, you would only know I was eavesdropping, if you were doing the same thing. A bit pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”

He tilted his head and regarded her with interest. “I can see why Steve would chose you as his alpha female. So smart. Just don’t go digging holes you can’t jump out of.”

He slipped into the shadows of the woods and she felt a shiver down her spine.

She had been so wrapped up in the drama with Steve that she had neglected her duties as alpha female.

Well that changed today. She would get to the bottom of this and give Steve her full support. Like a proper female alpha.

****

Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Tag List: Eighteen slots remaining.

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

2- @spectrum-spectre @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie

3- @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @bookbinderbitch @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

4- @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv

5- @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy

6- @scheodingers-muppet @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @goosesister @tinyplanet95

7- @she-collects-smut @irregular-child @y4r3luv @fairytalesreality @anaibis

8- @papergrenade @ravenfrog @fullpoetrybread

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #werewolf steve harrington #vampire eddie munson #supernatural creatures

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angstywaifu · 2 months

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Black Dahlia - 8. Prove You Wrong

One tragic day changes Dahlia's life forever. Despised by her father and brother, she's spent her entire life trying to be the child and sister she use to be. But nothing she ever does is good enough. She joins the Rider's Quadrant to prove them wrong. Garrick now in his second year has proven he is more than the mark on his skin to his fellow riders, and taken leadership of his own Squad alongside Xaden. Little does he know the girl walking across the parapet is about to send him on a rollercoaster of a year. Set Pre Fourth Wing/Books

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist

I join the crowd of cadets making their way to the gym, the first round of challenges finally here. My staff firmly grasped in my hand. Before I can pass through the door with everyone else, a hand grasps my arm firmly, pulling me roughly from the crowd as I stumble over my feet. I right myself, prying the hand from my arm to look up and see Dain staring down at me.

”What the hell do you want?” I snap at him.

I’d gone most of the last two weeks without interacting with him. Only catching his eyes on me during battle brief and during meals. Luckily our squads had not been paired together for any classes, meaning I got a lot of time away from him. Otherwise I know I would have crossed paths with him already.

”Just wanting to make sure you do your best in there and don’t disappoint dad.” He tells me bluntly.

”Oh don’t worry, father dearest won’t have to worry about that.” I snap before pivoting on my heel and walking away.

”What about those marked ones you’re training with?” He calls out, causing me to stop in my tracks.

Shit. Clearly Dain was paying more attention to me than I thought. As well as training with Austin and Liz, Bodhi had brought along another marked first year called Ciaran . But we weren’t always the only squad in there. Every night there would be marked ones from other squads scattered around the gym, keeping the allocated distance as dictated by leadership. Marked ones weren’t allowed to hang out in groups of more than three. And I knew exactly what it looked like to Dain. I turn back to him, that smug smirk on his face that I had grown to know as a look he got when he thought he had caught me out. Not today.

”I’m not training with them. I’m training with my squad, helping those who need it. No rules against that. And the other squads are more than welcome to use the space as well.” I tell him with the smile I usually used when talking to our father.

”You need to be mindful of the company you’re keeping. Word might get out. Not exactly a good look for us.” The tone almost similar to the one our father used when giving orders. Except Dain hasn’t nailed the commanding authoritive edge to it needed to drive it home.

”Oh yes, because me being a good squad member and helping others is such a bad look. Leadership are definitely going to hate me doing that, and being able to work with others. Maybe you should take some notes if you want to impress dad and have a leadership position next year. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him.” I mock back, before pivoting on my heel to walk inside the gym.

By the time I get inside challenges have already started up. I push my way through the crowd to where I can see Bodhi’s head sticking up above the crowd. And on the mat in front of us was Austin, facing off against a far bigger first year from First Wing. Two weeks ago I would have been a little nervous for the outcome of the fight. But as she ducks under his swing and takes his knee out with a well placed kick, I have nothing to worry about. And I can’t help the slight smile that works its way onto my face. It had only been a bit over a week that we had been training together, but her and Liz had come a long way since then. Both practically sponges with the information and techniques I was showing them. They weren’t perfect, but they knew enough to hold their own more comfortably.

”Durran and Stoll, you’re up. And Cardulo and Huxley you’re up to.” Emetterio calls out, pointing to the boy standing next to me and the pink haired girl I now knew as Imogen from the few times I had seen her in the gym.

I lookover as she pushes through the crowd, drawing my attention to Dain who is looking right at me, with a look that tells me he is not convinced about the conversation we had outside. He was definitely going to go and tell our father about this. And as much as I wanted to say it didn’t worry me. It did. I might be away from our father, but he still had power over me here.

”For someone who apparently took a third year down so easily two weeks ago, you’re looking pretty nervous Aetos.” A voice drawls from next to me.

I turn my head, and standing right where Bodhi had been moments prior was someone I hadn’t been this close to since conscription day. Someone who had shown how much they wanted nothing to do with me every time our eyes met. Garrick. I almost have have to crane my neck to meet his eyes. He was easily the tallest rider in the quadrant. And probably the biggest. And yet he had managed to squeeze into the space Bodhi had once been. But I had seen the way other riders moved out of his and Xaden’s way in the halls. No one wanted to mess with them. And I couldn’t blame them. One look at Garrick and I knew I had no chance against him on the mat. Maybe if I could wear him out, but I could tell that wouldn’t be easy.

”Don’t call me that.” I snap back before turning my gaze back to the challenges in front of me.

”Someone’s touchy about their name.” He teases before chuckling.

Gods I wish I could punch him and shut him up.

”Yes, something you should have learnt on my first day here.” I point out before clenching my jaw.

Something he must notice as he chuckles again. “Oh I did. And before long you and that brother of yours will learn your name will only get you so far here. I can see it in your face, you got lucky with that third year.”

Oh but he was wrong. Very wrong. The emotions that must have crept onto my face were nothing to do with the challenge awaiting me when my name was called. There was no denying my fight against Nari and I had been over and done with quicker than a lot of others during assessment day. And due to Garrick not having shown up to any of the training sessions I had been at in the gym, he was yet to see me actually fight.

”Henrick and Ae- Dahlia! You’re up!” Emetterio calls out, pulling me from my moment with Garrick as I turn to watch another first year from Dain’s squad walk onto the mat, sword clutched in his hands.

Goosebumps work my way onto my neck, causing me to shiver as Garrick leans down to place his mouth next to my ear. “Go on then little Aetos. Try prove me wrong.”

Oh don’t worry Garrick Tavis. I will prove you wrong. Though I don’t say the words out loud, keeping them to myself as I grip the staff in my hand tightly before walking onto the mat. I didn’t need to live up to my name. Didn’t want to be anything associated to that last name. I needed to prove that I was more than just the Colonel’s daughter. That despite my last name I had worked and earned what I was here to do. Not just handed it on a silver platter because of that name. I almost feel sorry for the boy stood in front of me, his light brown hair curling on his head, the freckles scattered on his face giving him a youthful look to his appearance.

With a flick of my arm, the staff that I’d had retracted till now expands to its full height. The one upside to my last name was the weapon smiths. Any idea they had, they were willing to help create. One of which was the staff in my hand. I was good with the staff, even if it wasn’t a popular choice. Especially amongst riders. Mastering a staff meant you had a lot of flexibility in finding something you could use as a weapon. A handy skill to have out in the field if you got caught out. I swear I can hear Garrick snicker from behind me at my choice in weapon.

The boy and I circle each other, eyeing each other up as we look for an opening to attack. I lung forward, testing to see how he would react as I hadn’t seen him fight before. He easily deflects my incoming attack before coming back at me with a series of powerful slashes. He clearly knew his way around a sword. Good. I wanted a challenge. But I could tell he was unsure of my weapon of choice, his eyes moving up and down the staff as he takes in how I move.

I feign an attack to his right before pivoting towards his left as he takes the bait, swinging to block an attack that never comes. I watch as his eyes go wide as I swing low, taking out his legs from under him as he falls to the ground. He quickly bounces back as he rolls out of it before spinning back towards me, sword gripped tightly in his hands again. He comes at me with a series of strikes, trying to closer the gap to gain the advantage. But I block every single strike with ease.

I can see the frustration building in his eyes each time I dodge his attack. He’s skilled, but I hold the advantage with my weapon. I take a moment to catch my breath, waiting for an opening. Which comes seconds later as he charges forward with a powerful swing. I quickly side-step, lashing out with my staff in a quick jab. The impact sends him stumbling back and I see my opening and I don’t hesitate to make my move. I thrust my staff towards the unprotected area, meeting its mark with ease. My staff connecting with a satisfying blow that sends him sprawling to the ground as I sweep his feet out from under him. He hits the mat with a solid thud as his sword flies from his hand. He makes a move to grab his sword, his movements sluggish after hitting the mat. But I’m quicker, pinning him as I place my boot on his chest, staff pushing down on his neck. The boy looks up at me wide eyed, shocked I had pinned him within two minutes, before nodding his head in a sign of defeat.

”Aetos is the winner!” Emetterio declares, before moving to select the next cadets to take to the mat.

I release the boy from beneath me, pivoting on my heel to return to my squad. I can’t help but smirk at the scowl on Garrick’s face before he turns and pushes his way through the crowd. Told you I’d prove you wrong.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94

#fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc #the fourth wing #the empyrean #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x oc #dain aetos #bodhi durran #black dahlia #dain aetos fanfic #garrick tavis fanfic

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paradlselost · 1 month

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FIRST LOVE / LATE SPRING

Black Noir x Reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ woo angst ! Every time I listen to Mitski I think of him and specifically this song + I Bet On Losing Dogs - though the latter reminds me more of his s3 death. Anyways I hope you enjoy! I love my wife so much omg i would do anything for him one chance please please please please please 🙏

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬angst , depictions of wounds + burns , no happy ending . set in the payback era . 1.3k words .

A sigh falls from his lips, forehead pressed against your own as his fingers find their way up your arm and to your cheek. His touch is warm against the airconditioned room, his pretty eyes closed to soak up your presence.

He had committed you to memory long ago, every indent and curve found solace in his mind. He was never too far away to retrace you like some sculpture gifted to him by God. He is quiet, the knowledge that you would be in trouble if you were caught with him now, especially like this, weighed on his mind.

His helmet and mask discarded on the desk beside you, allowing himself to be open and honest with you and only you. He is yours, in this dark and empty room, because he can’t be out in the light of cameras and events. But he knows better than to complain about the situation you two have found yourselves in.

“Do you have to go?” Your voice is soft and it draws his eyes open to look at you, to take the sight of you in again and again, drinking you in like a glass of cold water in the scorching hot sun.

He says nothing for a long moment, what could he say? Reassurance is not something he can provide you with, not this time, at least. You look at him - hold him - like he is the greatest thing the world has to offer and it hurts to think you could do better.

You’ll be disappointed in him when he returns. He can feel it in his gut, the weight of his actions he knows he must take. You are the best of him, sprinkled into everything in his life and once he leaves he knows he has to shut you out to complete this. For the rest of Payback, for his superiors, for himself.

He is selfish, he knows.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s not my decision. Trust me, I don’t want to do this at all.” Half truths fall from Earving’s lips, little secrets kept from you that eat him up inside. What is he supposed to say? That he is both dreading and hoping for the day he can take Soldier Boy out?

He’s lying to himself just as much as he lies to you, that with Ben gone everything will be better; that he won’t have to hide and will be able to take a leadership role in Payback - maybe even get that role as Axel Foley that he would’ve killed to play. Some part of him knows, though, that Vought would never let him be anything more than the faceless, voiceless supe. That Ben is only a small fraction of the problem.

But he’ll do it for Gunpowder and the countless bruises and wounds Earving himself has had to hide from you, and he’ll do it for that poor kid that’s cursed with Soldier Boy’s blood.

He can hear the interview down the hall begin to wrap up, and he can tell you can as well by the way you hug him. Tight and worrying, it’s not the first time he’s had to leave for a mission like this, but it feels different. You can feel it in your gut, in your heart that the little white lies he’s been keeping from you are going to boil over, they’ll crawl their way out of whatever hell they’re locked in and grasp at his legs, overtaking him and pulling him down with them.

He knows you feel it, he can feel it too. Earving is not clueless to Voughts practices; and in the very real event of his death he knows they’ll tell you something vastly different than what really happened. That he was a hero, that Noir saved many soldiers and innocents in his effort to stop whatever force overcame them. It’ll be vague, innocent like and he knows you won’t question them to their faces. He knows it won’t help any grief, he knows you’ll know it’ll be another white lie that’s killed him.

“I should go, they’re probably waiting for me.”

“Just a few more minutes…”

“Sweetheart…”

“Come back okay. Don’t - don’t leave me here without you.”

“I’d claw my way out of the deepest pit of hell just to get a chance to kiss you again.”

His words, while sweet, leave a bitter taste in your mouth, even as his lips meet yours. You know in your heart he is not just saying that; that someway that’ll be what he does - claw his way back to you.

And all over again you lose him to the mask and the cameras outside the room, to the cold and unfeeling demeanor he puts on display. Eddie Murphy, Soldier Boy, Black Noir. The cameras shine on them, broadcast them to the homes of billions. The script is sacred, his gloved hand giving a small wave before he walks over to the other members of his team.

Nicaragua. Vietnam. Commies and Capitalists. Farmers and the soldiers sent there to die for the rich. He is not better than those men in their helmets and boots, he is nothing more than a dog in a fight that is not his own.

And there isn’t a call, no man in a suit at the door with papers, no courtesy because you’re not even married. No, the television is the most information you’re given over the weeks he’s gone; and the only way you found out about when he came back. Why would Vought bother to tell you when they could broadcast it?

Payback Returns; Soldier Boy Fallen in Battle and Black Noir in Critical Condition.

The world mourns the loss of their Nazi fighting hero, the man who has been a staple of childhoods for years, someone to be looked up to and admired but you can only cry for Earving; can only push past the security guarding Vought’s medical bay and get yelled at by doctors just to see him.

God, how the scars run up his body. The right side of his face is covered in burns, the top of his head shaved in the area around his stitches and despite his eyes being closed you can see the bulging in one of them.

He is broken, like a small stuffed animal a bad dog had decided to make into a toy. Stuffing falls from his ripped apart limbs, a button eye missing and part of his ear chewed off. He is damaged, but he is still here, and you can stitch him back together good as new. You can love him so hard his other button falls out, hold him till his stitches come undone and he falls apart all over again in your arms.

But he is afraid when his eyes open. He cannot settle back down into the little apartment you both call home and you know this, you can feel it in your heart. He won’t look at you with his good eye when you manage to get him out of that godforsaken mask only to turn around and find it back on.

He is not your Earving anymore. That part of him is left in Nicaragua, in the half of his brain lying on the compound ground cooking in the sun. You were the best of him, now there is nothing left but Black Noir. And you didn’t fall in love with the preformative hero he was now.

So, it’s not surprising when you wake up and he is not next to you in bed, when he is not home at all. At first, some part of you hopes he will come back, but you know that is simply wishful thinking.

Earving is gone, and just like that day you only get to watch Black Noir through the screen. Just like everyone else.

#black noir #black noir x reader #the boys #black noir x you #angst #angst without a happy ending

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tommysversion · 1 year

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Beastly: Raider Era Joel Miller x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: you live in a small commune protected by a strong force of raiders. Every season, your people pay tribute for their protection. After lapsing in payment, your abusive father offers you as a human sacrifice. What you don't expect is for the leader of the gang, Joel, to not be as much of a beastly man as first thought.

A Raider Era Joel fic, loosely inspired by Beauty & The Beast.

CWs: references to abuse (physical), implied fear of SA, canon typical violence, implied age gap, sexual references, coarse language, smut for later chapters. (List will update with chapters)

Chapter Word Count: 3k

Thanks to @gab-thelamb-onthemoon & @joelsgirl for being beta readers & allowing me to infodump about this idea, ILY

Index: Part 2

It’s amazing, how long it took society to peak, in comparison to how easily it fell apart. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it sure burned in one. In a short fifteen years, since Cordyceps first spread globally, society has all but collapsed.

Oh, sure, there are the QZs, where FEDRA rules with an iron fist. There are smaller settlements where people try to strive for a semblance of ‘normality’.

But mostly? The world outside the military strict QZs has become lawless. It’s kill or be killed, serve or rule, protect or intimidate.

Whereas some people have banded together for the greater good of humanity, for the continued survival of the species? Others have taken advantage of the new order of things, are only out for themselves and those they hold dear.

Joel Miller falls into the latter category.

Maybe once, before the outbreak, he had been a good man. Had had a strong moral compass, a good ethic. He’d been a family man, loved his daughter and his brother more than anything or anyone in the world.

Then the world had gone to hell, taken his daughter from him, and something inside him had broken. It was as though a light had gone out inside him, turning his humanity off.

Gone was the man who had made jokes and smiled easily. In his place was a man scarred and traumatised, who was capable of enormous acts of violence and brutality, who would survive at any and all cost, not for his sake, not really, but for his brother. The only family he had left.

Joel had always been a natural leader, if somewhat reluctant. It had come easily to him, before the outbreak. He was always the damn union rep on site. Always the one people came to for advice, looked to for leadership. Not just Tommy, or colleagues he’d known for years either. He always ended up with an apprentice following him round like a chained puppy, asking questions, looking for guidance.

Maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise at all that he had ended up the leader of this band of people, either. Some were misfits, those who were too anxious to try and venture to the nearest QZ and survive under FEDRA. Some were miscreants who preferred the more lawless lifestyle, who needed a leader so they didn’t venture into abject cruelty. Then there were those like him, who just wanted to survive. Keep going for whatever or whoever they had left.

Joel didn’t necessarily want to live, but he was fucking good at it.

Without his humanity, it made him a damn good leader. His group protected several small settlements, in exchange for supplies. Weapons. Whatever the fuck they wanted.

It was a good deal… for his people. The infected didn’t venture this far out anymore, but the good people in those settlements didn’t need to know that, did they? Their living in fear was his bonus. It kept them in line, and it kept his people alive.

Recently, one of the settlements fell to disease. Leaving just the one small community under his group’s thumb. The occupants aren’t particularly tough, or particularly smart, just ordinary people who have had the luck to survive behind moderately well constructed walls, the wits to bow to those stronger than them for protection.

Only, their resources are running out, spread thin with the approaching winter…

Which is where you come in.

You’re old enough to remember the world before. Maybe you hadn’t been an adult, so you hadn’t had to deal with things the older folks in your community grumble on occasion about missing - work, taxes (mostly something called a tax return), good liquor, supermarkets…

But you do remember.

You remember the world changing overnight. Remember years of struggling, clawing for survival, until this commune had finally put its walls up and hoped for the best.

Then the infected had come, and you’d lost half your numbers. The raiders had taken advantage of the weakness in your people, taken out the infected… for a price.

Now each quarter, your people paid ‘tribute’ to the group of men and women who kept the infected at bay. Really, it was a bribe to keep them from taking over your settlement. Every three months the same half dozen men would show up, fill their truck with supplies and weapons your people had gathered, desperately needed, and promise another three months protection for it.

Nobody’s been attacked since the deal was struck. You guess that’s a good thing. Or there’s something they aren’t telling you.

Your father is the closest thing to a mayor your community has. There aren’t enough of you to need a proper governing body beyond a handful of people, but somehow the task of leadership has fallen to him. Perhaps because nobody else wants to be labeled as the one who bows to the raiders. Or maybe it’s because the last mayor your town had was beaten to death by said raiders for non-compliance, and your father was the only one brave (stupid) enough to volunteer for the job after.

You aren’t stupid. You know a bribe for what it is. Only this quarter, you aren’t sure what the plan is.

The crop yield has been relatively scarce this season. With winter approaching, the settlement doesn’t have much to offer. You’re not stupid, but you know it won’t be enough.

Usually, you stay home when the raiders come for their tribute. Stay inside with the few children of the commune.

This time is different. Your father is lacing his boots, throwing on his threadbare coat, when he springs it on you.

“You’re coming too, this time. We need to show our numbers.”

It doesn’t occur to you until you’re halfway to what passes as the town square that that’s the precise opposite of what your father usually says. That a show of strength is what got his predecessor killed. But you know better than to question him; he won’t shout at you, he’ll just be condescending, or more likely, won’t answer you at all.

You suppose your curiosity will have to wait, and hope he doesn’t get you all killed.

Joel usually sends half a dozen of his people to collect the tribute from the settlement they ‘protect’. It’s a thinly veiled intimidation, closer to extortion than anything else, but it keeps his people fed and lets them bully others, which some of his people need.

But the last two seasons, their offerings have been slim at best, pissing the most restless of his people off. Joel has no issue with violence. No issue with killing people, or intimidation. But he also knows that starting a bloodbath in their supply settlement is a stupid idea, even if some of his men don’t.

Which has led him to here. Two men sit in the truck, shoulder to shoulder. One sits in the tray, gripping the roof bar with one hand, a rifle dangling lazily from the other.

Two others ride beside him, a little behind, in an arrow formation. It didn’t bother Owen to stay behind with the rest of the group. There’s better things he could be doing. If anyone was surprised at Joel deciding to go with them on this run? He hasn’t heard a word of it.

If anything, they probably think it means he’s planning some sort of punishment for their friends in the settlement. Hell, if they don’t pay up? He’s not against it.

It never ceases to amaze him just how pathetic these people are. He hasn’t visited the settlement personally in a year or so, but the occupants are still just as miserable. Just as downtrodden and fearful, hiding behind their shitty tin walls and the hope that his folks will protect them. It’s that fear that keeps his people fed, keeps these townspeople in line.

They don’t need to know that there are so few infected out here now, that Joel and his group are probably the biggest - if not only – threat remaining to them. Fear keeps them in line, and if they step out of line? Well, he and his gang aren’t above beating a reminder into them. It’s happened before.

The truck rolls to a stop behind him as they make their way to the centre of the settlement. He dismounts his horse, steps forward to greet the leader of the place. He’s met this man once before, the season after he took out the old mayor for trying to defy him. Beating a man to death isn’t pleasant to witness, but Joel had no problem with committing the act.

His replacement is a small, round man who always wears the same threadbare overcoat, the same twitchy air of nervousness around him, the same oily obedience.

How a man like that became what passes for mayor, Joel has no idea. He’s just as spineless as the rest, just as cowardly, eager to snivel and beg for protection, offering up whatever it takes to save his own skin. It’s a way to live, Joel supposes, but he would never stoop so low.

“Morris.” Joel greets the other man with a cold nod of his head, reaches out a gloved hand for him to shake. All formality. All pleasantries. As if the six men he’s brought with him aren’t capable of gunning down this entire settlement, if he so chooses. Hell, he could probably do it by himself.

“I’m surprised to see you.” Morris admits as he steps forward from the small group of townsfolk. Joel’s gaze sweeps over them all; a few new faces, his eyes boring into each unfamiliar one. One bears a resemblance to the mayor. Interesting.

His gaze leaves the crowd, returns to the man in front of him.

“We need to have a little chat.”

“You don’t say a word. Nobody will benefit from your attempts at being a diplomat.” Your father cautions you as you reach the centre of town. It’s not a long walk. The settlement is barely big enough to call a commune, but still.

You don’t dignify him with an answer, just nod. There’s no point in trying to argue with him, try and prove that you’re an asset. He’s too set in his ways, too firm in the belief that women – especially young ones- should be seen and not heard.

So instead you keep your mouth shut, take your place. Watch the convoy come in. It’s different, being out on the street rather than peeking out a window when they roll in.

The usual truck, two men in the cab, one in the tray, slapping the roof to signal to stop. You’re not familiar enough with their faces, but you assume they’re the same men who come every quarter. Two men on horses, flanking a third.

It’s the third man who interests you, only slightly. Mostly because of the way your father tenses, the way some of the others shift nervously. You vaguely recognise this man; the leader of the group of raiders. The one who had no problem with violence, with getting rid of the old mayor when he didn’t want to play ball.

He’s older, maybe late forties, broad shouldered and has a sort of deadened glint to his dark eyes. Vaguely, you catch yourself wondering what he did, or what happened to him, to put that look in his gaze.

Those cold dark eyes take stock of the place, sweep across each member of your community. His gaze pauses on you, very briefly, flickers to your father then back, recognition. Then he looks away, back to your father.

“We need to have a little chat,” the unknown man says, “your quota has been low, Morris.”

Even in the cold, you can see your father start to sweat. He’s no great hero; his leadership perches precariously on his willingness to bow to whatever this gang of raiders wants. There’s no way of fighting them, and quite frankly? There are worse things out there.

“We’ve had a hard few seasons… Maybe we can make it up in spring?” Your father suggests, trying to sound complacent, apologetic. Mostly, it just sounds desperate.

You wonder if the leader of the gang thinks so, too.

“Now, Morris, you’re already short. Have been for the last two seasons. Maybe if we’d had this little chat earlier, I’d be more inclined to accept the request, but, well… winter’s on its way. It’s hard out there, and these walls you have are so flimsy… anything could happen.”

Your father’s face blanches, clearly aware he’s stepping on toes that shouldn’t be stepped on.

“We have… some supplies in reserve. You can take from there.”

It shouldn’t even surprise you, that he offers up the town’s emergency stockpile to save his own skin, probably thinking of his predecessor. It bothers you, though, makes your skin crawl to see the men from the gang open the barn where the supplies are kept, start hauling them into the back of the truck. Those supplies are for emergencies. For the children, the elderly, the sick. Maybe that’s why you open your mouth.

“Those supplies are for our elderly. Our children.”

The look your father gives you is piercing, promising violence, a sharp retribution later, but you don’t care.

“Excuse my daughter, Joel. She doesn’t understand the way things work, likes to talk when the men are talking.”

You expect the gang leader – Joel – to agree, to ignore you. Instead, he turns that depthless gaze onto you.

“What would you have me do, hm? We have a deal, you know that.” It’s unspoken what he’s implying – he has people relying on him, too.

You’re smart enough to know that it’s a rhetorical question.

“Besides.” Joel turns his attention to the truck, shakes his head. “Even with your stockpile, you’re short. Considerably so. Maybe we should stick around. See why your productivity is so low.”

The threat is implicit. Maybe it’s the threat. Maybe it’s anger at you for speaking out. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that your father is a piece of shit. Still, you don’t expect what happens next.

Joel doesn’t want to stick around this small town, with its cowed population and snivelling misogynist of a mayor. He’d rather take what they are owed and go, but they’re up short once again. Not by much, but it’s the principle of the matter. Of making sure Morris knows his place, knows that he and Joel are in no way equals.

He projects the very image of an alpha male, broad and cocky, one hand resting on the pistol at his hip. Casually threatening, and he knows Morris is thinking of the idiot before him. Maybe he should just shoot him, see whether someone smarter replaces him. Smarter and less irritating.

Maybe the other man can see how easily he’s contemplating his death.

“Wait. Wait. I have another offer.”

Joel raises an eyebrow.

“And what could you possibly have, Morris? As you’ve said, you’ve had a difficult harvest, you’ve had to break into your emergency supplies. What do you possibly have to trade to save your own skin?” He makes zero effort to hide his disgust.

“Her.” Morris jerks a shaky thumb to the younger woman beside him, the one who’s clearly his daughter, the one who spoke up.

Joel is so startled by the suggestion that he almost outright refuses.

“What?” It comes out blunter than he planned, as if he’s misheard. Because there’s no way that this idiot is offering up his own daughter as some sort of human sacrifice.

“Take her. I don’t care what you do with her, she’s a complete disappointment. Maybe you can teach her some manners, beat her into submission, God knows I’ve tried. Take her and give us immunity until next fall. Let us rebuild our crops.”

Joel looks past Morris to you, small and nondescript. Then again, everyone is small to him. You look like someone’s just pulled the ground out from under you. Shocked. Horrified. He knows then what you’re thinking, what you’re assuming will happen to you. But he also knows now what happens to you if he leaves you here.

Joel Miller may have lost his humanity, but he was a father once. And he can’t imagine ever, ever offering his own child up as a human sacrifice to save his own skin.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter about making a quota. What matters is getting you as far away from this place as possible. Away from sharp words and balled fists. Because somewhere, somewhere, buried deep down, a portion of the man he once was is stirring.

“The end of next fall. A year.” Joel agrees, tries not to watch the way Morris shoves you forward to what could well be your doom.

You’re shaking. Can’t even form a protest, for all the good it would do.

Sacrifice. Tribute. Offering. As if you’re no more than another object to be traded. Your father doesn’t even flinch as Joel seizes your wrist, pulls you towards his horse.

“Get on.” His voice is low, but not menacing. If anything he sounds almost sorry. It has to be some sort of trap; you’re certain that when you’re back at their base camp, he’ll have no problem with cruelty, with putting his hands on you. Forcing you, if the mood takes him. Maybe it’s better to just do as he demands.

Shakily, you climb up onto the horse, sit awkward and uncomfortable, tensing when he swings himself up behind you, broad arms keeping you in place as he seizes the reins, gives a nod to his men, who finish loading up and pile back into the truck, onto their own horses.

He throws a final derisive look to your father. The man who sold you.

“One year, Morris. Better get your shit together.” Then he nudges the horse, and rides you both out of the only home you’ve known for years.

#my writing #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #raider joel #rue beastly

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scourgeblooms · 9 months

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wanted to do a physical timeline for my commander and highlight how he’s changed through the years. this is mostly for my own entertainment BUT I do enjoy seeing the same thing from other folks so I’m posting it here in the hopes that other people share my sentiment.

(I was ALSO totally inspired by @/manasurge’s hair timeline. it kicks ass. go look at it.)

elaboration/rambling below the cut!

Personal Story, LW1-2: Popped out of the pod blunt, solicitous, and already maybe a little too paranoid for someone who was born yesterday, but all those traits made him uniquely qualified for a position in military leadership. Healthy and floral, soft aspen-bark-like skin, delicate petals. black anthers produce pollen. undergoes more fashion changes than physical transformations during this time. gets a little banged up here and there (and maybe has some lasting respiratory effects from the toxic alliance era) but overall feelin a-okay.

Heart of Thorns: it’s all gone to shit. took a spectacular headdive in both a physical and mental sense with breakneck speed. never “officially” answered mordremoth’s call, but anyone who spent time around him would notice a distinct lack of self control and logical thinking. took on a more sickly pallor, stress caused leaves to shrivel, rot, and decay. lost his lil flower top notch and ability to produce pollen. pupils narrowed to take on a more animalistic look, and enamel growth resulted in sharper, larger teeth. fingers also elongated into claws. never fully physically and mentally recovered from the hell jungle.

LW3: chopped off most of his leaves to encourage fresh growth. lots of physical healing during this time, though it takes quite a while for his complexion to fully recover. takes on the role of aurene’s champion with gusto. relatively unaffected by bloodstone, but feels the effects of mordremoth’s loose/uncontrolled magic deeply. continues to hear mordremoth’s “voice” and is diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.

Path of Fire: still healing from HoT. continues to grow out his leaves. glow returns, as well as some of his eye color. likes the crystal desert, but finds the harsh, dry climate to be particularly challenging; he’s definitely more of a ‘temperate’ sylvari. does not handle dying well. death only adds to his paranoia and psychosis. has an increasingly hard time picking apart what is real and what is…. not.

LW4: let’s get ready to kill an undead lich!!!! absorbs even more magic after the death of joko and kralkatorrik, and it starts to show in a there-and-gone shimmery aura that takes on a similar appearance to ley lines. starts to suffer from migraine auras. flower top notch grows back, but stays closed and dormant. picks up a few nifty necromancy tricks from the elonians, and the tips of his fingers start to show signs of necrotic decay; all that death magic can’t be good for the complexion, can it?

Icebrood Saga: having another dragon in his head does not help his mental health in the slightest. braided leaves (courtesy of braham <3) to protect against frostbite. his ley “aura” gets more intense, hard to miss, and is a near constant. flower topnotch remains closed due to the cold weather conditions. after being shot by bangar, his wound is covered/healed by aurene’s brand. migraines increase in frequency, makes it difficult for him to focus. a bone deep exhaustion starts to set in, and more often than not, he catches himself thinking that a nice long nap underneath a blanket of snow doesn’t sound so terrible….

End of Dragons: back in a more agreeable climate, his topnotch finally blooms, but does not grow anthers or produce pollen. easily physically corrupted by void magic, and he feels soo-won’s pain and struggle deeply. the void corruption eventually shows up in the form of darkening leaves, and seeping out of his eyes/tearducts (it’s fine. don’t worry about it.). starts to incorporate chaos magic into his own necromancy practices. has a fucking terrible time in gyala delve. has a fucking terrible time saying goodbye to aurene.

Secrets of the Obscure: nothing feels entirely real to him anymore. still willing to help, to fight, but it’s done on autopilot at this point. this magical, floating palace in the sky looks and feels like a dream, with the kryptis acting as the encroaching, inevitable turn to a real, living nightmare. still uses a bit of leftover void in his magical practices, but most of the corruption has left his system. that respiratory illness he picked up back in kessex hills comes back to bite him in nayos. finally grows back his anthers, but instead of producing pollen, it's an outlet for void/magic energy.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #sylvari #mine #scourgescribbles #hey tumblr compression please. please tumblr compression go easy on me. tumblr compression ple-#anyway enjoy my special son I think about a normal amount #art #also just know that I'm going to edit this at least 47 times before I'm one hundred percent happy with it #gw2 spoilers #gw2 soto spoilers #gw2 icebrood saga spoilers #gw2 heart of thorns spoilers #gw2 path of fire spoilers #gw2 end of dragons spoilers #gw2 eod spoilers #azilab

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