#a vague xreader

[h3wi]

wind breaker (satoru nii)

umemiya hajime would definitely grow flowers for his lover. . .

on the school's rooftop. a dedicated corner of the plant bed, all for his one and only. day by day, he waters and tends to the growing seedlings with care, waiting intently for buds to show. the flowers flourish under his nuture, and when they bloom in luxuriant fashion, he can barely contain his excitement!

he presents the thriving flora to anyone who will pay attention, even hosts another get-together with bofurin to show them off, because aren't they just so cute? and when the flowers are at the peak of their beauty, he picks them out carefully, shears off ridges and thorns, cuts off the bottom of the stems at that perfect angle... before he wraps the beautiful array of colours in cellophane and ribbon. it is a brilliant arrangement made from devotion and effort, all for his special someone.

just one of the many perks of having the green-thumbed umemiya as a boyfriend!

[luxcuriousao3]

I've been messing around lately, writing Ghost in different ways to see which rings most true to his character (in my opinion). I wouldn't say that it does ring true for me in this one (then again this one did spawn from my stalker!Ghost thots, tho this fic isn't part of that universe), but I decided to post it anyway. So this little ficlet, despite being xReader, is more of a Ghost character study than anything else. This characterization is definitely experimental, and leans into the "Ghost and Simon are separate personalities" headcanon. No smut, but still NSFW.

Ghost x general's daughter!Reader

You were the daughter of some aging General, a balding, pot-bellied man on his way out, an honorable discharge in his near future. You’d come to visit him on the base, a tray of gooey brownies held firmly in your hands, two hot cocoas balanced on top, and a visitor’s badge pinned to your chest.

Initially, Ghost hadn’t taken much notice of you. Pretty thing, would be easy to kill, was his first impression. A casual, fleeting thought that he paid no attention to but made Simon shudder. There had been a time that when Ghost was in control, Simon was entirely unaware. He would come to and hours could have passed, sometimes days, or, on one particularly grueling campaign, even weeks. It was how he knew there was something evil lurking inside him. But in the desert, all was revealed, and Simon and Ghost were irrevocably tangled up in one another, the same but not, like two different sides of a single coin.

It wasn’t until you walked straight into his firm, broad chest and spilled the scaldingly hot drinks on him that he really noticed you.

Clumsy fuckin’ bird, Ghost thought angrily as he grunted in pain. Should break your bloody wings.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” You chirped, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. He waited for you to flinch and look away when you saw his mask, but you didn’t. You just shifted your tray of brownies to one hand, the other fluttering uselessly over his soaking wet chest for a few seconds, before you grabbed the hem of your dress in a panic and lifted it up to try and dry him off with it.

Your dress was long, long enough to keep you from flashing him entirely, but he still caught an eyeful of your legs, even a glimpse of your plush thighs. At least until you realized what you were doing and dropped your dress again with a squeak of embarrassment, cheeks reddening.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated earnestly, as Ghost stared down at you in bemusement. It wasn’t often he was shocked by someone’s behavior, but you were just so odd. It was, admittedly, amusing. Watching you squawk and try to smooth your ruffled feathers was like watching someone who’d tried to kill him choke on their own blood. Entertaining. Satisfying. Vaguely erotic.

“Are you okay?” You finally remembered to ask, reaching out to touch him again, as if to check him over. Ghost’s hands shot up, one wrapping around your wrist in a firm grip, the other moving to stop your dessert tray—which was tilting dangerously—from falling. He could feel your pulse thrumming beneath his finger tips, and the warmth of your skin seeped through his glove.

“M’fine,” he said shortly, voice deep and grumbly but not as hostile as usual. Simon’s influence, no doubt. Ghost almost rolled his eyes. His other half always banged on and on about treating ladies with proper respect. Ghost wasn’t particularly interested in sex with other people, preferring to fuck his own fist if the urge grew too great to ignore, but he thought about bending you over right here in this hallway and bullying Simon’s big cock into you, just to spite him.

“Oh! Thank you,” you said with a charming smile, entirely ignorant to the image he’d conjured up of you. One he found himself enjoying more than he’d thought he would. “I really am sorry,” you said for the third time, like a parrot echoing itself. Little bird indeed. “I’m such a klutz. Except for when I’m dancing. Then I’ve got at least a modicum of grace.”

Beneath his mask, Ghost raised a brow. Had he mistakenly given off the impression that he cared?

His silence was pointed, and you flushed deeper. You pushed the tray of brownies towards him, seemingly unphased by the grip he still had on it and your wrist. He let go.

“Go ahead, take it,” you said encouragingly, holding out the treat insistently. “It’s the least I can do to make up for ruining your shirt… I can always make more for Daddy another day.”

Simon’s cock twitched, and this time the dirty thoughts in their head were entirely his. Though Ghost could admit the thought of you calling him Daddy in that sweet little voice of yours, all innocent and sincere, was appealing. Perhaps there was something attractive about fucking another person after all.

“Don’t want any,” Ghost answered after a moment, and your face fell. But instead of taking his words for the dismissal they were, you perked back up and continued talking.

“Do you not like brownies? I can make you something else and come back tomorrow,” you offered, for some unknowable reason. Both Simon and Ghost were astounded the conversation had lasted this long, and worse yet, showed no signs of ending. “I can make lemon bars, white chocolate truffles, pudding, anything you’d like.. But nothing too fancy.” You giggled. No one had ever giggled in Ghost’s presence before. “I’m no professional baker. I just do it when the mood strikes, or when Daddy is craving something sugary. He’s the one who taught me to bake. Oh! Do you have any allergies? Nuts, gluten, anything? I don’t want to poison you…”

And on and on you went, rambling like Ghost was actually listening to you. Except that he was. Perhaps it was cruel curiosity, wanting to see how long you’d carry on making a fool of yourself. Or maybe it was Simon pitying you for the nerves in your voice, not wanting to interrupt you and make you more anxious. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that you were showing Ghost more kindness than he had ever received in his life.

Simon had experienced the joys of living, of companionship and love. Ghost had not, though he’d seen it all through their eyes. He hadn’t really thought that he was missing out on anything.

But now, with a lovely little dove like you offering to bake for him—not Simon, but Ghost—he thought he maybe he was, if just a tad. Especially if your pussy tasted as sweet as your baked goods smelled.

[cocosparkel]

anything with hermes please

All For You

(Hermes x princess!reader)

Summary:You are the sole daughter to a king in ancient Greece. What will you do when Hermes gives you an irresistible offer ?

Warnings: none

Word count: 636

Story tags: fluff ______________________________________________________________

You sighed as you flung yourself on to your bed. Being a princess may seem like a perfect life to everyone, but all you wanted was a little freedom.

Being the youngest daughter of the king with 3 older brothers, you were heavily pampered, and looked after like you were still a baby.

While this was nice at times, there were instances where all you wanted was for your family to let you make your own choice.

Just a few minutes ago, you had walked in on your father and your eldest brother planning on marrying you off to some prince. You had argued with them, and your father sent you to your room and forbade you to leave.

Honestly, all you wanted is to travel the world, explore the places your brothers and father had told you about. You wanted to sail through uncharted waters, and discover new places. But, being a woman seemed to be the problem here.

“Why so sad, darling ?” A mischievous voice said, and you looked up to find Hermes.

You scrambled out of your bed, “Hermes ?”He grinned, his wings fluttering as he floated to her.

“Do you know anyone else as handsome as me ?”

Laughing, you shake your head. “I thought you wouldn't be able to visit today ?”

Hermes was one of your best kept secrets. You had met him almost 2 years ago, by accident, and after that, you kept seeing him everywhere. It wasn't too long before your tentative friendship turned into something more.

“Can you blame me for wanting a break from my extremely tedious job ?" He said.

You rolled your eyes at that, but smiled nevertheless. “No, I guess I can't.”

“Well, tell me, my sweet princess, who do I have to blame for that frown on your pretty little face ?”

You could feel your cheeks turn red at his subtle flirting, as you stammered out a reply, “Father wants me to marry some prince..”

His face fell slightly,“I see.”

“But I don't want to marry him,” You blurted out.

“Oh ?” Hermes murmured, an unreadable expression on his face. “And why is that ?”

“I-I want to travel the world, I want to see every corner of the world and meet new people, learn about their culture, and-” she stopped suddenly, seeing the smile on Hermes’ face. “Sorry, I was rambling again… It's just that if I marry a prince.. I'll never be able to do that.”

“No no, it's fine.” He said, plopping down on her bed next to her, as they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

You bit your lip, stopping youself from saying how he was one of the reasons you didn't want to marry that prince, or any prince for that matter.

“You know, I could take you around the world.” Hermes said, suddenly standing up.

He looked at you, a strange intensity in his eyes.“Wherever it is you want to go, I can take you.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What ? Why ?”

He looked away, “I’d do anything for you, princess, if it means I get to have you for myself.”

You swallowed, shocked. Your thoughts were racing, was this his way of saying he wants you in a romantic way…?

“How ?” You asked.

He pulled you up with him.“You don't have to worry about it darling.” He said winking at you.

You still weren't convinced. Seeing your hesitation, he sighed.

“Don't you trust me ?” he asked with a small pout.

“I do.” You said without missing a beat.

His smile grew wider, “In that case, what are you waiting for?”

Giggling slightly, you hold his hand,and he pulls you towards him, before lifting you bridal style, leaving you a blushing mess.

“Ready princess ?” He asked, the glint in his eyes making you feel excited and apprehensive.

______________________________________________________________

A/N :

Hope you like this, your request was kind of vague, so I did this first.

(rules for requesting)

(If you liked this one, check out my other. Xreader story, Fatal)

[fanwarriorfictions]

Fix You

Short little Azriel one-shot. Sort of xReader but readers name is never used. I don’t know it’s just cute. Azriel is bad at taking care of himself, reader is a healer called to take care of him.

It was an effort to keep his wings from dragging behind him, the weight of them seemingly growing heavier and heavier the closer he got to the door.

He really should’ve just flown to the house of wind, taken a bath and collapsed into bed, but the moment he’d landed in Velaris, his body seemed to scream enough! And so he set about stumbling to the river house, cursing the dirt and blood caking his boots and leathers. There was no way he’d be able to get to his room without leaving a trail of it behind, a trail leading some busybody to his door to hound him to the healers office.

He didn’t need to go, he just needed to sleep it off. That’s what he kept telling himself even as his shadows whispered somethings wrong somethings wrong! Turns out the busybodies already found him.

“I’m fine,” he curses lowly, a scarred hand reaching for the door, “mind your own business.”

Usually the door wasn’t such a struggle to open, that should’ve been concerning, but Az was to focused on baths and beds to really care. He’d made it to the stairs, shadows frantically skittering around him, whispering so loud it hurt his head.

“Would you shut up?” He snaps.

The stairs looked impossibly steep, the ground was cold and bit at his wings, Feyre really picked a nice color to paint the walls, why is Cassian so loud?

“Az!”

He felt warm, a comforting feeling that almost lulls him back to sleep if it wasn’t for the voices surrounding him.

“What the hell happened?” A voice like night, familiar and filled with concern.

An equally familiar voice, “I came around the corner and he just fell face first into the stairs.”

“Call for Madja.”

“She’s away visiting Dawn,” a lighter voice sighs, “I’ll send for a healer from her clinic.”

The voices grew fainter, Az couldn’t tell if they moved away or if he was falling back into to blissful sleep, he didn’t need a healer, he just needed to rest. He tried to tell them that, but he was already asleep before he could even open his lips.

Cool fingers drift over his cheek, leaving a soothing trail of ice wherever they meet his flushed skin. The feeling is heavenly, he chases the hand as it falls away, grumbling quietly at the loss.

A melodic laugh sounds above him, he could bottle that sound and listen to it every day.

“He’ll be fine, other than a few cuts and bruises, which were already healing on their own when I got here, albeit slowly,” the voice says, “he overworked himself, sheer exhaustion caught up to him and his body just couldn’t keep up. I have some tonics to help him sleep, and to help with nutrition and energy levels.”

The words vaguely mean something to him, he doesn’t care what as long as she keeps speaking.

A loud sigh, “thank the Mother.”

His face scrunches up, why is he so loud.

Apparently he’d said the words aloud, he thinks at least due to the cough of a laugh and a disgruntled voice shouting, “hey!”

“Azriel,” the beautiful voice says, “how are you feeling?”

He sighs, lips turning up at the corners, “I’m fine, love.”

“Oh please,” the loud voice says, followed by the sound of smack.

The cool touch is back on his face, palm laid gently on his forehead, he feels a surge of energy beneath the touch, gently nudging away the fatigue over his mind. It comes back to him slowly, the loud voice, Cassian, the cool concerned one, Rhys. The house, the stairs, falling. The beautiful voice and gentle hands of the healer Feyre sent for to help him.

Azriel forces his eyes to open, first seeing his shadows dancing around him, dancing around soft fingers that pulled back from his face. He couldn’t rein in his shadows if he tried, not as they traveled up that arm towards the face of a female so beautiful it almost knocked him out again.

“You gave everyone quite the scare,” she says, a soft smile on lips that he is quite sure are just as soft, “how long has it been since you had a proper meal?”

He could detect the soft scolding tone of her voice and he couldn’t help the grin as he said, “is that an invitation?”

He vaguely heard the scoffed laugh of one of his brothers, a whispered conversation between the two of them and a pair of footsteps leaving the room.

The healer laughs quietly, a wonderful sound, “I see you’re in good spirits. That’s good.”

She smiles at a curious tendril of shadow that nudges at her cheek, almost like a cat seeking attention.

“It helps that I woke to the sound of an angel.” He’s glad his brothers left, he’d never hear the end of that one.

“I’m sure you say that to Madja all the time,” she chuckles, standing up to grab a bag off the desk by the door, “like I told your family, I’ve brought some tonics for you to get your strength back up, but they only work if you take care of yourself, shadowsinger.”

Azriel finally takes stock of the world around him then, his bedroom at the river house. The room elegantly decorated by Feyre to match the shadowsingers tastes. He lays on top of the deep navy duvet of his large bed, big enough for three Illryians. Someone had cleaned his clothes clothes, his boots and jacket gone, the black shirt and his leather pants clean of any stains.

The healer perches on the edge of the bed, eyes curiously assessing him. Beautiful his shadows whisper, and he could only agree. Absolutely beautiful.

Her hands reach out placing the tonics down on his night stand, arranging them with the carefully scrawled labels and instructions facing him. Her hand writing is soft and elegant, he wants to examine every swooping letter.

His shadows dance, twirling around the soft strands of her hair, tugging at her wrists to pull her towards him. He can’t find it in him to scold the things for it.

“You,” she turns towards the small wisp next to her face, “take care of him for me, please. Because I can tell he won’t listen to my advice.”

“Will you be here next time to patch me up,” he asks, “because if that’s the case I can assure you I won’t.”

She laughs, “don’t worry, I’ll fix you up if you need me. Just don’t make it a habit.”

Azriel grins, “no promises.”

She gives him a small smile in return, taking a bottle labeled sleep off the table, “I’ll be back with some tea. You need more rest.”

The shadows around her writhe, clearly not happy to see her go. She shoos them back, chuckling at their antics. Azriel watches her go, half tempted to ask her to stay, he wasn’t that far out of it to realize he shouldn’t do that.

Her voice flutters down the hall, talking to his brothers, asking oh so politely for some hot water and tea. They fade away towards the kitchen, even Cassian’s booming voice is muffled by the distance.

Azriel pushes off the bed to sit up slowly, his muscles feel more relaxed than he’s ever felt in his life, the vague memory of the painful state he’d been in feeling like a distant dream. Her magic worked its wonders on him, he could still feel it lingering there beneath his skin, almost like one of his shadows, examining him from head to toe in search of anything to fix.

“You shouldn’t get up to soon, you need to rest.”

There she was, a cup of tea balanced in one hand the other fisted on her hip. Her lips seem to try and frown but it looks more like a pout.

“I’m fine, love. I feel amazing actually,” he assures, “thanks to you.”

She sets the tea on the desk to her left, “my magic has that affect, like a pain relief tonic. It will continue to work until I leave, you are still healing so you may feel sore tomorrow, I’ve left a few pain tonics if you need them, if it is to much send for me, or Madja, she should be back in a few days, I know she is your preferred healer.”

His head tilts as listens to her ramble, loving the sound of her voice. He could listen to her talk all day long.

“Should I call for you even if I’m not in pain? Or is that a requirement for me to see you again? I’m sure either of my brothers would be happy to give me a few bruises for you to fix up.”

Her eyes light in amusement, “that is not necessary in the slightest.”

“Then I can call on you tomorrow? No fixing, maybe just some lunch?”

His shadows whisper in his ears but he’s to busy looking at her to listen to them.

“I’d like that, Azriel.”

His name on her lips sounds like the most beautiful song he’s ever heard. She hands him the tea and he drinks down the sweet liquid without question.

“You should get some rest,” she smiles, hands gently nudging his shoulders so he lays back down.

His eyes feel heavy, his body warm and relaxed, “thank you, angel.”

She laughs, “of course, shadowsinger.”

He’s drifting off to sleep, her laugh bringing him towards gorgeous dreams. His last shred of consciousness has only just enough time to think one thing before slipping through his grasp.

He’d never asked for her name.

[aro-of-argentum]

The Judas Arrangement

WC: 2,629

Notes: This is a snippet from a Dabi/Touya Todoroki xReader project I'm currently working on and I wanted to share it as a sneak peek for the full fic I will eventually be putting out! Mentions of character death, grief and attempts to manage it, mentions of arranged marriage, Natsuo is doing his best, it isn't enough.

Beta'd by: @teaspacebar

You were sitting in the same place you always did on January eighteenth, staring at the words carved into stone. Beloved son and brother. The sentimental phrase made your stomach turn. Touya was beloved, certainly, by you, by his siblings, and even by his mother, despite the strain in their relationship toward the end. But the man who paid for the headstone couldn’t have cared less. Endeavor had pushed his family to move on from the boy’s passing as soon as the cameras were pointed elsewhere, and despite their grief, they obeyed. You were the only one that visited this place now, the only one that tended to it.

Your knees were settled into the dirt at the base of the stone, and you remained, as you always did, despite the chill that seemed to seep into your very bones. The sound of footsteps on the earth was your alert you were no longer alone.

“You shouldn’t be out here like this, you’ll freeze.”

You knew he meant well, you honestly did, but for some reason you’d woken up in worse condition than you had in years for these visits. You were emotionally raw, and there was no room in your heart to be understanding of Natsuo’s feelings when the only thing you felt was despair.

You swallowed thickly to dislodge the lump in your throat before you spoke. “I’ve asked not to be disturbed while I’m here.” You continued to stare into the stone, eyes glassy but refusing to drip in front of your fiancé. He’d try to care for you if he saw you cry, and you couldn’t handle that right now. You wouldn’t have the patience to thank him and tell him he was being a good partner and dote on him in return.

He explained, “It isn’t your usual day,” as though that excused the interruption.

“It’s his birthday, Natsuo.”

“I know that.” He sighed, a tiredness creeping into his voice, though if it was caused by your behavior or the day, you weren’t sure. “That’s how I knew I’d find you here when you stopped answering my messages.”

A hum of disinterested acknowledgement left you as a vague awareness pinged in your brain to tell you that, yes, your phone had been buzzing the whole time you’d been here. You’d left it tucked in your bag anyway. “Why did you come here?” There was no accusation in your tone despite the 12-year-old little girl in your chest screaming that Natsuo should come here because he cares, not just to find you.

“My father asked to see us for lunch at his agency. We’re going to be late if we don’t-”

“Go without me,” you refused without hesitation. “Tell him I’m sick; I’ll apologize to him tomorrow.”

Natsuo was quiet for a moment before he admitted, “He wants to know about our plans for the wedding. And an explanation on why it was pushed back another six months.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

He sighed your name. “We have to-”

“I already agreed to the contract,” you reminded him. “You’re the one that’s holding out on hope of something that’s never going to come.”

The choked noise of hurt surprise that left him did not escape your notice, and yet you still refused to turn to look at him. “Y/n, please.”

“Just-” you had to smother the irritation bubbling in your chest, knowing it came from your emotional distress more than anything he’d done. “Natsuo, please,” you barely withheld the mimicry, “go away.”

The man was dejected, you could feel it without having to see him, and it rang through his voice when he finally relented, “I’ll see if he’ll meet with us tomorrow. Do you want me to bring you a blanket?”

A pulse of guilt pushed through your chest at his words, because of course, even when you were being belligerent and hurtful, Natsuo cared, he loved you, and wanted to make sure you were alright. “No. Thank you.” You needed the cold; it was a biting reminder of what you’d lost.

He sighed but pushed no further, and a moment later there were receding footsteps.

“He’s been doing that more lately,” you explained to the open air behind Touya’s headstone, the fatigue in your voice plain as day. “His expectations of me are growing, and he thinks I shouldn’t still be here, that I shouldn’t still be feeling this way. He doesn’t understand why I can’t-” you stopped, sentence unfinished at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Natsuo, please, just leave me alone.”

A voice you didn’t recognize responded, “Sorry to disappoint, but the guy that just walked out of here looking like a kicked fucking dog is long gone.” The man’s tone was low, dangerous, and his phrasing almost felt like a threat. You braced your hands on the ground beside you, slowly moving to stand until he spoke again from behind you. “No, no. Don’t get up. Don’t turn around.”

The command was clear, and your skin crawled at the sense of danger that was clawing its way up your spine. “What do you want?” you asked, eyes searching for something, anything, that might be able to help you right now.

“Now that we’re alone, you and I are going to have a little chat.” The rasp in his voice spoke to overuse and strain, and you couldn’t help but wince at the memory of the first time you’d done that to your own voice, just after a funeral when you were twelve. “Who was he?”

“My fiancé,” you answered, tone as cold as the air around you.

“Not him,” he clarified, “The headstone.”

A huff of a dark and humorless laugh escaped you. “Would you believe me if I said the answer was the same?”

He snorted. “Dates say he was a kid.”

You could hear the unspoken question of ‘how’ in his statement, so you answered it. “We were arranged.”

“And you’re grieving? What, seven years later?”

The question was almost mocking, and you knew it was stupid to be snarky right now. But knowing that didn’t stop you. “You never loved anybody like that?”

There was a pause, nothing audible in the near-freezing silence that covered the cemetery. Then, “Tell me about him.”

You actually laughed that time, gaze still downcast at Touya’s name. “Is that your thing? You corner people at their loved ones’ graves so you can watch them cry?”

He chuckled and for a moment you thought you recognized the sound, but the rasp took back over. “Just you. Tell me.”

Your fists clenched where they sat on your thighs, nails digging into your palms as you attempted to gather the words. “He was smart, and strong, and kind,” you decided was as good a place as any to start. You wanted this man out of your space as soon as possible, and maybe playing his game was the way to do that. “He was my best friend, and I loved him, at least as much as a child can understand what love is.” You could feel fresh tears in your eyes, still doing everything in your power not to let them fall.

“I thought you said it was arranged.”

“Yeah, we got lucky; got along like a house on fire.” You laughed barely audibly at your own joke, and heard him snort before immediately coughing and clearing his throat. Odd, you thought, given the lack of context for that comment, unless he’d seen the Todoroki name and assumed. “We spent every day together, went to all the same schools, did quirk training together, he was everything to me.” The sentimentality of your rant nearly had you forgetting the reason you were on it in the first place. A nostalgic, though slightly saddened smile crossed your features when you added. “We even called each other husband and wife.”

“And the new fiancé?”

Your expression soured, and you didn’t have the bandwidth to consider how messed up of you that was. “His younger brother. He offered to fulfill the marriage contract so that my family would still be taken care of.”

“Tch. Noble.”

Your irritation bubbled out of you before you could stop yourself from spilling your guts to the stranger that still stood behind you like a ghost. “Yeah, except he wants to get married because he’s in love with me and he refuses to accept that I won’t ever feel that way about him.”

“Why not?”

“Because Natsuo’s not him!” You almost shouted, gesturing toward the headstone. You felt a tear finally slide free, and you were quick to wipe it away, despite the fact you were sure the man hovering behind you could see it. Perhaps you could blame it on the phenomenon that it’s easier to open up to strangers than people you know that this was all suddenly ready to pour out of you for the first time in your life. “And maybe it was a long time ago, and children don’t know what love is, so how do you explain to someone that while all of that is true, you don’t think you could ever be in love with them. Because just being near him felt like waking up with the sunrise on your face, and losing him felt like loosing the sun, and you haven’t been able to find anything that feels like that since.” When your words ran out, the sobs finally ripped free of your throat, tears flowing uninterrupted. You did your best to catch your breath enough to speak again. “So, if you’re gonna steal my wallet or kill me, now would be a great time, cause even if I could do something about it, I might let you do it anyway.

“I am freezing and I am miserable and I wish To-” Another sob broke off the end of your sentence, the end of your wish that he was there to comfort you, to wrap you in a hug and lean down to burrow his head into yours and let his body heat and affection chase it all away just as he did when you were kids. You were so wrapped up in the idea that even as you heard the man behind you move closer, you made no attempt to protect yourself. You sat still, head bowed, and eyes closed, nails digging so hard into your palms so hard you were certain you’d bleed if not for your quirk.

The first thing you felt was heat. Rolling in waves like someone had opened a furnace door. His knees hit the ground, and you felt the man’s arms wrap around your waist. His chest pushed into your back, and his chin landed lightly on your shoulder, head knocking softly into the side of yours and pressing there.

Your eyes shot open as you froze, shock overtaking every other emotion in your body as you tried to reconcile the fact that this person somehow knew.

You heard him speak again, now so much softer in tone and volume, though the rasp was still present. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come for you sooner.”

Your voice felt lost, and you barely managed a broken whisper of, “What?”

His arms tightened around you, grip almost crushing when he spoke again. His voice was choked and watery, and quiet enough that if you weren’t so close you were sure you wouldn’t have heard him. “I saw photos of the family a year ago, you were with Nats, I thought- fuck I should have known. I should have come to get you, I’m so sorry.”

He seemed to be spiraling, hold on you fluctuating as his arms tensed and relaxed and tensed again. Your own thoughts were running at light speed, and your eyes finally trailed down, filling with emotion when you saw the scarred and mutilated skin of his arms, the staples at his wrists. “Your arms…”

The muttering over your shoulder stopped, and for a moment you weren’t sure he was even breathing. When you moved, there was no resistance in his hold, so you turned to face the man. Your gaze trailed up the sleeves of his jacket, and you found more of the same purpled skin where the garment ended at his throat. More scars, more staples, and his eyes.

A watery gasp filled your chest. You’d had daydreamy conversations when you were children about one day matching an engagement stone to those eyes. “Touya?”

He nodded, the movement small, hope in his eyes and something almost a smile on his lips when he pressed his face into your hand where it cupped his cheek. A sigh relieved the tension in his chest, the worry that all the changes in him would make you see him as a monster.

“You’re here.” Your disbelief was evident in your tone and your eyes.

“I’m here, it’s me.”

“You’re alive.”

“I’m alive.” His volume remained quiet, withheld, like he was scared to shatter the bubble around the two of you.

You smiled through the tears now freely flowing down your cheeks, which despite there being no sign they’d slow down, the man in front of you seemed content to continually wipe away with his thumbs as his palms cradled your face. Warmth spread from his touch, hot, but not enough to burn, never enough to burn you, even if he could. He’d always touched you with that kind of careful awareness of his quirk. “How?” you questioned, hands latching onto his wrists as overwhelming confusion and concern took over almost everything else. “In the park- you- we didn’t-”

He flinched at your grip but made no attempt to remove it as he cut you off. “I promise, I can explain, but I don’t have a lot of time right now, I-”

His own sentence was cut off by an explosion close enough to rock the ground, followed immediately by a phone ringing in his pocket. “What-” you tried with wide eyes, but your own phone blared Natsuo’s ringtone from your bag.

“Shit! Y/n, I have to go.” He moved to stand up, his hands pulling away from you as he did, and you panicked.

“Wait!” You stared up at him with wide eyes as your heart and mind raced alike. Your breathing grew labored as you considered what you were about to ask, but what else could you do when your best friend, your purpose in life, your everything was back within reach, staring down at you, about to leave you behind again. “Take me with you.”

“It’s not safe, I can’t-”

“It doesn’t matter! I can’t lose you again,” you were begging; you didn’t care. “Don’t leave me.”

His jaw tightened for only a moment before, “Fuck! Come on,” he commanded, pulling you to your feet.

You made no attempt to grab your things as he stormed away with you in tow, and you couldn’t help but notice that even though he’d said he was leaving, he’d never dropped your hand.

“You have to stay close to me, you have to do everything I say, without question, and you have to call me Dabi. Good?” He threw the question into the air, knowing you’d be listening. He waited until he heard you respond with an ‘okay’ far too sure, before shaking his head, unable to determine whether he was happy or terrified for what he was about to do. “You’re not going to like where we’re going.”

And now, as his fingers intertwined with yours to pull you along as the pair of you broke into a run, you cleared the boundary of the cemetery, leaving your things, your grief, maybe your entire life, at the headstone of Touya Todoroki.

[lyranova]

Out of Curiosity

Hiya guys! So, i woke up today with this fluffy idea where Yuno gets some advice from Father Orsi and I just had to write it! I wrote it kind of vaguely so it can be an Xreader or an OC or whatever you guys want (since the primary focus is on Yuno and Father Orsi, the “reader” or “romantic interest” only makes a cameo)! I hope you all enjoy~!

Word Count: 715

Warnings: None

————

“ Father Orsi…can I ask you something?” Yuno asked softly as the older man walked out of the church and stood beside him.

Father Orsi blinked at him in surprise.

“ Of course, you can ask me anything!” He replied a little more eagerly than he had meant to.

He watched Yuno frown a bit.

“ What does it feel like when you…like someone?” He asked, his tone slightly hesitant and unsure, which caused the older man beside him to become even more surprised.

“ That’s an odd question,” Father Orsi began before his mind repeated Yuno’s question.

“ Wait, are you asking that because you like someone?!” He exclaimed, his eyes wide and jaw almost hitting the floor in shock.

Yuno sighed and turned away from Father Orsi.

“ Forget it,” He muttered as he began to walk away, but he stopped when the other man reached out to grab his arm and stop him.

“ Hey, hang on a minute!” Father Orsi exclaimed quickly as he pulled the younger man back towards him. “ I’m sorry, it’s just a little surprising since you’ve never really shown an interest in things like liking someone before.”

Yuno reached up and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as his gaze shifted away.

Father Orsi smiled a bit, the last time he had seen the young man look and act this way was when he was a small child…

“ I never said I liked someone,” Yuno muttered, his gaze still shifted away. “ I was just curious about it…since I’ve never felt that way about someone myself.”

Father Orsi gave him a slightly disbelieving look, but didn’t comment on it; instead, he let out a thoughtful hum.

“ Well, from what I understand, it’s different for everyone; some feel like their stomachs are in knots, or that their heart is fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar,” He began as he placed a hand under his chin in thought.

“ Some people find that they’re always thinking about that person, and that they always want to be near them. Some find that they feel like something is missing when that person is away…and some feel like they’ve been lost in a sea of darkness their entire life, and are only just now seeing a bright light on the surface.”

“ Speaking from experience Father?” Yuno asked with a slightly raised eyebrow, and the older man’s eyes widened and his face turned bright red.

“ O-Of course not! I’m just telling you what I’ve been told!” Father Orsi exclaimed, making Yuno chuckle softly.

“ Anyway,” He continued after clearing his throat. “ Some people feel all those things at once, some only one or two, and some don’t feel any of those at all; some just find that they feel more comfortable around the other person than with others. It’s different for everyone, and I’m sure it’s different for you too.”

Yuno slowly nodded as he took in the older man’s words.

“ Thanks, Father Orsi,” Yuno muttered softly as he glanced over at the priest.

Father Orsi blinked in surprise again, but he smiled fondly at the young man and almost felt tears well up in his eyes.

“ Anytime Yuno.”

The two suddenly turned as loud echoes of laughter and shouts floated up towards them, and they saw Sister Lily, the kids, Asta, and another friend of Yuno’s from the Capital walking towards them.

“ By the way, Yuno,” Father Orsi suddenly began. “ Why did you come to me with that question instead of going to Sister Lily?”

Yuno gave a small shrug as he glanced over at him.

“ Because she wasn’t here.” He answered deadpan, making Father Orsi blink.

“ So, the only reason you asked me was because I was here at the time?!” He asked in shock, and the other man nodded.

“ Pretty much.”

Father Orsi sighed in defeat as he hung his head in disappointment, and here he thought Yuno actually came to him because he wanted to get his advice…

But when he glanced back up he saw a soft look on Yuno’s face as he watched the small group of people coming towards them, and he followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at his companion from the Capital.

“ You were asking just out of curiosity, my foot.” Father Orsi thought with a chuckle.

————

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[goldfeizh]

"Harold with a Goth Reader!"

PAIRING : Harold/Reader, established relationship

FANDOM : Total Drama, headcanons

CONTAINS : Fluff, words like "pretty" and "gorgeous" used in a gender-neutral way

He ADORES you; He loves looking at you, watching you do your makeup, he loves it when you show him your outfit. Harold just genuinely thinks that you're really really pretty.

Harold would learn anything and everything he can about Goth Subculture. Like, the moment he realizes that he has a crush on you, he is gonna spend his whole night searching the internet for information to impress you with.

He often thinks about what he would look like if he was Goth, but he's also extremely reluctant to try it out. Although, he'd be secretly ecstatic if you offer to put makeup on him.

He has tried listening to Goth Music before, but he couldn't really get himself into it much. He definitely finds it cool, though, and he enjoys discovering new songs that he thinks you would like. PLEASE make playlists for this man, he doesn't even care if it's genres he actually listens to, the mere fact that you thought of him while listening to music already makes him so happy.

This man would defend you with his life— not as much physically, but he can and will talk anybody's ear off if they call you emo. He would ramble on about all the differences between Emo and Goth Subculture.

To be honest, Harold was probably intimidated by you at first. Like, he thought you looked cool, he was just a little nervous around you.

Once you actually talk to him, he becomes even more nervous— not out of fear, but because WOW, do you look gorgeous up-close. Mans is stuttering so much that you can't even understand what he's trying to say.

He's the type of guy to find some random object at a thrift store or a cool shiny rock, and he would bring it to you and be like "This reminded me of you! :D"

If you like literature or poetry, Harold would write poems for you. Most of it is really sappy and maybe a little cringy but it's cute.

Cemeteries freak him out, but if you like going to them, he would still accompany you. His hands are shaking while you hold them, he's jumping and flinching at every sound that he deems creepy, but he is staying by your side.

Concerts. He's never been to one but he thinks they're awesome and he would be over the moon if you asked him to go to one with you! He'd be happily holding your hand in the crowd. He's also rather tall, so he'll hold your phone for you up high to record the concert.

Harold enjoys celebrating Halloween with you. He has always wanted to dress up like a vampire, it is a childhood dream of his, and he will not admit it until you actually tell him that you wanna dress up as Vampires for Halloween.

He's a patient man but he can't deny the fact that it takes you so long to get ready. Like, if you guys are going to an event with a set time that you should be there by, he's waking you up atleast 2 or 3 hours earlier than the usual time you wake up so you can start getting ready earlier because he does not want to be late— unless it's an event that he doesn't really wanna go to, then take as long as you want.

For the Goth Harold lovers. I don't see enough xReaders for this man, he's one of my favorite characters and I think he deserves some love!! I'd also like to note that I'm not Goth, I tried to do as much research as I can, and also tried to keep some things genera and maybe a little vague because I didn't want to end up offending a group of people. Please tell me if I got anything wrong, constructive criticism, likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[3pirouette]

Fic: Tender Payment for Our Sins (1/?)

Title: Tender Payment for Our Sins

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: TLOU season 1.

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Jackson is less idyllic than it seems, as is everything post-infection. He doesn't want to see you tossed out, and can’t take the way you flinch when the men come sniffing around, so he does the only thing he and Ellie can think of to keep you around. 

Dark fic in a less than idyllic Jackson. Themes concern medical assault, SA, infant and pregnancy loss, and medical experimentation as well as PTSD. The majority of these situations are not portrayed in the story, only recounted by the “reader” character. Chapters will have sufficient warnings. Still lots of fluff and sexiness to be had. Protective!Joel, Soft!Joel. Fem!Reader, little to no description otherwise. No use of Y/N. No/slight age difference. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. 

Tags: Joel (The Last of Us)/Reader, Joel (The Last of Us)/You, Ellie & Joel (The Last of Us), Joel & Tommy (The Last of Us)

Characters: Joel (The Last of Us), Ellie (The Last of Us), Tommy (The Last of Us), Maria (The Last of Us), Reader

Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Slow Burn, Fake Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Medical Trauma, pregnancy loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Family Dynamics, No age gap, No use of y/n, Eventual Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Past Sexual Abuse, Stalking, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Touch-Starved, Infant Loss, Joel is Trying His Best (The Last of Us)

Story A/N: Born out of the forced marriage/fake marriage trope and musings on what a post apocalypse world might actually look like. Also, I just really need this Joel in my life.

Though I’ve tried to make the Reader fairly vague, I’ve been told my reader characters border on OC’s. She has QUITE the extensive and dark backstory, but little to no physical description aside that she’s close in age to Joel. PLEASE, please, please check all the tags. 

I’m only familiar with the TV series, and this is fairly AU of that. Despite posting date, 151 k of this (however long it ends up being) was written before season 2 dropped, so don’t expect it to be remotely close to that.

I’ve been working on this for almost two years now, and decided to bite the bullet and post since a goal of mine was to post before TLOU2 started. The end is written (and will not change, no matter the feedback), significant holes in the middle are not. I will endeavor to post every week, and it will live up to the rating for many reasons.

I have no beta, and no one that’s been able to give me feedback on this particular fic due to the nature of it. This is my first second-person POV, my first present tense fic, my first xReader fic, and my first TLOU fic. I welcome constructive criticism, but please be kind about it.

Prologue I/II: At First Glance/Strays

Chapter Warnings: injury

Chapter Summary: Your arrival in Jackson, Joel’s view of your first few months. 

Chapter A/N: This story is technically set after season 1, though the timeline of Maria’s baby makes that a bit shaky, so… Maria’s just going to be pregnant for a loooong time. In the show it looks like Joel and Ellie get back to Jackson bordering on Spring/Summer, reader finds Jackson the following February. 

Prologues are purposefully written in past tense; the rest of the story is in present tense. 

Chapter 1: The Weight of Reality

Chapter Warnings: none

Chapter Summary: Joel meets you, and finds that it might actually be worth it to have a friend. 

Chapter A/N: Rest of the story is in present tense. Current time line is early June. 

Full Story on AO3

Most recent CHAPTER on AO3

~*~

Prologue I: At First Glance/Prologue II: Strays

Summary: Your arrival in Jackson, Joel’s view of your first few months. 

A/N: This story is technically set after season 1, though the timeline of Maria’s baby makes that a bit shaky, so… Maria’s just going to be pregnant for a loooong time. In the show it looks like Joel and Ellie get back to Jackson bordering on Spring/Summer, reader finds Jackson the following February. 

Prologues are purposefully written in past tense; the rest of the story is in present tense. 

~*~

Prologue I: At first Glance

At first glance, Jackson was idyllic. 

A safe haven. 

After a few months you came to know the shadows, the darkness that haunted it that everyone tried to hide. 

No one had come to Jackson pure, unscathed. No one who had gone through Outbreak Day or who had been born after that knew lightness, knew happiness the way the world had before that day, and it showed in every pair of eyes you saw. 

It had been a blessing when you ran into the two-man patrol, limping with a sprained ankle and what you were pretty sure was a broken wrist, out of bullets and two days with no food and only mouthfuls of snow for water. You’d fully expected to die there, in the snow, alone. 

From exhaustion or a bullet, it didn’t really matter to you how you died, as long as it wasn’t an infected.

But now you were here, wandering around what reminded you of a fake Wild West tourist trap crossed with a sitcom suburb as the snow is starting to melt in the throes of spring, hand wrapped up tight and a slight limp leftover that the doctor said would fade with time. 

Maria said you needed to find a way to be useful. To contribute. 

She told you that the first day, and every day since, sniffing around to see how fast your wrist was healing, how quickly she could get you on a work roster. She watched you try to sew and shoot and ride a horse. All the while, the same words repeating over and over while her eyes stayed cold. 

Be useful. Contribute. 

You didn’t like the way she said it, didn’t like the intonations she put on it. You were more than happy to pull your weight somehow: washing dishes or in the green house. You knew you didn’t have many useful skills for a place like this, but you’d find something given enough practice.

You absolutely needed practice. None of the skills they needed were things you would ever put on a resume. 

Still, the way she said it seemed more ominous each time. The way she smiled a fake smile at a group of men across the street from you just after the words fell from her lips one day, it made your spine crawl. 

You knew how some women were seen as useful now. 

You’d rather be back out in the snow with no bullets. 

At first glance, Jackson was idyllic. 

But the people were harsh. They were critical. They smiled out of one side of their mouth and gossiped out the other. They waved with one hand while hiding a dagger behind their back in their fist. They all had the same weary, dark edge that permeated the apocalypse and weren’t afraid to let it show if they thought no one was looking. 

Now, everywhere you looked, you saw the lurking shadows, and it made you wonder how much you wanted to stay.

~*~

Prologue II: Strays

Joel Miller would say, if asked, that he did not pick up strays. He didn’t collect people, didn’t take them under his wing, didn’t look out for them. 

The truth was, though, he hated seeing people struggle in this world if he could help. 

It was something he’d learned about himself the hard way from Austin to Boston and then even more so Boston to Jackson, something he would have rather kept a secret as he tried to carve out a little hole for himself and Ellie in the small town that seemed too good to be true. Everyone put themselves first in this world, and he couldn’t afford to do any less for him and Ellie. 

He kept to himself, mostly. Helped where he could. Took extra shifts when someone was needed. He knew how to make himself needed, how to make himself useful. 

Useful was always better than liked post-outbreak. 

Useful people were kept around. Useful people were left alone. Useful people got an extra share of coffee or got to keep the bottle of whisky they found. Useful people gained a little bit of power in being needed by others. 

But he watched you struggle as you tried to find your own way in the town, and it made him anxious more than anyone he'd ever seen before. 

He couldn’t get the image of you, slipping to the ground in the middle of the trees, cradling your hand to your chest and shaking, out of his head. He couldn’t get the little whimpering sound that you made when he picked you up and slipped you on his horse out of his ears. 

He couldn’t forget the way you’d whispered, “Please, no,” when he got on behind you, turning back for Jackson, or how you stayed stiff and shivering the whole way. 

He didn’t need you to say what had happened to you. He’d heard enough stories, seen enough in his lifetime, to be able to imagine what could make you plead like that. 

He remembered the relief in your eyes when he walked you into the small house that held the doctor, when you realized he’d been telling the truth and that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t going to be as bad as you were thinking. 

But he watched you struggle in Jackson, watched you try job after job in the rotation only to get bumped to the next one down the list for months. He watched you try to make friends at meals: the way some people passed you over as you smiled up at them reminded him of the clicks of high school lunchrooms past, leaving his food tasting sour in his mouth. 

He watched you flinch when the young men, the single young men, were the ones that did sit with you, did try to talk with you. You’d smile until they said something that didn’t sit right and then you’d shut down, the light of a new friend, a new connection falling from your eyes. 

He watched you flinch away when they reached for your hand or to touch your face, and it made his blood boil. 

He didn’t think you’d want to talk with him more than you wanted to talk to anyone else. 

But he was tired of watching it. 

He was tired of watching you struggle when you seemed like you were trying so hard to find a space for yourself in this town. 

Maybe he did take people under his wing. 

Maybe he did collect strays. 

He still wouldn’t admit to it. 

~*~

Chapter 1: The Weight of Reality

Summary: Joel meets you, and finds that it might actually be worth it to have a friend. 

A/N: Rest of the story is in present tense. Current time line is early June. 

~*~

“Anyone sittin here?”

You look up from your lunch, surprised at the soft, southern accent drifting over you. You remember it, remember the whispered words of comfort as you sat, trapped by his arms on his horse, cradling your wrist from every jolt on your way into Jackson the first time. You haven’t seen him since that day aside from glances here and there, passing nods and waves as you move through the streets, but you know who he is. You found out fast as soon as you were working and meeting people. 

Joel Miller has a reputation: Tommy’s brother, a hard worker, a good surrogate father… 

A good man. 

He may try to keep to himself, but everyone knows everyone here, and even you’ve heard whispers and gossip. 

You swallow quickly. “No,” you offer, holding your hand out to the two empty chairs around your table. You had started taking the smaller tables, your hope of making new friends dwindling with each passing day, with each failure at a new assigned job. “Help yourself.”

In truth, you expect him to grab a chair and drag it over to the table where his brother sits. You prepare for the sting of that rejection that never comes when he slides it out, setting his bowl down before sitting. 

He must see the surprise in your eyes, because he pauses. “You don’t mind if I join you, right?”

“No,” you shake your head, trying to will the surprise from your face as you look away from him to stir your stew. “Not at all.”

“Just thought,” he clears his throat, settling closer into the table, “thought we hadn’t been properly introduced.”

You laugh, a quick huff of air through your nose. “You mean because I was half alive the last time we were together?”

He almost smiles, setting his spoon into his own bowl. “Yeah, something like that.”

You skip the pleasantries: you know he knows your name, just like you know he knows you know his. “I didn’t get the chance to thank you, being terrified and nearly catatonic with pain and all by the time we got back here.” 

“Made getting you off the horse a little tougher, I’ll tell you that,” he deadpans, slipping a spoonful between his lips. 

You smile as he chews, surprised at how easy it is to talk to him. How relaxed he seems. It calms you, just like those soft whispers of You’re alright, just keep breathing and you’re gonna be okay did in your ear all those months ago. 

He just wants to talk. Share a meal. 

It’s the very thing you’ve been hoping for with someone, anyone in town since you got here. You just want to have someone to talk to. Someone to take up space so you don’t feel so lonely. Someone to share a meal with. 

So, you do. 

He asks you about how you’re settling in, and you sigh when you tell him that it’s not well. You try to keep it light: silly anecdotes as you tell him how you lost two sheep when you were working with the livestock, then burned the bread and managed to break the rice cooker in the kitchen, how you thought the green onions were weeds and managed to pull half the crop before someone told you otherwise when they assigned you to the greenhouse…

He doesn’t laugh, like you expect, or try to give you unsolicited advice like others have, he just nods along as he eats, genuinely interested. 

You’ve been subjected to so many judging eyes, so many raised voices nearly yelling as you failed task after task you didn’t really know how to do and hadn’t been adequately trained for, that this feels like heaven. He doesn't judge, just listens. He isn’t wary, like the women seem to be. He isn’t aggressive, like most of the other men. He doesn’t seem to have anything that he wants from you, at least not yet. 

You scrape at the bottom of your bowl, tearing your bread into little tiny pieces just to have a reason to stick around and listen to him talk about the construction he starts to detail that he and Tommy are planning for the spring to help sure up one of the houses when finally stops talking and you ask him if he only does patrols. 

He shakes his head. “Guard duty and patrols are what I’m best at, but Tommy and I head up construction in the spring when the weather breaks and everything needs to be fixed up.” He tilts his head, eyes boring into you. “Hey, you don’t happen to be an engineer by chance, do ya?”

You laugh for real this time: a big bark of a laugh that gets him smiling all the way up to his eyes. “No! No, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. Why?”

“We’re talking about trying to build a water wheel in the creek, maybe get a good old-fashioned mill going.” He shrugs, pushing his bowl away so he can fold his arms on the table. “So, what did you do that made that seem so funny?”

“I was a writer,” you look down at your hands, twiddling your fingers and missing the click of a keyboard under them. “An indoors girl, through and through, which may be why I have absolutely no useful skills here.”

He skips over your self-pity, and you’re not sure if you’re thankful for that or if you were actually hoping for him to send you some reassurance you’d have some useful skills. His mouth quicks up in a half smile, “What did you write?”

“Anything,” you shrug, surprised by the fact that he seems genuinely interested. “It wasn’t very lucrative, so I took whatever work I could get. Mostly magazine articles. I ghost wrote some web content. I was shopping around a book, but publishers didn’t seem all that interested.”

His eyebrows lift, soft surprise on his face. “You wrote a book?”

You try not to blush. You haven’t even thought about your book in years, never mind talk about it. “I did.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but the sounds of scraping chairs get his attention. You both look up the clock at the front of the room, and start cleaning your places at the table. 

Lunch is over. Afternoon jobs are starting for those that have them. 

This little interlude, as nice as it has been, has come to an end. 

“Suppose we should get going,” he offers instead of whatever he had been about to say, standing. “I’m on front gate this afternoon. You?”

You look up at him, his face soft and sweet and the kindest thing in this town you’ve encountered so far, even if people call him gruff and rude and sharp behind his back. “Mucking the stalls,” you reply, trying to fill it with as much enthusiasm as you can as you stand next to him. “Hopefully, I can’t screw up shoveling shit.”

His half smile as you both walk to the dish room window is more than enough to make you feel like you want to seek him out again. “Don’t, uh- don’t count on that. Harder than it looks.” Something about the way he says it isn’t a dig, not a slight or a comment on your abilities, but it’s a tease. Something light. 

Something a…a friend might say. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply softly, shoving your hands in your jeans, following him out the front door and splitting your separate ways without a goodbye. 

~*~

Joel sits, fidgeting, next to Ellie as the movie is projected on the wall of the dining hall. He hasn’t seen it in a long time, he’d even been looking forward to tonight, but his attention couldn’t be farther away. 

You’re not the only one missing from the room, but the town is small and he can count the number of people missing. Movie nights are a big deal around here, and he’s never seen a new person miss the chance to see a piece of their past before. 

He tries to talk himself out of it, tries to tell himself maybe you don’t like Tom Hanks. 

Who doesn’t like Tom Hanks?

But then, he hadn’t seen you at dinner, either, and that makes him anxious. 

He’d expected you to be jumpier than you were when he sat with you, expected the conversation to be stilted and difficult, but it flowed soft and natural and it made sense in his mind when he learned you’d spent your life before all this working with words. 

He isn’t good at words, at least not the ones that mean anything, but he could bullshit with the best of them before. Now, he prefers to keep his words to himself. 

But with you, it was easy. Ebbing and flowing of ideas, no pressure, just thoughts and sentences that didn’t need to be great declarations or meaningless pleasantries. 

It was a real and true conversation. 

One that he actually enjoyed.

It makes him all the more curious as to why you are always alone, as to why it seems you struggle so hard with others. 

Across the lunch table, he could see the smile lines that reached your eyes, the folds by your cheeks where your lips turned up as you talked, the little silver highlights in your hair that told him you were older than he originally thought. You had a life, a job, and you remembered the before like he did, through the eyes of an adult who lost the future they’d been banking on, a future you’d all been promised.  

He’d hoped to find you at dinner. To keep talking. To introduce you to Ellie. 

Then he’d hoped to find you here. To enjoy the easy comfort you’d afforded at lunch. 

You hadn’t wanted anything from him. 

That’s rare. 

Most of the women in Jackson are attached to a man, those that aren’t attached desperately want to be. Sadly, there is a measure of protection that is afforded to the women that are attached. Jackson isn’t exactly dangerous for a single woman, there are rules and laws and everyone has agreed to a certain way of life. Those that break those agreements are punished… when the council finds out. If they find out. 

And so the women who talk to him often want things from him. Time. Labels. Commitments. 

People couple up fast in Jackson, and he steadfastly avoids it. 

He isn’t looking for a wife or a girlfriend. He’s perfectly happy the way he is. 

But the conversation… the conversation with you was nice. Something different. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

His meandering thoughts make him even more anxious. Missing dinner he can rationalize: mucking out stalls isn’t exactly the most appetizing job. But now, it is dark out. There are dark corners and little side alleys everywhere that you could get lost in, that you could have gotten stopped in. He knows you’ve been here for months now, but it doesn’t stop the rush of protectiveness he feels. Some of the boys are aggressive, and even though he and Tommy have spoken to Maria about it on more than one occasion, there doesn’t seem to be much anyone wants to do about the pressure the boys put on the ladies to couple up, to commit and be just a little more subservient than seems necessary.

Maria had looked him straight in the eyes, not a single subservient bone in her body, protected by the power afforded to her by the council and her place in this society, and told him on no uncertain terms, “Don’t rock the boat, Joel. We got a good thing going here. You start pushing people out of their comfort zones and they push back hard.” 

The screen blurs, the parallel lines of the pause symbol shining bright as a break is announced, and snacks are put out for the kids. It pulls him out of his thoughts, springing him back in the present. 

Joel stands, unable to wait any longer. “You gonna stay here?”

Ellie looks up at him, head cocked. “Um, yeah.” She snips sarcastically, as if she has anywhere else to go. “Where do you plan on going?”

He isn’t sure what he wants to say. He doesn’t want her thinking things that she shouldn’t be thinking, or getting the wrong idea. 

“Gotta check on a friend.”

Ellie barks out a laugh. “Bullshit. You don’t have friends.”

He presses his lips together, shaking his head. “Just… stay here, ok?”

He doesn’t wait for her answer, just weaves his way through the crowded room and out the doors, pulling his jacket on. The Lodge is just down the street: a hotel that had been renovated right before the outbreak, it serves just as well as an apartment building of sorts for new residents or residents who don’t want or need a whole house. 

He looks in every alley he passes, down every street. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t trust you to be smart, to take care of yourself. 

It’s that he knows what some of those men say to their friends when they don’t think anyone else can hear. 

The alleys are all, thankfully, dark and quiet. 

~*~

The knock on your door makes you jump. You’re not expecting anyone, and the only person who has come to see you in the months since you arrived is Maria, stopping in every so often to change your assignment, to sigh heavily and tell you that you have to find a place where you fit here or else it’s gonna be harder to rationalize keeping you. 

They say it’s socialist, but there’s an edge to it that makes it a little less kumbaya than you’d like. It feels a little more “Lord of the Flies” to you some days. 

Maria should be at the movie tonight, something you’d hoped to see, so it leaves you wary. 

In the peephole is a face you don’t expect. 

You throw the door open, the towel slipping from around your wet hair so you have to fumble to catch it. “Joel?”

He looks uncomfortable, hands in his pockets and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You ball the towel in your hands if only to give you something to do while you wait for him to explain why he’s at your door. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you: wet, tangled hair, mismatched sweats that came from a community pile that are just a little too big through the shoulders and a little too short in the legs, bare feet on the threadbare carpet. You know you must look a sight. 

“What’s up?” You want to ask what’s wrong, what he’s doing here, but you try to keep it light, even though the words feel woefully out of place. The anxiety you felt at having to open the door melts. Something about him still puts you at ease, just like it did at lunch, despite the awkwardness of him showing up at your door. 

“Nothin’,” he lies, shaking his head and looking away. “Nothin’, I just…” He recenters himself, physically and mentally and you realize just how tall and broad he is when he takes up your doorway. “Didn’t see you at dinner, then didn’t see you at the movie and… wanted to know how the stables went?”

You almost laugh. He surprises himself with the end of the sentence, like he didn’t know where it was going before it came out of his mouth. 

There’s nothing to laugh about, though. “Great,” you mutter, suddenly embarrassed. “Fabulous.” You shake your head and lean on the edge of the open door. “Missed dinner ‘cause it took me so long to do, and you can’t leave ‘till you’re done. Then I just… I couldn’t go anywhere until I got that smell off me, ya know?” You shrug. “Just got out of the shower. I missed most of the movie, huh?”

“Yeah.” He scuffs his foot on the ground, and you can feel the palpable nervousness coming from him. He doesn't know what to say. 

Neither do you. 

You want to invite him in, you’ve been looking forward to maybe seeing him again, but you’re tired and sore and you want nothing more than to curl up in your bed and sleep. 

“Thanks,” you settle on, his head lifting to look at you, “thanks for checking on me.”

“Wasn’t—”  he starts to argue, but it drops when he sees your face, head cocked and eyebrows low, disbelieving. “I just… just wanted to make sure you were alright, being… new… and all.”

You’re not new, though. It’s been months of trying to find your place once your wrist healed and your limp faded. You’re starting to feel old; you’re starting to feel the weight of not having found a place that feels like it fits for you here. 

It’s like he knows that somehow, though, the way he says it. 

“I appreciate it,” you nearly whisper back. You want to tell him just how much you appreciate it, just how much it makes you feel real and seen to have someone care enough to check on you as opposed to telling you you’re not doing enough. 

You don’t. 

“I was gonna turn in early.”

“Gotta head back…”

Your words overlap, suddenly feeling like the awkwardness of a first date. But you aren’t waiting on a kiss goodnight. You expect nothing from this man that literally saved your life. He’s already given you far more than you expected today. 

With soft good nights, you close your door. 

The room feels lonely now, but you feel a little less alone. 

[lily-alphonse]

February Fic Roundup

This month's theme was: CANDY

"Candy Bag" by @sunflower1me | Cookie Run | Rated G | 100 Words

Sunflower always knocks it out of the park with their drabbles. This was my first introduction to Cookie Run, and damn, the devs really pop off with their character designs??? This drabble features Cotton Candy Cookie being a hopeless little romantic cutie like she does best (she's just like me fr)

"Cotton Candy Crush" by @steamyearlgray | ORIGINAL | Rated T | 1,520 Words

WOW Steamy coming in hot with this banging original. I had no idea what to expect going in since I avoided the tags and damn that ending caught me off guard and I fucking loved it. I NEED MORE OF ALEXEI STEAMY PLS

"Sugar Rush" by lily-alphonse | Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Rated E | 3,232 Words

I'm watching Buffy for the first time and just got through the band candy episode of season 3 and... iykyk. I need Giles. So he gets an xreader lol. I rarely ever write xreader but I'm trying to get into it more. This is also a new fandom for me! Fun

"Backup Plan" by @softwarecorruption-exe | Ace Attorney | Rated T | 1,982 Words

Ahhh this was sooo cute omg. This one's for the classic fluff enjoyers. Absolutely love how stilted Miles is and how adoring Phoenix is. They make such a cute pairing.

"Sweet Treat" by @nuka-pepsi | Fallout 4 | Rated E | 4,462 Words

Shrimp is here bursting onto the fic scene with a sapphic smut to satiate the thirsty women-lovers of the wasteland. What a fabulous first entry! If you've ever lusted after Magnolia this one's for youuu

What is the monthly roundup? Me and my writer friends get together every month and write a ficlet/oneshot surrounding a monthly prompt. It's a silly little challenge for us, and a fun chance for readers to get a sampling of a variety of different fandoms and genres.

Can I suggest a future theme? Sure! My inbox is open if you would like to suggest a theme, but keep in mind these are not requests and are meant to be open-ended and vague. Part of the fun of this challenge is seeing everyone's wildly different interpretations!

**All fics are posted to AO3. Please check tags for content warnings, reader discretion is always advised. If you check out any of the fics listed here, comment and kudos are very appreciated!

[goatgoesmbe]

I found out a new fear of mine

Xreader fic where the appearance and outfit is described in the fic— even tho it's not tagged (in which i'd assume would be vague and inclusive)

That's not the scary part, the scary part is where the appearance and outfit are all accurate to me irl 🧍

As if the author been spying on me- 👁️👁️

[yourlocaltreesimp]

A Hero’s guide on how to heal

This has been in the works for admittedly longer than i’d like. For the lovely, @biblicallyinaccuratespoons! I’m releasing this in two parts with the second portion being xreader. But worry not if you’re not here for romance, this part is entirely no romance and no reader. (a shocking twist)

Part 2 here!

cw: themes of self harm/self deprecation and anxiety

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

The hero of the skies was many things across myth and legend. He did every job, solved every problem, ran every errand, caught every bug and killed every monster. He’d saved every life and tied off every loose end. He’d done it all. A million times over. And it seemed that in every sense of the word, he transcended the mortal confinements of life.

His mantle did not fade and crack over time. The sword he fired remained used through the eras. His very existence is what defined many more further down the river of time.

His life was over, but his influence persisted.

He was the example of what the hylians were intended to be. Innovative, strategic, crafty, determined, intelligent, self reliant. He held no hesitation. He slashed down monsters with no more than a few seconds of spare thought to strategy. He adventured with no break and to no absolute end with little more than a sword given to his hands.

He was perfect.

He was their hero.

Now, meeting his descendents, he knows more about what the world made of him. He’s seen his likeness among statues and stage, never quite right. No amount of ink or pigment would truly encompass him. And when it rarely did it’d stretch and pull at him until he was distorted. To the following generations, he was story. No longer was he some shy awkward kid doing what he could to keep Skyloft safe.

He was no longer just their hero.

He knows now that his image was distorted to whatever tale made the people most interested. He was no longer a person as he was some vague shifting figure. He was no longer the life he led.

He was the life the author gave him.

He was no longer the author, he was the muse.

But such was the mythos.

It didn’t bother him, not as much as it would’ve directly after his journey. He acknowledges now -able to look back upon himself and feel something other than sadness and anger- that he was fragile. He understands now that he was too young and too burdened, but he also is sympathetic that the world couldn’t wait.

His hands were tired and cramped, but tied to his blade.

He didn’t wish to entertain the thought of it. But some odd ghost of himself doesn’t allow him that comfort. The onset of panic was familiar.

It had method.

It persisted.

It would rouse him from his uncomfortable sleep, the only weakness in his stubborn mind. Too focused on the mission, he would often refuse the softness that came with feeling. Fear was far more a luxury than comfort was. He could fool himself that he was comfortable. He could pretend that the missed meals and short nights would be justified by the ends.

Perhaps that’s why his fear of what the ends may be would break him.

That the hunger and the pain and the struggle and the exhaustion would now even allow him identity.

He’d be swallowed whole by his mantle.

Atlas could not hold up the sky.

Link couldn’t either.

His ribs would ache as his lungs breathed, never using any of the air. It dizzys his already malnourished and dehydrated mind. He’d go to vomit, but his stomach had nothing to give.

It's so much worse than throwing up.

Most nights, in his thankfully limited memory, he’d find no peace until he passed out.

The lack of oxygen luring him back to light, dreamless sleep.

For a while after his journey, Link couldn’t sleep. He had a bed and he knew there were no monsters able to breach the four walls of his small room, but he just refused. It’s not like he’d run himself to exhaustion anymore. Between Zelda and the other people of Skyloft, they wouldn’t let him run enough errands to knock himself out.

Similarly, He couldn’t eat. Though, this was tied into a larger tapestry of problems. No one told him that after such great damage to the psyche, one does not simply move forward with their life. He was convinced that it would happen again. That something would happen and he’d be unraveled again. But fate could not unravel him if he kept ready.

He could not bring himself to eat, because in his mind he had to stay primed for what might happen.

He could not rest, because that was when he was made to be most vulnerable.

He could not bring himself to be, because that too would be taken.

And any sense of confirmation to that would’ve surely shattered him.

Seeing the books.

Hearing the tales.

Watching the plays.

Walking through that portal.

Link, now Sky, understands it. Or, more of it. He still can’t place why it was him the goddess chose. He still feels a great amount of anger and anguish, though it’s admittedly with much more care than his past self.

Maybe understanding wasn’t the right adjective.

Sky moved on.

He learned to live with who he was and what he’s done. That mustn’t define the other.

He’s made peace with the regret, and the disdain, and the fear.

He sleeps now. A lot. And he eats a lot too, (it’s easier when there’s more options than pumpkin soup). Moreover, he’s proud of that. No matter how many loving taunts he gets over sleeping in or happily taking a second plate, he’s proud he can do that now. The warmth of comfort that settles over him like a down blanket and satisfaction that sits within him like warm food, were once luxuries he was starved of. Literally. It made seeing the ever-present bags under his eyes fading an accomplishment. It made that groggy morning when he looked into the mirror and saw his once lean and defined muscles had become soft with layered fat, a moment of quiet celebration to how far he’s come. That he was here, and he was alive and he was healthy.

He’s proud to be who he’s become.

So it isn’t so scary to be who he’s becoming.

[stupidlittlespirit]

In MtB is Ford meant to be ace and experiences occasional bi attraction? Would you describe his orientation with a specific microlabel, or would you leave it completely and totally up to personal interpretation? I totally respect that it has to be pretty broad/vague to fit in with your xReader ethos, just wondering if you had any insight 🖤

I left it purposely open so he can be whatever the audience wants him to be! :) I think canon!Ford is aroace but I never had a particular identity in mind for mtb!Ford because I didn't want to exclude anyone or interfere with their personal hcs <3

[cribabylulu]

HCs: Soul Eater! characters and their...darker kinks.

*characters have been aged up to 18^^ Stein is just Stein. I wanted to do mini, vague scenarios using their partners as pairings but I didn't know where to put Crona so I just made them an x reader hehe. also, Soul and Maka have a shared scenario.*

warnings: a little smutty. kinda intense breath play with Kid, Crona includes razors and blood and such, Soul's section mentions bruising... implied needles with Stein perhaps but yeah, and above all else just bad writing mixed with me trying to be convincing what can I say.

Kid- EA.

"Are you feeling lightheaded? I know exactly what you're thinking, darling-- that you could easily finish from that sensation alone."

Being a reaper and all, it makes sense to me that Kid would wind up getting into something as dangerous as breath play. He brings his partner to the edge of death, literally. The situation is careful and controlled like the god he is, and when he finally lets go, the rush of vitality is euphoric.

xpatty

Patty gasped, Kid's cold ring pinned to the heat of her pulse point. Slowly, he released the pressure on her throat and she slumped against the wall, smirking darkly. He returned her expression, calling her out in the process, "Are you feeling lightheaded? I know exactly what you're thinking, darling-- that you could easily finish from that sensation alone." A blush tinted her cheeks, betraying her tough-girl demeanor and causing her meister to laugh almost breathlessly.

"Now, if only I could get your sister in on this..."

Crona- Blood Play.

"Look at the difference between our cuts... your blood is so bright compared to mine... it's pretty."

Crona's entire life had been shrouded in blood, their own mother toying with them for her own experiments. Naturally, they'd develop somewhat of an obsession with their black blood, and how it differs from that of a normal human's. After a while they'd manage to find it oddly... enticing, the way it trickles down and hardens over their wrist as opposed to their partner's endless ruby red river.

xreader

Their hand pressed against your thigh, smearing and spreading the crimson sap further. "Look, y/n. Look at the difference between our cuts... your blood is so bright compared to mine... it's pretty." You looked down at the hand that was tracing your inner leg and gave a faint smile, cut from the razor threatening to sting if the wonder in Crona's eyes hadn't numbed it. The slash on their wrist was pitch dark, and it barely got to drip before becoming petrified. You let out a sigh and leaned back, to which they hummed in response, leaning down to gently clean the blood from between your thighs with their tongue as the two of you settled into relief. They were done with the blade for now.

Maka- Shiibari.

"Ngh... can you pull a little bit tighter, actually?"

Maka would enjoy being suspended in shiibari. As the ropes pressed deeper into her skin, her tight grip on reality would slowly release in turn. Though not something she found herself doing often, it would be akin to therapy, something she'd look forward to after a particularly tough fight.

xsoul

Maka hung on her weapon's shoulder, completely spent from whatever mission that preceded the night. "Soul..." she began weakly. After we get cleaned up... can we do the thing tonight? I really need to..." Soul smirked as amused laughter escaped him. He gave her a rough pat on the head and said, "Heh. Say no more."

Soul- Biting/Marking.

"Well, ain't that nice. You're all tied up... just waiting to be marked as mine. C'mon, just a couple bites...let me eat you up."

Soul doesn't have to be rough to leave a mark with those teeth of his. He would also totally be down for a cuddle sesh after nipping his partner's entire body, further toying with them when he'd run his fingers over the bruises he'd created. Despite enjoying the results, he'd always make sure whoever he was biting wasn't ever too uncomfortable, because that's not cool, now is it?

xmaka

Maka gasped, reflexes straining slightly against the ropes she'd been bound in. "That hurt, Soul..." He chuckled lightly, though yanking his lips away from her chest with affirmation. "You were the one asking me to pull the ropes tighter just a moment ago. I figured you wouldn't mind." She pouted, a blush painting her face before she let out a heavy sigh at his next bite, softer than the last. "That's different... the ropes aren't as sharp as your teeth..."

Stein- Medical.

"Such a pretty dove you are. I bet you're even prettier on the inside. But don't worry, I won't be dissecting you with a blade just yet..."

Does this even need an explanation? Okay, maybe. His fixation on dissection and experimentation is always displayed as a bit endearing, to say the least, and him getting off on it totally makes sense even though he's a doctor at the academy. (I think he is thankfully able to keep his desires at bay whilst working with his students, so long as his mind is sound and the keshin has been put to rest.) However, when he's with his sweet partner Marie, that's a different story. He'd never want to hurt her, but she's quite kind and compliant it's hard to imagine Stein not managing to convince her to try out various procedures. Nothing too dangerous, of course, but it might get a bit uncomfortable. Regardless, he wouldn't want to ruin his little dove or scare her away. She'd always been there for him, after all. He loves her.

xmarie

"Are you alright, Marie? This doesn't hurt too much, does it?" Stein looked up at her with eyes so glazed over, their shine matched the glasses perched idly on his head. He adjusted them, inhaling his cigarette before setting it aside once more. Smoke slowly drifted from his nose and disappeared into the fluorescent light above. She nodded as she watched him, far too enamored by the way her partner looked as he toyed with her to even notice the pain.

Black★Star- Pet Play.

"Don't worry kitten, just have a seat on my lap. I'll protect you."

My friend helped me with this one. Black Star is almost painfully prideful and loves to not only be in control but be the absolute center of attention. He'd grown to be too much of a gentleman to outright enslave his dear partner, however, he'd much rather own them... playfully. Although it's largely the dynamic of this kink that gets him going, he surely wouldn't complain if his partner wanted to go full-on cat costume... he would just need a moment to... adjust.

xtsubaki

"Oh Black Star~" Tsubaki chimed from the other room. He peeked past the corner of the jamb and instantly flushed, confused before recalling the past couple of weeks.

"I've noticed you've started calling me 'kitten' recently... so i figured why not make it official?" She giggled, doing a little spin to show off every detail of her cat costume.

AHHHthankyouforyourtime <3

[reclusiarch-orm]

Can you elaborate on the tropey/generic 40k fanwork stuff? I don’t really engage with warhammer fandom on this website other than following a few blogs so I’m not really familiar with the climate of the fandom on here, but I’m curious. Are you referring to like the xreader shit or whatever?

unfortunately you can't bait me into getting so specific you can tell exactly what fanworks i'm talking about. am not about to go on a personal attack mission, i am on a more broad sweeping crusade. you can look at tags and see for yourself what feels like it's barely 40k related. you don't have to look very long i promise. if you know what the themes of this franchise are you can recognise what fanworks seem to hate it. i barely interact with the tags, like i said, every time i touch them i just get put off instantly. xreader is part of it, for sure. that's a mainstay in all fandoms now it seems. but i think it's always been. it's more about fanworks that seem to want to cut off most things that make 40k what it is, in order to isolate the characters they want completely from the franchise. for example, domesticating primarchs and astartes and giving them happy families.

i am not averse to shipping and i do it myself at times. but i love the setting and the dark themes SO much. has anyone written a hetship where the female POV is a serf or slave tasked with servicing astartes "needs" yet? that's a self insert that FITS within the setting. brutal, grimdark, vaguely stolen from real history. like a comfort woman. that fits within 40k. feels like shit they could do. it's one step removed from canon.

very different from like, an astartes takes a wife and adopts a bunch of babies/impregnates her himself. he's a fucking weapon. don't we like that? why do we not like that on here. why do we have to domesticate them. do we not enjoy it when space marines just walk through mortals and break their bones because it's convenient. i like that. i love that kind of shit. make it fit.

[eagle-eyes-sideblog]

That Medical Anomaly

Summary

An AU where the reader is the subject of a secretive experiment that leaves them the perfect Player... among other things.

Possible triggering themes for this AU/story include medical trauma, descriptions of chronic illness, ableism, depression, and death. If I've handled anything insensitively, please let me know.

A more 'formal' introduction, along with rambling about my thought process, under the cut.

Self Aware MadCom belongs to @saltymongoose. The concept is really interesting to me, even aside from the xreader stuff (although it's definitely also that lmao). So I thought I might explore that a bit with a concept that's already been floating around my head for a bit. The world that the reader is from is deliberately left a bit vague, but it's sort of magical realism. Most relevant to this AU: there are things like doctors and computers existing alongside curses and other magical ailments.

Also, this doesn't really include much MadCom or SAMAU... Well, no interactions with the characters, anyways. It's mostly just an introduction to my ideas for this AU, so it describes more of what your life was like beforehand and how you found the series. Do also note that I've never played either M:PN game, so there might be some inaccuracies.

All that being said... enjoy!

~~~

You, along with several others, were the subject of an experiment when you were a teenager. It was so secretive, you were never even given the details of why it had been conducted. That, or you had forgotten, given that one of the major side effects of the experiment was memory loss.

The experiment itself was something about deliberately letting specific kinds of contagions into the subject's body. You knew a few of them were fungal, and many were magical in some way, although they were different for every experiment.

Apparently if they chose the right infections for the right subject and 'balanced' them properly with the individual's immune system... they would stabilize. This led to the subject gaining supernatural abilities based on whatever magical infections they had.

Of course, most of the subjects weren't so lucky. The various infections would usually just take their courses; often the combinations would very quickly kill the subject. Those that survived were left with permanent problems ranging from aphasia to compromised immune systems to seizures.

You were their star subject, the one better off than all the rest. The staff made sure to remind you of that every time you complained about anything. "Be grateful," they told you. "At least you can still speak. At least you're still recovering. At least you're still alive." They never said it out loud, but you heard the implication. All of this is only happening because of us.

Bullshit. You were only 'better off' because of sheer dumb luck. Had they succeeded? Maybe. But their idea of success didn't even take you into account.

And their idea of success still left you with problems. Yes, you have sharper senses now, and you can draw energy from more than just food. But you're face-blind, and your hands and feet are numb, and you sometimes hurt so badly that you can't walk.

Not to mention how unethical the experiment itself was. They didn't even study people who already had these conditions; they deliberately induced them. Hell, one of your roommates was six years old! Why they let her participate still bothered you today.

...But it wasn't all bad. You cherished the friends you'd made there, even if you'd lost contact with most of them.

Not just your fellow patients, either. Most of the staff were... annoying at the very least. But a few seemed to actually have your best interests in mind. For example, your favorite nurse, Max, recommended an animated series that might help take your mind off of things when you were in the depths of depression.

You very quickly fell in love with Madness Combat. The simple graphics, where characters were denoted by outfit and style rather than facial features, seemed perfect for you. You grew to adore Hank, Deimos, Sanford, Tricky, and every other character, getting invested in their fights even when nothing else made you happy.

And the episodes were just plain fun to watch. Even when you had issues with your memory, the fight scenes interested you more than enough to make up for it. The community, too, seemed to welcome you, and you came to cherish the friends you made there.

Not only that, but you found a little game on Newgrounds. Although your numb hands made it hard to play, it really did capture the things that made you adore Madcom to begin with. Your favorite nurse approved too; after all, it was an exercise in hand-eye coordination!

Naturally, you were beyond thrilled when Project Nexus came out. By that point, you'd already left the facility. And your memory had recovered enough to get well and truly obsessed with the lore.

You smiled, picking the Tourist difficulty and sitting back to watch the intro cinematic. This was going to be fun.

(Unbeknownst to you, it would also be much, much more than you bargained for.)

[fang-and-feather]

Ikemen Vampire - Jean d'Arc x Vincent van Gogh x Reader

Words: 1,132

Summary: Jean can't help but still question his feelings for these two little lights that kept coming back to illuminate his life, but he also can't help but be drawn to them

Notes: this first chapter is a little angstier than my usual due to Jean's internal conflict. I don't know what possessed me while writing this one or to even have the idea to start this in this way...

Written for Polyam Shipping Day Prompt: Conflict from @polyamships

The Jean/Vincent pairing was inspired by @koco-coko (although I vaguely remember reading something with them on AO3, back before I was even a writer for this fandom) and I've been meaning to write it for a while, hope you don't mind me going along with the idea and that I went along with a xReader triad (is it a surprise to anyone at this point?)

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Jean had never been in love; he wasn’t sure what it felt like. But if he had to guess, that was exactly what he was feeling. He could give no other name to this.

Except that this couldn’t be love. Love was supposed to be such a pure feeling. This? This was temptation. Sin.

First sin was to fall in love with someone else’s woman.

You had been forced back through an incident; he didn’t expect you to return to what you had before, as if you had never left, but you did. What changed was for him when, by a twist of fate, Jean found himself spending a lot of time with you as you tried to teach him to write.

Vincent didn’t seem to mind so much. Although it wasn’t unusual for him to bring his sketchbook, sit at a distance and stay around until you were done. Jean felt a little guilty for taking so much of your time, but both of you were very reassuring whenever he voiced said guilt.

Then he found out what Vincent was so intently sketching. Most of his drawings were of you, but there were some of Jean himself.

Second sin was to fall in love with another man.

Vincent had already asked to paint Jean before, a little after Jean arrived at the mansion. He’d been a little insistent, until Theo got angry at Jean for continuously refusing his brother.

After the sketches, Vincent asked again, with you supporting him. And Jean couldn’t deny the two of you. Although you would say he didn’t need to, he thought it was a way he could repay you for all you were doing for him.

And that led to more time spent with both of you. And all the time spent with either of you was conflicting for Jean. You kept telling him how beautiful he was, or kind, or that he deserved forgiveness, deserved to live, and sometimes Jean caught himself wanting to believe.

Then he would realize his feelings once more, and how could he?

But was it still wrong when he wasn’t exclusively interested in him? When they would share a woman?

Probably.

Third sin was probably to fall in love with two people at the same time.

In fact, he wasn’t even sure if that was a sin, but it had to be wrong somehow. There was no way it was normal, and he would have judged it impossible had it not happened to him.

Was it so wrong, though? How could love be wrong?

Was it even love? How could a monster like him love someone?

He tried to run away then. From these questions. From your light and all its - in his mind, false - hope. He tried. But he was attracted to your light like a moth, and you reached back for him.

How could loving you be a sin, when you were so close to angels? That was how anyone would describe Vincent. And although that wasn’t attributed to you in words, they all loved you, and you were a light in everyone’s lives, helping each one of them heal from their own darkness.

But he was the one both of you chose to give your love to.

So, how could it be wrong? Would you make that choice even if it was wrong?

“Love is not a choice. Neither is it right nor wrong.” You spoke up, and Jean realized he’d asked it aloud.

“Is it another difference from your time?”

“My time is more accepting, but I won’t say it’s considered right. And maybe they’re right. Maybe it is wrong. But, as I said, it’s not a choice. Neither is it enough to condemn us.”

“I was conflicted too, when I started noticing these feelings. We’re not trying to say your views are wrong.” Vincent added. “We will understand if you don’t want to do this. But love is love, and our love is true. Never doubt that.”

Jean looked away from the two of you, with your bright, hopeful eyes and your all encompassing light, which was always too bright for him, but he couldn’t escape this time.

His gaze landed, unfortunately - or maybe fortunately, he would find out - on the painting Vincent had just presented him. The picture Jean thought looked nothing like him. Too bright. Too happy.

But Vincent said that was how he saw Jean, and doubting that would be doubting everything Vincent lived for. Because that was how Vincent painted; with that light he saw in everything.

“How do you know?”

“Because it is the same love we have for each other. I wasn’t sure it was possible, but this is the truth, and it will never change. But we’ll pretend this didn’t happen if you want to.”

“We just want to see you happy.” Vincent took one of his hands; his grip light enough for Jean to pull away if he wanted to.  “But we had to let you know. To see our side of the story.”He motioned at the painting with his other hand. “And I wanted you to see the you that we see. Beautiful, body and soul.”

This time you reached out, hand resting on his cheek, thumb wiping away a tear.

“And even if you step away now, we’ll still be your friends.” Your hand aliped down slowly, coming to rest on his chest. “We’ll protect your heart. Your light. For as long as you live. Because we’ll always love you, at the distance you deem appropriate.”

You always said such hopeful things to him, which made him feel happier every time. But now, his heart felt so full, almost overflowing with love for you.

A part of him still wanted to run and hide from all your light. All the hope. All the love he didn’t deserve, and that he wasn’t so sure it was right. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, his hold on Vincent’s hand tightened, and he pulled both of you to him, then hugged you.

Maybe he was a fool for it, but he wanted to accept your love and tell you how he felt. He wanted to hope for the future by your side.

He couldn’t formulate the words right now. Maybe it would take some time before he could. But here, with you, he believed both of you had been sent into his life to give him a second chance.

Could he believe that? Could he dare hope for tomorrow? Would he really be forgiven?

Maybe he would always be conflicted like that, but you would always be there for him to reach out to whenever he had doubts. Whenever the darkness wanted to consume him again. The two people he loved more than anything.

Tag List: @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya, @eventinelysplayground

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist