#and yeah that makes me sad sometimes and terrifies me most of the time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

netherfeildren · 11 months

Text

Pink : Part III : Two

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part II

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Heavy angst; DD/lg dynamics; Dom/sub undertones; Daddy Kink; Jealousy; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Inappropriate shaving; Squirting; Belly bulge; Dirty talk; Orgasm delay/denial; Overstimulation; Face slapping; Spanking; Light degradation; Rough sex; Breeding kink; Divorce; Not safe to read if triggered by pregnancy; Use of misogynistic language; Discussions of mental and emotional abuse; Cliffhanger

A/N: All tags have been updated.

Word Count: 12.7K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

3. Two

“You know that feeling of… of realizing you’re a good person? It’s like– yes, I know objectively that I probably am. That I try to be kind, I try to do things that are good and right, but you know those strangely self perceptive moments where another person makes you – forces you – to realize you’re good? And it brings your whole life, your whole self into clarity, and it’s like – I am good, and I deserve good things. I am good.

But he treated me so badly, for so long. He took away pieces of me, he took away that awareness of goodness. And how could I not believe him, when he constantly told me and showed me that I deserved so little, when it was what I accepted for myself? Constantly waiting for him to turn into a man he never was, never had been and never would be. I accepted those things for myself, I let them happen. Maybe I was weak or stupid or naive or all of them combined. Maybe I was just a girl. But I thought it was hope at the time. I thought I was being hopeful and good, and now I realize that was no true form of goodness. It was only the version of good he needed me to be, a subservient and silent type of goodness.”

“And you know, I had a neighbor who– her husband died last year at Christmas, and it was so sad. They were older, always together, it was… it has nothing to do with this, but I don’t know. It was like when a tragedy is soft and quiet, and it just folds into the rest of life unheeded. Such a strange thing for someone on the outside looking in. I lived next door to them, and I’d see them all the time living their lives together, and I barely knew them, but suddenly he was gone, and I was conscious of the fact that she was over there alone all the time now. Without him. When before he’d always been there. I don’t know what I'm trying to say. It’s just that it didn't happen to me, it affected me in no way, and yet, I felt her loss keenly. Afterwards, I helped her with her cat, an old skinny thing, Jazz. She started going out of town a lot after her husband died, getting out and away, you know, that sort of thing. And I’d cat sit for her, and he was so sweet. But he was old too, and a few months later, he died also. And I remember the week he was going to pass she’d texted me and said he’d go soon, and I told her I was praying for him, thinking of the both of them. I don’t even pray, but I needed to tell her I was with her in some way. And it was nothing, a few nights going over there to feed the old boy, a few text messages. It was the absolute bare minimum I could do, but a few weeks after the cat died, she wrote me the loveliest note. She told me that she appreciated me, that she thought of how kind I’d been during those days, when I’d told her I was thinking of them. She told me that I was a good person, and that she hoped my kindness was returned to me many times over.

And I’d forgotten, you see, I'd forgotten that I was good. That I had a capacity for goodness within me, and that I deserved to be reminded of it, like all soft creatures are. We all need reassurance and a kind word sometimes, and I’d forgotten that about myself.” You glance up at his eyes, the most tender look held in them. “Do you know what I mean, Joel?” You ask, voice very small, shy and afraid, for one moment, that he won’t understand you.

But he pets your hair, cradles your cheek, “Yeah, honey. I think I do know.”

It’s a terrifying ordeal, the way the two of you fold into each other in the weeks after that first night. And yet, unstoppable. You do try, and you’re sure he does, as well. The first few days, trying to stay away, not answering his calls, no texts because he says his fingers are too big, and he can’t work those tiny fuckin’ buttons, forcing yourself not to run back over there into his arms and his bed. But then he’s calling and calling and calling, begging, making it his turn to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, saying all the right things like, I haven’t been sleeping, and I need to see you, and I’m suffering, I’m suffering without you, touching you in all the right ways that should be wrong but aren’t. All baby, I hurt when I’m not inside this sweet pussy. He says you make him weak, and you tell him that the only weak thing here is you, and you don’t make it much of a struggle for him when you let him in your home, in your cunt, when all you can say is I miss you, I miss you, your cock, your hands, I can’t stop thinking about you. The two of you are one and the same in all the ways it counts. And he’s not your father-in-law anymore, a chameleon now in the form of the only man who’s ever understood you, wanted you, seen you as more, as a complexity.

He makes you wonder how you could have ever thought of yourself as anything like sexless when all he makes you is hungry and desperate and wet. Fucking everywhere you can, as often as you can, never being very careful, pulling out and counting your cycle and starting out with a condom but ripping it off halfway through because I just have to feel you – irresponsible bullshit. Not having your head screwed on tightly enough to even really care. He has you on his living room floor one afternoon, whole day gone away on his cock, and the two of you lay there for hours afterwards, bare limbs wrapped around each other, soft, wet cock tucked safely inside of you where he says it belongs. “How could you have not been angry?” You ask him because you can’t help yourself. Because you want him to teach you to be wise now that he’s shown you how to be good. “That he was kept from you? That you missed an entire lifetime of being a father? I never once saw you furious or resentful. How did you do it?”

“Don’t know,” he sighs. “Dunno… I– It was, kind of, the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me, truth be told, but I didn’t have a chance to compute, to sit in any sort of anger. He was right there all of a sudden, too full of anger to leave any left over for me, and he needed me so much. He needs me so much.” And you know he’s right, and there should be guilt now, gnawing at you, but there is really only jealousy. “And he– he…” A swallow, like you can read his mind, you know what he’ll say, already nodding. “And he hates me,” he whispers into the quiet of this lovely home he’s made for himself, his words mixing with the butter yellow ray of sunshine the two of you are lying in, slanting in through the big bay window. “He hates me, hates who I am. That it’s me he found when he came lookin’.” You have to cry for him then, maybe even for the both of them, maybe even for all three of you.

“Yes,” you choke, so full of sadness for the tragedy of it all. You can’t comfort him with a denial for you’re not a liar here with him. Protection like that isn’t necessary.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He hugs you so tightly, “There’s no reason to cry.”

“I can’t help it,” And return the words he’d given you once when you’d so badly needed a kindness, “You deserve more.”

He’s quiet for a long time after that, and you know him well enough now that you can hear the gears of his mind working and turning, and that makes you even sadder, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of all, this knowing, and eventually he says: “And yet, he is the son I have.” And at the end of it all, you think you are all only yourselves, and nothing can really be done about that.

And you say you want to be wise like him, that it’s your next lesson, so perhaps you should hold your tongue instead of saying: “He only just got you back, and I’m taking you away from him again. Because that’s what I want – I want to take you away and keep you only for myself. I want you to be only mine and that makes me bad. I’m bad.” Your first lesson quashed beneath the fist of your greed for a man who isn’t for you, and who you shouldn’t want, and it’s wrong and maybe even sinful or disgusting or any and all the things that are always bad. None of that matters. He’s turned you into a real person now, none of the rest of it matters.

But he understands, because of course he does, because he always has. He grips your jaw in his hands, large, strong hands, hands made for taking care of things, and tells you, not so wise seeming anymore: “Sometimes I look at myself, and it’s like I'm two feet tall. Why didn’t I meet you sooner? First? How could I have been such a coward to not go out there and search for you? I should have known you were out there, I should have sensed it. How can a man be jealous of his own son?” He turns you over then, cock hard and thrusting again, kisses you full on the mouth, and it tastes like ownership, and says, “You could never be bad. No matter what you did. You’re only ever good. Haven’t I taught you that?”

“Joel, there’s someone at the door,” peeking into the restroom where he’s just stepped out of the shower, wet and steaming, shaking his head out like a dog, towel covering all the fun bits. He’d just had you too many times already, and still, you want more. You’re made of nothing but greed now; he’s taught you how to be good, but he’s also taught you how to be greedy. You’d been strewn across his couch, eating chips and wearing his clothes and leaking his come and waiting for him to finish in the shower and come out to make dinner. He was doing steaks on the grill and baked potatoes with all the fixings and roasted vegetables, and he’d even gotten a pie and ice cream, but he said he wasn’t telling you what the flavor was, only that it was your favorite, and you can’t think how he’d know you love rhubarb, but if that’s what he’s gotten, you were going to let him do anything to you. Literally anything he wanted. Not that you didn’t already… but still, it’s the sentiment that counts, you think. He’d also said you weren’t allowed to shower, that the rule tonight was that you weren’t allowed to wash him off, and you really didn’t mind that so much. So there you were, after he’d put on Stepmom for you, and you were just thinking that Julia Roberts was surely the most beautiful woman who’d ever been born, when someone had knocked on the door, a rhythmic, friendly: tap, tap, tap, that had your heart dropping down into your stomach, and you scurrying into the master bath to frantically tell him that someone is here while you’re here wearing him all over and inside of you and what are you going to do now? He gives you a calm smile, running the towel over his wet head, giving you an eyeful of the fun bits now, and you try and not peek, you really do, but it’s really just the most exciting part on him, you can’t help yourself. His smile turns knowing, that look in his eye, “S’alright, sweetheart. Don’t fret, I’ll get it.”

“But–” you try and protest, maybe he should just pretend not to be home. What if it’s– you can’t even think of it. But then no, he’d not come here. He hates coming to this house, the proof of everything he wasn’t all in his face like this was humiliating for your ex-husband.

His smile remains, but his eyes go a little stern, “No worryin’, I’ll take care of it.” He tugs on his jeans, the man literally never wears underwear, slut, and tugs on a shirt, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he passes you, hand dragging over your belly, smelling of soap and Joel and want, want, want. You follow him on tip toes down the hall, pausing at the mouth of the living room, chewing on your lip and your fingers, about to spit your heart out with nerves as he pulls the door open.

“Hi, Joel, honey. How’s it goin’?” Pretty, bubbly, overly friendly voice you were definitely not expecting. You take a small step forward, the mouth of the hall slightly to the left of the front door so that you can see her without her seeing you, watch his profile as he talks to her. Edie, he says, and that dishwasher givin’ you trouble again, and laughs at her reply, the sound of their conversation going out of your ears as you watch him, head falling sideways on your neck a little bit, the way he laughs at whatever the woman that’s come knocking on the door of his home all friendly and comfortable to interrupt his time with you is saying, loud, bellyfull, one arm braced against the doorframe so that you can see her eyes flit every few seconds to the thick bulge of muscle there. Your face goes hot, your insides green and bitter, but he’s laughing just handsomely enough that you know it’s not real. You know his real laugh, and it isn’t this one. The woman leans forward, blonde hair and big boobs and batting lashes, but Joel shifts backwards subtly, keeping a respectful distance, and your pulse throbs at the backs of your knees and the pit of your stomach. She likes him, she’s here because she likes him, asking him to look at her dishwasher or something, yeah, sure, sure that’s the only thing she wants looked at.

“I’ll come take a look at it tomorrow. How ‘bout that? I’m sure it’ll be another quick fix like last time, but you should probably think about just replacin’ the thing at this point,'' he tells her.

“Oh, can’t you now, Joel?” She pouts, “It’s just that–”

“I’m tied up tonight, Edie,” he cuts her off, an indulgent, too charming smile on his face, and oh, it pisses you off, that smile. You turn on your heel, stomping down the hall back to his bedroom. Huffing, gnashing your teeth. The sight of him with another woman, a more appropriate woman because of course she is, it makes you sick, angry, something terrible, so, so jealous your bones itch beneath the surface of your skin. It makes you small and slanted again, wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl. Not for him, never for him, and it’s so unfair, and he is so– so… Smiling at her like that, using that tone of voice, propping up his stupid huge arm like that so that his muscle’s all defined and put on display, and you hate him and the way he makes you feel and how much you want and need him. On the verge of tears or screaming or vomiting you scramble around his room, trying to collect your clothes and your strewn panties and where the fuck is your bra and your other shoe?

“What’re you doin’?” Comes his soft, steady voice a moment later. Entirely too even for the way you feel right now. You want to hiss at him or bite him or do something entirely uncivilized.

“I have to go home.”

“Why?”

“I have something to do. I forgot.”

“Something, what? What do you have to do?” But you ignore him, rifling through the strewn clothes on the armchair in the corner – where the hell is your goddamn bra? “Look at me–” he barks, now having stepped further into the bedroom.

“Oh, fuck off,” and there’s a part of you that knows that you’re being irrational, that he’s done nothing wrong, but you feel so provoked suddenly. In need of a fight or a thrashing or something, something to make this terrible feeling poisoning you on the inside go away.

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” and his voice is so calm and so quiet and so scary. It makes you lock up one second, spin around the next to spit and hiss at him like an angry cat. You will not watch your mouth. “She wants you.” You almost stomp your foot like a child throwing a fit, but he’s entirely still and silent, taking you in with the most unfathomable of looks. “Do you know that?” And this time you do stomp your foot. “Do you want her back?”

He blinks once, and then like a lightbulb turning on, even though you’re obvious as daylight, “You’re jealous.”

“Do you want her back?” You ask again, real tears in your voice this time.

And his gaze goes soft and tender and entirely understanding, “Never.” He shakes his head.

“She looked like a fucking idiot.” You pout, childish – how will he ever want you when you act like this?

“I only want you.” But you don’t believe him. How could you? When there’s nowhere for this to go. When he deserves so much more than the options afforded to him here between the two of you. And you want to fight with him because there’s nothing to be done, no choices, no other recourse, and it’s not his fault and there’s no one to blame and no outlet for this terrible anger inside of you. You feel like you’re choking on it, being swallowed whole, that head breaking water feeling reversed so that now you’re deep at the bottom of the well of your own wanting. You turn back to the fruitless search for your bra. He’s hidden it from you, you’re sure, some evil old man ploy to keep you here trapped and braless with him. “Did you hear me? I only want you,” he says again, voice closer now.

And you think you’re mumbling or crying, something hysterical bubbling up inside of you, I have to go, I have to go, your movements manic and jerking. He grips your arm, jerking you around into his chest, face flushed with anger now, but voice still even, “You’re not fucking listening to me. I only want you,” and yanks your hand to feel the hard cock trapped beneath the confines of his jeans. This is only for you. But it’s not, not in any real way, not in a way that would let you keep him and that realization sets something off inside of you. You thrash in his hold, let me go, let me go, trying to kick him in the shins while he tries to wrap his arms around your struggling form, that rumbling chant constant in your ear, I only want you, I only want you, I am only for you. It feels like he’s burrowing beneath your skin, unzipping you, splaying your insides wide open for his gaze, taking hold of your bones, a puppet on his string. You manage to yank your arm out from beneath his grip and unthinking, a buzzing so high pitched it makes you dizzy and nauseous sounding in your ears, you slap him in the face. Not very hard, maybe, but enough that you hear the crack of your palm meeting the grizzled scruff of his cheek. The sound like a bone snapping, setting off something inside both of you even worse, more frenzied than before. He groans deep in his chest, big hand fisting in your hair and jerking it back so hard you yelp in pain. “Hit me again, do it again. I want you any way I can have you, even angry. Do it again,” he goads you on, but that mindless hand is fisted in his shirtfront now, pulling you closer to him, tear stained mouth seeking his, opening to receive his filthy kiss.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, but all he says is that he only wants you, again and again, grips you harder, makes it hurt more, and you whine and whimper and scratch and bite, a wild thing, the two of you caught up in some strange struggle of push and pull and want and fight. You can feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your belly, searching for something hot and wet to fuck into, and you hitch your knee around his hip, open yourself to him, listen to his groan in your ear, throaty and full.

“You just need a little remindin’? Don’t you, huh?” He tugs your head back, none too gentle, to look at your tear slicked face, his eyes on fire, almost a little manic. He spins you away from him, shoving you towards the bed, ignoring your whines and protests, shut up and bend over, pushing you over the edge of the bed and crouching down behind you. “You just need a little remindin’ of how to be a good girl. I know that’s all this fightin’ is. Right, baby?” No, you try and struggle, kicking your leg out uselessly to the side, but he pins you with your arms back behind you at the small of your waist, pushing his shirt up your back to expose the naked curve of your ass and the pussy you know he’ll find humiliatingly wet and hungry for him. “Just need remindin’ of how to be a good girl for me, right?” His fingers slide down to the apex of your thighs, finding you dripping and swollen from his earlier use and your current desire, all twisted up and compounded ten fold with your jealousy.

“So wet already for me, baby,” he coos at you.

And oh, he’s so annoying, and you’re so embarrassing and weak for him. “Shut up, old man,” you whine. A single finger enters you slowly, rubbing up against all the terribly sensitive and swollen places inside of you, then pulls his wet fingers from you to deliver a single stinging swat to the curve of your ass, sticky wet imprint of yourself left behind.

“Yeah, and this old man fucks you better than anyone else,” he slips his fingers gently back inside of you, “Remember that you little whore,” he says even more gently. The words make you twist and writhe, a terrible flush of lust burning through you. He feels you tighten around his fingers, groans appreciatively. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He twists his fingers inside of you, pressing hard against something that makes you feel like you’re about to wet yourself. You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head, refusing to answer. “No lyin’. You daddy’s little whore?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, your hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. He brushes his thumb slowly over your pulsing clit, plays you like a game.

“No?” His voice is so soft, so teasing.

“I’m not your whore–”

“You’re not? Then what are you, baby? Tell me.”

You’re right there, so close, about to come on his fingers. “I'm your baby. I'm your baby. I’m yours– I belong to you, daddy.” He pulls his fingers from your cunt, hand coming to grip your ass cheek so hard it hurts, fingernails digging into your soft skin, dragging down the smooth surface. You can hear him panting behind you, shaking, trying to control himself. He makes a gruff, rough sound in his throat, gentles his grip on you.

“You don’t think I don’t get fucking jealous?” he spits when he’s finally managed to control himself. “You think I don't think about you with my own son and want to die? That he got to have you in a way I never will, and even worse, wasted you? You don’t think it makes me sick with envy?” He brings his fingers back to play in your wet folds, feels the slick drip of you, thrums at your clit, opening you to him with a hand on your cheek and licking you from clit to asshole. Running the flat expanse of his tongue over the length of your sex and then sucking hard at the apex of nerves, hard enough that you can’t tell if it hurts or feels good or a little bit of both. He’s got you bent over the end of his bed facing the dresser so that you have a clear view of the two of you in the mirror above it. And the sight of him, massive frame crouched down behind you, huge and hulking, face buried in your cunt from behind, the curved slope of his nose, the long, thick lashes, eyes closed like he’s enjoying himself more than he’s ever enjoyed anything else in his entire life as he licks your ass and sucks on your clit. He pulls back, and you watch, almost in slow motion, as he shocks you by swatting your entire sex with his big hand, and then immediately brings his face back to lick and kiss your smarting skin. “But he didn’t fuck you the way you needed to be fucked,” he continues. “And I do. He didn’t understand you, but I do. At least I have that.” It sounds like he’s consoling himself, and you can’t help but find consolation in it as well. Your eyes move up to your own reflection, sweat slicked and tear stained, eyes glassy, wet fingers inside of your mouth because you need something to chew on to stand the terrible throbbing in your cunt on the verge of coming. He licks you again, presses his tongue to your asshole. “Did you ever get wet for him like this?” He pulls back, runs the pads of his fingers over your clit in fast, hard up and down motions, makes it feel so good it hurts, you’re right there, you’re right there, pulls away. “Were you ever desperate for him like this? Cunt all drippy and swollen and pathetic for him like you are for me, my sweet baby?”

Never, daddy. Never. Only you. You can’t lie to him when he’s got his tongue inside of you, it’s just not possible. Only me. Only mine. You press up on your tippy toes, roll back down onto the balls of your feet, “Yeah, rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s face,” he mumbles into your skin, slurps at you. He wraps his lips around your clit once more, sucks and licks and sucks again, and your cunt goes so, so tight, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, daddy, and then just stops. Pulls away entirely, gets to his feet, leaves you to throb and shiver and beg, whole body flashing hot and cold on the precipice of orgasm. Still holding you pinned in place with your wrists at the small of your back, you watch his eyes roam along your draped form, he drags his hand down the wet length of his face, wiping the drippiness of your slick away. “Stay just like that for me,” and his eyes move to yours in the mirror, as if he’s known the entire time just how riveted on him you’d been. “What?” He asks with a crooked brow and a mean little smirk. “You think you get to come? After that little display?”

“Don’t be mean,” you whisper, staying exactly as he’d directed. Trying your best to be a good girl.

“Shoulda thought of that before, sweet girl.” He bends over the length of you so you’re eye to eye now, gets his face right up close to yours and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You wanna pretend to fight, stand there like an indignant little girl stomping your foot and yellin’ about bein’ jealous while my come runs down your thighs still. Obviously, I’m not doin’ a good enough job of remindin’ you you’re mine, how much I want you. Gonna fix that now.” Presses another soft kiss to your mouth now.

“You’re trying to dominate me,” you whine, struggling to press against his mouth again even as he pulls back out of your reach, plants a big palm between your shoulders to keep you still.

“You bet your fuckin’ ass I am. You’re gonna do what I tell you to when you’re letting me fill you with my come the way you are. And you’re gonna like it too. You get me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

But then he goes serious, that teasing glint in his eyes flickering away suddenly. “You have nothing to be jealous of. Ever. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t care about anything else but this.” And even though you’re sure it must be a lie, it sounds so lovely, you choose to believe him for now. You nod up at him, sniffling and crying again a little bit. “And no one takes care of you like I do,” he finally says, as if it’s a reminder, a consolation to the both of you once again.

And he’s right, as he tells you to stay put, be a good girl and not move, leaves you there bent over the bed, that chant sounds in your mind, no one takes care of you like he does, no one, no one, no one.

He steps back into his bedroom to the sight of you still draped over the bed, big eyes wet and slightly vacant, pussy red and swollen and bared to him like a wound with his name on it. You’d brought your fingers up to your mouth, chewing on your fingernails the way you did sometimes when you were anxious or overwhelmed, and when your eyes flit to him, taking in the bowl of warm water, the washcloth and shaving cream in his hold, they go wide, shocked. He arranges his things, gripping you by the hips to turn you over, pulling his shirt from you, leaving you entirely naked, and settling between your spread thighs. “Wh– what are you doing?” Voice all breathy and hitched, the thrum of your excited pulse in your throat.

“Gonna shave you bare. Then I’m gonna eat you ‘til you’re crying, ‘til you’re so swollen you can barely take my fingers. After that, I’m gonna wedge my cock inside you and fuck you ‘til you’re so full’a my come you’ll remember not to forget you ain’t got no reason to be jealous ever again.” He strokes your curls gently with the pad of his thumb, something like fondness in the gesture, clicks his tongue. “These’re so pretty. Gonna miss ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you choke when he drapes the water warmed washcloth over your spread pussy.

“You wanna be a brat, you wanna fight and act like you don’t know I belong to you and you to me? That none of that other shit matters– I’m gonna remind you, don’t worry.”

You crane your neck, pushing up on your elbows to watch him remove the washcloth and cover the soft curls of your groin with shaving cream. When he opens the blade and brings it to your skin, the sight of the straight edged blade against you, the smooth cream as the steel reveals the bare, satin soft skin beneath, has your chest heaving, sweat pooling at the little notch of your throat – fucking gorgeous and his.

“You’re going to be so sensitive, baby,” he murmurs as he bends your leg back and opened wide, splitting you for his gaze. Delicate with the movements of his wrist as he shaves you. “All bare and slick down here, just for me. You’re so swollen already.”

You mumble something, moaning and letting yourself flop back against the mattress, he’s quick to pull the blade from you, pausing his movements while you settle, gives you a second to press the balls of your palms into the sockets of your eyes, whining Joel and daddy and please. And the trust in this moment between the two of you, that you’re letting him wield a blade so close to your fragile center, letting him do this to you as a way to remind the both of you of the power you cede and wield over and to one another, something that gives him the opportunity to inflict his will in a way that recenters you, reminds you that you’re his, his to do with you as he will, and it’s just the two of you in this space and you trust each other implicitly, it has a sense of control swelling inside of Joel, making his cock rock hard in his jeans, leak down his thigh. Control in a way there is none of in everything else between the two of you. Control in a way there cannot exist in any other aspect of your relationship. When he’s finished, he cleans you slowly with a new warm, damp cloth, then goes to put away his supplies, and when he returns, he looms over you, taking in the sight of your little bald cunt now.

Slowly, he starts to pull his clothes off, watching the quick panting of your breathing, the dip and swell of your belly, so aroused by the intimacy you’ve just shared that your pupils are blown wide and dark. “You’ve made such a mess, little girl,” he says, dragging a single finger through your overflowing slit, following the slick from your swollen clit to your asshole where it pools beneath. He fingers your folds gently, avoiding your swollen clit, your little hole winking at him wantonly. “Please–” you whisper so softly, almost gasping for breath you can barely get the words out.

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know you need to come so bad, don’t you?” He drags his palms up and down your thighs, up to your waist and then tugs you down over the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him, wide eyes riveted hungry on his cock. “How does it feel? So sensitive, isn’t it?” He’s so hard his erection stands straight up towards his belly, balls hanging heavy and full and aching. He gently drags his fingers along your scalp, feels the heat emanating from your skull. “Lick it all over, get it nice and wet so I can put it inside you.” He knows he needs to be careful now. The two of you are wide open to each other in this moment, so on edge he could come just at the look in your eyes, and you, something more than just vulnerable. He’d worried briefly, in the past weeks, if he should stop, send you away, take himself away, tell you it was too much. You were getting too attached, and although he knew it was too late for himself, that he was beyond salvaging when it came to you, he could imagine nothing worse than seeing you come out hurt from this. Could also imagine no scenario in which you wouldn’t anymore. He feeds you his cock, fisted tightly at the root to stave off his impending orgasm, slides all the way to the back of your throat until he feels his tip hit resistance, enjoying the sight of you choking on it for just a second. Good girl. “Fuck– fuck, yes. See, see how good you can be for me?” He tells you as you suck on his tip, hollowing your cheeks and running your tongue all around the wide head, tonguing his foreskin, making him hiss and bear his teeth at you while you look up at him with falsely innocent eyes. He yanks you up and against him, gives you a filthy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and false control, swallowing down the taste of his own precum. He’s never felt less in control of himself, of a situation, than he does right now. He has, in these past weeks, entirely lost sight of himself, of what this should and should not have been, blindly led by his cock and his heart. He’s lost all control, and Joel is nothing but weakness and want now.

Turning you in his arms, he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide and pulls you onto his lap, impaling you back onto his spit-slick cock so swiftly he doesn't even think you’re expecting it until he’s bumping against your womb, your knees hooked and spread wide over his own. Too desperate to lick your cunt again the way he’d planned. You let out a long, shocked keen, back arching, trying to escape the too big cock suddenly shoved inside of your tiny hole. Joel has to grit his teeth, take deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth before he can speak at the feel of you fluttering and pulsing around him, “The more you whine, the harder I’ll fuck you, got it?” There’s nothing even close to a coherent response coming out of your mouth, and he was right, shaved bare like this, you’re so much more sensitive. He pulls the lips of your sex gently apart around where he’s impaling you, takes in the sight of your little hole stretched obscenely around his fat cock in the mirror’s reflection and slowly starts to seesaw his hips back and forth, watching his glossy length disappear in and out of you. “How does it feel, baby? You’re so pretty, look at yourself.” He whispers into the small shell of your ear, presses a soft kiss to the lobe, tugs on it with his teeth. He slides in all the way, pulling your hips down so that his balls press against the curve of your ass. “Look, see where daddy’s so deep inside you – can see it in your belly.” Your head lolls back on his shoulder, gaze hooded and delirious, but your hand moves down to the soft skin of your stomach, gently cupping the outline of his cock inside of you. “I’m so deep inside of your tiny cunt, baby. Look at how you’re all mine–” He starts to move again, flicking at your clit, interchanging between fast and hard and slow and so soft you can barely feel it, and your face looks like you want to say something, tell him something, scream, but can’t. And there’s so much he’d like to tell you too, all the things you deserve and probably need to hear from him, but can’t either. He feels you start to tighten up on him, the heat in your body suddenly seeming to flush higher and brighter, almost to boiling, your cunt going so, so tight it almost pushes him out. He presses inside harder, holds you in place with one hand, and thrums fast and hard at your clit with the other, focusing the tip of his cock at the front wall of your pussy, “You’re gonna come–�� he grunts, holds you in place and hammers into that swollen place inside of you he’d kill to own for the rest of his life. “Fuck– fuck, you’re gonna squirt all over my cock, aren’t you? Can feel it–” Your face spasms, your belly clenching hard and tight, and you gush, letting out a pained, animal sound, voice broken and breathless, wetting both of your thighs with your come, the bed covers beneath soaked dark. Joel doesn’t stop. He wants more, again, all of you, thrums again at your clit with the pads of his fingers, changes the angle of your hips to roll you fast and hard onto his come-slicked length, pinches your clit hard, watches you squirt all over him again. Something like the sound of his name leaves your mouth in a broken cry, your chewed raw nails trying to claw at him ineffectively. “Dirty fucking girl – creamin’ all over your daddy’s cock,” his voice is gruff, not entirely his own. There’s something here – you’d told him once you’d always felt out of control. In your relationship with Sam, aware of what he was, always, of what you were and were not, and that there was something about control that was so necessary to you now. And there is something here like control, your control over him, taking hold of him entirely so he’s unsure of what it is he should and should not be, here and now, with you. He should not be delusional, he should be aware. He is not adhering to either very well.

He goes to his feet with you still impaled on his throbbing length, erection so hard it hurts, can barely stand up straight, blood pounding on rhythm to the chant of your name. He pulls you from him, watches the slick slide of your cunt walls dragging along his length, the cream of your slick left as a reminder all over his skin. He presses you onto the bed, rolls you this way and that too look at you all over, bends to drag his tongue through that drippy cunt of yours that squirts and comes so prettily for him, then back up and kneeling above you, between your glossy thighs, and thrusting into that tight cunt, grunting as you clench around him. So hard he feels the screaming tip of his cock punch against your cervix, listens to you make a hurt, hiccupy sound when his balls slap against you.

He should be gentle. He should be careful. He should be aware, not delusional, himself. He should reach back and take hold of that man he always thought himself to be, hard and cold but never cruel. Maybe not good, but always aware and never weak. He’s none of those things now here with you. Joel is now only himself. You’ve made me into a real person, you’d whispered onto his tongue. What he’d not told you was that you’d done the same to him.

You’re a gift, a gift, a gift, a gift. A gift in the way his son never was. A gift in the way that a whole lifetime lost and returned to him never was, and Joel is weak and two feet tall and made of paper, but for you. Anyways, or despite it all, still made only for you.

“Fuck me like you’re in love with me,” you say, read his mind, take hold of the beating mass in his chest. Fuck me like you’re in love with me. And maybe you don’t mean it. Maybe you’re too far gone. It doesn’t matter.

He does it anyway. Pulls back, wedges back inside the too swollen, too sensitive, too tiny cunt that belongs to him. He bears his teeth at you, grabs hold of your face so hard you’ll bruise, and fucks you like he’s in love with you. It comes to him so easily, after all.

Shoving his knees high up beneath your thighs, he brings your ankles to his shoulders, little feet knocking against his ears, he wishes for sense, he finds none, only a deeper, sharper angle. The sounds of your cries and the things you whisper in his ear he knows you should not say and he should not listen to that fill him full of things he should not feel like I was made for you and daddy, there’s no one like you and come inside me, please, please, I need it. He pulls his hips back, swings them forward, listens to the sound of his balls slap, and you beg for harder, savors the fire that pools in his belly and the base of his spine. And he thinks that he should pull out, he’s been so fucking careless with you and your future and your vulnerability, but he’s like a monster full of greed, intent on nothing but staking his claim, leaving a claim, desperate for a way to be remembered or never forgotten or never left behind. “We have to be careful,” he begs you, and feels scared and terrible for a moment, not to be trusted with a gift like this in his hands. “I’m going to get you fucking pregnant, God.”

But you’re like some siren, something taking him away from himself, and you tell him, “I don’t care, I don’t care,” voice gone so far away from yourself too, all hazy, full of bubbles and too cock drunk to be true or sane, but it lands like a gut punch anyway. And Joel tries to hold onto himself he does, he swears he does, tries to remain rational, and aware of what this was supposed to be and not supposed to be. Tells you to please, “Shut up, shut up. Please, don’t say those things to me, I’m begging you.” But eventually that siren song wins out, the feel of your cunt sucking him deeper, milking him dry, your small damp hands pulling at his hair, stubby nails dragging down the skin of his cheeks, over his back, and Joel’s weak now. Weak and full of want and greed and delusion so that all that’s left is capitulation and: “You want daddy to fuck his babies into you? You want me to fill you up and keep you forever?” But something of himself must remain because he covers your mouth, big hand wrapped around your sweaty little face before you can answer, forcing the words silent inside of your mouth, the truth you both know you’d spit out otherwise. Yes, yes, I do. And as if the idea of you carrying his child held a direct like to your orgasm, you start to come around him, overwhelmed cunt, split in two and carved in the shape of his name now, clenching around him, going so wet and hot and tight Joel’s sure he’ll never be able to leave it ever again. You reach down between the two of you, grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, shiny with your slick and jack him off with sharp little tugs, make sure he fills you with his spend full to the brim. He spills over and out, dribbles down the slope of your ass to leave you lying in a little puddle of his semen, and when he pulls out, careful to not ask you to hold all of his weight over you, he brings your fingers to your gaping cunt, “Feel where daddy’s been,” lets you play in the imprint of himself he’s left behind.

He lays beside you, steaming hot little thing worming up against him, nuzzling beneath his chin, pressing tiny kisses that tell him all the things the both of you need to hear and say, and he feels himself go cool and dry inside and out. Something terrible suddenly swelling within him. Something that reeks of truth, and you must smell it in the air as well because you share a piece of your own painful honesty with him, force him to confront it. “Sometimes I think I’m impossible to love,” in the smallest voice he’s surely ever heard.

“Haven’t I shown you how untrue that is?” Because if there’s one thing he’ll never do with you, it’s lie.

You tuck your hand beneath your cheek, and you glow, and he feels blinded by it for a moment, eyes wide and so vulnerably tender, something afraid that makes something equally vulnerable inside of him rage and beat its chest. “Is that what this is? Are we in love, Joel?”

He thinks you must see the fear in his eyes, because yours suddenly go calm, fathomless, something steady for him to hold on to, and that stench of honesty chokes him. “Yeah–” he nods, swallows, thinks of his son, hates himself. “I think so, baby.”

What can remain the same after honesty like that? After splitting yourself open and showing each other your insides in such a way? What could possibly remain the same? Nothing. The truth is laid bare, and all that’s left now. And instead of setting you free, the truth never really sets you free, it makes everything terribly fraught and frightened and fragile.

When he moves to stand, the sound of your desperation for him to make you his in an irreversible way rings like exploding shrapnel in your ears, “Do you think we’re bad?” You ask because you’ve only ever wanted to be good, but his eyes are so haunted, large and round and fathomless. His face, taking on a sudden sort of gauntness as he thinks of what to say to you after the worst has already been said. You watch the line of his throat ripple as he swallows several times, reading the real truth in his eyes before he shakes his head slowly, incongruous like a lie, “Never you,” and he does not include himself, “Never you.” It’s devastating. Devastating that the only thing that’s ever mattered, the thing that has finally made you good, is bad in his eyes.

You sit at the kitchen table, watching him while he makes dinner for you. Cold and shivery and wet between your legs in a way that’s not comfortable anymore. In a way that feels like an essential part of you is slowly dripping out, leaving you grossly empty inside. The beautiful dinner he’d bought and made for you tastes like ash wrapped in all the honesty surrounding the two of you, and you stare at each other and there's no need for more words because the truth is all right here in front of the two of you to see with your own two eyes. You want to go get dressed, but you don’t want to call attention to the seed of wrongness that’s been planted now. Are we in love? When the answer had so obviously been yes for so long already. Naive, silly girl. And you want to be angry with him. Ask him why he’d done this to you, made you fall in love with him when he’d said before that you couldn’t, when it was all so hopeless. You also want to hear him say it, say the words out loud with teeth and tongue and sound, you want to taste the words in your mouth because seeing them in his eyes wrapped in all that hopelessness isn’t nearly enough to satiate this hunger he’s stoked inside of you. You want to ask him to hold you, to crawl into his lap and have him cradle you like a child protected in the embrace of stronger, wiser arms. You want to have never been put on this path, to have never met his son, never have married him, never have met him. You want the whole terrible ordeal to be wiped from mind and mouth and memory. You want to have not had to accept it all, not have moved on, not be grateful in ways you can’t even understand for the lesson it’d all posed. You want it all to have never happened. To never have experienced the entire convoluted mess of feelings this ordeal of tearing down your entire life to make yourself anew had caused. To have never fallen in love with your ex-husbands father.

He sits in his chair, hands cupping his chin for so long, silent and staring, probably wondering what to do with you, and when he finally stands, nothing but a long, pained sigh to interrupt the terrible silence, you finally muster the strength to go find that missing bra. Crawl home, once again a ghoul in the night in need of wound licking. And it must be that very same terrible silence, the even more terrible look in his eyes that has something pressurized, set to burst, bottled inside of you because when a knock on the door sounds once again, you don’t even stop for half a thought, exploding suddenly. In his clothes and come, ripping the door open, the words on your tongue ready to spit at her that he’s already got one desperate woman on his hands that needs taking care of, and no, he will not be fixing her dishwasher or her pussy or anything else she thinks she might need him for.

But it’s not the neighbor. And you have nothing but fear lodged in your throat to spit out when you meet his eyes.

Eyes like his father’s, colder, crueler, furious and humiliated, take you in. Just fucked hair and a flannel that’s not your own, mis-buttoned, come-dryed thighs. And worst of all, his voice, like he isn’t even that surprised, like he’d come here just to find this, “You fucking whore.”

“Sam–” you’re not sure if you actually say his name, but the intention is held there, on the tip of your tongue. A plea for mercy or a shout for help or protection or something.

“You fucking whore,” and you flinch at the scream in his throat, scuffle back into the safety of the house of the man you love who is the father of the man you were married to, the man who broke you, the betrayed son. He’s shocked still for a single second, before he’s charging at you, fist not entirely raised but definitely held with consideration. And, “I knew it, I always fucking knew it,” before Joel is there, stepping between you and your ex-husuband, his son, blocking you with his body, big hand wrapping entirely around your forearm to hold you close to himself, to hold you in his protection.

“You better put your fucking arm down before I break it, son.” That moment, Joel’s voice, the utter betrayal in his son’s eyes. The sound of you breaking something that you should have never ever gotten in between. It is worse than all the rest. You take him in, the sight of this man who you used to be married to, he’d always seemed so large in your eyes before, so unattainable. Something never to be fully touched, only gazed upon. Always apart, always cold. Sam’s eyes fall to the place where his father holds you, and his face spasms, something terrible. Broken and alone, a child cast out into the cold. And you want to say that he seems so different now, haggard and gaunt and whittled down to bare bones, but it isn’t the truth. You always knew what he was, your most terrible bit of honesty. You always knew, you’d just not cared before. There was never any separation, no space for you to take a breath and want better for yourself. To be under his scrutiny, something that at one time felt like admiration, but was never anything even close, it was like nothing else, like everything, a great lie. But he was too aware of it, of himself, of that power he held over you, and unlike his father, he was cruel with it. Your eyes move up to the back of Joel’s head, the hard edge of his jaw, the muscle that spasms furiously there. What would it do to you now to be under that same sort of attention, influence, admiration, but from a kinder, gentler, honest source? What had it done to you? Dangerous to risk yourself again, impossible to stop now.

“I always knew it,” he says again, “I always knew you wanted him. What? You let him fuck you?” The words in his mouth are a terrible thing, Joel says something, tells him to hold his tongue, to get the fuck out, but your eyes are riveted on the sight of his face, this man you used to be married to who’d broken you so completely, who’d stolen your very memory of yourself. He seems wholly unrecognizable now, and in a way, it frightens you, that someone you’d known for what seemed like so long could be such a stranger now. Joel’s hand is an anchor, such a comfort wrapped around your arm. “You barely let me touch you for two years, but you’ll bend over like a whore for my fucking Dad?” His voice breaks and it makes you want to laugh a little bit.

Joel shoves him backward, jerking you forward still in his hold. “Say that word one more time in my house, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you. And don’t fucking look at her,” he snaps, reaching up to give him a quick two tapped slap on the cheek to focus his gaze on himself. “Get out, Sam. I’ll call you later. We can–”

But unheeded or too far gone, like he needs to hear the sound of the words as a comfort to himself in this moment, Sam looks back at you, “You’re a fucking whore. I wish I’d never met you, I hate you.” Joel shoves him backwards again, harder this time so that his leg slams into the side table, overturning the lamp there into a crashing heap on the floor, so hard that when he pulls you with him it feels as if he’ll wrench your shoulder from its socket with the force of his anger. You yelp in pain, but cling to him anyways, refusing to let him go either, hiding behind the hill of his shoulder. Pushing his son away, not letting you go. It’s wrong, it’s wrong and you’d told him that you wanted to keep him, to take him away from his own son, that you were made of nothing but greed, but there’s something wrong here, inherently not right, bad.

And even yet, you can’t help the look on your face that must surely be nothing short of humiliating to Sam for the way he reddens, the little muscles in his face jerking uncontrollably. You’re done here, Sam. Get the fuck out, Joel says again, taking a step forward to herd him out, pulling you along, keeping you close. You taunt him with your gaze, can’t help yourself, “I thought I was a prude?” You say from behind the protection of his father’s body. “Isn’t that what you called me for all those years? Thought I was frigid, unfuckable, unlovable? Am I not anymore?” You ask in a small, breathy voice, falsely guileless, entirely provoking. “Have you changed your mind now that I’ve taken your Daddy from you?” False pout and mocking eyebrow.

Joel’s head snaps over his shoulder, incredulous look on his face, and Sam flinches as if struck, splintered glass in the shape of his son’s gaze, it fractures, falls back to where Joel holds you.“I wanted to talk to you,” He says to his father, “I wanted to– You’re really choosing her over me?” It costs Sam something to say this, and you weren’t expecting it either because suddenly, the game changes. His voice is child-like in its hurt, that son who longed for his father for all those years. “After everything that was stolen from us, you’re not going to choose me?” You know in that moment, he’s won.

“This isn’t about choice, son,” Joel tells him, but you hear it for the lie it is. “This isn’t about you versus her.”

“But it is,” and his eyes flash to yours, victory held in them. “She was my wife. And you’re my father, and you have to make a choice now. This is fucking sick.” There’d always been an intelligence to his cruelty, and he wields it now. The sound of his son’s name is a choked thing in Joel’s mouth. He goes rigid, a painful stillness, muscles vibrating with warring emotions. You hold your breath for it. He looks down at where he holds you, tightens his grip painfully, and then slowly, so that the three of you are sure to take in the whole procession of it, he lets go of your arm. One finger at a time, the heat of his palm leaving you, and you’re alone.

“It isn’t about choice,” he says again, and yet, one has already been made. You stand still, head bent, gaze riveted on the place where he’d let you go. He takes a step away from you, towards his son, and his voice is low and gentle and soothing now, and you’re still staring at the barrenness of your arm.

I had such potential to be good, you think. He just never saw it. But you don’t know who you mean. And you don’t think it matters anymore.

They say more to each other. Joel’s hand on his son’s arm now, pushing him towards the door, but still, still comforting for the thing it symbolizes, a benediction of choice, and you turn around to face the other side of the room. You can’t look – wrapping your arms around yourself. You don’t think you’ll run this time. Face it head on, let it be over now in full. Sam’s voice rings shrill, the sound of your name and curses and accusations, fighting a futile fight against his father’s even baritone, the sound of the slamming door, and then silence. When you turn back over your shoulder, they’ve stepped outside together, leaving you alone inside the house.

He’d asked you once what you wanted, and you can’t fathom what the point of it had been. What does it matter what I want? That’s the least significant thing here. It always was.

When he finally comes back inside, you’re dressed, lost bra retrieved, your bag packed and sitting at your feet. You’d gone into the kitchen just before, taken a peek at the pie, and you were right, and you don’t know how he could have possibly known, but he’d gotten you rhubarb. Your face is dry now, no tears and no will to cry. There’s nothing to speak of in his gaze when he leans back against the door to look at you, swallowing down words you’re sure will mean nothing in the face of all of this. And you look at him and you love him and you think, I was married to a man once and now I’m not and now I’m with his father and I love him in the way I never loved the son; and so now, I must ask myself, am I merely looking for the love of lesser man, who could have never given me what I needed, in the eyes of a man who seems to have all the answers?

You don’t think so. And yet, there are still no answers to be had, and no questions left to ask.

“I’m going this time,” In case he has designs to force you to stay, and even though there’s a light of acceptance in his eyes, he still shakes his head. Swallows and gathers his seams about himself before he says, “You aren’t leaving me,” gaze churning from warry to flinty to resolved.

“I was never supposed to stay at all. I was never supposed to be for you. You said so yourself– you said we couldn’t fall in love. That I wasn't for you.” You get to your feet, pulling your purse over your shoulder, and he rushes towards you, pushing the bag back down to the floor, taking your face in his hands hard, something like panic in his eyes and in the air and in the vibration of his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, none of that matters– Whatever was before, whatever was in the past doesn’t mean shit when it’s just you and me here together–” And you’re crying now, real, great sobs of grief.

“You were the one that said we couldn’t fall in love,” you cry again, try and pull away, but he holds you to himself, squeezes you against him, shivers like he too is crying, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I was a fucking idiot, a damn liar. There was never any other option, baby.” Most terrible of terrible truths, you’d both known if for the lie it was the moment he’d said it, even before, probably. You stand limply in the circle of his embrace. He’d said once that he’d been a coward not to go out and look for you, but you know the opposite is true. No one is more of a coward than you were for not having waited for him. For having been so desperate for love, you’d been willing to settle for the wrong kind. You’ll never be able to settle for false comfort like that again, and it’s all his fault. “You’ve ruined me now. I’m ruined.”

He pulls back to take your face in his hands again, and you were right, he is crying. “I’m ruined! And I need you to give me another chance. I demand another chance– to… to fix this. To–”

But another chance for what? To change what? “He’s your son, and I only want you to be happy.” And you know he couldn’t ever be happy, truly happy, estranged from his only child. After all, like he’d said, the theft of him had been the worst thing ever done. You wouldn’t commit a crime like that against Joel also, never.

“Baby, please, I think… I– I love–”

“Please–” You press the tips of your fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “Please, don’t do this to me now.” It makes you angry, this intent of his to trap you here with his love when there’s no room for you to stay. You turn away, picking up your bag again, but he snatches you back into himself, wrapping his big arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest. And you’d struggle if you could, but there’s so little fight left in you. “You’re the one that said – you said we couldn’t!”

“I know what I fucking said,” he spits, voice so angry it almost frightens you. “But there’s still– We have to talk, we have to–”

“What can you possibly imagine there’s left to say?”

“Everything.”

“Or nothing.”

“Look at me. Look at me–” He pulls your head back and to the side by your chin. There’s a bright flush sitting high on his cheekbones, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between yours, searching for a way to fix this. To fix the good thing that’s now been broken. His thumb strokes the point of your chin softly, and he presses his mouth slowly to yours, eyes open to watch for your reaction. “This wasn’t a mistake,” he tells you, “We weren’t a mistake.” Weren’t. The final nail in the coffin. “I know, I know that there are so many things– that we can’t… but just– just stand here with me for one minute, please. Just give me one more second, and I’ll–”

He doesn’t finish the thought, and you let him kiss you one last time. And when he pulls back, because it doesn’t feel like it really matters, and because you just want to hear the sound of it coming out of your mouth, because you wish it was true and not the complete opposite, because you want to be as cruel and ugly outside as you feel on the inside, you whisper, “I hate you,” a full bodied lie.

His eyes shutter and flicker for a moment, a wash of hurt suffusing them. But because he’s never been a weak man and because he’s always been honest, and he’s always, always above everything else, been good, he says, “And I love you,” and there it is. You’d thought you wanted to hear the sound of that too, but now that you have, it’s more terrible than you could have ever possibly imagined. And after that, there really is nothing left to say.

Joel goes to see his brother afterwards because it’s what he always does and who he always goes to when he’s lost. When a son in the shape of a man made of nothing but childish fear and anger and hurt, had appeared one day, dropped out of the blue sky, onto his front porch, when he realized he wanted his daughter-in-law in a way no good man should. And now, that he’s admitted, because the realization had already been there, swift and uncompromising, the admittance had been all that was left, the hard going part, that he was in love with you – in love with the woman who had been married to his son, here he finds himself again. Lost and weak and two feet tall, made of nothing but hollow bones. “I’m not myself,” he tells Tommy, and then amends the lie because he’s not come here to tell lies. “She’s made me into someone I don’t recognize and wish I could be forever.” How would he get his old self back now? Impossible. You’d taken him away with you, he was only half made now, half man, half strength. And Tommy is understanding because it has always only been the two of them, and he’s always seen Joel for exactly who he is without judgement. The most honest eyes in the whole world, his brother. “I'm afraid that she’s the love of my life. I’m afraid that I’m not really so afraid at all. And she won’t even talk to me.” You’d left his house a week and a day ago, and Joel was going out of his mind, losing pieces of himself along the way, his sanity, his sense of right and wrong, his self restraint, self possession. He was about to do something crazy, he felt it gnawing and itching at his bones. He could barely remember the look of betrayal in his own son’s eyes amidst the madness of the memory of the hurt in yours, the sight of you walking away from him. “And my son. My son, my child, Tommy, he hates me. And I’m in love with the woman he used to be married to, who he hurt. And he’s a cruel and small man, and he needs me. He needs my help, and I have a responsibility to him. But Tommy– Tommy, I love her. She’s mine. And what am I going to do? What am I going to say to him? How will I ever face him again? She’s mine, and I– I can’t explain it, I can’t excuse it. But she’s mine– she’s my woman. She belongs to me. I know this as well as I know my own name, my own face.”

And his brother, his brother, his brother who always understands him, who always stands beside him, he claps him on the shoulder and says, “If anyone can find a way, Joel, it’s you. I know you can. You’re stronger and smarter than anyone I’ve ever known. And you don’t abandon yours.” And so Joel must believe him because Tommy is his brother, and he knows him, and he knows that even though he’s weak now, even if he must let himself be weak now, in the face of all of this, Joel is not truly a weak man where it counts.

You and Sam had only ever spoken once on the topic of children. It was, from the first moment broached, a non possibility, not even half of an option. Devastating, but now, all this time later, almost like a grace from God. You’d wanted a baby so badly, more than anything in the whole world, and he would not give you one. He’d said your desire for a child was incongruous with your cold nature, how frigid you were.

And you’d been so long, caught in the who am I, in the what am I doing. You never stopped to ask why. Molded into a bad shape, but mute and deaf to the intricacies of what had carved you so. You’d needed to destroy yourself entirely, tear down everything around yourself, and then recreate yourself and everything else in your life in a new image. Perhaps, then, you’d finally have the chance to be good.

Your husband’s father had given you this. Joel had given you this.

And Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. How to tell him that you’re sorry? That you’re vile and cruel and yes, even cold sometimes, but for him, for him you can find it in yourself to be soft, something to be forgiven, you hope. His son had called you a prude, and then, his father’s whore. Did it matter what the truth was? You weren’t so sure. Did you want Joel because you were a whore? Because your own father had never loved you, and you were thus desperate to fill that void left by lesser, crueler men? Did it matter? You hated the idea that this desire for him had to have been born by consequence of another man. What about what you wanted? What about the fact that it felt good when he was inside of you? When he gave it to you rough and hard and when he told you that you belonged to him because you did, because it was the truth. What about the fact that you were in love with him? That should have counted more because you said it counted more. And then that was it, nothing more to the thing of it. So what if he was the father of the man who’d been your husband? The man who’d stolen all of your surety, your passion, yourself. Sometimes, retribution feels fucking good. So what about it? And then, and after all, you were in love with him. So what did it all matter after that?

People liked to say that sometimes a bad thing is worth it if it feels good enough. But what if you didn't think it was bad at all, and what if it didn’t just feel good enough? What if it’s actually everything, the best thing you’d ever had in your whole life? And what if it is simply and solely, or maybe even also, who cares, who cares, what if it is simply because it’s Joel? Joel who is beautiful and strong and good. Maybe even perfect in a way that you need.

He’d told you once that he’d never had the chance to be angry, that it had been stolen from him, the worst thing ever done to me, he’d said. You know that you could never do that to him. Never hurt him in that way. And there might be so many options. Choices. Truths. Yourself. Finally, you are only yourself. Good in the way he’d shown you to be. In a way that did not bow to anything but the sort of goodness you needed. But Joel; above all else, Joel. He is the first choice, and everything else seems inconsequential after that. What is goodness worth in the face of all he’s given you?

So, you sit now, within the basin of your empty bathtub, no more leaky kitchen sink echoing through your empty apartment, he’d fixed it weeks ago, and peer over the lip of the tub. And there, blinking up at you from the face of the skinny pink and white stick, is your answer to goodness. It had always been within yourself. And you think, if it must be just the two of us now, then let it. After all, your father has finally taught me how to be good.

End.

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fatuismooches · 2 years

Note

Hello

I just saw your post with the fragile SO and honestly I loved it sooo much ❤️

Now I wanted to request kinda of a follow up. Like what if before you died you wrote them a letter, saying how much you love them and how they made your last days on earth so memorable and stuff like that. And they found it, like maybe a month or so after your death. How would they all react? (I'm specially curious of Capitano because you said you thought he would think that he killed you 😭)

I really love your writing and I plan to make more request in the future 👋

-🦎

♡𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞/𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐝 ♡

synopsis: The Harbingers are made of steel, unflinching in any possible situation. But it seems that even such strong beings falter in the face of their lover's death, especially after they find a letter you left behind. Can be read as a part 2 to this.

includes: all harbingers (platonic pulcinella) w/ gn! reader

notes: Hop on the angst train, everyone. This is the first completely angsty thing I've written, and probably one of my favorites + longest pieces. I hope you enjoy this sadness, anon...!

Pierro:

Pierro carried on. He went about his day, filing paperwork, assigning duties to new recruits. What could he do? There was no time to mourn. The entire Fatui depended on his guidance and orders. He couldn’t just drop everything to fully devote himself to grieving you. But everyone knew - in any spare moment he had, he was thinking about you. Thinking about how he used to be able to go home to you waiting for him. Thinking about the walks he took with you that were heartwarming despite the body-chilling temperature. Thinking about when you were alive.

It was another day when one of your maids came to him with a piece of paper. Of course, she was terrified at being in the presence of the Harbinger, but she presented a folded piece of paper to him, stating that she had found it while cleaning your room. Pierro hadn’t been in there for a while. He was consciously trying his best to avoid it, choosing to pick up work instead. He nodded and the maid quickly scurried out of the room. It was most likely a final memento from you. He should honor that, he thought as he took off his mask.

Dear Pierro,

Hello there, my love. I hope your day wasn’t too tiring. I know how you’re always swamped with your Fatui business and such. You’re the head Harbinger, you know! You should definitely abuse your power to get some more days off. You didn’t hear that from me though, not like I wanna keep you to myself or anything. Totally not because I’m dying to spend some more time with you before I quite literally die.

You know, sometimes I wish I was a Fatui soldier just so that I could admire you from afar some more. Those recruits are damn lucky, getting to see you more than I do. I don’t mean to complain though. I’m still tremendously grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying the best moments of my life with you. Yeah, even when I made jokes you still had that stoic look on your face but it was still hilarious. I loved when you would wrap me in your coat and tell me stories about Khaenri’ah. Even when you weren’t here, I loved when these random recruits would be scurrying to my room every so often to deliver your handwritten notes.

Truly, there’s no life I’d rather live than this one… minus the illness part though. I am sorry to make you shoulder another death, my dear, but I love you greatly. I will always be with you.

Quietly, Pierro put the paper down and rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Ever since the fall of his nation, his heart had long gone numb. He had tried to ignore the prickling of his heart after your death, but your letter was really rubbing it on. When was the last time mere words could stir up such emotion in him? He didn’t know. But he promised you, this would not be your final resting place. Pierro knew, after fulfilling the Tsaritsa’s promise, he would see you again.

Capitano:

Capitano wasn’t very photogenic. After all, all you saw was a helmet shrouding his face in darkness along with his pitch-black armor and clothes. But you had insisted on taking a variety of pictures with him, claiming that it kept you happy. It wasn’t until later on when he stumbled across a scrapbook, with pages covered in photos of the two of you together, that he understood why. Since then, he let you do as you please. The doctors said it was good for you to keep occupied by doing things you liked. And well, it was rather cute, with all the decorations and fancy tape you added. Capitano often found himself looking at it to see what you added when you weren’t around.

But ever since your death, he hadn’t looked at it since. If he did, he didn’t think he’d be able to control the emotions boiling up inside of him. If he looked at your smiling face again, the pain and regret would be too much to bear. But as the days passed by and he continued to think about you, he couldn’t help but flip open the scrapbook, revisiting the memories he made with you so long ago. He flipped until he found a envelope in the middle, causing him to perk up. It had been sealed perfectly, even stamped with one of his seals. Now, Capitano didn’t want to invade your privacy, but what was inside called to him too much, and he very carefully unsealed it with a knife. Inside was a piece of parchment, similar to the ones he used to send you letters.

My knight,

I’m writing this after you just left for an expedition. You’ve just fed me breakfast (a/d fa//ed, but it’s f/ne b/ca/se it w/s c/te.) (The ending part of the sentence has been erased, but it’s still a bit readable.) We took an early bath together, and you helped me choose a nice outfit for today. You dutifully assisted me with my medicine and tucked me back into bed for some rest. Lastly, you’ve just tenderly kissed me with all the love in the world, my favorite part of course.

It’s too bad that I won’t be able to receive any more of your kisses soon. I think the sickness is really catching up to me, haha. (There are some doodles of the two of you randomly drawn in the middle of the paper, with lots of hearts and stars and rainbows. Maybe you stopped because you didn’t know how to continue.) To be honest, I’ve asked the doctors not to tell you, and somehow, they’ve listened to me. I just don’t want you to worry about me. Somehow, for someone as menacingly looking as you, you worry a lot more than I thought (no offense, though.)

I don’t want you to blame yourself for anything, my love. You genuinely made my life so, so much better. Even towards the end, I can only feel happiness that I was able to share some of my life with someone so incredible. You aren’t a monster. You’re the man I love dearly, the one who many people look up to all the time. You did everything and more, which really warms my heart.

I’m saying this because I know how you are and I need to knock some sense into you before you start getting any crazy ideas. Please don’t beat yourself up. If I could choose my destiny, I’d rather choose to be sick and be with you rather than being healthy. I’d choose you again and again, over and over, my dear. I love you, truly.

Carefully folding the letter, he tucked it into the envelope again and resealed it. He snugly placed it back into the scrapbook and closed it, placing it back into the drawer where he usually kept it. Capitano was used to the grief and destruction that war brought. But he wasn’t used to it when love brought these feelings upon him. His heart still hurt - terribly so - but… your letter seems to have brought him some peace. You would forever be in his heart.

Columbina:

It had been a while since your death. By now, everyone had become accustomed to hearing her songs every day. It was a constant reminder of your passing. Oftentimes, Columbina had begun to stay in your room longer than her own. You were gone, but something about your space soothed her soul a bit from all the grief she was going through. And she also liked to go through your stuff and remember different things about you.

There was a box that contained a compilation of the many songs and poems she gifted you, along with some that you created yourself with her help. Sometimes, she liked to go through the box and think about you, but she never had the time to inspect every piece. Until now, when she noticed that there was an unfamiliar piece of paper that she didn’t recognize. Columbina picked it up and began to read.

My lovely melody,

Lately, I’ve begun to sing more. I think you’ve inspired me. I hope you don’t mind me stealing that one song you like to hum the most. The only problem is that I don’t have enough stamina to sing for that long, and I think my voice is kind of off-key. But I promise I’m working on it! I’m not going to tell you yet because I want to surprise you with something nice, as a thank you for taking care of me for so long.

Actually, there’s another problem, and it’s that… (it seems that you wrote a lot of words here and then scratched them out; perhaps you were unsure how to word it) Well, I guess I don’t really know if I’ll live long enough to perform for you. It’s been kind of tough lately. But I’m going to persevere for you. Your poems have been helping a lot. We should make a book of them one day. And um, in the case that I don’t make it, I would like you to know how happy you made me.

I always got so giddy when I heard you humming down the hallway. Nothing felt better than when you would croon to me and massage my scalp and play with my hair. You are so comforting and sweet, and just - lots of things that would be too much to write. I always feel eternally fortunate that I was able to have a lover as amazing as you. You really did change my life. I love you very much, Columbina. Please don’t forget me.

Columbina’s usual smile had turned into a downward curve. Oh, how she wished she could hear you sing. Your usual voice and laugh had already been angelic to her, she knew your songs would be beautiful too. But you were no longer here. She would have really loved to hear your song. You would have been the best duet partner. But perhaps, you could hear her songs from the other world as she laid on your coffin once again.

Dottore:

Dottore hadn’t entered your room since your death. He was far too busy with his research and experimentation with resurrection. Mourn you? No, no, you weren’t going to be dead for long, after he finds the answer. You would be back in his arms soon enough. Both of you would be fine. That was, until no matter how hard he researched, he always seemed to hit a dead end. It was frustrating. He couldn’t believe it, but he was at the point where he willingly needed a couple of minutes to rest. Dottore headed to his room, but as he placed his hand on the doorknob, something stopped him and he looked over to the room next to his, yours. He silently walked over and opened your room, having not been in it for a while. The only reason you didn’t share a room was that his was very… bland, boring, not very comfortable, and not spacious enough for the medical equipment.

It was the same as he had left it, not bothering to change anything. You liked to decorate it, and he let you. Framed photos of the two of you were on the dresser, lights hung up around the room. It seemed to make you happy. But there was something he had not noticed before - a slip of paper sticking out from under the pillow. Dottore walked over and took off his mask - something he unconsciously tended to do when it was just the two of you - and opened the folded paper.

To Zandik,

I remember when you first took interest in me, looking at me up and down with your mask on, a wide smirk on your face. I knew my parents said they hired someone intelligent to cure me, but I sure didn’t expect it to be the second Harbinger. I think you already know this, but when I saw you, I was kinda scared for my life. And I was for a while, especially when you made me drink the most hellish concoctions and injected strange things into me. But long story short, I still fell in love with you somehow. Even though you were probably trying so hard just because you wanted to solve the mystery of my illness, I couldn’t help but think you were quite handsome when you focused on something so intensely. Your pointy teeth were the cutest. (The previous sentence has been erased but Dottore could still make it out. You were an idiot, he thinks.)

I don’t mean to insult your intelligence or skill… but I don’t think I’m going to make it, Dottore. I know you’ve been trying really, really hard (I was there the whole time, after all) to help cure me, but I think you know better than me about my condition. So yeah. I guess this is my goodbye… my parting letter.

I know you don’t care about anyone or anything really, but I hope you accept it when I say I genuinely enjoyed our time together. Yea, you were hella terrifying and a lot of scary stories drifted about you, but there was a lot of maniacal laughter and you rambling on about things I had no clue about, but I would always happily listen to you, Zandik. I would write more, but I don’t think you’re one for sappy words and stuff like that. So I’ll leave end it here. I love you very much.

His mouth was a straight thin line at the end of your letter. Dottore put his mask back on and tucked your letter into his coat. For once, he couldn’t blame someone for insulting his intelligence. He did fail, after all. But Dottore was no stranger to failure. Experimentation was a series of trials and errors, failures and successes. He swore to himself that you would not be a failure. Perhaps his journey to Sumeru, the land of wisdom, would grant him some more insight for your resurrection.

Pulcinella:

It was just after your funeral. Surprisingly, all the Harbingers had gathered too. It seemed like they had grown somewhat fond of you after Pulcinella introduced you to them, at least enough to attend your funeral. Pulcinella was grateful. He had spoken a few words in memory of you. He couldn’t keep everyone for long. They had other matters to attend to. But in his heart, he had a lot of dear words for you.

Pulcinella sat down at his desk, deciding to do some paperwork to distract his mind. He pulled out the drawer to retrieve some items but he noticed a piece of paper stuffed to the back of it. He certainly had not put that there. He reached for it and opened it to read the contents.

Hey Papanella,

Do you like that nickname I came up with? I haven’t said it to you yet because I’m not sure how you’ll react. But I think it’s pretty cute. I haven’t said this out loud yet either but… um, I guess you’re like my dad to me. My own parents never cared much for me after my illness proved to be too much work, but you always treated me so kindly. So yeah. Thanks for being a father figure to me. Archons, this is kind of embarrassing.

I’m admitting this because I don’t know how much longer I have. I know you’re always encouraging me to keep living on, and I really do appreciate it. I’m sincerely trying my best, but I think my sickness has been getting worse. Ah, and thanks for introducing me to the Harbingers. They’re pretty scary but they’re kind of cool when you get to know them. Some of them are cute too. Please don’t tell them I said that. But really, for the longest time, I thought my life would amount to nothing, and that no one would remember me. But you proved me wrong. I truly enjoyed spending the last of my days doing old people stuff with you (just kidding of course!)

I’m going to ask you to tell me lots of more stories when I see you again. They really make my day. I like the ones about you in your youth the best. They’re the funniest. Anyway, I love you, gramps. Don’t miss me too much.

Pulcinella was old. He had seen things be built and broken down, people come and go. But he always hated it the most when he had to see youngsters go before he did. Especially innocent ones who had done nothing wrong. He just prayed, that whichever world you were in now, treated you better than this one did.

Scaramouche:

Ever since your death, the soldiers had been on the receiving end of Scaramouche’s insults even more. No longer were you here to hastily save them from his berating, much to their dismay. They actually appreciated you for stopping Scaramouche from giving them another verbal (and sometimes even physical) beating. But now if he wasn’t yelling at someone, he was deathly silent, which was why even scarier than his words. Everyone knew they were forbidden from speaking about you in his presence.

When Scaramouche had to visit Inazuma for whatever reason, he always found himself walking towards your house. Once he had came across the Tenryou Commission moving your items out of your house, due to no one living there anymore and the want for someone else to buy it. Needless to say, he swiftly dealt with them and sent them on their way with rage. They had tried a few more times and he did not hold back, until later they stopped coming, apparently after the head shrine maiden gave an order on the behalf of the Shogun to leave the residence alone. Hmph.

He doesn’t know why he keeps coming here, the only thing that’s different is the new collection of dust on the dresser. But the want to see you again keeps calling him, only to leave Scaramouche sorely disappointed. He thinks he knows every nook and cranny of your house, that is until he walks on a floorboard that caves in and nearly makes him fall. He’s about to lose his temper until he sees a piece of paper hidden under the floor. The words die in his throat as he picks it up to inspect.

To my beloved Kunikuzushi,

As I write this, you’re probably yelling at some unfortunate Fatui soul and they’re all trembling in their boots. Haha, I wish I was there to see that. You should be nicer, you know. But it is kinda funny to see you mad. I hope you come back soon… it’s getting too quiet around here without your quips and remarks.

But I know as you read this, I’m no longer alive. Kuni, I… (There are wrinkled spots around this area, presumably from your tears.)

I love you, and I don’t want rage and hatred to consume you again. I’m sorry to make your heart bear such pain again. It may be fruitless to say this, but please don’t blame yourself… it was out of our control. Please know I enjoyed every moment with you, whether you were cursing at some guy who bumped into me, even when you teased me relentlessly, or silently crying in my arms about your fate. But my favorite part was your soft smiles which grew more frequent. You are loved very much by me too. I want to see you smile more, many more times before I- (The rest of the sentence was scribbled over with a pen, making it unreadable.)

I wish I didn’t have to depart so soon… I wish I was born someone else, someone more strong and healthier… if I was, would our story be different, Kuni? Perhaps we’ll meet again one day… hopefully, sooner rather than later, and maybe I won’t be the same as I am now, but…

Will you wait for me, Kunikuzushi?

Scaramouche hated when he cried. He felt weak, stupid, and disgusting, especially when you were there. And somehow, he couldn’t help but feel worse than that when he finished reading your letter. He was never favored by the Gods, having been betrayed by one already. It seemed as though he was always fated to be betrayed by people he cared about. But he knew deep down that you didn’t betray him, he did instead by not being able to protect and save you. In an effort to bury his despair, anger, and grief, he would wipe himself clean of foolish human emotions, ready to ascend to godhood with his creator’s Gnosis…

Arlecchino:

Arlecchino’s days had been exactly the same ever since your death. They were the same as before she had met you too. Bland. Boring. Dull. It was after your passing that she truly realized how much your presence had added some thrill and color into her life. Now they were empty. But she was used to that. She had felt that way for a long time.

Arlecchino didn’t do much in her room besides sleep. Her room wasn’t anything special, just the standard and rich master bedroom. That was, until you took it upon yourself to decorate it. She hadn’t bothered to change it despite the style being very much different from hers. Today she had come in briefly to retrieve some documents under her bed. But, there was a random piece of paper there, collected dust on top of it, most likely from being placed there a long time ago. Arlecchino opened the folded paper and was greeted with your handwriting.

To my sunshine,

I bet you’re wondering why the hell I chose “sunshine” of all names. Even I can admit that you are nothing like sunshine. But I wanted to spice things up a bit, and to be honest, you bring a lot of sunshine into my heart and dreary little life, despite your stone-cold face. So yeah! I don’t think I can call you that to your face though. It’d be too scary.

I didn’t tell you, but I’ve had some people ask me why I chose to stay with you despite my health being what it is. My answer is always very easy - I love you, Arlecchino. Plain and simple. They don’t know how you are with me (which I’m kinda glad for… I want to keep this side of you to myself; yes, I know I’m greedy.) The way your lips quirk up for a split second then always turn downwards because you don’t want anyone to see. The way your eyes soften for a bit when I tell a corny joke. Or when I do anything actually. Your facial expressions are pretty cute.

Ahem, moving on from that, I guess you can say that I’m not too scared to say these things because I might be leaving you soon. Not of my free will, of course. Rather, it seems like the time my illness is allowing me to live is limited. Hopefully, you don’t notice anything off about me. I don’t think I could explain all of this in person…

But I am really thankful to you for sticking by my side for so long. Even though you don’t tell me, I know sometimes you lament about your lack of ability to be verbally and affectionately comforting. But I hope you know that I don’t really care about that. You are more than enough for me. You’ve done a lot more than you think. I’m forever appreciative, my dear.

Arlecchino was left speechless, the usual bite in her throat died down. As someone who had few kind words to say to others, having such sweetness directed at her was not something she was used to. But of course, a part of her wasn’t surprised, because the only person who’d utter such things was you. It pained her, and even the children who cried after your death, greatly. But whenever she needed a reminder of you, she would uncharacteristically gently trace her fingertips over the words of your letter.

La Signora:

Everyone knew to stay out of La Signora’s way after your death. She was cruel before, but your passing seemed to reignite all the flames of anguish and hatred she harbored deep inside her broken heart. Once again, her walls had been put up to be unbreakable.

Rosalyne had gifted you a lot of makeup and accessories. She liked to experiment on you and liked it when you tried it yourself too. You had kept everything in a nice big box so nothing would get lost. One day she felt drawn to it again. She knew she was missing you dearly again, and although opening it would just cause her heartache, she couldn’t help but pry it open to see how you kept it. But on top was a hastily folded letter, stained a bit by the surrounding makeup, tucked into a small compartment. She flipped it open and began to scan the contents.

My dearest Rosalyne,

Hello there, pretty lady. You know, that’s the first thing I thought when I saw you. Tall pretty lady. Did you know that? Now you do. Anyway, I was wondering - how many of your flame moths can you create at a time?? Can you make them form a heart or something?

Haha, I’m sorry for beating around the bush. The truth is I don’t know how much longer I have left. No matter how much warmth your moths provide me, for some reason, I always feel the chill of death creeping up my spine…

I don’t mean to be your second heartbreak. I’m really sorry… you deserve so much better than that. But for what it’s worth, you made my life a lot better than it was before. I hadn’t had much confidence in myself because of my illness for a long time. But you, Rosalyne… you made me feel like an actual person, as strange as that sounds. I feel like, when I’m with you, you make me feel so loved and special. I’m far from it but I actually feel like royalty. And royalty is really a life worth living. I don’t even know how you did it, but thank you. My life is so, so much happier thanks to you.

Hopefully, I make it a lot longer after I’m writing this letter. Maybe the Gods could finally take pity on me and give me some kind of blessing so I can stay with you longer. But if anything happens, I really, truly love you, Rosalyne. (The end of the letter has an origami moth colored in and taped to it.)

Signora’s hand trembled as she finished your letter. Her heart had returned to being ice, but it felt like her whole body was being swallowed up in red-hot grief and anger. Signora would dedicate herself solely to the Tsaritsa’s noble dream. It was the only thing she could do now, with nothing else to do and no one left for her freezing heart to love. No one could ever hope to understand the grief and pain she’s been through. Perhaps, that was why when she stood in front of the Raiden Shogun’s sword, she did not feel much regret.

Pantalone:

Whenever Pantalone went out, he often found himself looking through the windows of many stores to view their products. It was almost an instinct to pull out a large sum of Mora to buy anything he thought you’d like. And he still did this, only that he stopped halfway every time when he remembered that you were no longer with him. And his heart felt painfully heavy once again, like how heavy his smile felt with the pressure to keep it up.

The silence of his office had become a norm once again, your joyful presence no longer around to brighten it up. Pantalone opted to drown himself in paperwork to ignore it. Actually, he never realized how much the tick of the grandfather clock bothered him until now. Usually, your voice was loud enough to hide it. He sighed and reached for the bottom drawer to get some new pens to sign the documents. But his eyes widened as he saw a paper clearly laid out there, addressed to him at the top. His heart beat quickened as he carefully picked it up and realized it was from you. It seemed like you had experimented with some fancy calligraphy pens he had gotten you a while ago. And you had also stolen every stamp you had from him and stamped all over the paper.

Darling,

Hello, my love. Sorry for all the random stamps. I wanted to see what they looked like. Why does the Fatui need so many different-shaped stamps? You should make one of us, actually. And do you see I’ve been practicing my cursive script? (Indeed, on the back on the paper, your name has been signed in different styles.) I’ve been trying to do my signature all fancy like you. Hopefully, I’m improving.

I am thinking to make you read me a bedtime story tonight. I found a new one that seemed pretty cute. It’s a commoner falling in love with a nobleman… a tale of forbidden romance. It seems to go fine, until the commoner s/cc/mbs to (It seems that you scratched off the rest of the sentence.) Actually, I won’t spoil the ending for you. But by the time you read this letter, we may have finished it already. I’m just going to abuse that pretty voice of yours as much as I can (kidding of course… but no joke. Have you tried some kind of service where you just read things to people? I think you’d make a lot of money from that. I sure would give all my life savings to you.)

I guess since I’m writing this, I should say another thing I’m thinking about. I’m not sure how much longer I can hang on. I’m trying my best because I don’t want to let you down. I know you’ve been trying your best, with all these fancy doctors and equipment, but um… yeah. But I should also say that I’m not regretful having spent my time with you. You made the last days of my life so relaxing, so stress-free, so… nice. I’m glad I don’t need to worry about anything with you. Let’s move on from this, actually.

I’m thinking of a lot of things, actually. I wonder what you made the chef prepare for us tonight. Mhm… I’m getting hungry. Will you feed me dessert again too? Hah, I’m going to miss thinking about such mundane things. Hmm, I think I can hear your voice down the hall, so I’ll wrap this up. I love you.

Pantalone gazed at your words forlornly, his mouth formed into a downwards line. He had never thought the loss of something besides Mora could squeeze his heart so painfully, but here you were, making his eyes sting once again. Blinking back any tears, he made sure to store your letter in a safe place. He made a note to visit your grave today. He’d bring your favorite snack too, and read you a story perhaps.

Sandrone:

It was almost ironic - the puppet master had become a puppet herself. She didn’t speak much to others anymore, choosing to lock herself up in her lab. A part of her debated making some kind of robot or doll replica of you. But it would never be the same. She wouldn’t feel your warmth, or your natural, free laugh. Nothing would be similar.

Sandrone had begun inspections on all of her created robots. It was a grueling process she had gotten used to, but she missed the chirping of your voice as she did so. She worked in silence, opening the compartment of one of them when she was caught off guard by a formerly white paper, caked in dust, inside. The only person who had access to her Automatons was you. So could it possibly be…?

My forever,

I’m actually writing this in the same room as you. You're too preoccupied with your robot building and engineering and all that stuff, so you don’t notice me rushing to write all of this. I’ll make this quick. Actually, it’s hard to concentrate when you look so pretty and intelligent. Ahh, I’m so lucky to have you with me.

I think you’re repairing one of your robots so it can lift us up and take us on a walk. I’m excited. Those are always so much fun. I know you aren’t a sappy person. But I want to make my feelings clear, since I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to watch you unscrew some bolts and hammer down the nails. I don’t need to say it outright, do I? We both know I’ve been getting worse. Neither of us wants to say it out loud, but it’s reality.

Before I go, let me make it clear, since I know you like being blunt. You are my everything. Seeing your cute little robots send me these cute little messages really made my day. I think you told me a long time ago that you didn’t care much about human emotions. I think that’s changed now. I love waking up to see that calm and content expression on your face and watching it become a bit more softer when you see me. You’re more human than you think, you know. Some people think that being cooped up in a lab with a Harbinger is not an ideal way to live. But I beg to differ. I would choose no other way to live as long as I’m with you, Sandrone.

I think you’re finished with your tinkering. I’m going to have one of the robots hide this paper in them. I think some of them like me better than you >:) I wonder how long it’ll be until you find it. Hopefully, you don’t find it too quickly because it’ll be awkward to explain this to you. Either way… I love you dearly, Sandrone.

Sandrone gently brushed off the dust on your letter. She wished she found it sooner. She didn’t know whether it was good or bad her heart was finally feeling some emotion again, but she was grateful to have some final parting words from you. Sandrone had a bubble of inspiration float up in her. She had a good idea of what she was going to build next.

Childe:

Childe had found it after he was cleaning out your apartment in Liyue. He wanted to bring all of your stuff to his home in Snezhnaya. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t throw any of your items away, even the random useless trinkets. Childe’s chest felt hollow as he opened the door to your residence. He expected to see your face brighten and eagerly pull yourself out of bed to hug him. He’d easily lift you off the floor and spin you around, drinking in your gleeful giggles as he pressed his lips to yours. But now it was just the creak of the floorboards as he walked in.

Childe had a memory connected to every piece of clothing that you had. That one he gifted to you for your birthday. Another he remembered twirling you around in on a picnic. One of his sweaters that he doesn't remember you stealing from him, mingled with your scent and his. Archons, his chest hurt so badly, but there was nothing he could do as he neatly placed your items in boxes, emptiness consuming him. He was finishing up the packing when a piece of paper folded in half fell out of one of your pants’ pockets. Childe picked it up and his eyes widened when he recognized your handwriting and his real name. Sitting down on your bed, he began to read.

To my one and only Ajax,

My greatest wish is that you’ll never find and read this letter because it means that we’re living our best lives. We’re happy, content, still deeply in love with each other… living in bliss.

But if you’re reading this, then we probably didn’t go and do all of the cool and exciting things you wanted us to. I didn’t move to Sneznhnaya and I didn’t meet the rest of your family. We didn’t go travel to all the nations like you wanted to…

Heh, that’s too bad. I was really looking forward to seeing the same sights you saw on your travels. The pretty bloom of Inazuma’s sakura trees, the beautiful snow-covered streets of Snezhnaya. Remember that time you asked me if I wanted to conquer the world with you? Of course, since I can’t ever say no to you, I accepted your proposition. But in my head, I couldn’t help but think that you should probably choose someone who can match your ability and someone who is act/a/ly g/i/g to b/ ali/e. (The previous words have been haphazardly erased, making it hard to make out.)

You know I… (The ink here has bled through the paper, most likely due to you stopping there for a good while.) I don’t even know what to say, I’m just sorry. I don’t wanna leave you, I wanna be by your side forever, wanna be attacked by your cuddles every day. But the only thing I can do now is to make sure you understand that I’m truly grateful for you. No one else has ever cared about me as much as you did. You never stopped believing in me and always smiled when I needed you. You made my feeble life worth living.

Please don’t be sad. Teucer and the rest of your siblings need you. I love you so very much…

He didn’t realize how hard he was digging his fingernails into his skin until he started bleeding through the paper. Childe had been through endless battles, and fought countless enemies, but no wound had ever burned as badly as his heart did right now. Even in the Abyss, he did not feel as bottomless of despair as he felt right now. He wanted to hold you again too, Childe thought. He wanted to kiss you all over and show you how much he loved you. But you were gone, and the letter just solidified it more. He laid down on your bed, hand covering his forehead as he stared blankly at your ceiling. Biting down on his lip hard, he tried to prevent tears from flowing again. He would just go back to being the Tsarista’s weapon again, drowning himself in battle and blood just to feel something after your death.

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astxroiid · 6 months

Text

empire state of mind // tasm!peter parker

❥ warm New York, cold nights, sushi, pining, heroes and their hopeless romanticism.

wc: 1.5k

navigation ✩ new york private life (I) ✩ manhattan longing (III)

The movie finishes with little to no emotional distractions from either of you. You look to Peter, "This was fun! We need to do it again sometime."

You smile but all Peter feels is dread. Are you sending him home? Already? He's had a great time but he doesn’t wanna go home so soon.

“Yeah… I had a lot of fun too,” he gives a downturned smile.

"How about you come back on Friday? I'm free all day after my class at 10."

Your voice drowns out and Peter feels a tingle up his back. The hairs on his arms stand on end. Something bad is happening...

He turns his head, realizing that whatever his Spidey-Sense is telling him is happening, is major. He tries to hide his worry as he stands, grabbing his bag from beside the door.

"H-hey! Where are you going?" the worry filling up your throat and spilling into your tone.

"Friday. After 10. Sounds amazing. I'll be there. Gotta go-" he doesn't stay to hear your response. Slamming the door behind him. You're left on the couch, in shock and feeling a little sad.

A few moments later, you see Spider Man swing by your window and off into town, towards the flashing red and blue lights.

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

That was Tuesday, it's now Thursday night.

Sorry for dashing off last night, I forgot I had to pick some things up for my aunt!

Peter's message from Wednesday sits unopened on your phone. You have no idea how to respond.

♡.

Peter's all kinds of a mess right now. Terrified he messed things up by leaving so quickly the other night. Nervous that your date is canceled. He hasn't heard back from you since that night.

What if you're mad? Or now uninterested because of the way he ran out? What can I do to fix this? Peter's internal thoughts have been going haywire since Tuesday.

♡.

You phone buzzes as you begin to study for one of your exams. You decide to ignore it

Then it buzzes, and again.

You grab the device in anger with full intentions of putting it on do not disturb. Until you see the messages are from Peter.

Be ready tomorrow at 2.

I'm taking you somewhere nice to make up for my actions.

Is that sushi place still an option?

You smile and respond: Only if you show up on time :)

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Peter does show up on time, early actually. He takes you downtown, walking through little shops, trying to get the confidence to hold your hand.

Right now would be the perfect time.

The both of you walking along the sidewalk. Shoulder to shoulder.

Do it, Peter. You both think. And then, your thoughts separate.

I'm basically begging for it with the way I'm pushing my shoulder into his. From you.

What if she doesn't want that? And I ruin the whole moment? From Peter.

Fuck it. Peter steadies his breathing and goes to wrap his pinky around your index.

Just as his finger starts to brush against yours, you move your hand, running digits through your hair.

Peter curls and uncurls his fingers by his side.

"Ugh, this heatwave is fucking ridiculous," you hum, holding your hair into a temporary ponytail. Smiling at the boy.

To Peter Parker, you are the most stunning woman he's ever seen. And this moment encompasses that completely. Flyaway hairs framing your face, chest glowing from sweat, cheeks flushed from the heat, and smile beaming.

If only he could grow a pair and hold your hand.

"Yeah, tell me about it. The air conditioning in my apartment's broken. It's just me, a lonely fan, and a lot of open windows," he smiles at you, nervous of talking too much.

You can't help but feel your chest flutter every time he gives you that bashful smile. Something in the way his cheeks change color and his eyes dart around awkwardly keeping your heart pounding.

"Well. Anytime you feel yourself getting too hot, you can always come over," you wink and waltz into a nearby store, holding the door for him.

Peter feels his hands begin to shake, the temperature in his body rising and he suspects it's not from the weather. He follows you in.

You bounce around the shop happily, picking up the mini glass figures and examining each one, showing them all to Peter.

He gazes at you with a content smile on his face. He could get used to this.

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

The hours come and go, but as five-o'clock draws near you and Peter begin to make your way towards the aforementioned sushi restaurant.

You step in and are in immediate awe. Neon red led's light up the dim rooms. Candles flicker on each table, illuminating the accompanying roses. The clack of your shoes reverberates off the black marble floor and falls in time with the soft jazz flowing through the building.

"Oh wow..." you breathe.

Peter walks behind you with a smug grin on his face. He aimed to impress you with this place. It seems he hit the bullseye.

"How many?" A very well dressed, middle aged woman asks, smiling.

"Just two." Peter answers.

"Follow me." The lady turns the corner after grabbing two menus.

After being sat and ordering drinks, Peter goes to look at his menu. You kick him (lightly) from under the table.

He jumps. "Ah! What was that for?!"

"You didn't tell me how nice this place was gonna be!" You whisper rather sharply.

"Well, I wanted to impress you. And make up for everything," Peter smiles.

"You can do all that without letting me dress like a slob to go to a place like this!"

"I think you look beautiful." Peter blurts. Eyes wide, face red.

"Oh." Your voice is just above a whisper. "Well.. uh, thank you," you smile at him and his whole world lights up.

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

You exit the front doors of the restaurant, cold night air stinging your lungs.

"That was amazing, Peter. thank you so much," you stuff your hands into your pockets.

"Of course! I had to make everything up to you," he smiles down at you. Again, having the same battle of brain and heart over holding your hand, both of which being pushed further into your pockets.

"We definitely have to do this again," you begin to cross the street, assuming Peter follows behind you.

"Hey! y/n! Wait!" Peter's scared tone stops you in your tracks in the street as you turn to look at him.

"wha--" you hear a horn and can barely distinguish headlights from beside you before a pair of warm, rather strong, arms are embracing you - holding you an equally as strong body.

Your chest goes numb with adrenaline, face heating up from the proximity of Peter's face to yours.

"Oh my god. Are you okay?" His breath is heavy, warm chest pushing into yours and heart pounding.

"Uh... yeah... are you?"

"I'm fine. I think my ankle is bruised from the fall but it's alright, as long as you're okay."

Your chest continues fluttering but no longer from fear. The way Peter just smiled at you could light the whole world up.

"Here," you stand up, offering the boy a hand. "Let's go back to my place and assess the damage."

Peter takes your hand, following you back home.

You turn to him. "Thank you, by the way. You totally just saved my life."

⏪︎ peter's pov ⏪︎

Peter smiled, holding the door open as you exit the restaurant. He'd had such a great day with you so far, though he worried at every point he would make a wrong move and mess everything up.

He didn't.

"That was amazing, Peter. thank you so much."

This is it. Peter thinks. My best possible chance to grab her hand.

You stuff your hands into your pockets.

Shit.

"Of course! I had to make everything up to you," Peter smiles down at you.

"We definitely have to do this again."

Peter watches you step down from the sidewalk and onto the asphalt. His head snaps to the left, seeing headlights. A car. Moving fast. Right for you.

His whole body goes numb, heart pounding.

"Hey! y/n! Wait!"

You turn, freezing.

Peter feels a build of anxiety from his toes to his head. You're not moving.

The hairs on his arms stand up, and he's moving before his thoughts can catch up. And everything feels like it's in slow motion.

He lunges, wrapping his arms around you, pulling both of you back towards the sidewalk. Peter's ankle twists and he lands, back thudding against the pavement, holding you snug against him.

His breath is harsh.

"Oh my god. Are you okay?" Peter can feel your hearts pounding in the same, fear-driven tempo.

"Uh... yeah... are you?" Your eyes search his.

"I'm fine. I think my ankle is bruised from the fall but it's alright, as long as you're okay." And he means it.

"Here," you stand up, offering the him a hand. "Let's go back to my place and assess the damage."

Peter gladly takes your hand, also taking note of the smoothness, and the gentle way you lead him. He feels warmth slowly spread down his back, realizing his ankle might not be the only injury he sustained.

"Thank you, by the way. You totally just saved my life."

likes are appreciated but comments and reblogs are the desire. Remember they do more for authors and tumblrs than a like ever could.

#marvel #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm! peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #spider man x reader #spiderman x reader #parker

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h-worksrambles · 8 months

Text

Sonic X Shadow Generations fascinates me. Because it feels like something I shouldn’t be excited for. And yet I absolutely am.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Sonic Generations. It’s my third favourite game in the series and my favourite 3D Sonic game (with Sonic Adventure 2 in a close second). I’m very happy to see it getting a re release to expose it to new audiences, and playing it in 4K60fps on my PS5 is a very enticing. Likewise, I really like Shadow as a character and I’m excited to play as him again.

And yet, his new bonus campaign promises to basically be a bunch of nostalgic pandering for Shadow the Hedgehog, a game which I consider to be, simply put, crap. It was boring, dull, colourless and embarrassing trend chasing. And pretty much everything I hated about it is on display in this trailer.

We’ve got gritty, grey cityscapes, we’ve got the rather blah alien villain, Black Doom returning, we’ve got the looming return of the series’…bafflingly executed lore. In a word, Shadow was a pretty much everything I didn’t want Sonic to be shoved into a blender. I’ve given my thoughts on revisiting past excesses and failures for the sake of nostalgia. I wrote a whole thing about Final Fantasy VII Rebirth and my fears that it would go overboard pandering to the 2000s spin offs (which I dislike a for lot of the same reasons as a lot of Sonic stuff from the mid 2000s). A faux attempt at maturity that sacrifices Sonic’s camp and colour, and lacks the writing competency to make its tone shift work is pretty much my worst case scenario for the series. And now we’re invoking that for nostalgia? Again, I should hate this.

So if I dislike Shadow the Hedgehog so much. If it really is so emblematic of Sonic’s worst excesses that I want it to leave behind in the 2000s…then why am I so damn hyped for this? Why am I not feeling the same dread as whenever VII Remake implicitly threatens to bring back Genesis?

I think it’s because of the specific relationship Sonic has had with its past for the last decade. So much of the stuff from that time period is material that Sega has seemed actively scared to touch again. Sometimes with good reason. But I think that’s why some material from that time has gained such a strong nostalgic cult following, and why they’re held up as such bastions of missed potential. There’s never been anything quite like Shadow or 06 since they came out with how safe Sega has subsequently played things. And in many respects, that’s a good thing. But I can see how it build a sense of mystique around them. It was kind of sad to see 2010s Sonic so…scared of itself. Terrified to invoke its own history but not really committed to a new direction either. And this is pretty much the exact opposite of that hesitancy.

Basically, the reason I react to seeing Westopolis or Black Doom with ‘holy shit let’s go!!!’ rather than ‘why, god, why?’ is because I genuinely never thought I would see them again after this long. It’s just exciting to see Sonic Team throw caution to the wind and embrace all the parts of their franchise. Even the parts I personally dislike. Plus, Sonic Generations is kind of the perfect game in which to reimagine that stuff and make it..actually good this time. This was the game that made Crisis City of all things into a banger level. The game that took Silver, one of the most notorious boss fights in the series, and gave him a kickass encounter.

If they can fix that, they can do anything.

Plus, the fact that the trailers already show all these trippy stage effects and anime af boss fights and set pieces tells me we’re not just gonna be running through the same drab washed out burning cities that made Shadow 2005 so boring. Again, there’s evidently an effort being made to rehabilitate and reimagine this stuff, not just repeat all the same mistakes. And that’s exciting.

So yeah, Sonic X Shadow Generations has somehow managed to get me genuinely excited for all the parts of the series I typically balk at. And that’s pretty impressive.

That said, if I see Mephiles again, I’m leaving.

#my unhinged ramblings about a cool remaster #sonic x shadow generations #sonic generations #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #basically a ramble about my love hate relationship with 2000s sonic

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hotluncheddie · 2 months

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I'm on that autistic Steve shit!!!! (sorry no hc of Eddie.... can only focus on Steve ❤️)..... my favorite favorite favorite autistic Steve hc is that he is so so charming so charismatic so cool but it's entirely an act..... like he learned it from books and movies and watching other people and like his emotional / social intelligence is thru the roof bc of that.... I think I saw it described in a fic once as "he knows exactly what people want to hear"..... and I think he does revel in being a chameleon and doing that but of course it's draining!!! my fav is him letting the mask down in front of Very Important people..... I'm writing a fic rn where when Steve tries to mask around hopper he's like "boy stop that you know you don't have to do that here"..... I get such such terminal Nothing Face after a long day and I like to think Steve does too and he's worried Eddie will find it off-putting the first time he shuts down and still wants to hang out with him..... but Eddie is so so endeared by it and is very gentle with him "you ran out of faces, huh baby? that's alright" .....

2jug2head “you ran out of faces, huh baby? That’s alright.” That honestly melted my heart. I had to curl up in a little ball to deal with that.

It’s !!!!! So !!!!!! Sweet !!!!!!!!!

and omg having Hopper be like that with Steve, letting him know in that blunt, simple Hopper way I'm !!!!!! thats so good !!!! I will love love love to read that fic when u finish it !!!! pls tag me if u post it !!!!

but yeah I really really hc Steve as being super high masking, very capable socially, very able to read people. he's used so much of his life to think about others and be what's best in any possible situation. he always wants to be perfect in his interactions with people, wants to 'win' at it. wants to be the best version of himself for every person that he meets. and he mostly does. he's good at it, he's smart and a lot of people follow the same sort of conversions, expect similar things. he’s been around enough people and been in enough situations to have scripts and reactions to most scenarios. he can recognise patterns well and so he does that, but with people, over and over and over. so much so that he doesn't even think about it now, doesn't really even realise what he doing.

he’s very capable, very good and smart socially, but it's to his detriment. it means no one really knows him. it means he doesn't really know himself.

it's like he's a little perfect puppet and when he's alone it feels like this freak monster comes out; with all these feelings and thoughts and emotions that he doesn't know what to do with, doesn't know if they're normal. and he doesn't know how to tell anyone about it either, how to express it or talk about in the right way.

because he's so so scared of being made fun of, or being alone; of being told off, or being weird. and sometimes it makes him so sad, because he doesn't always know how to stop - he's so quick to respond wth his scripts that he forgets to think about what he really thinks, really feels. and he can't stop.

to unmask, at times, most times, feels herculean - to show someone who you really are? that feels impossible. terrifying. to ask for time to think? to risk saying something wrong? being honest feels deeply unnatural somehow - to be honest about how he feels, what he thinks, what he needs. he just, he's never done that before...

so when he's navigating these people, these relationships he so so cares about. with Robin and Eddie and Dustin and Hopper, even.

this is the slew of feelings he has to wade through when trying to be close to them, to keep them, to do what they ask of him. this is what he has to work through. and sometimes, sometimes they act as if it's so easy. as if it is so easy to say the honest truth when asked 'what's up?' or 'what do you think?' or 'what do you want?'

that's not easy, its never been easy. and it makes him feel like a freak once he realises it should be.

yeah idk that got kind of sad, sorry. but like. this is where I imagine him, when you get to the good, lovely, cozy, wonderful parts. I just, I think this is the thing, my lovely wonderful high high high masking Steve - this is what he's going through to get to the good. and its hard.

#uhmmmm #yeah anyway #sorry i dunno why this came out but #yeah #ty for the ask i really do love talking about autistic Steve #<3 #autistic steve harrington #hotlunch #steddie #idk wether to tag people for this sorry sorry #high masking autism is a helluv a thing

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ingo-ingoing-ingone · 4 months

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A Personal Post

Hi guys, I'm finally making the post I kept telling myself and my best friends I'd make but wanted to put it off until I felt better. That hasn't happened and with how things are going I thought it was best to just post it now.

So for a while, since probably late 2023, I've felt less like my blog is for me, and more like it's some kind of fandom archive. Which, if you use it this way as-is, great! I'm glad my blog could make you happy like that! But that's not what I set out for it to be.

I'm the sort of neurodivergent person who likes to categorize things, including my interests. All my tumblr blogs are specific to one thing, and this one was no exception.

I began tagging things soon after I made the blog because I saw a lot of people were sad about the twins, and I thought "well since I love both sad and happy stuff, and I'm really good about categorizing things, maybe I can try and help!" And according to many, it did help!

But I think that also gave off the impression that I was making this blog for other folks, and that isn't the case. I'm sorry I never clarified. It's not an archive; I do not reblog shipping posts, posts from people I've blocked, AUs I don't click with, and sometimes just not everything I see.

I've gotten popular in the fandom, and for the most part I do, from the bottom of my heart, enjoy it. I have people who care about my hyperfixation! That's amazing! I have people who love my cosplay and want to meet up with me. I've made so many friends of all shapes and sizes and it's probably the most incredible thing I've ever experienced, truth be told.

But yeah my blog being mine has gotten away from me a bit, I think.

I want to keep tagging my submas tags, that isn't going to change. I will tag triggers when asked, unless it's kind of impossible due to the blog's subject (trains, for instance) or a name or really common word (like the word 'head' or something). Other than that please reach out and I'll do my best to remember. But other tags? Those will be up to me. I don't want to tag when OCs show up. I love OCs and like seeing them, and don't want to have to remember that one person who visits my blog doesn't.

I had anon off for a while because honestly ever since making this blog, there have been anons who really made me unhappy. (Also yes, non-anons but that's been fewer and far between). I've gotten misinformation, accusations, horrible and disgusting explicit asks, and criticisms and complaints, and I'm just... Not here for that. Keep the explicit things and misinfo out of my inbox, I am no arbiter of morality or personal decisions, and I am not here for you to share your negative opinions of submas or the fandom.

Anon is on for people who are too self conscious to chat face to face, for people to send fun headcanon ideas (remember when people did that back in 2022 when this blog started? I miss that, it was sweet and wholesome), to share song recommendations... That kind of stuff. If you have an actual problem, please, PLEASE talk to me off anon, whether that be DMs or a non-anon ask that I can answer privately. Especially if we're friends; please, please just talk to me about stuff. I don't bite! I swear!

But yeah the bottom line is I'm here to participate in fun (and sometimes heartbreaking!) fandom stuff. I'm here for FUN, not as my job. I know that we're all a bunch of neurodivergent folks and sometimes interactions can be a swing and a miss, but please try to be mindful. Please treat me like a person and not just like a museum curator for this blog.

Truth is, I haven't been okay for a while now. It's gotten worse this year for sure, and due to life stuff I cannot see things feeling better for me for some time. I need to go day by day for a lot of things, and I am trying to get better about needing to set boundaries and all that sort of thing. I suffer from intense paranoia too, and having so many eyes on me is genuinely terrifying at times. I'm trying to manage that as best I can, but I do ask that folks be kind.

NO I am not going anywhere, my blog is staying and will continue on as normal, but I really, really needed to get this posted.

Please continue to interact with me and chat and everything like that! But also please remember to treat this space, my blog, as my space. Thanks for reading!

#blue blogs #basically just. if you wouldn't want someone saying it to you please don't say it to me i guess?#please treat me like an individual person and not just a curator.#i do really and truly appreciate you all #most of you haven't done anything wrong and those who've made me uncomfortable mostly have done so just due to social mishaps #it's not the end of the world #please just try again and keep my boundaries in mind is all #going to link this in my pinned post as well

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bunnyywritings · 5 months

Text

to be seen...

BAKUGOU KATSUKI X GN!READER

[a/n: i lowkey love the hc that bakugou is partially deaf/hard of hearing cause of his quirk like...it just makes so much sense to me ?? anyways i just wanted to get this one out of my system! it's not the best so...sorry but yeah...enjoy!! - bunny]

wc: 1.6k words

warnings: none that i can think of...kinda angsty tbh, there's also more of a focus on bakugou than reader

This couldn’t be real.

He’s not weak so…why?

Why did this happen?

Bakugou’s hands shook as these merciless thoughts ran through his head as Doctor’s poked and prodded at his ears. Their touch was bothersome but he supposed he was grateful he couldn’t really hear what they were discussing, any tangible noise was muddy and replaced by a ceaseless ringing.

He had gone through all the motions. Denial being the most violent. He had screamed and cried in a clearing a ways away from the dorms where he had thought that no one would hear him but when he returned and immediately clocked your glossy eyes and trembling bottom lip, he realized how mistaken he was.

Oh, you. Sweet, caring, you.

He almost felt guilty for how much he had pushed you away. All you wanted to do was make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, make sure he felt loved and cared for but he mistook your empathy for pity and blew up at you. This time around it was much, much louder and much more terrifying because he couldn’t hear how loud and rude he was really being.

He had scoffed when you clutched your fists to your side as big fat tears rolled down your cheeks. He couldn’t read lips very well but he didn’t need to when the word ‘mean’ had been formed so clearly by your lips before you ran off to your room.

Now, he was just numb. Having accepted that this was his reality, Doctor’s poking and prodding and the uneasy sight of his mother so broken and…sad. Having to practically be held up by his father.

This wasn’t right. She wasn’t weak. She was never weak but once again, he had mistaken her love and empathy for pity…for weakness.

School had been on break for the spring and he was desperate to get back, he was being run through the wringer and as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted the mundane rhythm of his life back. He wanted to attend his classes again. Quirk training. English. Hero Law.

He actually missed those idiots he calls friends. To sit with them in the cafeteria and hear about the stupid shojo that Denki was reading. Hear how Kiri can’t beat some boss level on the stupid game he was playing. Hear Mina complain about how her cuticles were as healthy as ever. Hear Jiro ramble on about a new band she found and how she thinks he’d actually like them.

Hear…

Would he still be able to do any of that?

He couldn’t quite remember what his condition was. The ringing was gone but all that's left is a muffled sea of jumbled up noises. He was getting better at reading lips and he was put through the master class of sign language in a week. His instructor was surprised but he knew that if you had been there, you would’ve given him a bashful smile and said, “I expected nothing less from our future top hero.”

Ah, that’s right.

Most of all, he missed you.

Your smile. Your wit. Your eyes…the very same ones he made shine with tears. Your laugh…the sound he’d miss the most out of anything.

Despite having left the way he did, you still texted him. He hadn’t responded but you still thought about him.

“You’re doing an awful lot for a guy who told you to piss off…” Shoji eyed you carefully as you set up the classroom, helping you place workbooks on the desks and open the windows.

“Yeah but you know as well as I do that Bakugou uses anger like a shield. He’s probably confused and in pain about all of this, it’s only fair that we help out as much as we can.”

Your caring nature was worrying sometimes. Shoji had seen your heart shattered multiple times by people who brush you off or take advantage of your willingness to do hard work, he was worried that Bakugou didn’t deserve this kindness.

He remembered holding you as you sobbed into his chest, it took everything in him to not run out to the common room and knock some sense into the blonde but ultimately, he decided that staying and comforting you was more important.

And despite all that pain he caused you had gone straight to Principle Nezu and pleaded for the school’s help. Going as far as offering to do all the work in finding an instructor and getting all your classmates on board. Now, here you were setting up the classroom for the first day of sign language classes.

The Friday before school started up again, Mitski got a call from the specialist they had been working with and with the influence of UA, Bakugou’s hearing aids were ready for him. She was ecstatic, enthusiastically waking her son and shouting at him to get ready.

He was…startled to say the least. If he had been able to hear the yelp he had let out when he was shaken awake, he surely would’ve been a bright red.

And so, with the promise of heading to a nice restaurant for breakfast before heading back home, Bakugou shoved himself into the backseat of the car and off they went.

The school had covered two pairs and he almost scoffed at the design of the devices. The first pair’s earpiece was clear, swirled with red and orange and the part that hooks around the ear, an almost gaudy, bright red-orange. The second was just his hero costume earpieces with hearing aids attached. Both pairs were specially made to muffle his explosions while still being able to hear others clearly. They also had a bluetooth feature so he’d be able to listen to music comfortably.

The doctor and his parents looked on expectantly as Bakugou slipped them on for the first time, surprised by how comfortable they were. He switched them on with shaky hands and everyone waited in silence before he looked into his mother’s teary eyes.

“Katsuki…honey? Can you hear me?”

His eyes widened. Had her voice always been so tender?

It brought tears to his eyes, he got up from the uncomfortable exam table, fists clenched at his sides. She looked up at him from her seat and her face crumbled. His eyebrows were pinched, a pitiful frown on his wobbling lips and tears slowly leaking from his eyes.

“Oh, honey…” He threw himself into her embrace and cried into her neck like he had done many times when he was little. Masaru watched on in tearful wonder, remembering that this was still his son. His baby boy and he was hurting more than he let on. Shouldering an exhaustingly heavy burden on his shoulders all by himself.

The image of his little boy, only 4 feet tall tearfully struggling to hold a boulder up above his head, arms and legs trembling with exhaustion and desperately calling out for his mommy and daddy shook him to his core.

He wrapped his arms around both of them, his hand cradling the back of Bakugou’s head. “It’s okay, son. We’ve got you.” At the sound of his father’s steady and calming voice, the boy cried harder. “We’ve got you.”

Standing in front of the dorms was more daunting than he thought it would be. Hiking up the steps was like attempting to trek Mt. Fuji. The only comfort being that he was expecting the common room to be empty. He expected everyone to be in their room attempting to settle back in after a week long break.

He hated how wrong he’s been recently.

When he opened the door, he was met with everyone cheering. It was all so loud and disorienting that, despite his hearing aids, he had no idea what the hell anyone had said. Then, you stepped through the crowd and suddenly everyone faded into the background.

“Guys! I thought I said no shouting! It’s probably still too much for him!”

“But you’re shouting right now…” Denki snickered, earning an unamused glare from you.

His eyes filled with tears, heart constricting in his chest. Twisting and throbbing almost painfully.

God, he missed you.

“So scary when you look at me like that!” Denki shuddered playfully.

You had opened your mouth to refute but were cut off by Bakugou suddenly roaring with laughter, squeaking the slightest bit as he hunched over, arms wrapped around his middle as he laughed.

Shock ran through everybody’s spines, jaws on the floor.

He wasn’t quite sure what came over him but it was an involuntary reaction. Maybe to camouflage the fact that he had a river of tears sliding down his chin.

Once he had finished, he stood upright. Out of breath and wiping his eyes. Meeting your eyes once again made the butterflies in his stomach go berserk. They went downright psycho when your hands were held up in front of you, trembling as you carefully signed, ‘welcome home.’

He was silent once again. Absolutely dumbstruck.

Midoriya watched on fondly, as did everyone, emotions overwhelming and tears filling their eyes.

Bakugou was in complete disbelief.

“When…” He breathed, hands coming up to sign the rest. ‘When did you learn that?’

It took you a second to register what he said before responding. ‘We learn over break…’ your signing was a little sloppy, he had missed a few things but caught on immediately at the end, ‘...love you. Want you feel normal as possible.’

He didn’t let you finish, grabbing you into his embrace and holding you tight. “Thank you.” He mumbled into your hair, you held on equally as tight.

“You’re welcome.” Your voice so up close and intimate was a blessing.

#bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki angst

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picklebunbun · 5 months

Text

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 🎀 dazai x male! reader

๋࣭ ⭑

velvet ring

big thief ♥︎

⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻

⁰⁰ ²⁵ ━━●━━━━━━━━ ⁰² ⁰⁸

๋࣭ ⭑

⟢ male! reader, can be read as trans or cis, masculine pronouns

⟢ genre: angst, like MAJOR angst, bittersweet? ending {up to your interpenetration}, so a bit of fluff

⟢ cw: implied homophobia, verbally fighting, crying, self deprecation, dazai isn’t good at communicating, implied su1cide and maybe OOC

⟢ fandom: BSD

⟢ romantic, dazai and [name] are engaged in this

summary: major fight happened between dazai and his fiancée, about him not outwardly expressing his feelings, [name] feels like he’s walking on eggshells around him. Dazai comforts [name] while he’s bawling his eyes out, everything is okay after that

[angel’s note👼🪽: taking a break from the usual requests because I really wanted to do bsd, sorry, also, this is based off my oc with dazai (I made them have marital problems) I wanted to do very angsty stuff too]

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

it was the dead of night, only darkness filled the room, the loud silence of the couple only made the somber attitude worse.

there were days like this were they wouldn’t talk to each other, usually it was after a fight, but not this time. What else could they talk about though? It wasn’t unknown that Dazai could read you like an open book, his intellect was truly terrifying. As for you, it’s hard to talk with your partner when they won’t communicate with you

it often made you sad though, Dazai had no problems talking about himself to his friends, or anyone. The most frustrating part is that he makes light of it whenever you try and talk about it with him. Were things just different when you’re engaged? Maybe he was just on edge because you were both men , but Dazai didn’t seem like the type to care about those things. Maybe it was just you, you did always feel a bit insecure just by being with his fiancée, Dazai was certainly known to be a “playboy”. Being engaged should mean that he ultimately chose you right? I mean, sure, they legally can’t get married but they were basically at that stage

it just made everything so frustrating all the time, how can you expect a healthy relationship without communication?! That’s like a key component of a relationship!

“..hey, [name], are you awake..?”

“….yeah.. I can’t sleep”

“me either.. c’mere for a second”

you looked at him ,confused, until Dazai lazily wrapped his arms around you and you got the idea. The {h/c}-ette hugged him as well, it was pretty easy to tell if Dazai wanted to cuddle. It just felt weird, almost as if he was cuddling with a stranger, or at least that’s what it felt like. Dazai used to say how you had this overwhelming warmth about you, you’re not quite sure if he still thought that now, it was okay I guess, it’s not like you needed the constant praising.

it was a beautiful night though, the last quarter moon illuminated the deepest of shadows in the room, although, it could never hide the amount of darkness around you and Dazai. Even while being wrapped around eachother, you know deep down that you couldn’t feel warmth in this relationship, but little moments like this were nice.

Whenever the moon was half lit, or more specifically, the 3rd quarter moon was when Dazai most liked it , when you asked “why? Why not when it’s fully lit or fully dark?”, Dazai always said the same thing “it’s like how Wednesdays are halfway through the week, the last quarter moon gives me hope for another month, just waiting for a break so I can relax”. Sometimes his messages were so cryptic, you could never really tell if he was going to do something to seriously harm himself or he just says things cause of how meaningful he thinks they are.

Dazai went rambling on about his day at work, you listened, but there was something at the back of your mind. You figured to tell him in the morning, for now, it was time to shut your eyes, there was no point in staying awake now since you could hear the soft snoring that was Dazai’s slumber.

-𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“well, I’m off to work! Bye, my love!”

“wait, Dazai… can I ask you something?”

Dazai turned around, he knew what was about to come, whenever you two fought you set off like a firecracker, completely blinded by how you were feeling, it’s entirely justified too. Usually, Dazai would’ve thought about this in advance, but what could he really say? Expressing himself seriously was not an option, so he’d just have to deal with your red hot anger.

“hm..?”

“do.. you.. hate me?”

“w-what?! Of course not! I could never hate you, I’m engaged to you! How could you think that?”

“you just never talk to me, you talk more to your co-workers than you’re own fiancée!”

“maybe I should get married to them instead them, heh..”

he tried to make a joke, you did not like that

“are you kidding me?! You’re joking about this? Dazai! This isn’t funny! I’m tired of you not talking to me!”

“woah, okay, calm do-“

“HOW THE HELL CAN I CALM DOWN? IT’S LIKE I’M LIVING WITH SOMEONE I DON’T KNOW, YOU DON’T TELL ME ANYTHING!”

“oh, I don’t know [name]! You’re screaming in my face right now, maybe that’s why!”

“THAT’S THE ONLY WAY I CAN BE HEARD BY YOU, DON’T YOU THINK THAT’S A BIT WEIRD, I HAVE TO SCREAM AT MY FIANCÉE BECAUSE HE JUST WON’T LISTEN.”

“YOU NEVER LET ME TALK, YOU JUST TURN IT INTO A BIG ARGUMENT.”

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO TALK ABOUT ANYWAYS? YOU NEVER TALK TO ME, I BARELY EVEN KNOW WHAT YOUR FAVORITE DRINK IS, I HAD TO HEAR IT FROM ATSUSHI, ARE YOU KIDDING ME.”

your eyes were getting cloudier by the second, it was frustrating talking to him. Your throat felt like there was a lump of air stuck in the middle, your eyes hurt from the stinging tears that were forming. Your voice was cracking as you felt yourself about to break down

“IS THIS IS WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT? THE FACT THAT I CAN’T COMMUNICATE?! YOU’VE BEEN GOING FOR MY THROAT FOR THAT?!”

“I-I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU FOR MONTHS.. you never listen.”

“well, you ju- woah woah woah, [name]..?”

you broke out into violent sobs, you couldn’t keep on fighting, it was so exhausting just screaming all the time.

“hey, hey, hey, hey, calm down.. why did you suddenly start crying?”

when he asked you, you couldn’t stop weeping even more, everything was just building up and then you just let it all out. You were holding your chest while you cried, it felt like you just got a heart attack, well, at least that’s what it felt like, really, your heart was just shattered like it meant nothing to Dazai. He loved you, your sure he does, but lately it just feels like the more distant he seems, the more distant his loving embrace feels, the more colder it feels when he says “I love you”, like he’s forced to say it.

finally, your teary screams were reduced to nothing more than quiet sniffles, an occasional whimper here and there. You seemed composed enough to form a complete sentence, so Dazai asked you, in the softest tone he has

“why were you crying..?”

“…”

you looked at him, your eyes were wet and so were your cheeks, a red gradient formed around your eyes and nose from wailing so much. You looked around, not wanting to see his face, avoiding any eye contact. The room was so hushed, you could hear the pitter -patter of a bug if you wanted too. It’s no use, he probably wouldn’t leave until you told him.

“.. sometimes I feel like you don’t care about me enough to talk about your feelings, I just wish you would talk to me instead of making jokes, it makes me feel humiliated, like my feelings don’t matter, and then you get mad and argue with me when I don’t know how you feel!”

Dazai stayed silent, not knowing what to say, or even what to think.

“is that it? You’re not going to speak to me?”

silence again

“..okay, I’m just going to get some fresh air..”

the door slammed closed, Dazai was left there to soak in his own feelings. Honestly, the arguments before seemed minuscule compared to this one. He wasn’t a sensitive man, but everything felt so overwhelming, he couldn’t help but feel teardrops staining his cheeks. Dazai always took advantage of the relationship, ignoring your previous arguments, but now if he kept this up, he would lose you, and he’d have no one again.

-𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

cricket, cricket, cricket

that’s all you hear at night. At first, Dazai would keep you up with useless conversations about philosophy, to which you lightly punch his elbow, but now it just felt so lonely. Back to back, not looking at each other, laying in bed, you could never face each other after that, you’d have to deal with it tomorrow, but right now, you’re just tired of everything

#dazai x male reader #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungou stray dogs x male reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou gay dogs #x male reader #x male y/n #angst #bitterness #bittersweet #dazai x reader

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chlobliviate · 7 days

Text

Wolfstar Microfic - Beast

Words: 967

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Remus, for the third time that week, woke up drenched in sweat with his heart racing. The same dream. He transformed back into himself and found Sirius’ thoroughly mauled and mangled body before him. The part of his brain responsible for self-loathing was really kicking it up a notch lately.

He rolled over and just as he was about to open the curtains around his bed, Sirius peeked in from the other side, making him jump.

“Fucking hell, Padfoot!” He hissed, clutching his chest.

“Sorry!” He frowned, “Just came to see if you were ok.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Remus pulled the blanket up to cover him to his chin.

“You’ve been having nightmares again.” Sirius shrugged. “You talk during them, sometimes.”

“No, I don’t!” Remus wanted to crawl under his blanket and never come out. “Do I really?”

“Yeah. There’s been a few mentions of my name lately.” Sirius said carefully. “And you’ve been avoiding me.” Fuck. He should have known that Sirius would notice Remus pulling away.

“It’s… the wolf,” Remus said quietly.

Sirius looked over his shoulder. “Bathroom window.” Remus nodded and then got out of bed, pulling a jumper over his scarred torso.

They crept to the bathroom, Sirius cast a silencing spell and opened the window. It was wide enough for both of them to lean on the frame, shoulder to shoulder while taking in the clear sky. Sirius lit a cigarette and handed it to Remus, before lighting one for himself.

“It’s been the same dream, three times this week.” Remus paused to take a long drag, “I transform back into myself and you’re there on the floor in front of me, completely… I’ve killed you.”

Sirius looked at him, then pulled him into a hug. “That sounds horrible.” Remus nodded. “Have you seen Pomfrey for some dreamless sleep?”

“No. Didn’t want to bother her.” Remus muttered.

“Well, that’s where we’re going before breakfast.” Sirius let Remus go and went back to his cigarette. “Do you think you deserve to suffer or something?”

Remus choked, “What?”

“When your mood is low. Usually about a week before the moon… it’s not that you stop caring for yourself, but it’s like you believe that you don’t deserve to be happy. Like, you’ll feed yourself and shower and sleep, but that’s it. If you’re aching, you won’t take a pain potion, which, might I add, is literally what they’re for, Remus. If you have nightmares, you won’t talk to Pomfrey, fuck, you wouldn’t have talked to anybody if I hadn’t had… You deserve good things, Moony. I hate seeing you suffer.”

He sounded so raw and vulnerable that Remus didn’t know what to do with himself. “I think, when my body starts to hurt, or when I have these nightmares, or I can’t sleep, or whatever, it’s just a reminder that I’m not actually human. I’m a beast. Or a monster. And I always will be. In that moment, I don’t feel like I deserve any relief. I know that’s not what you want to hear, sorry.”

When Sirius turned to him again, he looked so sad and Remus’ heart broke a little bit. “You deserve the world, Moons. You are a good person, you deserve to not be in pain, you deserve to be happy, you deserve to be loved,” Ok, where did that come from? “You deserve everything. Do you not see that having these dreams isn’t because you’re a beast or a monster, but it’s because you’re terrified of hurting people? Of hurting me. How can that make you a monster?”

Remus threw what was left of his cigarette out of the window and stared at his friend. He took in the crease between his eyebrows, the dark circles under his eyes, the starting of stubble across his jaw. Even when he was distressed, he was so beautiful.

“Thank you.” He said eventually. “I hadn’t really considered that.” Sirius nodded, “I don’t know that I believe it, but I want to. That’s a start, right?”

“Yeah,” Sirius smiled sadly, “It’s something.”

“Did I wake you up?” Remus didn’t know what time it was.

Sirius frowned, “Yeah, but I don’t mind.”

“I mind!” Remus hissed, “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for! For fuck’s sake, Remus!” He was glad that he’d cast a silencing charm because the volume at which he'd shouted would definitely have woken James and Pete. Remus froze. “Can you just let me take care of you for one night without apologising? Let me love you, you unbelievable prick!”

They were silent for a while. Remus’ mouth had dropped open and he continued to stare, and Sirius had gone back to looking out of the window.

“Pads, I—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He said in a low voice. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But, would you let me love you?” Remus almost whispered. “Not to be self-deprecating and all that shit again, but do you understand what loving me entails?”

“I’ve loved you for a long fucking time. Of course, I do.” Sirius snapped. “I don’t care about whatever people are going to say. I care about you.”

“Well, I love you… so… there’s that.” Remus’ neck was bright pink, and it caught Sirius by surprise. “I think the nightmares… It was only ever you, never James, Pete or Lily. It’s what would hurt me the most.”

“Well, all the more reason for dreamless sleep then.” Sirius looked at him with a slight smile.

“Would you be mad if I told you I have a bottle in my drawer?”

“I’d be absolutely furious. Now, let’s go back to bed.” He grabbed Remus’ hand and led him back to his bed, grabbing the potion from the drawer before he slid under Remus’ blanket.

#wolfstar #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #marauders #remus loves sirius #wolfstar microfic #werewolf remus lupin

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 6 months

Note

13 & 15 with David Please. ❤️ 💙

13. "It's only forever, love. Not long at all."

15. "You're my sun."

Thanks for requesting! I hope you'll like this!

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

Outside, a heavy storm was raging over the small coastal town. Inside, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to keep the candles burning. Every time I lit a knew one, the other would be blown out by a new gust of wind. I sighed, dropping the matches onto the fountain edge. Today had been a bad day. They just happen sometimes. You wake up, and you just feel off. Or sad. And you can ignore it for a while, but in the end, sometimes that sadness wins and all you really need is just a big hug and some nice warmth.

I blamed it on the stress from the last couple of days. David had told me that his sire, Max, had found out about my existence and that he demanded that I'd change. Then there was the time limit Max had set. I had to be a half vampire before the end of the week, or else he'd kill me. I had to admit that it frightened me. Of course, I knew David would protect me if he could, but he couldn't go against his sire. And even though I considered myself in the future to be one of the undead, I always thought it would happen in the far future. When I'd gotten a bit older, wiser, a bit more me.

Apparently, today, the lack of working candles had been the final straw. I'd dropped the matches and closed my eyes with a heavy sigh. Warmth flooded me when I felt two strong arms wrap themselves around me.

"I got you, kitten."

I leaned against him, smiling softly as I breathed in his smell. I didn't know if it was his mere presence or him using some of his hypnosis to calm me down, but I slowly felt my stress lessen.

"You're back early."

"I figured you didn't want to be alone." He looked at me, sighing softly. "I know this isn't what you wanted."

I nodded. He looked at me with a serious expression.

"If you don't do this, he is going to force me to kill you."

"What?" I looked at him, disbelieve written all over my face. "He- that absolute fucking-"

David chuckled, using one of the matches I'd dumped on the fountain edge to lit his cigarette.

"I'd rather die than do that to you."

I froze, warmth flooding my cheeks. I swallowed, looking at him with a small smile. "You really mean that, don't you?"

He sat there, next to me, looking uncharacteristically soft. Then, as if he had trouble admitting it, he looked at me like I was his whole world. At that moment I realised that maybe I was. It felt nice, realising by a mere expression that he possibly loved me as much as I loved him.

"You're my sun." He said softly. I took his hand in mine, squeezing it softly.

"I want you to change me. I don't want to leave you, and I don't want you to be forced to do what he forces you to."

"Kitten, you-"

"It needs to happen, and I mean - it does scare me, terrifies me, actually. But I can't let you get hurt because I'm scared."

My voice was a little shaky when I ended my sentence, and if it wasn't for the tender kiss I'd received afterwards, I'm pretty sure I would have broken down crying. But he was here, and he cared. He cared so much that he was even idiotic enough to be willing to die for me. That fool, as if I could live without him.

"You won't be alone, when you turn. I'll be with you."

"Every step of the way, right?" I asked, remembering how he had promised me that shortly after we'd discussed me changing for the first time.

"Yes."

"I love you, David."

"I know."

I laughed, stealing his cigarette from him. "I think it would be nice, spending immortality together."

"Yeah? Why?" He asked, in a way that made clear to me that he agreed.

"Well," I smiled at him, "it's only forever, love."

"Not long at all," he said softly, taking his cigarette back. "We'll just have to make the most of it."

"As if that's hard," I teased, sighing contendly as I leaned against him.

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #dwayne #tlb #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #star #the lost boys x reader

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fumifooms · 4 months

Note

I think you made me start shipping Marchil

Your posts got me thinking about their dynamic then I wrote a fic that was supposed to be platonic but midway through I realized it could actually be interpreted as romantic too and now I'm just sad about how little time they'll have together

First of all, you have a lovely icon, second, I’m so honored… I finally read Not a bad way to go and it was soo so good like. My god!!! Pre-canon is underused and you did so many interesting things with it.

It sounded like a cruel joke, that the one who needed her concern the most was also the one least interested in it.

^^^ go read it go read it

Chilchuck was drunk enough that he needed to hold onto the walls not to fall, but apparently still sober enough to remember emotional vulnerability was his worst enemy, as he made sure to avert her eyes and said: “Namari made me come talk to you ” to make it clear he wasn't being nice voluntarily.

Yeah.

“Of course I'm scared of dying.” He scoffed. Did she really think so little of him? “But if I could choose, I would want to die doing something I love, like drinking. Or maybe fucking,”

Maybe you wish you didn’t know but my new favorite HC because of this is that Chil dies yes prematurely not of liver failure though but during coitus. Especially if marchil, the thought of him busting a nut and his heart giving out makes me laugh so hard. My god. Lmao. Oh god. Lmfao. Worst day of her life

Marcille knew Chilchuck wasn't a kid, but she often struggled to take him seriously as an adult because he was just so adorable and small. In this moment, however, she saw them exactly for what they were, even if it was just a glimpse. A sheltered, naive little girl trying to tell a tired, much more experienced man how to live the rest of his life.

Standing ovation

She tried to find an explanation to give him, but she couldn't even find one for herself. Why would she miss him? He was just Chilchuck, her coworker, Chilchuck who was cold, aloof, sometimes crass, evasive, and even outright mean. He who was level headed, reliable, trustworthy, perceptive and clever. He who had the least time left, even in a best case scenario. “I guess that despite your best efforts, there's still a lot to like about you.”

This fic goes so hard, standing ovation pt 2

“I just think it's better if we don't get too close. Don't you agree?” “I… maybe” she said, uncertain as he didn't know how to feel about that. Caring about people would only hurt her in the wrong run, she knew that, but unfortunately she couldn't help it.

I looove how they can be read to be similar on this aspect. My hand clenching around my phone as I rear up to rant about Marcille and the way she does keep people at an arm’s length subconsciously again my god my goood. Obsessed with this obsessed with this, underused for marchil. Terrified of loss through death vs rejection duo I love youuu

Brilliant ending I’m in shambles. I’m not gonna spoil it

You get marchil so much you truly do. The way they mesh, the way their views on mortality clash and both soothe & bruise… He doesn’t have much time left even in best case scenario (which Mr I won’t eat well I’ll drink and smoke a lot I’ll stress all day every day is determined to not make happen) which makes it all the more meaningful for Marcille’s arc when she learns from him to finally enjoy the present moments… It’ll only be a fraction of her life, but to him he’s giving her the rest of his life. What are some decades of love worth? Worth it, surely, if nothing else

#My only nitpick is that canonically they rarely hang out after work and you wrote that they did it often but that’s lit the only thing #Chilchuck tims #dunmeshi memes #ask #I have friends big fans of the timeline where Chil is one of those who miraculously live to 70 #Marcille is always bracing herself year after year to lose him and it just becomes anticlimatic #Chilchuck the old fart grumpy husband who REFUSES to die #I wanna write pre-canon marchil as well eventually…#Anyways i hope u don’t mind me putting ur fic on blast!! I liked it a lot and again i couldn’t be happier i made you like the ship #Or even write fic like omg… i hope you make more!! You got them down real well #Thank you for the ask and thank you for the content!!! Made my day. Bith when u sent it and when i rea the fic i was having a bad day #Like his dad WOULD say that. ‘I heard you crying what the fuck’ aughh they’re so so compelling pre canon oh my god #I looove ‘platonic or romantic you choose’ fics and tackling alcoholic Chil is an instant like. The 1 flirty line was a nice treat #Marchil union is brainstorming Coraline AUs btw they all go so hard I’m looking forward to that wave #Tried to keep this a lil more composed than the ao3 comments I make lmaoo but yeah know that i’d do rabid keysmashes about it #‘You’re easy to love despite it all/even if you try to make it hard to’ is such a core of marchil

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tonyspank · 1 year

Text

CHAPTER THREE | RECKLESS

Tara Carpenter x G!P Reader x Female OC

Warnings: kissing, fluff, short chapter because i want u guys to be happy one last time

series masterlist | main masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

It's been seven months since Tara and Sam brought you back to their community. You've settled into a routine and formed close bonds with the people there. Life has become more stable, and you feel a sense of belonging that you haven't felt in a long time. The community has become your new family, and you couldn't be more grateful for Tara and Sam.

Sometimes you'd go on supply runs; other times you'd take out groups of walkers, clearing the area around the community to ensure everyone's safety. The once terrifying world has become a place where you can make a difference, and you're determined to protect your new family at all costs.

You've grown close to Sidney, Tara, and Ethan the most. Sidney has become the aunt you've never had, always offering wise advice and comforting you during tough times. Ethan has become like a brother to you, always looking out for your well-being and making sure you never feel alone.

While Tara...she's... you don't even know how to explain it. She's a close friend, but at times it feels like there's something more to that, a deeper connection that you can't quite put into words. There's a magnetic pull between the two of you, an unspoken understanding that transcends friendship. It's both exhilarating and terrifying, leaving you questioning the boundaries of your relationship and what it could potentially become.

But, you don't want to risk anything. Especially since Iris is here. It feels weird to move on from her because, since the start of this apocalypse, the only thing you could think of was Iris and how much you missed your girlfriend. But, it doesn't seem like she feels the same way. You'd catch her and Chad being intimate and affectionate, making it clear that she has moved on.

Heather told you that Chad and Iris have been a complicated couple since they met at the community. Iris was stuck on you while Chad was pursuing her relentlessly. He even saved her life one day on a dangerous mission, which made her start to develop feelings for him. It's painful to accept, but it seems like Iris has found happiness with Chad, and it's time for you to do the same.

It's hard to accept that Iris has chosen someone else, but you know deep down that you can't force someone to feel a certain way. You deserve someone who loves you wholeheartedly and reciprocates your feelings. It may be difficult now, but with time, you will find someone who appreciates and cherishes you just as much as you do them.

"Ouch!" You grunt out, landing on your back. Ethan smiles at you, panting as he holds out a hand to help you up. You send him a playful glare before taking his hand and allowing him to pull you up. "How are you so good at close-range combat?"

You ask, still catching your breath. Ethan chuckles and says, "Cop dad. He taught me a few moves growing up," he explains, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "But ever since, you know, the dead and stuff, he's been on my ass about it."

You hum in response, "That's nice. Officer Bailey seems like a nice guy...when he's not sulking around the place." Ethan nods in agreement, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Yeah, he's been through a lot. Losing Mom really hit him hard. But he's trying his best to keep us safe and sane in this messed up world."

You give him a sympathetic smile, understanding the weight Officer Bailey carries on his shoulders. Despite the tough exterior, you can see the love and dedication he has for his family.

"C'mon! Chop, chop." Dewey says, interrupting your conversation and urging you two to spar more. You and Ethan exchange a knowing glance before playfully rolling your eyes at Dewey's impatience. You hold up your fists again, ready to continue the sparring session.

After about twenty more minutes of sparring, the session is finally over, and you're sitting cross-legged on the grass, catching your breath. Dewey walks over, a satisfied grin on his face, and pats both you and Ethan on the back. "Great job, guys," he says. "You're really improving." You exchange a proud smile with Ethan as Dewey walks away.

"I have a very serious question." You look at Ethan, curious about what he's going to ask. "What is it?" you reply, eager to hear what's on his mind. "Did you take my pudding from inventory?" You raise an eyebrow in surprise at Ethan's question. "Your pudding? No, I didn't take it," you answer honestly, wondering why he would think that.

Ethan thins out his lips, eyeing you suspiciously. He then sighs as he senses your genuine confusion. "It must've been Chad then! Ever since we've been returning from supply runs, every single one of my sweet snacks has disappeared." You tilt your head, considering Ethan's accusation. "Chad? Are you sure it's him?" you ask, curious about the possible culprit.

Ethan nods, frustration evident on his face. "I've noticed him eyeing my snacks before, and he always seems to have a guilty look when I ask about them," he explains. You hum a bit before turning your head to Tara, who was walking down the community's street, looking bored as ever.

"I'll talk to you later, E." Ethan nods in response, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches you jog over to Tara. "Hey, Tara."

"Hey, what's up?" Tara responds, smiling at you. "Not much, just wanted to ask if you maybe wanna hang out outside the walls for a bit." Tara shrugs, her smile never fading. "Sure, why not?"

"Cool, let me just shower, and I'll be ready to go." You quickly make your way back to your house, taking a quick shower before meeting up with Tara again. She greets you with a warm smile, her excitement evident in her eyes. "Ready?" she asks, her voice filled with anticipation.

You nod eagerly, "Mhm." You wave at Officer Hicks, who salutes back to you, opening the gate for you and Tara to exit the walls. You and Tara start walking away from the community, stealing glances at each other every now and then.

"I actually have a surprise for you." You say, breaking the comfortable silence. Tara raises an eyebrow, looking at you. Curiosity sparkles in her eyes as she waits for you to reveal the surprise. "Well, remember how you mentioned you liked horror movies?" you begin, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"I found this abandoned movie theatre not too far from here. Ethan helped me clean it up and fix the projector. We can have our own private horror movie marathon today."

Tara's eyes widen with thrill as she realizes the surprise. "You're lying!" she exclaims, her smile matching your mischievous grin. The two of you quicken your pace, eager to reach the movie theatre and begin your thrilling movie night.

"What's your favorite scary movie?" You ask Tara in a Ghostface mask, trying your best to imitate the iconic killer from the Stab franchise. Tara giggles and playfully pretends to be scared, but then responds, "Hmm, I think I'll have to go with It Follows. Elevated horror is where it's at."

You take off the mask, tilting your head. "Really? Elevated horror? What about Friday the 13th? Jason is a classic." Tara shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Sure, Jason is iconic, but I prefer the psychological depth and thought-provoking themes of films like It Follows. It's all about the slow-burning suspense for me."

"You're lucky you're cute." Tara chuckles and playfully nudges you. "Well, I guess my good looks give me an advantage in our horror movie debates." She winks, teasingly adding, "But hey, maybe one day I'll convince you to appreciate elevated horror too."

"Blah, blah, blah." You say, walking further into the movie theatre, ending up at a snack bar. You lean against it as Tara continues her argument about elevated horror. "Jason is just a mindless slasher. It Follows actually makes you think and keeps you on the edge of your seat." Tara playfully sticks her tongue out at you, daring you to challenge her taste in horror movies.

Rolling your eyes, you retort, "Please, Tara. A classic slasher film like Friday the 13th is a timeless masterpiece. It's all about the thrill and suspense, not overanalyzing every single detail. But hey, I'll give It Follows a chance if it means shutting you up for once." Tara giggles, knowing that you're just playing along and secretly enjoying the ongoing debates between you two.

You turn around, facing the snack bar, and reach for the old and expired candy box, that's probably been there since before the apocalypse. Your heart skips a beat when Tara does the same, your hands touching.

You both exchange a quick glance, causing a slight blush to creep onto your cheeks. It's in these small moments that you realize there might be something more than just friendly banter between you and Tara.

"You can have them." You tell Tara, chuckling a bit. She smiles, placing the box of candy in your hand. "Take them." You shake your head, "No, uh," you interrupt yourself with your own laugh. "If you want them, you have them." You set down the box of candy in front of Tara, who quickly picks it up, holding it in front of you.

"You think I want these?" Tara raises an eyebrow playfully, her eyes sparkling. She breaks eye contact with you as you stare at her, a lingering smile on your face. "Kind of..."

"They're like one hundred years old." she jokes, setting them back down. "Maybe that's your thing," she mutters, finally glancing back at your eyes.

The two of you stare at each other, caught in a moment of playful tension. The air between you is charged with unspoken words and a hint of curiosity. It's as if time has momentarily frozen, allowing the anticipation to build. Both of you are aware of the unspoken connection, wondering where it might lead.

It's been a while since you've been truly happy with someone, so happy that your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, so lost in the trance of the woman in front of you. She was perfect. Her perfect hair, her perfect eyebrows, her perfect eyes, her perfect nose, her perfect lips. Everything about her seemed meticulously crafted to perfection.

You smile wider at yourself, glancing between her eyes and her lips. Tara's heart has never felt this alive, pulsating with newfound energy. She knows she's attracted to you, that much is sure, but there's something more than just physical attraction.

It's the way you listen intently to every word she says and the way you laugh at her jokes as if they're the funniest things you've ever heard. There's a connection between you that goes beyond surface-level beauty, and it's that deep emotional bond that truly sets you apart from anyone else she's ever met.

But she's also scared. She's scared to get attached to you more than she already is and lose you to the walkers that lurk in the shadows. The fear of losing you to something beyond her control haunts her, making her hesitant to fully embrace the connection she feels.

She knows that the world is unpredictable and filled with dangers, and the thought of losing you to those uncertainties terrifies her. It's not that she doesn't want to fully embrace the connection, but rather, she's grappling with her own vulnerabilities and the fear of being left alone in a world that feels increasingly unstable.

However, another part of her says to do it. Take the risk and allow her to be happy, even if it's just for a second. Tara takes a deep breath, "I actually—"

She's cut off by you connecting your lips with hers, and in that moment, all her fears and uncertainties melt away. The warmth of your embrace reassures her that maybe, just maybe, taking the risk was worth it after all. Her hands grip your face, pulling you closer if that were possible, you wrap your arms around her body, holding her tightly as if she's going to fade away.

As your lips part, an intoxicating sense of contentment lingers in the air. Tara stares into your eyes, a hint of tears reflecting the depth of her gratitude. In that electrifying moment, she realizes that she has found something she never thought possible—a passion that is boundless and worth every ounce of risk. With a smile curving on her lips, she whispers, "What took you so long?"

You chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I finally thought of that heartfelt thank you," you reply, your voice filled with bliss. Tara giggles, her laughter filling the air like music. "I can't believe you remember that."

She leans in closer, bringing you into another quick and simple kiss. When she pulls away, her eyes glance between yours, her hand trailing your facial features. "I'm scared of losing you."

You gently take her hand in yours, reassuringly squeezing it. "I promise you, Tara, I'm not going anywhere," you say sincerely, your voice filled with love and determination. She smiles softly, her fears momentarily eased by your words.

"I actually do have a question." You tilt your head, waiting for her to continue. "Was...Iris the only person you had before...the outbreak?" You pause for a moment, memories of the past flooding your mind.

"Kind of...yeah. It's always just been Iris and her family. I actually met Iris a few months after my adoptive mother passed away...she was the first person I connected with after such a difficult loss. We quickly became each other's support system, and we started dating a bit after that.." You pause, a bittersweet smile on your face, as you recall the bond you share with Iris. "I'm just glad she's okay."

Tara nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "Thank you for telling me." You appreciate Tara's empathy and the safe space she has created for you to share your story. It feels good to have someone who listens and understands without judgment.

"You're finally back!" Heather says, bursting through your front door. You turn toward Heather, a smile spreading across your face. "I am." Heather lets out a loud groan, "Then can you please watch Iris? I'm supposed to be hanging out with Amber."

You furrow your eyebrows, "What's wrong with Iris?" You ask, concerned about Heather's sudden change in attitude towards Iris. Heather sighs and rolls her eyes, "She's sick, and she's been acting really cranky all day. I just need a break from her for a little while. So! Now that you're off your date with tiny Tara, can you watch her?"

You blush, "It wasn't a date," you mutter, not convincing Heather one bit. "But sure, I can watch Iris for a bit. Is there anything specific I should know or do while taking care of her?"

Heather shakes her head and says, "Not really, just make sure she takes her medicine and gets plenty of rest. She's been running a fever, so keep an eye on that too." You nod, assuring Heather that you'll take good care of Iris.

Heather exits your house, causing Amber to rise, "She said yes?" Amber asks her girlfriend, who nods in response. "Mhm," Amber continues, "I can't believe you're still trying to play cupid with Y/N and Iris. I'm pretty sure Y/N really likes Tara."

"Well, you never know. Sometimes feelings can change unexpectedly. Besides, Y/N did agree to take care of Iris, so maybe there's still a chance for them." Amber rolls her eyes playfully and says, "Sure, babe."

You knock on Iris's door, and a faint, "Come in." follows your knock. As you enter, you see Iris lying in bed, a wet washcloth on her forehead. You walk over to Iris and ask, "How are you feeling?" She looks up at you with a weak smile and replies, "I'm still not feeling great, but the washcloth is helping a bit." You sit down beside her and say, "I brought you some soup. Maybe it'll help you feel better."

You help her sit up, supporting her back with a pillow. Iris gratefully accepts the soup and takes a few spoonfuls, savoring the warmth and nourishment. She looks at you appreciatively and says, "Thank you so much for taking care of me." You smile and reassure her, "Of course, I'll always be here for you."

"Did Heather set you up to this?" She asks, a faint smile on her lips. You chuckle and shake your head, "Yeah, but still, I just wanted to make sure you're okay." Iris's smile widens, and she says, "Well, I'm lucky to have you in my life."

"Remember when Heather got sick and we all took turns taking care of her? It's nice to see that we have each other's backs." Iris says, not making eye contact with you. You start laughing, And it turns out she was faking the whole thing."

Iris's brows furrow, "What?" Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. "Yeah, she admitted it later. I didn't know she didn't tell you." Iris's smile fades, replaced by a look of disbelief. "I can't believe she would do something like that. That's really messed up."

"I mean...she did have to run the mile that day, I'd do the same thing." You shrug, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, I guess we all have our own ways of avoiding running." Iris chuckles, shaking her head. "Yeah, but faking sick behind my back? That's a whole new level." You both laugh, finding peace in the moment.

Iris puts down her soup and stares at you. "You look happy." You smile back at Iris and reply, "Yeah, I guess I am. It feels good to just relax and have a laugh with you. You look like shit, though."

Iris chuckles and rolls her eyes. "Thanks, I appreciate the honesty. It's been a rough day." You nod sympathetically, understanding that it's because of her sickness. "Maybe you should try and sleep." You suggest, helping her lie back down. Iris sighs and nods, her eyes showing exhaustion.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. I could use some rest." You tuck her in and dim the lights, creating a soothing atmosphere. "I'll stay here with you until you fall asleep," you offer, hoping to provide some comfort during her rough day.

"You could lay down too..." Iris mumbles, her voice trailing off as she starts to drift off. You hesitate for a moment, considering her suggestion, before deciding to join her. As you lie down next to her, you feel a sense of closeness and reassurance, knowing that your presence brings her some ease.

Iris places her head on your chest, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. The sound lulls her into a deeper state of relaxation, and you can feel her tension slowly melting away. You gently stroke her hair, and mutter, "You better not get me sick."

Iris chuckles softly, her voice barely audible as she whispers, "Don't worry, I'll take care of you if that happens."

When Iris finally falls asleep, it's late at night. You slip from her grasp and leave, making your way to the inventory to see if there's any tea that could help her. Your heart drops when you see a figure standing in the dimly lit room, their back turned towards you.

They turn around quickly, and you let out a sigh, allowing yourself to relax. "Richie, you scared the hell out of me." Richie chuckles and apologizes, "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to startle you." Your eyes fall to the basket in his hands.

He notices speaking up, "Gale asked me to get this." You hum, "Do you have any tea? Iris is sick." Richie nods sympathetically and says, "Yeah, yeah. Here." He reaches into the basket and hands you a small packet of tea. "I hope this helps," he says with a warm smile.

Richie then walks away, basket in hand, leaving you standing there, thankful and confused. Maybe he was the one who stole Ethan's snacks.

#reader insert #wattpad #tonyspank #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega fluff #tara carpenter scream #tara carpenter x g!p reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x gn!reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter fluff

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idontknowanametouse · 23 days

Text

Straw Hat girlies headcanons! (Sanji included cuz transfem bigender Sanji lives rent free in my head. Also Bonney cuz why not; And Vivi is on the straw hats I don't care)

TW: mention of sexual abuse and other kinds of abuse, and also the trauma that comes with it

Nami

Autistic, but developed the habit of masking. Has been learning to undo it around her crew. Special interest? Maps, maps, maps. Tangerines are comfort food. She also has hypersensitivity to clothes, so she picks them very carefully. Her meltdowns are often, they come when she is emotionally overloaded, and she usually needs to stay alone to calm down.

After her meltdown in Arlong Park, her arm got paralyzed due to nerve damage. Now, she uses a sling to keep it always in place and not get hurt. Her tatoo covers a little, but not all her stabbing scars.

She has PTSD due to Bellemere's death, her enslavery and also due to being a survivor of SA. Has been doing therapy sessions with Chopper (he is learning about human psychology in order to help the crew) to help cope with it and receives help and support from the rest of the crew.

VERY pale, but due to spending so much time in the sea and under the sun, she ends up having many, many freckles through all of her body. Usually keeps wavy hair in ponytail due to it being really long.

Lesbian, loves girlies. Dating Vivi ever since they set foot in Alabasta. Clings to her so much it looks like they can't be separated. Also, Vivi was her lesbian awakening in the way of "wait, I think I like girls romantically???? And they are also hot????"

When she first entered the crew, she was underweight, almost malnourished, due to never having enough food and saving almost all money to save her village. However, after Arlong Park, she started gaining weight with the help of Sanji and Chopper. Now, she is fat, healthy and happy.

Loves orange, but also blue (no, it's not to match Vivi, shut the fuck up Usopp)

Swears and yells a lot. Has low voice tone control, actually.

Sometimes, when she is sad, she speaks to her tangerines as if Bellemere was there, as it feels comforting.

Ever since she received news that Cocoyashi Village got a Den Den Mushi, she calls them everyweek to tell Nojiko and Genzo about hers and the strawhat's adventures.

Besties with Usopp and Zoro, they talk shit about everyone. Gossip friends with Robin. Is one of the few people that can make Luffy not destroy an entire fucking island. Jinbei's second daughter (first is Koala).

Loves Beyoncé, rap and brazillian funk (Luffy introduced her to it) (yeah, I know this is a more modern-au like one, but let me have my headcanons ok).

Due to high sensitivity to clothes, she usually wears beach-like clothing cause they are light and let most of her skin exposed, so she can feel better the weather.

Terrified of bugs AND bats. Almost fainted when she first heard about vampires and now is fucking terrified of the possibility.

Likes drawing, not only maps, but her crewmates too. She is really good at it, however, she won't show it to anyone, just Nojiko (she's embarassed).

Only wears makeup and/or does different hairtyles in special occasions, as she finds it to be very inconvenient when they are on the sea.

Watching and hearing the sea is a nice visual stim. It helps her to calm down from the crazy thing that is day-to-day life with the straw hats.

She may say shit about her friends sometimes, but will absolutely kill you if you say anything bad about them.

Sanji

Autistic, special interest is fishes and the All Blue. Cooking is so stimmy hmmmm. Does not realize when she is being way too much on others. Even though he doesn't seem like, is very picking about food, can't handle anything made in a shit way. Has shutdowns instead of meltdowns as trauma response, and needs to stay around the crew these times.

Has PTSD due to constant abuse in childhood and from being stuck on the rock-island with Zeff (and also due to Zeff eating his leg). Due to never telling about it to anyone, he tried to hide it from the crew because of self-loathing, but after Whole Cake Island, the moments of crisis and panic attacks were so frequent it turned impossible. He is now working on it with Chopper, just like the rest of the crew.

Tall, with very strong legs with many scars on them. Has leg and facial hair, but, after Momoiro Island, she let her wavy hair grow and now keeps it in a bun, still with the part in front of the eye, of course.

Egg cracked with Ivankov, about both gender AND sexuality. Bi queen. Even though he didn't want to pass through surgeon (aka Ivankov's fruit) he still got a lot of help from the newkama. Also learned he loves drag and will do it sometimes for the crew.

Learned ballet as a kid from Reiju and his mom. Even though he always practiced it in secret, it came out once she started to do drag (on her shows, she uses ballet steps a lot).

Fave colors are yellow and blue, it feels soft.

Swears a lot. Zeff did swear a lot back on Baratie, after all.

Calls Zeff monthly to tell how things are going. Sometimes, after this, she cries a little.

Started dating Zoro shortly before timeskip and was afraid of how he'd react to the whole trans thing, but he couldn't care less. She cried over a week because of this.

Loves woman with all of her heart, specially her crew's ones. Not in a more sexual like way, but in a whole-heartdly way. Besties with Usopp, surprisingly VERY friends with Brook.

Listens to classical and french music, but sometimes likes some rock and roll.

Has three types of clothes: suits, dresses and a suit with a short and skirt. No matter the look, is always with ballet shoes.

Fucking scared of bugs. And pigeons. Don't ask, ok?

Sings very well, but doesn't like to show it. Only does it on the bathroom, but everybody ends up listening. They don't comment cause the single time they did they thought Sanji was having a heart attack.

Adores make-up and diverse hairtyling, finds it to be really cute.

Usually rocking back and forth on her feet, it feels nice.

Once kicked a guy to uncosciousness when he touched her butt.

Vivi

Autistic, has those big bug autism eyes, even though she masks well she cannot function daily without help, Karoo is her therapy animal, special interest in bugs (shares it with Luffy), has meltdowns whenever she knows she is completely alone and helpless.

Developed some level of paranoia after being infiltrated in Baroque Works, and sometimes has frenzys in which she thinks she is back there and that Alabasta is still in danger. It diminuted drastically after Chopper developed a medicine for her, but it still happens sometimes. Those moments, she can turn aggressive and needs to stay only with Karoo so she can calm down.

Has brown skin and some tatoos typical from the Nefertari family. She is short and skinny, and the secret nobody can absolutely know is that she dyes her (curly) hair blue (it's her favorite color and her mom used to do the same, so, she dyes it. Nobody other than Nami can know though).

Lesbian, her first crush was Miss All Sunday (it didn't last much, but o boi, how many nights she spent thinking about how ABSOLUTELY WRONG having a crush on your enemy is). Had an immediate crush in Nami, but couldn't say it cuz of the whole Miss Wednesday thing. They kissed after they left Drum Island and started dating at Alabasta.

Deals with the guilt of being with the strawhats instead of Alabasta very often, and likes having hugs so it can go away.

Favourite color is blue, but not all blue, just sky-blue.

Never swears, feels a little embarassed whenever someone does.

Resolves troubles from Alabasta through Den Den Mushi, that way she doesn't get that much worried. Also keeps in contact with her dad, Pell and Igaram.

Even though they had a complicated relationship at the start, Robin and her ended up being very friends, they love parallel playing (honestly, who doesn't?). Also very close to Luffy and Yamato, the one that keeps a leash on the two of them, relates a lot to Zoro in that aspect.

Loves bubblegum pop, an absolute Swiftie. Sometimes also compelled to Aurora and Halsey.

Whenever they go to an island, she likes keeping her formal clothes (after all, she is the crew's diplomat!). In fights, she uses more simple clothes and a mask to keep her identity hidden. In the ship, however, you'll always find her in pajamas (no, she is not always sleeping, Zoro does that very well for the whole crew).

Is scared of the sea, even though she can swim, nobody knows why.

Likes dancing and presenting to the crew, but the crew only. If some outsider is there, she won't dance at all. Likes helping Sanji with the choreography of her drag shows.

Likes makeup, but hates stylizing her hair. She is absolutely terrible at it, so she just keeps it in a ponytail during fights and that's it, that's the best you can get from her.

Likes playing and fidgeting with small things like coins, buttons, rubik cubes, pebbles and stuff like that. Usually has something in her hand.

Feels bad for being one the weakest crew members, but is always cheered up by the rest. After all, she doesn't need to fight to be nakama, even though she can kick some asses.

Robin

Autistic. Weirdgirl, big autistic stare, says every single creepy fact she knows in not very good situations, no social cues get to her head, never masks, almost always same expression and tone, special interest in history, does not know how to function normally, has auditory and light hypersensitivity, meltdowns caused by way too much light, sound and visual information.

Has PTSD due to the destruction of Ohara, living her childhood, teenagehood and adult years as a runaway and being constantly betrayed and abandoned. She sometimes has moments of profound anxiety in which she asks herself if she is gonna lose her family. Chopper helps her a lot with it, and, when she has those crisis, she gets a hug from everyone anytime she asks for it.

Very tall, with a few specific parts of her body being thicker than the rest. Her skin is dark, with many scars through all of it, and she has blue eyes and long (but not as long as Nami's or Yamato's), straight black hair.

Trans woman, found out during early childhood, and bisexual queen. Even though she was never in a relationship before entering the crew, she was with a few people before. Franky is the first guy she is with, and also the first person she dates. It's a bit scary for both, but feels also really, really good.

She was underweight most of her life due to the inconstancy of her nutrition and life situation, but in Baroque Works she had lots of food. She thought a pirate crew wouldn't care about their nutrition or food, but it was opposite. Even though she does not gain weight easily, her sillouette, that was VERY slim before, became thicker in a few points. Not much, she still is thin, but it's less ill-looking.

Favorite color is purple, black and dark blue. Goth girl Robin is real.

Does not swear, but says such weird, creepy and worrying stuff it makes everyone wish she did. It would be less scary.

Loves organizing stuff, for some reason. If you leave her alone in a messy room, in a short time it will be very nice-looking and clean. She has fun with it!

After some initial tension, she started taking care of Vivi like a big sister. Was called "mom" by Chopper once and almost had a heart attack. Enjoys parallel playing with Zoro and Law, scaring Usopp and playfully flirting with Jinbei (Franky loves this, it makes them laugh how embarassed it makes Jinbei look).

Likes goth and punk music, it feels very nice to her. Also loves horror-like classical music, it helps her to sleep (weirgirl Robin weirdgirl Robin weirdgirl Robin-).

Even though she appreciates goth fashion, it's not really for her. She prefers long, purple jackets to her elbow over dark flower-pattern dresses, dark boots and her cowboy hat with sunglasses (they help her with light sensitivity and it also looks really cool).

Absolutely HATES to be around statues. They just get a nerve on her. It feels awful, she wants to break them in half so they stop looking at her.

Likes sending messages to the crew in the vitorian flower language. Nobody gets it, but they try. She keeps infodumping about it, so they can get at least a few things.

Doesn't like makeup very much, but simple hairtyling is nice. She will experiment on it, but only in particular.

Makes many vocal stims. They variate from humming to speaking random syllabes to screaming out loud. The crew has gotten used to it. Stimming with her akuma no mi also feels very nice.

Has broken more necks than you would think. Is also nicer than you would think.

Bonney

Autistic. Very loud, has no control over her tone, emotionally extreme, no social abilities, pizza is her comfort food, has hyposensitivity to sounds and lights, sarcasm queen but doesn't get other's sarcasm or lies, has meltdowns because of people fighting that involve a lot of self harm.

Has night terror with her dad being chained and his death. She needs to go to Luffy so she can hug him and feel better. Also has hyperactivity and needs medicines from Chopper so she can sleep and focus on stuff.

Small for her age, has white skin that is also tan due to the sun, likes putting piercings through her body (Chopper is scandalized), has brown eyes and hair, which she dyes pink cuz she knows her mom did as well.

Transfem demigirl, came out when she was 7 and told her dad "I wanna be a girl" "alright" and that was it. Didn't know what was a period until Chopper explained, and then got reliefed she didn't get that shit.

Eats A LOT, but runs so much throughout all of the ship all the day through it basically doesn't affect her body in a noticeable way. Shares this fact with Luffy.

Favorite color is pink, all of them. Does not matter the tones, if it's pink, she loves it.

Learned to swear on her time as a pirate. Does it on a daily basis.

Always speaks to her dad when she feels alone. It makes her feel better, to think he is accompanying her journey with the straw hats.

Likes smelling stuff. Sometimes looks like a dog while doing it. She just can feel the vibes of the person through their smell. She warns the crew whenever she smells evil. She is never wrong.

Calls everyone her big siblings. Luffy's apprentice, spends much time with him, specially when they are eating. Is spoiled rotten by Sanji, he loves when she asks for food. Loves being carried by Zoro, Yamato, Brook, Franky and Jinbei. Never gets tired of hearing Usopp's stories. Besties with Chopper.

Loves pop and rock, always sings along while screaming.

Always wearing clothes way too big for her size cuz of her akuma no mi, likes wearing bubblegum-pop and tiktok like clothes.

Scared of labs and doctors. Had to be convinced throughout an entire week to do her first check-up on Chopper. She is now ok around him, but other doctors are terrifying (she keeps trying to find out where Law hides the bodies he obviously kills. He is called death surgeon, come on).

Likes hearing Robin read books for her and Chopper. It's nice and recalls her home, plus Robin's voice is really sweet.

Loves experimenting on makeup, specially with help of the girls, but hair is too complicated. When she is not with her hat, she keeps the hair in a bandana and that's it. Plus it's always messy and she has a hard time combing it.

Stims by running. A LOT. And jumping. Whenever she thinks something interesting, she goes through the entire ship, down and up, until she falls on the sea and someone has to get her.

Can kick ass, but is still a child, so the crew kind of... overprotects her a little. Basically, if she gets hurt in battle, prepare to die. Very painfully.

#one piece #one piece headcanons #nami #sanji #nefertari vivi #nico robin #jewelry bonney #namivivi #zosan #frobin

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