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tteokdoroki · 2 years

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OCTOBER 8TH. HADES

“my sweet, deluded little minion. aren't we forgetting one teensy-weensy but ever-so-crucial tiny little detail? i own you.”

♱ — keigo takami + hate sex.

♱ — synopsis; as a naive little girl in love you make a deal that gets you stuck with the unrelenting god of the underworld, and no matter how sweet he may fuck you…you’ll spend all of eternity hating him if you have to.

♱ —length; 5.4K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, mentions of death, restraints, marking, branding, creampies, thigh riding, impact play, nipple play, multiple orgasms, possesive sex, hate sex, unprotected sex, fem!reader, hades!hawks. not beta read !

♱ — notes; screee happy sinister saturday !! tonight i bring you hawks beloved besmooched as disney's hades!! i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it. !! mwah !! - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

pity.

you should not have pity for the weak because you are weak, yourself.

you’re weak because you’re too kind; you hate to see a dying soul twisting through those who end up in the land of the undead, shackled to their fate of never returning where the living are. you feel their desperation, hear it in the woeful cries of lost lives as they make their trip down a stream of decay— to be damned for almost all of eternity and like them, you’re desperate too. the underworld is a place to be hated, you think, tying you down to the stench of death and you’re so desperate to feel the sun on your skin once more…to taste the juice of a ripened fruit and feel the warm breeze against your skin while you brush through locks of silvering hair.

you miss the air in your lungs, you miss breathing him in like he was oxygen.

touya, was there name of the man you missed most about the world up above— his lips often tasted of sour grapes, his skin was rough from scratches and scrapes too but soft whenever you held a his hand. you thought that he adored you— touya would worship you like the gods had put your portrait in the stars up above and you’d do the same…spending your free time counting the flecks in cerulean eyes while soft white hair flows in the warm wind. he was brave, you knew that, a warrior who was strong and had promised you his hand once he returned from the battles his father had called him upon.

you were promised, you were happy and more in love than you thought possible— until the day touya tells you that he loves you with his dying breath, a sickness sweeping over topaz fem eyes, and you know he’d take your heart to the underworld too.

“you still thinkin’ about him, doll?”

the warmth of your day dreams slip away as the chill of his voice fills the stone cold lair. you dare to let your fingertips drift through the river of souls below the wall you lean against. “‘m not in the mood, hades.” the god of the underworld, keigo takami is a nuisance if you’d ever known one. a pain in your ass full of feathered flames— bright blue in all of their glory, they’re colder than most would expect, unbecoming of the colour that sprout’s from the king of the undead’s back.

“hawks. keigo, baby. c’mon little bird…” his voice is tight with humour, surprisingly playful for someone doomed to be surrounded by lifelessness for all of eternity. all of the underworld is dreary and damp, worn arching mountains made of old bones, skulls and teeth— rocks as sharp as swords that end lives with the sickly green stream of whining dead mortals. you can’t breathe down here…there’s no space for you to escape nor breathe around him and you hate it. “oh sugarplum…don’t play sourpuss! we’re all friends here!” the blonde god that burns cold flames picks your dainty fingers from the acidic pool of death.

he grinds your gears, and you have nowhere else to go. the thought of being stuck with a man who rules over ruined lives— infuriating you to no end. “i am not—“ you seethe, shoulders raised like a hissing cat or something akin to the three headed dog that guards this place. “your friend. far from it, hades.” the look on your face is far from impressed, discourteous with your lips turned into a nasty sneer and a sweltering spark to your usually pretty docile eyes.

it’s such a shame, how ill behaved you are after everything the man has done for you. “it’s hawks, honey.” the man reminds you, and in a flash he’s on you in all the ways you despise. his slimey grip of death squeezes your cheeks, dragging you up to his mighty height with your face in the palm of his burning hand. hades…hawks, he’s mean when he’s unhappy— the flames that form the wings of a fallen angel flicker a brilliant red and the temperature of them skyrockets. “‘n this is no way to act after all i’ve done for you cupcake.” despite the fury that radiates from the god…he coos gently.

“if i remember correctly… i’m the one who saved your little prick of a boyfriend… aren’t I?” even through all of the robes keigo wears, you can still feel the molten heat of his skin against yours as he pulls you in close— though you dangle from his hold, you’re practically chest to chest. you scramble to get away, but the god only digs his thumb further into your cheek. “we had a deal. your soul for his life.” with his free hand, he creates an apparition, tufts of smoke dancing to form people…one showing touya who bends at the knee to take the other’s hand— this one being you.

at first, the two characters seem happy, and an emotion akin to fondness settles in your bones— but not before touya’s little smoke figure trails away from yours to follow another woman “s’not my fault he left you. don’t take it out on me, doll,” hawks drawls, snapping his fingers to make the apparition disappear, your heart rattled in its place after reliving the scene and you force your gaze away with a grunt directed at the god. “now, since you’re being oh so disrespectful, we’ll add…give or take, another five years to your sentence with me instead of taking away seven. how’s that sound?”

“fuck you, hades.” turning your head, you spit directly between the god’s eyes, fuelled by your own hurtful rage.

your elevated, living pulse does nothing but serve to piss off the king of the underworld more— his blonde set of locks nearly exploding off of the top his head as he combusts into red hot flames once more. “still so bitter over a man who can’t love you like i do, huh?” keigo says your name, low and raspy, and you can’t remember the last time he’d uttered those syllables. it frightens you, after all you are a mortal in the grip of a man who takes lives for a living, but you’d never let him know that. “that’s almost pathetic.”

that hurts to hear, like a knife twisting in your fragile human gut… and so, kicking your feet, still high above the ground and suspended in the large god’s grip— you throw yourself about and claw at his temperate hand cupping your face harshly. “you do not love me, you wouldn’t know what that meant even if it kicked you in the face!” you yell, biting down on keigo’s hands in a futile attempt. “you’re just obsessed with me and would much rather me be a soulless corpse to keep you better company!”

“you better watch your tone with me, little bird—“

“you’re vile. you’re disgusting— a fool if you think i could ever see the bright side of being stuck here with you,” you ramble in response, and foolishly so. “i hate you hades, i hate you. did you know that? i want to repeat it for you. i hate yo—“

your words are never finished, for a resounding strike echoes throughout the cave like atmosphere on the underworld and you already feel the invisible bruising form under your skin, falling to the floor to cup your wound.

no matter how many times you had tested the god of death, he had never hit you like this before.

and you’ve never looked into his golden irises , never seen them so clearly or seen his pupils like black slits— leaving the amber colour to take over, reminding you of the surface sun. hawks looks almost predatory, hungry red flames for wings willing to swallow and burn everything in their path, including you.

“repeat yourself. what did you say?” keigo commands easily.

you gulp. “t-that i…”

“that you, what?” your name again, and you tremble.

“that i hate you,” you breathe. “i hate you.”

he seems to snap at this.

hawks smiles, teeth as sharp as razors set on display. “another five years into your sentence, pretty.” with a snap of his talon clawed fingers, the god has fragments of grey smog binding your wrist together, slipping over your nose and mouth to shut you the hell up. “‘m disappointed, yanno. i do care so much for you, i’m so attentive… but this has happened far too long to go unnoticed, little bird.”

the world around you rushes with air as you’re hauls into the god’s thick arms, you kick and scream muffled through the smoke in your mouth— watching as keigo conjures up a throne made of thorns, pain and bones, taking a comfortable seat into it despite the lost loved ones it might be made up of. “here we go again, darling.” the blonde sighs, not caring if you batter his back on the way down to taking his seat— dragging you into position to sit over the swell of his right thigh. “s’always the same old shit with you. so naughty.” keigo peers up at you through eyes like a bird of prey…watching, knowing the exact effect he has on you.

hyper aware of how much control he has over you, right down to your soul.

you squirm away and keigo let’s go of the smoke, letting you tilt your head back but still rooted in the god’s lap. “i hate you.” breathing deep, you try to ignore your body flushing with heat and the urge to buck down against keigo’s surprisingly muscular thigh.

“behave yourself. sit still,” hades coos, his touch cascades up your body, slipping under your bodice and sending warmth down each of the neurons like a flickering flame until he reaches the swell of your breasts— thumbing over your pebbled nipples in an attempt to pull a whine from between your resistant lips. it’s so cute to watch you try and fail, pretend like your hips aren’t aching to slide back and forth, drag your clit back and forth…back and forth over the man like a desperate bitch in heat, like you don’t want to put your hands in the brightness of his fire and watch yourself burn with lust. you’re no good at acting, pretending you wouldn’t slut yourself out for him, the one who owns you for all of eternity.

with a click of his fingers, all the power in the world between them pulls up the skirts of your robes, like wisps of a web until the fabric sits at your hips. “h-hate you… s’much,” you repeat though the venom to your voice is lost, shaky and falling into a pathetic moan instead as the god traces the fat at your hips, searing fingers sliding down to your fleshy ass before peeling you away from his thigh— amused at the stickiness that ties you to him. “f-fuck.”

“yeah sweetheart? you hate me this much?” the amusement is evident in his voice too, a slender digit sliding out from the curve of your ass to touch at your oozing wetness. “oh…i don’t know, doesn’t seem like you don’t like me. you can’t spend forever hatin’ me either; not when i get you like this.” the finger spreads apart your swelling folds, and hawks shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit. “lover boy ever make ya this wet?” you despise the way the god talks down on you, as if you’re just a slave to his cock and thighs and whatever he can give you…dopamine and lust hormones flooding your cute little mortal brain and making you pliant for him.

the beginnings of your arousal seeps warmly through the robes laying wrinkled against the fiery blonde’s thigh, sweet folds leaving a stain that betrays you in every way possible. touya could never… not like this, you’re soaked and you’ve barely been touched. only just, by feather light grazes against the supple fat at your waist. it’s the taunting pillowy cushion to hawks’ words too, they’re what’s gotten you so worked up— not too mean or too harsh, just enough to make you feel like you’re beneath him.

with your nails digging to hades’ arm, you cry out his name at a volume barely above a whisper— bottom lip wobbling and face crumbling just like your resolve because it hurts so good not to use him to get off, the shame only adding fuel to the fire in your lower belly. “s-shut up,” you struggle to get out, to mean what you say as your needy hole clenches against the blistering skin of a god. “you don’t make me feel shit…y-you could never be h-him—oh,” keigo flexes his thigh beneath your unloyal pussy, tongue darting out to wet his lips in hunger as your words taper off into a sinful little sigh at your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. “oh…oh fuck you.”

“watch your mouth.” hades all but snarls, a cruel smirk beginning its horizon on his slightly chapped lips now that you’re finally playing his game, your hips falling into their own rhythm over his thigh—speeding up in their straddled dance over him. again, his hands explore all what your body has to offer and this time you let him, throwing your head back when hawks rips the fabric of your skirt to get a better view of your naked rosy cunt and how beads of glistening arousal pearl between perfect pussy lips. “don’t need to be your shitty little human to make you feel good, sweetheart. i know i’m better than him,” he makes a sick point of reminding you so, leaning back into his throne with a hazy look settling into the embers of his golden eyes, those of which are trained on the way your folds encapsulate his thigh as you get yourself off on him. “i’m your god, you’ll only ever feel the pinnacle of pleasure with me.”

you loath that this much is true, of all the times hawks has punished you for resenting him— talking back and being ungrateful, you’ve never cum as hard with anyone else as much as you have with him. when his flaming hands swallow your thighs, burn their hand prints into them until you can smell the scent of singeing flesh tangled with death, decay and your saccharine pussy you feel like you’re dying. you must be, with the waves of euphoria you’re drowning in, your lungs ache from the near screams of delight that rattle around in your throat with every grind against hawks— especially when he begins to bounce his thighs against your cunt that blossoms for him like a flower from the lands up above.

“you’re awful…” you say, teary eyed despite humping at keigo’s twitching thigh faster and faster with ragged breaths— giving him a front row seat to you losing your mind, to your slit drooling so delicately against him despite how roughly your body moves. his clawed hand reaches the back of your bodice, tearing it into two as if it were nothing and letting the fabric fall away from your bouncing chest.

his mouth is on your breasts within an instant, the heated pink tongue of the god rolling over your darkened areolas and rock hard nipples, standing on end from the cool death chilled air, before the sharpened edge of his teeth sink into your soft mounds. “only just now realising that, honey? when i’m literally the king of death?” hawks let’s go of you with a slick pop, his cheeks flushed red and lips in a state to match— cock and thigh twitching at the little simper you let out from the painful sting of his teeth biting at your skin. your state is no better than his, brows creased adorably in the centre of your forehead, mouth open in a raw ‘o’ shape and your eyes screwed shut while your skin shines with perspiration. a diamond in the rough.

“fuck, you look so fucking good,” the god of the underworld curses, glowing yellow eyes torn between watching your face contort in lechery and your mound, gliding smoothly over his paled yet golden skin— leaving a trail of slick in her wake. “oh fucking hell,” he beefs, from deep within his chest licentiously, the words caught in his throat when you start to bounce up and down in the god’s lap by your own accord. “that’s right, ride it. ride my thigh like you fucking hate me.” he leers, goading you into lifting your hips and slamming your clit back down on his shaky thigh, eyes a dark and molten gold rolling back at the sight.

you don’t have the energy to curse him out again, whimpering and mewling like a fallen angel as you reach out to grab keigo’s shoulder in order to steady yourself. your body is wracked with the shakes and trembles even as your nails dig into his shoulder blades, one hand on his hip, using him as leverage to ride him, throwing yourself down on him as the lewd pap of your sticky pussy fills the sex and death tainted air. hawks’ mouth is back on you, biting and marking your neck, licking a nasty trail from your collarbones and back to the swell of your breasts to suckle on them— only serving to make your cunt fish every time it’s lifted from his thigh, ruining his dark robes with slick and making his wings burn brighter like the ball of lust growing between you.

hawks plants his feet firmly on the floor, his hands smoothing over your ass so he can roughly pull your cheeks apart, slamming you back down on his quivering leg every time it juts up to meet your pretty, syrupy cunt. you squeak, the hood of your clit pulled back, blood rushing right too it carrying sex crazed hormones that make your whole body tingle. “oh, just look at your fucking pussy. so, wet. so nasty.” he laughs like the sight of you staining his leg, humping it like a bitch is ludicrous. “you sure you hate me?” you do, gods you fucking do but you can barely talk with the delight pain that sparks at your ass cheeks as keigo marks them with burns again. branding you with the hades name— making you property of the underworld.

“how can you hate me when you belong to me?” he bleats sweet and soft despite how rough hades is with you, scattering your pretty body with scalding burn marks. “when i make you feel so good that you can’t even remember your own pathetic little mortal name?” he says it then, when he’s growling and smacking a blazing hand down against your bruising ass, making you cry out and howl and drag your nails down his skin. keigo did you a favour, saving your weak and loving soul above all else after your lover had cast you aside— he protected you, nurtured you and all you could do was look at him like he ruined the world for you. so in turn, every time you would act up like this, keigo would fuck you until you were literally an inch from losing your life, reminding you that you bound to him for all of eternity, no matter what you did.

“you’re mine. remember?” he coos to you when your head starts to loll and you’re hiccuping so hard you can’t even think to breathe right. “my little queen of the underworld.”

slumping forward, you don’t slow the roll of your hips, the gentle glide of your slippery cunt along hades’ blazing thigh and instead you shake your head, weakly, miserably to the point where he just finds your denial cute. “‘m not…i-i,” you gargle, words incoherent against the molten core of keigo’s chest. “i fucking hate you—uhuh, yeah…i do.” you moan.

like most humans, you’re fucking pitiful but your voice adorned with lust is enticing to a god who hears nothing but deathly wails all day. “keep tellin’ yourself that; baby but look at how you fall apart on my lap. uhuh…yeah?” keigo flashes you his pearly whites through his condescending smirk and tone, using you so bristfully that every time he pushes you back and forth over his thigh you go as far back as to grind your puffy clit against his knee. “that felt good, huh? yeah i know…you’re all mine.”

you fucking hate him, and that voice of his and how he plays you for a fucking fool.

you hate how his possession over you makes you needy, makes you melt and how you eagerly nod your head, sore and bruised by flames all over as you push it into keigo’s neck— the knot in your tummy nice and tight, so good that it hurts. “‘m close… don’t stop. please, o-oh fuck!” you cry, coated in your own essence as it splatters every time you slam your pretty pussy down on hawks, clenching around nothing, your sweet words soothing the ache in his rigid dick. “j-just like that. f-fuck! keigo!”

the way you drawl out the syllables of his name makes a primal urge stir in the god— he circles your hips on him, let’s his calloused finger tips burn their mark against your hips and your thighs and your ass, knowing that the torment gets you off, makes your creamy cunt wetter. “you gonna cum for me? make a mess in my lap? paint your god with your pretty juices?” he teases, short for breath leaning up with a fond smile until your lips are just barely apart. he wonders how you’ll look when you cum this time; if your sweaty swollen lips with hungrily accept his, if you’ll cry with your eyes closed or look him in his own— your sparkling bambi eyes swirling with hatred and dread like they always do. “c’mon…come on. give it to me, sweetheart, lemme feel you come undone.”

hot fingers, the ones that branded you push into your clit— pinching it as hades writes his signature against your throbbing pussy, moaning with you when you jolt. “yeah, you like that?” he growls, voice hoarse and your body betrays you once more, head nodding into his neck. “mhm, you’re gonna cum like this for me aren’t you? you’re gonna fucking cum for the god you hate. that’s it…oh gods, that’s fuckin’ it, doll.”

“i-i’m! oh gods, keigo—!” you squeal as the knot of lust within you unravels all at once, your core gushing with release as hades makes you dive head first into a blinding orgasm. you violently shake and your thighs lock around his hand that works you through your high and releases the pressure in your pussy, sweet streams of clear arousal soaking his lap and dripping down your thighs. hawks can’t bring himself to stop, doesn’t know where to look as he draws tighter circles on your little nub, drawing out your orgasm for his own amusement, addicted to how your skin shines with your release. “s-stop! please… s’too much!” you squeak.

the world spins harder on its axis and you barely have time to register hawks flipping your positions, folding you with your back to the throne and legs thrown over the bend of his burly arms. he can’t wait any fucking longer, feeling as if his cock might explode without being inside of you, watching you cum like that having sent him into a throbbing frenzy. you haven’t even calmed down yet, still limp from your orgasm when keigo pushes his length through your seeping, glistening folds, red cockhead catching on the hood of your clit in desperation, poking at your fluttering hole, ready to fuck into you while he lets his dick slap along the length of you.

“j-just because you’ve made me cum…doesn’t mean i like you, nor trust you.” you pant in denial, trying and failing to open your pretty eyes to the underworld. “it doesn’t mean anything.”

but keigo, he’s too far gone to care at this point. he could care less if you hate him, if you adore him, worship him or fear him. the only thing on his mind right now is sinking his yearning, pulsating shaft into your slick, slit while you’re still coming down from heaven and back to him in the world below. “don’t give a fuck,” he says, a hankering feeling to fuck you now clouding his mind. “i don’t need your trust little bird, i already know your body fucking loves me.”

he won’t last long and neither will you, you’re already only just hanging on by a thread. “i-i don’t,” you slur, spit on the pad of tongue feeling heavy, you still haven’t recovered from your orgasm, squeezing down on every inch that keigo pushes into you— even though you’re wet beyond belief, your pink little hole can’t help but resist him, as if your body is finally denying him after everything he put you through on his thigh. “n-no…no no!” you cry out, a mess of dry lips and crystal tears, lifting your ass from the seat of the throne to try and coax hawks back into you. “please…need it, y-your cock…p-please!”

“see look, you’re being so nice now… is that all it takes? play with your precious pussy a little bit and you stop pretending to hate me?” keigo laughs huskily, dragging a thumb over his seedy tip as his fat length sits on your tummy— before shoving the soiled digit against your clit, pressing it into your pleasure nub so loosen you up a bit to take him. “this pussy doesn’t hate me, does she? oh no…she belongs to me.”

you shudder at his words despite the heat of his flames, and you’re not even given a second to respond or prepare before his ribbed and red hot cock is shoved into your unused hole, his practised hands lifting you higher from the throne to accommodate for all of his size. “oh…oh god, k-keigo,” you coo like a little angel, your gaze losing its focus while the king of death folds you in half against his royal seat, the forked and purpling veins decorating his shaft pressing up against new pulse points, pinging them with ecstasy the further he presses into you.

hawks bends over your shaky frame, golden and carved abs pressed against the backs of your thighs, the god smothering you with his body once he reaches the hilt, your knees digging blissfully into your shoulders, his cock already nestled against your g-spot from the pure size of him and you feel so full, like keigo is everywhere around you, a pleasant pain thrumming as your squishy insides stretch over his cold. he’s in your guts, your senses, your heart though it’s blackened with hatred for him.

you’re dizzy and your eyes droop, mind void of thought and you don’t have the effort to hate him anymore— not when he makes you feel like this. “nuh-uh, wake up sweetheart, want you to look at me as i fuck ya, kay?” keigo whispers to you sweetly, his blazen hand smacking down on your face, pulling the dirtiest moan you’ve ever heard from between your lips. “that’s it, wake up f’me. listen to this cunt call my name,” he laments tapping your cheek once more and grins at the branded hand print before golden eyes lock themselves away— taking away your sunshine from up above. you listen intently, the lewd squelch of your insides bouncing of stacks of bones and towers of skeletons, at a volume much higher than the cries of the undead. “my messy messy girl, so messy you might as well admit that you’re in love with me.”

while that couldn’t have been further from the truth, you submit to the god who makes you a slave to his cock— slowly withdrawing from your snug walls, pulling out of your sticky selfish cunt. “ain’t it damned shame that lover boy took you for granted?” he growls with a voice tinged with possession. “such a shame that you’re sentenced to slutting yourself out on this cock for the rest of your days…oh fuck, you’re tight.” hips surging forwards, hawks sets a steady pace to rocking his dick into you, blunt cockhead pushing and pulling against sensitive spots that makes you see the stars in the night sky again. and maybe you do consider yourself lucky, without touya fucking you over, you wouldn’t be prisoner to the best dick you’ve ever had.

you hate him, but hades is so, so good—teeth and tongue latching back onto your bouncing breasts as the heat from his flames spreads through you like a wildfire in a forest and the only thing capable putting it out is his precum sloshing in creamy, loose white against your gummy, syrupy walls. “m-my fucking god!” you manage through stuttered breathes, keening into the swipes of keigo’s tongue across your breasts that he’s burned, as if his saliva will soothe you. he ploughs into you at a god speed pace, skin slapping on skin as his balls slam into the curve of your ass and harmonise with your high pitched wails.

“that’s right, baby.” he sounds so elated, moaning happily around your swollen nipples, moving to pant happily into your ear, pressing further and further into you until keigo is hardly pulling away from bullying your g-spot, your juices splashing about the places, running down the length of your slit and your ass to pool underneath you on the marble throne. “i’m yours and you’re fuckin’ mine, for the rest of forever…don’t, ah shit, care what you say. hate me all y’fuckin’ want.”

hawks fucks you like he hates your guts, looking over you, throwing your legs over his shoulder and using his weight to canter into your abused cunt, rocking his throne with a dull thump to each of thrusts. he frees you from the grip that leaves burn marks across your body, to briefly run his hand through sweaty blonde locks, both of you are slick with perspiration, breathing ragged and you’re definitely too fucked out to even see at this point. the sun is keigo; despite the dreary underworld you live in, and the tears blur your vision too much for you to tell this isn’t the land of the living.

“‘m g’na cum,” you tell hades eagerly, feeling like you’re alive the more he fills you up— sexes slotted together like a match made in heaven when you really feel like he’s your own personal hell. “gonna cum so fucking hard.” the pleasure is suffocating, deathly, but you don’t care, crying from every hole possible, locking down on keigo’s ravaging dick when he slaps your entrance to keep you awake— you jolt, sore from every joint and whine out pathetically.

“can feel you cummin’ on me again, better give it all t’me little bird— want your fuckin’ mind, your body, your soul.” he sinks his teeth into the junction at your neck one last time, adding another delightfully painful mark to the rest that litter your body. he does it all to numb your pain of touya leaving you, fills you up with love which you mistake for hate because how can a merciless god who takes lives for fun be capable of loving you. it’s not long before your body does as he says, following keigo’s lead, tumbling down the highway to hell as the bright light of his flames flashes before your very eyes, your release staining his abdomen where it’s smooshed up against your clit.

“oh shit, fuck that’s it,” he’s right behind you too, abs rippling while the mighty god of death trembles above you and pours thick white from his angry red tip straight into your bruised womb, lewd clapping noises filling the air as he rocks into you through the last of your highs. keigo makes a pretty mess of you; creaming your insides as his last mark of possession over you. “my pretty little bird, mine eternally.”

he hopes you’ll forget touya, that you’ll forgive him just this once— stop hating him for once.

but with your foreheads pressed together, bodies limp and uncomfortable against the throne hawks— hades, has conjured up you quickly come to your senses with closed eyes and lost breath.

“i hate you, hades.” you grunt, shame burning at you now instead of him, instead of lust. “get off me.”

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neteyamslovrr · 1 year

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KXANI - FINAL

summary: you have never fit in with the scientists, but on the night jake was lost in the forest so were you. staying with the people was your one true dream, yet when you are anything but welcome and jake get's to experience the people. you find yourself seeking comfort in tsu'tey

contents: 7.7k words, fem! reader, blood, war, violence, gore, death, gun violence, suggestive scenes (no smut), angst, fluff, avatar 2009

authors note: i cannot even begin to say how thankful i am for everyone reading this. truly the support and love i have been given because of this story i am so grateful. i mean look at that huge fucking taglist. i'm so happy you all have enjoyed the story so far as much I have enjoyed writing it. (btw formatting is a bit different just because it's so long)

all parts

The cell you were locked in was quiet. No one spoke, all too deep set in their grief to conjure any words. The white lights were close to blinding as you sat up against the wall, staring at the roof as all of your senses started to blend together.

Grace looked to you with a sigh, as she looked at all of her other colleagues. She was full of grief, she was mourning with the people even as she sat locked away from them. Jake was as well, his mind full of Neytiri’s screams, the screams that were directed at him.

The faint sound of the roll of a food cart could be heard in the distance. Was it already lunch? Had the days blurred as all of you rotted in this tedium room?

“What’s going on brother? Long time no see.” The sound of Trudy’s voice was like a weight lifted off all of your shoulders. You could see in Norm’s eyes as they lit up to the sound of her. She pushed in the cart, the solider guarding your cell getting up to inspect it. “Personally I don’t feel these tree hugging traitors deserve steak.”

“They get steak? Bullshit. Lemme see that.” Trudy chuckled as she grabbed the gun out of her belt, pressing it against the man’s skull as his body froze.

“Yeah y’know what that is. Down. All the way down.” Trudy held the man until he reached the ground. Her arm swung back as she hit the man’s head with a loud thud, his unconscious body hitting the ground.

“Trudy!” Norm yelled out to her, relieved to finally see her again. He was already standing at the glass door along with Grace. A wide smile on his face.

“Max!” The gangly scientist came running in. His fingers clumsily fidgeting with the techy key stuck in his pocket. The beep of the door was a signal for you all to start running, making your way through the corridors of the RDA base.

You all burst through each door, feet moving fast as you all made you way towards the ships. “Trudy! Go fire the ships!” Jake called out as Norm ran up to her, grabbing a hold of the pistol Trudy held out for him.

You ran beside Grace, Max lagging behind slightly. Jake had his gun out in a ready position as he moved ahead of the three of you.

“Here!” You grabbed the oxygen masks, handing on to Grace, then to Jake. Before putting one on yourself. You turned to Max who was watching the door closely. “Thankyou.” You patted his back before running off to catch up to Grace and Jake who were heading towards the ship.

Grace and Norm pulled Jake onto the ship, you held his chair in your hands readily to put it onto the aircraft. “C’mon!” Trudy yelled from her seat, the sounds of the blades chopping the air making it hard to here. But not loud enough to cover the noise of gas hissing out of the building above you. With the colonel standing on the deck firing at the group below. “I’m taking fire! Let’s go!”

You threw the chair into Norm’s arm as you climbed up into the body of the ship. Bullets racketeering off of the metal. Machinery whirling as Norm steadied you into the ship.

That’s when you felt it. This blinding pain that made you stumble into the ship. You couldn’t even fathom a word only tiny whimpers of pain as you gripped onto your side. The warm liquid pooling in your hands, as the sounds of your crew cheering was fading into nothing.

Your entire abdomen felt hot. It was burning as your body started to stain red. It was like your abdomen was sinking from the pressure of the pain. Like it was separating from your body as you clung onto the wound for the tiniest bit of relief.

“Norm you good? Grace? Shit.” Jake turned to you, his sudden changed in emotion making Grace and Norm both turn their heads towards you immediately.

You could only give him a faint smile as your bloody hands shook. “Y/N is hit!”

“What?”

“Norm get the trauma kit!” Grace yelled as Jake studied your injured physique. Norm ran to where the trauma kit was stored, fumbling to get the kit back to you.

“Just keep pressure on. You’re okay.” Jake was shocked, he had no idea what to do. You were in an incredulous amount of pain, but you refused to feed into it. You weren’t going to let this get you.

“I- I’m fine. I’m g-good.” You could barely make words as Grace ushered Jake to moved, immediately tending to your wounds.

Grace and Norm helped move you into the pod. Every movement sent a shockwave of pain into the rest of your body. Jake knew the pain, he knew it was debilitating so any ounce of dislike he had towards you shrivelled away. He couldn’t have you die, not when he knew there was a way to help you.

Grace pushed a needle into your arm as you hissed in pain. “Oh you big baby. You’ll be alright, you’ll be just fine.”

“Tsu’tey I want to see him.” Grace smiled down at you sadly, pushing the hair out of your face.

“Just focus on not dying okay?” Your lip quivered and Grace caught on, she saw your despair. Her heart hung heavy looking at the one she had treated poorly dying in front of her.

“Grace!” Jake whispered, calling her over to where he had sat himself in solitude, thinking of something to get back to the people, to get you back to Tsu’tey. He imagined if he were in your shoes. He’d be wanting nothing more to go to Neytiri, he understood you fully.

Grace walked over, twisting her brows in confusion waiting for him to say something. “I can get her help. The people. The people can help.” She scoffed at him in disbelief.

“Why would they help us?” Jake’s stare hardened, he knew she was right. But deep down he ached to be with the people again, to bring you to them. To help them, to help you.

Tsu’tey sat at the front of the clan now as Olo’eyktan, as they all sung to Eywa. Praying for refuge, praying for help. Every few seconds he would glance at you. Well, your body and his heart would ache, like he had been shot with an arrow straight through him. He wondered if the fall of Hometree was the last time he would ever get to see you.

He wondered if you embracing him after the destruction was the only time he got to truly hold you. In a time of sorrow and a time of death. He wondered if that was the last time you ever would talk to him.

If he would never be able to fully apologise for his action. That he would never truly be able to convey just how much he yearns for you, how much it pained him to push you away. How much he regrets it all, that it was only for his promise. His promise to Neytiri that he shattered your heart.

He wished that he could mend it back together. He wished that you would come back to him so that the times you spend with him, the time when he did not hold back his affections. That they would not be in times of war. He wanted those times to be joyous.

He was broken out of his depressing thoughts as the light suddenly vanished and the sound of large gusts of wind filled his ears. Dust erupted from off of the ground as the loud screech of Toruk was heard.

Tsu’tey stood up, his eyes wide and pupils blown in astonishment. He had to blink a few times to even realise that he was not dreaming. The Jakesully was Toruk Makto. The alien that led them to the destruction of Hometree was Toruk Makto.

He watched as Jake made his way towards Neytiri. Parting through the people as they stood in awe. The laid their hands on each other as they shared a moment. It made his heart twinge. If Jake was back, why weren’t you?

“Tsu’tey, son of Ateyo. I stand before you, ready to serve the Omaticaya people.” Jake spoke in his language, showing his dedication to the people he was here to serve. Tsu’tey could only stare, his body frozen as his lips twitched. He was standing above the Toruk Makto, Toruk Makto was standing before him. “You are Olo’eyktan, you are a great warrior, I know I have hurt you and your people, your love, but I can’t do this without you.”

The sound of the giant screech behind him made Tsu’tey’s gaze switch from the rider to the animal. His ears perked up as he was still frozen, not knowing how to handle this.

“Toruk Makto…” He put a hand on Jake’s heart. Symbolizing their union. “I will fly with you.” Jake’s strong expression weakened just for a split second before he looked away from the leader back to his mate and Tsa’hik, only to look back at Tsu’tey.

“She is dying. Y/N is dying.” Tsu’tey felt his entire body shut down, his mind swirling into a pool of nothingness, he felt numb. Nothing was concerning him more than your safety. His light touch on Jake’s chest turned into him grabbing tightly onto the shoulder of Toruk Makto as he concentrated on not breaking down in front of his people. It was as if the air was kicked out of him he gasped for air, looking at Mo’at and Neytiri. They’re faces were dripping in concern at Tsu’tey’s expression.

He was pale, eyes watery, mouth parted as if he was trying to scream but nothing was coming out. He looked at your Na’vi body, that was laying safely in a carrier. But it no longer felt as if he was looking at your body but rather your corpse. “Bring her here. NOW!” Tsu’tey yelled out, mostly at Jake. He needed to know you were alright, he needed to see you, even if it was the last time.

Jake held your injured body in his arms, Tsu’tey was crouched over your avatar, gazing at its sleeping form as he laid it carefully, making sure your hair was out of your face. But as soon as your fragile body was in his line of sight he jumped up scampering over to Jake. He held his hands out, begging to take you from Jake.

This was the first time he had seen your true form. You were so fragile, so small, so weak. He carefully took a hold of you, emotions clambering up his throat as he tried so hard not to cry. He never wanted to see you like this, dying. He never wanted to hold your dying body in his arms, but yet here he was.

You looked so different yet the same. Your eyes had that same sparkle, your eyebrows furrowed in the same way. You were still the alien that he loved even in a different body.

“Baby demon? Please.” His voice was soft, lulling you to wake. He watched as your eyes fluttered open, he had never watched someone more intensely. You slowly brought your hand up to his face, it barely was the size of the space between his mouth and chin.

“Tsu’tey?” He nodded biting his lip to stop his sobs from coming out. “I’m so sorry.” Tsu’tey shook his head as he placed you down onto the mossy ground.

“I am sorry, I- I am sorry for everything I have said to you baby demon.” You shook your head, grabbing onto his fingers. Your eyes slowly started to close as Tsu’tey crouched beside you, watching as the white tendrils latched onto your body.

“The great mother may choose to save all that she is, in this body.” Mo’at explained to Jake as Grace and Norm listened carefully. Tsu’tey was not hearing her words nor listening to them. He only focused on you. He watched the way your small breathes started to not come as regularly, and the tendrils started to cover the entirety of you. He prayed to Eywa that you would not leave him, that you would come back to him so he could have this second chance with you. So he could cherish you the way you deserved.

“Is that possible?”

“She must pass through the eye of Eywa and return. But Jakesully, she is very weak.” Tsu’tey winced at her words, a sharp pain in his heart burning as he turned to look at Mo’at.

“She will pass, she is strong.” Tsu’tey rested his hands on your body softly, feeling the warmth of your body slowly slip out. He sat down placing his kuru in the ground to join the ritual. He was going to do everything to make sure that you stayed with him, he cannot lose anything else, anymore.

Mo’at chanted and the clan followed. The chants and her sounds filled the area as you felt your mind start to fade out, it felt like it was running from you and all you could do was chase after it.

The bright lights of the Tree of Souls lit up the ground as the chants grew louder. You felt yourself slipping from your consciousness, but it was welcomed. You felt safe as if you knew where you were headed and the journey there was set out for you.

Mo’at hushed the clan as she looked over to your still body, your eyes moved hastily under your shut eyelids. It was quiet, the suspense was driving Tsu’tey to insanity.

Then the brightness disappeared. Your eyes stopped moving and your small breaths became none. Tsu’tey shot up looking over at your two bodies with concern. “Has it worked?” His voice was quiet as if he was too scared to face an answer she did not want to here.

Mo’at looked over at him and stood over your avatar body. Her eyes widened. Your eyes were now moving rapidly under the blue eyelids, taking deep breathes as your mouth slowly parted. Mo’at gave Tsu’tey a knowing look as she looked down at your body slowly waking up.

“Y/N!” He jumped over to you holding your cold face in his hands. Your eyes fluttered open, looking at the tear-struck man above you.

“Tsu’tey?” Your voice was weak, as if you were using it for the first time. Your hands came up to his cheeks holding them.

“Yes. Yes. It’s me.” He put his hands on your head lifting you up slowly. “Are you alright?” His eyes were studying you for any sign of illness, but you just nodded.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” He smiled before helping you up onto your feet again. Mo’at smiled at the two as she stood in front of her clan.

“She has passed through the eye of Eywa! She is Omaticaya!” The sounds of the people erupted, cries and chants of celebration as Tsu’tey simply held onto you, he was so grateful that he got to have a second chance with you, that now he could finally court you. Because you weren’t a demon or an alien. You were Omaticaya, one of the people forever.

The other clans were coming in at a rapid pace. Every minute there was another ikran flying in or direhorse trotting to the Tree of Souls.

You couldn’t deny it, but it was odd. Living in your avatar, well it wasn’t an avatar any longer. This was you. You felt as if you were torn between two places but the other place, your human body, no longer existed for you.

You weren’t to ever wake up from a link again, instead you simply slept in your body and woke up in the same one. You never had to log anything ever again, and you never were to experience anything human. It was odd, it was as if the bullet did not take away your life but just your human one.

Though you and Tsu’tey had come closer, realising your affections towards the others. The calm before the storm gave you time to sit with the weight of his previous words. You knew he did not mean them, but they still hung on your heart.

You wished to talk to him about it, but he was busy. So incredulously busy being a leader. You knew he pushed you away because of duties once. So you refused to get in the way of his duties again.

Tsu’tey could sense something was wrong though. He could see it in the way you would longingly stare at him with a sorrowful look. Or you would go to talk to him, only to cower out when another Na’vi approached him. Though he was glad to finally see you be one of his people, to finally see you interact and talk with the people in the clan as if they were your friends. He knew that he needed time to have you alone, to finally set things out between you two.

So as nightfall came he made his way towards you. He saw you sitting with some of the Na’vi children as the braided tiny bits of your hair. It warmed his heart seeing you with children, thinking of maybe having his own.

“Y/N?” His voice made all of them look up, surprised to see their Olo’eyktan. You smiled up at him. “Would you like to walk with me.” You nodded, standing up thanking the girls for your braids.

“Yeah of course.” He smiled back at you, taking your hand in his. Something that still felt foreign to you, him welcoming your touch so easily. He lead you away from the large crowd on Na’vi back towards the river. Where he cleaned the medicine off your knee.

“I can sense something is wrong. I do not want to go to war again with a dispute between us. I cannot live with the guilt.” Tsu’tey poured his concerns out to you as you gave him a sad smile.

“Sit with me.” You sat on the ground, right next to the river-bed, tugging Tsu’tey’s hand to make him sit in front of you. He sat down with a thud as you pulled him a little too hard, to then stare at you. Waiting for some kind of answer to his queries.

With a loud sigh you started to express your worries. “I know that times have changed, and that there is no longer a promise to be made with Neytiri. But I can’t help but think that the times we spent together, and the words you said about them. I can’t help but think that the words you said are still true to your thoughts.” You let out a shaky sigh before continuing. “I don’t want to be a parasite, or a mistake to you. I don’t want you to be ashamed of loving me but I am afraid that you do.”

Tsu’tey was gutted. He never wanted his words to cut you so deep that they never healed. He knew his words were hurtful and if he could go back in time and stop himself he would. He scooted towards you so he could rest a hand on your cheek, stroking it softly.

“Every word I said was because I was a skxwang. I was frightened for my people, for my place in the clan. I had made promises…and I am so sorry for not being brave enough to break them. I was scared of loving you yawne, but…I see you.” He was looking at you with pure love, not a single fibre in his body was not overwhelmed with the love he felt for you that he was pouring out.

You brought your hands up to his face, tucking the long braid that had slipped from it’s tie out of his face. “I see you Tsu’tey.” It was as if a weight was lifted off of both of your chests as Tsu’tey pressed your foreheads together.

He pressed your bodies together, longing for contact that he had been depriving himself of for the longest time. He wanted to hold you with no impending doom. He wanted to hold you just because he can, not because you were dying.

His embrace was tight, as he rested his head in the crevice between your head and shoulder. You hugged him back tightly, turning your head to giving him a kiss on the top of his forehead. Tsu’tey looked up at you, a new sense of want in his eyes.

He sat up, resting on his heels as he delicately held your chin. You saw his gaze fall to your lips and back to your eyes then back to your lips. He so desperately wanted to kiss you, to finally taste your sweet love. All he needed was a look, so when he looked back up to your pretty eyes to see them fixated on his lips, he didn’t hold back any longer.

His face etched closer and closer to yours, teetering towards your parted mouth as you stared up at him with a love-struck expression. His face was so close you could feel his breath, you could smell his desperation. All he needed was to look back to you again, to see you also moving closer, to see you edging closer to his lips that he finally connected you both together.

It was as if you were dropped into a pool of sweet bliss. His hands moved down to the small of your back, holding you close as you slowly moved into his lap. Tsu’tey felt as if his heart had exploded and mended itself. He was hungry, moving his hands all over your body as he feverishly kissed you.

Your eyes were squeezed tight, hands gracefully placed on Tsu’tey’s cheeks as you returned the kiss with the same vigour that he kissed you. He broke from your lips, gasping as he stared at you with his pupils blown. He couldn’t believe you were so close to him, that you were both sharing this beautiful moment together, when only a couple days ago you laid in his arms dying.

“What is it?” You asked him, your voice slightly hoarse as you deeply gazed into his eyes. He looked at you, and he felt it in his stomach, so deep within himself.

“I cannot go another minute without you knowing that I want you by my side. I want to be your mate, I want to fulfill my duties and I want you to stand next to me. I cannot go on without knowing if you reciprocate my desires Y/N.”

You felt like you were going to cry. This is what you spent your days dreaming about, you longed every day to be by his side, you yearned for him to one day ask for your hand. It was surreal and all you could do was give him a teary eyed nod.

Tsu’tey turned slightly to pick up him kuru, gazing at you, waiting for you to follow. “We will be mated for life, I do not want you to regret your decisions.” He didn’t want you to say no, he would crumble if you did. But he needed you to know what he was asking of you.

But you knew exactly what he meant, and exactly what you wanted. “Tsu’tey, how could I ever regret being with you?” You spoke to him softly, grabbing your kuru. There was no way you could deny your anxiousness, but the thought of finally being with Tsu’tey, connecting with the one you so dearly covet for. That beat any sense of insecurity you had at that moment.

Tsu’tey held his kuru tightly, watching the tendrils open as yours did the same. He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of second thoughts but he was left empty-handed. You inched your queue towards him until the tendrils spiralled together.

Your pupils were blown and so were Tsu’tey’s. The feeling was overwhelming, you could feel everything he was feeling. You could feel his emotions, his desires, his thoughts. Everything. You were one.

Tsu’tey felt it all too. Overwhelmed in the feeling he breathed in slowly, gazing at you. He could feel all of your wants and fears. Your desires and wishes. But the one that plagued both for your minds was the desire for touch. So you both fed into it. He readjusted you in his grasp kissing you softly as he ran his hands up your body.

You ran your hands up his flexing abdomen as you started to lay back. “I love you.” You whispered to him, as he started to rest above you.

“I love you more.” He spoke as he felt your warm body beneath him invite him into you, invite him into your heart, your mind, your soul, and your body.

Unfortunately, you can’t live in newly-mated bliss forever. And it didn’t last long, barely a week. Jake broke the news to Tsu’tey as soon as he heard.

0600, 6:00am tomorrow Quaritch was rolling out every gun, man, ship, and missile towards the Tree of Souls. This was war. The clan however was no longer frightened, there were over 2000 warriors ready to fight back for their land, their home and they were no longer afraid.

But you were. You were terrified. Not only could many people die, Tsu’tey could. He was Olo’eyktan, his was going to be in the front lines of this fight. You knew he was a great warrior but it didn’t settle your nerves, not at all.

So as Tsu’tey finally returned to where you both had made camp for yourself he could sense your fear. “what troubles you?” He asked a light hand on your shoulder as he turned you to face him.

“I am scared Tsu’tey.” You looked up at him, the radiant glow of the forest reflecting off of him to make him glimmer in the night.

“Mawey, there is nothing to be afraid of. We will win, and I will return to you.” Your lip quivered, the reality of him never coming back to you settling in as he made that promise.

“Promise?” He nodded taking both of your hands in his, kissing your knuckles.

“Promise.” He kissed your hands once more, looking up to your teary eyed expression. “Please do not cry, I will cry too.” You giggled at him pulling him into a tight embrace. He squeezed you back tightly resting his head on top of yours.

It was currently 4:00am, and the warriors were all preparing. Sharpening their knives, stocking their arrows, painting their war stripes. It was all starting so fast.

You had Tsu’tey in front of you along with bowls of paint laid neatly beside you. You dipped your fingers in the thick liquid, flicking them to get the excess off before drawing on Tsu’tey’s stripes.

He sat there quietly, nose flaring as he exhaled whenever your fingers grazed his skin. You were making sure every stripe was perfect as you slowly drew the bigger ones down his arms and chest.

“You can go quicker, I must paint you as well.”

“Do not rush me, you will be the best painted warrior out there.” Tsu’tey mumbled under his breath as you arched your brow at him. He gave you a smile before taking the bowls from beside you and moving them closer to him.

He dipped his hand in the yellow paint, the same colour he had and drew a matching triangle on your face. He then did the same on your chin, using his thumb to draw a line, not forgetting to slightly graze your lips in the process.

He followed the triangles down your chest and up your arms. He was soft with you, only slightly grazing his fingers against your skin as if you could break any minute.

“There. You are ready.” The paint was sticky on your skin, but nothing you couldn’t get used to.

Time was ticking, and every moment you felt as if Tsu’tey was about to leave your grasp. His hands still lingered on your body as he pulled you closer to him. So that he could sit on the ground with you sitting in between his legs, fiddling with the beads on his necklace, as he braided small parts of your hair.

“I must go soon, Jake and I will lead the warriors. We must get there before the demons.” You nodded knowing your time with him was fleeting.

“I want to help, I want fight with you.” Tsu’tey tilted your chin up so you would look straight into his serious gaze.

“I need you here safe, we need you safe.” He put his hand carefully on your stomach, caressing the skin as he gave your lips a soft peck.

“What if you get hurt and I can’t help you?” Tsu’tey sighed at your concerns. Shit he had concerns too, but he refused to let up. He was to be brave, he will protect his people and his family.

“I won’t get hurt my love.” The sound of Jake ushering the warriors interrupted sweet moment the both of you were sharing. Both you and Tsu’tey’s ears perked up, your expression falling as you realized it was time. “I must go now. Be safe. Promise?”

You nodded, pressing your foreheads together, leaving a soft kiss on his lips. “Promise.”

It was full blown out war. Explosions erupted in the air and on the ground. You could hear the grunts of dying warriors from miles away. Tsu’tey made sure you were to stay with Mo’at at the tree of souls. He needed to know that you were safe, it gave him peace of mind.

The anxiety brewing in your stomach was growing out of control. Your heart was thumping, ears buzzing. Every moment all you could do was pray that he was safe.

Tsu’tey was soaring in the sky, adrenaline was pulsing through him like a strong current. The wind blew his braids in the air as he had his bow and arrow armed, ready to fire at any moment. The ships were strong, their foreign weapons stronger than any arrow.

But he had agility, he had skill. He would fight for his people so he could live peacefully with you. Maybe that is why he choose to abandon his ikran, jumping onto the open bottom of a demon ship. Slaughtering the sky-people as if they were flies.

He took his bow and arrow, shooting it through the body of one. Only to then use his large bow, as a weapon in itself as he whacked it on top of a pitiful sky-demon, that he flung out of air-craft with a shriek. He heard the click of a gun, ears perking up and fangs baring as he picked up the gun and the man with it, smashing it on the ground.

He couldn’t hear his own thoughts, over-ruled by the thirst for blood and revenge. His bow was like a hammer ploughing through the skulls of the humans in front of him. His eyes were wide, his eye brows furrowed as he continued to pluck each one off the ground, violently throwing them without a single bit of remorse cursing through his body. Another hard hit to a demons face, as they plummeted to the ground revealed a frightened sky-person.

He bared his gun, Tsu’tey felt his heart stop, his mind flicker with fear as he saw it. He used his bow once more hitting the gunman. But it wasn’t enough. Sharp debilitating pain filtrated through his lower body as he stumbled off of the ship.

He couldn’t even hold onto the vessel. He lost balance, his legs turning to jelly as his body slipped. The fall was long, the force of his body falling made the wind sound like it was assaulting him.

The pain was all down his leg, he couldn’t get himself to look as he tried desperately to find some foliage to plummet into. Breaking his fall.

No amount of leaves could make the thump onto the ground any less painful. It felt as if someone had taken a million punches to his entire body. The sticks left light scratches all across him, his face bleeding as a sharp stick had sliced his cheek.

He tried to move from his spot on the ground but he couldn’t. He sat up with an immense struggle. Looking down to see his leg bleeding profusely. It made him sick, as if his stomach would escape him. Three holes were sat in his thigh as he desperately tried to stay conscious. They weren’t fatal, he knew that but his mind was fleeting him as the pain overtook all of his senses.

Every time his leg twitched he would groan in immense pain. He was stuck, he couldn’t go anywhere. He needed help desperately. He needed to see you. Using one arm to prop himself up he pressed onto the mic on his neck.

“Y/N? Y/N can you hear me?” His voice was weak and desperate. It was fleeting every word was met with a hiss of pain.

The second you heard Tsu’tey’s pained voice in your ear you felt as if you were going to hurl. You brought your shaky hand up to your mic. “Yes- yes I can. Where are you?” You were close to hysterics, you needed to know he was safe, and you were certain he wasn’t.

“I am shot. I fell. Yawne- I- I cannot move please-” His words were cut short but you wasted no time. Mo’at looked over at you, her eyes telling you to run. You had no animal to ride, nothing to travel so you sprinted. Only holding a knife in your belt but you needed to find him.

“I’m coming, just hold on. Okay?” You slowed down so you could speak in your mic. Only to take off again. You didn’t know where your feet were taking you but you trusted your instincts. Those instincts that were buzzing from within you. They grew stronger every time the rough pads of your feet hit the ground.

You thought you may have been hearing things because of your stress. But the more you focused on the loud shouting of a Na’vi you realised it was your mate. It was your mate yelling in anguish.

You didn’t think your body could go faster but it could. It was as if your legs were going on their own. His yells turned in hisses and his hisses turned into cries. You weren’t sure what was happening but the image you saw in front of you was one that would never leave you mind again.

Wainfleet, a man you had recognised from your time in the RDA was in his mechanical suit. Holding Tsu’tey above the air from him queue. Dangling him as he cried. Tsu’tey was in unbearable pain, his leg covered in blood as he gripped tightly onto his queue for the slightest amount of relief from the searing pain on the back of his skull.

You were no warrior no fighter, but the aggression that surged through your veins was one you had never felt before. Maybe it was because you were angry at the sky-people, because your Na’vi body created a connection like no other to Tsu’tey, but the love you had for the struggling man in front of you blinded you with rage.

Your body took over itself, running straight towards the manic demon, that delighted in the pain of others. You jumped onto the back of the machine, making a great deal of noise in the progress. On your way up you grabbed a large piece of abandoned metal, large enough to be a Na’vi sized machete. Tsu’tey saw you and your manic looking expression as your body clambered on top of the suit.

Wainfleet dropped Tsu’tey, leaving him to hit the ground abruptly with a loud groan of pain once more. “Y/N! Stop!” Tsu’tey called out for you, but you couldn’t hear him through your clouded mind.

You took the metal from your hands and continued to stab it into the glass shield of the metal junk, shattering it as shards fell into the soldiers faces, toxic gas hissing into his chamber. Once he realised there was another Na’vi on top of him his robotic hands reached up to only smash you back onto the ground with a loud crack. Tsu’tey tried to run back to you but he was stuck, useless as he watched you writhe in pain as Wainfleet came closer to your body.

You hissed as you readjusted, stumbling as you got up. Spots of white in your vision but it didn’t stop you. This man was going to die. And your hands would carry that blood. Wainfleet chuckled as you hissed at him.

He didn’t waste his time, trying to shoot your stumbling body only to realise it was out of bullets. He groaned in annoyance taking a large knife out of the leg of the suit, swinging it with no real direction, as the shattered glass clouded his vision.

Tsu’tey called out for you, begging you to run. But you didn’t all you did was jump away from the blade, your eyes blown with rage as you had jumped onto the top of the suit once again. You took the metal out of the glass, twisting it as the whole shield shattered, crumbling to pieces letting his human body reveal itself to the harsh air of Pandora.

The crazed sky-demon discarded his robotic arm for just a moment to put on his face mask, to let the air back into his system. But you were having none of it. Your arms moved before your brain could even comprehend what you were doing. But the large piece of metal that you had taken out of the glass was now in your hands. It was deadly in your blind-struck rage.

Screaming you plummeted it through his chest, only to rip it out of his body to stab it right back in. Blood was spattering everywhere as you continued to stab into the human, screaming manically as your chest heaved, spitting out the blood that had been caught in your mouth. The force of your assault had almost severed the man in half as the machine collapsed below you. The blood splattered all over you, drenching you in the evidence of your murder.

The machine clanked as it hit the ground. You jumped back onto the ground shaking looking at the mess you created. It was horrific. He barely looked human, his blood drowned him in the suits chamber as you stumbled away.

Tsu’tey was frozen in shock. He had never seen this side of you. A side that was so blood thirsty and vengeful. He saw the way you stared down at your blood soaked hands as you shook. “Yawne” He croaked out trying to get your attention.

You immediately turned to your groaning mate who still couldn’t move. “Tsu’tey!” You scrambled to the ground where he had sat himself up against a rock, still clenching onto his leg as the pain surged through him. “You’re okay, we’ll get you back home soon okay?” Tsu’tey nodded with his eyes clenched shut.

You crouched down to look at his ruptured leg. The blood was no longer pooling out as the wounds were raw and sore. Putting your hands back onto the mic you called for help that you desperately needed.

“Jake, do you read me?”

“What is it?” His voice was gruff, worn out from the fighting.

“I- I need help, Tsu’tey is injured we needed to get him back to Mo’at. I can’t move him.”

“We’re on our way.” You let out a sigh of relief as you looked at Tsu’tey. His pained expression hurt you, but you took his hand in yours.

“You hear that baby? We’re getting you help. You’ll be alright.” Tsu’tey clenched onto your hands as his leg twitched again.

“Are you hurt yawne?” His voice was rough as his eyes studied your bloodied body for any wounds. You shook your head, even though it was a lie. The smash onto the ground you took was causing a resounding amount of pain in your body, but you could handle it.

“I am fine, focus on you. Please.” He nodded as you caressed his knuckles, waiting for help to come. You both sat in silence, the only sounds between the two was a grunt of pain from Tsu’tey followed by your soothing hushes. It lasted awhile until the large gusts of wind, signature to the arrival of Toruk Makto resounded in your ears. “Their here baby.”

Jake and Neytiri rushed over shocked at the state both of you were in. Jake walked closer, shocked to see the gory image of Wainfleet’s body discarded from the mated pair. Seeing his former colleagues drenched in blood he could only assume wasn’t hers was a sight that he never thought he’d see. But he never though he’d see you cradling an injured Tsu’tey either.

Neytiri was immediately tending to Tsu’tey, helping to readjust him so he could be placed onto Toruk. “Ma Jake, help us.” She sneered as he rushed over as they all picked up the warriors body. Tsu’tey cursed loudly clenching onto your hands as the three of you shuffled towards the screeching beast.

With a collective grunt Tsu’tey was placed onto the back of Toruk. He used both of his hands to keep him up, his leg hanging unable to be moved. Jake hopped onto the ikran twisting the reigns around his forearms. “You both should be on the back, hold him up so he does not fall.” You and Neytiri nodded hopping on the back of Toruk’s neck. You held him from the back, your core tight as the large animals started to flap its wings. Neytiri sat herself on the back. Looking towards the both of you, watching closely to make sure neither of your injured bodies fell.

After the flight Tsu’tey was immediately taken to the healers. They worked tirelessly for days to recover him from his injuries.

You were by his side the entire time, holding onto him as he squeezed you in pain as they dug for the bullets in his flesh. Soothing him as the medicines stung and the stitches stabbed. The process was close to unbearable. But you calmed him, he wasn’t sure what he would ever do without you.

Days passed and days turned into weeks as Tsu’tey recovered. He itched to be back to leading, he wanted to stand before his people, but his muscles were weak. Mo’at told him that his recovery would be long. But he was impatient.

His days were filled with bedrest and little limps. He wanted to stride again, to be a hunter. This was no way to be a leader.

Eventually, his limps turned into stumbles and his stumbles turned into steps. Steps that made him feel like a man again, like a leader. He was just upset it took him three agonizingly long months to do so.

But those months were crucial for him. Crucial for him to step up, to help be a better mate, better leader and to become an amazing father….

A couple months later

You were swollen, from head to toe your body ached. You writhed in the soft leaves, hating the thought of waking up to do your tasks. Tsu’tey was cradled next to you, his large hand protectively placed over your large belly.

Tsu’tey had his head nestled in your shoulder. “Good morning my mate.” His voice was still adjusting to the day as his voice vibrated in your ears making them prick up in excitement.

“Morning.” You were tired, the baby had been kicking all night, you barely got any rest only to be woken up by Eywa’s light.

“What is wrong?” He shuffled up, placing his head on his hand as he looked over at you. Growing concerned when you didn’t immediately reply. “Yawne? What is it?”

“This child has not stopped moving.” Tsu’tey couldn’t help but let a smile out as you mentioned his growing family.

“She is excited to meet you, that is all.” Tsu’tey rubbed your belly, giving your temple a soft kiss.

“Sure. Also you must stop talking as if you know it will be a daughter. You should not get your hopes up for one outcome.” You fiddled with his fingers that were on your belly.

He sat up now so he could use his other hand to guide your chin so you would face him. “I am certain this is a girl, I am also certain we will have enough sons. Trust me.”

“Tsu’tey! You’re disgusting!” You gave him a playful shove sitting up to face him. He let out a hearty laugh, his features glimmering in the morning light. You watched as his playful gaze turned into one more sincere, “What are you thinking?”

His heart was full of love. He was so happy that you came to him. That you were kind enough to love him and forgive him. He felt truly blessed. To think the one he called baby-demon was now his mate and was giving him a baby of his own. He felt proud. He was proud of himself for letting himself love you, he was proud of his people for accepting his love and he was so zealously proud of you, the way you protected him, loved him, and cherish him. He would never be able to live a day without you by his side again.

“I love you.” He whispered out, letting his hand cradle your cheek. You smiled into his hand.

“I love you more.”

tags: @koolaidmanscaresme @suntizme @forestcottage @avatarlover21 @mechformers @jennielune @dilfs-bitch @simplefools @merla123 @awkward-halfhug @atwow69 @scarlettisconfusedd @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @elegantkidfansoull @tarrynightss @randxmthxughts @ronalsgirl @gardenofvows @zitarcis @i-thirsty-boii @lin0leum @lovekeehoo @notyurdad @supercoolusernamesblog @cupidddd-d @im-in-a-pansexual-panikanik @saltedcoffeescotch @jakesullysslutttt @valentineheartzz @eywas-heir @perilous-pasta @fanboyluvr @asd3ku @atsukiswrld @moonpie3000 @coffeeaddictednymph @anangelwhodidntfall @snips-501

@dangerouslittlefairy @chaos-in-person @rebeccao03 @adaydreamaway08 @jellybeanstacey0519 @graykageyama @aracelikara @live-laugh-neteyam @sam-chwan @netherklutz @pajerita19 @ducks118 @glacticrose @kadu-5607 @rainbowsocks @star-dusst @cries-maria@mollygetssherlockcoffee @julielightwood @cleverzonkwombatsludge @sullyslover @midnightliacr @clara-geekhime @innercreationflower @zoetrope1997 @dreamsholdpowers @sovereignsylvia @anxietydrogz @ghostslittlegf @slutforsmut4ever @daeneeryss @yzulu @b-tchymoon @itscheybaby

reblogs and replies super duper appreciated, id love to hear what u thought (i tried rlly hard LMAO) thankyou so much for reading

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nemastraea · 11 months

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Doormat extraordinaire: Andrew Graves is down horrendous for his own sister | Part 1

Or as I like to call it, actual literal word vomit attempting a proper character analysis!

Here's a link to the AO3 version for archive purposes: The doormat extraordinaire has a bit of a romantic streak,

Content warning: This will heavily feature spoilers from Episodes 1 & 2 of The Coffin of Andy and Leyley. Trigger warning: Abuse, cannibalism, child neglect, codependency, harassment, incest, murder, self-harm, and suicide. Disclaimer: I will occasionally reference an extremely normal essay from Sufficient Velocity commenter Leyleyfication (here). It would be a lot easier to read this essay first as Leyleyfication does a pretty good job establishing the following: - Ashley is dependent on Andrew to assure and validate her of her own insecurities, and - The game heavily implies that Andrew wants to fuck his own sister.

Anyway: The Coffin of Andy and Leyley! A game in early access where a pair of siblings are stuck through a seemingly never-ending quarantine together, desperate not to starve to death. When their cultist neighbor dies in a ritual gone wrong, they rationally resort to cannibalism. Fun!

I am definitely going to assume that you read Leyleyfication's extremely normal essay (I am on my knees, begging you to read that). Which is why this essay immediately starts with, "yeah, Andrew definitely wants to fuck his sister" as its baseline.

What I will be adding to that funny little cauldron of fucked up sibling dynamics in a horror visual novel are the following: Andrew's fixation and sexual attraction manifests as his desire to control, dominate, and possess Ashley. And it is framed as a fatalist attraction and the totality of his existence (for worse or even worse).

Because of Tumblr's limit for 30 images per post, though, I'm going to have to split this extremely normal and reasonably lengthy essay into... multiple posts! Yeah! I have no idea how long this will fucking go!

So first things first: how can we tell that Andrew is even attracted to Ashley in the first place?

Nemlei (Devlog 05). Note the hickeys above and below Ashley's choker and her left inner thigh, and Andrew's left hand creeping into her right thigh.

As Leyleyfication points out, the game primes us to believe that Andrew is a pushover and Ashley is his abuser. This occurs in the Steam page as it explicitly says Ashley is "in fact, very bad" and Andrew is a "doormat extraordinaire." Moreover, it's very easy to tell that Ashley is, on some degree, obsessed with Andrew:

She's happy to hear that Julia broke up with Andrew over the phone;

She repeatedly accuses him of finding the Lady from Room 302 attractive and he 'tried anything with her;' and

Her flashback to wanting to punish her friend Nina ("the Bitch in the Box") for crushing on Andrew.

Episode 1, dream and memory. Leyley previously said that Nina should know better than to 'steal from another woman,' referring to herself. The implication that Andy is hers is toyed with after this moment, when she says she'd put Andy back in the box.

The game does prime us to think that Ashley is Andrew's abuser. It also suggests that Ashley projects an unrequited and incestuous love onto Andrew. Before we consider Episode 2's narrative, Episode 1 gives the initial impression that if Andrew comes to reciprocate her feelings, it's more of a reaction and subsuming to her will. That it may not be something he wants for himself and independent of Ashley's manipulation.

But again, I do believe Andrew wants to fuck Ashley. And always has been. He just frequently vacillate between 'subtle' and 'really fucking obvious' tells that completely take advantage of the game's third person limited POV.

Keep in mind that both Andrew and Ashley are extremely unreliable narrators. We aren't going to get information they personally do not care about and that is on top of our own choices as the player.

(A digressive example: you will not learn that the founder and CEO of Toxisoda's company was a former surgeon unless you interact with the television in Andrew's Episode 2 dream and memory of their blood oath. Otherwise, it neatly ties into the surgeon that Mrs. Graves conveniently says she was directed to regarding the siblings' quarantine in the main story.)

When it's really fucking obvious

When you play as Andrew in Episode 2, his post-dinner argument with Ashley carefully frames them both. They are cramped in the foreground and Andrew's left arm is conveniently blocked by Ashley and the kitchen knife, as seen here.

Episode 2, common route. Prior to this, you can interact with Mrs. Graves for her to pointedly comment on the siblings being inseparable.

At this point in the game, their physical closeness is something we're used to by now. After all, we've already seen Ashley on his lap at least twice; Andrew slept in her bed in Episode 1; and Ashley confirmed they've shared the same motel bed multiple times in the one-week interim between Episodes 1 & 2.

But the game abruptly shifts to Mrs. Graves' POV when she enters the scene and not only do we see the two as physically close, but we notice a few more details.

Episode 2, common route. The first picture transitions from Andrew's POV to Mrs. Graves as it introduces us to her entering the scene.

The contrast of how spacious the kitchen is from Mrs. Graves' POV to Andrew's cramped POV is obvious. More importantly, Andrew's fingers loop through Ashley's belt loops when the two are huddled together. When Mrs. Graves clears her throat, the two don't really separate.

Ashley pivots on her left foot so that her body is turned to their mother, not Andrew, but she doesn't step away from him. Andrew, meanwhile, recoils from Ashley and withdraws his hand. But he isn't turning his body to face their mother like Ashley does here. His attention, at least in this moment, is still towards Ashley (and, yanno, the sink).

Episode 2, common route. Two things to consider in the second picture: Andrew hides Ashley's bite mark on his cheek with his left sleeve and he conveniently moves the pillow from behind him to his front.

The 'tell' isn't so much as the two are unusually physically close. Again, we're used to that by now. But it's how the two siblings react whenever Mrs. Graves comes into the picture. Ashley doesn't really give a fuck about whether or not people assume the worst of her or even her intentions regarding Andrew. To Ashley, their proximity is normal and anyone who sees that as a problem is not worth an explanation or reason.

But Andrew is at least subconsciously aware it's 'not normal.' As far as these moments are concerned, Andrew instinctively tries to do damage control by either putting space between them or keeping his hands occupied so they aren't visibly touching Ashley. Still, he either does not mind or actively appreciates his physical closeness with Ashley.

When it's really fucking obvious (but only in hindsight)

In Episode 1, Ashley passes out after trying to clean up after the apartment. Regardless of her passing out in the living room, the bathroom, or their parents' room, she will wake up on the couch with her head pillowed by Andrew's lap.

Episode 1, Ashley's POV. Andrew's hands often hover over Ashley's head, but more than that—

I personally didn't notice this until I replayed Episode 1, when I basically have the hindsight of Andrew's fixation with hair. But yes, his fingers idly twirl through the ends of Ashley's hair as they watch TV. It's implied that Andrew can and will do this when Ashley pillows his lap, awake or asleep. He does not recoil from it when Ashley does wake up and later on, in Episode 2, even continues to brush it from her face.

Episode 2, common route. Ashley fell asleep at the passenger seat, so Andrew had to have transferred her to the back seat to pillow her head again. Though, technically, she's more cramped at the back seat than if he'd just reclined the passenger seat.

So far, we've seen that Andrew has a natural tendency to not only be physically close to Ashley, but to hover over her personal space and be in constant and direct contact with her. Whether it's by having her head on his lap, twirling her hair through his fingers, or even constantly grabbing her by the head in various states of comfort, playfulness, or outright threat (but let's put a pin on that for now).

The weight behind this candid contact shifts when Episode 2 draws a pretty explicit parallel between Julia and Ashley. Assuming that you interacted with Julia's landline and heard Ashley's voicemails, you know (and Andrew knows) that Ashley draws that connection herself:

DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't? You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that. He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything. I am the secrets you'll never hear. When he lies in bed at night, and when he needs someone to hold on to... It's not you he seeks out. It is me.

Episode 2, common route. Andrew's dream and vision implies that Andrew's heard these voicemails before.

That connection extends to the hair contact as well, as Andrew goes in to hug Julia, cards his hand through her hair and requests she tie her hair up.

Episode 2, common route. Andrew's dream and memory of Julia when they're older. From the use of Andrew's present-age portrait, suggests is closer to the timeline of the game's events than his and Ashley's memories as Andy and Leyley.

From this moment, we can have one of two assumptions: either Andrew wants Julia's (black) hair put up like Ashley's, or Ashley caught onto Andrew's hair kink and puts her hair up to imitate it.

Regardless, we infer the following:

Andrew teases affection through touching and even pulling on one's hair.

His fixation on ponytails and pulling on them does not exclude his own sister. It still stands and without reservation, perhaps more explicitly since he can do it so candidly, as we saw before.

The last of that Julia-Ashley parallel is self-contained within Episode 2. But only if you end up in the Burial route regardless of Ashley's platonic or incestuous vision.

Episode 2, common route (first picture) and Burial route (second picture). It's worth pointing out that Andrew is actually disinterested and moody during his conversation with Julia, and only perks up when he mentions Ashley or feigns care for Julia (since he extends his care of Ashley to her as well).

The game ends up drawing parallels on how Andrew treats Ashley, for better or for worse, with his ex (which is definitely worse, poor Julia). In doing so, the game blurs the lines between romantic affection for Julia and 'platonic and familial' affection for Ashley.

Y'all, this isn't even getting into how Andrew respectfully gives his parents space and only crowds them when he threatens them with his cleaver. In his mind, Ashley and Julia are in that same space of physical and romantic displays of affection; something he reserves only for them (only without reservation for Ashley) that does not extend to anyone else. His ex-girlfriend, and his sister. Shit's wild.

When it's obvious BUT it's violent!

That isn't to say that his hair fixation (hair kink?) is completely innocuous, though, as it rears its ugly head (pun unintended) in Decay. Which is what that previous pin was for! Yay!

You end up in the Decay route if Ashley doesn't trust Andrew with keeping an eye on their parents. Here, Ashley sleeps on their parents' bed by herself and has an alarming vision: an unknown party chases after her through the in-between and when they catch up to her, it's Andrew. Ashley has nowhere to run and Andrew eventually grabs her and threatens to kill her.

Whether or not Ashley can defend herself depends on Andrew expending all of her gun's ammo when he deals with the hitman, or not. But that outcome divergence will matter much, much later (so that's another pin for us to come back to).

The sequence of events actually mirrors the way the siblings ambush the Lady from Room 302 back in Episode 1. There, Andrew closes in on her and grabs the Lady by her wrist and uses his front to pin and restrain her. With his cleaver to her throat, the Lady is completely at his mercy.

Episode 1 & 2, common route (first picture) and Decay route (second, third, and fourth pictures). Note that Andrew restrains the Lady from Room 302 by the wrist while with Ashley, by her hair.

Andrew asserts control of the person and the situation through violence. Whether it's by killing them (the wardens) or by threatening physical violence (the Lady from Room 302 and Ashley). It's always on the table for him. As Leyleyfication puts it, "He's so calculated in how he approaches his use of violence [here]."

That violence includes Ashley. It's always on the table where Ashley's concerned. The game even juxtaposes when Andrew threatens violence and physical assault 'playfully' versus when he's seriously out for blood:

When you interact with the wall of call girls' numbers and Ashley jokes about leaving her number on the wall, Andrew 'jokingly' threatens to backhand her for even thinking about it.

When you interact with their parents' latched window for a second time, Andrew 'teases' slapping Ashley if she doesn't find a way to open it. (Ashley jokingly asks if it's on her ass or at her face, and assumes it must be the face when Andrew says she'll have to find out.)

The two other times that Andrew exerts violence against Ashley are both in Episode 1 & 2. We can remember when that happens in Episode 1, when Andrew's had it with Ashley's fits and threatens to kill her:

Episode 1, common route. Y'all, Andrew was choking her hard enough for his grip to bruise.

It happens again in Decay when he confronts Ashley about repeatedly calling him Andy and therefore, breaking the promise he coerced her into from Episode 1.

Episode 2, Decay route. Another thing to keep in mind is that Andrew's outburst is preceded by Ashley prodding him about his current state and insisting that Andrew was fine with 'Andy' during their home invasion.

In Episode 1, Andrew resorts to harming Ashley because he's fucking had it with her accusing him repeatedly of trying anything with the Lady from 302 and, in her eyes, his 'infidelity.' Where she accuses Andrew of not loving her enough that if his eye catches another girl, he'd leave her behind or flip on her. In Episode 2, she's poking and prodding on his boundaries on 'Andy' and whether or not, once again, he's with her on their now-committed life of joint crime.

If I can give another example, it happens in Andrew's common route memory of Nina's death and his blood oath with Leyley.

Episode 2, common route. Prior to this, Andy expresses immense exasperation at Leyley's tantrums over him 'thinking about that bitch again.' When he goes to grab the kitchen knife, cleans it, and returns to Leyley on his bed—he's briefly considering killing her.

Andrew threatens Ashley violently whenever he intends to confront her on her perceived brattiness, for lack of a better word. And keep Leyleyfication's essay segment on Ashley's insecurities and need for Andrew's validation in mind here—when Ashley does this, she wants and even needs Andrew to comfort her. But her aggression treads Andrew's patience and really, his tolerance of her behavior.

When Ashley's anger, clinging behavior, insecurities, and possessiveness of Andrew slips his control and tolerance, he resorts to violence to coerce or even dominate her.

I think (or hope, if it's clear enough) it reinforces what Leyleyfication points out:

The truth of the matter is, Ashley can only make Andrew do anything because he lets her. I don't mean in the sense that I'm saying abuse victims let their abusers emotionally abuse them, I mean in the sense that he is clearly considering his options on the table and choosing to discard those that could stop her, or bring an end to any of this.

It also reflects on another aspect of why Andrew resorts to violence: in all three situations, Andrew remarks on Ashley's behavior and her sake. If she acts up again once they're out of the apartment, it'll cause trouble for him while they're evading authorities. If she's going to call him Andy from hereon out, what's the point of running away with her. If she expects him to leverage keeping 'her secret,' he won't because it's for her sake.

Andrew rationalizes his attempt to control of Ashley's behavior as being for her sake. But really, isn't it him confining her behavior to something he can tolerate and personally handle?

I'd also like to point out that Andrew admits that he noticed Ashley push for calling him 'Andy' during the home invasion, and he did not argue with her on it while they held their parents hostage and readied to sacrifice them. We can infer that when Andrew calculates his use of violence, that can also factor when, where, and how he exerts it.

Well, that's where I can reasonably end this half of my word vomit! Now, onwards, to part 2!

#lia's conspiracy board #The Coffin of Andy and Leyley #TCOAAL: Andrew Graves #TCOAAL: Ashley Graves #ship: coffincest #character analysis

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lunareel · 11 months

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A Heads Up

Hello everyone, I hope you all are having a great day or night, whatever time it is for y'all.

Making this post to explain and elaborate on some parts of the recent AU (Bowser's Bodyguard AU, which I'm thinking of renaming) I've been working on. This is going to cover the general story idea, overall vibe, and the games I'm covering with this along with questions I think people may have about the general au.

Don't worry I'll always have this AU tagged, so if you don't like it you can block it easily.

So as stated above this is more of a clarification post and just generally covering my plans for this AU just so people know what to expect.

So I want this AU to be around 6 to 8 main chapters, where I will see if I can combine the Paper and Mario & Luigi universes into one. The first chapter will be on the Mario Movie.

What games will you be covering?

So below are games I definitely want to cover, please note the games are listed in no particular order at the moment.

Super Paper Mario

Paper Mario Thousand Year

Mario and Luigi Superstar Saga

Bowser's Inside Story

Dream Team

All games are going to be rewritten within mind of the character/setup changes. I'm not a huge fan of just writing something that is a paint-by-numbers retelling of the original story; if that's your cup of tea more power too you this is not to throw any shade on that!

For both Superstar Sage and Inside Story I do want to include the side stories the remakes added.

I will say Bowser's Inside Story will be heavily rewritten and I plan on calling it "Fawful's Revenge." The two main reasons are that I'm having Luigi prevent Bowser from eating the vacuum shroom which prevents a lot of the original plot, and I just don't want to draw the inside of Bowser. I don't know what else to say here. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Games that will either be short stories or I'm torn on covering:

Super Mario 2

Mario Galaxy (combining 1 and 2)

Mario RPG

Mario Odyssey

Origami King

Mario Sunshine

Luigi's Mansion 1 & 2

Rabbids Spark of Hope

Paper Mario 64

Super Mario 2 is going to cover Luigi's history with the Shy Guys, particularly with him usurping King Wart. This one might become a full/long chapter.

Mario Galaxy is one that might become a full chapter. It depends on what I end up covering. For instance, at the moment I'm debating on whether to have a semi-character death in it. It's weird because on one hand I don't fully consider this a character death, but it also kind of is because they leave the comic at this point and this does heavily impact the cast. So I'm unsure how to fully label this yet.

Mario RPG is a game I am very intrigued by and I would like to incorporate it into the story, but I do not know the plot of the story so it is on the fence right now. I do have at least a few short comics planned for it.

Mario Odyssey is just going to be a few short comics.

Origami King is where I don't know the full plot, but I'd like to do a comic about Shroom City just for some fun world building.

Mario Sunshine I am so torn on whether it would be a full chapter or just a short. I'm going to have to see where I go with it. Whatever it becomes I do plan on calling the chapter/comic "Obligatory Beach Episode."

Luigi's Mansion I'm going to be combining the first two games. I really want this to be a full chapter, I have just been struggling to plan out a full story for it along with fitting it into the rest of the games. I do want to try, but just in case I can't I'm slapping it into this category.

I need to give Rabbids a Spark of Hope a comic or two as Luigi and Bowser have a mission in there that is solely tied to their characters called "The Brains and the Brawn" which helped me think of their setup in this.

Paper Mario 64 will be another backstory one where Luigi attempts to use the Star Rod to send him home, to mixed results.

Games I am not covering:

Please note the games listed below are NOT because I think they are bad games, it's more because I haven't played them and/or I just don't have good ideas for how to fit them into the story.

Color Splash

Sticker Star

Paper Jam

Partners in Time

For Color Splash and Sticker Star, I just don't know the full plots of these games. Though I might do the train scene that occurs in Color Splash when Mario talks to that one Shy Guy.

Paper Jam is similar to the two listed above where I just don't know the plot and I don't want to deal with the multiverse. As in this I'm trying to combine the Paper universe with the Mario and Luigi universe into one.

Partners in Time could change, but at the moment I'm counting it as not covering as I'm just using the concept and the machine E Gadd builds. It won't deal with time travel, but instead the concept of looking into someone's memories. I don't like covering time travel so I'm just skipping it. Like I said I might cover the Cobalt Star and Princess Shroob, but I don't have a lot of ideas going for this so it might just be skipped entirely with her and her sister as villains.

Will there be shipping?

No, I'm sorry if you were hoping for anything. The most there will be is probably implied Peach x Mario, but that's it for the moment. If any of this changes I'll give a heads up just so no one is caught off guard. But romance isn't really the focus of this comic nor do I want to write romance. Listen just trust me on this you don't want me writing romance, I'm not good at it, this is for the best.

Just in case I am also just going to flat out say this so no one gets mad or feels misled when reading these comics. There will be no Bowser x Luigi in this story. Listen it's a funny and shockingly mostly wholesome ship, but it's not happening here. So I'm sorry if you were hoping for it, but I'm not doing it.

There might be some one-sided Luigi x Daisy (honestly thinking about doing Daisy x Waluigi because their Mario Party team name is Awkward Date and that is hilarious), and/or one-sided Luigi x Peasley, but in this Bowser will be majorly crushing on Peach. Bowser and Luigi are just platonic co-parenting the koopalings (think the Dungeons and Dragon movie with Sofina and Edgin). I just wanted to state this here so everyone is on the same page.

Quick side note: This isn't about shipping, but character-wise Donkey Kong and anything related to his games will only be in the first chapter. I struggle to write him and I don't know how to involve him in the other storylines so I'm just gonna have him chill in his kingdom. He will probably be making a reappearance in Dream Team as that is where I plan to end the comic.

What is the overall story/vibe of the comic?

The main story is going to focus on adventure and learning to love yourself. That's really the main premise. The story itself is going to focus on Luigi learning how to like himself for who he is and reconnecting with Mario and others while going on adventures. The big overall conflict will be the Chaos Heart itself. In this I really want to play around with the concept of the Chaos Heart and what if it didn't just go away after Super Paper Mario. I don't want to say too much about it at the moment as I don't want to spoil that part of the plot.

I feel bad because with the initial comic/sketches of this au, I made it seem a lot more dramatic/angsty than it will be. Sure there's going to be some drama but it really is more focused on the fun of the world, the adventures the characters go on, and the friendships that form out of them. I swear it's not as angsty (or I guess edgy, not sure if it was or not??) as the original comic made it seem so I apologize if that is what you were looking for.

Why I am calling Luigi Mr. L in this?

So in this, I am having Mr. L be more of his 'work mode.' It is designed to be more of a persona he puts on so he can do his job more effectively, but it is also still a part of his personality. I want to include more of his temper which is often portrayed through animations in Mario & Luigi (you know his stomping tantrum animations). Along with a few other notes, like how in the first Luigi's Mansion you kind of find some pretty sassy/sarcastic remarks through the pictures he takes with the Game Boy Horror, along with some of his dialogue in the Paper Mario games. I also want to play into him having a bit of an ego as well (playing more into the Mr. L in Super Paper Mario).

However, at the core, I do want to keep him a more socially awkward, easily frightened, and a very kind person outside of the mask/persona. At the end of the day he really just wants what is best for his friends and family. And that he is always ready to help someone even if he is scared out of his mind (though he might complain about not getting paid, or take a bit of convincing when it comes to dealing with ghosts.) I am also keeping the self-esteem issues, more so dealing with the fact he feels like all he has done is stumble through life making one mistake after another, and never being enough for the people he cares about in his life.

What are the inspirations for this?

Ghibli movies, particularly Howl's Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, and Spirited Away. I love their world building and how they handle character stories.

Magical Girl animes, I cannot stress enough how much the masks and his powers/setup are based on the magical girl shows I grew up on.

Majora's Mask, I want to do quite a bit with the masks themselves in this setup. I'm not going to elaborate much on them yet, because I prefer to reveal how they function in the comics than through this ramble.

Funnily enough, the character design that kicked off this au, or at least Mr. L's design was Death from Puss in Boots the Last Wish. I can explain, it was his cloak and his whistle. I've been playing through Super Paper Mario and I kept wondering what if they incorporated references to Luigi's Mansion more like maybe putting in his whistling, or going with a more horror aesthetic for him. Or even goes more into the concept of shadows as well, playing not only his ties with ghosts but also how Luigi feels like he is constantly in Mario's shadow. And when I saw the Mario Movie and that he was captured by the Shy Guys I was like hey wait a minute, I can do something with that.

So this story is just me playing around with those thoughts. Don't get me wrong though, him building robots to fight you along with the absolute banger of a jazz theme, and his cocky/petty attitude I have no notes and I like how he is done in the game.

So yeah this pretty much covers everything, if you read all of this kudos, I know this was long, but I hope I clarified what this comic is going to be like. Though please note that I have a job and I'm going through school, so this is going to take a bit to get going. I'm still writing out the base story, and I like to have one or two chapters fully drawn before I start posting it. I do plan on posting some of the short comics and doodles while working on the main writing.

Thank you for reading my rambles. I hope you all have a good one! : D

#bowsers bodyguard au #mario and the phantom #i think that might be the new name i call this au #im gonna test it out #master post #old master post

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inf3ct3dd · 10 months

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000. KINGSTON ・✫・゜

the day that i met you i started dreaming

warnings: mentions of death, cursing

content: meeting ellie for the first time :33

authors note: sorry i made you guys wait so longggg!!! hope this isn’t absolute trash lol 😇 also reader and ellie are like, 7 in this part 🤞🏽

masterlist. next chapter.

blue was the color of the pool on the day we met.

water perfectly chilled, sending a jolt up my leg when i stepped into it.

jesus, why is it so cold?

i decided against just standing there, letting the water turn me into a human popsicle, and i jumped in.

i dove under the water, and i felt goosebumps all over my skin. after swimming around a bit, the cold was a lot less jolting, and i saw a slightly blurry head of auburn hair swimming around the deep end. doing flips, handstands, and rarely staying above the water for more than 5 seconds to catch their breath.

dad told me that his friends kid was here. is that her?

green was the color of the goggles you had on when i saw you for the first time.

you had pulled them over your head, messing up your bangs that were stuck to your forehead in the process. you dipped them under the pool water, un-fogging them, and you looked over at me.

woah.

i waved at you, and you disappeared again, under the light blue. geez, thats one way to say you don’t wanna talk.

moments later, that same auburn head was sticking out of the water, in front of me now, pulling off her goggles.

“hi.” you greeted, smiling up at me. the sun hit your green eyes perfectly, making you slightly squint.

“hey.” i greeted back, returning the same smile.

you had moved next to me on the steps where i sat, plopping down on the step right below me.

i spent a little too long staring, but how could i help it? your face was littered with freckles, falling down to the top of your neck where your swim shirt started. there was a few red lines on top of your eyebrows, probably from your goggles. and of course, your hair. long reddish-brown locks tied into a messy ponytail, with side parted bangs that stuck to your forehead.

i was so focused on looking at you, i didn’t even realize you were looking at me. curls separated into two braids, resting on my chest, with a light pink one piece, and a deep tan.

“pretty.” you mumbled under your breath.

i definitely heard, but i decided to humor you.

“what didya say?” i questioned, tilting my head.

you shook yourself out of your daze, blinking dramatically. “huh?- i didn’t say anything.” you were quick to defend, shaking your head.

i gave a calm “hm” in response, shrugging and resting my forearms on my knees.

“so….d’you live here?” you asked, turning yourself to face me.

“nuh uh. my nana does, she’s right over there.”

i pointed to her, comfortably sat in her chair with a canned margarita.

you gave me a small nod, following where my finger led with your eyes.

“i don’t live here either, my dad got his dads house here when he died. we just come here to swim.” you explained, sloshing water around in front of you.

my eyes widened at the suddenness of the comment, but i replied almost instantly.

“sorry your grandpa died. thats sad.” i attempted to comfort.

“meh, i never met him.” you shrugged, continuing making waves with your hands.

we sat in silence for a while, unsure of what to say next. it wasn’t awkward, surprisingly, it was just…silence. the quiet splashing of pool water and the chatter of the old ladies in their chairs was the only thing that filled our ears.

i started staring back down at you, only really seeing the top of your head. the sun shined on your hair, making the red in it even more noticeable. for some reason, its all i wanted to look at.

“did you dye your hair? how is it….” i twirled a loose strand around my finger, moving next to you on the pool steps.

“how is it what?” you replied, letting out a small giggle.

“its like, red, but pretty red. i have a friend whos a ‘red head’ , but her hairs like , carrot orange.” i answered, still toying with it.

red was the color your cheeks turned at my accidental compliment.

pretty red. she thinks my hair is pretty.

“hey, whats wrong with orange?” you questioned yet again, staring at me.

“its a nice color sometimes, but not for hair. and , its not even red??? its orange! why are they called red heads?”

“isn’t orange just red with white in it?”

“so what? that doesn’t mean its red. if anything, you’re a red head. your hair is literally dark red. and its not ugly pumpkin color.”

“you really care about peoples hair.” you stated, letting out a giggle.

“people always say that they see peoples teeth first when they meet them, but thats a bunch of crap. i see their hair.” i rolled my eyes, moving a piece of hair behind my ear.

“i definitely see if someones bald before i care about their teeth.” you agreed, still laughing.

“exactly! like i don’t even know what your teeth look like. i just saw you, and i was like ‘wow. she has pretty hair.’”

“you think my hair is that nice?” you asked, toying with the ends of it.

“no, i actually think your hair looks like a giant pile of shit.” i sarcastically quipped, chuckling at myself.

“oh yeah?” and before you could even finish enunciating your sentence, i was falling off the stairs, into the cold water.

“hey! i didn’t even have my goggles on, you dick!” i yelled, wiping the water out of my eyes.

“language!” my dad yelled from his chair, seated next to yours.

i rolled my eyes at him, and moved to pull you in with me.

you fell under, just as unceremoniously as i did, and we both burst into laughter.

when we finally calmed down, i looked over at you.

“wait, what’s your name?”

taglist: @astroph1les @zeniqk @macaroni676 @mina-281 @sawaagyapong @brunettedolls-blog @horror-whoree @elliewilliamsmunch @ellies2fingers @valdez-ayla4499 @claymoreshaze @dollietes @heartrobynn @uraesthete @bellaramslover @amitycat @matchamilkislover @atomicami @certifedcrybunny @perfect-little-thing @elsmissingfingers @mostlyhornyandsad @nil-eena @koloz @doepretty @idkwhattoput888 @guavasbizarre @louleele @graviewaviee @bl1ndsp0t @elliewilliamsgf69 @elleatethat @strawbn1ng @jvstellies @thereasonurgay @crystalsnothere @misosoupupup @greencacty @every1oneluvsriley @endureher @michel-angelo @nickiminaj689 @bratydoll @sc0ttstre3ted @fr3sh-tragedies @bearieio @sluttyletty @dinoastronaut @sapphicsstars (sorry if i couldn’t add you, i ran out of mentions 😪)

#🍔infrunami #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x platonic!reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie x you #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams fic

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vuelode-irbis · 3 months

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Little thing I made for the anniversary of my cat's death. Every year I wanted to make something for her, but I could never think of anything, I had this dream some days ago and I decided that was it. I learned the lesson long ago, and I'm glad I could combine it in a comic.

I drew many cats, hehe, drawing them my whole life with her being my favorite model has brought me to this moment and I think that's great.

The ID is in ALT but I'll put it below a cut here + a bonus image of the last page in which my cat is not transparent, since I remembered how much I liked her pelt while painting it.

[ID:

Two drawings made with watercolor texture. The first one shows a white cat nursing five kittens that were just born, they're all close to her belly: two white ones, a black and white one, a completely black one and a tortoiseshell with white paws and nose. Text above reads: "I dreamt that you were born again. You and your whole litter". The second drawing shows two hands holding the tortoiseshell kitten, which is asleep. Text above says "I was very happy because I'd be able to look out for you like I couldn't when I was six years old".

Two drawings with a harsher texture. First one shows the palm of a hand, empty, with a grey cloud as background. The text above this reads: "I realized when I woke up". The drawing below shows a person sitting down in their bed, their hair messy, looking down at the plushes in the bed: a white cat holding a red heart, a black-footed ferret, a plant cell and a tortoiseshell cat with white nose and paws. The text says: "That kitten wasn't you".

The first drawings casts a plush cat, tortoiseshell with white paws, belly and nose, she has green eyes and a name plate with the shape of a heart that reads "Manchitas", she also has her toy tag behind her hind leg. The text reads: In esence, it was you, Nepabla, but that was not your pelt, but Manchitas'". The drawing below is a table with some keys, headphones and the photo of a cat lying down in the grass, her pelt is black, grey and brown and she has white legs and muzzle. Text above this says: "That was dissapointing, it's been a while since I last dreamt of you, even though I remember you everyday".

The drawing above shows two cats, one black with green eyes, looking up at the viewer, and a slender, tortoiseshell-and-white one also with green eyes, this one is looking at something in front of her. The text says "I don't believe dreams have a meaning, but if I had to interpret this one,"

The drawing below shows the same person from before, walking in the street and running into a white cat with long fur, which looks a little dirty and is rising their tail. The person stops to pet them, smiling. Text above continues "I'd say I do have the opprtunity to take better care of all the cats I haven't owned yet, although they're not you".

A single drawing that shows the legs of the person, in which a ghostly cat is rubbing herself against. This cat, Nepabla, is the one from the photo: a black, grey and brownish one with white legs, belly and muzzle. She lifts her front legs as she rubs herself in my legs and her tail is up. There's text above and below that reads "And you will be with me even though I can't pet you anymore. I miss you".

End ID.]

I really liked her pelt, her name is an acronym for Black with White Paws in Spanish because that's what my father said she looked like when she was born, but as she grew her pelt showed itself and we relized whe was not entirely black lol. I also really loved how not all of her legs were equally white, me and my brother would say she had a shoe, a long sock and two boots.

[ID: the same drawing from the last panel, except the cat is not transparent. End ID]

#irbis draws #art #digital art #comic #comics #cats #cat #nepa #cw implied animal death #implied animal death #pet loss #tw pet death #tw pet loss

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bettyfrommars · 1 year

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The Taste of You

a Death Becomes Us extra

vampire!Eddie x fem!supernatural!Reader

18+only, no minors pls, vampire!Eddie, talk of blood, drinking blood, being bitten, oral (f receiving), fingering, f orgasm, wet dreams. Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: You can enjoy this alone as a one shot, but I recommend reading parts 1 & 2 if you can. This is just a lil smut blurb and part 3 is in the works xoxo

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You couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the leftover adrenaline from the events earlier that evening, or maybe it was the busy trailer park, crawling with vampires as they got started with their evening. Or maybe it was the way you couldn’t stop thinking about the buttery soft tang of Eddie’s blood on your tongue. He warned that you might have sexual dreams, but what did it mean to desire him when you were awake?

In bed, eyes wide open, you felt the pulsing between your thighs and reached a hand down to tend to the need despite yourself. You thought about the way his full lips looked when they were tinted with your blood, the greedy look in his eyes, like he wanted more, and then your wrist flexed, working quicker. You imagined his mouth on yours, cheeks and chins messy and dripping, and that was when the arousal dampened your underwear and a sigh hitched in your throat.

Your bedroom door at the end of the hallway was open, but you hadn’t noticed someone standing there until a knuckle tapped a few soft knocks to alert you of their presence.

“Is this a bad time?” Vampire Eddie asked in a low whisper.

You weren’t as surprised as you should’ve been to see him there. In fact, a part of you might have even expected it. If he could sense your fear, why wouldn't he be able to sense...other things that you were feeling?

You braced your hands and sat up. The thin curtains over both of your windows were letting in artificial light from the trailer park, casting purple shadows across your faces. “How’d you get in here?”

“Does it matter?” Most of his body had been blocked by the lamp on your nightstand, but he took a few steps into view, hands in his jean pockets. His jacket was off, but he had the same Metallica tee on that he’d been wearing earlier in the alley, exposing the patchwork of tattoos along his neck, hands, and throat. You had a passing thought that you wanted to know what they all meant to him.

Arousal continued to flutter at your core, clenching at nothing, as if activated by his presence, and you pressed your thighs together in earnest.

He stroked his chin in contemplation, the whites of his eyes glowing in the dark. “Do you need a hand, sweetheart?” He mumbled it, glancing from your face to your clenched knees, running the tip of his tongue in an arch over his top lip. “Or a mouth?”

You couldn’t speak, you only managed to mew in the back of your throat, shifting your hips as the bundle of nerves below begged for attention.

“Tell me,” he was right next to the bed now. “Use your words, say it.”

A small voice in your cognitive reasoning tried to tell you this was a dream, if had to be, but that didn’t seem to matter because the rest of you wanted it to be as real as it felt.

“I-I need you,” the words were trembling out of your mouth before you could stop them.

In a flash--a gust of wind--Eddie was straddling your thighs, pinning your arms above your head at the wrists with one hand. His hair tickled your neck as he pressed his mouth to your ear. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he hushed. “About how good you taste.”

You loved the feeling of his weight on you, the way his pelvis twitched a few times, grinding right where you needed it most. He nuzzled the side of your throat, along your collarbone, and up the other side, inhaling you, drowning in your scent as he went. He held your arms in place like it was effortless while his other hand made its way down to find your slick entrance that was begging for him; he growled, sinking two of fingers in.

You arched your head back with a whimper, exposing more of your throat, heels kicking a few times against the mattress. His fingers curled in to find your sweet spot while his thumb worked your slippery clit.

When he lifted to meet your gaze, his eyes morphed into that feral, opal black and his pointed fangs ejected with an audible click.

“Take me,” you whispered, aching as a third finger stretched you out. “Take my blood, I want to be inside of you.”

He found the heartbeat in your throat, and he kissed it first before you felt the damp cool of his breath, lips curling around the spot, and then his tongue fluttered a few times before the fangs sank in.

Your eyes rolled back in your head at the sensation, thrusting your hips up to meet the attention of his fingers and thumb, feeling your release mounting as Eddie latched, hungry moans vibrating in his chest.

“I want a taste,” you huffed. He sucked a bit more, and when he disengaged, you turned your head to meet his mouth, stained again with your life force. His tongue was eager to share the taste with you, kissing deep. He released your arms only so he could cradle your cheek with his palm, and then he brought the two soaking wet fingers up from your core and slipped them into your mouth, making you suck them. The mingling of the blood and your juices had you begging him with your eyes as you took his fingers all the way to the base of his rings, gagging a little, spreading his digits with your tongue.

He chuckled, a crimson drip in the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what you want,” he dragged his fingers out, pulling the wetness down your chin, and cupped that hand around your neck, his thumb interrupting two trickles of blood that were pooling in the hollow of your throat. His eyes were electric brown again as he searched yours. “Do you want to cum now?”

You nodded, rubbing your salty lips together, gasping as his hand tightened infinitesimally, urging you.

“Tell me,” he breathed, tilting his head, mouth inches from yours.

“I want to cum in your mouth,” you managed, pussy pulsing, one hand clenching the sheet.

In the same gust of breeze, he was down at the end of the bed, head between your legs, eyes on you as he darted his tongue out a few times to tease your swollen cunt, grin kicking up the side of his mouth as you squirmed. By the time he buried his face, and you could feel the pull of the suction at your nub, you knew it wouldn’t be much longer. You snatched a fistful of his hair, arching back, as his mouth tied you like a cherry stem.

“Eddie...I’m...I’m...fuck!” It wasn’t long before your body gripped in a violent stillness and hovered there before a blinding orgasm rippled through your body, making you babble about how hard you were cumming. While the twitching subsided, you held his head in place and he was happy to stay; he made a few long licks along the full length of your slit, groaning as he tasted you, and then he dropped a few tender kisses on your inner thigh.

His eyes lifted to yours, and they were black again; his sharp white fangs so bright they were almost neon. He planted kisses on the tender skin there, right at the location of your femoral artery, and then his tongue flicked out, begging in his own way.

Instinctively, you knew he wanted to taste the warm gush from one of your main arteries, and you opened yourself up more to him, nodding, eager for the bite and the sweet pull of his hunger. You weren't afraid to show him the scars you hid from everyone else; you wanted him to have all of you.

His fingers found your tight hole again as his teeth sank into the flesh of your leg, and that’s when you woke up.

Sweating, gasping, and confused, you bolted into a seated position in bed, cringing away from the bright sun that poured in from the partially closed curtains. Your mouth went agape as you recalled the dream, feeling like an alien must’ve inhabited your body for such a thing to turn you on. You sent the pads of your fingers down to confirm that you had, in fact, experienced a wet dream, complete with release, and you felt violated in a way that made you curse his name under your breath.

The trailer next door that belonged to your neighbor Eddie was all sealed up for the day with the black out curtains tightly drawn, but for some reason, you could still smell him.

You could still smell him, and you could still feel the achingly real need you’d had for him in the dream, as if the imaginary desire had followed you into your waking life.

But you weren’t attracted to your vampire neighbor Eddie Munson, nor were you at all interested in letting him drink your blood again. Never. Not at all. No way.

#vampire eddie x reader #vampire eddie au #vampires #eddiemunson #eddie munson smut #vampire!eddie #eddie munson one shot #vampire smut #vampire eddie munson #Spotify

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aisharain · 5 months

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Maaaaan I suck at drawing backgrounds. But here - Gargoyle! Techno and Weeping angel! Dream. One day I'll write a fanfiction about them. One day.

And I'll put a few of my draft notes here just below to infect you with my manicness about these two as well…

Weeping Angels - A race shaped like living statues that can only move when not being looked at. Solitary predators, they feed on the life energy of humans, killing those that fall into their hands. Upon learning of the stare condition, humans began to gather in huge groups to exterminate them, shattering one by one. Those that were kept alive were either used for experiments, or chained and placed on rooftops as cruel decorations that remained there until they died of starvation.

Gargoyles - created by black magic during the witch persecution, they served as protectors for their masters until they were wiped out. With no need for food, they hid on the roofs of churches, spending centuries sleeping, indifferent to anything that passed beneath them. Some fell so deeply asleep that when the churches collapsed, they crumbled with them without waking up. No one knows how many of them are really left, because it's impossible to tell the difference between a gargoyle and a statue unless one is awake.

The idea is that Dream, as one of the last weeping angels was placed on the roof of the largest church, right above the entrance, with his feet cast in concrete so he couldn't move. So many people had gathered in the square during his move that all their noise had awakened Techno, a sleeping gargoyle on one ledge of the roof. After a while, he spread his wings and fished for humans for the angel so he wouldn't starve to death.

Well, as you've figured out, my favorite murderous cuties are in action, ready to devour their victims once again. I think I'll have a whole compilation of ideas with Dream and Techno as monsters soon… (～￣▽￣)～ (And I'm not sorry at all)

#dreamnoblade #digital drawing #au #Gargoyle Technoblade #Weeping angel Dreamwastaken #because my inspiration wouldn't leave me alone #and I wanted to show something before I made it in a whole story #like preview

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aedesluminis · 5 months

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"The Fifth of May"

The Fifth of May is a poem written by the Italian poet and novelist Alessandro Manzoni in 1821, in honour of Napoléon's death.

It's one of the most famous poems as far as Italian literature is concerned: it usually gets studied and analyzed at least once during compulsory education! Since it doesn't seem that many people outside of Italy know of it, I will share below an English translation made by Lorna de Lucchi (source + original in Italian here)

" He is no more. As reft of breath The heedless body lay at last On whom such boundless hopes were cast, Immobile in the calm of death. So, by the tidings, in amaze The earth is held, and with her gaze The parting hour doth mutely scan Of this great spirit ; if again Upon the dust of her wide plain, All blood-besprinkled, ever can The footfall of a mortal show Like unto his, she doth not know.

My muse, seeing him most gloriously Ensconced upon a royal throne, Was still, nor in the clam'rous tone Of myriad voices joined as he Fell, then triumphantly did soar To fall again and rise no more : Free from all taint of servile praise And cowardly insult, let me rise, Now this bright star falls from the skies, As one who piteous homage pays ; A garland on his urn, let lie This song which haply will not die !

From Alp to hoary Pyramid, From Manzanare to the Rhine, From Scylla to the Don, sure sign His vivid lightnings were that did Foreshow the tempest that would be, His winged bolt from sea to sea.

Is his true fame ? Posterity The arduous verdict will declare ; We can but bow in reverence where The Eternal Craftsman mightily Conceived this soul that it might stand To show the marvels of His hand.

The tremulous, impassioned joy Of schemes conveyed with master-art, The strife of a subjected heart Which dreamed a sceptre for a toy, Nor was denied the godly prize Before a world's incredulous eyes ;

All these he knew ; untold renown More glorious for the peril passed, Flight, then the victory at last, The pains of exile doffed the crown ; Twice humbled to the very dust, Twice gifted with an empire's trust.

He spoke : and lo, two centuries, Ranged face to face upon the field, Submissive to his voice did yield, As if to destiny's decrees : He called for silence, and then grave Judgment between them both he gave.

He vanished : idly passed the days Imprisoned in a narrow round, By bitter envy and profound Compassion, by the constant gaze Of hate unconquerable pursued, With love indomitable endued.

A wave o'er shipwrecked mortal's head Closeth, then heavily down doth bear, The very wave that in despair He scanned before, straining ahead After some merciful trace of ground In a vain hope before he drowned :

Even so this soul was crushed below The burden that is memory ! How often to posterity On deathless page he sought to show Himself revealed, how often then From his tired fingers dropped the pen !

How often, drawing to the end Of a day spent in listless wise, Arms crossed on breast and downcast eyes Aflame, he stood while thought did tend Towards the past, in yearning vain For that which could not be again,

Calling to mind the mobile tents, The glint of passing infantry The flood-wave of the cavalry, The storming of the battlements, The sharply framed, imperious word, The swift consent of those who heard !

Maybe in such deep misery His spirit might have known despair, Had not a hand divine been there To raise him up in charity And carry him to mansions where Breathes a more consecrated air ;

To lead him by hope's flowery ways To everlasting pastures sweet, Where perfect happiness doth meet And soar above poor mortal praise, Where in hushed twilight doth abide The earthly glory that hath died.

Immortal Faith, O gentle maid, Full many a triumph hast thou seen ! Write this thing down in joy serene ; Never on Golgotha was laid Sublimer fame as low as this, Never proud spirit bowed like his.

O Faith, from his sad ashes move All words of bitterness away ! The God who doth create and slay, Who doth chastise then heal in love, Will surely come to him and keep Vigil beside his lonely sleep. "

#napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #napoleonic era #napoleonic wars #alessandro manzoni #i can't judge the quality of translations as far as poetry is concerned but it seemed fine to me

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jamdoughnutmagician · 2 months

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Teenage Dreams (13 going on 30 AU) - part 5

Eddie Munson x Reader

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Word Count:2,200

SERIES MASTERLIST

Masterlist // Eddie Munson Masterlist

*dividers by @saradika-graphics

There’s a quiet natter around the board room table, with all of your co-workers discussing their next big headline or article for Star Magazine.

“Taking the reins:How to be more dominant in life (and the bedroom!)”

“Summer’s hottest bikini styles to cause a splash”

“15 ways to drive your man wild in bed”

Michael stalks around the room, and suddenly everyone falls quiet as they wait to hear what he has to say.

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I suppose I’m just going to come out with it.” he huffs before continuing. “The numbers are in and it isn’t looking good, we’re falling just below 500,00 issues of Star Magazine in total circulation. Diamond Magazine, however much it pains me to say this, are closing in on close to a million.”

There’s muffled whispers that scatter between everyone at the table until Michael speaks up again.

“I just got off the phone with corporate and there has been talk of a redesign.”

“You want to redesign Star Magazine? Diamond Magazine does almost everything we do, and we’re the ones that have to redesign?” comes the disgruntled reply of one of your colleagues.

“Either we redesign and try to boost our readership, or they pull the plug and we’re all out of a job.”

“But redesigning our magazine could be a death sentence.” Nancy chimes in.

“No, Nance, it doesn't have to be that way. It’s a chance to have some fun and really shake things up around here. Diamond magazine can have all our second-hand, cast-off ideas, we can do a complete overhaul here, and prove to everyone that Star Magazine still has some sparkle left.” you say, piping up from your seat.

Michael comes up by your side with a wide smile.

“It’s refreshing to see some enthusiasm around here for once. It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, Y/n. I’ll be leaving this is yours and Nancy’s very capable hands, and trusting my dynamic duo to come up with something new and fabulous.”

As you walk out of the boardroom you spot Nancy in the corner whispering to one of her co-workers. Perhaps it’s wrong of you to eavesdrop on conversations that you weren’t a part of, but nonetheless you hang back, just out of sight of Nancy’s gaze.

“..And I need you to hire the best photographer, and I do not want Y/n to find out about this.”

“Understood, Ms.Wheeler.”

“I mean I don’t even know what’s going on with her anymore, but I’m getting real tired of this whole new act that she’s putting on all the time. We need to go ahead with our own presentation, and let Y/n fall on her ass like the loser she is.” Nancy giggles cruelly.

Suddenly it’s like you’re back to being thirteen years old again, hanging out with the popular girls, thinking they’re your friends, only to find out the harsh truth, that they’re all laughing at you behind your back.

You walk through the door of your apartment after work, slumping down onto the sofa. The gnawing pit of upset and embarrassment eating away at you. If that was how Nancy felt about you, then surely that was how everyone felt about you. Maybe you were some ditzy loser who had ideas above her station, and maybe you were to blind to see that everyone else could see right through you.

As you pull your knees up and hug the couch cushion to your chest, you suddenly feel so alone and isolated. No, you were not about to let Nancy win, there would be no more sad moping around for you. You find your feet taking you across the city to the only other apartment you felt safe being in.

You knock your fist against the dark wood door of Eddie’s apartment, silently praying to yourself that he was in.

To your relief the door swings open and there he was. The reassuring brown eyes of your best friend.

“Sorry to drop in on you un-announced like this, but do you wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure.” Eddie nods with a smile, sliding on his leather jacket.

You walk beside each other, down the streets as you fall into step with Eddie.

“So you’re getting married huh?” you ask, hoping to break the silence between you.

“Yeah, in a little over two weeks now.” Eddie replies, his eyes cast down on the pavement as he scuffs his sneakers as he walks.

“So Chrissy’s like your soulmate, right? That’s why you’re marrying her?”

“I don’t know if I believe in soulmates, I think that’s kind of a childish concept.” he says honestly.

“But you get butterflies whenever you’re around her, don’t you?” you pry.

“I don’t think I’ve gotten butterflies about anyone since high-school.” he laughs softly.

There’s so much that’s happened between you now that you’ve both grown up, different lives taking different paths.

“What happened to us, Eddie?” you sigh, your footsteps halting in the street. “I mean, how come we never stayed friends?

“Okay, so we’re having one of those kinds of talks.” he says as he nods over to a nearby bench, motioning for you to sit beside him. “I guess things kind of fell apart right after your thirteenth birthday party. You were shoved into the closet..”

“Yeah, then everybody ditched me like yesterday’s leftovers.” you finish. “That’s the last thing that I remember.”

“Look, we don’t have to get into this, it was such a long time ago, right? I mean, it hardly even matters anymore.” Eddie says, picking at the loose threads of the hole in his dark jeans.

“It matters to me, Eddie. Please just tell me what happened.” you plead.

“Well, I let you out of the closet, and I was going to play you your birthday song on the guitar, but you, and with quite the impressive amount of force for a thirteen-year-old girl might I add, threw at me the princess castle that I had spent weeks putting together for you.” he huffs quietly, running a hand through his dark curls. “After that you just stopped being my friend, so I took the hint, and we never really spoke to each other after that.” He looks so hurt just from remembering what happened, his big brown eyes suddenly without their usual joy-filled sparkle.

You feel awful. How could you have been so cruel and uncaring to the boy who was your only friend in the world. The guilt hits you and you feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach.

“It’s fine, let’s just forget about it. It was a long time ago, it doesn’t matter.” Eddie brushes off.

“Stop being so nice to me Eddie. I don’t deserve it.” you mumble, shaking your head. “I don’t have any real friends, I’m pretty sure everyone hates me, I don’t talk to my mom and dad. I’m not a nice person, and the thing is..I’m not the girl I used to be, I’m not thirteen anymore, Eddie.” you say, your voice shaking with emotions.

You get up from the bench, needing to just get away. To walk away from Eddie, and away from the guilt and upset. It all feels like too much for you to deal with. You can’t look at him, because all you can see is the big sad brown eyes of the thirteen year old boy that you shut out of your life.

The next day you buy yourself a train ticket that takes you away from the city all the way back to your small town neighbourhood.

The bustling life of the busy city soon passes by your window, changing into green fields that whizz by like a blur.

You can’t help but look at the group of young girls who laugh and chatter quietly amongst themselves, and think about the young girl that you used to be, about the woman that you are now, and what happened in the in-between years. Were you ever going to be able to go back to the way things used to be? Or was this how your life was to be from now on?

You let yourself into your childhood home, the key clicking into the lock easily. The house was quiet, as you stepped through the threshold. You look around, and it’s almost as if nothing has changed, not a single cushion, picture frame, nor silly little knick-knack was out of place.

Wandering down to the downstairs basement you come face to face with the dark door of the supply closet that Nancy and her gaggle of minions had locked you in all those years ago.

You sit down on the floor inside the closet, closing the door behind yourself, hugging your knees to your chest, as the heaviness in your heart spills over and the tears stream silently down your cheeks.

I just want things to go back to the way they were. You wish, closing your eyes and lean your head back against the shelves behind you with a soft ‘thunk’

Suddenly the door swings open, and there in the doorway is your mother.

“I missed you so much.” you sob, throwing your arms around her and crying into her shoulder.

“Oh darling,” she coos softly, rubbing her hand up and down your back. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

After spending the night unrestfully trying to sleep in your childhood bedroom, you shuffle downstairs to the kitchen where your mother is already up and preparing breakfast.

“Come on down, darling, I hope you're hungry! I’m making pancakes.” she smiles as she sets down a small stack of pancakes drizzled in syrup and decorated with a generous scattering of strawberries and blueberries in front of you.

You cut yourself off a piece to enjoy before taking a sip of your orange juice and then set your glass on the table as your mother sits opposit you at the kitchen table, her cup of coffee billowing little trails of steam in her hands.

“If you were given the opportunity to do-over anything in your life, anything at all, what would it be?”

“It’s a little for philosophical questions like that, don’t you think honey?”

“Mom, please.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing, nothing at all.” she smiles, sipping from her mug.

“Really? You never made a big mistake, like something that ended up changing your life?

Your mother shakes her head at you before answering your question.

“Well, I know I made a lot of mistakes, but I don’t regret making them. If I never made the mistakes in the first place, I would never have learned from them. Making mistakes is what life is about, and if you think you can go through life without making mistakes, then I’m sorry, but you’re not living life right.”

You nod, finally seeing your mom’s point of view. Something that thirteen year-old you would have scoffed and laughed at.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around too much recently, mom.” you mumble hanging your head down.

Your mother reaches across the table to take your hand.

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

Back in the city, after staying with your parents for a few days, you’re in your apartment pouring over your old high-school yearbook.

You look at all the photos, and see a picture of Eddie and his band performing at the school’s end-of-year show. He looks in his element, frizzy hair haloing around him, and his hands are working the strings of his black and red guitar to perfection. The rest of the band all looks amazing, but Eddie as the centrepiece of the picture is what captures your imagination. Suddenly you know what you have to do to save Star Magazine.

Underneath nearly all of the pictures in the yearbook is a little credit to the head school’s photography club, Jonathan Byers. He had been a quick fling of Nancy Wheeler’s back in the day before she ditched him when she decided being seen hanging out with him was tainting her ‘cool girl’ image.

You’d personally never had a problem with him, quite the opposite really, he was always very kind and sweet to you, and although your paths never crossed all that much, you often gave him a smile and a little wave as you passed each other in the halls.

Racing to reach for your little black book of phone numbers, you desperately hope that the number you have listed under Jonathan’s name still works.

Putting the phone to your ear, you listen as it rings a few times before it picks up.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end answers cautiously.

“Jonathan, it’s me Y/N, from high-school!”

“Y/N? Yeah I remember you! What can I do for you?”

“I need a guy who’s good with a camera, do you think you can help me out?”

“I think I might know a guy, yeah” he laughs down the line. “You just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, I knew I could rely on you!”

If Star Magazine wanted a rebrand, then a rebrand they were going to get.

@paybacksawitch @penguinsandpotterheads @mrsjellymunson

@ali-r3n @aphrogeneias @eddiesxangel

@munsonology @onegirlmanytales @xxbimbobunnyxx

@optimisticallygarbage @nailbatanddungeon

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader series #eddie munson x reader fanfiction

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nostalgicnarrator · 12 days

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Over Hill and Under Mountain

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Word Count: 5,243 Parings: Thorn X Bilbo Description: Bilbo is fed up.

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

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─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

Mild mentions of physical violence.

Note:

this is it, we've come to this stories end, i hope everyone who has stuck it out this long love this story as much as i have loved writing it. good day, afternoon and night

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Bilbo was vaguely aware as he drifted in and out of consciousness, a tone of voice or a few words would make it to him in the void he was stuck in.

His mind felt like it was floating in mud as it throbbed in pain. He hadn’t been sure how long he had been like that.

He had dreams, or was it memories? He couldn’t tell anymore, they were all blurred together, strange fragments of what once was or had never been.

He opened his eyes in the shadows of Mirkwood, he stumbled a bit as he walked along with his friends. The trees loomed, their twisted limbs stretching out like skeletal hands, clawing at the air as if to snatch any who dared trespass.

A thick mist curled around the underbrush, muffling the sound of crunching leaves. The world was cast in an unsettling twilight, where everything seemed to move in the corner of his vision but disappeared when he tried to focus on it.

He looked around, he felt sluggish as he looked at Dwalin, Nori, Fili, Kili, and Thorin. his friends. Right, he had been with them hadn’t he? They had all marched together once, but that was a time ago by now was it not…?

Bilbo looked around again attempting to make sense, his friends had their blades drawn, each held a grim face. He felt like something was wrong. He hadn’t been here like this, where was he…?

He was suddenly aware of the unnatural silence that clung to the forest, suffocating. And then, they struck.

Out of the trees, from above and below, the spiders came. Massive creatures, larger than horses, with blackened bodies and legs as thick as a man's arm.

Their eyes held a hunger Bilbo did not remember from before, they seemed darker than before, their fangs dripping deadly venom, Bilbo was acutely aware that these terrors were not the same as the spiders he had faced before.

The air was thick with the sound of limbs rustling through lives, the crackling sound of skittering feet, an orchestra of death as they descended upon them.

Before they could react, one of the beasts lunged for Dwalin. The dwarf swung his war hammer hard, splattering the spider they came at him all over the ground. But there were too many.

Another came from the side, pincers snapping, and dug its fangs into the dwarf and wrapped him in its sticky webbing with terrifying speed.

He struggled, but not for long as the venom quickly kicked in and the last Bilbo heard of the dwarf was a roar of fury, Bilbo watched as Dwalin was quickly hoisted into the air, bound in silken threads.

The others shouted, Bilbo whipped his head back to them, he watched as they hacked and slashing at the swarm that was descending on them.

Bilbo watched as Nori managed to dodge the initial attacks, his knives flashing as he severed the limbs of one spider after another. But soon he, too, was overwhelmed.

Bilbo tried to shout to warn his friend as a shadow loomed over him, and before Nori could react, he was bitten and wrapped in webbing and dragged screaming into the branches above.

Bilbo covered his mouth when the scream was stopped far too abruptly. Fili and Kili were next, Bilbo watched as they fought together, Fíli twirled his twin blades as he brother notched arrows drew back and released.

Fíli cut through the legs of one of the largest spiders. But they couldn’t keep the pace, soon Kíli released his last arrow and Fíli lost a sword.

Before they had a chance, webs tangled them up. Kíli called out to his brother desperately, he begged for help. But it wasn’t long before they were bitten and dragged away into the shadows.

And then came the whispering.

The voices slithered through the trees, a sickening melody that wormed its way into Bilbo’s ears. "Tasty, delicious... so tender..." The spiders were speaking, their voices like poison seeping into his mind.

Thorin was last. His sword was cast aside as it had fallen to the ground, Bilbo’s eyes felt wide as he watched Thorin stare up at the towering spiders as they descended. He could see it clearly now-Thorin's face, twisted in horror as the creatures bore down on him.

Bilbo couldn't move, he couldn't speak. It was as if his body had betrayed him, leaving him frozen in place, forced to watch. He could hear the cracking of bones, the wet squelch of flesh torn apart.

The largest of the spiders opened its jaws, revealing rows of jagged teeth, Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut. He let out a whimper. He could still hear the horrible noise. Then it fell silent and Bilbo dared a peek.

Before he could really see anything the world around him began to fall away, the forest of Mirkwood bled into something else. Soon enough Bilbo found himself standing in a deep valley, a familiar mountain range not far ahead now, this was a place he was sure he recognized.

His mind told him that it was all too familiar. The wind suddenly whipped viciously around him, carrying with it a horrible smell. He whipped his head around as he heard the snarls of wargs and the harsh, guttural speech of orcs.

The enemy came like a wave, crashing over the horizon with a force that shook the ground. Wargs with their fur matted mounted by orcs with gnarled faces, Bilbo was sure the reek of blood came from them.

The group, who just moments ago had been caught in Mirkwood, wrapped up in a hellish web, were now surrounded, barely able to react. Dwalin swung his axes, Nori darted around as well as he could manage, and Fíli and Kíli fought side by side. But there were too many-too fast.

When Thorin fell the rest followed just as quickly, Bilbo barely registered the screams, the flash of steel, and the bodies hitting the ground. It all blurred together horribly. His eyes darted from one friend to another, each of them falling, each death a punch to his gut. He could feel the panic rising, choking him as he was once again forced to watch. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly

Once more the world fell silent and Bilbo opened his eyes after a moment, but before he could make anything out his vision blurring, he squeezed his eyes shut again as dizziness began to take over.

He felt himself begin to fall so he snapped his eye open and gasped, it was becoming difficult to breathe. He looked around afraid of what horror waited

Snow fell heavily around him, it whipped and clawed at him, quickly the snow turned a blinding white that made it impossible to see more than a few paces ahead.

They were on the narrow path of a cliffside, their steps precarious as the wind threatened to knock them off balance. Bilbo began to wish he had a coat. Something warm to hide from the wind with.

Bilbo watched as Thorin led the way, his eyes set forward, determined. The look was etched into every line of the dwarfs face. Bilbo trudged not too far behind him, then Thorin’s boot slipped, and in an instant, Thorin was gone.

He could hear Kíli and Fíli scream, the sound piercing through the storm. They rushed to the edge, reaching out, Bilbo watched as Thorin tumbled down, down into the abyss below.

Kíli let out a broken sob as he watched his uncle disappear. Thorin’s body twisted in the air, his arms flailing as he tried to grab onto something, anything, but there was nothing to grab. The dwarf disappeared into the blinding depths below

The group stood frozen, helpless, as Thorin disappeared into the darkness. No sound followed his fall. Just silence. Then it all faded away.

Next he remembered inky darkness, the eerie silence. He vaguely wondered when he got there. Sometimes Bilbo would see large pale eyes watching him from the shadows of his mind, sometimes he would hear the music and whisper again.

It was as if Something was calling out to him, beckoning him. It wanted him to go somewhere. He wanted to follow it, but then he would hear a deeper voice telling him he can’t just yet.

So he would stay. Bilbo wasn’t sure why the voice didn’t want him to fallow the other but he listened. The music he once heard slowly became less and less and instead he could hear a different tone.

A soft voice would sing in rolling sounds, sounds he came to hear under his feet when in the shire. He remembered them from when he was a child.

The voice was of a woman, her tone was warm and caring. It reminded him of his mother, of a warm place and a soft bed. Of the love of the shire.

Eventually when Bilbo came to, the first thing he could understand in his fevered daze was the sound of arguing. Voices, not singing or humming, normal voices, reached him, distant at first, but growing louder, pulling him from the depths of his sleep.

One painfully familiar, a deep, tone that sent a wave of warmth coursing through him like warm tea on a cold day. Bilbo felt his heart leap. He knew that voice.

“Th…Thorin…?” Bilbo croaked, his voice barely a whisper. He tried to lift his hand, reaching out for something, anything. The arguing stopped abruptly, replaced by a heavy silence.

“Thorin…?” He asked again-

“I’m here, Bilbo, I’m right here,” Thorin’s voice broke the stillness. Bilbo felt his hand being taken in a firm tender grip and the warmth of Thorin’s calloused palm.

“Thorin… you made it,” Bilbo murmured, his lips curving into what he hoped was a smile. “I was worried… you wouldn’t.” His voice was softer than he meant, causing Thorin to lean in closer.

Thorin squeezed his hand gently. “We’re here, and we’re all safe,” he assured, his tone soothing. “You’ve nothing to worry about now.”

Despite the pain, Bilbo felt a wave of relief wash over him at Thorin’s words. He could hear more mumbling, but the words were indistinct, blurred by the haze that clouded his mind.

Whatever was said, had Thorin nodding gently, though his eyes never left Bilbo’s face. Bilbo found he couldn’t look away ether.

“You need to sleep, Bilbo,” Thorin urged softly. “Rest now, and I’ll be here when you wake.”

Bilbo’s eyes fluttered, his body fighting against the pull of exhaustion. “Promise… you’ll stay?” he whispered, his grip tightening slightly on Thorin’s hand.

“I promise,” Thorin replied, his voice a low, comforting rumble. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With those words, a calm settled over Bilbo, and he allowed himself to relax, slipping into a dreamless sleep, comforted by the knowledge that Thorin would be there when he woke.

The next time he woke up, it was to the soft light of dawn as it filtered through his room. His eyelids fluttered open, still heavy from sleep, and he blinked a few times before his eyes settled on a figure sitting on the floor beside his bed.

Thorin was there in the room, an elbow resting on the bed, his face softly framed by the golden morning light. Thorin looked out of the window. Bilbo shifted a bit to get a better look at the dwarf.

Thorn turned to him and smiled, Bilbo stayed quiet as he looked over Thorin's face. Despite the darkish bags under the kings eyes the gold of the rising sun made his eyes gleam ‘He looks handsome like that’ his mind supplied to him and he couldn’t help but agree

“How do you feel…?” Thorin eventually asked, breaking the silence.

And Bilbo’s heart thudded a little harder in his chest at the dwarfs' voice, his face suddenly felt very warm. ‘Answer! Answer him you fool of a Took’ Bilbo blinked blearily.

Thorin kept waiting patiently for an answer, he had turned to face him now, Thorin’s rough hand took Bilbo’s gently. Thorin let his thumb trace over Bilbo’s knuckles.

He watched Throin’s hand for a moment before turning back to looking at him, “…alright… I-…you’re pretty…” Bilbo felt himself say. ‘No! Don’t say that! Stupid’ his mind yelled at him

Thorin looked up at him then chuckled, the sound low and genuine as a smile broke across his features. Bilbo felt his face get even hotter.

Thorin had to take a few moments before he was calm enough to answer. “Oh, thank you Bilbo, why don’t you go back to sleep?

Bilbo blinked and whined, “no, I wanna be with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I promised I’d stay. Okay?” And when Thorin smiled a little more Bilbo felt himself try to melt.

Bilbo couldn’t help but nod, his gaze remained fixed on Thorin even when Óin entered the room. Thorin turned to quietly talk to him. Bilbo turned to watch the healer for a moment as he moved around the room, and busied himself with preparing herbs.

Bilbo decided that he was boring so his gaze drifted to Thorin again, watching the dwarf as if afraid he might vanish the moment he looked away.

The days started to pass, as slowly as Bilbo had expected them to. At first it was a hazy mess of thoughts and watching his dwarf. Thorin stayed true, he never strayed far from Bilbo’s side.

It had been a few days by the time Bilbo found himself lying in bed, watching Thorin, it was strange, almost like waking up but never sleeping. He wasn’t sure how long it had been.

He watched as Thorin sat near him, his mind wondered after a moment, drifting and settling somewhere he couldn’t quite name. He couldn’t place it; he was sure it had one.

It was something that Bilbo hadn’t always felt, but he had come to know it after he met Thorin. something that made Bilbo’s heart feel lighter even on the most difficult of days.

He didn’t understand it, he couldn’t. But it was always there when Thorin was nearby, and as he got to know the dwarf the loneliness he had once wished for seemed less appealing.

There was something about Thorin that calmed the constant buzzing. Bilbo hesitantly extended his hand. Thorin didn’t hesitate, when he noticed, his hand reached out immediately and took Bilbo’s.

Soon Bilbo found himself looking forward to every opportunity he had to see Thorin. The dwarf would bring him tea and sit with him for hours. Or on the rare occasion they would talk and on the less rare occasion he’d just sit quietly and hold Bilbo’s hand.

Bilbo also found himself huffing in annoyance when Óin eventually had to shoo Thorin away and make Bilbo rest. Thorin’s presence became as vital as the sunlight filtering into the room.

And as Bilbo got better, Thorin’s visits grew longer, the dwarf staying until the stars curiously peaked through the trees. Bilbo often found himself smiling more easily, his heart feeling lighter each day.

Óin would, each and every morning, check Bilbo’s wounds. He would often shake his head with a frown that almost bordered on disbelief.

Óin shook his head and sighed again. “By all accounts this doesn't make sense. A recovery this quick… by rights, it should’ve taken months, not weeks.”

Gandalf, who had been watching from the doorway, spoke. “Indeed you are right my dear Óin. It’s been many years since I’ve witnessed such a thing.” Gandalf stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes twinkling with a familiar knowing gleam.

“Is your magic doing this then?” Óin asked, “honestly Gandalf I would like to know when you-”

“No no, nothing like that Óin, I could not help with these injuries more than I have. There are few forces in this world stronger than myself, except, maybe, perhaps,” But Gandalf didn’t finish; he mumbled to himself, nodded and walked away. ÓIn sighed and began changing Bilbo’s bandages.

“Wizard’s” the healer said and Bilbo nodded.

One afternoon, as the sun dipped behind the trees, casting a soft golden light into the room, Bilbo glanced over at Thorin. The dwarf sat comfortably in a chair, pipe smoke curling lazily around him.

Bilbo watched as Thorin absentmindedly fidgeted with the silver ring on his finger, his brow furrowed in thought. The sight of him, calm, steady, it made Bilbo feel something strange, something warm. It made him feel safe.

Bilbo had been told that he should stay in bed. Óin had been quite stern about it. To the point where the dwarf had rules, No sitting up too long, no wandering, and absolutely no trips outside or anywhere, not even to the balcony. It was maddening.

Bilbo could feel his restless energy building up inside him like a storm. He longed for the open air, to feel the breeze on his face, to see Rivendell’s beauty firsthand. But most of all, he just wanted to do something. Anything.

Then, an idea struck him.

“Thorin…?” Bilbo asked, turning his gaze to the dwarf. He hadn’t meant to speak so suddenly, and he was surprised to find Thorin’s eyes already on him.

Thorin hummed in response, his deep blue eyes caught Bilbo’s and for a moment he couldn’t help but stare, Thorin’s eyes were deep and blue, but Bilbo felt that comparing them to water or the sky would cheat them of how beautiful they really were.

Bilbo was suddenly sure he was silent for too long as Thorin’s expression shifted to concern. “Bilbo? Are you alright…?”

“YES! Of course, yes!” Bilbo said, perhaps a bit too quickly. He cleared his throat and smiled. “I mean, yes, I’m fine. I just… Well, will you do something for me?”

Bilbo felt his breath leave him as Thorin’s expression softened, and for a moment Bilbo felt his question disappear from him.

“Always.” Thorin said, smiling. Bilbo had to look away for a moment. His face heated up as his mind began racing. ‘What in vala’s name is wrong with you’ Bilbo looked back at Thorin as he kept talking. “What do you need? Are you hungry, or-“

“No, no, I’m alright for now,” Bilbo quickly interrupted. He offered a smile to Thorin. Bilbo could still feel his heart thumping wildly in his rib cage.

Thorin tilted his head a bit and put his pipe away quickly. “Then what is it? What’s wrong?” Concerned began to take Thorin’s face.

“Nothing! I’m okay! Just… Could you read to me?” Bilbo asked quietly.

Thorin blinked once, the again. Bilbo could tell he was clearly taken aback. “Read… to you? You want me to read to you?”

“Yes! If, if it is not too much trouble,” Bilbo replied, hoping he didn’t sound foolish. He surely felt a bit foolish asking, he felt a bit childish too. But the need for some form of distraction soon waved that feeling away.

Thorin furrowed his brow, a flicker of doubt passing through his eyes. “Bilbo, I haven't read-I don’t think I’ll be very good at it.”

And Bilbo felt himself deflate a bit at that, but he wasn’t going to give up here. “Oh, come now Thorin! I’m sure you’re a wonderful storyteller.”

Throin took a deep breath and looked outside to the balcony of Bilbo’s room. “I don’t know, Bilbo-“

“Please?” Bilbo pushed himself up some and flinched a little, Bilbo fought a grin as his plan worked, Thorin immediately got up and pushed him back down gently. Bilbo grabbed his hand and kept it on his chest.

“…I’m terribly bored Thorin, as much as I love youuu-‘re company, if I don’t do something soon, I’m going to go mad!” Blibo looked up with as pleading a look as he could manage, he hoped it looked pitiful enough to work. “I would read them myself but Óin nearly had a fit the last time I tried.”

Thorin gave a long-suffering sigh, and Bilbo grinned at him as he walked over to the small pile. “Alright, alright. Just one chapter.”

Thorin reached for one of the books that had been left on the bedside table, flipping it open, he flipped a few pages and scanned the words for a moment before he began to read for Bilbo.

Thorin’s voice was deep and steady, it was clear and strong yet soothing, Bilbo struggled to pay attention to the words that Thorin was saying.

Bilbo’s eyelids began to grow heavy. The warmth of Thorin’s presence, the sound of his voice, was almost too much. It wrapped around Bilbo like a blanket, soft and reassuring.

Before long, Bilbo’s eyes fluttered shut, and he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Bilbo could feel something simmering between him and Thorin as the days went, something that had been there for some time. He hadn’t been sure if the name he wanted to call it was true

But now Bilbo was sure, It was love. Simple, undeniable love.

He felt it whenever Thorin looked at him. He was sure of how his heart would flutter and speed up. The way his breath caught in his throat, the way he had to fight the blush that crept up his neck.

Then, Bilbo wasn’t so sure anymore.

Thorin’s visits became less frequent and at first it was small things; Thorin sitting farther away, the conversations growing shorter or stopping abruptly.

Bilbo really did try not to dwell on it. Thorin was, after all, a king. And being so far from his kingdom was sure to make him busy.

The days began to drag on again, Bilbo couldn’t help but notice the distance anymore. And when Bilbo had to remind himself of this over and over, to try and convince himself that it wasn’t anything personal. Thorin was simply busy.

It began to feel like a lie, Thorin was in Rivendell, halfway across the map and a storm had apparently taken to settling over the Misty’s, that no raven would want to fly through.

So what could he possibly be doing? And why was it taking so long? Why did it feel as though Thorin was slipping through his fingers? Then there was the avoidance!

If Bilbo could manage to slip away from Óin long enough to find Thorin the dwarf would basically run away from him, disappearing in some cases.

So Bilbo decided to try to distract himself, focusing on anything else. Bilbo had begun to spend more time with Dwalin, Fíli, Kíli, and Nori. But it felt like people were hiding things from him again. Keeping secrets. He decided to test his theory.

“Where’s Thorin today?” Bilbo asked one afternoon, trying to sound casual as Fíli, Kíli and himself were playing a game of cards.

Fíli glanced at his brother before shrugging. “Busy with… things, I imagine.”

“What kind of things?” Bilbo muttered, frowning as he looked up from his cards. That was the same answer Dwalin and Nori had given him the day before.

Kíli looked to his brother and they both looked a little uncomfortable as Bilbo watched them. “Uh…wouldn’t know. I believe it’s your turn Bilbo.” Kíli said and offered a fake smile.

It most certainly was not. Bilbo tisked and nodded.

Another time, Óin had come to check on him, the healer was still prodding Bilbo’s bandages, “You’re healing fine, lad. I’d say you can take all the stitches out soon.”

Bilbo nodded, he tried to be subtle as he asked. “Do you know what Thorin is up to, have you seen him?”

Óin didn’t look up from his work. “Oh, …I’m sure he’s around lad.” was all he said.

Frustration began to claw at Bilbo’s insides. Later that day Bilbo caught Gandalf. He wasn’t meant to be up but his patience was nonexistent at this point. “Gandalf, do you know what Thorin is doing?.”

Gandalf looked at him, his face frustratingly neutral. “I’m sure Thorin is occupied with important matters, Bilbo.”

“Important my left foot! What is so important for him to ignore me,” Bilbo pressed, he threw his hands up in frustration. “He hasn’t visited at all! Runs away at any attempt I make to talk to him!”

Gandalf’s gaze softened. “Give him time, my dear boy. Thorin will come around and tell you in his own time.” With that, the wizard walked away, leaving Bilbo feeling more frustrated than ever.

Days turned into weeks, and Bilbo’s frustration simmered, his thoughts circling endlessly around one question: Why? Why was Thorin avoiding him? What had he done wrong?

He replayed their conversations over and over in his head, searching for some clue, some indication of what had gone wrong, but found nothing.

That’s when he felt something snap, weeks of worn patience. The excuses about “kingly duties” didn’t add up, ‘we are in Rivendell. What kind of kingly tasks could Thorin possibly be doing’

He had had enough.

Ignoring Óin’s warnings to take it easy once again, Bilbo threw off his blanket and on his cloak then marched out of his room, a determined fire lit inside his stomach. His injuries be damned, he needed answers.

The sunlight was filtering through the trees of Rivendell, casting soft patterns of gold across the path, but Bilbo did not pay it mind. His attention was fixed solely on the figure he spotted in the distance.

Thorin was there, standing in the gardens, he seemed to be speaking with a raven, one Bilbo hadn’t seen before. It was much bigger than Hugin was, Bilbo vaguely wondered if Raven‘s really could get through the storm that settled over the mountains.

That thought was swiftly pushed away. As if sensing Bilbo, Thorin’s head jerked up, and for a split second, panic flickered in the king’s eyes. He turned to leave but Bilbo would not let him.

“Thorin—THORIN OAKENSHIELD, DON'T YOU DARE RUN AWAY FROM ME!” Bilbo’s voice rang out, clear and sharp, startling the birds from the trees and causing a few passing Elves to pause before quickly averting their eyes.

Thorin froze mid-step, his broad shoulders tensing. Slowly, he turned back to face Bilbo. The raven on his arm tilted its head side to side as Bilbo came closer.

“Bilbo,” Thorin began, his voice low, almost apologetic.

But Bilbo wasn’t in the mood, and he really couldn’t stop himself from snapping at the dwarf. “No,” Bilbo said as he stopped not too far away. “Don’t you ‘Bilbo’ me. You’ve been avoiding me for days, Thorin! And no one will tell me why, at least not the truth! I’ve done nothing wrong- at least, I don’t think I have!” His voice wavered, the frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface.

Thorin opened his mouth as if to respond, but Bilbo wasn’t finished.

“I don’t understand!” Bilbo’s fists clenched at his sides. He threw his hands up and began pacing back and forth. “You came all the way here, risked everything to make sure I was alright. And then what? You disappear? Is that it? Was it just some sort of duty to you, Thorin? A box to tick before you move on to whatever ‘kingly duties’ you’ve been so conveniently busy with?” He scoffed, he turned to face Thorin. He pointed to him aggressively. “We’re in Rivendell! There’s no kingdom here for you to rule!”

The accusation hung in the air like a blade between them. Thorin’s face, for a moment, stirred with a thousand different emotions, but it landed on anger.

Thorin’s brow furrowed and he lifted his arm up dismissing the raven. “Bilbo, it’s not—”

“Then why are you ignoring me?” Bilbo pressed, he couldn’t feel his frustration boiling over inside him. “What have I done? I don’t understand! I’m sorry if I’ve upset you!”

Thorin raised a hand as if to placate him or tell him to stop talking. “You have not-I’m not upset, Bilbo-”

“THEN WHAT?” Bilbo shouted, his voice cracking. “Tell me!”

“If you would let me-!” Thorin growled out angrily.

“NO! No! No more excuses, no more lies!” He had reached Thorin now, standing right in front of him, he stood on his tippy toes to glare up at him.

Tears begin welling in his eyes as his dam of emotion he’d had been trying to keep in all these weeks burst, and he fought to keep them from spilling over.

Thorin’s expression was torn between anger and something softer, his hands hovering in the air as if he didn’t know whether to reach out or keep his distance.

“What is it?” Bilbo choked out, his voice barely a whisper. “TELL ME! What is so horribly wrong with me that you will not visit me? You came all this way, Thorin, you braved a raging storm to find me, and now you cannot- no, you will not, be in the same room as me for even a moment! Tell me! You insufferable Dwarf!”

Bilbo’s voice broke, dissolving into a sob as angry tears streamed down his cheeks. His whole body shook with anger and sadness and- he didn’t know what and he didn’t care what!

Thorin’s eyes softened as he watched Bilbo crumble, his anger seemingly melting away. “Well?!” Bilbo demanded again, his voice had begun to go hoarse. “SPEAK, DAMN IT! TELL ME!”

Thorin’s face contorted with emotion, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

Bilbo froze, the words ringing in the air between them like a thunderclap. He reeled back, shock rooting him to the spot. Bilbo felt a little numb as he stared at Thorin.

Thorin let out a shaky breath and stepped closer, his hands moving to grip Bilbo’s forearms, steadying him-or perhaps anchoring himself.

“I-I am in love with you,” Thorin repeated. “I do not know when it happened, but it did. It was so subtle, I didn’t even realize it until it was too late. When we’re together, I… I forget everything else. For a while, I am not King under the Mountain, not Thorin Oakenshield. I’m just… Thorin. And when I realized what that meant. I felt that, I thought, if I stayed away, it would go away. But it hasn’t. I am in love with you, Bilbo, and I’m sorry. I understand if-”

Thorin’s confession was cut short as Bilbo, driven by he didn’t know, but he couldn’t stop it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Bilbo reached up and pulled Thorin into a rough kiss.

Thorin stiffened in surprise, but then melted into the kiss, his arms quickly wrapped around Bilbo. One hand found perches at the back of Bilbo’s head.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together. Bilbo’s cheeks and neck felt incredibly hot “Oh, you insufferable Dwarf,” Bilbo huffed, “You horrible fool. I wish I could hate you.”

Thorin’s lips curved into a small smile, he held Bilbo’s face gently. “But you don’t,” he whispered, his voice rough.

Bilbo shook his head, he couldn’t help as a wet chuckle tumbled out of him. He had to fight tears again, but a different kind. “No,” he whispered back. “No, I don’t.”

For the first time in weeks, the weight between them lifted, and they stood there, Thorin's hands still holding Bilbo's face. Neither spoke, but in that quiet moment, neither needed to.

They had both found exactly where they were meant to be.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

farewell for now

@m4yh4ps @bllbabaggins

but just real quick:

Bilbo: Thorin? Thorin: yes Amrâl? Bilbo: Who was that other raven I saw? Thorin: ah, that is my raven Valka. I have raised her, and her family for many years now. Bilbo: oh! Does she know Hugin? Thorin: I would hope so Kurdel, she is his mother Bilbo: oh! …tell her I think she looks very pretty. [Thorin laughs and nods to Bilbo]

#the hobbit #bilbo baggins #fanfic #bagginshield #the hobbit thorin #the hobbit bilbo #thorin company #thorin x bilbo #thorin oakenshield #gandalf #dwalin #nori the dwarf #fili durin #fili and kili #kili durin #lord of the rings #angst #im bad at tags

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underratedmurder · 1 year

Text

Richie Jerimovich x Reader ~ Tastes Like Stew

__________________

Reader burns their hands and Richie offers to help :)

Stuff in this: Soft Richie, reader and Richie argue… a lot, reader is a little bit rude, Richie has a soft spot for reader but hasn’t come to terms with it yet, his love language is caring for others, he’s mean when he cares

Richie is my favorite character on The Bear rn, and I couldn't resist writing a short little something about him.

Just read this in his voice and it's great trust !!!

cw: mentions of death, getting first degree burns (ouch), very subtle sexual themes, that's it

And if anyone is interested in reading more about this dynamic or has a request I am totally open to that!

Note: yeah I know the title is so creative and beautiful and romantic thank you for noticing

Also sorry I called your eyes ‘freakishly blue’ Carmen, it’s just how I honestly feel

Okay just imagine the washcloth is tucked into his apron

__________________

Hot steam coated your forehead, as droplets of sweat dribbled down your nose. The heat and moisture from the giant pot of stew below you was starting to cook you more than the fire, and rolling up your sleeves didn’t seem to be enough to alleviate the sweltering conditions.

The Beef was bustling, more than it had been in weeks since Carmy took over. Customers filed in like sardines in a can, and the kitchen could hardly pump out sandwiches and fries fast enough.

You had been spending overtime at the restaurant since Mikey’s passing, and for Christ's sake, even your analogies were becoming food related.

The stained walls of that sweat box called a kitchen were starting to seep into your dreams. All you could see was the steam and the heat of the stove top, and the unforgettably annoying image of Richie's face. The bustle of the kitchen during lunch rocked your body like an earthquake, and yet you remained standing, somehow accustomed to the unsteadiness of it all.

Carmy seemed to have plans to fix the place up, though you weren’t exactly sure things would workout. But you hoped, you really, really hoped.

You at least wanted a proper AC. A thick stream of sweat nearly rolled off your nose and into the stew, before you caught it with your sleeve.

Alright, that’s it.

You sighed and snatched the nearest washcloth you could find, which happened to be the one attached to Richie’s hip.

You almost didn’t care to mind what you were doing, until you saw him whip around in shock.

You quickly wiped the sweat from your face and on your neck, then threw the cloth over your shoulder.

Richie, still exasperated, stared you down like you were crazy.

“Alright, give it back,” he stood there, hands on his hips as his eyes widened, like they did right before he was gonna start an argument.

“It’s literally hot as balls in here and I’m sweating my ass off, let me use the damn thing,” you turned away, not wanting to prolong the encounter, for you had a stew that needed attending to.

“Get your own damn washcloth okay, you sweaty freak, huh? You ever heard of deodorant?” He said it like he was a genius, carefully annunciating the “t”. What a dick.

“Uh yeah, I have Richie. It’s just that the sweat is pooling on my face and about to fall directly into the food. So, if you please, let me borrow the fucking washcloth, and just get another one” You clenched your fists by the sides of your face, pulling them down to exemplify not only the sweat, but also your growing anger.

“That’s my favorite one,” he said. You knew it was a petty lie.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s my favorite one, you can't just-,”

“Oh for fucks sake-

“It’s softer! And more durab-""Just get another washcloth Richie!”

Your voices were overlapping now, his neverending excuses piling on top of your unheard reasoning. His arms were waving all around like the fins of a windmill, almost hitting Tina twice. You swore the man didn’t know his own size. Standing above you, you tilted your head up to scowl at his face, washcloth still over your shoulder and unintelligible yelling spewing out of both of your mouths. It was chaos, verbal chaos that matched the actions around you, the scrambled nature of your mind. In the midst of all that chaos, you forgot all about the stew.

It was boiling over, hot and molten like lava it oozed onto the stove, getting everywhere.

“Shit shit shit. Fuck!” You scrambled over, and reached to move the giant pot from the heat.

“Here, let me help with that,” Richie offered loudly.

“No! I got it-” your hands touched the handles, and boom. Instant regret.

The pot was so hot you were burned instantly.

“Fuck!” You quivered and shook your hands outwards as fast as you could, before cradling them by your chest.

“Shit, are you okay? Let me see, let me see-” Richie quickly grabbed an oven mitt and moved the pot himself before reaching to grab your hands.

You shot back, “No Richie! I fucking got it, just fucking, back off!” The searing pain of the burns had relinquished any kind of filter you had, all your words were pure anguish.

“Come on, just let me see-” he took a step closer.

“No!”

“Whoa guys, what’s goin on?” Carmy was there in a second, hands on his hips and an equally chaotic look in his eyes that you could feel in your soul.

“Nothing, chef, I’m fine,”

“Uh, no, they are not fine. They just burned their hands on a hundred degree pot!” Richie stuck his bottom lip in his mouth, face contorted like a hysterical bird.

“And I have it handled, Richie!” You scowled at him again, part of you didn’t want to be helped, but really, you just didn’t want to place any extra stress on Carm. The guy looked like he was falling apart as is.

“I severely fuckin’ doubt that!” he inched closer, waving his arms again.

“Oh you severely fucking doubt it? Richie?” you met him just inches away, chest facing his with your hands still cradled close.

You started yelling over each other again, this time stew wasn’t the only thing that was breaking it up.

“Alright! Alright! Guys, please! Chef,” He looked at you,

“Go clean yourself up, there's a first aid kit in my office,” You nodded and headed out of the kitchen immediately, without seeing Richie actually reach out for you before you were gone.

“Cousin,” Carmy announced loudly. Even a foot in front of him, Richie couldn’t seem to listen.

His face was twisted with frustration.

“Go clean up that stew, and get another fucking washcloth, alright?”

Richie opened his mouth to speak, his head rolling back in that way it did when he was about to completely disagree with someone.

“Alright?” Carmy’s freakishly blue eyes were as wide and as commanding as ever.

Richie glanced over again at the door to Carmy’s office, you were out of sight. He sighed, and nodded.

“Yes, chef,”

Hunched over on Carmy’s swivel chair, you tended to your wounds. Or at least, you tried. Rubbing neosporin all over the swollen flaming mess on your hands didn’t seem to do anything to ease the pain. Looking at all the tools in the first aid kit, you couldn’t help but notice you had no clue what you were doing.

Your fingers twitched when you tried to soothe them, bandages stuck to your palms like tape, and worst of all, you hadn’t even stopped sweating.

You winced and quietly cursed yourself after accidentally pinching a sensitive spot, unrolling the bandage from your palm swiftly and without much care.

Your leg began to bounce up and down with anxiety and pain, gritting your teeth, all you could do was scold yourself.

Idiot, idiot, you fucking idiot. How the fuck could you let this happen, you’re such a fucking id-

Before you could finish the provocative thought, Richie was strolling his way through the door, a large bowl and water bottle at hand.

You looked up, a redness in your eyes that hinted at tears but would never dare to actually let anything out, the salt would sting like a bitch on the burnt skin.

Your expression quickly twisted into anger and annoyment.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m here to help,” he announced and walked closer.

“I don’t remember asking,” you mumbled, watching as he grabbed a stool from the corner.

“Yeah, cause you never fuckin’ ask me for anything. Could’ve asked for my washcloth, maybe then you would’ve gotten it,” He placed the stool down by your knees, then looked down at you.

“I did get it. And fuck you, I could name a million things that you haven’t asked for but should have,” there was a spiteful but honest gleam in your eyes.

“Yeah like what? A diploma in this cooking shit? A valid liquor license? Or- or- or what? An extra fuckin set of fancy kitchen knives?” He placed the bowel on the stool.

“Yes…?”

“Nah, fuck that fuckin bullshit, I have this place handled. And yeah, you did get it, but maybe you wouldn’t have burnt your hands if you simply said please and thank you,” he sounded so righteous, but also so full of it. He looked too serious to actually mean it.

“Oh do not fucking lecture me on manners, Richie,” you rolled your eyes, he could’nt be talking.

“Oh I think I fucking will, you got a lot a’ nerve just snatching shit from me. I’m not cool with that,” He seemed genuine, you paused.

“What’s the bowel for, anyway?” you shifted forward, and suddenly the view of his waist felt a lot closer.

“I noticed you didn’t wash your hands, that’s like the first fuckin step in treating a first degree burn,” his arms were crossed, and he actually looked disappointed in you, but more so, just worried.

“Ah… I see,”

Idiot.

“Yeah you fuckin see, whats the point of this neosporin bullshit if your hands aren’t even fuckin clean,” he guestured at the first aid kit.

“Alright, lets see those hands,” he held his own out in front of him.

“Just let me do this myself Richie-”

“No,” he commanded, hand still held out in front of him.

“Don’t you have a boiled over stew to clean up? You already told me what to do so just let me do it-”

“No,” he emphasized.

“The stew is fine where it is. Let me do this, I know what I’m doing,”

He made direct eye contact with you, his gaze honest and almost pleading. He wasn’t being annoying this time, just earnest. He wanted to do this.

You very slowly, very sheepishly held out your hands to his own.

His fingers were warm on your knuckles, but light, and more gentle than you had ever seen him care to be, at least towards you.

The last time he was decently nice to you was when you first met. When he reached to shake your hand and smiled, his cheeks were somewhat red. From the heat of the kitchen… obviously.

“Let's get this mess off,”

“Hey, I… tried,” you stammered, angry but also a bit embarrassed.

“You did a piss poor fuckin job is what you did,” he spat, fingers still entirely tender despite his tone.

“Watch it,”

“Just sayin’,” he tilted his head to the side and flattened his mouth.

He carefully unwound the gauze from its loose hold around your palms, slowly revealing the sticky, red, inflamed mess at his fingertips.

You winced when the final bandage was torn away, and he frowned.

“Look what you’ve done,” he sounded like he was just about to tisk at you, how dare he.

“Me? Look what you’ve done. This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t scream in my face. I wouldn’t have forgotten about the damn pot,”

“Yeah but, you grabbed it,” he watched your hands as he grazed his thumb over yours, there was a slight tickle.

“No fucking shit, I grabbed it Richie,” you were just about to pull away at this point.

“Just shut up okay,” he muttered.

“Excuse me-” you exclaimed

“Shush,” he remarked even softer.

Suddenly his grip was around your wrists, and you had little room to protest.

He reached for the water bottle, and simultaneously guided your hands over the bowel.

With haste, he untwisted the bottle cap with his teeth and spat it to the floor.

“This might sting a little,” he said softly, all of you wanted to recoil, and push him away.

Your eyes widened with fear, “Let’s just do this at the sink-”

“Relax, I’m just gonna rinse them for now, Jesus. Plus, you really want Carmy’s voice ringing in your fuckin ear? He’s freakin’ out about that stew you know?” He grinned, you were less unnerved.

“Of course he is,” you smiled.

He poured the water over your palms, cool liquid buzzing on the heat of the burns, at first unpleasant, but then relieving.

You breathed in through your nose, mouth twitching into a frown.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his thumb rubbing your wrist lightly to calm you.

You simply shook your head to reassure him.

It was so strange hearing his voice in this way, low and quiet, but still just as gritty as usual. It was strangely soothing. Way more pleasant than his loud nagging.

He set the bottle down and dug his fingers through the first aid kit, retrieving a small sachet. He fiddled with the package, clearly very focussed on opening it.

“Is that-,”

“Petroleum jelly. It’s like the ultimate neosporin,” he noted, eyes still trained on the square plastic.

Peeling the package open, he knelt down and reached to hold your right hand, and began to squeeze some of the cool jelly onto your palm.

“How come you know so much about treating first degree burns?”

“I know how to do things, you know? I’m not useless like you love to assume,” he uttered, and it hurt to hear him say it.

The jelly was like instant gratification to the highest degree, you wondered why people used neosporin at all.

“I don’t think you’re useless,” you paused, “I think you don’t know what the fuck your doing a lot of the time,”

“Well, some of us have a lot more on our hands than just working at a restaurant,”

You knew it was true. You worked at The Beef full time, and didn’t exactly have much going on at home. Your life was relatively quiet, no roommate, no partner, no pets, just a job and a few hobbies. Your life wasn’t boring per say, no not boring at all. Richie made sure of that.

Compared to Richie though, you had it undoubtedly easy. Between Mikey’s passing, his divorce with Tiffany, and working to keep The Beef afloat, he was being stretched thin, with seemingly no clear direction to head in. You wished you could help.

All you could do in that moment though, was sit there and listen, and just be there. Granted, you didn’t have much of a choice of leaving right then, but you could still just stay. You weren’t sure if anyone else had.

“I uh, used to treat Carmy’s burns when he was a kid, he was a fuck up in the kitchen before he got any good,” he smiled while smoothing the petroleum over your other hand.

“Oh really?” you snickered, that was fun to imagine.

“Oh yeah, he'd spill shit everywhere, and touch the stove when he forgot he even put it on. Mikey was pretty ruthless about it,” his smile slowly faded, his fingers tracing yours slower and slower, until they stopped.

You were both still, air quiet but not empty. It was filled with your heart, the rapid beating ringing in your ears. When Richie's eyes met yours, you were sure there was no other sound on earth. Just your heart and the pulse that you swore was his. His eyes were sunken and sad, but as you held his stare, they morphed into something like an aching hunger.

“What are you freaks doing in there?” Carmy’s voice rang from the other side of the door,

Your head snapped in its direction, loud ringing eliminated, but the breathless feeling still lingered.

“Fucking on your desk shit face!” Richie joked, a comment so out of left field you were about to become deaf from just how quickly the ringing returned. Suddenly your face was filled with heat, and it wasn’t from the kitchen anymore.

Asshole.

“Come on, you should be good now,”

“Mhm,” you nodded, face blank but barely stunned.

He quickly wrapped new gauze around your sensitive palms, his thumb lingering on your wrist longer than it probably should have.

Richie smiled at you, and suddenly placed his hand where your neck met your shoulder.

“No more touchin boiling hot pots, okay?,” he winked and lightly squeezed at the sensitive area. The touch caught you so off guard, you swore you were about to melt.

He quickly stood up, swung the office door open, and angrily announced, “And don't steal my god damn washcloth,”

He’s very concentrated and it’s very endearing

#thisismyrichiejerimovich #giverichiehairinseasonthree #richie jerimovich #the bear #ebon moss bachrach #the bear fanfiction #richie jerimovich x reader

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gunnrblze · 2 months

Text

Till Death, pt 1

Keegan x Ajax series! This was supposed to be lighthearted and funny tbh but as always, I had to insert decades long yearning and desire and longing, silly me smh. I apologize if any of it’s confusing, I’m not very good with writing scenes of only two people with the same pronouns, so the use of he/him may get a little mistakable with who exactly I’m referring to. Also the writing is just kinda all over the place lol enjoy that.

༄ 1500k+ words, mild mention of dick and ass but no smut (yet?), so mdni idc, yearning in the full definition of the word, sap fest fr

Mornings always came a little dreadfully at first on base. Pushing through the initial exhaustion from the day before was never easy. Especially knowing you’d be doing the same menial tasks all over again.

Something made it a little easier whenever Keegan caught wind of Alex, though.

Alex moved like a body of water, somehow smoother and more fluid than the rest of the clunking boots around them. Keegan knew it was a slippery slope whenever he admired his smile for a bit too long, or the way he felt his heart catch whenever Alex slung his arm around his shoulders.

He knew their erotic jokes didn’t mean much. It was all in good fun, anyway. Hell, all the guys made jokes like that with one another. It didn’t mean anything, unless it did. But Keegan knew it didn’t.

Didn’t. Unless maybe Alex felt it too. Felt his pulse quicken or his pants get tighter around his crotch whenever he saw Keegan crack a rare little grin, or catch him shirtless in the showers after training.

Maybe that was just the thing about the military. You could joke here and slap an ass there with your fellow men, but the second you started dreaming about your lips against his or your cock anywhere but your own pants or fist, it was different.

Keegan didn’t mind too much, though. He didn’t have time to mind. From the moment he woke up above Alex in the barracks every morning, to the moment he fell asleep in the same spot every night, he was busy with everything else that went on.

So if he had to pretend the sound of Alex snoring wasn’t imprinted into his mind already, then so be it. He could push past the fact that Alex was near him practically all day. Slept below him and trained with him, ate with him, worked with him, goofed off with him like idiots. He’d ignore that he could identify the broad man by his scent alone.

And Alex would simply do the same. He would allow himself only a few minutes a day to really think about those deep blue eyes that followed him. To really think about how his own eyes would trace over the bottom of the bunk above him at night, trying to map out the lines of where he imagined Keegan’s body rested on top.

The setup was okay. They were both avoidant enough to ignore the lingering glances and touches. Morning trainings came and went, mealtimes and meetings and daily work flashed by like the hands on a clock.

And they pretended. Pretended that seeing the other hurt in the field or taking on enemies too great a size didn’t tear at their heartstrings when it was all said and done.

This wasn’t a job that allowed attachment. It was too fast moving. Everyday was the same on base, but things moved too quickly to really claim a stake anywhere.

Except Keegan and Alex seemed to follow one another, whether intentionally or not. From basic recruit training to joining Task Force Stalker and becoming Ghosts together, where one man went the other followed.

Just how they liked it.

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“Ajax, rise and shine, pretty boy” Keegan’s grumbly voice would stir the large man in his bunk, tossing over and rubbing the few hours of sleep from his eyes.

“Again with the nickname?” Ajax’s tone was too riddled with exhaustion for Keegan to decipher his true level of annoyance, but he knew the man too well.

“You seemed to dislike ‘AJ’ so we’re just trying to freshen it up, sue me” he answered, giving the man a pat to the cheek and not even trying to hide his smirk before walking toward the door.

“Right, get outta here and make yourself useful, Russ” Ajax retorted with a gruff chuckle as he rose from his bed, stiff muscles and joints already aching. He’d been a marine so long he wasn’t sure if his body was cracking from the exertion, or if every guy in their mid 20s had the lower back pain comparable to an elderly mans.

A smirk adorned his face too though, despite himself. Keegan’s short huff of laughter wasn’t nearly as melodic as it always sounded to him, but it bounced off the hallway of the barracks and right into his eardrums nonetheless, worming its way into that warm, gooey part of his heart that he chose to keep shut up. For the greater good, of course.

Ajax didn’t ever seem to be too deterred by early mornings, despite his initial disdain upon opening his eyes and seeing even the slightest sliver of light. He could make the best out of what felt like the worst. Even PT at 0500 hours, wide smile lighting up the room in a way that had every other soldier wanting to slap it right off his pretty face. His charm felt like a hand around Keegan’s throat, squeezing and squeezing and threatening to cut off his air supply, lest he shut it down before he gets comfortable with the idea of not breathing.

It was like that everyday. Keegan would watch him both up close and from afar, opting to observe everything instead of speak like the other man tended to, apparently. He wouldn’t typically favor being surrounded by a guy who couldn’t seem to shut up, but when it was Ajax’s deep voice that bass lined the walls of the armory while he was cleaning his M40, well, how could one dare complain?

Ajax was too tactful not to notice Keegan’s staring, of course. He wasn’t stupid, too perceptive not to see the way the man’s eyes raked over him, all of him. Deep blues combing over every inch of his being as if he were noticing the man for the first time. It was something he’d done from the days they’d met in basic training.

Keegan’s silent once overs used to deter Ajax from wanting to get to know the man better, assuming he had to have some kind of unspoken issue with him. But Ajax quickly found that Keegan’s voice just didn’t seem to come naturally to the man, maybe it was better for him to look than speak? It didn’t quite explain why he had to look at him like that, he was just thankful that the hot blush was masked on his dark cheeks whenever Keegan’s eyes not so inconspicuously studied the way his uniform stretched around his biceps, or the way the water rolled off his ass in the shower.

It was almost so blatant at times that Ajax felt as if he knew the man had something more going on in his mind. But he didn’t indulge himself in the idea. The idea that these lingering glances meant anything other than Keegan’s keen perception subtly making itself known. The near brooding man looked that same way at everything. From his rifle to his superiors teachings to the landscapes during recon missions, Keegan took in all the details that he could.

But it didn’t stop Ajax from feeling like it was something special. Something that made his heart clench and mind go fuzzy for half a second because Keegan was watching him. He could look at the other privates, watch his back wherever he went as if some pre-installed hyper vigilance riddled his system, but he was observing Ajax.

Keegan’s approach of looking but not speaking seemed to mirror that of Ajax’s. He could talk to Keegan all he wanted, but if he really found himself staring the way his eyes begged for permission to, he’d get lost in the man. His eyes so deep and blue that Ajax didn’t even care how cheesy it felt to compare them to the Pacific.

Mealtimes felt like a reprieve from the rough routine they endured everyday, and Keegan found himself relishing even in the manner Ajax ate in. It wasn’t ever too long before his eyes found their way back to the dark brown ones that would sit across from him. Was he jealous when Ajax would wrap an arm around the waist of the soldier next to them? Joking and laughing in a way that he only wished he could reciprocate? No, he wagered. He just didn’t like Private Brooks and that stupid horse laugh of his, that’s all.

“Gonna eat that, Keeg? You know I’ll take it” Ajax would toss a joking wink to Keegan when his fork shuffled around the mush of peas on his tray. He felt like a damned schoolboy again, swapping lunch trays with his friend whenever he didn’t like part of his meal. But the smile Ajax gave him seemed to make the noise in his head disappear if only for a moment, pearly teeth contrasting against velvety dark skin.

Keegan’s heart thrummed as he walked across base to work, boots clanking on the pavement in time with the muscle that threatened to explode from behind his ribcage if he thought about that damned smile for any longer.

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