#this fic is from your perspective so some things may seem different to you than they actually are

[messylustt]

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 5.4k words.

fic masterlist previous part pt five next part

angst??; violence; speaking of injuries — damn y/n is in the wars; cute little worried, mad miguel; since I’m going from y/n’s perspective to miguel’s a few times it’s may seem a bit jumpy, hope that doesn’t annoy anyone — miguel gives you shocking news. and as you go to head home you end up in a different universe, meeting some spider kid, leaving miguel and the rest of them to worry and search for you.

You walk with purposeful steps. Passing by spider variants, who spare you confused glances at your almost pissed off expression. Though when one would meet your gaze you’d smile—genuinely, which made them think that a certain person was the target of your anger.

“Oi y/n— wow.” Hobie jumped down in front of you, observing your furrowed features. But yet again they would smooth out upon seeing a face you didn’t want to punch. Pavitr and Gwen were close, coming to stop beside Hobie.

“Hi.” You greet them.

“You look stressed as hell.” Hobie comments, making you forcibly chuckle.

“Not at all.” You quickly say, before veering to pass them.

“You alright, y/n?” Gwen asks.

“I appreciate the concern. I do.” You say, walking backwards. “But I’m in a bit of a rush. And annoyingly this can’t wait.”

“Careful!” Pavitr warns as you quickly skirt past a table your hip almost hit.

“Thank you!” You shout back as you rush towards a certain office that made the lines return to your forehead.

You push open the door, stalking towards the centre of the room. At the outburst Miguel looks down. He looks away knowingly, upon seeing you and your angry expression.

“Fired?!” You exclaim up at him. He doesn’t spare you a glance, continuing to tap and swipe at different screens. “I’m fired?!”

You hold up a scribbled note that said ‘You’re fired as of Tuesday’.

“You still have a day.” Miguel comments calmly.

You scoff in disbelief. “What the hell did I do?! …and can you come down here, it’s very hard yelling like this!”

Miguel sighs, but drops down in front of you. He looks bored. And that seems to piss you off more. You step closer. “You wrote me a note?” You’re still in disbelief. “You didn’t even add the reason.”

“Believe it or not that was purposeful.” Miguel monotonously says.

You narrow your eyes. “Why?” You try to lower your tone, taking deep breathes.

Miguel just tilts his head, observing your antics. You blink. “So, you’re not gonna tell me?”

He doesn’t say a thing, confirming so. You’re beyond annoyed and in all honesty what have you to lose? You’ve already lost your job, for a reason you’re dying to know and your adrenaline enduced veins seem to think that pressuring him is a smart idea.

You step closer, but realise that your “intimidating” gaze is doing nothing, his towering height making you feel like an ant. You dart your gaze around, stopping on a swivel chair, you snatch it, quickly standing on it, so that you’re somewhat of a millimetre taller than him.

“We made a deal.” You say, finally feeling a little more in control now that Miguel is looking up at you.

“And now its over.”

“That’s not how deal’s work.” You say.

“Oh.” Miguel hums. “That’s a shame.”

Your nose twitches as you hold back a snarl. Miguel is an infuriating man—it’s just that simple.

“I’m not leaving, not until you at least give me a reason.” You say, trying to appear threatening. But being in front of a man who looks it 24/7 is really dampening your confidence.

He continues to look up at you and your heaving chest, and face that’s tightened in annoyance. He sighs. “It’s better this way, y/l/n.”

“And why is that?” You try again to get the ‘reason’ out of him.

“You can go.” He turns, beginning to head back. You stare after him, mouth opening in disbelief at his complete dismissal.

You go to get off the chair, feeling your entire being deflating. But your foot seems to miss the step down as you begin to tumble forward. But before you can hit the ground a web is attaching to your hand, and yanking you into a chest.

Miguel’s breathing is displayed in that quick moving chest. One hand wrapped around your waist, while the other—that had shot the web—has ahold of your wrist.

Your eyes are wide at the fast movement of it all. “You want to know why you’re fired?” Miguel begins. “Because you’re accident prone. One trip and you could mess everything up.”

You meet his gaze. “That’s very assumptive.” You say. “You and I both know that I haven’t “fucked” anything up.”

“Yet.”

“Yet?” Your brows furrow. “You’re betting on a ‘yet’?” You step away from him, getting your wrist out of his hold. “You made a decision based on your own wrong assumptions.”

Miguel’s expression has finally changed, actually displaying an emotion—anger—but still an emotion. He grabs the bottom of your shirt, pulling you harshly back to him as his breath fans over your face.

“How do you know my “assumptions” are wrong? Huh?” He snarls.

You glare up at him. “How do you know they’re right?” His grip tightens around the material of your shirt, but you continue. “Right now, if you were to tell me that you hated my work ethic, or that I was genuinely shit at my job, I’d leave—maybe a bit upset—but I’d understand.”

Miguel’s eyes are darting everywhere they can.

“But you’re giving me nothing.” You’re blurting everything you can think to say. If not the job back, then you’re going to get your reason for it being gone. “Just say, you hate the way I work.”

You stare at him. “Please.” You’ve somewhat calmed down. Your face softening to one close to simple pleading.

Miguel gulps, his chest slowing but his heart beating on overdrive. You were so close, looking up at him with a genuine pleading look. You just wanted closure.

His hand hadn’t let up its grip on your clothes, part of him not wanting to let go.

“I thought you said you had to have a reason to fire me.” Your voice is back to your normal tone—one that always made Miguel feel comfortable, safe. Which is odd considering you wouldn’t be able to protect him or practically anyone here. Physically at least.

You sigh, realising that there’s no budging Miguel. It’s him, for crying out loud. You were stupid to think you could get anything out of him that he didn’t want you to know.

You reach your hand down, grabbing his wrist and pulling your shirt away. You back up, hands up in an almost surrender—saying ‘fine, I’ll go’.

Miguel doesn’t like the silent sentence for some reason, his expression morphing back to anger. He again swiftly shoots a web to attach to your stomach, yanking you forward again.

“Can you stop that?” You ask, once you’re directly in front of him again. “At this rate put a leash on me.” You mutter. You’d given up. And all you wanted to do was pack up and leave. Why was he dragging this out?

“Would that work?” He whispered. And now through your annoyed haze you noticed how close he was…again.

But the drop of his tone made your breath hitch, different from before. He leans closer, red eyes fully focused on you. “Would it?” He asks again.

“Would what?”

He tilts his head, licking his lips. “A leash.”

Your eyes widen, as you choke out your answer. “That was…a joke. I was kidding.”

“But would you stay out of trouble if you had something constricting you?”

Your mouth opens and closes. He had slowly been pulling you closer by the attached web, his claws dancing across the orange before they reached the material of your shirt again.

“Es eso todo lo que tengo que hacer, chaparrita?” (Is that all I have to do) He darkly whispered.

You focused on his words. You had wanted to understand Spanish before, but now you’re dying to know. And luckily, in your own time you had been studying—having stolen your phone back.

“No, O’hara.” You begin. “Todo lo que tienes que hacer es ser honesto.” (All you have to do is be honest.)

Miguel stares at you, brows furrowing for only a moment. He looks taken aback. And from his underlying impressed expression, you know your words had made sense.

“When did you learn that?”

“Why are you firing me?” You counter.

And for once, Miguel finally gives in, up to a peak with his emotions. “Because of the fucking attack!” He finally says it, or more so ‘exclaims’ it.

You pause. “The attack?”

He hisses in annoyance at himself. “I’m supposed to be helping people—the multiverse. That was the whole point of this.” He mutters out.

“I’m not following… How did I mess that up?” You ask, staring at him in confusion.

“You didn’t. Which is beyond annoying, because I’d much rather a reason where you were the problem.”

“That’s…very flattering.” You mutter, as he continues.

“But the reason why I’m firing you is because…” he clenched his jaw, closing his eyes for a moment, seeming annoyed to even think of saying it.

“Because you got…hurt.”

And of course it goes in one ear and out the other. Because in what universe does that make sense. You stare at him, blinking too many times.

“What?”

“I’m not saying it again.” He says, stepping away from you.

“No, no. What?”

Miguel is turned away and cursing at himself. Why did he admit that? He should have just said you were shit at your job.

You finally assess his words, maybe not the underlying meaning, but his general words at least. “I’ll be honest…” you begin. “I thought that was in the job description.”

Miguel turns. “What?”

“Getting hurt.” You say. “I mean maybe not that extreme considering I’m behind a desk, but I knew the risk.”

“You knew you might get hurt if you took this job?” He reiterates.

“Yeah.” You breathe. “But you’d understand. I mean you are spider-man.”

“Yeah…” he drifts off. “But you’re…”

“A weak human?” You ask.

He looks away, frowning. “I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s fine.” You say. “I can’t lie and say it isn’t the truth.”

“It’s not—“ he says extremely quickly before he extremely quickly follows with: “—entirely true. You’re also annoying.”

You raise your brows. “So, I’m an annoying, weak human who just got fired?” You slowly ask.

Miguel presses his lips together. “It’s bet—“

“Better this way.” You cut in. “Yeah, I heard you.” You sigh. “Thanks for telling me the reason.” Your tone has shifted to one Miguel really doesn’t like. You sound…disappointed…distant. And why wouldn’t you be? Of course Miguel expected this but for some reason it just didn’t settle right in his stomach.

But before he knows it you’re opening the exit door, giving him a small smile and a nod, saying: “Sorry for the…outburst.” Before you’re shutting the door and leaving.

;;

“Where is she?” Miguel is asking Peter, thankful for once that he didn’t bring Mayday.

Peter scratches the back of his head, pretending to look busy. Miguel begrudgingly turns to Hobie, raising a brow. Hobie looks him up and down before scoffing. “You’re the one who ‘fired’ her, remember mate?” He sounds annoyed.

Miguel swiftly shifts his gaze to Gwen. “She still has a day. Where is she?”

“She decided it was best to leave today.” Gwen says.

“How’d she get a wristband?” Miguel asks, narrowing his eyes. He slowly shifts his gaze back to Hobie, who is sitting, legs up on a table.

“Hobie.”

“Yes, boss?” Hobie asks, praying innocence.

“Why?” Miguel asks, gritting his teeth.

Hobie stands, walking up to him. “Why do you care? Ya clearly seem to think she’s an annoyin’, weak human.”

Miguel holds the bridge of his nose. “Did she tell everyone that?” He mutters out in question, more so to himself.

“No, she didn’t. I ‘appened to hear it.” Hobie says, making Miguel look back up.

“So she just left?” He asks, his uninterested expression cracking a fraction—only a fraction.

“That is what you wanted.” Pavitr chimes in, twisting one of his gold bands.

;;

Miguel breathes, heading back to his office. Once inside he taps his wristband, opening up a portal. He pauses. Why was he even going? You’re gone, home, safe. Just like he wanted. Why is he messing that up by seeing you?

But he’s already through the portal arriving outside your door. You lived alone so he didn’t have to worry about scaring your family. He knocks on your bedroom door, and waits. And waits. And waits.

Look, patience isn’t something Miguel is very good at, so he twists the handle, opening the door to your room. He narrows his eyes, seeing you not inside. Sure, you could have easily gone out, but as he scouted the room, he began to realise that you hadn’t been in here for a while. Dust had formed on your desk, while your bed stayed untouched and made.

“Lyla.” He calls, her appearing quickly by his shoulder. “Was y/n here?”

Lyla computes the room, scanning for footprints or any of your fresh DNA. “No. She hasn’t been here for a while.”

Miguel goes to turn back to his portal, when he steps on something. Looking down, he sees a bracelet by the very edge of the door. Picking it up, he asks Lyla again.

“Ah, she was here, recently. Only in the doorway, it seems.” She answers.

Miguel goes to pocket the bracelet but realises that he technically doesn’t have any, so he instead puts the bracelet around his wrist, walking back through the portal.

;;

“What?” Peter voices his surprise. “But she was just heading home. She’s not there? And hold up, why did you go—“

“Hobie what wristband did you give her?” Miguel interrupts, turning to Hobie. “One of your faulty ones?”

Hobie rolls his eyes, swinging his guitar strap around his body. “It was a normal one, a spare I found.”

“And you’re sure she’s not just out?” Gwen checks.

“No, I’m not, Gwen.” Miguel sarcastically states. “You really think I didn’t check?”

“Do you think she could have gone to another universe?” Pavitr asks.

“Why would she do that?” Peter asks, brows furrowed.

“Dunno, maybe she wanted to rebele.” Hobie comments. “Wouldn’t blame her.” He shoots this at Miguel, who narrows his eyes.

“I called you all here to find her.” Miguel says. “You seem to have been around her a lot. You’d have more of an idea then any other spiders.”

;;

While the spider-men and woman were all wondering where you had went, you were wondering the exact same thing.

You had been walking down the street, trying to face any form of familiarity. But nothing stands out. This wasn’t your home. This wasn’t your universe.

You keep touching your wrist in hopes to magically find the wristband there, but no, it’s still gone. Where? You wanted to know that too.

You watched as people chatted and ate, many at the city’s cafes and restaurants. It was growing darker and as you looked up you felt a single drop of water land on your cheek.

You manage to reach a bus shelter, taking a seat. Where the hell were you?

“Miles!” A man’s voice calls.

“I’ll be back, dad! I just…forgot something…at school!” Miles answers.

You shift your gaze from the falling sky to a cop and his assumable son, who is rushing down the street. You go to shift your gaze away again when you catch sight of something falling out of the kid’s bag. Narrowing your eyes you just catch what looks to be a spider-man mask, before Miles is quickly shoving it back in.

You then hear a ruckus some way down the street. A shop…being robbed. Then it clicked. This ‘Miles’ was running to the scene, because he was this universe’s spider-man.

You quickly stood, covering your head with your hands, preventing some of the rain from soaking your hair as you rushed to follow. Maybe this spider-man was apart of the spider society, and had a wristband. Whatever the outcome, you felt better that you had somewhat of a plan.

;;

When you reached the shop you chose to wait outside, knowing it not smart to just run into danger.

The fight is finished rather quickly, with a few broken windows and thrown food, but no one from the looks of it got hurt.

And as you began to follow Miles—having spotted him heading to an alleyway—you realise how creepy you would seem just following this kid who doesn’t know who the hell you are. But it’s too late to backtrack because he’s swiftly turning and shooting a web to attach your hand to the concrete wall.

You gasp in shock as the kid quickly runs up. “I’m sorry, I thought you were—“

“An evil dude, yeah don’t worry I started to think so too.” You chuckle, slowing your breathing. Your hand had smacked pretty hard against the wall, and as Miles cuts the web you realise that your hand is partially red and bruised.

“Sh— I am so sorry.” He said, spotting the slight injury too.

You wave him off. “That’s alright. I…uh needed to ask you something.”

Miles stands straighter, probably expecting you to point him in the direction of more danger. “You are the spider-man of this universe, right?”

Miles pauses. “Wait, you know—“ he shuffled closer, whispering. “You know about the other universes?”

You nod. “I was wondering if you had a wristband.”

“A wristband?” Miles’ confusion makes you deflate.

“So you don’t know about that…” you sigh, your plan dissolving away.

“Know about what?”

You smile. “That’s alright.”

You begin to step back out of the alleyway, placing your hands in your jacket pocket. “Nice job, by the way.” you gesture to the hung up robber.

“Thanks.” Miles shrugs, still looking thoughtful.

But as you near the street, you suddenly glitch, hitting against the wall, hissing in pain. Shit, or course. You were in a different universe…without a wristband.

Miles quickly reaches your side. “You’re not from here.” He mutters. He then loops his arm around your midriff, your body continuing to slightly glitch. “Jeez, I didn’t think that would hurt as much.” You mutter.

Miles brings you back into the alleyway, resting you against the wall. “What universe are you from?”

“Earth 1–“ you glitch. Then finally you stop, resting your head against the wall.

Miles kneels by you, still deep in thought. “Would you know a girl named Gwen Stacy?” He suddenly asks. Almost as if he had been waiting to ask someone this exact question.

You quickly meet his gaze—through the mask, of course. “You know Gwen?” You ask

“You know Gwen?” He repeats back.

“Yeah, she’s apart of the spider society.”

“The spider what?” Miles asks.

But you continue. “How do you know her? Wait.” You pause. “You’re Miles right?” You double check, not wanting to seem creepy and stalker-like.

“Yeah…” he drifts off.

“She spoke about you.” You smile. “A lot, actually.”

Miles decided on taking his mask off, either deciding on it being fine for you to see, or knowing that you must know what he looks like already. You can spot a faint blush on his cheeks at the mention of Gwen mentioning him.

“How did you get here?” He asks.

“It had to have been from the wristband.” You mutter. Before speaking louder for Miles. “There’s these wristbands that can transport you to different universes without all this glitchy mess.”

“Wow. Do you have one now?” He asks, looking to your wrist.

You shake your head. “Somehow I lost mine. And to be honest, I didn’t plan on coming here. I meant to go home.” You then get reminded of the fact that you got fired, and you mentally narrow your gaze at a non existent Miguel.

His reason still didn’t make sense to you. But you did get one. And you weren’t one to backtrack on your word, leaving like you had said.

“I’ve helped send a few spider…people back to their universes.” Miles begins. “But that was using something kingpin—this villain, created.”

You rest your head back against the concrete wall, the rain growing louder and louder, and heavier and heavier. “How are you gonna get home?” Miles asks.

You sigh. “I’m really not sure.”

;;

Miguel has gotten Lyla to try and retrace your steps through the different universes. But there’s a lot. So, even though it’s been a few hours she’s found nothing as of yet.

Miguel didn’t know how to feel about the two different options of your disappearance. You could have either gone on your own—chosen to, like Hobie had said. Why you would ever do that, Miguel would love to know. But would that make it his fault if something happened?

He knew you loved your job. And he had fired you, for selfish reasons that he covered up with, it being ‘in your best interest’. To Miguel it was, but you wouldn’t see it that way. He’s sure you don’t.

But then there’s the alternative that you had gotten taken. Miguel barely dove into that theory, his hands turning to fists so tight that he cut the skin of his palms through his suit, his claws tainted with his own blood. He almost felt bad for whoever had the terrible idea to take you.

If you thought what happened to those masked men in the office was bad, then you’d be horrified to see what he’d do to this supposed captor.

But right now it seemed to be worse—the not knowing. He didn’t know if you were happy, scared, living your best life, or…dead.

“Lyla!” He exclaimed turning to her and her tiny computers.

“No matter how many times you yell my name, it’s not gonna make me find her any quicker.” She sing songs.

He groans, going back to pacing. Then he hears the arrival of Gwen, Hobie, Peter and Pavitr. Turning, he doesn’t like the looks on their faces. “What is it?” He asks, crossing his arms.

Gwen looks down. “We found out that…she didn’t go voluntarily.”

There’s silence besides the almost ‘loud’ gaze of Miguel. “What was that?”

“There’s been talk through majority of the universes, about these…guys.” Peter begins.

“And when one showed us a left behind mask, it was the exact same as what those men that infiltrated HQ wore.”

“What do you mean by ‘didn’t go voluntarily’?” Miguel asks, stepping closer to them all. “How do you know that?”

“It’s more ov’ a guess.” Hobie says. “From what people were sayin’, those “guys” never let someone get away alive.”

“Y/n did.” Gwen adds, looking solemn.

“So, you lot came here, with one piece of information saying that she’s either gonna get killed or is already dead?” Miguel calmly asks.

But his ‘calm’ tone isn’t necessarily…calm. It’s more like the calm before the storm.

“It’s information that could help us.” Gwen tries to stay positive. “We can try and track these masked guys. Maybe there’s a base in a universe. That’s where she could be.”

“All I’m hearing is ‘could’ and ‘maybe’, Gwen.” Miguel says. “I’m gonna need something a little more definite than that.”

All the spider-people seem to notice the way Miguel’s expression shifted the moment the ‘masked men’ were brought up. He knows something they don’t. And that seems to irritate Hobie the most.

“Well, what do you ‘ave?” He asks Miguel. “We’ve at least found some’ing. What ‘ave you found?”

Miguel’s gaze is narrowed, his face solemn as he stares at Hobie. Hobie steps closer, his boots the second loudest thing in the room.

“Another thing,” Hobie adds. “While I’m talking…” He taps at his jeans to a beat only he can seem to hear. “I’ve never seen you act—I’m surprised to say—worried. Especially with y/n. I thought you hated her.”

“Mind your business.” Miguel turns, preparing to web up to the screens.

“My bad, boss.” Hobie backs up, a small smirk on his face.

“I thought you two were friends?” Why Miguel was suddenly having this conversation with Hobie he wasn’t sure, he just felt angry, because Hobie sounded so entitled to you. Like Miguel should stay “hating” you and that’s it.

Of course Hobie was just being his normal self, but with Miguel’s gaze glazed over with too many emotions he’s barely felt before, he sees red.

“So, why don’t you seem more worried about her?” Miguel continues.

Hobie chuckles. “You are worried.” He mutters to himself, shaking his head.

Miguel grits his teeth. “Ever heard of guilt?” He asks. “I don’t particularly want her to die. Having that on my back is gonna be extremely annoying.” Lies, lies, lies.

“Sure, Miguel.” Hobie hasn’t wiped his smirk off yet, and Miguel’s temper is rising.

“Alright, this is not helping.” Gwen quickly chimes in. “Y/n’s helped us, and we’re gonna help her…let’s just leave it at that.”

Miguel heard her. But all he can seem to focus on is Hobie’s smug face, as if he knows something no one else does. Something not even Miguel has really admitted to yet.

;;

You and Miles have talked, about a lot of different things actually. You had originally been trying to come up with a plan to get you home, but it soon evolved into telling each other’s life stories.

“Please tell me that is not how Gwen got her hair like that?” You’re laughing.

“I hadn’t known what to do.” Miles groans, slightly embarrassed at the memory of his first day as spider-man. His hand—being extremely sticky—not leaving Gwen’s hair.

“Wait.” Miles suddenly stands, gazing around. “Somethings wrong.”

You quickly join him, darting your gaze around the alleyway. The rain had ceased, so the sound of heavy footsteps were growing much clearer.

You stiffen, as you carefully follow Miles to edge of the alleyway, right before you walk onto the street. But that’s when your heart stops.

A small group of masked men stand, much more intimidating in the clearer light—the rush of the explosion and fear before having clouded your vision. What were they doing here?

“You were supposed to watch her!” One is exclaiming to another. “Now she’s run off somewhere. Did you at least take her wristband?”

Your eyes widen. They’re the reason you’re here? You press further into the wall, listening hard. Why? You desperately wanted that answer.

“Of course I took—“ but he stops, quickly snapping his head in the direction of you and Miles. You quickly hit back against the concrete, Miles doing the same as both your chests heave.

Miles begins to pull down his mask, preparing to face them. But you grab his arm. It wasn’t a coincidence that these same men infiltrated HQ and are now here, assumably having sent you here as well. Something didn’t feel right, and something seemed to tell you that they upgraded in some way since their last attack.

These guy’s suits are bigger, more armoured, with neater woven green stitching. This was obviously some sort of ‘crew’. Most crews are based on a cause. Like the spider society, for example. They’re there to protect the multiverse from inter-dimensional anomalies.

What are these guys fighting for? Could they possibly be fighting against something?

You had too many unanswered questions to let this kid get involved. “Just hold on.” You say to Miles, staying pressed to the cold wall. He pauses, shifting his gaze who you, in question.

“I’ve seen them before.” You begin. “I think they might be the reason I’m here…”

“Then we should talk to them. Capture them and get them to talk.” Miles eagerly says.

You chuckles. “I appreciate that. But I don’t think it’s wise. Not with them.”

Miles goes to say more, when the sound of footsteps near. You immediately pull Miles farther out of view. Then Miles feels it. Instead of the ‘tingle’ he gets when danger is near, it’s more like a foreboding that travels though his entire being. And now he can understand your cautiousness, because for the first time in a while he feels genuinely scared—powerless.

The only thing you can think to do is begin to head down the alleyway, picking up speed. Then you’re both running. “Hey! I think I found her!” A voice shouts, and that’s when you run. The type of run that makes you feel lightheaded, and sick in your stomach.

Miles grabs you, web slinging across a building. “I should be fighting them!” He exclaims through the wind. “Why am I running away!?”

“It’s probably a survival instinct!” You exclaim, as he continues to swing. “Which is concerning since your spider-man.” You mutter this more to yourself. If spider-man’s first instinct was to run then what could this mean for the rest of society?

Then suddenly Miles is getting yanked back, his web snapping, resulting in you both falling to the hard ground. You hit the concrete with a harsh slam, making your eyes blur and your ankle scream.

“Shit.” You mutter. You’re praying it’s not twisted. Please don’t be sprained—you chant in your head, as you scramble to your feet, spotting a nearing masked man, claws out and ready.

You couldn’t see Miles, but to be fair you couldn’t see much. So you ran, or more painfully hobbled away. You had to put pressure on your ankle so that you would move. The man is nearing, his heavy breathing sounding louder than it should be.

But then you feel a hand wrap around your waist, pulling you somewhere dark and desolate. You go to scream, eyes wide, when a hand gets placed over your mouth, quieting any forming sounds that were about to fall.

You can’t see who it is, your blurry gaze and the dark atmosphere making it difficult. You squint, only knowing that someone is pushing you up against a wall, one hand wrapped around your waist, as the other keeps you quiet.

Then you feel a breath by your ear. “Don’t move.” He breathes. And finally the slight accent and familiar tone makes your entire body slump.

Miguel.

You never thought you’d feel so relieved to know it’s him, but once he had spoken, Miguel could feel your entire body relax, nearly sliding to the floor, the pressure you were placing on your injured ankle now faltering.

Miguel keeps you upright, tightening his grip on your waist, as he keeps his mouth by your ear. “Would now be a bad time to ask why you left a day early?”

And you actually laugh, half heartedly and mixed in with a groan of pain, but still a laugh nonetheless.

Then Miguel is moving his hand to hold your chin, as he tries to focus your gaze. “Can you see?”

Your eyes had begun to droop, the exhaustion gradually catching up to you. But then you grab Miguel’s arm tightly. “Miles.” You say, remembering the kid.

“Miles?” Miguel questions.

“The kid. I was with a kid. Another spider-man. Is he okay?” You rush this out, forcing Miguel to place his hand back over your mouth.

“Shh. You’ll get us caught.” He whispers.

You protest, needing an answer, because you could feel yourself slipping from consciousness.

“He’ll be fine. Gwen is with him.” Miguel consoles, seeing your stress. Your shoulders slump in relief, and finally the exhaustion catches up, grabbing a hold of you, as your eyes begin to flutter.

“Wow, wow.” Miguel mutters, catching your dropping body. “Don’t close your eyes.” He all but demands, but it’s too late. Your eyes roll closed, as darkness gives you a hug.

Miguel slips to the ground with you, holding the back of your head from hitting back. He prays that it’s just exhaustion, and nothing more…permanent.

His chest is heaving, his eyes trained on you, while his ears stayed focused, in case the sound of heavy boots broke the city noise.

But he hears nothing of concern, his finger—at first without permission—dragging along your jaw.

Your lips were slightly parted, your body so limp in his hold. “I’m sorry.” He mutters quietly, his dragging finger drifting up to your face, to brush a stray hair, still slightly damp from the rain.

His finger pauses by your lips, not quite touching, just hovering. He’d been in denial. Big denial. And maybe you wouldn’t feel the same, maybe you hated him. But right now Miguel couldn’t find it in himself to care, all the loud voices in his head zoning out to one single voice saying ‘I like her’ … ‘I like her a lot’.

sorry, this one kinda goes everywhere. i needed to add my guy miles <3 i don’t know if I like this one *crying* it feels too random. I’ll hopefully get back on track next chapter

part six is on its way! — thanks so much for all your guys support on this series, you guys are truly incredible

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbbo @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright

taglist #2 taglist #3 taglist #4 taglist #5

[disregardcanon]

this probably seems like a weird question from your end,but why do fanfic writers care so much about comments? aos already tracks hits and likes, sorry ""kudos"", so why are comments such a big deal to the point that people will stop writing?

okay, so i'm going to take this question very seriously and i promise it's not to make you feel bad. this is a comprehensive explanation of reasons that comments are important for me, both as a writer and as a reader

engagement vs numbers game

seeing trends

buy-in

community building

engagement vs numbers game

let's look quickly at two different fics of mine. this is the kudos count for a fic called Of First Kisses and Burnt Lips

it's old. it's been up on ao3 for almost 11 years now. 258 people liked it enough to leave a kudos, 12 people liked it enough for a bookmark, and it's been clicked on 3,859 times.

i have no clue what almost any of these people on ao3 THINK about it. beyond "huh. sure. i'll kudos that". compare this to its crosspost on ffn, where i got 5 reviews

3/5 mention it being cute. 3/5 give appreciation to me for taking the time to write it. 2/5 praise the writing itself from the attention to detail with grammar to the craft. 1/5 is an "um..." which is hard to decipher but appreciate and 1/5 is a silly reaction, but it's a reaction! look, someone felt a felling reading my thing! that made me giggle!

looking at the stats here from a purely numbers perspective, my fic DID better on ao3. it got a lot more kudos than it ever got faves or reviews on ffn. but those ffn comments are still what i think about when i remember this fic.

sure, a shear number like hits or kudos can be comforting and motivating. i'm definitely not telling you to NOT leave kudos! but the fics that i've come back to, recently, are the ones where i don't have a lot of kudos but i do have a few people who are invested in the stories and leaving comments to tell me

2. seeing trends

lets look at a few of the comments on my fic The Maid of Honor Made Them Do It

so just in these two comments, we see both commenters hone in on the same detail: my choice to include a special christian music playlist that this characters' friends made for her. a few other people in this thread mentioned that same detail, so i know this bit really worked well! it's great feedback that lets me know that a good chunk of readers agree with my characterization here.

these readers zoom in on specific details that they really liked! things that made them laugh, the absurdity of the concept, enjoying reading it, and that they could see it staged, which is a HUGE compliment for a work in a fandom for theater.

i've always had trouble with imaging where characters are in a space, how they're occupying it and moving, and how to use that for characterization purposes. however, i got more than one comment on this fic about how people could see it staged! that means that i'm improving in an area that i've always struggled with. that's huge. it makes me want to keep working on this thing! it makes me feel like what i'm doing here matters, because lots of people are picking up on similar things! they're invested enough to give me a comment! and it makes me want to keep writing for the hatchetfield fandom because some people are invested in my work here. that is BIG! seeing trends in the way that readers experience your story helps a lot with writer buy-in for a project and also for writers self-analysis.

as a commenter: this helps me JUST as much. when i really dig into what i enjoyed about a fic to tell the writer about it, that helps me analyze and articulate the strengths and things i might want to take away from the storytelling, and that makes my writing better too!

3. buy-in

this is a comment on a series that has less than 100 kudos across three fics, but has thoughtful, appreciative comments on each work. it's called Melting Pot

the commenter deleted their ao3 account. they may be one of the people who commented on the next fic, which i posted recently. they might NOT have been! honestly, it doesn't matter that much to me. this person gave me a gentle and nudge about a fic that matters to me and mattered to them at the time, and they were part of the push i needed to get back to it.

from a commenter perspective, i know that hearing a kind word can help someone keep up their motivation to write, even when i can't write in depth comments the way that i like to!

just recently i only had the time to comment "nice update" on a favorite fic of mine called Teeth That Turn. but they know that i come and i read and they know and talk to me by (user)name. because they know i care about this thing they care about! and it's way more fun to do something like this when i know i can chat with the author about theories and thoughts and ideas. and this isn't a "wow aren't i so cool other writers like me! tehehe" bragging thing, it's just evidence for the case of why comments matter?

if i didn't want this to be a two way buy-in, i'd ONLY read published fiction, you know? we're all playing in the sandbox on the playground and i like what they made. they like that i like what they made :) we're scheduling a play date to fight with sticks after school my mom said it's okay!

4. community building

now i know that i just mentioned above here why i like being a commenter and how it helps authors, as well as why i like HAVING commenters as an author. i'm still arguing those things as a lead up to this section, where i have two other points to make about community building here too.

1. you can comment on OTHER comments! if you go through and read to see what other people are saying, you can agree with them. you can add some commentary! sometimes you can make a joke! and i've only ever had fun responses from something like that. authors tend to love that their fics are getting such a response that people are talking to each other about it! like look!!!!!! my thing got you to talk to someone else about it holy shit?!??!

2. commenting on fics in your fandom builds you a good reputation and makes other authors you comment on more likely to read YOUR fic. i'm not going to post any screenshots on this one because it would be embarrassing for everyone involved, but there have been authors that i really admired who gave my stuff a try after i commented on theirs. and they've told me that's why they tried it! like obviously it's not just networking or whatever, but it's really nice to have someone give your stuff a try because you've been enthusiastic and thoughtful about theirs.

and you make friends this way! fandom friends! who want to talk about your blorbos! you get to go on little play dates in cyberspace with cool people who like what you like. you don't ever HAVE to be a writer, of course. if you don't want to throw your hat into the ring or make art or edits or gif sets or anything, that's cool. no one ever has to participate in fandom outside of their comfort zone! but if you want to, you know that you'll feel more welcomed if you have some people in your corner for it, and making friends in a space, screaming about how much you love the characters you love, and remembering that fic authors especially are just fans too will help you feel like you "deserve" to exist in the space. maybe you don't write, but you go here too. you've got a space in the fandom and your comments don't have to be, like, perfect literary essays for authors to appreciate them and get a motivation boost from them still existing and us being able to go back to them and go!!! look!!! i don't suck!!! this person liked what i did so i'm okay! :)

[curlycarrion]

Night watch

Reader: fem reader in mind. Comparing to Nami and Robin and use of the words pretty and beautiful

Warnings: Talk of insecurity from the readers perspective. It's only for a small short portion and it's mild but if you feel that may make you uncomfortable please be warned

Context: Unable to sleep Sanji comes to visit you

Wc: 2.4k

A/n: Here's my second fic so far, I'm honestly enjoyin writin these. It's a little more self indulgent but sfw so I hope y'all don't mind ^x^ I hope y'all like it 💛 ( also happy Valentine's for those who celebrate it ) oh yeah also, I got the idea for this after spammin 'I carrion (Icarian)' by Hozier into my skull so do with that what you will

It was quiet. Unusually so.

The night high up above the ship while sat in the crow's nest usually was, being so far away from the snores of the sleeping crew will do that. But no, it was more silent than usual. The sea was in a rare state of calm for once. No frantic waves that crash against the wood of the ship and violently rock her inhabitants, no rumbles from winding and curling sea kings lingering from deep below the surface, no hint of marines or rival pirates on the horizon.

It was just calm. The moon shining down in glittering silver streaks on the waves that are gentle as they lap along the length of the Sunny, leaving you in near silence to sit alone with your thoughts. An opportunity to do what you liked without fear of teasing from the others no matter how lighthearted it was.

The silence was too deafening. Not even the guttural snores from some of the men sleeping next to him able to cut through the thick quiet. The cool night air reaching him even under the covers of the blanket draped over his frame. The silence thrumming in his inner ear only to be covered with his thoughts that won't seem to cease. First from what to cook in the morning, then to the unusually uncomfortable feeling of his shirt folding over itself beneath his back as it catches on the sheets, then to the familiar cold and dark surrounding him despite knowing that there's no reason to fear it. Not anymore, that's what he tells himself at least when he feels the fabric around him opposed to the memory of stone that drains the warmth from you.

Below deck things were in a similar state of calm, the soft rocking of the deck leading everyone to obtain a restful slumber. Similar to that of a crib or the curl of a parents arms around their child that breathes comfort into the bones of the crew.

All except for Sanji.

Deciding he'd had enough of staring into the void of the men's quarters he rises from his resting position to step outside and have a smoke. Hoping the familiar taste of nicotine on his tongue would calm him, even a little. If not then he'd just go ahead and get started on preparations for everyone's meal, if he's not going to be able to sleep he might as well make himself useful. Stepping out into the open air and lighting his cigarette as he takes in his surroundings. The night that should be comforting at the moment only making a strange sense of loneliness root into him before remembering you up above. Nigh watch. Some company might do him some good. Pleasant company at that. You never really seemed to turn him away and he's almost certain you won't now despite the late hour.

As he climbs his way up he slowly starts to hear the welcome sound of your voice. Already feeling his thoughts begin to quiet knowing that your presence is close by. Though there was something different to the sound this time around. It sounded sweeter, it was soft, there was a tune to it… you were singing. Something new and foreign to him but still leaving a warmth to settle in his skin and into the cavern of his chest. The sound of it was a little muffled due to the distance between the two of you but that was swiftly remedied by him hastening his climbing.

Soon enough he finds himself beneath the hatch of the crow's nest. His ears picking up every sound and syllable possible without opening the door. Unsure of if you would stop your singing if he did, which was the last thing he would want. If your singing voice was actually any good he would never be able to tell. Not due to being tone deaf, but because any sound of your voice being the equivalent of a choirs grace upon him. You could sound like a crow with a cold and he would still listen to every word from you like gospel. Each pitch of your voice like a balm to whatever wound plagued him mind, if even for a moment. He finds his feet moving before his mind can catch up, hands reaching up to open the hatch and climb inside. The need to see you overcoming his desire to listen.

Inside he sees you sat beside one of the large windows, blanket wrapped around your figure. More to provide comfort than to actually stave off any cold since the night was a pleasant temperature due to the climate you were currently sailing in. The note filled tones of your voice ceasing when the squeak of the hinge and floorboards meet your ears. Head whipping around to look at the tall man entering the space.

"Oh Sanji.. it's just you," letting the tension fall from your shoulders you speak once more " what're you doing up? Couldn't sleep?" Sanji lets a small string of smoke escape from his lips, the tendrils curling into the air and dissipating when he steps closer.

"Sleep is not coming easily to me tonight, no. I thought I would come to see how you were doing.. the night watch can be lonely with no one else awake." He answers as he brings himself to sit beside you. Quietly taking in the comfort you provide and giving you a smile.

"What I didn't expect when I stepped up though was to find a little songbird in the nest. Do you sing to yourself every time you hide yourself away up here mon chou?" He finds some satisfaction to see the slightly shy look to cross your face, watching you gather yourself after you had realized he heard you after all.

"Oh uh.. yeah, yeah I do most of the time." You answer softly as you avert your eyes away for a moment.

"It helps to pass the time." Sanji's expression warms at the admission. Imagining what the many melodies that cross your lips at night are as they float off into the air to be unheard by the rest of the crew. Knowing you would likely shoot down the notion of singing for him if he requested it he decided to ask a different question, not wanting to push his luck too much despite wanting to hear your voice not blocked by the wood of the hatch.

"And what were you singing if you don't mind me asking?"

"It.. it's a song based on Icarus." Sanji's eyebrows raise curiously at the answer, removing the cigarette from between his lips as he gives you his undivided attention. Not that he wasn't before but this had raised his interest in what you were singing.

"Icarus?" He parrots while looking to you. "The one who fell to the sea after his wings melted?"

"Mhm the same one." You hum in confirmation, hands fidgeting idly with the edge of my blanket and back leaning against the wooden wall behind it.

"Though.. the song takes a different turn than the actually story goes. It's kind of a love song, a more sad one… but a love song nonetheless. At least in my opinion." 'Ah, so that's why you had seemed more shy about admitting it' Sanji thinks to himself. He watches your expression while you talk and after you finish, taking it in along with the features of your face. It was something he doesn't think he could find himself growing tired of.

"Do you frequently sing yourself love songs?" He asks next, feeling it was the next natural course of conversation save for asking more about that song in particular.

"I.. I do, the more sad or quiet ones mostly." Curling your knees to your chest and bringing your heels to rest on the seat of the bench you continue.

"There's just… something nice about them, comforting in a way I suppose." Sanji lets the silence settle for a moment after you'd finished speaking. Mulling over your answer for a moment.

"Is it something you want?" He asks quietly, realizing the question might've sounded a little vague he narrows it down further.

"Love I mean, someone to share your life with after this is all over." The question seems to have struck a chord, watching your eyes as they turn away from him.

"It, i-it is. Though I know it's not something I will probably find." Sanji's eyes widen in surprise at the words leaving you. Not expecting them from you in the slightest.

"Why?" He asks quickly after you had spoken, your answer being something he couldn't quite believe. You are silent for a few moments, debating on whether or not to answer the question. The deafening quiet of the room returning to dig its way into their ears once more. Leading Sanji to believe that you weren't going to answer, though eventually you do peep one out.

"Well I'm not exactly the most um… desirable thing around. I'm not pretty like Nami and Robin, and I'm not smart or clever like them, I'm ugly and quiet and awkward and, and I'm just something someone would want-" Sanji quickly cuts you off from speaking. Not able to bare hearing you tear yourself down and speak such lies for another moment. The words leaving you making his heart stutter and sink, feeling the beating in his chest as he trains his eyes on you and snuffs his cigarette.

"No," he says firmly and with a sense of urgency "no, no you're perfect. You're everything I've ever dreamed of." He feels a stirring in his stomach. Hands reaching out to cup your cheeks and turn your attention to him, wanting to make sure his every word settled their way into your mind. Even if you didn't believe him, even if you thought he was lying, he wanted to make sure you knew what he felt when he looked at you. Feeling the warmth of your cheeks beneath his palms as his fingers curl past your jaw to brush beneath your ears.

"Every step you take whether it be to me or away leaves me breathless. Every breath and word from you is something that would make me crumble if I ever lost it." His thumbs gently smooth over the curve of your cheek, relishing in the feeling of your skin in his touch. The solitary of the night making him a little more bold in his words. Feeling like the calm and quiet is urging him to let out every thought and feeling he has ever had for you despite the fear of you not feeling the same. Not that he expected you to.

"Your eyes have the stars laying in them that I would pray to every night if it meant they would turn to gaze at me. Whether they're filled with the rage or exhaustion from a fight, the mirth from whatever you find funny at the time, or the sorrow of whatever you carry." He leans closer to you. His eyes beginning to reflect the dewy look that yours had taken.

"Every time I see you walk into a room it's like the world has become right and that the sun has finally turned to face me. I would gladly melt in the light of your sun and be your Icarus if I could even be near you for one lovely moment." His thumb softly moves to collect the tears beginning to slip down your cheeks, while he doesn't like the sight of your crying he takes it as a sign his words are sinking in.

"So please don't don't say you're undesirable or that you're unwanted. A world where that is true is one that doesn't exist, and it's a world where I'm not breathing." He takes in your face as he finally finishes speaking. The wide glassy eyes, the tremble in your lip, the burning of your cheeks seeping into his hands. It's something he'd burned into his memory. Finding you beautiful as your overcome with emotion. Eventually he goes to release you from his hands, not wanting to overstay his welcome with his touch no matter how much he craves to keep you to him. His thoughts telling him that you would never feel the same, something he is not a stranger to in the slightest. You'd never want someone like him.

At the feeling of his hands begin to lift you quickly stop him. Yours pressing on top of his on your cheeks as you sniffle and shake your head the best you can.

"Please don't go." The words are quiet and wobbly, whispered into the room as your hands press his into your skin more.

"You can't say that and then just leave. You can't just say that and not let me say that I love you too." His head snaps to you. His heart rapidly kicking up in response to the words. You liked him? You really did? It was almost inconceivable to him. The thought that you, the one who has seen him flounder around women, has seen him make a fool of himself, seen some of his worst moments.. that you had reciprocated, he couldn't believe it. But the way you were looking up at him. It was impossible to deny. He saw the way he looked at you reflected back at him. Something he had never noticed before when he was too focused on his work or your presence whenever you would grace him with it.

He quickly pulled you into his embrace. Arms wrapping around you tightly, almost feeling that it's not close enough. He finally had you in his arms. The scent of your conditioner and your skin filling his senses. Something he thought he would never be able to obtain. Leaning back just enough to where he can look into your eyes once more, noses almost brushing against one and other.

"Do you mean it? If you don't I don't think I will ever recover." He asks quietly, his breath mixing with yours as takes in everything of the moment.

"I do." He doesn't even give you time to say another word as he feels his heart skyrocket from elation. Crashing his lips to yours as he feels like he's overflowing with a joy and love, pouring his feelings into you and finding that the same is being returned. One hand cradling into your hair and the other meeting your back to pull you closer, arms wrapping around his neck to keep him in.

He had always expected his first kiss with you to be different. Gentle and soft after taking you to the most beautiful places he could find and proving himself to you, but this…

This was more perfect than anything he planned.

Finally finding the home of you within his grasp as you both sat high above the world.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Dead or Alive

Cad Bane x Fem! Reader

NSFW / 18 + for Blowjobs, titty fucking, ejaculation, public sex acts (semi), and a bit of demeaning behavior / slight humor on Bane's part. Yes, he has two dicks.

Summary: Cad Bane is the most handsome man you have seen in your whole life. He knows that look, and decides to have some fun with you. For you, it's love at first sight. You would let him take you in any way that he saw fit; lucky for you, he's into that (you give Bane sloppy head in an alley behind a bar).

Word count: 3.1k. Short and sweet.

Notes: Haven't written for Bane for a minute. Just wanted to gush over him for a bit. He was so hot in TBB season 2 that I was inspired. This fic takes place from many points of view, but halfway through it settles into the reader's perspective. I may write a part 2 when she/you bump into him again. ;D

A raucous discordance of voices quieted to a dull roar, and then nothing – a nervous cough, the scrape of a chair – so many languages hailing from different star systems pinched off like oxygen from the lungs. Those sentient beings who absorbed the stuff found they held it inside like a scream; they harbored this bated breath, as if releasing it might bring certain doom in the guise of a figure.

A figure who wore a hat, canted downward, its wide brim shielding them from judgement, from the burn of this creature’s gaze, this otherworldly being who was half myth, half legend, half flesh and green blood, bound together by a kind of apathy that bordered cruel.

But the stories were true— time stood still once he walked into the room.

One might swear they could hear the drop of that toothpick, discarded with both absence of mind and disrespect. It bounced once across greel-wood floors strewn with sand, in need of a sweep.

All eyes, including ones that were bulbous and backlit, remained on the blue Duros, a person of sound intelligence left to ponder the notion—the implications—as to the appearance of a diminutive droid from behind his legs, only knee-high. For a hunter of such notoriety to keep a companion that for all intents and purposes seemed harmless was a mystery, almost as big a mystery as the man himself.

“Geric Zodri,” its haughty, high-nosed voice called out, little hands akimbo on his hips, both the new arrivals unaware of the woman who sat at a table just diagonal the door. Her caf cup was held stationary in a position that mimicked art, as if sculpted from marble; she dare not move, wanting nothing more than to observe the sight before her, to commit it to memory, for such a beautiful thing it was.

Skin the color of cerulean seas; eyes as red as human blood that shone like fire; fingers as long and delicate as the legs of spiders. His teeth were as sharp and deadly as his stare, two the length of dagger points, the Duros’ body as thin and gangly as the stem of a candlewick flower sold on market days. 

He was covered from head to foot in leather, tubes jutting from his cheeks like extra limbs, his pants so tight it appeared he had been poured into them. The girl imagined his wide-brimmed hat to be a crown, fixated atop his head and steeping him in shadow, its artificial shade casting its dark pall across honed planes and angles, only making those stark, elliptic eyes more prominent.

Love at first sight—she might believe it, now that she had come face to face with hell incarnate, a fallen angel, a man so handsome tears threatened to fall from her eyes, her previous occupation all but forgotten.

What had she been doing? Datapad sitting idle, screen blackening to the color of pitch.  She hadn’t a clue, forgetting to breathe, forgetting to blink, forgetting her own name as the soft jingle of some unidentified bits of metal clinked against one another with every graceful, slow, deliberate step of this man advancing, strolling beyond her, just to the left.

She felt she might faint; simply pass from this world into the next, to die on the spot as she caught the scent of the gunslinger who smelled like something smokey, something sweet, something not quite like anything else on this stinking planet; it was a wonder she did not spill her beverage straight onto her lap, finally having the sense to place it down upon the table.

Then, another man stood, a human, though nothing about his appearance suggested he was from any place in particular, his eyes wide like an animal ensnared, caught in the path of a hungry predator, though the droid approached him first, his gold-colored photoreceptors angling upward as he tilted his large head.

How did it even stay upright? How did this little bot balance when it was so top heavy, defying the laws of physics? Questions she asked herself as she watched the scene unfold; they were all members of a theatrical audience, her and the other patrons, seated on the edges of seats, cramped in corners to make themselves small, heads bent low with hoods drawn, others smiling wicked smiles of twisted delight.

“Ah, there you are! There is no escape, I am afraid,” the droid said with certainty, joined by an air of pretention that was almost comical. Maybe this woman would have laughed had not all the other people surrounding her been so adamant to keep their silence, a few others daring to inch toward the door in hopes of a subtle escape.

The Duros paused as his target’s eyes shifted, mapping out possible exits, his heartbeat so loud he was positive it could be heard over the eerie quiet that had descended upon this little cantina like an ominous cloud. The gears of his mind were practically visible, turning in the direction of the blaster on his hip, the perp’s arm lifting incrementally in such a fashion as to make everyone aware he planned to draw.

“Naht smart, what yer thinkin’,” the creature’s voice announced, low and husky, words drawled in absolute indifference. So calm and cool, like a tall drink of water served ice cold; he rushed for naught, the girl thinking she would pay all the credits in the galaxy just for him to read aloud to her.

“Whaddeye say ye come quietly, save me a heap a trouble.”

Something akin to fear bristled down her spine, though the threat had not been directed toward her. Worse yet, it wasn’t as simple as that, the tingling of her loins accompanying a heat that spread like wildfire from her groin up to her cheeks.

God, he was perfect in every sense of the word. The tilt of his hip, the drumming of his fingers against his gun belt, the scars that not marred, but complimented his rugged visage. She realized she wanted to kiss him, touch him, worship the very ground he walked on, and she did not even know his name.

“Cad Bane.”

His quarry had spoken, eyes narrowing to match the width of the Duros’, constricted into tapered slits at either end. The girl had only spared him a glance, returning her attention to the rough and tumble nerfpoke whose hand idled over blasters of a kind she had never seen before.

“Supposin’ ye know why Ah’m here, dhen,” the hired gun offered, though his droid perked up, easing himself back into the conversation as if he enjoyed the act of provocation, no better than a sentient who fed on drama.

“For the sizable bounty on your head, of course!”

Cad Bane, the bounty hunter, the girl recited soundlessly. Only known by name, she had never once laid her eyes on him—not that she had desired or ever expected to.

The hunter’s upper lip lifted in a partial sneer, revealing the point of one elongated tooth more clearly. How might it feel for it to press against her flesh? How might it feel to be bitten?

“Dhat’ll do.” The droid needed no other encouragement, backing up to a safer distance as its master stayed put, seeming to know better than to interfere with what was about to occur. The one called Bane never once looked away from his mark, and the girl never once looked away from him, the way in which the Duros carried himself exuding a reptilian-like patience that preceded his species, yet this was something else entirely.

It was a standoff, like those kinds she witnessed in holofilms, but she found herself rooting for the villain—was he the villain? What had this man done to warrant being hunted down like vermin? She would not contemplate the possibilities, too engrossed in the here and now, eyes trailing from boot to brim; she thought she caught a sideways glance in her direction, causing her to dip back in her seat—had he looked at her?

That was the moment a shot rang out, followed by the smell of Tibanna gas and gasps from all around. Another followed suit, within milliseconds, echoing the first. Bane had sidestepped, his reflexes like that of an agile nexu—the human male had tried to take him out and failed.

“Ah’d say better luck next time,” the hunter quipped. The butt of his joke need not be stated, the point of it obvious—he was deader than a starship rivet, hitting the floor like a sack of Corellian potatoes, no one seeming to want to acknowledge this fact as they returned to card games, to gambling, to drinking caf.

But the girl—she would continue to stare, lip nearly chewed to shreds as she bit her tongue to keep from spurting off nonsensical things such as “I love you,” or “please fuck me within an inch of my life.” It was as if he could read her mind, another glance cast with the accompaniment of a smirk.

“Todo.”

The droid was alert and ready to serve, somehow wishing she was he, or it, at his beck and call and then some, never once assuming she could be jealous of a thing that had no soul, made of ones and zeros.

“Get de repulsor,” he commanded. “And ye,” he faced the girl, “come with me.”

---

The coiling of a single digit easily persuaded you, your heartbeat a separate entity set out to betray you; it was felt as a persistent throb below the belt, your cunt clenching as you stood. You were unsure of what the hunter wanted from you, but it did not matter, all thoughts fleeing to be replaced by unconditional obedience.

It would have been unwise to turn him down regardless, apparent from all eyes now set upon you, none wishing to be caught in your shoes. Had he felt disrespected by your ogling? Had he set out to punish you? Would you wind up like the man inside the bar?

You would not see his face again in the span of time it took for him to travel the path laid out before him, unconcerned by your lagging behind, finding you to be no threat. Despite your predicament, you were eager to discover what he had in store, pausing when Cad Bane vanished beyond the mouth of a narrow alley.

Now would be the time to run, to flee for your life, but instead you were stupid, enamored by the way he walked, the way he talked, the clothes upon his back, the color of his pretty scales.

You took a breath, turning the corner. He was waiting for you, thumbs hooked along the waistband of his trousers. Once he was sure you had not abandoned him—and he did allow you your own freewill—he advanced, arriving at a more secluded portion to which he pointed with a downward turn of his index finger.

You bravely stepped forward, aligning yourself with the wall. Bane positioned himself in front of you with a curious tilt of his head, towering above. And while you felt intimidated, you did not outwardly express it, keeping a straight face notwithstanding the trepidation you harbored, meeting that piercing gaze head-on.

Then, he angled his hand, pointing again, this time toward the ground with that same finger, a smug look of callous amusement registered by only a small quirk of his thin lips.

Slowly, thoughtfully, you lowered, drifting to your knees before him as your gaze stayed trained on his gaunt face. He wanted you humbled in supplication; you held no qualms, holding his red eyes with an expectant look for as long as he allowed.

You could get drunk off them, like sanguine-colored wine, your own reflection mirrored back to you; your own desperation; your own indecency, assuming what might come next, yet your expression could only be observed as eager. The Duros’ lithe fingers branched out like twigs as they curled beneath your chin, a hint of a thing most heavenly stretching languidly in an upward curve.

It was a smile, or the beginnings of one, dastardly in effect, Bane all too entertained by your lack of self-respect, perhaps. Yet you obeyed when he pried your lips apart with the pad of a cool thumb, exposing your teeth—nothing like his and dull in comparison—your instinct to wet his scales as your tongue gave a tentative lick, mouth closing around its blue tip.

You sucked, not once breaking eye contact, drowsy with desire as you mimed fellatio, moaning sweet sounds that caused the man to hiss, as if somehow unprepared.

You watched as his free hand unzipped his fly below where his belt fastened, leaving his holsters intact about his tiny waist. It took more than that to partly undress himself, realizing there was a hidden panel made of some extruded, matte material that sealed him off from the outside world; it was like a second skin, only black.

Bane’s bulge pushed against it, as if the thing behind it demanded to be released. Like a snake, it—they—slithered out to your surprise, his thumb abstracted to be replaced by not one, but both his cocks.

Awestruck, your eyes widened; you never would have imagined that what his species packed would be anything quite like this. Coated in a sheer slime that tasted divine, these flexible appendages glided down your throat as if a liquid, bypassing your uvula to delve toward the deepest part of your oropharynx, barely giving you space to breathe.

But you found you could, inhaling through your nostrils as you sat up on your knees, finding his flavor to be enticing, lulling you into a more relaxed state of mind. You were receptive, more than perhaps you ought to be, puckering your lips for better suction, the Duros’ gloved hand finding the back of your head.

He pushed you forward; you did not resist, his slender hips thrusting into you as his reedy fingers coiled into your hair. You aided him, seesawing your neck back and forth, adopting a frictionless speed that caused his grip to tighten, the Duros shamelessly fucking your face like you were a common whore, yet he was not paying you.

His genitalia seemed to be hardening, which was unexpected, making it difficult for you to obtain the oxygen you sorely needed, yet you found to be starved of air was worth it, instead your nostrils filling with a most addicting aroma, none like you had ever smelled before.

Today seemed to be a day full of firsts; your hands found the hunter’s small, yet muscular ass. He did not stop you, though he could if he had the mind, your tongue roiling across and between his members as if imparting a passionate kiss.

What was that? you wondered, your human brain only comprehending it as pheromones, you heart beating faster as you drooled on yourself, spittle leaking down your chin to fall against your breasts. The hunter yanked you backward by your locks, stealing his cocks from you; you panted, gasping, yet you were indignant, tongue searching them out in a pathetic display worthy of embarrassment as you whined in dismay.

“Human girls would choke dhemelves te death,” he commented, tone mocking, allowing the reinsertion of one, while the other slid down the front of your top to fondle a pebbled nipple, slipping beneath the fabric of your brassiere.

He was right; you had not wished to stop, only now noticing how dire the situation had been. As if hypnotized, or seduced by his scent, in that moment you would not have cared if you asphyxiated, so avid was your zeal.

You moaned in earnest, enlivened further by his attention to your tits, however unconventional, moving your hand to grip his interred cock’s sleek base. You gorged on it, one of the Duros hands finding purchase against the wall behind you, propping himself up as you deigned to never be forgotten, feeling privileged to have even gotten this far.

You changed your mind; you went hands free, smashing your breasts together, creating a snug crevice between your cleavage for him to fuck. You continued to slather his first cock in your saliva, deepthroating him to the root of his tentacular shaft, putting your whole body into motion, your tongue ebbing and flowing, cheeks hollowing, coaxing him to bust.

He produced a gruff, throaty sound that nearly caused you to cum untouched. You would have played with yourself right then and there, but his pleasure was the thing you sought, keeping your tits level as he drove his secondary cock between them, droplets having formed at its head; the sticky beads of precum leaked out onto your chest.

“Give a Rodian a run fer dheir creditsss…” he praised, your underwear thoroughly soaked; you relaxed your throat as he face-fucked you harder, though his movements slowed, his strokes deeper, longer, more succinct.

“Get ready,” Bane warned; you felt born ready, squeezing your tits around him at the same time your mouth hugged his every inch. He came, a torrent of ejaculate pumping itself down your gullet and into your belly, the other spreading its seed all across your breasts and neck, spurting as high as your chin.

You were covered, inside and out, verbalizing your ecstasy by way of a happy purr, though you were quickly disappointed when his snake-like dick wriggled right out of you to join its twin, both dripping with remnants of his sperm.

You licked them clean, begging for more, a plaintive whine escaping you as you gazed up with sorrowful, pleading eyes, so sad that it was over.

Bane stuffed himself back inside his suit, his trousers, and awkwardly adjusted, waiting for the moment his dual dicks would retract inside himself, making his pants all the more comfortable to wear.

He pat your cheek; it was a demeaning gesture, yet you ate it up, nuzzling your face into the bowl of his palm for those few seconds, like an eager kitten who craved attention, finding yourself to be devastated when he broke physical contact, your mind swirling with thoughts of him and only him, Bane knowing that look all too well.

“Thanks fer de head.”

The hunter tipped his hat, turned, and moseyed back the way he came, the way from which he had ushered you minutes prior, his droid drifting by with the body of the man Bane had shot laid out on a hover-stretcher, leaving you to pine away for him as he knew you would, walking out of your life just as quickly as he had arrived— oh to be his bounty, dead or alive.

—-

Cad Bane masterlist

[yellowocaballero]

hi! i've been reading some of your older fics and was wondering if there's any merit in watching buffy for the first time in the year 2024

This may not be obvious, but this is actually an extremely complicated and highly subjective question. I'll try to go on for too long.

As background: my mother loved Buffy and its spin-off Angel growing up. It was our Bible (besides the actual Bible). Not kidding, she was on the forums and fan groups and wrote fanfiction for it and everything (These days, she's really into kdramas and Asian dramas, and calls me about how the Thai seem like big fans of gay people). So I'm quite biased.

BTVS is both a product of its times and ahead of its times. It was a show about feminism and the struggle of living in this world as a woman, when very few shows were doing that. It was the first show to have a long-lasting lesbian couple, and the first show to depict a kiss between them. For better or for worse, it was one of the codifiers of broody vampire boyfriend. It was pretty unafraid to be experimental in a lot of what it did. It had incredibly complex and nuanced character work and growth that I still aspire to. Spike's arc is still matched in quality only by Avatar's Zuko. Angel's long term arc, from Buffy to his spin-off series, still makes him one of the most complex characters on TV. It had the most complex depiction of depression on TV at the time and I still think it's one of the best. I think the show had very high highs.

It also had very low lows. Some of the feminism is problematic in retrospect. The sapphic couple has a rather famous element that was severely problematic. There are, overall, some deeply atrocious arcs that I can appreciate objectively but not in practice. Xander: a whole-ass character aged awfully. On a meta level, the workplace conditions were bad (thanks, Whedon.) There are no people of color. The spoiler's sake I won't go into detail on this, but in general the good stuff was so influential and the bad stuff was just awful.

I think these days people tend to brush off the entire thing because it's Whedon. That is more than fair. But I'd also say that Whedon & Buffy is extremely similar to Brian Michael Bendis & Ultimate Spider-Man. Bendis was fantastic at writing sassy, bouncy, permanently stressed-out teens - issue was, he wrote entirely different serious adult characters the way he wrote these sassy teens. Same with Whedon: the annoyingly constant quips are perfect for Buffy, because that's who the characters are. They're awful in Marvel, because Steve Rogers is not Xander. Kinda similarly, Buffy was genuinely feminist for 90s TV - issue is, Whedon has not grown or developed his views, and now his works feel so sexist (oh my fucking god why did you treat Natasha like that). After a certain point it's egotistical: you're writing like that because you're Joss Whedon and it's how you write, not because it's what's best for the characters and story. But it was really important to me to get the character voices right, and it's freaking difficult to endlessly write dialogue that distinct, full of voice, witty, and clever.

I think BTVS & Angel TV's greatest influence on my writing is how intensely character-driven both of those shows were, and how intricate the characters were. What every character did was something they would do, if that made sense. Even the stuff I hated to watch, that made me uncomfortable, was the culmination of so much (usually). I think I also picked up the constant wit and humor lol. On a personal level, the conversations I would have with my mother where she broke down the character motivations and composition of the story was my first exposure to looking at storytelling from an analytical perspective and a framework of critical analysis, which was an approach I carried into the rest of the media I consumed and that was the primary reason I was able to become a decent writer. Thanks, Mom. Have fun with your kdramas.

TL:DR: There is merit, especially if you care about good character work. There are things about it that may make you want to drop it, which is extremely valid. Season 1 is rough but interesting, Season 2 and 5 are the best, Season 3 is pretty good, Season 4 and 7 skippable, and Season 6 is........epic highs, epic lows......

[mlbigbang2024]

Big Bang Etiquette: Tips for Writers & Artists Working Together

Sometimes it feels daunting to start talking to someone you don’t know on the other side of the world, particularly if you’re a little shy. Here are some tips to make your Big Bang experience fun and productive!

After all, it’s in everyone’s best interest to finish the fic and artwork. So we have tried to come with a handy guide. Hope this helps you!

For Writers:

1. Be Clear with Your Vision: Share your story ideas early. Let your artist know about key scenes or vibes that inspire your work.

REFERENCES, REFERENCES, REFERENCES: These are key to make sure that the artist understands what you are envisioning.

Pinterest boards can also be your friend.

Share your outline and your chapters as soon as possible so that the artist can start planning!

2. Respect Artistic Freedom: Trust your artist’s interpretation. Their unique perspective adds depth to your story.

Be Open to Surprises: Your artist may come up with ideas or visual elements you hadn't considered. Embrace their creativity as it often leads to a richer final product.

Constructive Criticism: If you’re unsatisfied with a piece, don’t be scared to speak up, but do so respectfully. Frame your feedback in a way that’s encouraging and helpful, like suggesting adjustments instead of outright rejections. 

3. Deadlines Matter: Stick to agreed timelines. Your artist is working around them too!

Plan Ahead: Keep track of all deadlines and set internal checkpoints to ensure progress is on track. If you anticipate delays, communicate early to find a solution together.

Be Reliable: Consistent and timely updates build trust and show your commitment to the partnership. If you meet your deadlines, your artist is more likely to do the same.

For Artists:

1. Ask Questions: Don’t hesitate to seek clarification on characters, settings, or moods. A little detail can spark the perfect illustration.

Dig Deep: Ask about character motivations, the tone of scenes, or any specific visual details the writer envisions. Even small things like the color of a character’s eyes or the style of clothing can make a big difference.

2. Share Progress: Show sketches or drafts early on. Feedback from the writer can steer your work in the right direction.

Step-by-Step Updates: Share your progress in stages—initial sketches, line art, color blocking, etc. This allows the writer to give feedback at each step, preventing major overhauls later on.

Encourage Input: Invite the writer to share their thoughts openly. Remind them that it’s easier to make changes during the sketch phase than in the final stages.

3. Be Flexible: Sometimes the story evolves. Adapt if needed and stay open to adjustments.

Offer Solutions: If a requested change seems challenging, suggest alternatives that stay true to the writer’s vision but might be easier or more effective artistically.

4. Respect the Story: Your art enhances the writing. Keep the narrative in mind and aim to complement the writer’s vision.

Stay True: Your art should reflect the mood and style of the story. Whether it’s lighthearted, dark, whimsical, or intense, align your artistic choices with the writer’s narrative goals.

For Both:

Communicate Regularly: Check in often, even if it’s just to say everything's on track.

Be Considerate: Life happens. If something’s going off course, let your partner know ASAP.

Celebrate Each Other: Acknowledge each other’s efforts. This project is a team effort—cheers to collaboration!

Ways To Get Conversation Flowing:

1. Artist

Ask the writer what inspired the story or how they come up with ideas

Tell the author your favourite scenes. The creation process takes a long time, and some writers miss getting the in-flow of kudos and comments from Ao3 for motivation. During this phase, you are their source of motivation!

2. Writers:

Ask why the artist why they liked your idea.

Tell them about yourself, anything from the Timezone you are in to help with communication or to what inspires you.

If you have something big coming up, like a holiday or an exam, let your artist know. Who knows you might find out you have similar interests!

3. Both: 

Talk about anything and everything! Compare head canons, your favorite episodes, maybe even your favorite fics!

Provide regular updates! Ask for feedback. It doesn’t have to be a complete work. You’re just providing each other reassurances that there’s progress!

Remember this is more than an event, this is FANDOM! And we are here to have fun and make new friends! 

[sehtoast]

I like your thoughts and interpretations a lot, so I wanted to ask, how can I write Homelander x reader (or anyone) and make it not feel like he’s being put out of his comfort zone or doing something just as a way of coping? It sounds silly but I’ve having thoughts on it and besides having a lot of consent checks and stuff I’m not sure how else to do it. I’m probably overthinking but I thought I’d ask since you write and seem to have good insight on characterization and consent

The thing with this is that you actually have a lot of control over this as the author in subtle and obvious ways (took me a while to answer this  just because there’s a lot, lol).  So much so that it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what may or may not make something feel consensual in your writing.  There’s not really one particular thing that achieves this, you know?  It could be anything from comfort/safety with the person you’re pairing him with, to consent checks (these are just as effective!), to his own enthusiasm in the scene.  I’m gonna talk about smut writings below the cut, so warning for ns/f/w below:

To start, I’m hoping you’re asking this in regards to smut, otherwise I’m just info dumping on smut writing lol.  Consent and boundaries can exist for much more than sex, so apologies if I’m getting this wrong.

If you’re looking to go heavy on a show-don’t-tell way of showing consent and comfort from Homie, think about how he reacts to certain things.  Does he lean into their touch?  Does he shake with need, or is it actually anxiety?  <- This in particular is one that might require a smidge of telling, though your descriptions of him in the scene can indicate the difference too.  Does he touch/cling to them, or try to confine himself to his own sort of space as if to keep away?  A lot can be told just in the way he reacts physically. 

Doing perspective from his pov can also help a ton.  Is he excited by what’s going on?  How’s his internal monologue sounding?  His emotional state?  Fics from his pov can help with being more open about how he feels and you don’t have to pingpong as much between characters.  Readers are generally understood to be consenting (unless otherwise specified) since those types of works are self indulgent, so the focus doesn’t necessarily have to be on both but certainly can be if you’d like!  

‘Telling,’ or just having verbal consent checks (can be nonverbal too!) is still very effective, and is something I’ve done in my own fics before.  That, and the stuff above (and stuff I might have missed) are all really good ways to do it.

I’m going to talk about how I write him with my OC (and, to be fair, readers as I just picture the reader as my OC anyway when I write those types, lol).  With Ben, it's interesting to write smut for Homelander.  The whole shtick with them is that Ben is literally just some guy Homie threatened into joining The Seven that ended up bonding with him and forming a relationship.  The beauty of that is that this establishes a baseline of comfort and safety with one another (as a general rule, this baseline can be understood in fics without much or any backstory in a lot of cases). 

In one of my side fics, I have Ben stop Homelander from initiating sex, and even kissing (pre-relationship, for context) because he recognizes that Homelander is trying to bury his grief with it and doesn’t want to take advantage of him while he’s in such a tender state.  But that scene was written with the understanding that Homelander was trying to do that, and his paired character recognized it.  Again, this is something that you have incredible control of as the writer.

With my Ben x Homie fic “Touch,” I actually have it start with Ben asking if he can touch Homie.  I focused that fic from Homie’s pov and have him ramble some internal thoughts about “duh, we’re dating,” which I did to sort of toy with Homelander’s concepts of explicit vs implicit consent.  Ben asks for explicit consent, but Homelander believed it was already implicitly there.  As a man who has likely never genuinely been asked that question (or at least not in good faith/have it be ignored after), it felt very right to have Ben ask him that.  Throughout the fic, Homelander seeks more and more contact with his body, which I felt shows his eagerness and desire to continue.  

When things are a little more wild, such as with the fic where he’s tongue-blasting Ben’s wrist spinnerets, I wrote from Homie’s pov again to establish that it was his freaky-deaky playful nature that led to him thumbing at Ben’s wrists, gauging the physical response, and getting more and more into it.

Writing him as submissive or bottoming is when I rely heavily on physical queues as well as verbal.  If he’s seeking more on his own accord while trying to follow any rules, this shows his eagerness.  Gasps, moans, and glassy eyes searching for reassurance (that find it readily) are good physical indicators.  And here I think consent checks would be excellent!  Given what we know about him, his abuse by authority figures, and his struggle with power dynamics, it’s not at all inappropriate or out of place for his partner to ask if he’s okay, if he wants to continue, etc while he’s in an especially vulnerable state- especially if his partner also knows about these things.  I think he would actually really really appreciate this.

Want to tie it all together with making sure he’s comfortable?  After care.  Holy moly, after care!!!  After care is under utilized imo, but it’s a wonderful way to have your characters talk afterward and explore how they feel.  Maybe one takes care of the other, helps them clean up, preps a bath and dotes on them (or they mutually dote) while they share the tub.  Maybe it’s just pillow talk.  But it’s very special and can really add that layer of comfort.

Like I said, there's a ton of ways you can do this. Just do what feels right, you know?

I don’t know if this answered everything thoroughly, but please shoot me another ask if I missed anything!  I appreciate you a ton for thinking of me and your kind words about my interpretations <3 

[nolongerapileofashprobably]

Hiya, me again! I’m loving your deep dives into character and plot for BotW/TotK, so I was wondering if you might like to give me your take on something I’m ruminating on for a WIP. I’d totally welcome others pitching in too! The question is this: what do you think that an emotional “breaking point” would look like for Link during TotK? He canonically masks his emotions to an extent and seems to have a history of trauma responses that include shutting down and dissociating, but what happens when it all gets to be too much? When a friend who’s trying to be helpful or sympathetic unwittingly presses too hard into an emotional sore spot and Link - already barely holding it together with everything that’s going on - just snaps? With everything bottled up so tight, what happens if the bottle explodes at the worst possible time: while he’s in the presence of others? Does he lash out? Break down? Flee? Some combination of all those, or something else entirely? I have my ideas but I’d love to get more takes!

Oooooohhhhh hi hi hi

I LOVE character analysis study time to determine how they would behave in a fic. I think Totk Link definitely shows far more emotion than we the players get to see and I think the best part of the game in general to determine that is the chase in Hyrule Castle.

As we know, Link canonically does go mute when he’s feeling a lot of emotion. But, he shows more emotion than is let on. Buliara tells us that Link is legitimately frazzled, utterly focused on ‘Zelda’, and in a space where he may “miss a wrung” in his haste to get up to the observation deck. And as he chases Zelda down and gets to the Sanctum, his expressions change for “oh my god Zelda is right here, I can see her” to “something is off. This isn’t Zelda” as she speaks. I can’t explain it properly, but this is that final nail in the coffin that YES. Zelda is the light dragon. She is going to be forever.

That is absolutely DEVASTATING. Because we know at this point in the game, Link is AWARE that it’s not the real Zelda that’s been seen across Hyrule. But he’s still so desperate.

And after the battle with the sages coming to aid him, everyone else is speaking and Link is just kinda there until Riju addresses him. And she goes “you should come to Lookout Landing too, Link”

While from a gaming perspective, that’s the way the game points the players back to Lookout Landing and of course Link isn’t going there with everyone else, because once the cutscene ends, Link will be by himself for the player to control.

However, in this case, we could argue that this was incredibly emotionally taxing for Link and he is at a breaking point.

So I think for him, it’s a sign that he will go mute and in a sense ‘run away’. He will seek a place to be alone and not surrounded by others who expect things of him. His breakdown point is led with a trauma response of becoming selectively mute and then seeking a safe place to break down with no one around him.

It’s so unsettling because for most characters, you get that explosive reaction, the one that erupts all of their emotions to whoever pushed them a tad too far… but Link’s trauma and his own training as a soldier creates an even worse response.

He doesn’t lash out in front of people. He doesn’t even let them know what he is thinking.

For a Link who is now far more expressive than he was previously, to shut down again and be mute, completely dissociating around some of his closest companions… that’s a LOT. And it’s a lot different from a writing perspective, but I think an internal breakdown, completely oblivious to the people around him, and a steady blow up once everyone is gone or he fled the area to be alone could be very emotionally impactful!

[riabef]

✎. I regret you all the time VARIOUS X READER

SUMMARY: Have you ever wanted to have your heart broken in less than 10 000 words? I have a solution for you, read this fic. In which, the reader breaks up with the respective male characters. (These actions done by the characters are not made by any means to sway you into not liking them, this is made for the fact that is… breakup… scenarios)

FEATURING CAST: Al Haitham, Cyno, Tighnari, and reader ^^

PRONOUNS: gender neutral, used second perspective, “You” when writing (please inform me if there’s a mistake)

WORD COUNT: 7322 words

WARNINGS: angst! Mentions of breaking up, very… uhh… emotional moments ? Tighnari’s has some self doubt, Al haitham is a little bit of a jerk here. lowkey toxic relationships (?) I was more focused on the break-up part. Fluff to angst!

PROOF-READ: nope! the only witness to this fic is me and this spider that’s been hanging on my wall for the past 30 minutes

AUTHOR NOTES: i love making Angst but first and foremost I love making it everyone else’s problem, I spent more time formatting and tagging this than I did writing it

yes I still don’t know how to center text…. yeah…. also I genuinely do not remember half of what I just wrote so if there’s any grammar errors uh…. Good luck (?)

Alhaitham

Even in darkness I can see the colours shine bright

Yellow, red and blue calling out your name

From the bottom of my heart, it’s so relentless

The love I had for you is trying to break its way free

YUURI. DRIED FLOWERS

“Be careful of Alhaitham”, “Stay safe”, “I don’t like that guy”, are all phrases you’ve heard about the man, more correctly dubbed as your lover. A man who purely operates on rationality, one who finds it far more easier to put a value to things before emotional value. A relationship with AlHaitham requires more than patience, it requires a security in yourself, confidence, and even more patience.

Falling in love with Alhaitham is harder than falling in love with most, love indeed does have its own trials; yet falling in love with Alhaitham is on another level. For a man so deeply unchanging in rationality, he never expected to fall in love, much less, pursue a relationship with someone. This was drastically different from the life he had planned, the caution all thrown away to the wind as he eagerly counts down the minutes until he can see you again.

For a man so rational, he does have his own round-about way of saying “I love you” in the strangest ways ever, but you couldn’t deny that he made you feel as flustered as the day you met, his traits never seeming to bore you, and someone who always loves to keep you on your toes; that is the kind of lover Alhaitham is.

It is very rarely that he will voice the words, but just from his actions you can feel it, you feel it in the scented candles he gives you when he remembers your favourite scent, you feel it in the extra annotations he leaves in your notes when you’re particularly stressed, and you feel it in the way his presence is a never-changing constant, a lighthouse signalling the way home for sailors in the night.

“I have something for you,” He gives you a box, and you can only assume it’s from your favourite bakery again, and you sigh.

“Let me guess, you just so ‘happened to be in the area’ despite it being a 20 minute walk from here, and you just so ‘happened to notice that I was working in the library long enough for a break’ and it also ‘coincidentally appears to be your break-time’?”

“Good, you already know, I don’t need to repeat myself again.” Insufferable jerk.

He takes a seat across from you, taking notice of the textbooks you were working on, storing their titles in his mind, perhaps he’s able to assist you this time–

“You wrote that wrong.”

“Why do I even love you again?”

“I wonder that as well.”

He may be an insufferable jerk, but he’s your insufferable jerk.

Falling in love with Alhaitham is akin to a stormy night on the seas, the waves crashing against the sides of the ship, threatening to drown any of those who come unprepared; the seas that show no mercy, all that comes must take proper precautions rather than wish on the stars for their hopes to be achieved. That, is a better description of Alhaitham. He is a man incredibly fond of routines, although he understands that it’s not meant for everyone, but he does as his schedule allows. Fortunately for you, his schedule always allows for him to spend time with you, pleasant or not.

His fondness for you, as he likes to put it, is expressed, you know it in the way he stays up late with you on rare occasions, looking over your papers. Or when he would ensure that your research involves the proper safety precautions, or when he double checks your itinerary to make sure that everything matches up to his standards.

Although, just because he loves you doesn’t mean that he’s not going to forget what he’s known his whole life, his rationality. It’s not at all easy to discuss his feelings either, unwanted presences making itself known in his usually clear mind aren’t usually what he faced before he met you. Now, it’s as if it’s what he felt everyday.

He’s not the best communicator, he either bottles everything up, or he tends to say it too straightforward that it hurts even you.

“Alhaitham, I understand–”

“No, do you? If you understood then you wouldn’t be doing something as reckless as this.” He looked at you in disapproval, you felt yourself humiliated by his unwavering glare; feeling as though he’s seen through your actions.

In front of him you felt like a child.

A child incapable of being with someone of his calibre, surely he deserves someone much better; someone more capable than you clearly are, if you were just a bit more capable, you wouldn’t be watching as he tightens the splint on your currently broken leg. You wince at the pain, only registering it now, you were far more pained by his disappointment in you than the physical pain you felt.

The more he tended to your leg as best as he could, the more incapable you felt, despite being the lover of the Scribe, you felt so insufficient to be beside him.

In your mind, with every incident you get into, it only adds more to the list of why he may hate you. Perhaps he did hate you after all, even you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

It’s no secret that he does try, although he’s so focused on other aspects that you fail to notice that you can’t help but feel a little bit more surprised when he does reveal his true intentions towards you. If it was already hard enough for anyone else to befriend Alhaitham, it’s even harder to be his lover, in the face of what he believes is rational, you may find it rather off-putting.

Although, you cannot deny the hurt you feel everytime you feel that he’s brushed off your feelings in favour of something that makes sense to him, the sense of familiarity makes its unwelcome entrance in disagreements between the two, as he sighs as though he’s dealing with a minor inconvenience rather than his lover.

You loved him, you truly do. There’s just, circumstances where it’s better to know the other as a memory rather than a constant in your life, the one you wake up to everyday.

You wished that you could’ve worked out, you really did.

“You’ve injured yourself multiple times attempting to perform, and everyone in the Akademiya looks down on your association with the arts.” He says, as he grabs the first aid kit again, after you came home limping with a sprained ankle.

He pauses, as if wondering whether to say reassurances, before he figures that you already know of his worries about you. Although you didn’t.

“And what, are you disappointed in me too? Just like–”

“Yes, I’m disappointed in you. It’s so incredibly obvious that it was dangerous, yet you went anyways, I expected you to know better.”

Biting back your tears you couldn’t help but feel helpless to the frustration that was welling up, “You wouldn’t know, I would give up everything for the arts. I don’t care about what I have to give up, as long as it’s what remains.”

Perhaps it was the amount of frustration that had gotten to you, or was it the pain of you injury? You couldn’t tell as you practically spat the words, “I would give up even you.”

You watch as his eyes widened infinitesimally, trying to take time to process what you had just said, before he wordlessly got up from his kneeling position to tend to your injuries to walk out the door.

You’re left to wallow in the weight of the words you just said, sitting there motionless on the kitchen counter.

It’s not often that you two get into disagreements, with him being so resolute and unchanging in his ways, it was only evident that you two would get into fights, or disagreements about what the other said. To take time away from the argument, either one of you would usually storm out of the house to take a walk, but you always reunited with each other.

Be it awkward apologies for each other’s actions, or simply staying in each other’s presence after having reflected on the argument, it was always enough.

Although as you sat there you had come to an epiphany.

You had plopped yourself down on the bed, remembering the argument from earlier, the words you said, and the words you wished you didn’t. If anything, it would be the opposite, you’d be willing to sacrifice the arts if it meant you could keep your lover happy, you’d be willing to tear yourself to shreds if that was what would bring him joy.

Yet it seems like you always did the opposite of that. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him feel happy because of you, and you were the cause of his distress. A lover should be someone who makes you feel right at home, not someone you argue with on a daily basis.

Hugging the pillows, the cold doing little to comfort you. The storm ravaged the boats, bringing it to destruction, the unrelenting storm destroying anything it could.

Just because you two had always found your way back to each other, doesn’t mean that it was necessarily healthy, you could feel the words you said, and his actions weighing down on you, like endless regrets attempting to swallow you whole. It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see you and your lover ignoring each other, or at least go on breaks every so often.

So it was not an unexpected sight to see you and your lover clearly ignoring the other. Except it continued. It was common for you and your lover to have disagreements that woud last about a week, yet this recent argument showed no signs of stopping.

Unregistered feelings kept building up and showed no signs of stopping, Alhaitham notes. Ever since your most recent disagreement, he can’t find it in himself to move past what you said. If he were to admit it fully, without any room for a facade, or any room for any egos to make a big deal; maybe you would’ve known that your words haunted him day in and day out. Every time he’s about to make a turn on the way home, he hesitates before he decides, “one more day.”

Eventually that had extended so long, he just couldn’t figure out how to begin even talking to you.

It’s been a week, 3 days, 7 hours, and 23 minutes since he’s last had that argument with you. That should be enough time for him to recover, it’s petty of him to ignore you for an argument, even if he did feel hurt by your words.

Finding his resolve, he walks, the familiar way to your home, about to turn onto your street before flashes of that moment appear in his mind, he can’t ever forget what you said. If he was any less than he is now, he would’ve accused you of putting him under a spell, memories flash in his eyes as he remembers the way unshed tears were present in your eyes, he can tell just how tiring it was to be with someone like him from the numerous times you had hidden your future artistic plans from him, the way you had hidden future research topics from him.

Of course he’d know, he had just chosen to ignore them to grant you some sense of stability. Even someone like him, understood that this relationship was closely approaching its ending.

Good thing he never believed in fairytales.

It takes a long while for you two to speak to each other, even longer for you to discreetly move his things back to his own home that he still shared with Kaveh, the latter helping you as well. Despite that, nothing escapes his sights, he’s not clueless, he’s far from that. He’s noticed long before you had hoped he would.

He doesn’t know what hurts more, how lowly you had thought of him, or how you were actively reaching out to his roommate rather than him.

It’s been four weeks from the argument when he sees you, it was difficult since it was obvious that you were clearly ignoring him, not wishing to spend any more time in his presence; contrasted to the love he thought you held for him.

Was it so easy to fall out of love with someone?

You finally catch notice of him, you almost spin around from how startled you were, you paused in your movements of handing over some mementos of Alhaitham that he left at your house, every time you looked away, you could’ve sworn there was more items from him than there was from you.

Kaveh, thankfully sensing the mood, returns the box in your arms before he announces his impromptu walk.

In that moment, Alhaitham’s never felt so grateful to Kaveh, seems like the man did have a brain after all.

“I believe we do have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” You start the conversation, lacking the patience to draw this out any longer.

Words, for once, fail him, as he nods, gesturing for you to enter his home.

He was never a verbally expressive man, preferring to speak the bare minimum, speak only what he needs to, and express it eloquently. He was never one for idle talk, yet that’s all he could hope for when he sees your figure taking a seat on his couch. You’re just across him, almost within arm’s reach yet he felt as though you were far away.

“I…” you begin, thinking of a better way of expressing yourself, “I apologize for what you’ve said, I know I won’t be forgiven, but I’d like to apologize regardless. It wasn’t very appropriate of me to treat you like that, especially since you are my lover. Once again, I don’t expect your forgiveness, nor do I expect a sudden change of heart from you.”

“Thank you. I also think there’s many overdue apologies that I need to make as well.”

You two revel in the silence of the room.

The silence disturbed him, it was unsettling, normally he would’ve welcomed it, yet it only felt foreboding now.

“Although there’s one other thing I would like to say,” you wait for his approval before you continue, “I just don’t think this is working out anymore, it’s clear that this relationship only serves to harm us. I don’t think it’d be best if we continued as romantic partners.”

For someone dubbed as the lunatic of the Akademiya, he seems to have deserved the title as he ignores your wistful stares at him, the way you would almost reach out to call for him like you always had. He would pretend to not know that you kept re-reading the textbooks he’d give you notes on, reminiscing on your relationship.

You wouldn’t know either, the fact that he never touched anything that you returned to his home after that breakup. The way that they were so carefully stored away, yet never left to see the light of day again. The remnants of your relationship that he can’t bring himself to erase. The memories of you that he was all to eager to forget.

It’s been a while he’s seen you, and for a moment he doesn’t think he could even forget about you, it simply wasn’t even an option. But he’s never seen you happier.

It’s almost unheard of, to see a scholar and an artist thriving as one and the same, the way you had practically radiated in happiness as you perform. The perfect and elegantly trained movements he remembered seeing you stumble and struggle with, and once again, the fond memories come crashing back, like waves lapping at the sand. And for a moment, he’s entranced in what you’ve become, so entranced that he almost reached out to your hand, so entranced that he almost stayed for your whole performance, and so entranced that he almost confessed. I still love you.

Although, like everything with you, it ends up in a hilariously futile attempt as he returns the way he came.

Cyno

I can’t save us, my Atlantis, we fall

We built this town on shaky ground

I can’t save us, my Atlantis, oh, no

We built it up to pull it down

SEAFRET. ATLANTIS.

A relationship with Cyno entails a lot of things, most of which require patience. The closer you are to fire, the more it burns and that is how you would describe your relationship with Cyno. The fire that once burnt so brightly, built on the fuels of your love and adoration for each other slowly dimmed until all you could do was blow it out.

There were mementos of your love for each other, hidden notes tucked in his papers for him to discover; love hidden in the baths you’d prepare for him when he’d get home, and love prepared for you when he would prepare your favourite foods after stressful days. The fire burnt vibrantly, its heat a testament for the love you shared.

Patience, patience, patience, it was required every step of the way, a man who’s been enshrouded in a world of black and white struggles to comprehend the shades of gray you brought to his world; and you struggle to adjust to a man so steadfast in his beliefs

Although, patience that rivals a saint’s still runs out like grains in an hourglass, people are only people, and so eventually there was only so much you could take before it all started to crack. Cracks in the foundations of your relationship, the love, and admiration for each other simply wasn’t enough to sustain you. It never was.

It’s all become too familiar, to be greeted by an empty bed, the curtains billowing in the night’s breeze. It had become a routine of sorts, to arrive at your house; never to greet your lover. You’d be lying if you didn’t say that you had missed the times when your love for each other was enough. Yet another note lies on the dinner table of Cyno’s sincere apologies that regretted not being able to spend enough time with you.

Somehow, his sincere words left an awfully bitter taste in your mouth.

Understanding can only go to a certain extent, and you prepare to spend another evening alone. You supposed you even missed his jokes, empty words hanging in the air, and the love that once filled the home with a welcoming presence seemed to have dissipated.

Even being greeted by a cold bed was of no surprise to you, the lack of warmth fills you with more thoughts of your lover; was he okay? Was he at least safe? And selfishly, was he thinking of you?

Midnight falls, and you blow the candles out.

It was no surprise, when the relationship started to crumble, slowly and unnoticed by both of you. Putting on a facade despite the yearning for certain words to be said,

When was the last time you heard him say “I love you?”

Empty promises, and empty seats, it was not a strange sight to see you sitting at a reservation, waiting for your lover; although a pitiful sight, those who saw ignored you. Perhaps it was an attempt to restore your dignity, even though the walks back home felt even worse.

You wanted to laugh.

Would it have been strange if you laughed in a street, well past sunset? You would assume so.

Expectations, and far more useless promises; promises of making it up again, promises of being able to do this again at another time. Especially the promise that you could fix what you had together.

The more it happened, the more you noticed the cracks in the relationship, and oddly, how it started to become far beyond your capacity to fix. You loved him, but at that moment in time, you hated him. For the briefest of seconds, you felt the utter resentment build in your heart and swell until it couldn’t be ignored any longer. The love that you could’ve sworn was that all you two needed, wasn’t enough.

The frustrations of giddy flashes of adoration, the nervousness of looking good enough to render your lover stunned, and the expected downfall of it all. The walks home, full of resentment, and embarrassment for having yet another no-show.

That doesn’t mean Cyno wasn’t trying though, he had tried. That was all he did, if you ever wanted answers to any of those questions you asked yourself late at night you would’ve gotten your answers. Yes, he was okay, yes he was safe, and he thought of you every second of his day. Even doing the most mundane of tasks would bring his mind back to you, like a sailor finding solace in a lighthouse on a stormy night.

He thought of you every second that he was given the luxury to think; even if he was in the middle of battle, he would look to the stars and hope that what he was doing was keeping you safe.

For every crack that appeared in your heart, he was there to mend it right away, for every walk of resentment you had, he was there at home, there to soothe your sorrows and mend your heart anew. For every minor disagreement, he would apologize for disregarding your words and leave you feeling the happiest you’ve ever been

He sees you before he hears you. Sitting at the front steps of your shared home, hugging your knees, clothes slightly dry with the new addition of your tears. Whatever he was taught to do, or if he was ever taught to feel shame, he threw it all to the wind as he started comforting you.

His gentle voice, and painful regrets swirling in his soul reflected in his eyes. Nothing ever felt as reassuring as the hug he gave you, and the small kisses on your hands.

For once, his love wasn’t in notes or in the meals he prepared for you, and it consumed you. The flickers of embers in the candles that day slowly relit themselves into a warming fire. You gladly accepted his affections because you were far too scared to figure out how it’d feel without it. It was a question you didn’t want to find the answer to (you hoped to any archon listening that you wouldn’t).

The gradual change of seasons came with more duties, more love to miss, and more love that you wished for. The love that you craved. All you wanted, was to have him back in your arms again, or the lover that you knew that liked ranting to you about TCG invocation, The man that you thought you fell in love with.

It started as a yearning, a yearning for his presence, and a yearning for his comfort on the nights you awoke in a cold sweat. Then it snowballed into a yearning for him, the sorrow that was felt too often became hard to be swallowed, and emptiness in your days.

It came as no surprise when you eventually broke down in tears on one of the days he was at home with you, savouring whatever you had left.

“I…” you started your sentence, hesitating and both trying not to choke on your tears, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

The noise of rain hitting the ground seemed to grow louder in that moment, “I think we need to end this.”

“My love, we should talk about this some more hm? You are right, I can’t be away from home all the time and–”

“I don’t think we can fix this Cyno.”

A moment of silence occurs, and his hand hovers over yours, as if contemplating whether or not touching you would destroy everything you had together.

“Are you sure? Maybe if we talked a bit more we could—“ he pauses, fully taking in your pained expression, “maybe I can fix this, it’s my fault after all.”

The room is silent.

“I beg of you, please let me fix everything one more time, maybe we can go down to the port together, you’ve always wanted to go there. Or maybe if you don’t like that we can go to the forest together like you had suggested for our first anniversary…”

There’s no response from you, and he understood in that moment, that he lost you.

That day, the candles were extinguished, the smoke hanging in the air, and the ashes were all that remained.

It wasn’t easy getting over you and Cyno’s breakup, especially since your former lover had been present in almost every aspect of your life, it was difficult trying to get over him, every night as you cried yourself to sleep all you could think about was him. The way that he told you the worst jokes you’ve ever heard, or the way he wouldn’t hesitate in assisting you in any way he could.

Despite the relationship having been ended, it wasn’t rare for others to see you steal glances at each other, the looks that you’d pretend to be less the wiser of. It wasn’t something that you would’ve blamed him for regardless, for a relationship that had bonds deeper than just love; it was understandable why the both of you couldn’t seem to move on

“You’ve looked at him eleven times in the past five minutes, are you sure you’re really okay?”

You’re snapped back to reality as you’re greeted by the worried face of one of your friends, someone you’ve always been on good terms with, sighing as you remember that life decides to go on despite the crushing feeling present in your chest. “I think so…?”

It wasn’t even fair, you were the one who had broken things off so lamentably, yet you were also the one who missed him. It felt like you were the only one who had missed the others, if anything, rumour has it that the General Mahamatra has been working far more efficiently than he used to. Yet you were still stuck here, rooted to the ground still trying to process the loss of the other.

Of course it wasn’t easy for him as well, the nights he spent wondering about your safety, changed to restless nights he’d contemplate the entire relationship. Eager to forget the pain that now suffocated him day in and day out, he drowned himself in his work, not allowing for a second for his mind to drift to you. It was all he could do to keep himself sane.

The nights were the ones he hated the most, unable to focus his mind on anything else, he was completely and wholly plagued by thoughts of you, losing the ability to forget.

Tossing and turning in the bedsheets that still smelt like you, getting up in the morning, pouring you a glass of water only to remember once the glass was full. He still wears the scarf you knit him when it’s cold, he still keeps the dried flowers you sneaked into his papers, he still has photos of you two together on the walls, he still has your photo in his wallet, and he still loves you.

You wouldn’t be the only one who would sneak glances at your former lover, maybe if you let your gaze linger for just a bit longer, you’d see the way his eyes would always land on you. In some way, he hated it. He hated the way that he was reduced to nothing but a desperate lover who searched for you.

In every crowd, in every festival, in every gathering, his eyes would always wander, searching for a familiar figure, hoping yet dreading the notion of seeing you again.

He watches you, the way that you kept trying to take another glance at him, hoping that it was all the closure that you needed. Unable to tear his gaze off of you willingly, he beats himself up, archons know how many times he did that ever since your breakup.

You notice him catching onto your glances, and out of old habits, you almost felt his name exit your mouth. Luckily you were able to catch yourself, and settled with looking intensely at the book you had in your hands, “Did you need something, General Mahamatra?”

At the name, he almost flinched, unused to the uncaring tone that you had taken. He promptly considered what it’d be like if he could spend time with you rather than imagining worlds where you still belonged to each other. Without even a nod of acknowledgment, he turns around and went back the way he came.

The ashes dance around in the air, and flickers of what once was, rush to your mind as you continue, to no avail, of trying to read the same sentence over and over again.

After that day, you only saw him in your dreams.

Tighnari

But I always thought you’d come back,

Tell me, all you found was

Heart break and misery

It’s hard for me to say, I’m jealous of the way

You’re happy without me

LABRINTH. JEALOUS.

Falling in love with Tighnari was frighteningly too easy, maybe it's because everything about him was just so easy to fall in love with, from his sass to the calming reassurances that he’d offer to struggling students.

Falling in love with him was like a marigold growing within the crevices of your heart, the steady growth of the flower pulled you deeper into your affection for him. The archons finally granted all the wishes you could’ve attained, in the form of your lover. The answers to all your wishes, all your wants, all you could ever need, appeared in the form of a man named Tighnari.

Like sustaining a plant’s life with proper care, returning home to your lover had been the constant to your days, tea brewing in the air, and smiles exchanged in the silence of you ridding your coat.

“Hey, I knew you had a stressful day, do you want to talk about it? I even prepared your favourite tea for you.”

What a joke, just by seeing him, all your worries had dissipated away like it always had when you saw him. Grabbing the cup, full of gratitude, you place a quick kiss on his lips. “I’d love that, thank you so much.”

The marigolds that he planted in your heart grew blossomed wonderfully, the golden petals swaying in the gentle breeze, roots that have entangled deep within your heart, racing everytime you see your lover.

When Tighnari was with you, it was easier to do anything, with him, you found how easy it was to laugh, how easily he had allowed your smile to spread across your face. With him, it was easy to let all your worries become nothing but a faraway dream. In your heart, the marigolds that blossomed were taken care of by Tighnari, and take care of it he did.

It was easy to let the dwindling feelings slip away unnoticed, your lover was an amazing person, surely he was just stressed from all of the events that occurred at his work. It wasn’t exactly the most easiest job to keep people from danger in a forest, after all.

To love Tighnari, you truly adored him, it’s just that sometimes, things didn’t work out as planned. Time will tell, and it whispered in your ear; doubts of a long-lasting relationship, the pressure building on your back as you smiled off your pain once again to assure him that no, everything’s alright, you’re just tired.

“You know, your attention’s been lingering on the ground too much, I’m starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with it.” his back was turned to you, in favour of examining some mushrooms growing on the grass.

“Yeah, I think there’s something wrong with the ground because I could’ve sworn I scraped my knees falling for you.”

“You need to stop talking to Cyno so much, he’s starting to rub off on you,” he tuts, sighing deeply before he pretends to contemplate the reasons why he loves you.

He turned, and he was prepared to see your smile like he always had, like he always would. Yet this time, he only felt worry grow, and an undeniable sense of something wrong when instead, your expression reflected barely concealed pain.

You would hope he hadn’t noticed or that he at least ignored the fact that your heart didn’t beat as fast as it normally would when he walked into the room. Maybe then, it’d be easier to pretend that you were still just as madly in love with him as you once were, maybe this was just cold feet. Or maybe you seriously had to check out yourself for any commitment issues.

You had hoped, to every archon, that this was just a passing phase, maybe there was some external factor that you hadn’t noticed. Or maybe this was just a test, to persevere, after all, not all relationships require one to be happy at all times. The irrefutable fact remained, that your feelings for him dwindled by the day.

When most things occur, usually the feeling we turn to most would be denial, denial. You’ve denied any fact relating to the issue as much as you could, swearing over and over again that this wasn’t you falling out of love, this was just some plateau where your feelings had begun to adjust to staying committed to Tighnari.

Surely it wasn’t love that you were falling out of, it couldn’t be. Tighnari was the most amazing lover you’ve ever had, yet you could feel the marigolds begin to wilt, its petals adopting a duller shade of yellow in contrast to the stunning gold that seemed as though it was sown by the stars hung in the sky.

The moments you got alone, you’d contemplate, and maybe if you thought hard enough, your feelings for him would return. At least then, you wouldn’t have to pretend that you were just as in love with him as much as he was, so maybe then you wouldn’t have to deal with seeing his worried face after he notices the dwindling amounts of times you’d smile. As for your heartbeat… you could only hope that he was willing to ignore the fact that he no longer made you giddy like people usually do once they first fall in love.

Walking through the streets of Sumeru City with your lover running an errand, you felt relieved at the strange sense of peace the busy city had filled you. At least here, the silence of the forest wasn’t audible, and here, you could feel the pressure lifting off your back, dissipating at the busy streets, comforting you like he used to. You had always admired cities, seeing people from all walks of life gathered in one place granted you some semblance of comfort.

You no longer felt the heat rise in your cheeks when he’d call you by an endearing pet name of his, or when he’d do the smallest of gestures which always made you feel loved.

You had agreed, to be his forever, to be the only one he’d choose.

You hoped that your heart still had it to act out the part.

His hand eventually found his, a small smile returning to his face once he notices the shock he’s given you. You pray, desperately, that he couldn’t hear the normality of your heartbeat, or the way that you quickly avoided eye contact playing it off as being flustered.

“Let’s go back home.”

Tighnari was no idiot, he’s been the opposite of that actually. It was unmistakable, he used to struggle to hear your racing heart over his own; now, only his heart alone would race. Similar to you, he had hoped, even prayed to the dendro archon, that maybe this will just eventually pass, perhaps it was because he’s been too domestic lately.

Perhaps he should try Cyno’s advice to spice up the relationship.

He was at a loss for words, trying to figure out your heart as though it was some plant that had refused to grow; taking any advice he could get. Perhaps you’re just getting bored of the relationship, he does admit that it feels as though it’s similar to stagnated waters. It didn’t sit right with him to let his lover struggle alone, yet he also recognized the space that you had subtly asked for every time you directed your gaze to the floor.

Skimming through books he found on the subject, he had to stifle the ridiculous remarks he would’ve made if it wasn’t for your situation. Tighnari didn’t wish to devalue any advice that may help resolve this predicament, yet even he recognized how embarrassing these solutions might be.

11. Spend time apart.

Seemed to be the only one helping, he knew the sighs of relief, and how your hands had lost all tension in them when he left for an errand. Or when he gave you the space to think without the pressure of appeasing him.

The rest were laughable advice. Yet, there’s no explanation for how he started planning a date. A picnic under the cover of a tree near a flowing river; something you had always wanted to check off on your bucket list.

He was a determined and self-disciplined individual, yet that’s all nothing if he couldn’t ignite the love that you thought, began to run out.

While he was preparing for your impromptu date, you had begun to reminisce on important relationship milestones hoping that this little trip down memory lane would spark the feelings you were so desperately missing. Similar to how scholars of the Akademiya would spend hours pouring over texts and documents, you spent hours upon hours looking through the scrapbooks of your anniversary, of your birthday, of his, of the memorable moments you spent together.

You still remember the first time you held hands, the first date, the first kiss you shared, and many of the firsts of you two as a couple. You felt nothing but fondness as you had looked back on those wonderful memories, perhaps that was all you really needed, a reminder of why you fell for him in the first place. Maybe you had overthought it and it felt like a bigger issue than it should’ve been.

The days passed by and you found yourself being invited by Tighnari to a certain location beside a river, where the nilotpala lotuses grew in the water, surrounded by the serenity that only a forest could offer.

“And here we are,” Tighnari gestures for you to take a look at the scene before you, and your heart momentarily stops. There were little lanterns that lit up the night, the floating nilotpala lotuses blooming under the moon and stars radiating an ethereal glow; a blanket set aside on the floor with a picnic basket of what you could only assume was some small snacks considering the time. He felt pride at your amazement of the scene, a smile growing when you began to excitedly ask him where he got the time to decorate this as beautifully as he did.

Revelling in your returned admiration, he returned your questions with a quick kiss planted on your forehead, unsaid words exchanged in your minds, I did this for you. I did this for you so I could see your smile again, I missed it.

That night, you spent the comfort that you two desperately needed in each other’s arms, laughing about past mistakes, finding solace in each other about recent struggles. Of course, this resulted in him teasing you about it, “Did you really think I wouldn’t know? Goodness, I don’t know whether I should be disappointed or if I should laugh.”

You smiled once more as the magnolias in your heart began to wilt.

It was an irrefutable fact, that date was helpful yes, but. It had felt so wrong. The feelings you once felt about your relationship had returned tenfold, the uncaring guilt crushing you as the crevices in your heart grew wider. The deeply intertwined roots that you thought Tighnari had in your heart, seemed to have disappeared, slowly but surely.

There was no more room for denial or anger, the bargaining was surely far gone by now, you knew it in the way you stole glances at him when you woke up earlier. You understood what you needed to do when you couldn’t bring yourself to take a look at him when you felt his loving stare when you made him tea after a long day.

It wouldn’t be easy, but it was what needed to be done.

“We have to talk.” Your hands fumbled with the promise ring that he gave you, the seemingly small ring weighing more on you than you remembered it had. The dim lights of the living room helped conceal the distressed look on your face, the kind of expression a guilty criminal would make as they recounted their crimes.

He looked towards you, and within a moment, he understood. All he needed to see was the way the ring weighed down on you, the way that you couldnt begin to speak, the guilty expression you wore.

All he could do in that moment, was give you a pained smile, he spoke as though it would be his last words that you were hearing, “I know. Thank you for everything.” He watches as you kiss him for the last time, he supposes this will do as a goodbye kiss. The desperation catches in his throat as he pulls you in closer, for the last time before he lets you go.

Without much noise, you slip off your promise ring, leaving it on his bedside table before you exit the room.

It takes a long time for him to see you after that, if anything, he’s been intentionally avoiding you. Even stealing a glance at you would bring him unimaginable pain. Even though he can’t bear to think about you anymore he still desperately wishes for you, even though he can’t imagine to change out the coat hanger that’s made for two.

Not much has changed for him since you left, however you begun to find yourself, you surrounded yourself with the friends you loved and adored, and he couldn’t begin to hope for a better outcome with you.

Although he hoped that ending was with him.

His promise ring glints in the sun, shimmering with every slight movement, the sapphire glinting in his misery as he walks by, running another errand; preferably he would’ve had you do it in his place, although you… left.

While walking through the streets crowded of people, he can’t help but notice a familiar face in the crowd, the world stops as the first thing he notices about you is the happy look in your eyes; as though you’ve lived a million lives and you don’t regret a single one of them. Twisted feelings emerge in the shadows behind him as he tries to escape, although it’s futile since you cannot escape memories.

He knows it’s selfish, he knows it’s wrong, yet he couldn’t stop himself from hoping, that maybe you were feeling just as destroyed as he was, maybe you felt even more miserable.

And he guesses, it’s worse, to have seen you so happy while he remains rooted on the ground, still holding onto the magnolias of your heart.

[subzeroparade]

Im playing my first NG+ and it’s striking to me how bustling and alive Yarnam is while the sun is still up. The people scoff at you, outsider. The residents of Cathedral Ward are grateful, so grateful, to the church. You’re known as a hunter, smelled through the grime of beasts and blood and incense. You talk to someone; they respond with sanity. It’s so striking, to be part of a breathing world again, after the loneliness of the endgame after everyone is either gone or lost their minds, and the silence oppresses with its emptiness. Anyways. I can’t stop thinking about that relationship between Yarnam, its people, its powers, and you — the hunter. One of many. A slice of society. So many details stick out: the hunter chief emblem shows that hunting is an old tradition. Gilbert mentions that Odeon Tomb is in a more colorful part of town, and while you’re there, you can see how it’s more charred, from the Old Yarnam fire. A new lore video on the archeology of Yarnam analyzed the previous religion of the city, on its focus on motherhood. How base, and material, and bodily, this whole idea of divine ascension is. I saw a post on how Yarnam was possibly attempted to be evacuated— luggage and bottles of blood left everywhere, as if in a hurry. How few houses are occupied, how few people there are left— and despite Eileen’s assertion, there are a few left. Who here is the list one?

I so want to write about this — the relationship of the city to all of what’s going on. The perspective of a resident on these new foreign hunters. The betrayal of the church, sequestering itself beyond the Great Bridge. The way that this is just another hunt, we know how to do this. But it isn’t. We all know it isn’t.

I don’t know if I will espouse on this, but I love love love how you get into this in your Cainhurst execution fic. The tension between plebeian living and aspirational authority — its fascinating, especially in a place as fucked as this city.

Anyways. It’s 3 am. I think I’ve put my thoughts on a page. I hope to maybe elaborate of them further. But I wanted someone else to see them too. Thank you, for reading.

I wanted to actually share and respond to this because you’ve hit on some juicy stuff that I absolutely agree with. I’d never thought about the passage between endgame Yharnam and dusk Yharnam - which seems appropriately cyclical, if you think about it - but the difference, as you said, is stark. Even then, dusk Yharnam is still bathed in this sepia hue. It’s bleak, and grimy, and the air is full of smoke and soot and the smell of singed fur and gunpowder; the cries of beasts and the sounds of men having their last mindless hurrah before they too succumb. It’s “bustling”, but it’s still hellish, and grim. One of the reasons I love writing pre-Church and Church heyday is because if you rewind enough, you may, with a bit of effort, picture Yharnam as something other than depressingly dried-blood brown - green, even, with new marble, and polished white and yellow cobblestones. Glass and iron and slate and avenues lined with flowering trees, and the sounds of market and the clatter of carriages and all these things that become the drone of a lively city rather than the prelude to something coming to kill you. Surely there were bleaker sides of Yharnam, even in its heyday, as with most major cities - but the threats are different. Night is different. The smells are different. Everything is a little less stained, in all possible senses of the word. It’s also such a fascinating contrast to wonder how long people sat idly with the Church’s assurances before they decided “okay, that’s it, we leave tonight.” It seems like there might have been an event or two that triggered an exodus, or attempted flight by the cityfolk - and most didn’t make it out, as you rightly note, based on the scattered remnants of objects clearly intended for travel. It’s interesting to mull over what event(s) might have triggered that tipping point, for the people to finally ignore the Church and its Hunters’ calls to calmly lock their doors, and instead try their luck on the road. It’s certainly good fodder for a fic.   

Thanks for the kind words about my work - I’ll deal with some late-Church timeline soon enough, especially in two upcoming fics. But your point about the “perspective of a resident on new foreign hunters [and] the betrayal of the Church” is a really nice prompt, and you should write about it!

Hope you don’t mind me sharing your 3am rant lmao but I appreciated it. I don’t have any worthwhile WIPs to share atm, so please accept this Bloodborne-specific corner of a collaborative whiteboard session from a while ago (full disclosure idk why the elden ring crab is there but enjoy).  

[the-east-art]

Easts Supernatural Fic Recs

Since's I've been combing ao3 for good SPN fics, and exactly one person (@ennael) said they'd like to see what I've found. A trend you may notice that I'm not a big shipper - shipping is sometimes a little seasoning, but never the star of the show. ]

Passing Ships - BrownieFox

Summary: John gets injured during a salt and burn and a stranger brings him back to the hotel

Notes: This is the first fic in a series that got me looking for SPN fics again. It explores the idea of late series Sam going back in time and trying to prevent the various tragedies that lie in the future. The REALLY interesting part is that this is all done from an Outsider POV - from the young Winchesters as they meet this strange man that seems somewhat familiar. Because of that POV you never really know what Sam is up to, which builds some suspense and curiosity.

(The rest under the cut!)

you gave up half your life - loosingletters

Summary: When Dean and Cas disappeared, Sam was lost. But in a world that had nearly broken apart so many times, he wasn’t the only one who needed support and guidance.

Alternatively: (Salty) Post Season 7 Fix-it in which Sam Winchester accidentally starts organizing a bunch of Hunters all while trying to find his brother.

Notes: I knew this would be good but for some reason it took me a while to get to it. It turned out to be REALLY good. This story really focuses on how people need people, and honestly the stars of this show are the Hunter ocs that flavor the fic - all of them are so unique and different, and make the world feel truly alive.

mad and dead as nails - EclipseWing

Summary: “Your brother is missing.” That’s how it starts. But now Dean’s dead, gone, or maybe he never really existed in the first place. Maybe Dean was never real, and it was always Michael. Because if Sam knows one thing, it’s that Michael is all that is left.

Notes: Honestly this fic is a better analysis and thesis on Free Will than the actual story. This fic does a GREAT job at utilizing Jess as a character and works with the similarities between Dean and Michael as well as the concept of self. HIGHLY recommend.

Ain't No Grave - art_savage

Summary: When John Winchester wakes up to a post-apocalypse future, he only wants to know two things: where are his sons, and just what brought him back? AU in which the apocalypse caused a lot more trouble and ended a little differently.

Post apocalypse story that kind of searches for plausible 'happy' endings for the characters that doesn't keep them chained to the roles they inhabited during the main story. It's kind of low key but I super love it.

The Other Side - EclipseWing

Summary: In which Castiel has no idea what pulled him out of Hell, but he knows that he doesn't expect Dean, or his puppy-dog eyed brother Sam (what sort of angel names were those anyway?) who happens to be on the run from the other angels.

Notes: easily the best swap au I've managed to find. I'm a sucker for stories where Sam and Dean are actually Lucifer and Michael, and this story takes it in a fun direction!

When Worlds Collide - elfinblue

Summary: When a kidnapped Tony DiNozzo is rescued by legendary - and supposedly dead - serial killers Dean and Sam Winchester, the NCIS team takes over the Winchester investigation. What they find is a file filled with contradictions and impossibilities. This is an attempt to cross these shows but keep both in canon.

Notes: an NCIS crossover and the only fic here that is on ffnet cuz they never crossposted, but its worth it I promise! This fic is particularly good because it takes place mostly from the NCIS characters perspectives as they find ways to apply logic to the strange happenings around the winchesters and their works. Reads like a tv episode pacing wise which is awesome. Does have canontypical fat shaming and transphobia which sucks tho.

Anyway those are my absolute faves but I also bookmark my stuff on ao3 as easternCriminal so there's more there!

[chloecherrysip]

Saw your 'Mario has PTSD too' post and I love it. The idea of him trying to pretend that everything is fine for Luigi is just so... augh. I love this trope of a character botteling up their feelings for the sake of others until they can't anymore. May I add a little something? Mario also had a near death experience from getting exploded from the rainbow road and then being eaten by an eel. So I guess he would have PTSD from this too

(Referring to this post!)

Thanks!! It really gets to me too. I just think Mario is very much wrapped up in being The Strong One, The One Who Protects And Makes Things All Right and Can Be Leaned On, and he WANTS to be that post-movie more than anything because goodness knows Luigi needs it (not even just from a mental perspective, but physical too, considering the poor thing hardly slept or got any food/water for what seemed like multiple days!) but there's also his own exhaustion and the dawning realization of how close things were, how his brother could have very easily died if one little thing happened differently, and the guilt, so much GUILT for essentially being the reason all this happened - it's a lot!! And then the guilt would compound once he starts to slip and knows that Luigi can probably tell, and he doesn't want to make him MORE worried when his little brother's already going through his own struggles, so that just makes him try HARDER to seem Totally Normal and Fine and In Control, and it's not a good cycle. :( (But it doesn't take too long before the inevitable breakdown and the brothers getting to cry it out together. Sometimes you just need to do some messy crying and hugging to feel better!!!!)

And yeah, I think that makes sense! Mario didn't have a cakewalk of a time either, that's for sure, even if there were some nice/peaceful moments in his journey. I saw in one fic someone theorize that maybe loud sounds would instantly make him shift into danger mode and being really on edge because of the blue shell for a little while, and I think that makes sense. And man, the eel stuff really does get more disturbing the more you think about it!! DK and Mario sniping at each other is funny, but I still really wish that scene had been given a little more room to breathe and resonate as a stronger, sadder Darkest Moment in the movie. Especially the line "at least your brother's not gonna die because of you!" which is heavy stuff, man! Mario's clearly angry and upset and feels like the situation is all his fault and he's never going to see Luigi again (heck, he'll never see the rest of his family or his home again either) and he tried so hard but he's finally reached a truly hopeless state where he just wants to wallow in how he's let everyone down and be left alone, which is rare for him. It's a brief moment, but a rough one for sure.

(And maybe once it's all over, he closes his eyes and sometimes still sees himself there, wet and cold and broken down, and there's a moment of blind panic where he's convinced he's imagined everything that happened past that point and he's about to be digested and die down here at the bottom of the ocean, with the horrible certainty that Luigi's dead too, that his brother died alone and scared all because of his stupidity, and he can't breathe, he can't BREATHE - and then he wakes up/comes back to the moment and it's all okay, he knows rationally that it's okay now but he still can't fully calm down because what if NEXT TIME.....)

[1eoness]

BROOO u were literally probably the first author whose fic i read when i first searched up leon smuts last year 😭 ur works r so good n idk if u'll see this but it's nice to hear abt ur perspective, i feel like fics abt leon these days r so fucked up and scary, it reminds me of when i first read a fic of yours and it was nothing but normal and hot? i just mean it's like, what fanfiction should be, how smuts should be, just p in v and stuff without all that crazy shit, it sucks to see writers these days waste their talent on writing dead dove fics that are so horrendous that it really affected me mentally

helloo!! (im not dead mueheaheah)

WARNING : Mentions of dead dove content and the likes of its themes!

before i talk : [HIIIIII HEHAHEH thank you for your support!! i'm glad you liked my (very subpar) work! now that i look back on it those themes did enter a somewhat gray line at some point because i lacked a lot of experience in writing. i do not condone ever letting your professor have sex with you nor do i promote any kind of hate-motivated sex, or dubcon! it was merely a bold attempt of expressing hormones (if you know 😭) like a lot of people my age commonly do and so i had (and still have to) reedit the tropes in my work a bit, also because i turned 18 now and i wanna readjust my boundaries! i hope you dont mind. regardless, i love that you like those themes. very good! love you!! /p]

anyway, leaning more towards the topic at hand. i don't doubt that your opinion is much different than a large part of the community under this tag. which is a very, very good thing! i'm pretty sure it was ever since @/gilfhub's posts started to quickly rise in the top pages that lead a lot of users to be influenced and begin to tear down a very, very important boundary. i'm very sorry to hear that being exposed to that affected you mentally, that's the entire reason why i absolutely abhor blogs that post and enable that content. you're not alone on that either <3 and i agree! people should ALWAYS write boundaries in mind. i've lurked around the tag a lot and noticed a lot of "popular" writers who also have an alternative blog for dark content (this isn't just a specific account, there are a lot of these.) warnings don't make things better, they don't fend witnesses away, and it doesn't make you any less insensitive. "dead dove content" itself (which is really just incestual/horribly taboo sexual assault fantasies, no need to sanitize it) should always be suppressed and private (or, well, NOT WRITTEN AT ALL). the moment you put it up on any kind of digital page, you are attracting ANY kind of viewer and none of that shit is cute, i'm sorry. projecting your trauma onto a character is one thing but writing them as someone who skips the morality line is just straight up trying to exercise your power through the wrong means. just as much as you have the power to express yourself, you also have the power to make someone very uncomfortable. people don't think about these situations in the long run, that's why. they seem to really like using the "leon is just a character, i promise he won't care" argument which i also think is total bullshit cause this isn't even about leon, it just entirely reflects what your true values really are. they centralize around the need to express yourself at the expense of other people's comfort (because, for the nth time, it's a public space with an unpredictable demographic yet people seem to really like just doing the "bare minimum" on their part). whilst your perception of a traumatic experience may be valid, it doesn't give you any excuse. this is far from the idea of free individualistic expression, it is just as bad as some 4channer posting about wanting similar situations be inflicted onto them with even real, sentient people. because we all know why these themes allow themselves to be exposed to the audience and that's because it tries to appeal to a very specific group of people (which is very disgusting.) they want to be so condescending, too. like "oh grow up, i'm all under ur skin and for what." it's blatant ignorance, you're not very smart!

and finally as ironic as it is, porn is to blame for enabling a lot of similar themes. it's so obvious, too, a lot of fictions like the ones you mentioned that are dead dove always have to mention pornography titles in it. (honestly doesn't have to be dead dove either). sanitization can be done in MANY ways, and a lot of the times I notice it's through the way of romanticizing or aestheticizing it. I'm talking about those who put up mini pinterest-board headers of like three whatevercore images and then putting lyrics at the bottom of it. it's like an attempt at writing a very bad fucking movie not gonna lie. for example, they end up trying to decorate their post with elements that fall under anything curated aesthetic. and guess what? we've all been there but NOT for writing about uncle!character and their kid reader thats just flat out WEIRD. trust me you are NOT anais nin, you do not have to write lyrical prose and try to beautify something that will always be ugly and demented to its very core. you cannot call dead dove content "artistic vents", either. i also think i can understand that some people are victims who have failed to get help thus they try to cope through other means. but i will never applause someone for making the right choices. i think there's no excuse behind writing dead dove content other than to self mutilate your mental health in the long run for a temporary moment of "safe fun", and not even knowing that it is also in/directly harming the public eye.

it's rotten. it's disgusting. dead dove writers should not be welcomed in any fictional writing space. i've been triggered over and over again and it made me put off writing and reading for a very long time. i've experienced something similar before and i have gone crazy over it, and trust me, the things these people write so "generously" for their viewers are NOTHING but toxic waste.

tumblr is NOT your space, but everyone has a space in tumblr, so be conscious of yours.

i also encourage people to not stay silent on the matters if they want to speak up on it but are afraid of getting backlash. i've seen people delete their accounts over it (which, i guess is good on them since then they won't have to confront this kind of space anymore).

[wickermayne]

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?, 🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?, 💻 Do you do research for your fics? What’s the deepest dive you’ve done?

Thank you for the aks dayeongi!

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

Fanfiction is mostly written by women, this is known, and of course, even the smut. I've read a lot of fanfiction and a LOT of smut, especially written by woman (from which I've learned a lot) but I definitely think being a man puts me in a different perspective for smut fics. I think that difference of perspective really shines through in my writing to be honest! Not to say the influences of female writing are not apparent in my writing, but I think things like being more influenced by visual senses and getting in the mind frame of a man comes through well in my smut because it's more natural for me, as a man, to exemplify those things.

And I like that my writing is a reflection of that sort of female influenced-male written style.

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?

There are things I can't write at all pretty much. In-depth plot/storylines, fight scenes, politics, ect. But of the things I do write I think the hardest part is getting the words to match the scene in my head. I daydream about my scenes often and pretty viscerally, and it's a big struggle to translate that into the written form in a way that captures how clear it is in my head. I often settle in my published work because I'd rather write something than nothing at all.

💻 Do you do research for your fics? What’s the deepest dive you’ve done?

Almost never tbh, this is a hobby and research seems like work lmao. At best I may do a quick wiki search just to make sure I'm not like 100% wrong about something. Otherwise, I did do some research on choking/asphyxiation for one of my CR chapters (and I also read some fics with that kink to try and understand mindset and sensations) otherwise I also did some research on the A-spot and if it's real or not lol. So usually some sex stuff that I'm unfamiliar with or trying to get sensation information about.

Ask game questions!

[oldiesstationlover11607]

I need to google more creative/cringeworthy ways to start out these messages. I need more references…

Anyways, hello! It’s 💛. Your favorite annoying yellow heart emoji. Part 2 to Break The Cycle was soooooooo good. I just love the different perspective it gives to the process of joining the Banditos, how it may take some more time for some. You have an amazing gift when it comes to writing. I hope that you don’t stop, even if you write just for yourself.

So, because of your other Blurryface story, I have been on a Blurryface kick recently (it is currently fighting with my lore kick for dominance). So, the moment you’ve been waiting for 🎶🥁*drum roll*🥁🎶, I was wondering if could write a oneshot where Tyler/Blurryface is in an established relationship with the reader, but the reader doesn’t know about Blurryface. One day, Tyler starts acting weird and stuff (because, you know, Blurryface) and it gets to a point where the relationship is almost ruined. What can I say? I’m a sucker for angst. Though, I think you can make fluffy at the end. I know that this may be a bit of a jumbled request, but hopefully you can at least sort of get what I’m trying to say.

This may be too closely related to your other fic and, if that is the case, than you by no means need to write it if you do not want to. It’s all up to you as always.❤️

Alter Ego - Tyler Joseph/Blurryface x reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph × Reader

Warnings: Blurryface/Tyler being awful

Word Count: 1533

A/N: No really sure if this is good. I started writing it and then realised that the Blurryface I was writing was more of a watered down version. Normally I write him as cocky and arrogant but I think for a first time interaction it Blurry would be just a mean version of Tyler. If you don't like it I can write another version but hopefully you do!

It had been a long day, a really long day. Josh and Debby had Tyler and I over so the boys could work on music and Debby and I could catch up. When we woke up that morning, Tyler had gently shaken me awake, asking me to get dressed so we could get there on time. Tyler drove us to Josh’s house so we could all eat breakfast together and when we arrived they were both still in their pjs. The day went well for Debby and I. She showed me around their house, we played around in the boxing ring, and baked cookies. When we sat down for dinner, Tyler looked stiff, like he was inside his head–and while he was typically the type of person to be introspective, something was off.

“So, how’s the songwriting going?” I asked, trying to break the ice. 

Tyler didn’t say a word and instead stared down at his plate, prompting Josh to speak for him. 

“It’s going okay, I think we’re just struggling to fit things together.” I understood more than anyone what it was like to have a creative block. While Tyler had figured out that music was his thing, I was still in the midst of finding mine. I’d tried music, writing, visual art, film–all of it. 

“Well I’m sure you guys will figure it out eventually, you always do,” I beamed. Tyler looked sick to his stomach, his fists clenched and skin pale. I mouthed a quick ‘are you okay?’ at him only to receive a tilt of his head, as if he was analyzing something.

“What about you Y/N, anything new in your world?” Josh asked, snapping me back. I always appreciated his interest in my life, it always felt like he cared–even when things weren’t the best. 

“Uh, music-wise I’ve been getting back into the groove of things. Oh and the podcast is going well,” I answered. I hadn’t told Tyler that I’d been working on music again, sneaking down to our basement studio at night. Tyler looked up from the table, his brows furrowed.

“You’ve been working on music?” he questioned. 

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek, “Yeah, not much though.”

“Great,” he rolled his eyes. I looked at Josh who seemed concerned, his eyes broadcasting a message he had chosen to keep in his head instead of saying out loud. Clearly it wasn’t just me who found Tyler’s attitude offputting. I looked down at my watch, checking the time. 8:30, way later than we’d planned on staying. 

“We should be heading home soon, I’m exhausted,” I smiled softly. Josh nodded, getting up to clear the table and clean dishes. 

“We’re gonna stay the night, they’ve got a spare room,” Tyler spoke, his voice croaky from singing. It came as a surprise to me that he’d already made a decision about our sleeping arrangements without talking to me, his girlfriend, the one he sleeps with every night. He was right though, they did have a spare room, but that didn’t mean I wanted to stay–I’d miss our own bed too much. However, I reluctantly agreed, too tired to continue fighting with someone who was already agitated–or at least it felt like he was. 

“Okay well I’m exhausted so I’m gonna go get changed,” I sighed. Debby kindly offered to show me to the room and let me borrow a pair of her pajamas.

“You know Y/N, you wouldn’t be so tired if you didn’t sneak into the studio at night,” Tyler spat. My jaw dropped. There was no way he’d just said that, let alone in front of our friends. The brushing sound Josh had been making while washing the dishes stopped suddenly. 

“Tyler, that's not fair,” he criticized. 

“Nothing is fair Josh,” Tyler rolled his eyes, “I’m just being realistic.” Josh dropped the dish he had been cleaning in the sink, a loud clanging noise sounding through the kitchen. He walked around the island and to the table where we were still sitting. 

“You need to watch it. If you want to leave and get him under control then go ahead, by all means. But don’t come into my house and treat the people I love like crap,” he threatened. I had no idea who the him Josh was referring to was but before I could ask questions, Debby grabbed my hand and led me into the guest room. She handed me pajamas, a twenty one pilots shirt and some red shorts. We could hear the loud hum of the boys shouting at each other as I got changed. 

“I just–I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” I sighed, tying my hair up as I finished getting dressed. Debby nodded, running a hand through her hair. 

“He’s probably just frustrated,” she suggested. 

I shook my head, “even when he’s frustrated he’s never spoken to me like that before.” Tyler often got frustrated and in his head when writing music, it was normal, but he had never snapped like that. After talking back and forth for an hour, Debby and I found ourselves sprawled across the bed sending tik toks back and forth–trust us to end up on our phones at the end of the day. I rested my head on a pillow, the navy blue case soft against my tired face. As my eyes started to get heavy there was a soft knock on the door, causing Debby and I to sit up simultaneously. 

“I’ll get it,” Debby announced, getting up and opening the door. Tyler stood there, his hair a mess and eyes bloodshot red. He looked terrible. 

“C-Can I talk to her?” I heard him mutter under his breath. Debby had a defensive look plastered on her face, her arms folded across her chest. I couldn’t tell if he was back for another round or if he was here to apologize. “Please?” She turned to look at me and I nodded tiredly. 

“You shouldn’t have to if you–” she started.

“It’s okay,” I called. She stepped aside and let Tyler into the room. 

“If you hurt her Tyler, I swear to god,” she threatened, pressing her finger into his chest. 

His head hung low as he nodded, “I know.” Debby was just like Josh, she would go to war and die for the people she loved–no wonder they were perfect for each other, not to mention she was the toughest person I knew. Tyler waited for her to leave the room. She looked back at me again, wanting to know that it was what I really wanted. I flashed her a tired smile, prompting her to leave us, closing the door behind her. Tyler moved to sit on the bed, reaching out to grab my hand, I pulled it away. 

“I–I’m so sorry Y/N,” he confessed. I looked down at his hands, he was gripping them tightly, trying desperately to fight their vigorous shaking. I’d never seen him shake that much, even when nervous for a show or sick. 

“Tyler,” I sighed, resting my hand onto his, slowing the shakes. 

“I have something to tell you.” He gently closed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before continuing. “We’ve been together for a while and we’ve been through so much together. I just–I need to–I have to tell you.” He grabbed my hands, turning to properly face me. Now that I had the chance to properly look in his eyes I had noticed they were redder than normal. Not a hazel-like red but a rich, blood red. 

“Tell me what? I’m worried about you, your eyes look–” 

“Just let me finish. Please,” he interrupted and I nodded, letting him continue. “When I’m stressed or anxious or have any extreme negative emotions, there’s this guy who comes out. He’s like an alter ego except I don’t really have control over it. Blurryface, I call him.” He paused, taking a deep breath and stretching his neck as if it was hurting. “And he–he’s violent and mean, and it’s hard to snap out of it,” he whimpered, his breath shaky. “I–he got out tonight and whatever I said, I–I hurt you and it’s not okay. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.” Tears welled in his eyes as he put his head in his hands. I felt terrible, awful even. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” I asked, slipping my hand under his shirt to rub the warm skin on his back. 

“I was scared. Josh knows but he promised he wouldn’t say anything,” he sighed. I nodded. Of course he wouldn’t tell me, I’d be terrified too if there was another version of me that came out when I was stressed or angry. “He said that I needed to tell you, that’s why I’m here.” 

“Well I’m glad you’ve told me, now I can help you,” I said, wrapping myself around him. He brought his hand to cup my cheek, his eyes meeting mine–they were back to his regular brown color. I leant my forehead against his, pressing my lips gently against his. 

“I’m so glad you’re still here,” he smiled tiredly. 

“I’d never leave you Tyler. Blurryface or not, I love you.” 

//

Thanks for reading!

[neyafromfrance95]

i'm so sorry to see that you're being vagueposted about for your sylki takes. it may be true that how you see sylki is a bit different than a certain section of the fandom, but that doesn't at ALL mean that you shouldn't be allowed to have your own takes! fwiw, i followed you bc i actually agree with and really enjoy ur perspective on sylki. i was getting frustrated with how many people seem to view this ship in a super heteronormative way and want sylvie to basically become a housewife, and i was so glad to find a blog that felt the same way. this fandom has become tiring tbh with how many people are now freaking out that sylvie hasn't immediately started having lokis babies in s2, and i really wish that people would at least leave room for others to have their own opinions!

this! that section of sylki shippers do not leave any room for you to have your opinions! they act like a fanon police controlling what you say in your posts on your blog!

and god forbid that what you say opposes their own hcs and takes, if you commit this unforgivable sin of having a take that is different from theirs, you better be ready for some good old online group harassment! they will make you feel like you are not welcome in this fandom, they will make sure that you are hurt, they will alienate you and force you out!

but no, you are the bad guy for jokingly calling a fandom in general "vanilla" and saying (after several disclaimers that it's your personal opinion) that when it comes to canon, you don't think that sylvie should be all about being loki's housewife.

at this point i honestly hate this fandom. there are some decent sylkis out there and i love the ship itself, but a big portion of the fandom has simply sucked all the joy for the series out of me. i wonder if they realize what the consequences of their behavior could be? back when i said (in my blog) that i don't think sylvie having babies is a compelling completion of her story in canon, and this bunch came to my blog to harass me for my takes, i was in a very *very* bad place already, and the space that was supposed to be my escape pretty much turned on me and added up to an already depressing state i was in.

and bfr anyone says that it's just a fandom wank, let me tell you that these people know how to be really cruel, whether they realize it or not, their behavior is simply cruel. they don't just argue in favor of their opinion, they shit on you personally, get aggressive towards you personally, make you feel like you "can't sit with them", ect. it gets really creepy and ugly.

and the thing is, i never addressed anyone specific in my posts, i never said *this* person and *that* person have shitty hcs/takes, i never even vaguely hinted at a distaste towards the hcs/takes of someone specific, but they accuse me of pointing fingers. when i said that i didn't think canon sylvie having babies would work, i never said anything about sylki babies in fanfiction, yet people accused me of pointing fingers at the fic writers. and they would come to my blog, harass me in the replies and asks, and talk about how despicable i am in their own blogs, and it went on and on for a while.

thanks for your nice words, anon, they are uplifting. and to those who can't stand me so much, don't worry, i'm going to leave this fandom once the series is finished. i hope you are satisfied that being a shitty, gatekeeping, narrow-minded, egocentric person worked for you! but don't ever feel entitled to complain about how lokius shippers treat you.