#if someone else wants what you have so badly they’re willing to do *this* then surely it’s worth it. surely. surely. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fulloffencekurooishotterthanyou · 4 months

Text

Grocery Shopping.

Ft. Suna Rintarō

Notes: NSFW minors dni, fingering, car sex, afab reader, fluff at beginning, swearing, pet names

“rin,” you groan, as the crooked wheel of the trolley jams into the back of your heel for the millionth time. “drive the goddamn trolley straight, please.”

there’s a laugh. husky and low, belonging to the man you call your own.

“but, love,” he whines, that familiar drawl in his nonchalant tone as he pushes the trolley a little so you’re walking side by side. “it’s not my fault it’s wonky. you should take that up with someone who works here,”

you can’t help but roll your eyes at his teasing tone and instead decide to aim your focus at the apples that are cheaper than usual. the shine of the skin “a-peeling” as suna comments behind you.

you usually shop together, late at night like this when he doesn’t have training. it’s probably the only time when you’re not drowned in work or your boyfriend is building up his thighs like a god at the gym.

“doll, what else was on the list?” your lover’s voice is serious, as he stares at the aisle numbers in concentration. “why am i thinking of butter? did we even need butter?” your laugh resounds in his ear, as you explain it was bread, not butter. “ohhh, bread. gotcha. be back in a second.” he shoots you an award winning smile, before pushing the trolley to the bread aisle, almost looking too elated to be here with you at the supermarket.

“what’s gotten into him?” you mumble to yourself as you pick up other items on the mental list you made. when ten minutes have passed, and no rintarō has appeared for a suspicious amount of time, you walk down briskly, scanning each aisle.

“rin?” you call, scanning through every area, like a lookout team.

“darling, over here!” an excited voice rings out and you stop in your tracks, walking down the dangerously alluring sweets aisle.

“what are you doing?” you ask with a laugh, seeing wide and excited eyes gracing your boyfriend’s features.

“they have chūpets in stock!” his hands can’t seem to move any faster, as he looks through the different flavours.

“i’ve never seen you more excited, truly,” you say teasingly, as he gives you a pointed look.

“i get excited about plenty of things, hun. i’ve got no idea what you’re saying,”

“yeah? and how much are you willing to bet chūpets are better than sex?” you dare ask, wondering what his reply will be. there’s a beat of silence.

“fuck. that’s a hard question.” he replies, his face grim with indecisiveness. you laugh, playfully hitting his arm.

“you actually have to think about it?” i ask, as he places three packets of chūpets into the trolley. the two of you head to the self check out, scanning your items.

“i mean, both are good. very good,”

“but this is sex i’m talking about. you really believe jelly fruit sticks compare?” your banter is comfortable and flirtatious, as rintarō pushes the trolley to your car. as he unloads the bags, he hums in thought.

“chūpets are gifts from the gods themselves, love. i can’t argue with fact,” his voice clearly pokes fun at you, as he shuts the boot door with a firm hand.

“i’d argue they’re not as satisfying as a good blow job,”

“what? ‘cause of the same sucking motion?” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“suna rintarō!” you cry out, giving him a look of pure unadulterated shock. “you did not just say that!”

he shrugs, but the grin on his face is practically devilish. “did i?” he puts the trolley away with a satisfied look plastered over his features. “why? are you going to prove me wrong, angel?” at this, his voice is lower now; richly suave and so thick with desire, you might as well be bathing in honey.

“you’re a tease. a fucking tease, you know that?”

“mmm, i did, actually.” a gentle hand grasps your hip, as he pulls you in, closing all distance between you.

“we’re in the middle of a car park, rintarō,” you remind him, your lips severely close to his. shit, you want to kiss him so badly.

“it’s almost midnight, doll. nobody’s around to see us,” his lips graze yours, but only for a second. “besides, we gotta test that bet of ours,”

another kiss breaks the surface fleetingly, before you’re dragged into the back seats of the car, the door shutting firmly behind you.

“rin, it’s not more than a fifteen minute drive hom-” you don’t get to finish your sentence as you’re pulled under your boyfriend, his lips crashing against yours.

it takes you a minute to regain your breathing, only to lose it again, his hands in your hair, yours around his neck as he craves for more.

“i want you, darling. right here, right now.”

and you’d be a complete fool to deny him that.

“then take me,” you whisper into his mouth before you’re kissing again, his tongue finding his way into your mouth as his touches grow rougher.

“fuck.” he groans, peppering your neck with kisses as his hands trail down to the buttons of your pants. “let me taste you,” he pleads, untying the string of his sweats. “can i have you, baby? please?”

“yes,” you breathe, watching as his pants and boxers are discarded carelessly, his hands coming back to cup your cheeks. “you can have me, rin,”

he groans, a guttural sound as he lifts your legs over his shoulders in one fluid motion, kissing your inner thighs. “big claim to make, angel. i’m gonna make you feel so fucking good,”

his mouth seems to second that statement, as you whimper from the touch of his lips near your entrance. his tongue comes next, a sword against your shield, digging his way through to you with a muffled moan. “you taste so good, doll. always taste so good for me, don’t you?”

“fuck, rin!” you cry out, as a pale, slim finger penetrates your folds. “oh god, oh fuck-” you choke out, babbling mindlessly as his fingers are practically sucked in and out of your hole.

“not even the real thing yet, baby. already so responsive,” he hums, thrusting another finger inside. your moans only compel him to insert another, his movements gradually getting faster and rougher.

“i want you, rin,” you plead. “just give it to me already. stop teasing me,”

“sweetheart, i haven’t done anything of the kind,” he smiles, pulling out his wet fingers, licking them as he watches you. “but since you’re so insistent sex is better than my beloved chūpets, i guess i’ll give you what you want,”

a ragged gasp of air comes out of you as the tip starts to slowly sink in.

“ahh- rin, shit, you’re so- fuck! you’re big,” you ramble, thoughts simply unable to pass through you. rintarō continues his pursuit, delving in deeper, as he thrusts against your walls in an effort to derail you from coherency.

when he bottoms out, your cries are strangled as crescent moons crease his t-shirt, your grip on him, unrelenting.

“fuck, hun, you’re tight,” he hisses, his base reaching your skin as he begins to move, hard and fast. rintarō’s hips rock into yours, the wild bucking sensation almost too much as you moan wantonly.

“t-the car is shaking-” you manage to choke out, but it’s like your boyfriend doesn’t hear you, his relentless pursuit of breaking down your walls his only mission.

his cock fills you up so deeply, you can barely move as your pleas for more only seem to invigorate him to pound you harder.

each thrust is like a message, one that tells you that there’s no place either of you would rather be, but with each other. rintarō’s cock remains hard and swollen inside of you, his desperate grunts filling the car.

“release for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone the personification of velvet. “show me how good i make you feel,” each touch sends you ablaze, your whimpers music to rintarō’s ears as his skin dances over yours.

“r-rin!” you all but scream, the pleasure blinding as his cock slams into your walls, a sign of love as you moan. “i’m gonna… fucking hell, i’m gonna cum,”

“that it’s, darling. cum all over this fat dick for me, yeah?” rintarō smiles as his hard member urges to release. but he waits. suna rintarō can be patient when he wants to.

“close, ‘m close!” you sob, hips held in place by suna’s firm grip. “rin- hnngh~ rintarō!”

there’s a low chuckle from your boyfriend as he hits your g-spot more consistently. “go on. let it all out for me, doll. you know i’m good for it,”

you swear loudly, your voice shaky as you announce your climax again. the coil in your stomach tightens, and then releases all at once. “i’m cumming!” you groan, thighs trembling as rintarō pants from the overexertion.

“fuck, that feels so good. your cum feels so warm on my cock.” he whispers, the words so vulgar it makes you moan a little more. “wait, wait. quiet down for me,” he requests, and you bite your lip to hold your silence.

“you hear that, hun?” suna asks, his cum-soaked cock rubbing against your walls. the motion produces a series of audibly lewd noises, the squelch making you tense up on him, all over again.

you can’t handle it anymore, writhing with pleasure as your lover pulls out, his cock covered with your fluids. “where should i cum, baby? tell me where i should, we wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” his tone is sly, like he wanted this all along. you can barely answer as his seed squirts all over your bare stomach, as he kisses you deeply. you press your lips back hungrily, tongues finding their way to meet each other’s as your shared moans echo in the backseats.

“better than sex?” you choke out now, your back limp against the car seat as you both pant heavily. there is a moment of quiet, aside from the jagged breathing before suna quips.

“yeah, maybe,” your boyfriends winks. “i’m playing with you, doll. sex is always better,”

“i fucking told you so,” you groan as he laughs, the sound resonating in your ear as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind it.

“let’s go home. i’m not finished with you yet.” suna says with a cheeky smile.

“i didn’t think you’d be,” you say sarcastically as he sits you up, cleaning the sticky mess with a tissue.

“what can i say, love? i’m a man with very specific needs,”

you can’t help but laugh. “is that right?”

“only the facts,” he replies, meeting his lips with yours for another kiss. “i love you, darling.”

“i love you too, rin.”

first full smut fic ‼️ i hope this isn’t just a bunch of tomfoolery 😵‍💫

banner credits: @cafekitsune <3

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq suna #suna rintaro fic #suna rintarou smut #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n #suna #jitsu writes #i didn’t forget his birthday okay #disgustingly feral for this man

361 notes · View notes

vampirzina · 5 months

Text

˚୨୧⋆｡ ┆ father!tomas vrbada (w. spouse!reader) hcs

tw: gn pronouns, suggestive themes, mdni, domesticity, kuai liang and bi han mentions

notes: for the sake of the story reader has a cooter

masterlist

It’s not all that surprising that you had twins. It’s exhausting running after them both as they grow older, but Tomas cakewalks it and still makes time to love on you as much as he did before they were born. As infants, Tomas hardly ever puts them down except for tummy time and the chores that require more effort than just one hand. As soon as he finishes [the task], he picks the opposite twin up (so that “they don’t feel jealous of the other”). He even picks you up when he has that insatiable urge to just hold someone brought on from parenthood.

Tomas engages in anything his kids want him to, even if it’s overtly ridiculous. Tea parties, house, having to watch over a doll like it’s their baby, dinosaur re-enactments, helping shovel dirt to bury something just to dig it back up again, faux makeovers—just anything you can name. His pride is not easily hurt by something as simple as something he feels is the bare minimum, and if you catch him, he gets you involved, too. When Tomas is busy [working] and he has to deny a child, he is 100% going to make it up to them with lots of snacks and playtime. You won’t have Tomas to yourself until late night; he’s the type of father to want to spend the entire day with his children, but can’t.

Tomas loves to tell stories his mother told him about him and his own twin sister. It’s usually in the spur of the moment, like when you’re both watching them play or after they’ve both fell/went to sleep and you’re talking about plans for them. You’re not the only ear he tells it to, and he says it to his own kids as well when he’s got the time for play with them—Tomas answers any and all questions that they might have, but kids are not all that emotionally mature enough to understand that sometimes you can’t just ask certain questions or say certain things. It makes Tomas sad on the inside, but he toughs it out and waits until you’re both alone to find your comfort.

If your kids show interest in the Shirai Ryu, Tomas is glad to teach them! Even if they’re not, he does want to teach them how to fight anyway. If you’re willing, you’ll have to serve as their model as your husband practices on you to show them how it’s done. If not, Hanzo or Kuai Liang is a good alternative. He’ll be as gentle as possible so that they don’t go hurting each other to bruises, of course, but he always has to reiterate that on real opponents they’ll have to hit harder. To make it fair, Tomas wants them to practice on each other, and he the referee. If one of them get hurt too badly you may be upset more than Tomas, so he’s almost too careful.

As for their uncle, Tomas tries to bring them (and you) around Kuai Liang as much as possible. He’s not really a selfish person in most cases, as he values family a lot. After Bi Han, it’s important to him that the rest of the family he has left gets along well—so what better way to do this by having the whole family in one place at the same time? Tomas’ number one favorite thing to do with Kuai Liang, spouse and children is to have one big dinner at any time of the year. He triple checks the children are properly accounted for first even after you’ve done so yourself before anything else, and then comes back to your waiting arms.

You and Tomas would probably only have twins. Although Tomas is busy at the Shirai Ryu, he wouldn’t be opposed to just one more child if you asked. But if that’s not what you want or see in the future with him, he honors that as if his life completely depends on it. He already worships the ground you walk on and kisses more than just your feet even before you gave him twins, and he couldn’t have asked for a greater gift. However if you agree [to having another baby], Tomas would be ecstatic to try again for as long as it takes. Quickie or not, anything counts, to him.

@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨

info

#mortal kombat x you #mortal kombat x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #tomas vrbada x you #tomas vrbada hcs #vampirzina #mk1 x reader

205 notes · View notes

harrystylescherry · 3 months

Text

Part Four: Terms and Conditions

A/N: FINALLLYYYYY

what it is: a summer romance in the south of france that breeds nothing but hurt

word count: 4.6k

pls pls pls reblog if you liked it!

i’d love to hear your feedback :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

here we go:

June 9

Harry hadn’t seen Della in more than a few days. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. If she was as unknowable as she said she was, it was because she was unreachable. On more than one occasion, during the first three days of not seeing her, he had called her—though he only let it ring a few times before hanging up. Even after they had laid the ground rules—or conditions, as she called them—and made it clear that she was attracted to him and wanted him in a very particular way, he was still feeling insecure.

“Anything I’d like?” Della asked. Harry nodded. “I don’t know if you could handle what I like.”

Harry felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat and willed himself to not think of all the things that could mean. It wasn’t exactly the right moment for a hard on. “I could.”

Della came forward and leaned her forearms on the table. “Let’s say you could,” she challenged. “But are you willing to follow the conditions?”

He had never been very good with rules. It was why most of his relationships ended. But this wasn’t a relationship, he reminded himself. There was less at stake. It would be easier. He leaned forward and mimicked her position. “More than.”

It was when she sat back with a smirk that Harry thought he might be a little in over his head.

The conditions (rules) were as follows:

No sleepovers (which he should’ve seen coming)

No telling anyone they’re involved (he may have already broken that one, but he wasn’t going to tell her that) (he also was trying very hard not to be offended that she hadn’t bragged about meeting him to anyone)

No meeting up before three o’clock in the afternoon (this made no sense to harry, but Della swore no one met up with their fuck buddies before happy hour—from his experience, that wasn’t exactly true but she spoke with too much authority for him to question it)

No dates (if they went out to dinner or grabbed drinks, they would split the bill fifty-fifty–Harry only agreed to this to avoid an argument but there was no way in hell he’d let her pay for anything)

No catching feelings. The second someone came close, they had to be over (Harry’s cheeks flamed on this one, and he really pretended not to know why)

After they finished their drinks, Harry walked her to her door and they parted ways without a kiss. He would’ve, but Della refused to kiss him after having kissed someone else. Harry was grateful that she at least respected him that much, but part of him wanted her so badly that it wouldn’t have minded. So it was probably best that she didn’t.

He had just come back from a run when his phone buzzed with a text from the enigma herself. It was a link to a jazz bar with the question: Tonight?

Harry Googled the place and saw it was a fifteen minute drive from him and a twenty minute walk from her flat.

He texted back. I’ll pick you up at 9?

I’ll walk

No you won’t. I’ll pick you up at 9.

Fine, bossy

You know you like it

Maybe only a little. For now, at least. Try me again in a few hours

Harry rubbed his palm over his smile, trying to wipe it away. See you later, Del

He had sent the message before he could think through the nickname. For a second, he stared at the message with a stomach full of nerves–but they vanished when the little thumbs up appeared above the bubble.

“You can’t do that,” Della’s voice was stern as she spoke into her phone. She was half-ready for the beach, in her blue bikini with her cover dress gripped in her fist.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Josh said, annoyed on the other end of the line. “You told me to find somewhere else to live, and I did.”

“You weren’t supposed to find somewhere in the same fucking building.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me.”

“What I’m doing to you? That’s real fucking rich, Della. You broke off our engagement. You made me think you loved me and then moved to another fucking country!”

“I’m sorry–I don’t know how many times I have to say that, and I don’t–I’m not arguing about that anymore. I didn’t end things the way I should’ve. I–”

“I fucking followed you across the ocean.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! Actually, I remember very specifically telling you that I had to go and do this for me.”

“There was nothing specific about the way you ended things and you know it.”

“Josh, you can’t live there.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

Della scoffed. “As if I ever told you what to do.”

“You’re right, and you don’t get to start now. I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’ve changed, and not for the better. Honestly, you breaking things off was probably one of the best things you’ve ever done for me.”

She could feel the rage seep into her bones. It was a new sensation–one that she had felt for the first time when Josh had shown up to her flat in London with a suitcase and a two-year visa stamped in his passport. It had become a familiar feeling since then, one that she didn’t know how she’d ever really lived without before. Every time she felt it, she realized that this is what it was like to have convictions, to have boundaries, and to have them crossed and violated. This is what it felt like to want to fight back instead of being disappointed for a few days before letting it all go.

“Go home, Josh. Go back to Vermont. Go away.”

“I have a job here, now.”

“So find a new one.”

“I paid for a visa.”

“I don’t care. Just get the fuck out of my life.”

“Della–”

She hung up and took a shaky breath. She looked at the hardwood floor and considered lying down. It’s what she usually did when the feelings were too much, when it felt as though they would consume her. She’d lay on the floor and wait for the sadness or grief or disappointment or melancholy to seep from her. Anger didn’t work like that, though. It simmered, wanting to boil over and explode. Her body buzzed with the energy. She wanted to throw something, punch something. Suddenly, she felt she could relate to teenage boys–and she grimaced with the thought.

She grabbed her journal and shoved it in her bag. All she knew how to do was write. It’s all she could do. She’d bake in the sun and swim laps in the sea and carve her anger into the page.

Harry’s thumb tapped anxiously on the steering wheel the entire drive to Della’s. They hadn’t spoken since they made their plans that morning and his on my way text had gone unanswered.

The day had dragged as he counted down the hours until now. And he hated that. He hated how invested he already was, how badly he wanted to see her, to feel her body beneath his hands.

He was chalking it all up to sheer lust. Della was beautiful–striking. And she was a riddle. He had already been exposed to so many different sides of her–versions of her–that he didn’t know which ones were real and which were an act. He also couldn’t decide which version was his favorite; Shy Della, who fumbled with her keys and blushed every time he looked at her, or Self-Assured Della, who sat down with him after kissing someone else, not a hint of embarrassment anywhere on her, and told him that she’d like to forge an arrangement.

He was prepared to walk up to the door and buzz her flat (3E, he remembered) and was slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t get the chance. She stood in front of the Hermes storefront with her head buried in her phone. A breath caught in his chest at the sight of her in her periwinkle silk dress. The neckline dipped between her breasts in a way that made his mouth water, and the fall of the fabric made it seem as though it was cut precisely for her. He could see every line of her body–the curve of her waist, roundness of her hips, a tiny indent where her belly button was, the outline of her nipples. He had to collect himself before stepping out of the car.

Her hair was thrown up in a casual ponytail, with wisps of red baby hairs floating around the base of her neck, over her ears and along her forehead. In her flat, gold sandals, she was so effortlessly beautiful, so chic, Harry suddenly felt a little unworthy and very insecure.

“Hi, love,” he said once he stood in front of her.

She jolted in surprise before looking up from her phone. “God, sorry, I didn’t even hear you pull up.”

She had more freckles than the last time he saw her, and the tops of her shoulders were colored pink. His girl had gotten some sun.

He physically cringed at himself. She wasn’t his anything. He’d do well to remember that.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Her eyes looked him over appraisingly. “So are you.” She tucked her phone into her bag. “Ready?”

Harry nodded and led her to the car with a hand on her lower back. He made sure to open the door before she could get to it and only closed it once she was tucked in and buckled up.

He wanted to punch himself–or throw himself into oncoming traffic. Really, he was willing to do whatever he needed to stop being so nervous, so unlike himself. He was so aware of her, of her eyes on him, of every small movement she made in the passenger seat as he settled in and pulled away from the curb.

“You’re quiet,” he commented when he realized they had made half the drive in silence.

She tossed him a smirk. “So are you.”

“Sorry, I’m just a little–” He stopped himself before he could say something that would scare her away. Because he knew it would. If he admitted to her he was nervous, then she’d remind him that this wasn’t a date, and so there would be nothing to be nervous about, and then she’d see that it didn’t matter and she’d call this off before it could even start. He’d come to know her enough to know exactly how that would go (and he only knew her so well thanks to the hours he’d spent picking apart every interaction they had). “Is everything okay?”

She sighed. “Yeah, just having to deal with something from home. A very annoying something,” she muttered.

“Is it your ex?”

Della’s head spun to look at him. “How’d you know?”

He shrugged. “Lucky guess. So what’s the deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happened that sent you running all the way to France for the summer?”

“I did not run to France to get away from him. That’s what London was supposed to be for, actually. It didn’t exactly work the way I hoped.”

With a quick look at her, he caught the grimace on her face. “And how did you hope that would go?”

“He was supposed to forget about me.”

Harry scoffed.

“What?”

“There’s nothing remotely forgettable about you.”

At a stoplight, he looked over at her and smirked at the look of shock on her face. She recovered quickly.

“I need to be drunk to have this conversation with you.”

“That can be arranged.”

The jazz bar was underground, the entrance a few steps below street level. The stained glass door was held open by the man working the door, and the couple slipped inside.

It was hazy, though Della wasn’t sure why, considering smoking wasn’t allowed indoors–proven by the crowd of people inhaling and chatting on the street outside. The small tables were crowded together, forcing Della to lift herself onto her tiptoes as to not knock over the glass of the table nextdoor as she moved to her seat.

A hand wrapped around her hip. “ça va?”

Della looked to the man the broad hand was attached to. He was hot, the French kind of hot, and if she wasn’t here with Harry, she’d probably end up sitting in the chair between him and his friend. But she was with Harry, so she sent him a polite smile and said, “Bien, merci.”

She slid into her seat and out of his grasp. When she looked up at Harry, his jaw was tight. He hadn’t liked that. His reaction made her giddier than it should’ve.

“Humid in here, no?” She leaned over the small table to ask, moving the tealight towards the center of the table.

Harry looked around. “Yeah.” His jaw was still ticking.

Honestly, she was surprised at his jealousy. She didn’t think he had it in him; he just seemed too sweet, too go-with-the-flow, and hands-off to care enough to get jealous. Clearly, she underestimated him.

Josh never really got jealous, and Della was always just toxic enough that it sort-of bothered her. There were a few months her sophomore year where she had found herself going out of her way to spark it. It never worked. She understood being secure in a relationship, being comfortable and sure about where you stood with someone, but it wasn’t about that. It was about feeling wanted, desired. It was about knowing that someone wanted you so much that they got just a little unhinged about it. A little possessive, like they wanted every piece of you for themself.

But Della was who she was, and so she had simply let it go and accepted that it just wasn’t part of who Josh was.

Harry’s eyes were locked on the stage, his jaw still tight. Clearly, he wanted to say something, whether to Della or the Frenchman she wasn’t sure, but he felt he couldn’t. Probably like it wasn’t his place. And it wasn’t, really. They weren’t together. This wasn’t a date. They were just two people…hanging out.

“Should we get a bottle of wine?” She asked, while lifting the worn black book off the edge of the table and flipping through it.

“Yeah, whatever you want.”

She let the smooth notes of the piano fill the space between them. When he still didn’t look at her, and the furrow in his brow didn’t lessen, she reached under the table and dropped her hand on his linen clad thigh.

His eyes snapped to her’s.

“Should we get a red?” She asked casually, as she squeezed the taut muscle beneath her palm. Why she was trying to reassure him, she didn’t know–couldn’t even begin to think about why she cared. Not when she was meant to be doing the exact opposite.

He dropped his hand onto her’s and smiled. “Yeah, we could do that.”

“Cool.” She pulled her hand away and held the book out to him. “You pick.” When he went to grab it, she pulled it just out of his reach and narrowed her eyes. “But nothing crazy. Fifty-fifty, remember?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Drunk enough to have that conversation?” Harry asked as Della drank the last of what was in her glass.

“What conversation?”

“The ex-boyfriend one.”

She scrunched her nose and Harry melted at the cuteness of it. Della eyed the bottle in front of her. There was probably a glass and a half left, but Harry didn’t plan on drinking anymore (he had precious cargo to drive home) so he poured the rest into her glass.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?”

“You think if you liquor me up, I’ll tell you all my secrets.”

“You’re drinking wine, not liquor.” She rolled her eyes. “And no, not your secrets.” He shrugged in earnest. “Just trying to get to know you.”

“I already told you–”

“Yeah, you’re unknowable. So you said.”

“Exactly.”

“But I don’t believe that.”

“Not believing something doesn’t make it any less true,” she said before taking a sip.

“The same way that believing something doesn’t make it true.”She narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t want to share, I can accept that. As someone who has had to fight for every ounce of privacy they got–and even still sometimes lost–I understand. But c’mon, Del, it’s not that you’re inherently unknowable, it’s that you want to be.”

He couldn’t tell if he’d gone too far. Her expression was unreadable. Panic tightened his chest and he took a long drink of water.

Her pretty mouth twisted in…he couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or amusement or sheer, unfortunate acceptance that he’d just dragged them into the kind of emotional place she clearly never wanted to go.

“I don’t know who I am. That’s why I’m here,” she said. “I’m unknowable to me.” Harry leaned forward, hanging on to every word she spoke. “London was supposed to help me. It was going to be mine, only mine. I was going to have to make decisions. Real ones. There’d be no one to catch me, or lead me, or influence me. Following the wind wouldn’t be an option because I’d have to survive–I’d have to thrive in order to survive. And then that was taken away from me, and everything was all washed up and confusing all over again. Not easy–no, not easy at all. It could’ve been, if I let it, but by then I’d learned how to have some resolve. I had conviction of my own. And I couldn’t give it up.” She finally looked up at him, though her fingers were still toying with the stem of her glass. “So I came here. To hold onto it. I can’t lose it, Harry, not when I just found it. Not when I need it.”

He understood what she was saying. He heard her. She wasn’t in a place to let anyone in right now, not when what she had found for herself was still so fragile. Della seemed to know herself better than she thought. She knew enough to know what she needed. If she thought herself as easily influenced, well, Harry could argue with that, but he didn’t know her before she came here. He didn’t know the version of her that she was so clearly trying to shake, and he wouldn’t challenge that. He wouldn’t make this any harder for her than it already seemed to be. But he wasn’t going to give her up either, so he’d be whatever she needed–whatever she wanted.

“Okay,” he said, allowing an easy smile to take over his face.

“Okay?” He didn’t like the insecurity in her voice.

He nodded once, sure. “Okay.”

She could keep her secrets and her heart as long as she gave him everything else.

Della was tipsy. Definitely, so.

Which was fine. She was having fun, and the music moved from smooth to boisterous without a single warning. Something her and jazz had in common.

On her way back from the restroom, where she waited in line for ten minutes to take the longest pee of her life, the Frenchman caught her hand. He’d caught her eye with his a few times throughout the last hour or so, but Della had done well with ignoring him. The glances weren’t creepy. More interested, questioning.

And she knew exactly what he was questioning. She was in France, for god’s sake. She raised a single eyebrow.

“Est-ce que je peux t'offrir un verre?”

He wanted to buy her a drink? She shouldn’t have been surprised by his boldness, but still, she was clearly there with someone else.

She looked at him, and then back at Harry, whose jaw was tight, eyes set in a glare.

Her hand slipped from his grasp as she leaned against Harry’s side, her hips level with his chest. She dropped a casual hand into his hair and toyed with the waves. His hand slid up the backs of her legs and over the curve of her ass to hold onto her hip. She looked down at him and smiled. “Non.”

His eyes flicked to Harry. “ Peut-être après?”

Maybe after? She wanted to laugh in his face, and also flick his forehead. Clearly, he knew Harry didn’t speak French. If he thought there was any chance he could understand their conversation, there was no way he'd be so forward. Her anger flared at the lack of respect.

Even though it shouldn’t. She’d think about that later.

With way too much ease, she settled herself onto Harry’s lap. For a second, he stiffened, clearly caught off guard, but within seconds, his arms were around her waist. The guy wasn’t worth a response, so she didn’t give one. Only turned towards Harry and kissed his jaw. It was still tight.

She lifted her hand and held it on either side, massaging her fingers into where she could feel him clenching. “Relax, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not the point.”

“I know,” she whispered. Then giggled, the wine fueling her more than anything else.

“What?”

“I think I like you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Jealous. Possessive.”

“Protective,” he corrected.

She smiled. “That too.”

He shook his head, and lowered his lips to her’s.

A knock on the edge of their table broke their bubble.

A different man, older, stood behind Della’s chair, his hand holding the back of it. He pointed to his left, where a few feet away, his group stood around a table. In French, he asked if they were using the chair.

Clearly, she wasn’t in her right mind, because she told him he could have it.

“Wait, sir–” Harry started as the man took the chair away.

“Let him have it,” Della said and she relaxed further into him. “I’m perfectly fine where I am. Prefer it, actually.”

She really was going to be the death of him. All her squirming and readjusting each time she reached for her wine or water had hardened him beyond the point of comfort. It was taking everything in him to get it to go down–barely. He just needed to relax enough to get out of there without poking anyone in the eye.

“Ready?” Della asked after she drained the rest of her water.

“Yeah,” he said, though he was not. As she stood from his lap, he tried, as inconspicuous as possible, to readjust himself, managing to tuck himself into his waistband. He only had to deal with the discomfort until they got to the car. He could do that.

He led her out by her hips, strategically holding her in front of him as they moved through the tables and up the stairs.

“That was cruel,” he whispered in her ear after pulling her against him once they got to the car.

“What was?” She looked up at him with mock innocence over her shoulder.

He bit the inside of his cheek, reaching around her to open the car door. With a squeeze to her ass, he nudged her towards the seat. “In. Now.”

She paused and looked at him, playfulness and heat in her eyes.

He huffed in playful annoyance. “What now?”

“I think I do like you bossy.”

Before he could reply, she slid into the seat and Harry closed the door.

He knew, undoubtedly, Della would be the death of him.

They went back to her’s (logistically, according to Della, it was the only option considering she didn’t have a car and sleepovers were against the rules) and barely made it into the room before Harry had her dress bunched around her hips.

She tasted like wine and everything good in the world–it made him dizzy. He teased her and licked her until she was a whimpering mess, her hands lost in his hair and her thighs left with handprints where he had to hold her down.

He left careless marks on her neck, for anyone like the prick at the bar.

Before he slipped his cock inside of her, he whispered, “Mine.”

And when he was all the way inside: “You’re mine.”

“For now,” she breathed, caught up in the trails of a moan.

For more than that.

He’d never say it. And with a hard thrust into her, he pretended he never even thought it. He’d be smart to call it off. Only a few days of knowing her and he was in too deep. He cared too much. Wanted too freely. And if she knew, she’d leave him without a second thought. Where she stood had been made crystal clear. Harry needed to pull back, return to the same page. He could. He swore to himself that after tonight, he would.

After he came with his face tucked into her neck, they shared a plate of whatever bits Della had in her fridge, and she made them a snack of chocolate and butter on a baguette. She was so excited to share it with him that Harry couldn’t bear to tell her that his ex had introduced him to it when they first met. It didn’t matter, anyway, since it tasted so much better enjoyed tucked into the sheets with Della.

Her ponytail had loosened, spilling red around her face and over her shoulders. He reached out to wipe a crumb from her mouth and she bit his finger. He fought off the swell in his chest with both fists.

“Should we call it a night?” She asked through a yawn.

No.

“Sure, yeah. I’m pretty beat.” He cleared his throat as he got up and started pulling his clothes on.

When he tried to pull away after kissing her goodbye, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He wrapped her in his arms, squeezed, and placed a soft kiss to her neck.

He had just turned on the ignition when a text from Gemma came through.

This her????

Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach as he tapped the photo.

It was a shot of him and Della getting into his car leaving the jazz club.

Thankfully, since his body had blocked most of her from the camera’s view and it was taken at an awkward enough angle (most likely as whoever took it walked past them), all that could be seen of Della was her fire-hued hair.

The relief was short-lived. What if there were more? What if they were clear? He thought of everyone around them and tried to remember if he noticed anyone trying to take photos. Usually, he could feel it. Being in the public eye for so long had given him a sixth sense–a learned survival instinct–but he was so focused on Della he wasn’t sure he would’ve noticed.

“Fuck.” He dropped his head against the seat and ran a hand over his face. If anyone had seen them out the last few times, pictures would’ve already surfaced. They were safe on that front, but now? Now people knew where he was, and they knew there was someone.

He wouldn’t let them take this from him, let them ruin it. If it went up in flames, it would be his own doing.

He wanted to laugh at his luck. At his life. Harry was already going to feel the loss when the summer was over and that was enough to hurt. Now, he could lose it much sooner, and that wasn’t okay with him.

He put the car in drive, and started home.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #harry styles x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles series #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #one direction

77 notes · View notes

cressthebest · 2 months

Text

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 16

chapter 28:

1. james’ reaction to waking up from nightmares is so sad. especially cause now sirius can see from james’ perspective what seeing his freind leave the arena was like

2. 😧 shit only this far in and i’m SOBBING. wdym that james almost wished he died in the arena because he was looking forward to not having to go through the aftermath and recovery

3. istg every time the cane is brought up, i’m gonna be like ✨✨THE CANE! REPRESENTATION!!!✨✨ but also like, 😟the cane. he’s in pain. NOOOOO

4. sirius: don’t go to regulus

james: no shit, sherlock.

james: *goes straight to regulus*

5. james is being so angsty, and then in the middle of it, casually brings up his personal tutor

6. 🎶do you wanna build a snowman? elsa please i know you’re in there!🎶

7. the first thing they do when seeing each other again is sob and hug, then IMMEDIATELY go into bickering all like “YOU COULDA DIED BITCH”

8. james gets his glasses back after the interview!!!!

9. “"I don't want to be a great, big tragedy anymore," Regulus chokes out, looking at him almost desperately.”

10. 😑 they both freaking love each other so immensely, that they know they’ll never love anyone else. and reg is still like “no! 😊 i don’t want to break your heart again! take it back! stop loving me!”

11. 😀😀😀 what was that?? another fucking

PARTING GIFT????

12. “Regulus doesn't want to like Remus Lupin, but he likes Remus Lupin.” LMAOO story of my life

13. “"We broke up," Regulus murmurs.

"Oh," Remus repeats, still startled. "You were…together?"

Regulus frowns, gaze drifting to the side. "No."”

😭😭😭 sir that’s so funny

14. i wish so badly that regulus didn’t have fear of bathing, because i know for most people, bathing would be a comfort after escaping the arena

15. i love how reg originally planned to kill to survive, and james planned to die to help reg survive, both of them being gryffindor and slytherin, then the roles reverse, and james is willing to kill for reg and reg is willing to die for james. 💋mwah! perfection!

16. reg understanding and valuing privacy >>>>

17. (but also! background wolfstar my beloved!!)

18. i’m so mad that they have to go into the interview and pretend everything is fine. like, pissed off beyond belief

19. as sad as it is that they’re not gonna date, i’m glad they’re recognizing that they’re not ready for a relationship right now.

chapter 27:

1. DORCAS!!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

2. “"We broke up? This is news to me. I wasn't aware we were together."

"We weren't," Regulus says, heaving a weary sigh.”

😭😭😭 babes, again with the breaking up

3. the discussion that love is more than romance >>>>>>>>>>>> Top Tier

4. 😀😀 rita, it is on site

5. “Rita's days are fucking numbered.” -reg THATS WHAT IVE BEEN SAYING

6. “[Peter] betrayed them all. James would have never done that. He would have died first.” 🙂 yikes. yikes. yikes. canon callback. yikes

7. BWAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA LOSING MY SHIT! NOT REGULUS DECIDING TO GET SIRIUS TO SPEAK DURING THE FUCKING INTERVIEW

8. “”He and I—well, we broke up. That's what he said, in any case."

"You were together?" Sirius asks, startled as well as a little offended that he wasn't at least notified. When the fuck did this happen?

"No, not at all. This was news to me, too, don't feel bad."”

😭😭😭 this is my favorite running joke

9. THE GLASSES ARE BACK

10. “"Oh, it's my dream come true," James teases, playful, his eyes sparkling. "I mean, both Black brothers? You know—"” BWAHAHAHAHA

11. sirius thinking james is a total whore <3333

12. james giving sirius sex advice is the sweetest thing ever

13. “even just the knowledge that Sirius is probably having sex for the very first time because he wants to, because he's at a place that he's comfortable, because he trusts Remus enough to do it.”

awwww i’m so happy that sirius feels safe enough to have that intimate moment with someone

14. sirius and regulus getting to feel like brothers again is heartbreaking

15. “He's so small. He's five, he's fifteen, he's twenty-five and Sirius' little brother. Always his little brother.”

16. sirius being nervous and fumbley and so awkward about sex is the funniest thing to me. so reminiscent of my first time tbh

17. “"You shouldn't be embarrassed, you know. There's nothing embarrassing about pleasure."

"Fuck you, it's so embarrassing," Sirius counters.”

he’s so real for that 😭😭😭

18. remus lupin: be gay do crime

19. “It takes them a bit to recover, admittedly. Love tends to have that effect, especially when you're making it.”

that line is so beautiful. like, insanely beautiful

#AHHHHHHHHHHHH #marauders #regulus black #james potter #fanfic #jegulus #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #remus x sirius #sunseeker #starchaser #crimson rivers

29 notes · View notes

toriangeli · 3 months

Text

The Trial of Armand

Armand’s degree of responsibility for Claudia’s death is…disputed. Not just among fandom, but in the books, no one quite agrees on how to characterize him during that time, and there are three different accounts of those events in Paris. We get a different Armand in Louis’, Lestat’s, and finally in his own recollection.

We know, because Armand admits it, that Armand killed Claudia in the literal sense—he was the one to take her to the courtyard with his own hands. But that doesn’t mean he condemned her. If he didn’t carry out the sentence, someone else would have.

So was Armand actually primarily to blame for her death? Did he even go so far as to engineer her death himself?

Louis is the only one who directly blames Armand for Claudia’s death, but it’s important to take a look at why he does so.

“I could not prevent it,” Armand said softly to me. And I looked up to see his face unutterably sad. He looked away from me as if he felt it was futile to try to convince me of this, and I could feel his overwhelming sadness, his near defeat. I had the feeling that if I were to vent all my anger on him he would do little to resist me. And I could feel that detachment, the passivity in him as something pervasive which was at the root of what he insisted to me again. “I could not have prevented it.” “Oh, but you could have prevented it!” I said softly. “You know full well that you could have. You were the leader! You were the only one who knew the limits on your own power. They didn’t know. They didn’t understand. Your understanding surpassed theirs.” He looked away still. But I could see the effect of my words on him. I could see the weariness in his face, the dull lusterless sadness of his eyes. “You held sway over them. They feared you!” I went on. “You could have stopped them if you’d been willing to use that power even beyond your own self-prescribed limits. It was your sense of yourself you would not violate. Your own precious conception of truth!”

Later, when they’re breaking up, they have this exchange:

“You could have told me anything you wanted about Paris, Armand,” I said. “Long before now. It wouldn’t have mattered.” “Even that it was I who…?” I turned to him as he lay there looking at the sky. And I saw the extraordinary pain in his face, in his eyes. It seemed his eyes were huge, too huge, and the white face that framed them too gaunt. “That it was you who killed her? Who forced her out into that yard and locked her there?” I asked. I smiled. “Don’t tell me you have been feeling pain for it all these years, not you.” And then he closed his eyes and turned his face away, his hand resting on his chest as if I’d struck him an awful, sudden blow.

Louis does blame Armand for Claudia’s death in two senses: first, he believes that Armand could have stopped Santiago and the others from carrying out Claudia’s execution, and second, Armand literally killed Claudia. With the former, this isn’t necessarily a rational blame, nor does it have to be—Louis is grieving. It’s understandable that he thinks Armand could have done more to save Claudia. Perhaps he’s right. It’s also understandable that he can’t get past Armand being the one to carry out the sentence, regardless of whether it was Armand’s will for her to die.

Lestat is much less kind in his own account, but that’s because Armand is very cruel to him, and Lestat is seriously just relaying facts. Armand doesn’t do any disputing of how Lestat recounts his treatment. And it’s bad. But also, Lestat’s is the most disjointed and confused account of these events, and it does the least amount of interpreting. He arrives in Paris, still badly wounded from being attacked, and asks for Armand’s powerful blood so he can heal.

I repeated some foolish phrases about Louis’ indestructible humanity, his understanding of things that other immortals couldn’t grasp. Carelessly I whispered things from the heart. It wasn’t Louis who had attacked me. It was the woman, Claudia… I saw something in him quicken. A faint blush came to his cheeks. “They have been seen here in Paris,” he said softly. “And she is no woman, this creature. She is a vampire child.” I can’t remember what followed. Maybe I tried to explain the blunder. Maybe I admitted there was no accounting for what I’d done. Maybe I brought us round again to the purpose of my visit, to what I needed, what I must have. I remember being utterly humiliated as he led me out of the house and into the waiting carriage, as he told me that I must go with him to the Theater of the Vampires. “You don’t understand,” I said. “I can’t go there. I will not be seen like this by the others. You must stop this carriage. You must do as I ask.” “No, you have it backwards,” he said in the tenderest voice.

Lestat recalls from here how he was locked in a cell and allowed to starve, neglected.

And then Armand was there, standing motionless in the shadows, immaculate in his white linen and black wool. He spoke in an undertone about Louis and Claudia, that there would be some kind of trial. Down on his knees he came to sit beside me, forgetting for a moment to be human, the boy gentleman sitting in this filthy damp place. “You will declare it before the others, that she did it,” he said. And the others, the new ones, came to the door to look at me one by one. “Get clothing for him,” Armand said. His hand was resting on my shoulder. “He must look presentable, our lost lord,” he told them. “That was always his way.”

The trial itself.

It was a mob tribunal of monsters, white-faced demons shouting accusations, Louis pleading desperately, Claudia staring at me mute, and my saying, yes, she was the one who did it, yes, and then cursing Armand as he shoved me back into the shadows, his innocent face radiant as ever. “But you have done well, Lestat. You have done well.”

Armand takes Lestat to Magnus’ tower, gives him Claudia’s yellow dress, and tells him Louis is dead. Lestat confronts him.

“Why can’t you stop them? Why did you do it, the trial, all of it, what do you care what they did to me?” “It’s finished.”

From this account, we’re definitely left with the impression Lestat, at least, seems to think the trial was Armand’s doing, though he has been given no information, left to extrapolate from almost nothing. Between his desire for Louis and his resentment toward Lestat, Armand definitely had motive. He had Lestat as a captive, both means and opportunity. But does Lestat ever state definitively that Armand was the mastermind behind Claudia’s demise? Did those motivations and means actually add up to Armand being the chessmaster? Lestat isn’t clear.

“It wasn’t that I wanted vengeance,” he whispered. His face was stricken, his heart broken. He said, “But you came to be healed, and you did not want me! A century I had waited, and you did not want me!”

What Armand says here suggests something about his actions was deliberately malicious toward Lestat, that he was lashing out because he was in pain, but he doesn’t mention any specific deed. He did a lot to Lestat in Paris. He also doesn’t mention Louis here. But this, as well as circumstances, is our best evidence so far, one way or another, whether Armand engineered Claudia’s death.

What if you haven’t wallowed in The Vampire Lestat’s florid descriptions of me and my alleged delusions and errors?

It’s worth stating that by the time he recounts his own story, Armand has come to see these events much more reasonably, and no longer blames Lestat for the dissolution of his old coven (except when he’s angry and needs something to throw in his face). He doesn’t paint Lestat as a villain or himself as a victim in their history together. He also doesn’t dispute either of the other two accounts, apart from one detail (whether he could have prevented Claudia’s death), but his account is only the second time any of the three accounts even mentions the idea that he deliberately engineered Claudia’s death. The other time is Lestat’s very understandable assumption that Armand, not Santiago, was behind the trial.

Who among us is going to let me be silent on the matter of Claudia, the child vampire whom I am accused for all time by all of having destroyed?

And what does he have to say about it?

For the record, she was slain by my Coven of mad demon actors and actresses, for, when she surfaced at the Théatre des Vampires with Louis as her mournful, guilt-ridden protector and lover, it became all too clear to too many that she had tried to murder her principal Maker, The Vampire Lestat. It was a crime punishable by death, the murdering of one’s creator or attempt at it, but she herself stood among the condemned the moment she became known to the Paris Coven, for she was a forbidden thing, a child immortal, too small, too fragile for all her charm and cunning to survive on her own. Ah, poor blasphemous and beauteous creature. Her soft monotone voice, issuing from diminutive and ever kissable lips, will haunt me forever. But I did not bring about her execution. She died more horribly than anyone has ever imagined, and I have not the strength now to tell the tale. Let me say only that before she was shoved out into a brick-lined air well to await the death sentence of the god Phoebus, I tried to grant her fondest wish, that she should have the body of a woman, a fit shape for the tragic confusion of her soul.

He then confesses that he decapitated her and tried to sew her head onto a woman’s body, only to fail, attempt to reattach her head to her own body, and pretty well fail at that as well. He admits all of this with great shame, and doesn’t in any way suggest he was doing it out of pity for her.

It was a truth I vowed to conceal forever from Louis de Pointe du Lac and all who ever questioned me. Better let them think that I had condemned her without trying to effect her escape, both from the vampires of the theatre and from the wretched dilemma of her small, enticing, flat-chested and silken-skinned angelic form.

All of this explains why he acts so guilty around Louis in Louis’ recollection, and why he doesn’t defend himself when accused of her death. But according to himself, he couldn’t have stopped his coven. This may or may not be true, but the important thing is that Armand perceived it so. He is telling us that Claudia’s death was not his aim. Even Louis doesn’t accuse him of engineering her death, merely of failing to have the courage to stop it. Lestat makes no guesses at Armand’s motivations or intentions, only records what he remembers him saying and what he remembers himself saying.

But why should we believe Armand? All people, even vampires, are subject to self-serving bias. Doesn’t Armand have the motivation to soften how people view him, and how he views himself?

Yes. He does. But in the same chapter as he claims he did not condemn Claudia himself, he admits something far more gruesome than anyone ever suspected him of. He does not soften how anyone views him. He also doesn’t blame others for his mistakes. He doesn’t lie in his account, that I can tell. You could argue he was lying to himself, trying to negotiate with his conscience over what to feel guilty for, but I’m not sure where the evidence is for that.

Why else might he deny the allegations?

Well, what allegations? Because the only person who so much as suggests that he actively instigated the trial in these accounts is Lestat, who does so in dialogue, and it’s never confirmed. Not through mind-reading or even passively, in the narrative. There’s no passing mention of it being a thing. It’s just Lestat asking why Armand made him testify, listing “the trial” among things he “did.” Which is simply an assumption. Lestat makes a lot of assumptions he later second-guesses, and it doesn’t help that Armand is the poster child for a disorganized attachment style.

What evidence is there in other books, then, for or against?

In Memnoch, Lestat observes (with a bit of self-gaslighting):

There was no envy in him, or old grudge against me; there was no hurt, or trickery, or anything. He was past all these things, if ever they had obsessed him. Perhaps they’d been fantasies of mine.

It is, in fact, possible for Lestat to be wrong. He’s a Creator’s Pet, not a Mary Sue, and at the time of the trial, he was barely able to make a coherent recollection. With everything he went through, as well as all the circumstantial evidence, I don’t know why he wouldn’t make the assumptions he did. But they weren’t assumptions he seemed to cling to long-term. By the time of Prince Lestat, he understands that Armand is someone who is just barely figuring out how to be a person, not the truly sinister villain he saw him as in TVL.

But let me add here that Armand isn’t the moral cipher I once thought he was. So much of what I thought about us, our minds, our souls, our moral evolution or devolution, was just wrong in the books I wrote. Armand’s not without compassion, not without a heart. In many respects, he’s just coming into himself after five hundred years. What do I know about being immortal? I’ve been in the Blood since when, 1780? That’s not very long. Not very long at all.

But also in Prince Lestat, he says this cryptic thing:

Ah, but I couldn’t blame Louis for shunning Paris. He’d lost his beloved Claudia — our beloved Claudia — in Paris. How could he be expected ever to forget that? And he’d known Armand was a jungle wildcat among revenants, hadn’t he?

This is pretty vague, and could be referring to Armand’s general wild card status, the fact that Armand did not have Louis’ back where Claudia was concerned, but it could also suggest he believes Armand was the mastermind behind the trial. The language used is highly suggestive of Lestat’s forgiving nature, indicating that this betrayal (since it’s arguable there was a betrayal either way) was simply part of Armand’s poorly-socialized nature. However, it’s ill-advised to take Lestat’s clemency at face value. He forgave Rhoshamandes and Kapetria, even claimed the latter was heroic for making sure not to kill him while giving him non-consensual brain surgery. It would not be out of character for him to claim Armand was more innocent than he was.

There is exactly one place I could find where anyone in the books straight-out claimed Armand intended Claudia’s death, and it’s in Queen of the Damned, as Jesse vaguely recalls the events of IWTV from when she read it:

Claudia had died in the Theater of the Vampires. The coven, under Armand’s command, had destroyed her.

The thing is, I’m not sure what makes Jesse an authority here. Jesse hasn’t even met any of these people at this point, and she certainly wasn’t there. She’s extrapolating from the circumstantial evidence while giving no reason to doubt Armand’s word. TVA was written well after QOTD, and as Lois McMaster Bujold says, “The author reserves the right to have a better idea.” It’s possible Anne thought for a time that Armand engineered Claudia’s death, then changed her mind, and Jesse isn’t exactly a definitive enough source to dispute the people who were actually there.

Armand warned Louis that Santiago was waiting for an excuse to take him and Claudia down. Taking everything as true from all three accounts, I would suggest Armand took Lestat captive not as a weapon against Claudia, but as a defense for Louis, because he knew Santiago would eventually come for Louis. Lestat did emphasize more than once to Armand that Claudia, not Louis, tried to kill him, and that was what Armand insisted he say at the trial.

There’s one problem, though, with the theory of Armand’s innocence: why didn’t Santiago make a move earlier? Why did the ambush happen hours after Louis asked Armand to give him just a little more time before leaving Claudia?

Armand does give this warning at that meeting:

“But…I think that as soon as possible they should leave Paris.” “Why?” “You know why. Because Santiago and the other vampires watch them with suspicion.”

It seems at once odd that Armand would give this warning if he was so close to bringing out the nuclear option (Lestat), and odd that the ambush happened when it did if he wasn’t involved. What new piece of evidence came about that allowed Santiago to pounce, if he was the instigator? Did he just get tired of waiting? Did he finally get enough coven members on his side? But why would Armand push for Claudia’s escape if he wasn’t going to give her time to do so, and risk having to chase her down?

But this is all circumstance and speculation. As far as the evidence—eyewitness testimony—goes, there isn’t enough to actually conclude that Armand meant Claudia harm, just that he didn’t care enough to save her.

The entire purpose behind the books that are character biographies (TVL, TVA, Blood and Gold, IWTV to an extent) is that they are tell-alls, context for everything else the character does in the series. Armand bringing up being accused of Claudia’s death rings of something Anne does sometimes: she addresses what her readers say. She once even had Lestat bitch hilariously about the response to Memnoch. Armand is addressing his reputation, not actual, in-universe accusations by named characters. Anne making a big claim to dispute a common fan assumption doesn’t make sense if the claim wasn’t meant to be true.

Regardless of Armand’s intentions with Claudia, could he have stopped the execution? That’s still debatable. He says in IWTV that he wanted minimal power as coven leader because having great power meant having to defend said great power. I think it also says a lot that he was a tyrant in his coven prior, as does his admission of his own misery during his days as a Child of Satan (Child of Darkness in pre-Prince Lestat books; who knows why she changed it). Lestat describes him as “autocratic,” but that was in the context of his time with the CoS. Yet here, he was actively trying not to intervene in his coven’s actions. Armand, in addition to some genuine apathy, was actually making some changes.

He didn’t want to repeat his previous mistakes, so he wound up making brand new ones.

Which is just what Armand does.

Isn’t it what we all do?

Well, hopefully less explosively.

#armand #the vampire armand #the vampire chronicles #tvc #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #interview with the vampire #the vampire lestat #queen of the damned #qotd #memnoch the devil #prince lestat #jesse reeves #claudia de pointe du lac #claudia de lioncourt #your honor he's the worst but have you considered he didn't do every single thing

26 notes · View notes

curiousquirks · 1 year

Note

For the nsfw alphabet, I'm really curious about Dabi and Mr. Compress tbh...

A/N: Got 'em both here for ya <3

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s not a very affectionate person so don’t expect anything special. He’s the type to smoke a cigarette, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Or get up to piss and maybe grab a snack. If his partner asked for something, he’d make a snide comment but he’d probably get it for them.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself: He’s pretty self conscious but I can see him liking his hands a lot, considering it’s one of the few places on his body that isn’t as affected by his quirk.

On his partner: Tits AND ass man, no doubt about it. He doesn’t need to pick, it just depends on where his hands are at the time. He’s very grabby.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Dabi is 100% a disgusting man, he will cover his partner in his own cum and he will happily sit there with his partner’s cum covering him. Spilling out of any hole possible makes no difference to him and he’ll keep going no matter how ruined how any clothes, furniture, or sheets get.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’d share his partner with other men in a heartbeat, but only for a one time thing. He can be possessive sometimes but he knows that they’ll come running back to him anyways. It’s more of showing off how hot they are and how slutty they are for him. It’s a point of pride.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I feel like Dabi doesn’t really have much experience outside of porn and don’t expect him to have any good sex education either. He’ll get frustrated and pissy when they try to teach him anything or tell him he’s doing it wrong; it’s a hit to his ego.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)

Cowgirl, without a doubt. Him laying down, just admiring the view while they do all the work.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He’s pretty selfish and focused on getting himself off so he’s very serious. He won’t appreciate any humor either, and if he’s pushed too far by his partner trying to make it humorous, he’ll just leave and get himself off.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Oh, his pubic hair is still white without a doubt. Has the cutest little happy trail leading up to his stomach too.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s not much of a romantic at all, usually just focusing on the high tension and erotic mood more than anything. If his partner gets him in a submissive position, they’re more likely to make him more vulnerable but he usually keeps that hidden fairly well.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Does it quite often, not wanting to deal with the drama that can come with fucking someone. Usually accompanied by some random front page porn video.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Temperature Play

Choking

Exhibitionism

Marking

Corruption

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He doesn’t have preference, anywhere is viable. Against a wall? Bent over a table? On a bed? On someone else’s bed? Shady alleyway? As long as he gets to come, he doesn’t care.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He’s a simple man, it doesn’t take much. Wiggle some boobs in front of him, grope his cock through his pants, or whisper how badly you want him in his ear, make a motion with their hands and he is willing to fuck them where he’s standing.

��

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything with feet, he’s not a fan.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

If he could have someone on their knees whenever he wanted to suck him off, he’d be in heaven. He’s pretty good at giving but he is definitely more skilled with his fingers. He enjoys giving it more than he lets on though.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Dabi doesn’t know how to take his time when he’s really worked up, and if he does it’s because he’s trying to let himself actually enjoy it. Like he’s afraid it’ll get taken away if he actually tries letting himself live in the moment. He usually goes hard and rough, chasing after the high.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies are really fun for him, and definitely has a preference for them. He’s pretty selfish, not really caring too much if his partner finishes every time so he works for him to just pull them aside and do some shit quickly before he continues on with his day.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

What’s the fun if you don’t live on the edge? He’ll purposefully try to initiate sex in locations that can get them caught, or somewhere where they’ll be heard. Going a little hard into kinks, without playing carefully. He’s willing to try new things but he’d have to be told about it or randomly come across it. Unless the partner brings it up he probably will just spring it on them in the moment without asking.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He doesn’t actually have a lot of stamina so he wouldn’t be able to go for multiple rounds. It would take him a decent amount of time to finish though, as he does have to focus more mentally to come.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Dabi doesn’t mind them every once in a while but don’t expect him to know the complicated shit. He also feels like if his partner uses sex toys a lot that means he’s in competition with it and that’s just not going to work.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’ll tease the fuck out of his partner and make them beg especially if they’ve pissed him off recently. He’ll also tease them if he’s trying to initiate sex because it’s easier for him than just asking because well it’s their idea now.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Quiet grunts are all he would really do. Even if he’s more submissive, he’s pretty quiet. The only reason he’ll be loud is with dirty talk, and only for the intention of being heard.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He’s not that sensitive, especially not his cock, so it takes more work than he’d like to get him off. It’s why he has to focus more mentally when he’s having sex or trying to get himself off.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

More thick than long and I can see him getting a jacob’s ladder piercing.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high, but has a decent control over it.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If it’s not a quickie and he’s near a bed, he’ll clock out pretty fast. Hope his partner wasn’t expecting much from him.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

If it’s with a stranger then he’s slipping out as soon as he’s able too. If it’s with a partner then he’s pretty good with aftercare and making sure that they’ve been taken care of. He’s quick with reassurance and soft touches if it’s something that they need.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself: It’d be vain to say his face, but otherwise he is quite fond of his hands. The stealthy movements and tricks he pulls with them always draw people’s attention there after all.

On his partner: Their neck. Something about watching someone sweep hair out of the way from their neck or ask for someone to clasp a necklace around it. It’s horribly intimate and delicate.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He much prefers his partner’s cum dripping off of his face and god does he love it. The taste is something that he craves in a primal way.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has definitely stolen underwear from his partner before, taking it out only when he can’t be near them.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Atsuhiro has a lot of experience. His partner never has to worry about him not knowing how to please them.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)

Face Sitting (or any position where he can give them oral) and the Dancer (because of how intimate it is).

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Atsuhiro is a firm believer in “If you can’t laugh during sex you’re doing it wrong” but he’ll try to keep the mood serious and romantic. His partner isn’t shy or unfamiliar with his showmanship showing up in the bedroom though.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He keeps up with personal maintenance, so he’s well groomed. If he didn’t, and the hair got long enough it's definitely start getting curly.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Full romance, and if it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision Atsuhiro would go out of his way to put up candles and play music to set the mood. He’s making love, it’s what you do when you love your partner. That doesn’t mean you can’t make them whimper and scream though.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s not unfamiliar with it at all but he prefers his orgasms with a partner. If he can’t, for whatever reason, then he sees no issue with getting himself off. Vivid imagination, but has used pictures and videos as needed.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Roleplay

Blindfolds

Collars

Dom/Sub Dynamics

Cunnilingus

Rimming

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere as long as it’s behind closed doors. The bed, the floor, against the wall, bent over something? He’s open to whatever the moment leads too.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Flirty banter! It’s a game and he lives for it. Suggestive comments and subtle touches get him wound up rather quickly.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Mutual Masturbation, because he just can’t keep his hands to himself. If his partner is in front of him, laying themselves bare for his viewing pleasure and he’s just expected to get himself off? Blasphemy.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Too damn good at giving it. It’s a talent really and a heavy preference. Not that he minds the favor being returned, especially if he can watch them struggle to swallow it all down, because they must not waste a drop.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Atsuhiro’s pretty flexible on his pacing with it depending on how events flow during the moment. He doesn’t have a big preference, wanting things to flow naturally.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

If he sees an opportunity for one, he’ll gladly take it but he doesn’t prefer them at all. He wants to take his time and enjoy it with his partner.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Atsuhiro is all about taking risks, wanting to experiment with various new ideas or toys. He likes risky set ups for foreplay, living for the thrill.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Can easily go for multiple rounds, easily. His speed when it comes to finishing is quicker than he wants to admit. He uses it as a compliment to his partner. He’ll be ready to go again soon, they don’t need to worry.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

They’re a great addition to spice things up but he doesn’t need them. He doesn’t mind some toys being used on him at all, letting his partner take the reins when they want too. He loves the attention being on him, there’s no denying that.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He has his moments of teasing, watching his partner squirm. And he definitely does it to get his partner to try and put him in his place. Brat tamers are just brats in control after all.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Sighs, moans, and soft grunts. Fairly average volume, as he has no problem showing his partner that he’s enjoying it.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Has definitely had at least one rich/famous person as a source of income with the offer of sex. Has definitely stolen from them countless times too.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Smaller than average but fully aware of how to use it.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Slightly above average, full control over it despite dialogue that would say otherwise.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Being familiar with constantly running away from his problems, he doesn’t fall asleep easily afterwards at all. The thrill and rush he gets from sex does the opposite for him.

#dabi #dabi x reader #mr compress #atsuhiro sako #mr compress x reader #atsuhiro sako x reader #bnha smut #curious little valentine

219 notes · View notes

vigilskeep · 7 months

Note

Ok very into your cadash in kirkwall thing!! Please keep sharing your thoughts - i vaguely remember dgaider saying they were going to do more with the carta in da2 but had to cut it - (you still get some random enemy encounters with carta that were originally going to be tied into a bigger plot) - is she a representative of them that varric deals with? how is that going? How does she feel about the carta? Do you have any ideas behind why the carta still sometimes attack the party - is it different factions?

i’m not imagining she’s high up enough to be an official representative of anything. she’s more of a useful contact that several of the crew share, and she’s a lyrium smuggler. kirkwall is riddled with apostates, and a lot of them don’t have the connections to get into the market with the big groupings like the collective and the underground and the resolutionists. if the carta wants the money from the little guys on the run, someone’s got to find them before the templars do, win their trust, broker a deal, connect them to people who can help them make the money, and keep them from prying eyes—because as long as they’re free, they’re buying. that’s cadash’s job!

she also relies on the lyrium herself, for her own brand of the templar specialisation. you don’t go wandering around kirkwall looking for apostates, and carrying the thing they want, without being able to defend yourself if they get dangerous. it’s a small price to pay. she has a bad gallows joke about how the carta have a gift from the stone, they can take lyrium without any of the side effects—because their average life expectancy isn’t long enough to deteriorate

mages know they can count on her, even if it’s not always been for the right reasons. but she is soft on anders, who’s been one of her customers since he got into the city, and who has saved her life after a job gone wrong more than once. he has a lot of complaints about her methods and he makes this loudly clear when accepting friends discounts, but he also badly misses a few people she reminds him of. she knows fenris via mercenary contacts and maybe anso, and she calls on him for backup occasionally. she’s the topmost expert on lyrium he knows and after a long time he has been willing to ask her to look into his tattoos. she and varric have a kind of longstanding ‘you scratch my back i’ll scratch yours’ working relationship of exchanged favours but nobody else can tell how or even if they’re keeping count. knowing everyone else kind of snowballs from there. and she would never have bloody agreed to any of this if she knew what big sad wet eyes this whole fucking party has when they want something. little band of bastards and idealists. yeah, she’s fond of them

actually, i wouldn’t be surprised if she was signed on to the deep roads expedition as a lyrium expert too. that’s fun! for the red lyrium plot which i’m counting on as her personal crusade in inquisition. and for her relationship with the kirkwall crew, especially if she left with bartrand rather than take a risk to help them and that’s always lingering in her head...

cadash belongs to the cadash crime family, which suggests the existence of other, presumably rival crime families. she’s also making these very specialised deals with a fair bit of independence, while the rest do business as usual. so i don’t think it’s surprising if hawke and their band still get into scraps with the carta, especially when it’s not like she’s officially affiliated with hawke or anything. (it’s just that she hangs out with them and does them favours free of charge despiting insisting she won’t and also she’s kissing their blood mage.) however i do think another even more valid explanation is that varric totally just throws the carta as enemies into the narrative whenever he’s bored. cadash bitches about it all the time but he insists it’s way more interesting than “we came across some carta thugs in the tunnel but they knew that we know cadash so they were like yeah go on ahead no problem”

she doesn’t like the carta. it’s not... look, little girls don’t grow up dreaming of that kind of work, do they? but little girls do grow up and join the family business. and i’d say she’s seen what happens when people don’t fulfil their obligations to the family. everybody’s got to make a living, right? everybody’s got to get by. and dealing with the lyrium itself, valuing it and concocting potions and taking it herself, is the only time she ever feels connected to anything. raw power. raw magic. the gift of the ancestors, and it doesn’t go to any deep lord or merchants’ guild lackey who would spit in her face. it’s in her hands, and in her blood, now. it’s nice to pretend that means something

#this got Long i’m starting to get into this #scaea cadash

31 notes · View notes

lavendertales · 1 year

Text

Guilty pleasures: Chapter 6

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: when you confess your secret to Joel, he enlists your help so he can come clean to Ellie as well. you and Ellie find yourselves bonding over the same life story.

word count: 5.7k

warnings: brief mentions of needles & suicide.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

gif: @pajamasecrets

series masterlist | AO3

“The hell do you mean you’re immune too?”

Joel’s voice echoes in the bedroom, husky and demanding, the complete opposite of what it was a couple of hours ago. The question he poses is to be expected, yet it remains riddled with fear and pain. Pain of knowing he had opened up to someone, allowed another person to know him intimately and emotionally, and it might’ve all been nothing but a ruse.

“Why the hell would you tell me this now?” Joel continues, sitting on the far end of the bedroom, staring you down.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, but I preferred it if you were in a good mood,” you reply cautiously and sincerely. “And this was the only time I ever saw you in a somewhat good mood.”

Joel chuckles, the sound mocking and doing nothing in hiding the hurt. “Well that’s gone now.”

“Please listen to me. Please, Joel.”

He gathers enough strength to look at you, feeling a little foolish as he stands there, half dressed, and arms crossed at his chest. He waits for your explanation though, because deep down something tells him you wouldn’t go through all of this just to get to Ellie. And even if you did have a devious scheme planned, what could you possibly want from her? Would you reveal her secret to the whole town? Would you be willing to expose Ellie and let her be devoured by people who are angry at the world and eager to get revenge however they can?

“I figured it out a few weeks ago,” you begin, sitting on the edge of the bed. “No one wears long sleeves in summer unless they’re hiding something on their skin. That was my first clue. Then all of Ellie’s questions about my tattoos, saying she wants to get one that’s big enough to cover up scars… second clue. And all I knew about your relationship with her is that you saved her from the Fireflies. Which made me think, why did the Fireflies want her so badly? I answered the question with my own experience. I know why I was wanted by the Fireflies.”

Joel watches you in silence, listening to every word. He’s rummaging through your speech, trying to decide if it’s worth believing or not.

“Think about it,” you continue. “How else would I figure out about Ellie’s immunity, all on my own, unless I’d have the same story? Normal people see a kid wearing long sleeves in hundred something degree weather, they’re confused but they don’t ask questions. They don’t care.”

“And you do?”

You nod. Joel has to admit that so far, you are making perfect sense. Unless he or Tommy would’ve told you directly about Ellie, there is no other way you would’ve found out.

“Show it to me,” he growls.

You instantly know what he’s talking about; you stand up, revealing your left wrist, inked with a beautiful flower and leaves. In the dim light, Joel struggles to see it properly, so he grabs hold of your wrist and takes it closer to his face for inspection. He drags two fingers across the skin, feeling the indents and irregularities beneath his touch. He pulls back a little, stunned. In a way, you are complementary version of Ellie, and that just messes with his head and his heart just a bit too much.

Suddenly he recalls the conversation he’s had with Ellie just after he’d killed Marlene and the rest of the Fireflies in that goddamn hospital. He remembers telling her that there were other immune people out there. At the time, he knew it was a lie. A white little lie he told Ellie because he cared so damn much about her, he couldn’t stand to lose another kid.

But with this revelation, things could be different. Joel wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about lying to Ellie to protect and keep her safe, and the things he’s told her could be real. They are real.

“I need to know what happened,” is all he can grunt at you.

You nod understandingly, taking a deep breath in.

“This bite is six years old. I was with my sister and my nephew, and… we got bit. We had a pact, my family and I. That if we were ever bit, we’d kill each other in mercy. We didn’t want to turn. So I uh… it was just me after a while.”

You swallow harshly, unable to actually describe what had happened. Joel may feel confused and a little angry right now, but he’s not far from understanding. And he doesn’t force you to say it out loud.

He knows the pain all too well.

“I was ready to kill myself too,” you go on. “Especially after what I’d done. When Marlene found me, it was on the dawn of the third day after I’ve been bitten. I should’ve lost my mind already by that point. Not that I wasn’t, but… you know what I mean.”

Joel nods, remaining quiet.

“She asked me some questions, I answered her and then we came to a conclusion. There was something in my body that prevented me from turning. I didn’t quite get it. And I still don’t. But it makes me immune to the infection. And because of that, Marlene said they wanted to develop a vaccine. They said I was humanity’s salvation.”

There’s a manic, mocking sound that leaves your throat the moment you say that last part. Clearly you do not believe a word you’ve been told, and even Joel feels uneasy listening to your story unfold.

“That’s a huge purpose if there’s any. And after the horrors I lived, it gave me a reason to go on. I thought maybe there was a reason for everything after all. So I left with Marlene and the Fireflies to a hospital in Salt City Lake, and they said they were gonna perform surgery to extract my blood or something like that. I said okay, do what you have to do. Except I woke up during the surgery.”

Joel’s heart stills, his forehead creased under a frown’s weight.

“I woke up, groggy and confused, to hear the doctor and the assistant snap at each other, talking about cutting my brain open and that I was definitely going to die if they did that. If they couldn’t even put me properly to sleep, there was no way in hell I would’ve let them cut into my brain. Long story short, it turns out I was a trial run. Nothing but an experiment to them. They had no idea how to actually make a vaccine out of the mass that’s in my head. It’s not a tumor, it’s just… a mass. Something that makes me immune to the infection. I’m guessing Ellie’s the same.”

Joel realizes you’re actually asking him, waiting for a response. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, they said it’s… a mass in the brain. She would’ve died if I would’ve let them…”

He gulps, and it makes you move closer to him again. He lets you, he needs your comforting presence as he thinks back to one of the worst and best days of his life.

You take his hand into yours, running your thumb over it, and Joel seems to calm down. “I care about Ellie, a lot,” you tell him, and he feels your words to be sincere. “I’d never expose this secret to anyone. Especially because it’s bullshit.”

Joel wants to ask more questions, but he finds himself speechless. He stares at you inquisitorially, and you pick up the queue.

“There is no cure, Joel,” you confirm his fears and theories. “They can’t make a vaccine, not with what we got available in terms of medical equipment and stuff. Maybe someday, I don’t know, but not in our lifetime. The cordyceps infection is deadly. There’s nothing to be done.”

“What’s the point then? Of this immunity, of you and Ellie being this way while others…”

You take both his hands into yours, staring lovingly at him. “I don’t know. I was bit six years ago, and I’m still waiting to turn into the monster I think I am deep down. I don’t know if this is… a punishment or a blessing or what. Maybe it’s an insurance of some sort. That Ellie and I get to live a normal life with the people we love.”

There’s silence in between you two as the words you’ve nearly whispered are being delved inside Joel’s mind. Something about that last word, love, he finds it soothing and yet, beyond triggering. He hadn’t allowed himself to get close to anyone. Tess was the only one he felt a certain connection with since the outbreak happened, and sometimes he regretted not being more upfront and open with her. He did know Tess loved him in ways even she didn’t express. And he supposed he loved her, too.

But this, now, with Ellie and all the feelings that are blossoming for you, almost brutally fast, it’s scarier than anything he’s felt in the past decades. The two of you may be immune to the infection, but not to other terrors. It simultaneously breaks Joel and fills him with joy to know that there’s at least two people in his life that care about him.

“Joel,” you call out to him. “I’m sorry I sprung this on you after… well. I don’t wanna hurt you or Ellie. I’d never—I have pain too.”

Your eyes fill with tears and your voice breaks as you struggle to let out those words, and Joel finds himself physically unable to keep his distance. He looks at you apologetically, wrapping his arms around you in the next moment.

“I lied to her,” he coos over your shoulder. “I told her there were other immune people to-to protect her. To save her. I couldn’t let her go. I couldn’t… she would’ve died.”

You break the embrace so you can look at him. When your eyes search his face, you find it filled with regret and pain. You cup his cheeks, softly grazing your thumb against his stubbly cheek.

“I didn’t know at the time if there were any more immune folks,” he goes on as if he’s excusing himself to you too. “I just said it so she’d think—“

“Joel… I was on that operating table, alone, having consented to something that was way beyond my understanding. I was lied to and manipulated. If I wouldn’t have woken up… my point is, there was no one there for me. I was alone. And I wish… someone would’ve done for me what you did for Ellie. You saved her life.”

“I took away her choice.”

You shake your head. “The Fireflies took her choice. She did what she thought was best, but—“

“She wanted to die on that table! She was gonna sacrifice herself for—for humanity and I—“

“Humanity is fucked up and doomed anyway. She would’ve died for nothing. You did the right thing.”

It doesn’t feel that way for Joel, though; most days he can put his actions behind him and even pretend like he forgot the things he’s done for that girl, but tonight, with you and with everything that’s happened, guilt swallows him whole.

“I gotta tell her,” Joel mumbles. “I gotta tell her—everything.”

You don’t reply. You feel like your part in this story is mostly over. What you can only wish for is some peace of mind.

“I need you to—to help me tell her,” he then turns to you with big, soft eyes.

“What—“

“Tell her your story. Show her your bite. If she’s gonna hate me… she needs to have someone who cares about her. Please.”

It’s that last please that breaks you. You find yourself in the impossibility of refusing or even considering to bring up an excuse. The sight of the tormented man before you is more than enough to have you wishing you can help.

“Okay,” you nod. “We’ll tell her together.”

“Just need to… find the right time.”

OCTOBER

While you didn’t pressure Joel into confessing to Ellie, you also couldn’t stand what all that guilt was doing to him. Within the following two weeks, Joel resorted to either avoiding Ellie altogether or babbling about nonsensical things that left her more confused rather than curious. You began to feel like you were in the middle more often than not, and you weren’t really a fan of that. On one side you were trying to persuade Joel to just pick a moment to be honest with Ellie, and on the other side you were trying to explain to Ellie that no, Joel was not on the verge of a stroke or anything similar and that he was just a bit tired.

As were you.

All that overthinking and with Joel being racked with guilt, the intimacy between you and Joel thinned. There were brief moments of comfort when you intertwined his fingers with his or you held him, stroking his back, but nothing else. You knew that he dreaded the conversation with Ellie and that once he’d finally have it, things could end badly and he could toss you aside as well, but until then, you planned to remain by his side, unbent and stoic.

One chilly October afternoon, Joel approached you rather flustered, cautiously looking around before addressing you in a low register, “I’m tellin’ her. Now.”

Surprised, you can only look at him and nod. You’re even more surprised when Joel reaches—albeit his hesitation—to grab hold of your hand as you walk down the street. It’s the first time anyone’s ever seen the two of you so close, and of course it raises questions and eyebrows, but neither cares. This isn’t about you two, not now.

Ellie’s with a few of her friends, laughing wholeheartedly. Joel’s heart sinks as he approaches, but knowing that you’re right there with him does soothe some of his nerves.

“Ellie?” he calls out to her, and she instantly looks at him. “Can you come over here for a second?”

“Be right back, guys. What’s up?”

Joel opens his mouth to begin his speech, and that’s when Ellie notices his hand holding yours. She does nothing to mask her enthusiasm.

“Would you look at that!” she smiles, and he instantly pulls away. “You guys finally shacked up.”

“I wouldn’t say—“you start, flustered.

“That’s not what—“

“Oh, come on. I know old people still do it. It’s fine.”

“Who you callin’ old?”

Ellie falters, and it almost makes you laugh. “Joel,” she then replies.

He lets that slide momentarily. Other things, far more important, preoccupy him.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“We need to talk to you,” you say.

“Uh oh. Am I in trouble?”

This time you do smile, and Joel is thankful that you took the reins first. “No, nothing like that. We just wanna talk. Come on.”

Joel’s heart nearly bursts out of his chest. He’s riddled with guilt and nervousness, but seeing you and Ellie march side by side brings a bit of comfort to him. He knows in this moment that, regardless of the conversation’s outcome, Ellie could at least rely on you, Tommy and Maria.

The three of you settle on your porch, with you and Joel exchanging a few glares. He finally decides to step up.

“So what’s this about?” Ellie asks.

“I know you’ve asked some questions about… the Fireflies and your immunity over the last couple of years,” Joel starts with a massive knot in his throat.

“Yeah, when we left the Firefly hospital, you said there were dozens of people like me.”

Joel remains silent for a moment, choosing his following words very carefully.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what they told me.”

Ellie’s face drops in the slightest, and so does Joel’s. “I’ve never met another immune person before. Have you?”

Joel mumbles something, this being your cue to step in. You clear your throat once, gaining Ellie’s attention.

“He has,” you say. “And so have you.”

But there’s no relief on Ellie’s face. There’s just more confusion as she stares at you, and then at Joel. She doesn’t look like she trusts the most obvious answer, and part of you can’t help but feel for her.

“We traveled across the entire country to bring me to the Fireflies,” Ellie tells Joel. “I had so many questions for them. Why did you pull me out of there while I was still unconscious?”

“Ellie—“you try, but she raises a hand to shush you.

“Because I let them run their tests, and when I saw that they were useless, I got us out of there—“

“How do you know they were useless? Maybe if you just would’ve given them more time, they could’ve figured something out—“

“Ellie, listen—“

“Ellie!”

Joel’s voice is decisive, strong and authoritative. He inches closer to Ellie, face roughened by the guilt that’s been eating him alive, and groans slowly, “There was no cure. There’s nothing that could’ve helped these people or anybody else.”

He pauses, his eyes softening as he looks at her in awe. “I know you wish things were different—I wish things were different. But they ain’t.”

“Then why is she here?”

Both of them turn to glare at you, and you gulp, stepping forward.

“You’re a smart kid,” you tell her. “Very smart. I’m sure you at least have an idea.”

Ellie bites the inside of her cheeks, throwing you a rather ugly glare, but you don’t mind it. It is to be expected; meanwhile, Joel watches you both breathless, feeling very much on the edge of sanity, waiting for the last shoe to drop.

“Swear to God Joel, if you lie to me one more time… I’m gone,” Ellie threatens, still looking at you. “You will never see me again. That’s what you do. You lie.”

“Stop,” you tell her.

“Just tell me then! Tell me why we’ve never met another immune person, why you took me in despite everything and why you pulled me out of—“

“There was no cure!” Joel shouts. “There was no cure then, there is no cure now. They were gonna cut you open and kill ya. Making a vaccine… would’ve killed you. So I stopped them.”

Ellie stares into the ground, trying to process the situation, raw and sensitive as it is. She remains speechless for a while, and so do you and Joel as you watch her reactions closely. Then she breaks into a sob, a concoction of sadness and anger, and she falls down to one of the chairs. Joel reaches to comfort her, but Ellie pulls back immediately, snapping.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” she yells. “You had—no right! I was supposed to die on that table! Just because you lost your daughter doesn’t mean—“

“Ellie, stop,” you nearly groan, realizing that even in anger she is touching on a subject that is very much still painful.

“Fuck you!” she shouts at Joel. “We are done! We are so fucking done—“

“Ellie, he didn’t lie to you! I’m immune too, okay?! Look!”

You roll up your sleeves and show her the tattoo she once admired, now more visible in the porch’s light. She takes your arms, studies it up close and runs a finger across your skin, finally feeling and seeing the mark. It’s distinguishable, much too familiar to be confused.

And it melts all of her anger at once.

“This isn’t new,” she remarks.

“It’s six years old, so… no.”

There are about a million questions inside Ellie’s head, questions which you anticipated and knew you’d have to answer.

“So… are there dozens of other immune people?”

“That I don’t know. There could be. What I do know for a fact is that right now, there are two immune people.”

“Even the Fireflies weren’t sure if there was another one.”

“Yeah well. The Fireflies are full of crap.”

“I wanna know exactly what happened.”

Joel can barely speak when Ellie looks at him, his throat scratchy and dry. “I told you—“

“Not from you. Her. I wanna hear it from her. The full story. No bullshit.”

You turn towards Joel, trying your hardest not to be affected by his hurt expression. “Give us a few minutes, okay?” you coo at him, stroking his arm. “I got this.”

Joel doesn’t even nod; he leaves you alone with Ellie, something which he wouldn’t have done in a million years had this situation transpired last year. But now, he knows there’s no one better suited to answer Ellie’s questions or to ease her mind.

There’s no one he trusts more than you at this point.

“Let’s go inside,” you say, and Ellie follows you suit.

There is something peculiar about the connection Ellie feels to you. During the past year, she’s got to know you as a brilliant fighter, a badass shooter and an inspiring woman; all reasons for her to follow you and trust you. Right now, she still trusts you. She trusts that you’ll tell her the truth, impart some wisdom and share your story in the hopes of making her feel less lonely.

It is lonely being a young girl with such an unfair, huge advantage in this cruel world.

“Okay,” you huff, gathering your thoughts.

“The whole story,” Ellie reminds you. “No bullshit.”

“No bullshit.”

You inhale sharply, then slowly exhale.

“When the outbreak happened, over twenty years ago, I was with my parents and my little sister, Maya. She was twelve, I was seventeen. We ran and we hid and it worked, for about a year. We ran out of luck when our parents got infected. I knew they were bit, I saw them. They hid it from Maya, though. She was still very young so we all wanted to protect her. They put us to bed, said goodnight… and they shot themselves. I heard the gunshots, and I cried myself to sleep. When I found them the next morning, I had to give them a better ending. For my sister’s sake. I hid their bodies in the basement of the house we were staying in, and I told her they went away to look for a cure, something that would help us. Then it was just us two, and… it was good for a while. Suddenly I was responsible for another human life, other than mine, and it was so much to take in. But I did it. I kept us safe, and we managed to live.

“We befriended a nice guy and his sister along the way, Jeremy and Leah. We met them in Seattle, where we stayed till… a few years ago. Little by little, Maya and Jeremy got close and they fell in love… and then Maya got pregnant. She was early twenties then. It was a big risk and it was shocking but… it was also a happy time for the four of us. It felt like we were a little family. Like maybe we could do this forever, take care of each other. We made a pact that if anything were to happen to any of us, infection-wise, we’d spare each other and pull the trigger.”

“Like your parents did.”

“Like my parents did. Neither one of us wanted to turn into one of those things.”

You pause, feeling a wave of sadness washing you at its cold shore. “Did you know that the people are actually still inside? The cordyceps takes over and controls the body, but the person is still inside. You are painfully aware of the things you do, just… completely unable to do anything. Trapped inside your own body, deforming over time.”

Ellie gulps, distraught by the information. She briefly recalls Sam and his question, his hope that he might still be himself even after the infection, and her heart sinks.

“Six years ago, over six years ago, Jeremy and Leah were trying to smuggle more food supplies to the place where we lived. By that point, Jeremy and Maya’s son, Elliott, was four years old. Except Jeremy and Leah got caught in a crossfire. FEDRA shot ‘em. They thought they were infected. Didn’t even hesitate. I was with them when it happened. I had to tell Maya when I got back. She was… broken. I had to take Elliott outside, far away from the house, because she was screaming and crying so loudly. We had to change base shortly afterwards because the place was crawling with FEDRA and infected and shit. We started walking aimlessly, uprooting ourselves once again, and then… we got bit, all three of us.”

You make another pause, feeling your eyes teary as they reminisce the horrifying images that follow you everywhere you go.

“Their screams haunt me to this day,” you continue, hollow. “Even in my sleep, I—I hear them. I hear them begging me to help them, to save them… and I can’t. I fail them and I lose them even in my sleep.”

Tears rolls down your cheeks, but Ellie doesn’t interrupt. She is too immersed in your heartbreaking story to do so.

“Maya screamed so much that night,” you go on. “She was in so much pain, and there was… nothing that I could do. It should’ve been my duty as the older sister to do something, and there I was, powerless. She screamed at me to kill her first because she didn’t want to watch her son go first. So I took Elliott to another room, asked him to cover his ears… and I shot her. I shot my baby sister. And then I went to the other room, I held Elliott in my arms… and I shot him too.”

“Holy shit,” Ellie murmurs as it finally dawns on her. “That’s why you hate handguns.”

You nod. “Every time I hold one, I—I’m right back there, and my whole body goes cold, numb, my hand shakes… I tried many times, but…”

You take a deep breath in, forcing yourself to go on with the story.

“I was supposed to kill myself then. The last one standing. I was gonna pull the trigger. But I was so upset, so—devastated, I couldn’t stop crying. So I cried and screamed next to their bodies. I cried myself to sleep. As I fell asleep I thought, ‘you know what? I’ll wait it out. I deserve to turn into the monster that I am on the inside’. So I waited. I waited to lose my mind. I did, don’t me wrong, just… not in the way I hoped. You can imagine my disappointment when I woke up the next morning, perfectly sane and conscious, having killed my baby sister and my nephew.”

Ellie only nods, feeling her own eyes a little teary.

“The pain was… indescribable. It hurt so much that I… didn’t even feel it, if it makes sense. I felt empty, yet in constant pain. I didn’t understand why I didn’t turn. I should’ve turned, the cordyceps should’ve taken over by then. But it didn’t. And then goddamn Fireflies swarm the place and took me in. I didn’t know back then. I thought they wanted to make me one of them.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Marlene was the one who found me. She kept me mostly sedated for a few days because I just couldn’t cope with the pain I was feeling, the guilt over what I had done. I’m still waiting for my turn, almost seven years later. Every day I wake up to the faces of those I outlived, and every day I loathe myself for it. But Marlene knew how to talk, and the way she put it, I actually started to believe that my being bitten and not turning could mean something bigger. I figured it’s either some cruel joke played by a vengeful God that may or may not exist, or it could be a higher purpose. Marlene advised me to keep my immunity a secret, so I did. I never told another soul. You and Joel are the first and only ones who know.”

Ellie frowns. “Not even Tommy or Maria?”

“Just you and Joel. And Marlene, but… I figure this ship has sailed.”

You’ve heard of Marlene’s passing from Tommy. Matter of fact, you heard of a bunch of Fireflies being killed in cold blood by a crazy man.

A crazy, complex man you fear you may fall for, named Joel Miller.

“What about the vaccine?” Ellie asks.

“Marlene told me they’d be able to make a cure if I’d help out. That was my chance to straighten things out, you know? Save humanity after murdering my family. It was my shot at redemption. So I agreed. I went with them to a hospital in Salt Lake City and like you, I had so many questions for them. How the hell was this possible? Why didn’t I turn? Does this mean that my blood is the cure? Is there something in my blood? You know what I got told? ‘Thank you for your service’. Like I was some fucking soldier about to be sent off to its most gruesome death without any insight into the real situation.

“I remember two nurses holding me down and forcing me onto the table to get the anesthesia because I started to have doubts about the whole thing. It didn’t feel as right or redeemable as I would’ve thought. I woke up after a while, thinking the operation was done. I was groggy from the anesthesia, but I heard them talking, the doctor and the nurses. I was a trial run. Doctor said he had no clue how to use the mass in my brain to create a vaccine. And that even if they did, there’s no way to distribute it across the country or the world. So basically it would’ve gone to the Fireflies exclusively, even if he were to create a vaccine. He was way over his head. They were just gonna kill me without my consent, without informing me of the situation. They were desperate. And they would’ve done the same thing to you.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Didn’t you hear anything from what I just said? Those morons had no idea how to make a cure! They were going in blindly, and they barely had the equipment for it! There is no cure, Ellie! This infection is deadly, end of story. For fuck’s sake, they couldn’t even put me down properly! How were they gonna save humanity if they couldn’t even put me to sleep? This kind of infections… there is no medicine for it. There is no cure. You would’ve died for nothing.”

“But there’s two of us now, which means there could be more, right? There could be more, and it has to mean something that two people are immune.”

“Not everything has a deeper meaning, Ellie. One day maybe it will mean something, but today, right now, you’re alive. You’re alive and you get to live a somewhat normal life with friends and laughter and food… all because that man loves you so much, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone on that operating table, to die alone, thinking you were doing the right thing. I wish someone would’ve done that for me. I wish… I wish I meant enough for someone to do that for me. All I had was anger and pain and a scalpel to run away from them.”

You search Ellie’s face, and you see understanding in her eyes. You see kindness and softness, and you’re relieved to know it’s not totally lost.

“He’s lost one daughter before,” you murmur. “It broke him. I’m willing to bet he’d massacre entire cities before he’d lose another one. Joel does love you, Ellie. So much, he—he can’t even say it.”

Ellie huffs, seemingly torn. “Not a man of many words, Joel Miller.”

You chuckle slightly. “Indeed not. But he does care for you like a daughter. Considering his past… I’d say you’re his purpose. And you were wrong.”

“About what?”

“About him. He did save the world. It’s just that… you’re his world.”

Ellie stares at you, still undecided on where she stands.

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive him for this,” she coos.

“I get it. You could try though. I know you care about him too.”

“He’s in love with you, you know?”

You frown at the sudden and unprompted words. “He’s not.”

“He is. He looks at you in a way… I looked at someone like that once. I’m sixteen, not an idiot. Or blind. He’s not good with words, but he—does care. And he shows it. He’ll probably show it more.”

You resist the urge to smile.

“Hey uh—whatever happened to those soldiers who killed Jeremy and Leah?”

“Why do you ask?”

“It feels like you’d want to—even the score.”

Now you smile, reminiscing of the one good part of your story. “I did even the score,” you reply. “And before you ask your next question, no, it doesn’t necessarily make you feel better about your loss. Maybe in the moment you think you’ve made justice and all is good in the world, but… if you kill a killer, does that mean there are less killers in the world or is the number the same?

“We all do shitty things to survive.”

Ellie gulps, thinking back to the worst thing she’s done so far. How she was cornered, held down, terrified to her bones of what was about to happen, and how she did what she had to.

“I didn’t do it to survive, Ellie. That one thing I did for my family. Out of anger. Because I could do it, and I wanted to. That’s what separates us from animals, monsters. The option to choose, to think, to feel.”

You put your hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing her. “Don’t stay angry forever. In the long run, it’s not worth it. Just remember, you matter enough to someone that they’d do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

previous | next

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #guilty pleasures series

128 notes · View notes

erros429 · 1 year

Text

i think the appeal of rosebird, at least for me, is the what-if of it all. like yes, the divorcee dynamic is fantastic (and as humorous as freezerbros divorce). but just the aching and the yearning and the missed chances over the years.

meeting at beacon and initially disliking each other because summer is just so fucking positive and kind and because raven is so fucking pessimistic and stubborn. they’re natural opposites and yet summer shows raven more kindness than she’s ever received before, and raven’s shown summer more defiance than she’s ever seen before. and that contrast is what attracts them to each other. the unknowns of how the other lives.

they spend time together, both with the team and just the two of them. maybe their fighting styles complement each other. and maybe when they’re out to get coffee together (raven drinks it black and summer drinks it with a cream and five sugars), their hands brush as raven hands her her drink. their legs press against each other’s when they sit at the table. there’s a lull in their conversation, a comfortable one, where they don’t have much to say but they’re content in each other’s presence. and maybe raven’s never wanted to be a follower before, but under summer’s leadership… maybe she was willing to trust her life in her hands. maybe they’ve almost kissed before. maybe they have kissed before. maybe they still want to.

but even if raven starts to trust her team (and summer) more, she sure as hell doesn’t trust anyone else. ozpin’s being sketchy as hell and her brother is buying into his every word. and maybe raven tries to warn them about ozpin. but they don’t believe her, instead chalking it up to her usual pessimism.

and so raven has yang. she sees her child, delicate as she is, innocent as she is. and she thinks this — this domestic life, this happy life — isn’t who she is. she grew up and had to fight everyday just to survive. there are people that depend on her. so she leaves. she’s shied away from summer so many times that… maybe summer’s moved on. she comes back two years later and sees ruby and figures that yeah, summer has moved on. that’s a good thing. that should be a good thing. why does she ache so much at the sight of it?

but this is all raven’s point of view. summer aches too, but she’s better at hiding it because she loves tai and she loves her kids and she shouldn’t miss someone who’d abandon her own family. she shouldn’t miss her, and yet she she does.

and when she tells raven about her mission against salem, she’s surprised to hear her agree so readily. “i won’t let you face that monster alone,” raven tells her over the scroll once. “i don’t want to see you hurt.”

and that’s a big revelation to summer. and raven’s mortified that an admittance of any sort of feelings is out there now. so when they meet in person, raven attempts cheek. “summer rose telling lies,” she teases, and it isn’t welcome. and her concern for the family that she left isn’t welcome either. and that’s right. raven left and summer moved on and that’s fair and that’s right.

then tragedy strikes. something happens to summer. if raven wasn’t standoffish before, she sure as hell is now. she shouldn’t have gotten so close to someone before, especially not someone as hopeful as summer. because in raven’s experience, that kind of hope only gets you one thing. dead.

now i’m definitely not excusing raven’s actions. she’s a deadbeat mom and teammate and though there’s (more or less) an explanation, it sure as hell isn’t an excuse. she hurt tai and yang badly. maybe she thought they were better off without her, but that wasn’t up to her. she thinks she’s merciful and strong for making a difficult choice, but it wasn’t the right one. but just b/c i dislike her as a person and the decisions she made, i do have to admit there’s a ton of intrigue to her and summer’s characters. this entire post was speculation, but that’s what makes it so fun to dissect.

#rwby #summer rose #raven branwen #rosebird #long post #holy shit #amazing what a few crumbs can pull out of a motherfucker #i’m down horrendous for these two #i want to FUCKING KNOW what secrets they are keeping #erros doesnt know how to shut up

96 notes · View notes

mirrorpriest · 1 year

Text

cw: yandere, dark content, no explicit violence

Monster-behaviorist Reader who goes out of their way to see the good in everything and everyone. Who is perhaps naive but good-hearted. Perhaps Reader travels around Teyvat, never feeling at home or at peace, studying all the varying unique creatures. Independently publishing research on monsters, asserting that they’re not as simple as people seem to think they are. Particularly defensive of hilichurls and gets flustered when trying to argue with people.

This, of course, leaves them desperate for connection and friends. :)

Aether is quickly taken with your impassioned pleas for lighter treatment of his usual foes. It doesn’t stop him from doing what needs to be done, but after going into the Chasm with Dainsleif, he has a different outlook on Teyvat and the creatures he thought he once understood. Every time he fights all he can think of is your disappointed face, your soft reprimands, your gentle hands. It curbs his more aggressive impulses when it comes to enemies, but eventually he starts to think of you even when he’s not fighting. He thinks about how defenseless you are, so willing to trust, and how you are probably out there somewhere in the countryside putting yourself in danger for your research. Don’t mind him if he ‘runs in’ to you out of nowhere. He wasn’t looking for you, but now that he’s found you Aether might just have to stick close by. He’s willing to share your attention with creatures who could never return your affections, but if anyone else becomes too interested in you he may just have to strong arm them into keeping their distance. You’ve monopolized so much of his attention, the least you could do is give him yours in return.

Kaeya is enamored with your sweet, open demeanor. It’s not often someone is so disarmed. Even the most defenseless person has their guard up some of the time, but you want so badly to see good in the world you’re willing to put yourself in danger for it. He can see the way you mourn the distance between yourself and others, othered by your own soft heart. It’s something Kaeya admires and intends to take full advantage of. While he comes across as sly and opportunistic to those that know him, you are more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. It makes him want to devour you whole. He will take you along on missions just to have some alone time with you, giving you time to study the creatures you spot along the way and listening patiently to your long-winded, breathless explanations on their behavior. You feel grateful to have someone who will humor your interest, all too willing to put your life in his hands because you trust him. He’s so helpful, willing to go the extra mile for his companions, there’s no reason to be suspicious of him. Kaeya is so good and kind and respected, he would never abuse your trust. He wants you to remain naive and understanding, open to outsiders, just not where other people can partake. Perhaps it’s selfish of him, but he wants your wordy lectures and passionate diatribes all to himself. He wants to swim in your words and feel your arms around him, ever so gentle and benevolent. You’re such a breath of fresh air. Surely, if he sucks up all your time and energy you won’t hold it against him.

Jean feels so incredibly protective of you. Of course, she was born to protect. Blessed to defend the innocent. But you’re particularly special. You’re far too soft and selfless, all tender touch and big heart. At least that’s the way she sees it. Who else would go out of their way to defend even the most wicked of creatures? As she sees it, your heart is full to bursting with love for all. Which is both admirable and annoying. If only you would put your own safety first, stay in Mondstadt where it’s mundane, never leave her line of sight. She doesn’t mind if other Mondstadters don’t appreciate your efforts, in fact it’s better for her. The more space between you and others, the safer you are. No one else can influence you if they can’t even understand you. Jean makes it a point to mention the library is always open to you, no matter the time of day. She doesn’t mean to push and pry, but she’s anxious to have you near her at all times. It’s safer, she reasons to herself, and she trusts Lisa to take care of you and report every move you make to her. She tries not to spend too much time seeing you personally, though, because Jean can’t keep the flush off her face and the affection out of her voice. You’ve affected her so intensely. It’s only right that she might be a bit overprotective of her future spouse. <3

Amber thought you were fussy and high-strung at first. Why should she care to spare hilichurls when they’re so aggressive and wild? She’s not cruel by any means, but Amber thinks everything you advocate for is just to be contrary. It takes her but a short time to warm up to you, seeing the way you so painstakingly wait and watch even the most ordinary of hydro slime go about their day. You look so comfortable observing Teyvat’s creatures, so nurturing as you note even the smallest of differences between the hilichurls you see today versus the ones you saw yesterday. You might be a quack but there’s something so warm and compassionate in your expression, the barest of smiles upon your lips. Amber is suddenly overcome with the desire to run her fingers over your smile. It only gets worse from there. Your research is at least helpful when it comes to keeping citizens safe, helping the Knights predict where hilichurls will move next and what to routes are safest to traverse. Amber can’t help wanting to be just a bit… uncomfortably close to the nutty researcher keeping Mondstadt safe. As an Outrider it’s certainly not weird if she hangs around your apartment balcony, checking for easy access. Your room overwhelmingly smells of you, your desk covered in half-finished documents and wilderness journals. She’s so tempted to visit at night and crawl into bed with you, if only to see your peaceful sleeping face up close.

Lisa finds you rather cute. Not many people in Mondstadt can keep her interest, they’re admittedly not educated enough for her, but you are well-versed enough in all her favorite topics. Speaking with you just comes easy and it helps that you are of a sympathetic nature. It’s easy to waste hours with you simply talking, her tired eyes soaking up your soft face in the evening sun. Your compassionate position towards monsters is rather troublesome, but that’s what makes you so endearing. Oftentimes, she comes across as more patronizing than anything, but she’s one of the few Mondstadters to give you the time of day. In fact, when it comes to you, Lisa is more than willing to give up all the free time she has. She’s unafraid of laying a friendly hand around your arm at lunch, letting the pointed toe of her high-heel skim your ankle. She’s friendly with everyone, flirtatious even when it comes to her closest friends, but there’s something truly salacious when she looks at you. Like you’re a delicate mille-feuille presented to be picked apart and devoured. When it comes to your pursuers, Lisa is rather bold and quickly dip into immoral practices for you. You’re just so adorable, she may even have to dig up an amatory potion recipe just to keep you by her side. She and Jean often team up to keep you close to Mondstadt, promising you that she can give you just a peek of private documents regarding the nature of elemental beings and their origins. Not open to the public, but you have permission from the Acting Grand Master. Aren’t you lucky? Lisa is more than ready to remind you of such should you start speaking about traveling to Liyue or Sumeru for your research. Don’t go running off before you can repay Jean for her generosity now.

#genshin impact x reader #reader insert #txt #yandere genshin impact

112 notes · View notes

psychopathicfreak · 2 months

Text

I hate how much of a pedestal neurotypicals put love on, and how much they try to gatekeep it, especially from those with mental illnesses that cause them to lack empathy or be self - centered .

Love is an emotion like any other . It can be toxic . That doesn’t mean it’s “ not love ” . You can’t just add a bunch of shit to the definition because you, personally, feel that the way you express love is superior . It’s just a feeling . It’s a chemical reaction . Feeling love, and acting loving, are two different things . For me, I hate feeling vulnerable . I hate caring about others because it means that they have the power to hurt me; being insulted or abandoned by someone you care for or respect hurts more than being insulted or abandoned by someone you don’t give a fucking shit about . I love so intensely that them leaving me wouldn’t be just upsetting, but soul — destroying . Feeling love feels like a threat to my life . I truly believe that I would be worse if I was more empathetic because I hate the idea of someone else having control over me and my emotions . I don’t not have emotions because I’m mean . I’m mean because my emotions are so strong that I constantly feel unsafe, or under attack, and so I retaliate with harshness and am constantly on guard .

I feel love so intense that I can’t properly handle it . I care about them so deeply that, although I can’t feel what they feel, I do notice any slight shift in attitude and feel intensely paranoid because of it . I want to constantly keep them happy so that they love me too, and won’t reject me, but it feels safer to hurt them so badly that they’re scared of leaving . I can predict fear better than love, and maybe I know that I’m better at instilling that feeling . It’s not that I want to hurt them for the sake of it . I love them so fucking much that I need to make them stay by me at all times . I love them so much that I can’t live without them . I love them so much that I’ll beg for it . I just hate feeling vulnerable and needy, or weak, so the fact that they caused me to fucking beg for them just so they could ignore me, clearly being the one in the position of power at that moment, angers me so much that I’ll start screaming and threatening them, and then I worry that they’ll hate me so much for that that they’ll leave . I’ll apologize, but I’m not truly sorry . I’m just scared of losing them . I can tell when I’m being genuine, of course . I know that I feel happier and safer when I feel that they’re mine . I know that I really do find them . . . amazing, and special, in many ways . So fucking special to me, in fact, that it really fucks with my head . After the apology, I’ll convince myself that I’m entitled to a response, or I’ll start feeling rejected without one when I’ve pushed aside ego and tried so much, so I’ll start with the threats and anger again . This time, they’ll probably be worse . It’s not out of hatred, but because I’m so fucking desperate to just be acknowledged by them . I know that this is toxic, but it’s the love that makes me so toxic . I’m a lot nicer to strangers because, when I feel ignored by them, I don’t care . They can leave me for hours, and I won’t say anything . I’d feel pleasant and stable enough to greet them happily upon their return .

The idea of being so infatuated with someone, thinking of them constantly, and doing everything to keep them, but instead being pushed away ? That hurts me so badly that I instinctually want to hurt them back . It’s not because I hate them, but because I can’t stand loving them when they don’t love me . It makes me feel horrible . . . It makes me want to break their fucking legs, but I also want to nurse them back to health after, and tell them that nobody would be so willing to take care of them and provide them with everything they need in their helpless state like I am . I don’t want them to be sick or hurt . I have some sort of “ preference ” for it out of necessity, because I’m so fucking haunted by these thoughts constantly that I need whoever can cause me to feel like this to be disarmed . Otherwise, I fear I’ll die of a broken heart, or be so paranoid I’ll never get a single good night of sleep again . It’s not hatred . It’s not carelessness . It’s self — preservation . I get intensely angry over how, even after all of this, shit still might not seem like it’s working out, and when I have impulse control problems, it can be hard to cope with that rage effectively .

I don’t say any of this to excuse how I think, feel, or behave . None of this is good, and I know that . I can understand why it can cause the very things I’m terrified of to happen . My point is that feeling love doesn’t make someone pleasant to be around, or at all a “ good person ” . I’m toxic, obsessive, and possessive, but I can be in love, and of course that only exacerbates my symptoms . It shouldn’t be surprising that I hate it . I act negatively because of that too, but it’s not the same as hating or not loving the object of my affection . I wish I hated them, so I could finally feel free from this torture .

#cluster b #bpd #borderline personality disorder #aspd #antisocial personality disorder #bpd favorite person #bpd fp #bpd safe #bpd feels #bpd vent #bpd thoughts

18 notes · View notes

bots-and-cons · 2 years

Note

Talkative bot turned serious part 2? Featuring the concerned Autobots after what they have witnessed?

The first part can be found here, and this is more focused on the bots that weren't in the first part. I kinda set this in a time with the original five bots so I just did this part with OP and Ratchet in addition to the three in the previous part

•You knew the trio would report your behavior to Ratchet, who would most likely bring it to Optimus’ attention

•No one really said anything about it for almost a day, but you could feel them keeping an eye on you

•Like they thought you were just going to explode at any moment

•You’re aware of how you can get sometimes when you get angry and even though you always tried to suppress that side of yourself, because it often made others think badly of you

•Even though the other members of the team looked like they were a bit wary of you, no one is scared of you or anything

•It’s really more like they’re waiting for you to ask for help or have a breakdown

•Optimus is the first to approach you with the basic, “we’re here for you when you need to talk”

•Ratchet doesn’t really have as gentle of an approach as Optimus, so he just asks you why you did what you did

•You sort of play dumb, hoping he doesn’t pry any further and act like you don’t know what he’s talking about

•Ratchet of course clarifies and tells you he heard from the trio that was there with you

•Arcee was especially worried, but they all came to him together, to ask what they should do

•Ratchet, as usual, feels like everything is his responsibility, so he promised them he would try to talk to you

•You get a more serious expression again and just sigh, asking if you really have to talk about it

•Ratchet tells you he can’t force you, but if you’re not gonna talk to him, you should at least talk to someone else

•Ratchet leaves you alone with a pat on the shoulder and you just stand there, thinking

•You know exactly what pissed you off, but you don’t know how to explain your reaction to it

•You don’t really want to talk to Optimus, because you feel like he would think you have bad self-control issues and he wouldn’t let you on missions anymore

•You know you have some control issues but you feel like they’re not that bad

•You decide Arcee is the safest bet, because let's face it, she has some anger/control issues of her own and you feel like she wouldn’t judge you

•So you kinda tap her on the shoulder and she’s of course willing to listen and talk

•You tell her about how it just made you so angry how the cons hurt humans and how the humans shouldn’t even be involved in this whole war

•She gets it, and she gets how someone hurting those you’re supposed to protect would make you see red, but what she’s worried about it how you seemed to fight with so little regard for yourself

•You talk for a while and it does make you feel better, but you can’t promise it won’t happen again

•Arcee is glad you talked to her, and she got to vent out some of her own frustrations too

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #autobots #arcee #ratchet #optimus prime #tfp headcanons #reader insert #platonic transformers x reader

158 notes · View notes

dr-spencer-reids-queen · 8 months

Text

Soul Mates: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Summary: A man is accused of rape and kidnapping in another state, so he moved across the country to get away from those allegations. Now, the same thing is happening but this time, it might very well be true.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

On the way back to the station, you informed your team there of the news that there is a partner. Spencer immediately goes to work on trying to decode the messages on Will's computer. He's using two different colored markers to determine who said what, but to everyone else, it looks like gibberish.

"Spencer, tell me you found something on his partner," you ask when you walk back into the station.

"It's all so cryptic. They wrote a cluster of others right after the first victim, Kim Groves, was killed."

"We need to figure out how they met. There's gotta be something in all this about their courtship," Derek says.

"It all seemed so hopeless, but I finally learned to rise above it," Spencer reads. "It sounds like William confessed he was feeling incomplete."

"He was. He didn't start killing until he met his soulmate."

"Faith should never be broken." That's another line from the journals. "The longer they got away with it, the stronger their relationship got. Sounds like these two aren't just obsessed with rape and murder. They're addicted to one another."

Jeff and Hotch return back from the crime scene you were at. You were eager to get things moving along which is why you got here before they did.

"We could have saved her," Jeff sighs.

"There were no signs of his having a partner until now."

"I guess that's why he's so cocky."

"Well, his arrogance is typical of a dominant personality. He's found a submissive who's willing to kill for him. We found bite marks on Missy. Will didn't do it, the partner did, and he's white."

"They never did that before," Derek says.

"Well, with William out of the picture, he's changed his behavior. Maybe the partner went back to something that's comfortable, something he's done before. I've got Garcia checking dental records against other cases."

Rossi and Derek walk back to the interrogation room, and you quickly follow them to observe their talk with Will.

"The D. A. was ready to charge him when Missy was still alive. How the hell are we supposed to keep him now?"

"I'm surprised you're writing all this stuff to a fella," Rossi says when they walk inside the room. "It sounds like you have a real special thing going on."

"I mean, I'm thinking if the two of you had just got it on, maybe these women would still be alive," Derek shrugs. "So, where'd you meet him? Chat room? Porn sites? Gay bar? Whoever this guy is, he's looking out for you and cleaning up for you. Missy Dewald is dead."

"Has he called yet? Lee Jarvis, the D.A., I mean. I saw his name on the warrant. He's got the best conviction rate in Florida. Do you know why?"

"I wanna know why your pen pal killed her when he could have let her rot," Rossi glares.

"Jarvis doesn't like to lose. He's not gonna ruin his record over this."

Will refuses to talk about his potential partner thinking the D.A. is going to get him out of this one. However, your team is going to do everything they can to lock this bitch up.

"Wow, this friend of yours wants to please you badly, doesn't he? He's protecting you, doing whatever he's gotta do to make sure that you're innocent. He killed Missy so you could be together again. It's only been a few hours, but he misses you."

"And you've gotten what exactly from all this?" Will asks in a bored tone.

"Proof that someone out there is just as sick as you."

Penelope works her magic and gets results from the bite marks left on Missy. The dental records don't match Will but they do match a reported rape in Manatee County earlier this year. The teeth marks belong to the same person, but they've never been arrested so she can't cross-reference. Connie Mayers is the victim of that rape, so if you're going to have any hope in figuring out who this is, then you have to talk to her.

Emily and Hotch went over to her job as soon as they got that information, but she wasn't too happy about it. No one else knew about what happened to her, but your coworkers did their best to keep it discreet. She works at a flower shop, so Emily bought some flowers as she asks her questions.

Connie's attacker knew what he wanted like he was confident in what he was doing. Connie thought he was a control freak. He wore a mask but she could tell he was shite, proving what you saw using Missy's energy. The partner choked her which took a long time for the bruises to go away. It's not as bad as the bite marks which are just scars now.

"Connie described an anger-excitation rapist just like William," Emily says when she and Hotch return. "We're looking at two dominant personalities."

"It makes sense. They have a similar discourse. They're equally well-written," Spencer says. "It's rare in criminal partnerships. If their personalities are the same, their lives probably mirror one another's as well."

"Harris goes to church, he's on the board of the PTA, he coaches his daughter's soccer team, and he rarely drinks."

"He sounds like a saint," Jordan says.

"With a dark side," Hotch adds. "That's what he connected to in his partner. Prentiss and I will go talk to the family and see if they know who it might be."

Emily and Hotch leave but you stay behind to help Spencer.

"Two alpha males won't be easy to break," Derek says. "The partner is definitely following the investigation."

"Let's do the talking for them," Rossi suggests, holding up a newspaper.

"I think a chatroom might be better. It sounds like they do most of their talking on the computer, but I like where your head's at," you say. "Plus, it's quicker."

"Why would he read it? He knows William won't be writing," Jeff says.

"These men are addicted to each other. Right now, he needs a fix, and the words they've shared are all he has to cling to. His partner wrote 'Faith should never be broken'. A betrayal could devastate him."

"All we have to say is that William's cooperating and then hopes he takes the bait."

Derek and Rossi give you and Spencer some time to come up with something you hope will catch the partner's attention. It's not easy, but you have the journal entries they've already sent to each other. All you have to do is work with the words and language they've already used.

"What have we got so far?" Derek asks after an hour of working.

"We were surprised that you injected yourself into the investigation. You risked a lot in order to help William," you read what you have. "Killing Missy tells us how close you really are. It must be devastating to learn that William is here with us."

Spencer doesn't like what you've come up with in fear the partner will retaliate.

"He's not gonna like that. It sounds like William's cooperating."

"That's exactly what we want him to believe so he'll doubt their alliance."

Derek and Rossi use this information on Will, and you follow them so you can pay close attention to Will. You can talk to Derek and Rossi through the comms just in case you notice something off about Will. After they tell him what they've done, Will just smirks in thought.

"What's that smirk for?

"Sharon is posting bail. I'm thinking about where to go for dinner. Maybe we'll go to Salvatore's."

"Rossi, play it off as if the partner is the alpha male. It might set him off," you say.

"You know, maybe we got it wrong. Maybe they're not both alpha males. The partner made the first move. He's the one with the balls."

"Yeah, and it was pretty risky, too. Think about it. What if you did turn in here? Or at least your partner thought you turned in here, hmm? Then he'd have no choice but to turn himself in. Your lives would be ruined," Derek adds. "That's the reason it works. You both have everything to lose."

"He's only cleaning up because he can't afford to get caught either. Am I right?" William doesn't answer. "How is gonna react to the entry we wrote? He knows we're reading your little love letters, so we decided to send one ourselves and let him know you're in here helping us out."

"He's probably feeling pretty betrayed right about now. If he is, what do you think he's doing about it?"

"William, you wrote, 'Thanks for the perfect place to play'. What were you talking about?"

"Golfing."

"Right. What was it like?"

"Perfect," he smirks.

Will is so confident he isn't going to get caught that he's radiating energy that you can feel from outside the room. The energy is allowing you to see images of Will and his partner with a girl they've kidnapped. The girl is one of the girls who was reported missing and found dead. One of the girls was dead before you even arrived in Florida.

"Rossi, I see him and his partner with one of the three girls who were found dead. Keep him talking. The more he thinks he's getting away with it, the more I can use his energy to see more."

Derek sets out pictures of the three dead women since he heard everything you've said to Rossi. All of the women are happy and smiling as if nothing bad could ever happen to them.

"You probably don't recognize them like this, do you, William? Happy and smiling. All these gifts. All these girls."

"This is someone's child. You know, Missy Dewald was supposed to meet her parents for dinner. She was eighteen years old, an only child, and you just took her away."

"I feel sorry for those parents. I really do," Will says without emotion.

"Do you hear yourself? Not an ounce of sincerity. You just proved you were incapable of empathy just like your partner. William, you never would have done any of this without him, but you just weren't complete, right?"

Spencer walks into the room and hands you some papers. The pages are about the love between William and his partner.

"Rossi, we have something."

Rossi leaves the room while Derek stays inside, and you hand him the papers Spencer gave you.

"It's been so long, my heart aches. I need to see that face again soon," Rossi reads the papers when he walks back inside. "I mean, it's pretty obvious there's an emotional connection between you two, huh? You can't deny that, but this doesn't really sound like two buddies to me. Sounds more like two men in love with each other."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

This strikes a nerve in Will, and this is what you need to get more information from him.

"You're right. I have absolutely no idea what it's like to be in love with another man."

"You know, everyone who goes into law enforcement has this air of moral superiority. For you, it seeps out of every single pore. Black cop in the FBI. You got a big chip on your shoulder with a lot to prove."

"Now who's the one who has no idea what he's talking about?"

"Derek, don't let him rile you up. This is just what he wants," you warn your friend.

"We're not so different, you and I. We choose the games we play because they make us feel powerful. So, what do you have, special agent Morgan? Prove beyond a reasonable doubt that I have broken the law, but don't you sit there with that smug look on your face and judge me, boy."

This pisses Derek off.

"First of all, I am not your boy, and this look on my face is a look of contempt because you disgust me. You and I are nothing alike. When we do find this friend of yours, there isn't a jury out there who won't find you guilty."

Derek leaves the room, allowing Rossi to be alone with him.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

20 notes · View notes