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soapisahimbo · 1 year

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Jealousy - Simon 'Ghost' Riley Headcanons

Hi can I request any jealous/ possessive ghost head canons? NSFW PREFERABLY. Where he gets jealous and tries to distance the team from being too touchy with you or even to joke around with you. But they don’t know y’all are dating of course. So he has to fight his feelings and eventually taking it out on you if you know what I mean wink*wink*. Or the things he’ll do to show the others that you are his only and that’s when they got the clue. Please?

Wow, I'll admit, this was a bit of a challenge. Also I wrote it as a headcanon list, I hope that's what you were aiming for! I was honestly a bit unsure on how to approach this, and I'm a little unsure about how it turned out, but I genuinely hope that you enjoy it!

Containts heavy smut elements, so minors stay away!

warnings: simon is a jealous bitch, it gets rough, borderline dubcon, genderneutral reader/genderneutral anatomy

Simon has no lack of faith and trust in you. He has a number of peculiarities for sure, but he knows you'd never betray him or go behind his back. It's a trust you worked hard to gain, and it was hard work that he recognizes and appreciates. You've proven time and time again that you're safe in many ways and while he's always prepared for the worst, he's also an excellent judge of character. He can read you like an open book.

Simon has no lack of faith and trust in his team either. He'd never say it out loud, but they are his brothers in arms and he is ready and willing to kill and to die for them, just as they are for him. He's not exactly eager to show his appreciation for them, but they take what they can get, even if it sometimes is just a mere glance. Now, don't misunderstand - he appreciates that you and his teammates get along, and he knows that if something were to happen to him, they'd keep you safe. But he is a man of instinct, and he has a tendency to get a bit territorial, for lack of a better word.

You know he has a bit of a... jealous streak, to say the least. He doesn't try to control you, because his gripes are not with you. He might loom and he might grumble, but he likes seeing you getting dressed up, he likes seeing you having a good time, he enjoys seeing you laugh and joke around. As far as he's concerned, you can do no wrong. No, his gripes are not with you - never with you. They are, however, with everybody else that even glances your way.

Kyle and Johnny are both very friendly by nature - they're probably the most easygoing members both in and outside the task-force. They're the type of people that others trust and want to hang out with, and they also consider you a good friend, whom they like to hang out and banter with. They do seem to have a habit of hogging you though, much to Simon's chagrin, and while you can make it up to him most of the time, he doesn't find it any less infuriating when they whisk you away for you to witness their latest ideas and trinkets.

They are also flirts by nature. Simon knows this because they inadvertently flirt with each other, as well as himself, any other teammates outside the task force and even Price at some points, mostly through jokes. They could probably flirt with a brick wall as far as he's concerned. Which is why he can almost overlook it when they turn their cunning charms onto you. Almost.

No one knows about Simon and yours relationship, not even Price. He's made it a point to keep it on the low for the safety of both of you, and you couldn't exactly argue - it made sense considering the line of work. It seemed as if though you had to remind him of this several times whenever hands and eyes that weren't his own seemed to wander a bit too much for his liking - "you can't hold it against them," you'd say, "they don't even know." And he knows you're right, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to hold it against them.

Despite all this, he keeps himself in check fairly well. No one can tell if he's just staring normally or glaring daggers at others anyways, so he gets away with dreaming about stringing them up by their balls at any time. Or rather, he keeps himself in check fairly well - until he has you for himself.

You'd tease him about it, but it's kind of difficult to even form coherent thoughts once he's pounding into you like his life depends on it. The second you're alone with him, you best believe he's making the most of it. He'll cover your mouth to keep you from making too much noise (although you're not sure that ever helps because just the sound of him fucking you is loud enough anyways) and he growls into your ear things like "you're mine and mine alone," "one day I'll fucking bend you over right in front of those fucking idiots and show them who you belong to," "they think they can fuck you as good as I do," "I bet those fuckheads would kill to get a chance to make you cum this fucking hard."

He tries to keep them away from you, subtly in order to not draw attention to it, even though it doesn't always work, and he'd rather just kick them in the head. Places himself between them and you, keeps you close to him, gives excuses as to why you should be stationed with him, why you should be assigned to him and his missions - anything he can think of. He also has a penchant for interrupting others when they're trying to talk to you, coming up with something to send them away. You yourself are honestly surprised no one's caught on at this point, but that might because no one knows him quite as intimately as you do.

Every day that anyone has managed to get in the way for him always ends the same. If you could keep track of the time he spends fucking your brains out, you'd probably be concerned, but he doesn't give you any chance to gather your thoughts once he has you. If he's really pissed, he might start taking risks - dumb risks, if you had anything to say about it, but he rarely listens, and he knows exactly what weak spots to touch on to get you to give in.

He's pinned you against a door a number of times, somehow managing to stay deathly quiet while fucking you thoroughly with practically all of his teammates standing on the other side, completely oblivious to what's going on behind just a couple of inches of wood. He once fucked you just around the corner from an open hangar door, and if any of the people walking by had thrown a look in your direction, they would've seen you bent over, pants pulled down to your knees and with Simon's iron grip on your hips.

So far though, he's managed to keep it discreet, despite his hotheadedness. Never leaves any marks where anyone can see them, helps you stay on your feet if you're in a place where you have to be, makes excuses to do things for you so that you don't have to get up out of your seat - although he can't deny that a part of him wants everyone else to see what he's done with you. He wants to mark your neck and chest all over for everyone to see, he wants everyone to see you stumble when you walk on shaky legs after he's done with you. He's had to fight the urge to just throw you onto the table whenever the force invites you in for a poker night and fuck you in front of them, just so that they can see that only he can have you.

But he mainly keeps it to himself. You'd be far too pissed at him if he pulled a stunt like that for it to be worth it. In fact, he reached a point where he was almost fine with at least Johnny and Kyle being their usual selves with you (to a point, of course). He almost got over it. Until, of course, the idiot with the mohawk decided to push it a bit further than he usually did.

The outcome can be blamed on a number of things, really. 141 had been away for an extended period of time, long enough for Simon to reach for his phone and send you some heated messages nearly every day for the last week, which was rare. So when he was finally coming back to you, finally able to spend as much time as he wanted in bed with you, when he steps off of that goddamn fucking helicopter to finally be greeted by you, what happens? John 'Soap' FuckTavish runs full speed ahead to you, wraps his dumb fucking arms around your waist, hoists you up in a fucking hug and plants a big fucking kiss on your cheek. Numerous times, mind you!

While you were indeed happy to see him and the rest of the team, you could tell that Simon had reached an instant boiling point. If you didn't know any better, you would've thought that he was about to blow Johnny's brains out then and there, but instead he simply walked up to you, grabbed Johnny by the shoulder and just about yanked him away from you.

"Maybe take a shower before you start rubbin' your stink all over everyone else, Sergeant," he said, pushing Johnny away. Wow, smooth, you thought to yourself, but Johnny seemed to take it in stride and laughed. "Gee, sorry, LT. Just happy to be back with a good friend is all." And as a final nail in the coffin, he winked at you before strutting away.

Kyle and Price greeted you as well as they passed by, Kyle also giving you a warm and tight hug, rocking you back and forth, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from Simon where he stood. Once they'd moved on, you turned to him with a sheepish smile. "Hi, baby," you said as sweetly as you could.

He grabbed you by the jaw, squeezing your cheeks so that your lips puckered; firm, but not rough. He leaned in close, his eyes fixated on you. "I've had it," he said and while you weren't exactly sure what he meant, you knew that there was something in store.

He picked you up and threw you over your shoulder and you were suddenly aware of the fact that there were still people around to witness this very unusual display from Simon 'Ghost' Riley. He carried you through the hallway that lead to his room and people were gawking at you as you tried to protest, tried to remind him that no one's supposed to know, that you need to be discreet about this, but how could you say all that without giving everything away when everyone could hear you? So you tried to just act like you didn't know what was going on, asking him what he was doing, where he was taking you, why he was doing this, but he didn't say a word. You're pretty sure that far more than you were comfortable with watched as he carried you into his room and locked the door.

He threw you onto his bed and tore his mask off, throwing it onto the floor with such force that you thought he broke it. "Simon, what the hell?!" you said, watching him take his gear off and haphazardly toss it to the side. "I thought we were keeping this shit secret!" But he didn't seem to listen. He simply stared at you with some combination of lust and anger as he stripped himself naked in front of you.

He grabbed your ankle and pulled you to the edge of the bed, wrapped your legs around his hips and leaned over you, pinning your hands in one of his above your head. "I've. Had. It." he said again. His other hand moved down to your crotch and pressed, rubbing at you. "I should've fucked you the second I touched ground - maybe then they'd get the fuckin' point."

Everything happened so fast after that - he ripped your shirt off, from the collar and all the way down, and you're pretty sure he broke your belt before he practically ripped your pants off as well. He kept you pinned against the mattress as he relentlessly fingered you, and when you tried to keep quiet he'd only up the intensity, focusing on that exact spot to break you apart. "I'll make them get the point, how's that?" he grumbled and spat at your hole, staring as if hypnotized.

You had no idea how long he'd had you just like this, eventually with both hands working you past the edge over and over again, but you were pretty sure that if you came just one more time you'd pass out, and he hadn't even fucked you properly yet.

At some point, you were vaguely aware of him lifting your hips up, placing your ankles on his shoulders before you felt him push into you and you thought you felt a part of your mind break. You didn't have any energy left to try and keep quiet anymore, so any moans and cries that worked their way up from your chest were let out freely and loudly as he pounded into you. Between the biting and the sucking all over your neck and chest and whatever other parts his mouth could reach, you thought you heard Simon praise you for every sound you let out.

His grip was sure to leave bruises on your hips, but he found that he had little concern about it as he watched your eyes roll back. With how he was handling you, he'd wondered if you'd mark him up the same if he asked you - it would only be fair, and he would be more than happy to wear any branding that you'd put on him. But for now, he'd put his on you.

He gripped the back of your knees, pushing them up to your chest and pushed himself deeper into you. He growled all sorts of dirty exclamations about how you looked, how you sounded, how you felt and how now no one would dare to lay a finger on you again. He fucked into you with reckless abandon, eventually pushing all the way into you to cum as deep into you as he could before pulling out and using his hands once more, fingering his cum back into as it leaked out.

You came one last time with a loud and near pornographic cry, the world flashed white, and before you knew it, you were held up in a warm stream of water in the shower, Simon's calloused hands stroking you gently to wash all the fluids off of you. "Aren't you such a good doll for me, baby?" he mumbled. "So good..."

You were littered with hickeys and bite-marks, painfully sore all over in the best sort of way, so weak in the legs that your knees were still shaking and you could barely stand. "The fuck got into you?" you managed to breathe out. "I'd be surprised if the entire fucking complex didn't hear us." Simon simply grinned. "Good. Maybe now everyone will know to keep their fucking hands off."

You were incredibly pissed at him once you saw yourself in the mirror, yelling at him and telling him that there is no way you can go out there looking like this. You scolded him, unsure if he even cared, but he dutifully went out to grab you some new clothes to replace the ones he ripped apart when you demanded him to.

The following week or so was incredibly stiff, both literally and figuratively. People would nearly sprint out of the room if you entered, trying not to pay any attention to your awkward walk, and you practically banned Simon from sex until you could sit down properly ("Plus an extra week!" you had added, just to get your point across) and all the marks had faded from your skin. Simon did make it up to you, being extra sweet on you, massaging any and every sore spot you had regardless of if he had caused them or not, running errands to make sure you didn't have to leave your spot.

As for the task force... for as long as they could see the hickeys on your neck, Kyle and Johnny tried every excuse they could think of to not look too much at you, or they told you that they had somewhere to be before awkwardly stumbling off under the glare of your boyfriend. Price himself was also a bit awkward, but for the most part, his reaction consisted of calling Simon into his office and scolding him for "causing a ruckus". He also threw in a "and for fuck's sake, don't break them - I'd rather not have to write that report!"

Simon did appear to be pleased with the results, however. Everyone steered clear of you, with the slight exception of his teammates, but even they were treading carefully. He barely even had to do anything. A bonus was that anyone that tried to be an asshole to you also kept their distance, which even you could agree was at least one positive thing to come out of the whole ordeal. At least he'd gotten it out of his system. For now.

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut

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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months

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Hole in the wall

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘hole’

wc: 404 | rated t | cw: Steve’s dad is an asshole, implied abusive behaviors | tags: realizing feelings, bisexual Steve, extremely subtle love confession, mention of canon events, angst with a happy ending

🕳️🕳️🕳️🕳️🕳️🕳️🕳️🕳️🕳️🕳️🕳️🕳️

There’s a hole in the wall above Steve’s light switch.

It’s been there since his 14th birthday, when his dad caught him and Tommy sharing his bed. Nothing even happened, nothing would have happened, but he made assumptions, and then he made a hole in the wall.

They could have paid someone to patch it, cover it with the wallpaper, make it disappear forever. They didn’t.

It was a reminder to Steve every time he turned his light on or off what would happen if he was anything less than the perfect son his father expected him to be.

There’s a hole in Steve’s heart, too, but that one might heal eventually.

For a while, he thought it did with Nancy. He thought maybe he was gonna be able to live up to his father’s expectations, marry a girl with a big future while he can work for his dad for the rest of his life.

And then the hole in his heart grew, and the hole in his wall made him feel judged with every flip of the light switch.

Years of staring at the hole in the wall worked. It worked until Robin crashed into his life. It worked until he thought about how it can’t possibly be wrong to like boys if the best person he knows is a lesbian. There’s no way his dad was right, even if the hole in the wall argues silently with him every day.

And then he meets Eddie. He thinks about that hole in the wall while Eddie’s holding a bottle to his neck. He thinks about the hole in the wall when they’re fighting off bats, when Eddie’s staring at him while Nancy patches him up, when Eddie throws his vest at him to wear. He thinks about how little he cares about what that hole in the wall means when they almost lose Eddie.

Nothing matters more to him than making sure Eddie knows that he sealed up the hole in Steve’s heart, that he filled it with something he didn’t think he’d ever find.

He says it the moment Eddie wakes up.

“I know this means nothing to you, but you mean more than the hole in my wall. I want to give this a chance.”

Eddie’s confused, drugs in his system making it worse. But he smiles and nods.

“Gotta fix that hole in the wall, Stevie.”

“You already have.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiemicrofic #stranger things #steddiemicroficjanuary #angst with a happy ending #I’m not an angst writer don’t come for me

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fanfics-and-love · 1 year

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We Get Along Like Snow in New York

Sam Carpenter x reader

Not my gif

Warning(s): canon typical violence, mentions of death, mentions of blood, mostly fluff surprisingly

Word count: 4k words

Request: Sam and reader have gotten extremely close since moving to NYC and living in the same apartment, but when news of Ghostface attacks happening in New York. Sam pushes Reader away, thinking if she pushes her away, she'll be safe and alive. But, when reader is at Gale's apartment, (Dewey was her uncle) She's attacked by Ghostface instead of Gale, Sam and Tara show up to see reader bleeding out in Gale's arms. (She doesn't die) ask

A/N: I changed Dewey being Y/N’s uncle to father basically because it adds more drama to the story

masterlist

You had been living in New York with your mother ever since your parents’ divorce, having left behind the small town you had grown up in, and were ready to forget all about your father’s untimely death at the hands of a psychopath.

That was how you met Tara Carpenter, or more accurately, how you reunited with her.

Before your parents started arguing over the smallest thing, before your father quit his job, before you left town one day crying, you had been friends with Tara. You liked her because, unlike the rest of your classmates, she didn’t stare at you because you were Dewey and Gale’s daughter. She simply liked spending time with you, and you with her, which blossomed into a fast friendship that was sure enough cut short.

You were the best of friends, always hanging out. Sometimes, when your father came to pick you up from school, he would let you and Tara sit in the back of his police car and turn on the sirens, pretending you were dangerous criminals. You would cling onto Tara, giggling as your father joked around; you cherished those moments more than anything now that Dewey was simply a memory— a tombstone you couldn’t look at without crying.

That was exactly the reason why you reached out to Tara when your mother told you she had moved in with her sister, just like her wanting to leave behind that nightmare. She had happily agreed to meet with you, and you soon found yourself at a bar, drinking and talking, catching up with everything. She had pointedly left behind all that happened in Woodsboro, and you silently agreed, not wanting to remember your father, dead on the ground thanks to her friend. You had spent hours like that, phones on the table face-down so no one could interrupt you, and that was how you met Sam.

Sam was a blurry image to you. You could remember Tara mentioning her probably a little too much when you were young, always talking about how great her sister was at a certain sport, or how she had helped her defeat that big mean guy on a videogame because she couldn’t do it. You had never met her, however, because you barely went over to Tara’s, your mother prefering to keep a watchful eye on you just in case. You didn’t get much of a chance, however, because she left one day and suddenly all the loud praise was occupied by awkward silence.

Needless to say, you weren’t sure what to think of Sam, but she made up your mind for you pretty easily. She walked into the bar like she owned it, a tall figure clad in just a jacket that almost ran towards your table when her brown eyes landed on Tara.

“Sam?” Tara asked, leaving her glass of coke on the table to get up. “Did something happen?”

“Who are you?” Sam asked, not even looking at Tara to give her answer. You felt small under her intense stare.

“She’s Y/N,” Tara said, harsher than you expected. “An old friend.” Sam gave you another look, as if her eyes were enough to determine if you were a danger to her sister. You stayed still, as if you were being approached by a lion.

“We’re leaving,” Sam said. Tara gave you an apologetic look, and you simply nodded, watching as she got up and followed her sister. Outside, you saw them arguing, their screams almost sneaking in through the thick walls of the bars. You asked for the tab, thankful that your mother was rich.

What a bitch, you thought, shaking your head as you left the place, walking back towards your mother’s apartment.

A few hours later, Tara texted you to apologize, and once you replied she sent you her address, asking you to come over.

Having nothing better to do, you accepted.

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

“I’m so sorry,” Tara said, as soon as she closed the door. You took off your jacket, looking around before you sat down on the sofa Tara had pointed at.

“It’s okay,” you said, accepting the glass of water she handed you.

“God, I can’t stand her,” she said, throwing herself onto the sofa beside you. “She’s been like that ever since—” she gave you a small look before shaking her head. “You know. She’s so overbearing.”

“I get it,” you said, resting the glass on the coffee table. “I mean, you should’ve seen my mom when I was young. She barely let me go out when we moved here.”

Something like recognition crossed her eyes. “Right,” she said, sitting up. “Your mom’s Gale.”

“Yep,” you nodded, intertwining your hands together. “You guys killed the new ghostface together.” Something dark crossed over Tara’s face at the name, and you knew you had said the wrong thing.

“Yeah,” Tara said, voice sounding distant even though she was beside you. “Yeah, we did.”

“You know what?” You said, trying to cheer her up. “Forget about that. Tell me what’s your favorite artist.” Tara smiled, nodding as she turned to look at you. She opened her mouth at the same time the front door was opened.

“Oh.”

You turned to look at the woman, awkwardly standing by the door. For the looks of it, she was about to bolt from the apartment.

“You,” Tara said accusingly, rising from the sofa. She poked her sister in the chest with her index finger, and it was your time to wish you could leave this place. You couldn’t deal with family drama; you had had enough of it in your childhood.

“Me,” Sam said, allowing Tara to push her further into the apartment and close the door, leaving her no chance but to take the reprimand.

“Yes, you,” Tara said. You opened your eyes in surprise when she pointed at you. “You are going to apologize immediately to my friend for embarrassing her.”

“You’re the one embarrassing her now—”

“Samantha,” Tara said. It was funny to see the tall woman being bossed around by her sister, who was almost a head shorter. “You apologize right now.”

Sam looked into her sister’s eyes, and nodded. She turned to look at you, and you swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said, offhandedly. “Don’t worry. I get it. My mom is even worse with people she doesn’t know.”

Sam nodded, and made a noise of complaint when Tara slapped her arm. “Her mom’s Gale.”

She opened her eyes, understanding crossing her face. “Shit,” she said, looking defeated. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” you repeated. “Really. My mom doesn’t mention me too much to strangers just in case. You couldn’t have known.”

“I’m going to my room,” Tara said. You gave her an indignant look. “Sam, apologize.”

“I already apologized!” Sam called. Tara didn’t look her way, instead turning and leaving, presumably towards her bedroom.

“Well, do it again!” She screamed as she slammed the door shut.

“As cheerful as I remember her,” you said, not sure how to fill the awkward silence.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Tara,” you clarified. “She used to be like that when she was young too. Good to know some things never change.”

“You— oh,” Sam said. You smiled at the look of recognition.

“Y/N Riley-Weathers,” you said, getting up. “I know, it’s a mouthful. My mom insisted I should have both last names.”

Sam smiled, nodding. “Right,” she said. “You mom is— interesting.”

“She’s a bit of a bitch,” you said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but when it comes to her job… I’m surprised she hasn’t interviewed you for her new book yet.”

“She’s writing another book?” Sam asked, sitting down on one of the chairs of the dining table.

“She’s always writing another book,” you said, reaching towards your jacket, which Tara had left on the table. “Well, apology accepted. I’ll leave now.”

“Wait,” Sam called, getting up. “I really don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.”

“Well, you sure have made quite the impression,” you said.

“I know,” Sam said. “It’s just… Tara wasn’t answering the phone, for hours, and I saw an ambulance on my way out from work and I just… I thought she was gone.”

You smiled softly, understanding washing over you. The image of Dewey crossed your mind, always watching over you, keeping you safe no matter what. You had hated it back then, but now he wasn’t here anymore, you missed him and his protective nature more than anything. “I get it,” you said. “Really. But you should approach it differently. Tara is kinda headstrong on being her own person.”

“I know,” Sam said, sighing. “I just can’t help it.”

“It’s something you have to work on,” you said. “You ought to be a little bit messed up after what happened.”

“You saw the news, then?”

“Please. I live with the news,” you chuckled. “And if I’m not home in half an hour she’s going to call the police and have them patrol every corner of New York until they find me.”

“You should leave, then,” Sam said as she got up, running a hand through her face. She looked stressed, and tired. You felt sorry she had to go through all that just because of who her father was. “I— I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I get it,” you said, putting on your jacket. “You’ve been through a lot. You just want to protect your sister.”

Sam looked at you, thankful that even though Tara seemed so focused on not understanding her, at least someone else did. “It’s still not an excuse.”

“No, it’s not,” you agreed, walking to stand in front of her. “How about this?” You moved closer to her, grabbing her jacket to stop her from pulling away. Her eyes were open in surprise at your boldness. “You take me out one day to compensate for your vile actions.”

Sam’s lips revealed a playful smirk as her hands grabbed your waist. The touch was soft, almost unsure since she didn’t know how much you would allow her. “I guess it’s my penitence.”

You hummed, eyes momentarily on her lips before looking up again at her eyes. “Pick me up tomorrow, six o’clock.”

Sam nodded, her hands dropping as soon as you moved away. “Wait!” She called when you began to open the front door. You turned around, giving her a questioning look. “I don’t have your number.”

You smiled, walking towards her. Sam pulled her phone out of her pocket, but you simply kissed her cheek and pulled away. “Ask your sister.”

You left her there, eyes on you as you disappeared through the door.

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

Shortly after that, you two began dating. Tara was a little taken aback at first, the thought of her childhood friend and her sister together disgusting her to the point she made a face whenever she saw the two of you kissing. Thankfully, she got over it quickly, her discomfort shortly turning into excitement. Her sister was happy with someone she approved of, and given that you two were dating, all of Sam’s overprotective tendencies had changed direction and were now aimed at you.

It was perfect, until it wasn’t.

You were staying over, having decided to sleep in Sam’s bedroom after she asked you to; something about it being too late and some news she had read about cabs in New York not being trustworthy (you had rolled your eyes at that because, really, what was trustworthy in New York?) You had barely needed convincing, the thought of her warm bed and her arms, firmly and protectively wrapped around you enough to convince you.

You woke up alone in bed, and went over to check your phone. 06:32. Sam would probably be getting ready for work, judging by the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, so you decided to get up and make breakfast for her and Tara, who would be leaving for college.

You had taken a year off after your father’s funeral, knowing that studying wasn’t exactly what you needed, especially because you were aware you wouldn’t be able to focus on anything. You needed to heal, and thankfully your mother was okay with your decision.

You made toast with eggs and bacon for Sam, and got out a bowl and cereal for when Tara woke up, since she had declared one day she was vegan and didn’t want to “eat murder anymore”, whatever that meant. You got it all ready and smiled when you heard Sam open the bathroom door, going to the kitchen when she smelled the food.

“God, you’re amazing,” Sam said, hugging you from behind. You turned off the stove, moving the food onto a plate. She smelled amazing, the shampoo she used fresh and still clinging to her skin. Though she had dried her hair, it was still a little wet where it connected with your neck, making you giggle.

“I know, right?” You said, leaning into her. You loved how warm she always was, in comparison to your cold skin. “I’m the best girlfriend ever.”

“Indeed,” Sam said against your head, biting your earlobe before kissing your neck. “The bestest of them all.” You giggled again, her breath tickling your skin pleasantly.

“God, it’s not even seven in the morning.”

Sam and you turned around to see Tara, standing in the kitchen with an angry look on her face. She was not a morning person.

“My apologies, Tara dear,” you said, pushing Sam into a chair and putting the plate in front of her. You handed her the cutlery with a kiss on the forehead, smirking when Tara groaned. “You want something with your cereal?”

“I want you to stop making out with my sister everywhere.”

“Hard pass,” you said, moving Sam’s hair to help it get dry faster. “Your sister is obsessed with me.”

“Ugh,” Tara said, pouring in the cereal before drowning it with soy milk. “I should’ve never introduced you two.”

“Our souls would’ve found a way back to each other without your intervention,” you said, resting your chin on top of Sam’s head. The girl smiled, abandoning her knife in favor of holding your hand.

“Gross.”

“You are gross,” Sam said.

“Look who’s talking,” Tara said, giving her sister a mocking look of disgust. “I know what you two get up to in that room of yours.”

“Jesus, Tara,” you said, pulling away to walk towards the living room. “Eat your breakfast and stop talking, will you?”

“Ah, so you don’t deny it.”

“Idiot,” you whispered. You sat down on the sofa, searching for the remote controller. Once you did, you turned the TV on, and sighed when you saw your mother on the screen. “She really doesn’t know what it means to take a break.”

You turned on the volume when you saw she was standing in front of an alley, police tape behind her. Your heart sunk into your stomach when you saw the headline.

“Ghostface is back.”

“Sam,” you called, urgently. You went to check your phone as Sam got up, probably alarmed by the tone of your voice. You finally saw all the notifications from your mother, calling you and asking where you were.

“Honey?” She asked, looking at you with concern. She lowered herself in front of you, eyes examining you to know what was wrong. You pointed at the TV, and once she read the headline she tensed, the hand on your thigh gripping you hard. “No,” she said, breathlessly.

“What is it?” Tara asked, picking up on the mood shift. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the TV, still going over the news.

“I—” Sam said. She looked out of it, face stoic as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. “I have to go to work.”

“College,” said Tara in the same tone. You watched with concern as the two moved around the house, almost on autopilot, gathering their things and getting ready to leave.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” You said to Sam when you saw her in her work clothes. She nodded, eyes not fully looking at you as she opened the front door Tara had just left through. She shook her head as if to get rid of a haze, and gave you a long kiss.

“I love you,” she said against your lips.

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

But you didn’t see her later, or the next day. When you went over to the apartment, Quinn told you they had gone over to meet with Chad and Mindy, so you went back over to your mother’s house.

She was pushing you away. You knew it, and you hated it. You hated how she was letting this new ghostface get in between you, but you mostly hated how she felt like being with you would put you in danger.

You almost laughed out loud at the thought, there in the middle of the street. As if. Your mother was Gale Weathers, your father Dewey Riley— this shit had been following you way before you met her. But of course, it was Sam. Sweet, caring Sam, who constantly put others first, who always did anything to protect those she loved, even if it meant putting her own life on the line.

Once you were inside the apartment, you sat down in your bed, looking at all the unanswered messages you had sent her the past few days.

Samantha, you wrote, and then deleted. It felt too formal. You typed in a final message before locking your phone, throwing yourself onto the bed.

You weren’t sure when you had fallen asleep, but you were awakened by the sound of the phone line ringing. You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you got up, cursing your mother for still owning one of those. It wasn’t the 90s anymore.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Y/N,” the sound of that voice made your skin run cold. “Wanna play a game?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m inside your house,” they said in a singsong voice. “Wanna play hot and cold?”

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

When Sam saw she had gotten a call from Gale, she knew something was wrong.

She had known early that morning when she woke up, something in the pit of her stomach telling her to go to you, to hold you and never let you go. But she couldn’t, not until she figured out who was behind those new attacks. She wouldn’t risk you— she wouldn’t lead that killer right to your doorstep and have you killed because of her. No, she would rather die than put you in that type of danger.

“It’s Y/N,” Gale said urgently, when she answered the phone. “I— I called an ambulance. They’re on their way, but— god.”

Sam had started running towards your apartment the moment your name fell out of your mother’s lips. She pushed people out of the way, barely noticing she was gasping for air, or that Gale was still talking.

“—so much blood,” she said. Sam ran into the gateway, pressing onto the elevator bottom a few times before cursing, deciding to take the stairs instead.

“Is she breathing?” Sam asked. One more floor, one more and she’d be there with you.

“I—” Gale was gasping for air. “I don’t know.”

Sam pushed the door open, thankful it had been left ajar. She didn’t see the blood on the floor, or your mother crying beside you— all she could see was your body, bloody and deadly still.

“Y/N,” she called in a whisper. Gale jumped at the sound of Sam’s phone falling to the ground, knife in hand ready to kill anyone who had dared hurt her daughter. She lowered it at the same time Sam lowered herself on the floor, hands shaking as she grabbed you and held you in her arms. Her fingers clumsily set on your neck, trying to find a pulse like a thirsty man searches for water in the desert. She gasped in relief when she felt it. Slow, a little too slow, but it didn’t matter; your heart was still beating.

“I can’t lose her,” Gale sobbed. “I already lost Dewey, I can’t… not her,” she looked at Sam with pleading eyes; she had never seen your mother so paralyzed with fear. It was an eerie sight.

“You won’t,” Sam said, voice firm. She took off her outer shirt, using it to press onto your biggest wound, which was located on the stomach. “She’s not dying. She’s not.”

Determination washed over, taking with it the leftovers of panic and distress. There would be time for lament and regret later, once you were safely in a hospital bed.

“God,” Gale said when Sam began to raise you. Blood splashed over the carpet, and she almost threw up at the sight.

“You called an ambulance?” Sam asked. She was holding you in her lap, your head falling limply into her shoulder.

“Yes.”

“I’m taking her downstairs,” Sam said. The pressure she was applying on the wound was helping, because it had stopped most of the bleeding. “I’m not fucking waiting until they get their fucking asses up the stairs.”

And so she got up, holding you in her arms. She carefully cradled your head in her neck, making sure it stayed secure so you wouldn’t accidentally hit something and got a concussion. It was the last thing you needed at that moment. She made sure your hands were on your stomach, pressing lightly onto the wound —it was better than nothing.

“You’re not dying on me,” Sam whispered. She was climbing down the stairs, Gale right behind her. “You’re not, okay, baby?” She felt herself getting choked up at the thought. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Shortly after, the ambulance showed up, and Sam ran towards them. She set you down onto the stretcher gently, and pressed onto the wound until one of the paramedics reached over, grabbing her hand and telling her she needed to leave.

She stood where she had been forced to stay, ignoring all the looks she received. It wasn’t until Gale grabbed her by the arm and moved her out of the way that she noticed she had been standing in the middle of the road.

“She’s being taken to the hospital,” she spoke softly. Sam looked at her arms, covered in blood— covered in your blood, and she almost broke down. Instead, she swallowed, putting her hands on her pockets. “I’ll take you there. I picked up your phone,” she pushed it into Sam’s chest, and she grabbed it. Great, the screen was completely broken. “Call your sister and tell her what’s happened. Tell her you’ll meet at the hospital.”

“Okay,” Sam said. Her dull tone almost scared her. She felt drained. “Okay,” she repeated, watching as Gale went to her car and got inside. It took her a few seconds to open the passenger door, and a few too many trying to unlock her phone to call her sister.

All she could think about was you, and getting revenge on what they had done to you.

#Sam carpenter #scream franchise #scream #sam carpenter x reader #scream 5 #samantha carpenter x reader #samantha carpenter #tara carpenter #melissa barrera #melissa barrera x reader #jenna ortega #sam carpenter imagine #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter fluff #We Get Along Like Snow in New York

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five-flavor-soup · 1 month

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This is technically in response/as an addition to a post on the supposed ‘double standard’ in the fandom between Zuko and Jet as Katara’s love interests, but it’s been so long since it was posted and I figured the OP would be entirely uninterested in my word vomit, especially after like one and half years—so, separate post. I added a link for those interested. There's a cut because this got quite long lmao.

In short, the post supposes the argument that though Jet would’ve made Katara kill people (something Zuko very much Did Not Do, no matter what you think about The Southern Raiders), he cleaned up his act after this. Zuko, on the other hand, did lots of Really Bad Things to Katara & Co. with far more frequency than Jet did and got redeemed after a multitude of episodes doing Various Things Moste Evile. To then slap Jet with The Toxic Ex-label and see Zuko as the ‘healthier’ and ‘better’ option creates a Double Standard(™) within the fandom, which is supposedly bad and not an arguably incorrect reading.

But the differences in fandom perception between Jet and Zuko as Love Interests for Katara (one of which canonically, and the other potentially and apparently talked about in the writer’s room) are easily explained, as can the Supposed Double Standard—just by thinking about it from Katara’s viewpoint, or even the audience’s. Because, well, the worst things Jet ‘almost’ ended up doing didn’t happen because of outside interference only.

That’s the important bit here. He 100% would’ve drowned an entire village just to get rid of a handful of Fire Nation soldiers, had Sokka not managed to evacuate everybody. He 100% would’ve grievously injured two people who, as far as Jet and everybody else were aware, were refugees who might not even be firebenders — considering nobody else saw Iroh heat up his tea, he could’ve been wrong — in an attempt to prove his own hunch. Had the guards not been there, had Zuko not been able to fight back with swords, Jet would’ve genuinely attempted to wound them for as much as a puff of smoke. And Jet consistently involves bystanders (innocent or not) in his desperate quest to harm and defeat the Fire Nation: the Gaang (and particularly Katara, through explicitly manipulative means) and the villagers in Jet; Zuko, Iroh, and the people in the teashop in City of Walls and Secrets. Additionally, we don’t see more violence from him because he’s not a main character like Zuko is—though it’s implied that Jet beats up villagers who are supposedly in cahoots with the Fire Nation often, only agreeing to turn over a new leaf when he, Smellerbee, and Longshot decide to move to Ba Sing Se.

Zuko explicitly and frequently doesn’t harm people: that, or it isn’t important to the plot. He doesn’t burn down the village on Kyoshi, he literally only manages to lightly singe it. He threatens people with violence frequently but never actually goes in for the kill. I’d argue that the most explicitly violent thing he does in Book 1 is breaking Aang out of the Pouhai Stronghold—for his own ends obviously, but if it’s spelled like treason and sounds like treason, it’s probably treason. When he thinks of robbing the pregnant couple while he’s on the run, he stops himself of his own volition; when he considers using Appa to catch Aang (this was a point made against Zuko in the post), he’s unaware of what Appa’s been through prior to that point and sees him as no more than an animal used for travel, much like the ostrich horse he stole earlier in the season.

Zuko’s schtick throughout Book 1 and 2 is that he doesn’t want to think of the consequences of his actions. His plans are never fully complete. He doesn’t think of how he’s going to get a chained, notoriously slippery little eel of an Avatar to the Fire Nation, and he doesn’t think about what would happen to twelve-year-old Aang after they got there—which is horrible of him, but it also shows an odd, ignorant kind of innocence that you’d associate with a kid who’s got a hard time telling right from wrong. Like, I love Zuko dearly, adore him even, but kiddo doesn’t think ahead until the Book 2 finale and even that’s debatable. He’ll eventually start thinking ahead a little bit but for the most part, he doesn’t. Not saying that takes away responsibility, because it absolutely doesn’t, but it is telling of Zuko’s character: he’s an ‘act first, think later’-kind of guy, all ‘fuck around; find out; maybe success’. His sole goal throughout Book 1 and 2 is going home, without even thinking on how to get there beyond like, Avatar in my custody => back in Fire Nation with Avatar => dad loves me again. And he says that his only intention is to go home too, in Ep 2 of Book 1:

Aang: If I go with you, [He holds his staff in front of him as an offer, making sure Zuko understands that he does not wish to continue fighting.] will you promise to leave everyone alone? [The camera cuts to a side-view of the area, Zuko's men still surrounding him, spears poised. After a brief moment of hesitation, Zuko erects himself and nods in agreement. Aang is apprehended by Zuko's men, who take his staff . . . ] Zuko: [Boarding the ship up the walkway. Determined.] Head a course for the Fire Nation. I'm going home.

(Added emphasis for my point)

Zuko is not the Big Bad. He’s not The Largest Threat. He never is. In Book 1 it’s Zhao, in Book 2 it’s Azula, and in Book 3 it’s Ozai. Zuko is a consistent threat, yes, but not a particularly large one no matter how good of a fighter he is. Because he’s presented to us as a disastrously hurt and traumatised little brat who we, the audience, are supposed to feel sorry for, and slowly grow fond of. Because we learn in The Storm that the notion of “caring for others is weak” has literally been branded into him. Because he keeps getting back up to fight, but consistently holds back. We are shown that he knows, on some level, that what he’s doing is wrong: the text suggests that Zuko is actively suppressing his morals. And by the time Zuko hires an assassin to ensure the Avatar is dead, we know that Zuko is incredibly unhappy with his choice(s) and is desperate to be safe; that he’s uncomfortable but wants to be comfortable; that he’s incorrect about the source of his fear while he’s back in the palace. The audience is shown this explicitly.

By contrast, we’re shown that Jet is fully aware that those villagers will die. He’s fully aware that, if he manages to prove the two refugees are firebenders, they’ll be arrested and probably mutilated (if the hand-crushing is any indication). I love Jet and his character, but he’s supposed to be the example of poisoning yourself with your hatred, anger, and hurt. He’s revenge that goes too far, because he doesn’t allow himself closure. He knows the consequences and isn’t shown to care for them, as long as his goal is furthered.

And there is the small, but significant, difference between the two characters: Zuko initially just wants to capture the Avatar, is purposefully remaining unaware of what will happen when he does so, and is clearly shown to change, while Jet just wants to punish firebenders and is very aware of what will be necessary for him to do so, with a handful of lines of how he ‘stopped being like that’. And honestly, Jet is far more mature than Zuko is for quite some time, regarding the violence of war—basically as mature as Zuko eventually becomes at the tail-end of his redemption arc. But Zuko’s maturity is at that point healthier, because he doesn’t want to genuinely do harm.

In regards to their separate relationships with Katara, there’s these fantastic points that @sokkastyles made in reply to the post:

The fact that Zuko actually did change and Katara actually forgave him makes ALL the difference. [ . . . ] The thing about Jet is how manipulative he was with Katara. He not only almost made her kill innocents, but he lied to her about the man he attacked having a knife when he was called out, so that Katara would see her as righteous. Someone who is willing to lie in order to make themselves seem good and someone who says they are going to change but then does the same things doesn’t have a good track record, and that’s a more troubling relationship dynamic than someone who acts as an upfront enemy but then sincerely changes.

And:

I do think it makes sense to focus on manipulation being worse than being a cartoon villain when we're talking about personal relationships. I think many people can relate to having someone like Jet in their lives who seems nice but who lies and manipulates to justify their own bad behavior despite repeatedly claiming that they will change. Not that many people will experience being tied to a tree by someone who wants you to tell them where the Avatar is, and it is completely reasonable for people to be more forgivable of things Zuko did as a villain than things Jet did to Katara when he claimed to be a friend.

I actually don’t have anything to add to this, lol. It’s succinct and well-worded.

Lastly, in addition the relatability and the relationships being different (the manipulative, emotionally hurt, and self-proclaimed anti-hero versus the initially childish, explicitly confused and desperate cartoon villain, plus the girl they hurt horribly), there’s also the problem of Jet not being a main character. Jet is a relatively well-written side character, whilst Zuko is very quickly established as a main-ish character with his own POV (as the writers decided during the conceptualisation that he’d be joining Team Avatar eventually). Zuko’s troubling, self-destructive nature that has been forced upon him and his Tragic Childhood is shown in high definition. The audience is supposed to eventually be okay with Zuko and hopefully like him, slowly adding puzzle pieces to complete the picture of a horrific earlier youth and treatment by nearly everybody he knows except Iroh. Something like this isn’t necessary with Jet, not just because he was already incredibly likeable and understandable from his introduction and onwards, but also because he’s neither a villain nor a main character.

There’s multiple reasons as to why Zuko is often seen as the ‘better’ option, just like there are multiple reasons why Jet and Zuko are compared so frequently—they’re both traumatised teenage boys who ‘rebel’ to get some semblance of control back, but we see Zuko change into a kid anyone would be a little bit proud and fond of and that doesn’t happen with Jet. Double standard or not, Zuko and Jet are different characters who the writers also treated very differently, on purpose. It makes sense to me that the audience would think Zutara is the ‘less bad’ or far better option. We know far more about Zuko than we know about Jet; and Jet’s redemption arc, if we can even call it that, halts permanently when Zuko’s is reaching the height it for him to go into a freefall, ultimately culminating in a genuine redemption. We, the audience, know this. So does Katara.

#atla meta #zutara meta #not tagging this j*t*ra bc its a bit negative and i do not want to infringe on anyone's tag lmao #but i will tag it #jetara critical #just to be safe #jet atla #prince zuko #katara #zutara #the thing about both these ships is that katara can be put down as making an active choice in the narrative #though it wants to punish her for it #she is Wrong. he is Bad Guy. here's Better Guy go have babies #regardless. i feel like post-redemption zuko would be easier for her to choose--because she saw the proof of his change

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neverchecking · 3 months

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More Sage Hc's

Because I miss him :(

And this is a wonderful half-collab with @angry-trashcan. I love you so very much and thank you for letting me yell ideas at you.

CW: Mentions of child abuse, child soldiers, Zelda slander, Sage

・❥・Welcome back. :)

・❥・So, we've established Sage as his own character at this point. I think it's safe to say he is not Wild. They are similar but two very distinct characters. That is something I'd like to clarify.

・❥・But we'll step into that later.

・❥・For now, let's talk about his entire timeline from start to finish.

・❥・So, Bailey and I talked about his parents and this is the conclusion we came to:

・❥・As everyone knows, Link in the AoC/BotW/TotK timeline was in the knights by a staggeringly young age. Either four or twelve or fourteen. I've seen them all, but I'm not sure if there's a canon age.

・❥・For Sage, we're going with four.

・❥・Now, let's start with his father. Sage's father was in the knights as a commanding officer, which is why he was okay with Link joining the knights. However, because of this a lot more expectations were placed on a very young Sage. And if he failed the punishments were much harsher and much less justified.

・❥・There were nights when Sage/Link was left on the ground outside because his father didn't deem him worth the effort and forbade people from helping him.

・❥・He'd walk past and spit on this terrified child because he didn't live up to expectations. "Your mother would've been so disappointed."

・❥・(shout out to Bailey for ripping out all of our hears with that line.

・❥・Because of this Sage finds much more comfort sleeping outside. Even a a century later, he prefers the comfort of a constant rather than a bedroom he was never allowed the privilege of knowing.

・❥・When he gets his house in Tarrey Town, he builds the stable extension first and slips outside with Epona.

・❥・We also agreed that his mother most likely died during the birth of his sister, which is probably why they had to move out of the Hateno house and closer to the castle, if not on the castle grounds.

・❥・If I had to make an assumption on his mother, she was probably a timid woman that never stood against his father.

・❥・This is really just my lil tidbit but because of that headcanon it's why I made Aaliyah such an abrasive character because I feel Sage would feel too much like his father with someone who reminded him of his mother. Or the little bits he remembers of her.

・❥・Anyway, his mother was probably a seen rather than heard woman,

・❥・Now, you're probably asking about his sister. We decided that she would've ended up as a maid/servant in the castle.

・❥・This is for two reasons:

・❥・One) It adds to hatred Sage has for the Royal Family. As a knight he would've had no choice but to watch this happen and would feel that burning guilt as a bystander, ignoring the fact that he has no choice in the matter. Maybe that's why he fought so hard pre-Calamity. Of course, he still fought because it was his duty, but I also like to imagine he was trying his best to protect his sister before it could ever hit her. Even if it was a fruitless endeavor.

・❥・Two) When Sage remembers this fact, it's probably before Tears of the Kingdom. The bridge between TotK and BotW probably is Link/Sage unravelling a lot of the trauma he tried to ignore regarding the royal family. So this is almost a catharsis to the entire feat. Moreso with Zelda/Natura's reaction.

・❥・She'd be flippant and almost ignorant to the entire ordeal.

・❥・Before anyone comes for my throat, let me explain Natura's character okay?

・❥・So, as far as I'm concerned, Natura hasn't learned anything. She's very much still the same character she was in AoC which is a spoiled individual with little regards to the woes others are facing. She had a tough time, yes I understand that and she was young, but she had no reason to act the way she did with Link. I don't care, argue with the wall.

・❥・She went digging around in the remains of what was left of her people post BotW trying to figure out how the guardians worked. She puts more emphasis on her studies and research rather than her people. Remember this is Natura. Not Zelda. This is my characterization in the same way that Sage is my characterization of Link.

・❥・Anyway, she didn't go looking for a way to solve the Gloom issue, she went looking for a way to capitalize on it. Like the pharmaceutical industry.

・❥・So you can imagine her reaction knowing that.

・❥・"We kept her off the streets like a worthless rat. You should be thanking me."

・❥・Yeah, it's not great.

・❥・So then TotK happens, yadda yada.

・❥・Sage loves animals. Let me get this straight. He's not heartless, he's angry and he's vengeful. Animals never wronged him. He finds comfort with animals as they can't lie to him. He can earn their trust and they'll remain loyal.

・❥・Because Sage is a dangerously loyal man. He still carries the loyalty of the hero's spirit, but it's amplified. Once you're his, you're his forever. Nothing can drag him away from you as he won't let it.

・❥・He's so loyal it turns from a positive attribute to a flaw. :)

・❥・He's possessive and protective and doesn't see an issue with it. Everything else has been torn from his hands but his fingers will be broken and bloody before he lets what's his go.

・❥・I bring up the animal thing just to say Sage gets a dog. You know that stable that closes down in the desert? And how all the stables have stable dogs? Well, this one follows Sage all over Hyrule. And if he goes in the depths thinking he's lost it, the second he's out the dog is sniffing his ass out.

・❥・Yes, he keeps the dog and feeds it the nicest cuts of meat, don't worry.

・❥・It's name is Droolius Caesar.

・❥・Timeline wise, let's talk about that.

・❥・So again, Bailey, and they're gorgeous fucking brain, brought up the idea of him being on a different timeline then Wild. I ran with it.

・❥・I don't see TotK falling on the timeline nicely no matter what we do. Not with the Zonai and not with the other game.

・❥・So what if it doesn't fall on the same timeline as BotW? The same events happen but now it's different.

・❥・Here's how it goes:

・❥・So when Time splits the timeline we get the normal one where, yay! he saves the day! and the other one where he doesn't. Call it the downfall timeline, the fallen timeline, the failure timeline, I don't care. For the sake of argument it's the Fallen Timeline here.

・❥・So there's an idea that the timelines merge somewhere between Wars timeline and Wild's. But let's say they don't. Because the Fallen timeline goes to Legend, then Hyrule. Then what if it doesn't fix itself and just continues. which is where it then leads to Sage's era.

・❥・Only this timeline is on hard mode at all times. Legend's adventures were difficult, Hyrule's era is absolutely brutal, so it makes sense that Sage's is just as hard.

・❥・We toyed with the idea that because this timeline is so hard, the heroes that reign from it are just that much more advanced. It's shown through Legend and then Hyrule, both of whom have wielded the full triforce at one point or another (I think). Somewhere between Hyrule's world however and Legend's, the goddess' didn't like this idea. They didn't like the idea of the hero having this sense of power, so they stripped it away entirely. They knew that somewhere the hero's spirit would be tainted and took away the power that could be used to dethrone them before it could manifest with Sage.

・❥・In turn, the hero's spirit carried on and grew stronger to overcome this. Sage still has the hero's spirit, but it's not like an actual spirit. No, it's more like the fallen hero carrying on and trying to amend for his sins.

・❥・Which Sage hates. He hates it so much, but it propels him before he can stop it. In the beginning of TotK? It's what propels him to jump in after Zelda. After however? The gloom is what finally kills that spirit. Rauru can save him, but fails to save the spirit.

・❥・And from there Sage evolves and arises into the rat we all know and love.

・❥・All of this to give my own lil headcanons on Epona.

・❥・So there's a theory that Malanya (Horse god) Is actually Malon and I like that. (Because she gave Link Epona OG and they sound similar) So in Sage's Era? Guess what?

・❥・Anyway, I imagine Malanya and Sage had a better connection because of this. Malanya goes out of their way to care for Sage and his horse because they feel they failed their Link.

・❥・So Sage gets an Epona in a way to apologize for their first failure.

・❥・Epona is a very good horse <3

・❥・So in the wise words of bailey to end this off,

The hero's spirit is dead. Long live whatever the fuck Sage is.

#yandere linked universe #linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #linked universe x reader #legend of zelda #yandere legend of zelda #link x reader #linkeduniverse #loz #cinder writes #sage #lu sage #yandere lu sage #lu sage x reader #yandere lu sage x reader #guys he has a backstory now :D

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cowgurrrl · 1 month

Note

Ok I have fluff angst idea…Charlie is pregnant and freaking out about telling Joel because she is kinda young. And Joel is mad, scared, excited , crying and also grandpa Joel?!

Hello why did this make me tear up

April, Come She Will

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: it’s canon to me that reader and Joel live to be 100 and nothing bad ever happens to them ever again

Summary: The next generation of Millers find their way [3.6k]

Warnings: teen pregnancy (what’s new for this series lmao), arguing, language, call backs

Charlie's been acting weird for the past few weeks. She's been coming in and out of the house at strange times, not showing up for patrol, and giving you vague answers about where she's been. She's nineteen now, so she doesn't necessarily need you and Joel breathing down her neck all the time, but you still like to know where your kid is. She tells you she's been with Ellie or her boyfriend, Eric, which is fine. You like Eric. You just wish she would spend a little more time at home.

Charlie and Eric met on patrol. No matter how much you tried to dissuade her from joining the patrol team, she wouldn't listen. She had watched you guys go out and defend Jackson as she grew up and even talked to Ellie about her adventures outside the walls. She knew how to ride a horse, and Joel taught her how to handle a gun. The intention was never to "train" her for patrol but to be prepared in a worst-case situation where she needed to protect herself but the second she was old enough, she signed up. She got paired with Eric, a sweet boy her age she went to school with, for her first patrol, and that was it. They've been together ever since.

Joel was hesitant when they started dating, but you reminded him she was an adult and could make her own decisions. Eric was somehow more hesitant when Charlie invited him over for a family dinner. Eric grew up hearing stories about your family, and his dad occasionally worked patrol with Joel, but knowing him by proxy is much different than sitting across from him at the dinner table. Joel promised to be on his best behavior, but poor Eric was terrified any time Joel asked him a question. Since then, they've gotten a little closer, but they are by no means buddies. You're a little nicer.

All this runs through your head when Eric trails behind Charlie into the house. It's a Saturday, and you and Joel are off patrol, sitting next to each other on the couch. You were supposed to go see Ellie and Dina, but they rescheduled for next weekend without much explanation as to why. JJ might've gotten in trouble. At seventeen, he has more of Ellie's wild personality than anything else. It's a little fun to watch her try to handle a younger version of herself.

"Hey, can we talk?" Charlie asks, a slight tremble in her voice. You look up from your book, and Joel leans forward to drop his wood carving knife on the coffee table. She and Eric sit across from you, her leg bouncing anxiously when she does, and you glance between them. You're a little confused as to why Eric has to be here for this, but she's clinging to his hand so hard you almost worry she's gonna break it. Worry claws at the back of your throat, but you swallow it down. Whatever it is, you can handle it.

"Sure, bug," you say. "What's up?"

"Um, so there's something I've been meaning to tell you, but I wanted to get some things squared away before I did because I didn't want you guys to freak out or anything. I understand this is a really big deal, but it's under control, and we have a plan." She explains rapidly, and Joel chuckles as he removes his glasses to rub at his eye.

"You ain't pregnant, are you?" He asks, and Charlie is silent. That's when you feel your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. Your mouth goes dry, and you sit up, staring at her like you're waiting for her to say she's joking. "Charlotte," Joel says, his tone even and scarily calm. "You're not. Right?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she says, tears shining in her eyes. "But we… we have a plan. We're gonna get set up in a house, and Ellie's gonna lend us some of JJ's old things, and we're gonna pick up some more shifts before the baby comes. It's all gonna be okay."

You can't help but feel like you set her up for failure, not only with your own teen pregnancy but with your inability to keep her safe. In the old days, you might've been able to put her on birth control or give her condoms when she started dating, but those things aren't on the top of the list for what little FEDRA manufacturing is left. The best "safe sex" talk you could have with her is letting her know her options if she did get pregnant or sick. You hated it, but there wasn't much else you could do. And now look where you are.

"Mom, can you please say something?" Charlie begs as Eric rubs her back. You thought you'd be prepared for something like this with your and Joel's (and Ellie's) family life starting earlier than most. Instead, you find yourself, possibly for the first time ever, sympathizing with your mother. You pull yourself together enough to open your mouth.

"You wanna have this baby?" You ask, and she nods.

"We already decided. We're not gonna get married or anything yet, but yeah, we want this baby," she says. Eric doesn't say anything. You figure that's probably smart. It's only a matter of time before Joel freaks the fuck out about the fact that he got your baby girl pregnant. "That's why I went to Ellie's the other day. I was talking to her, Aunt Dina, and Uncle Jesse about when they had Jay." She says. You try not to be offended that she told Ellie before she told you. You told lots of people before you told your mom you were pregnant. Still, you thought you and Charlie were closer than you and your mom were.

You look at Joel, the same panic and anger taking over his features, and take a deep breath. He grinds his teeth as he thinks, and you have to stop yourself from scolding him. When you look back at Charlie, her face is splotchy, and her brown eyes sparkle in the mid-afternoon light. She looks so grown up but so little at the same time. Your eyes slide from hers to Eric's wide ones.

"I'm assuming you know the stories about Jane and her dad?" You ask.

"Yes, ma'am." He croaks, and you nod.

"And I'm assuming you know how Joel and I got to Jackson in the first place?"

"Mom," Charlie starts, but you catch Joel shaking his head at her in your peripheral vision. Eric swallows thickly and nods.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," you say. "If I ever hear anything about you not being there for Charlie or that baby, or if you even think about leaving them, I'll fucking kill you." You haven't had to speak this way in years, and it, obviously, rattles both Charlie and Eric. Good. You hope it does rattle him.

"Mom!" Charlie scolds, looking to Joel for help, but it's clear that he has your back with this one. You'll be damned if she ends up a single parent like you two were. She scoffs and stands, pulling Eric up with her. "You don't have to listen to this, Eric."

"Yes, he does." You say.

"Baby, what did you think we were gonna say?" Joel asks.

"That you'd support my decision or, at least, find a way to!"

"Of course, we support you. I just..." Joel trails off. "I just don't think you know what this means. How much this is gonna change your life. And I know you love each other, but havin' a baby ain't an easy thing."

"That's why we're doing it together," she says, her eyes moving from Joel's to yours. "That's why it's fucking crazy to talk to him like that. And unfair. You didn't act this way when Ellie had JJ."

"That's because we didn't need to have this same talk with them. Jesse and Dina had already decided to co-parent Jay. There was no way Dina was gonna be a single mom," you say. "But there were three of them, and it was still hard. You were just a baby when he was born, so you don't remember, but it was a lot."

"So, you don't think I can be a mom?" She asks, and you stand with your hands up in defeat.

"I didn't say that. I just want you to be prepared. I remember what it was like, and I-"

"Just because you were miserable when you had Jane doesn't mean everyone is." It's mean and calculated and hits you right where it hurts. It doesn't matter if it's the hormones or not. The sting of her words renders you silent.

"Don't you speak to your mother that way!" Joel yells. He never yells anymore, especially at Charlie. The scary boom in his voice fills the room, but you catch the glint of tears in his eyes as his breathing stutters. "This ain't just playin' house, Charlie. So, if your mama is a little worried, she's allowed to be. Shit, we're all allowed to lose our fuckin' minds for a minute, but that isn't an excuse to talk bout your family like that." He says, and she taps her shoe on the ground twice, a nervous tick she picked up from Joel.

"I'm sorry, Mom, but I can't just sit here and listen to you threaten Eric like that," she says. You nod but don't apologize. You can't find anything to say. Charlie stares at you like she's waiting for you to lash out or yell at her, but you can't. She wipes a stray tear away furiously and turns away. "I need some air," she mumbles, dragging Eric out of the house before you can even protest. The door slams behind her, and the floorboards she took her first steps on shake with the force. Joel reaches for your hand and pulls you into him. He murmurs soft assurances into your hair, his voice cracking and tears spilling from his eyes as he does, and all you can do is let him hold you.

What the fuck else are you supposed to do?

You wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of the bathroom door in the hall slamming open. You and Joel jolt upright in bed at the sudden sound (old habits die hard, right?), and you sigh as you rub your eyes. You check the alarm clock next to your bed for the time and see it's close to three. The dark mountain town is still asleep outside your window, and you grab a soft flannel from the floor to pull over your shoulders.

You don't remember falling asleep. You were up, waiting for Charlie to come home so you could talk further, but when the front door opened and closed, and she basically sprinted to her room, you couldn't find the energy for another fight. But when you laid down, you couldn't sleep either, your conversation from earlier playing on a loop in your mind. You and Joel just sat there in silence, staring up at the ceiling until your eyelids got too heavy, and you fell into a dreamless sleep. You couldn't have been asleep for over an hour or two when the bathroom door swung open. Joel looks at you, confused when you stand.

"What are you doin'?" He asks, and you wave him off.

"I know why she's up. Just go back to bed." You say without much explanation before padding down the hallway and into the bathroom.

Your footsteps are loud enough on the tile for her to hear you, so she doesn't flinch when you suddenly pull her hair away from her face and hold it out of the way. She glances at you and softens a little before retching into the toilet again. She does that for another minute or two before her stomach is finally empty, and you can safely let go of her hair. She sighs and leans against the wall as you flush the toilet and hand her a towel. You settle across from her, your back pressed against the sink, and rub her leg as she wipes her face.

"Thanks," she mumbles as she tips her head back against the wall. She looks tired and weak. All you want to do is scoop her up in your arms like she's three years old again. "I feel like shit."

"I'm sorry. That's my genetics. I was super sick with you and Jane." Her name rolls off your tongue so fast you almost forget the last time it was invoked. The air stiffens between you, and she shifts uncomfortably.

"How long were you sick for?" She asks softly. You sigh as you track your memory back and try to remember the exact details.

"About six months," you admit, and she groans. You laugh a little at her reaction, but only because you know how frustrating it is. If you could take it from her, you would. When you settle, she stares at you guiltily and starts picking at the nail bed around her thumb like she can't stand the silence. "Where did you guys go?" you ask to put her out of her misery.

"I just… needed to get out of the house. We walked around town for a while before going to his parent's house," she says. "They still don't know. We wanted to tell y'all first." You nod, unable to give words to your gratitude just yet, and she swallows thickly.

"You could've stayed," you whisper. "I wanted you to stay."

"I know," she says. "I'm sorry. For everything." She looks like she could start crying again, so you take a deep breath, scoot over to her, wrap her in your arms, and kiss her temple. You feel her relax into you, and a weight is lifted off your shoulders.

"You know your dad and I worry about you. It's not about you not being capable or not smart enough because you are plenty capable and smart. But we also know that it doesn't matter how prepared you think you are. There's nothing that can prepare you for being a parent, and that's not me trying to scare you. It's just how it is." You explain, and she nods into your neck.

"That's what Ellie said, too." She says.

"Smart kid."

"I feel like I fucked up," she pivots dramatically, but you hold on tightly and wait for her to continue. I'm right here with you, baby girl, you think. "I want to be happy because Eric seems happy, and you're supposed to be happy when you find out you're pregnant, but I'm so fucking scared." She sounds like she's on the brink of tears again, and you shush her. She sighs heavily and wipes at her face as she leans back enough to see you. "Were you scared when you found out you were pregnant?"

"Both times, I was fucking terrified. With you, it came later, though. Even though your dad and I talked about having another kid and how amazing you'd end up being, I remember going into labor and shaking cause of how scared I was." You say, and she nods.

"How did you... know you were supposed to be a mom? She asks. It's a loaded question. How does anyone ever know they're "supposed" to be a parent? You certainly didn't think you were meant for anything that important at sixteen, but you do remember why you made the decision you did.

"I, um…" you trail off, laughing. "I started having these dreams after I found out I was pregnant."

"Dreams?"

"It was pretty much the same thing over and over again for a few months. I would be going through my regular routine, but this… baby was following me around. I couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl, but I knew it was my baby. And it came with me to school, the grocery store, work, everything, and as time passed in my dream, the bigger the baby got. They'd get more personality or start laughing, or their eyes would change colors, and I'd be so in love with them," You know you sound crazy, but that's because it was crazy. "The first few times, I woke up crying because the baby from my dreams wasn't there. I thought there was nothing worse than waking up in the morning and not having my kid there," you say. The weight of your words catches up with you, and you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying. "And I was right." You shake your head and take a deep breath, hyper-aware of her eyes on you.

"I had the same dreams when I got pregnant with you, except they were a little different. In all of them, you were always with Ellie and Dad— every single time. I thought you were gonna grow up and not like me as much or whatever other reason my hormones gave me for the change, but, towards the end, you started showing up alone. You were just this little light. I can't describe it exactly, but everything I did in the dream was a little more magical because you were there. Things were shiny or glittery, and you would just giggle and giggle and giggle," you say, smiling at the memory. You grab her hand and squeeze hard, looking directly into her eyes and fighting more tears. "You turned my world technicolor even before you were born, and I knew I would always do everything I could to protect you. That's why I was so hard on Eric. I know he's a good kid and nothing like Jane's dad was, but I don't want you to end up like me, kid." Charlie squeezes your hand, somehow harder than you squeeze her, and a familiar crease appears between her eyebrows.

"Mommy, if I'm half the woman you are, I'd be so fucking happy. Are you kidding me?" She says.

"Charlotte-"

"I'm serious," she cuts you off, Joel's commanding yet gentle tone seeping into her voice. "Mom, you made my lunch until I was in high school, and even when I asked you to stop, you still had one ready to go just in case I needed it. You used to take JJ and me to the park so Ellie and Aunt Dina could get some sleep, even though everyone knew that meant you didn't get any. You convinced Dad to talk to Eric because you knew I loved him and wanted him to like him..." She slows down a little bit, scanning your face before she continues. "You kept a kid alive during the Outbreak despite everything. You still buy her flowers on her birthday. You tell me about her. You let me know her," you take a shaky breath, and you can't stop the tears anymore. "You're a good mom, and I'm so lucky to have you, and I'm sorry for what I said and for getting pregnant and-"

This time, you stop her by hugging her tight and letting yourself cry. She gets emotional, too, and a very unlucky Joel finds the two of you crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. Like everything, he takes it in stride and joins you two on the floor until the sun breaches over the mountains and a new day shines down.

It's hard to say things got easier after that day. Eric's parents didn't react very positively at first, and it took them most of her pregnancy to come around. Charlie goes through weeks of sickness and bed rest. They argue a lot about the future and what it should look like, but they get there in the end. The next year, the house is filled with a familiar chatter and chaos. Charlie and Eric's twins (which explains why she felt so bad), Elliot "Ellie" Beth, and April Theresa Miller-Donovan, squeal as Joel takes turns dancing with them in the living room.

Elliot is, obviously, named in honor of your Ellie, but she bears Sarah's middle name. April threw you for a loop. The twins were born in snowy January, confusing you as to why they would name her that and not January, but Charlie smiled as she handed April to you. "Jane's birthday is April 7th. I didn't want to steal your name, but I remember you taking me to the meadow to pick flowers for her. April 7th was always my favorite day." She explained, making you choke up. When she told you April's middle name, you and Joel completely lost it. Theresa, for your Tess, the woman who believed so much in Ellie, she forced you to believe in her, too. The woman who saved your life in more ways than one. The woman who would've absolutely adored Charlie if she ever met her.

You love being grandparents again— admittedly, a little older than you were the first time around. Joel teaches the girls Spanish words and lets them pull on his beard. You make extra food so your baby has something to eat after the long days and nights of keeping them alive, and you play silly games with them. They don't look like you or Joel or even Charlie or Eric. They look like their own little people. People who will never know the loss, destruction, and nights spent staring hopelessly at walls you went through. People who will grow up safe and loved and cared for. People who carry names they won't be able to put a face to.

That's okay. They don't need to know about the people you were before you were their grandparents, and maybe it's time for you to try to let that time go. Maybe, in your and Joel's old age, with the deep wrinkles and graying hair, you can just be. Maybe you can just dance in the living room and make warm blankets and fall asleep holding hands. Maybe everything does turn out okay.

#look for the light #thank you for the gorgeous request!!#joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller series #joel miller fic #dad!joel miller #the last of us fic #the last of us au #tlou au #joel the last of us #the last of us #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters

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silverliing · 9 months

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Mike’s wall art

I love seeing analysis about ST set design because it really spells out so much of the story without verbally telling you, and ive seen much discussion abt the details of mike’s room in s4 (that one way sign haunts me btw). buuut there are two pieces of visible wall art that I don’t really see get talked about on here (that i’ve read) and I just have a few things to say about them and what i think they might be telling us about Mike’s character and upcoming journey (hint: going into the UD)(hint: making plans and leading the party)(hint: byler)

so idk if this has been pointed out or if it’s common knowledge atp but the two pieces circled above are lithographs by artist MC Escher; Hand with Reflective Sphere (left)

and Relativity (right)

(a lil hard to see in this screenshot i’m sorry😢)

The artwork is beautiful as you can see (canon Mike Wheeler has great taste in art). Escher was most known for his intricate “impossible constructions” which are optical illusions of paradoxical space, he was also the inventor of the impossible cube:

this is some pretty cool nerdy, mathy stuff that I’d expect mike would be into, but looking at it from the context of his character and the direction of where the story is headed, there were 3 immediate possible readings that popped into my head which point toward 3 different (yet coexisting) directions:

He likes the art — It’s true, this art taps into Mike’s interests. Valid but boring. zzzz. snooze. You could argue that these posters should be taken at face value, but I just feel like in a show like ST —where the main cast knows of and is in various ways affected by an evil alternate dimension— having a character with wall art that references perspective/dimensional anomalies doesn’t really tell us much about his specific character or story. We’ve known that the ST set designers use a character’s space to show us who they are as people, these two artworks need to tell us something about Mike and his journey. And maybe Mike’s sensibilities about the world at large are shifting into nihilism with everything that’s happened in hawkins and the art reflects an absurdist outlook of future (teenage stuff, growing up, etc. etc.)

It foreshadows Mike’s s5 arc — I love this one. Mike is one of the few in the main cast who haven’t been in the upside down proper, so this art could reference not only that he’ll go into the UD in s5 but also that there could be dimensional anomalies involved in his travel or journey there. Perhaps this is how they’ll be able to find Max— by bending the laws of physics and using the mechanics of dimensional travel against itself, perhaps to open new doors or travel in different directions (hint: time travel 😏). And i think the reason this art is in Mike’s wall is bc it will be Mike who formulates the plan to find Max and retrieve her with the help of El and Will’s new powers 😏 (g*d knows i want to see leader Mike make a come back)(and Will with powers).

Will Byers — we know Mike and Will are tied together by the narrative and so I think these artworks could be directly pointing to Will with big red arrows. This point is corroborated by simply analyzing the formal qualities of the artwork, both individually and as a set. Hand with Reflective Sphere is about optics and perspective, about seeing, but also about the flattening of space. Relativity is about space, dimension, and paradox, but also about impossible perspective/vantage point. When read together the objective reading of them is about sight and space and paradox, about how the flattening of space helps us see something new and impossible. While Mike hasn’t experienced the dimensional travel into the UD proper, many of those closest to him atp had; El, Will, Nancy… but the reason i think these two posters remind him of Will specifically is because out of everyone else who has been in the UD, only Will experiences the feeling of being stuck there and of seeing into both dimensions at once; the stuck view-master, true sight. Mike associates these things combined (dimensional travel and dimensional sight/perception) with Will.

Also, Mike is a nerdy guy, he seems interested in this kind of stuff for the fun of it so he could’ve had sciency charts that reference the subject of visible light and paradoxes the way Suzie does, but instead he has not one but two fine-art pieces by a pretty big graphic artist that reference the subject of sight and space. Also, Idk what it is about the fact that it’s fine-art and not movie/game/dnd art that makes me also associate it with Will— the self-proclaimed visual artist of the show. The words are all jumbled up in my head rn but; artist. sight. all-encompassing. dimension. paradox. new perspective. -> -> -> -> Will Byers (is this a hint to wills powers??) etc. etc. etc. you get it

Secret 4th option (ties into #2)

Mike gets Vecnaed and this forces him into extensive self-reflection and the labyrinthian trials of finding himself and mastering his fears(maybe he’s already begun his self-searching and that’s why we see this art at the beginning of s4). cue cool musical montage of Mike navigating his own memories and mind-scape to find the answer that will make everything make sense while also hiding from vecna and buying the party time to find a way to end him.

#i just have thoughts #i love this art but what does it meannn #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #st analysis #byler #st5 speculation #will byers has powers #will byers has true sight #st #i just have thoughts ok?#stranger things analysis #stranger thing 5

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urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites · 16 days

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Headcanons for the greasers x s/o who flinches when they raise their hand in a fight

Tw: Angsty ig, light potential violence, slight abusive

Ponyboy Curtis

-you two were arguing about his smoking again

-you really hates when he does it, and he does it too much

-so you express that one night when it’s just you two having dinner at the Curtis house, Darrys still working, and Soda is out with Steve

-“You need to quit smokin so much Ponyboy! It’ll kill you!”

“I can’t quit y/n, yk how I get without my cancer sticks, y/n, just lemme have one more!”

-soon it turns into a bigger arguement, and you both get into each others faces, yelling

-he raises his fist, not thinking, and pauses when he sees the fear in your eyes

-he feels immediately sick to his stomach, at the thought of scaring someone he loved so dearly

-as you run out of the house he yells “W-wait! Y/n! Y/n! I-i ain’t mean to I swear!”

-he feels horrible and definitely breaks down on his steps crying a bit and soda and carry find him there ask him what happened

-he explains and they exchange looks, and they make him go apologize

-he comes to your house with flowers and a handwritten apology, getting ready to leave them at your door when you open it

-before you can get a word in he’s already rambling “Y/n I-I am so sorry I would’ve never actually hit you, I hope you know that I’m so so sorry please don’t break up with me but I understand if you w-“

-you hug him

-“Ponyboy Micheal Curtis if you ever raise that fist again-“

-he never does

Johnny Cade

-it’s so hard to imagine him actually doing this

-I feel like the only way you’d get that kind of reaction out of him realistically is hurting his friends

-but for the sake of the hcs let’s say you both get into a fight and you try getting in his face or sum and he pushes you back, a lot harder then he meant

-you slam into the wall

-with tears down your cheeks, you always thought Johnny was your safe person, the last person on earth who would hurt you

-it wasn’t really about the pain, it didn’t hurt that much. But the fact he did it

-for Johnny, his world just shatters…. He just did what he swore he’d never do… lay hands on you

-he drops to his knees in shock at himself, feeling the worst pain imaginable looking at your wet eyes, your… scared eyes

-he knows that look so well, the one he’s had so many times himself and he feels his heart rip out when you run away from the lot

-in canon it takes a LOT to make him cry and this does it

-he cries in his hands, he can’t believe what he just did

-feels the worst out of all the greasers ☹️

-he lets you come to him, he doesn’t go to you, he wants to give you enough space from him

-when you come back and meet him at the lot his stomach does a flip

-“Y/n I didn’t mean to push you that hard I swear I wouldn’t ever hurt you I’m so sorry I’m just like my old man and ma…. I don’t ever wanna hurt you I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry….”

-practically drops to his knees before you

-you look at him, sighing, it’s impossible to stay mad at him

-you look him dead in the eyes as he gulps

“Johnny Cade you best never lay a finger on me again in that way y’hear?”

-he never comes close to doing that again, and even months later apologizes

Sodapop Curtis

-him doing this is so ooc like johnny lmao so it’s hard to protest and I think he’d again only ever do this if you attacked pony or sum

-you’re frustrated with him, he’s smart, dammit! Maybe a little slow, but when he gets things he gets them!

-and you really wish he could see that

-you both have enough collective money to push him through college to get a better job than a gas station

-and even if he is happy, he could be happier

-you both get into another arguement, and he grabs your arm, pulling you closer, and you squeal a little as your arm turns red

-he turns to you and meets your eyes, dropping your arm instantly

-you look at him in bewilderment and… fear as he starts

-“Y/n c’mon now please, wait…”

-but you’re out of that house faster than lightning

-he immediately goes to your house with flowers, and some jewelry that he’s been saving up to buy you

-you open the door “Soda, you can’t win my affection back with a half assed smile and-“

-he cuts you off with a sheepish grin “I- I actually intended to win you over in a different way…. Like an apology. I’m so sorry. I-After Sandy… I just can’t lose you too, to something so stupid. I’ll never do it again.”

-he is a man of his word

Darry Curtis

-one day he comes home, already tired from work and sees you there, crossed arms

-he forgot your anniversary… again

-he tried to apologize and you interrupted, furious

-he shoots back, arguing he can’t remember because he works all the time and actually does something with his life

-you get furious at this remark, and yell up in his face and he shoves you, (pb Curtis style 💀💀😭)

-you sit up, looking at him with tears because hell yes getting abused by Darry’s muscle mass hurts

-you look so scared and when darry meets your eyes his jaw drops, and he tries to apologize but you’ve already ran out of the house

-you head home and he comes to your door the next day, and the next

-your relationship takes the longest to heal

-about a month later you let him in and he’s mostly quiet, he feels horrible

-he lets you tell and scream at him and take out your anger, just so he can at least let you get it all out before he tries to apologize

-“Y/n I-i am really sorry. Sorrier than I ever have been in my entire life. I made one of the biggest mistakes I ever have and I am real sorry.”

-you stand up, and let out a teary sigh “if you ever lay another hand on me again I will leave you faster than you can’t count to three DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

-he nods

-it takes a very long time to repair your relationship, but once you do, he never lays a finger on you like that ever again

Dallas Winston

-one night, he gets a bit drunk and a girl kisses him

-you get mad, and see the whole thing before he pushes her away with disgust

-you think he cheated and yell at him about it when you both get home

-you both get HEATED and get in each others faces, this is definitely the most fast building fight

-he raises his palm up, nearly hitting you but taking a pause when he looks into your alone angry eyes, now with a layer of fear

-for a look the he’s used to getting so much his way, this hits differently

-he drops his hand, and looks down at it then back at you, and immediately tries to apologize

-“C’mon y/n I wasn’t actually gonna hit you you know that stop making such a big deal out of it-“

-you run out and he actually feels badly

-he won’t ever approach you first, he waits for you to come to him

-“Dallas Winston you NEVER do that again. Please.”

-he nods, and even, for the first time, apologizes sincerely

-he doesn’t ever do it again

Two Bit Matthews

-you two were joking around when suddenly he cracked a joke a bit too close to home

-you told him off and annoyed, he argued back

-pretty soon it was a full on fight, and he grabbed your hand and raised the other one

-you looked up at him “Two… were ya gonna hurt me?!”

-he snaps out of it, looking at you and instantly pulling away

-“Y/n, I’m so sorry… I-i don’t know what came over me. You know I couldn’t do that.”

-he looks into your eyes genuinely and you pause

-“Never again?” “Never again, promise.”

Steve Randle

-he left Ponyboy out of another hangout between him you and soda and you were mad, you knew it hurt Ponyboy

-you bring it up to him and he immediately deflects and rolls his eyes

-after a while things get pretty heated and he snaps, and grabs the collar of your shirt

-you gasp, and look down then up at him, and he looks at you, confused then guilty

-he looks at you as you back away “Y/n…… don’t be like that… I wouldn’t- I couldn’t-“

-you run out of the gas station and sit under a nearby tree, your head in your knees

-he runs after you, and squats down next to you, looking you in the eyes

-“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I know never do that to you. I’ll never do it again.”

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quinloki · 7 months

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I should be working, so of course I’m thinking about kisses from blorbos instead.

First kisses, mostly. In canon setting, or close enough to it.

This is all just off the cuff, so I’m putting it under a cut. I might do something more organized at a later date.

Shanks, Marco, Kid, Sir Crocodile and Doflamingo

Shanks - he’s so smooth you almost don’t realize what’s happening. There’s a warm hand on your cheek, brown eyes looking into yours. You don’t know when he got so close, but it’s not alarming, and you’re not uncomfortable. He was all jokes and laughs not even a few seconds ago, but now you aren’t even sure you’re still in the bar.

He makes a sound, a word maybe, something almost like a “yeah?” But you don’t really hear the word so much as the intent. Maybe you bite your lip, maybe you lean forward a little or give him a nod, but any motion of affirmation moves him forward. Fingers at the nape of your neck as he pulls you into a kiss that’s tastes sweeter than the rum he’s been drinking. You’re dizzy at the end of it, but maybe it’s a contact buzz, or maybe he really did just steal the air from your lungs and leave nothing but pleasure behind.

Marco - You’ve wanted to kiss those lips for days, if not longer. He’s not leading you on, he’s teasing you, delighting in ruffling your feathers. He likes to see you squirm, and you know those eyes have been watching your gaze shift to his lips every single time.

If you’re not brave enough to make demands, he’ll eventually lure you onto his lap - somewhere quiet and private, if he can test his own patience long enough to get away from the crew. He’ll pull you close slowly, giving you one last chance to decline. The first kiss will be brief, eyes watching you intently, and the slightest lean forward, the smallest gasp, and the following kiss will be heavy. A firm grip will hold you close a devour every moan he demands from you.

Eustass Kid - Subtle is for people afraid to hear the word no, and Kid ain’t afraid of anything. Just as likely to be bantering as he is to be arguing just before hand, the kiss will catch you off guard.

Somehow though, he’ll know that you wanted it. Whether you admit it with words or not, this cheeky bastard never misses the mark. Strong hands will have you pressed against the wall, squirming and squeaking and moaning as hot hungry lips steal air and sense from you.

By the times those painted lips are trailing down to your neck you’re probably already considering the logistics of fucking right where you are. Kid won’t force you to risk an audience, but he’s not wasting a drop of energy worrying about it on his own.

Sir Crocodile - you’re going to be the one to initiate the kiss with him. Probably sat up in his lap, or after you’ve already stripped yourself bare, and are laying underneath him. It’s the final affirmation for him, the last chance you have to deny him. He’s not kissing to test the waters or as a matter of course, he’s been considering you in the long term long before this moment. ( I feel like he’s a no kissing during casual sex kind of person.)

Once your lips are against his, there’s little control you’ll have after. He starts softly, gently, but firmly. More and more they become deeper and hungrier, dragging you under the heavy and inescapable desires of someone who doesn’t let go of what he’s claimed.

And certainly not when it’s wandered into his arms willingly.

Doflamingo - his first kiss is rough, greedy, if there’s acceptance on your part it’s more likely you were tricked into it. His hand will hold your face in place and his tongue will be deep in your mouth before you’ve even realized that you were being kissed.

Whether your sounds are protests or pleasures he’s not going to care. He wanted to kiss you, you were going to accept it. If he wants to use you further, he will. If you’re lucky he’ll have some kind of emotion toward you that isn’t just lust, and he may even decide to show you he can be considerate.

But you won’t find it in that first kiss.

#quin muses #x reader #reader insert #red hair shanks #sir crocodile #donquixote doflamingo #marco the phoenix #first kisses #just a quick thing pardon any typos or auto corrects

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anika-ann · 4 months

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A Night at the Museum (A.B.)

Type: one-shot, fluffiest fluff; canon-divergence from Defending Jacob

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader WC: 5000

Summary: You always loved wandering through your museum after closing time – there was something so peaceful about it, a new layer of beauty to space and all the art that adorned the walls.

Tonight however, the peace is interrupted by a charming handsome man who has no business to be there… will you throw him out?

Warnings: 18+ for allusions to smut, TOOTH. ROTTING. FLUFF., uncomplete list to keep some mystique - so read at your own risk (but no supernatural elements)

A/N: a story dedicated to lovely @chase-your-dreams-away ✨, to everyone who enjoys a tooth-rotting fluff and to all you lovelies who support my writing shenanigans - you know who you are, giving me love and life 💕 Happy Holidays, if you celebrate! // divider by @firefly-graphics

Every single step you took felt so light it was almost as if you were floating.

The endless beauty adorning the walls, the soft intimate lights reserved for occasional night visiting hours only accentuating the already romantic atmosphere of the art museum, walking through the halls and galleries equalled a magnificent experience that made your soul shiver and yet feel at peace. You let the serenity wash over you as you roamed the art museum, already having helped usher the lingering visitors outside. The sound of your heels echoed in the vast galleries, your eyes drawn from one beautiful piece of art to another, even as you had seen them all a hundred times.

There were simply sights in this world that would never get old, you mused, a small smile playing on your lips, a slow steady pace bringing you to another section – and having you freeze in your step.

Just standing there without a care for the outside world, apparently immersed in admiring a painting – one of favourite, you realized distantly – stood a man. A man who most definitely did not worked here. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Excuse me, sir,” you called out lowly, anything louder than a that feeling wrong in the otherwise quiet gallery. “It’s after hours. You can’t be here.”

He startled too at the first sound of your voice – his head snapped to you, piercing but kind blue eyes wide with surprise, as if you brought him down from a haze, from a deep thought; from thorough appreciation of art. You would have smiled at that, since you knew the feeling too well, but you were too distracted by the man’s handsome face.

Awfully, unbearably handsome, with a ruffle of dark hair and a clearly well-kept beard, a dark blue suit that only highlighting his beautiful eyes, hands slipping from his pockets as he straightened upon facing you; his biceps bulged a bit with that movement, visible even under the suit jacket. There was a good-natured expression on his face, a pleasant note in his voice as he responded on the same volume, if not slightly quieter.

“Oh. Sorry.”

His voice was as lovely to hear as his face was to look at; almost like he had belonged here, the central piece among the sea of art, a sculpture capturing the peak of a man crafted by talented hands of the old masters.

As you walked closer to him, your chest ached a little; he wasn’t just handsome. He was drop-dead gorgeous. And while that didn’t authorise him to be here, it sure made your approach more amicable. You were only human, after all.

“I was actually heading out,” he continued, “but I just… got a little caught up in admiring the art.”

The corners of your lips rose involuntarily. You could see that easily happening to anyone – it was after all a painting close to your own heart and soul. Some might call it too simple – an image of hands, one larger, rougher than the other, held out palm up to the other, softer, smaller one, fingertips barely brushing, the mahogany brown background with a few lighter strokes of brush adding an aura of warmth. But its simplicity and what some would call imperfections were deceiving.

Many would argue that hundreds of art students all over the world drew a hand study every day. Masterfully executed or not, this particular piece of art could indeed be called plain; but it wasn’t. As things stood, the painting was no Creation of Adam, your all-time favourite, but it had earned a rightful place in the art gallery and n your heart, and it wasn’t only because of how old the painting was or who had created it.

If you were being honest, you were never able to quite put your finger on why, but it always tended to touch something deep inside you. So truly, you understood the man perfectly.

He had no business being here so late – and yet. Perhaps for his pretty face and his breathtaking physique indeed, perhaps for his warm gaze having returned to the painting with curious, soft eyes – you couldn’t just have him dragged away, keen on hearing his insight instead.

“How so?” you inquired.

His gaze snapped back to you, surprised. He examined you for a bit, as if he couldn’t figure out whether you were asking or just bidding your time before security found you, but in the end, he just smiled, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, I couldn’t say. I don’t know the first thing about art, so I can’t even appreciate it properly-“

“Of course you can,” you interrupted him, regretting your hastiness when his eyes widened, watching you intently. You smiled apologetically, gaze dropping before it returned to the painting, the sight of the beautiful man too much – and you were used to looking at art every day. “What I mean is… sure, the knowledge of history of art and art technique can help you recognize a painting’s value to the world, but not its value to yourself.”

You cringed internally; you sounded like a fool, a pretentious one at that, contradicting your own words. And yet, his voice was soft when he spoke again without a hint of offense.

“I’ll take your word for it… but still. Might help to have a guide… what do you like about this painting?” he asked, gaze returning to the art in question. “That is, if you like it at all.”

“I like it a lot, actually. It’s one of my favourites.”

“How so?” he echoed your earlier words, something about the way his gaze flickered to you making you feel warm all over. He sounded genuinely curious. About what you thought. He seemed interested in your very personal insight; and in the intimate lightening of the gallery, you reluctantly gave in, all too aware of how close you seemed to stand now, side by side, barely two feet apart.

“I like how it makes me feel. I like wondering what made the artist capture this particular moment in time – not sooner, not later. Not when the hands touch further or part completely. And what the moment even is. All that wondering just leaves a lasting impression.”

“Yeah… I suppose that’s what I could say as well,” he mused, tilting his head slightly to side as he considered your words. “Tell me more.”

It wasn’t an order – despite the wording, it sounded more like a plea. Something pleasing hummed in your chest, a gentle stroke to your ego.

“It’s the position of the hands. Hands can be so expressive, we can say so much with them, with a touch. And I don’t mean it in the sense of sign language, where people literally use them to form words agreed upon earlier, but… they can convey feelings, capture so much more than words themselves often can,” you tried to explain, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You sounded like a crazy person who read Jane Austen too much – and you were all too aware. You often couldn’t help it, when you talked about art – but the poor man didn’t sign up for this. You chuckled bashfully. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” he opposed, causing you to risk a side-way glance. His gaze lost nothing of its warmth, quite the opposite; his lips melted in a gentle smile and he was certainly paying more attention to you than the painting. You’d lie if you said it wasn’t flattering. And the electricity you seemed to feel in the air sure wasn’t unpleasant either. “I never thought of it this way, but I certainly cannot argue with that. And I argue for living.”

“Ah. A lawyer then?” you said, his hands rising in surrender in response.

He had really nice and big hands. Someone should paint them. And he should put them on me.

“Guilty as charged.”

“And with a sense of humour, I see.”

There was something a little shy and definitely intimate about his laugh, his gaze firmly on yours. “I have been told I only have old man jokes these days.”

“Well, that’s just rude. You should have that person arrested for such insult.”

“That’s not how this works.” He was laughing again, crinkles around his eyes. He had such a gentle laugh, quiet, fitting for the space. “Now… what do you think is happening here then?” he beckoned to the painting.

You pursed your lips, accepting his prompt.

“Well, that’s one of the things I love about it so much – it can be whatever you want it to be. A man and a woman… there’s this atmosphere of longing. Tenderness to the touch. Uncertainty, as if they aren’t sure if they are allowed. The man especially. Maybe they are future lovers…” You felt your cheeks heat, blush spreading as the man’s eyes flickered to yours. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s a goodbye.”

“How do you figure?”

“The blurry lines,” you whispered, your smile turning dreamy. You truly did love this piece – it conveyed so much emotion, offered so many interpretations. Made you feel so much. “They’re not accidental – the moment is hazy. Maybe it’s a memory, a painful one, a memory of a goodbye smeared by unshed tears. Maybe it’s a dream – dreaming about what can’t be, no matter what the heart desires.”

“Wishful thinking,” he murmured under his breath.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he’s an artist asking his muse to be let into her favour.”

Your head snapped to him in surprise; but for once, he kept looking at the painting. Still, your breath caught; that definitely was a lovely interpretation.

“Maybe.”

“What else?”

Your gaze returned to the painting, even as your gaze was drawn to him instead, distracted, your thoughts consumed by the image of his handsome profile and the well-fitting suit – and those damn hands. He stood even closer now, slightly behind you; you could almost feel his warm breath on your cheek, the woodsy tones of his cologne wrapping around you like a blanket. You could get in trouble, lingering here, with him – but deep down, you felt you’d happily do so. And probably thank him for it.

He spoke again before he gathered your wits, a warm smile in his voice. “Could be a lonely artist who set his eyes on the most beautiful of women…”

You felt the back of his hand brush yours. No accident; a lover’s caress. You felt tingles spread thought your whole body from the point of contact, your heart thundering in your chest even as it shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have such an effect on you. Not after two years of much more intimate touches, teasing brushes of his fingertips, his palms roaming your body firmly, his lips appreciating every inch of your skin. A simple touch of a hand shouldn’t have made you shiver, but it did. With Andy, it always did. Especially when he talked like that, your face growing warmer by the second at his praise. Because it was clear he was no longer talking about the painting on the wall. Not when he ran his fingers over the back of your hand before turning it so your own hand slipped into his easily, and squeezed.

“…and was somehow insanely lucky that she accepted when he asked her out two years ago. And ever since then, his life’s been full of happiness he thought was no longer in cards for him. How’s that for knowledge of history?” he asked cheekily now, full grin spreading on his lips as he pulled lightly on your hand to spin you around to face him, his free hand already cupping your cheek as you giggled, letting the façade fall.

“You’re a charmer and a flatterer,” you muttered as he leaned in for a kiss, palm cradling your face and guiding you closer to his lips, soft whiskers tickling your face as your lips finally met.

His hand released yours, sneaking around your waist instead, deepening the kiss, making your toes curl in your pumps even after having received thousands kisses like this from him.

You had met pretty much like this – with you working late and him charming your wits out of you and having you lose yourself in his beautiful blues, mesmerized by his almost startlingly handsome face, even if he had been the one who had got a bit lost in the museum complex. Sparks flew, hearts fluttered, hands wandered – much sooner than they ever had in your previous relationship. But the whirlwind of passion was wrapped in an intimacy on an emotional level too – you had never fallen so fast, body, mind and soul, but Andy Barber was simply special. Bless his heart, he hadn’t really known much about art back then – but he had a quick mind and willingness to learn, eager to listen to you as you talked about your long-life love, watching you with a curious adoring gaze, a patient smile on his lips.

He told you he’d pick you up after work so you could celebrate the two-year anniversary of your first date. So as soon as you shoed away the last visitors, you hurried to the staff room to freshen up at least a bit. Andy hadn’t told you where he would take you up until two hours ago – where he called you on your short break to inform you that he was, in fact, a sneak who had an exceptional way with words.

Bribing your colleagues with god-knows-what, he had arranged for you to have the museum for yourselves up until midnight – a private tour with the softened lights saved for the evening, likely wandering hand in hand, beauty surrounding you as well as love. You had no doubt he had brought refreshments too, having left work right after lunch, probably preparing one of his excellent recipes; the premise of spending your special night like this with him had you giddy and soft for the rest of your shift. So when you saw him standing there like that, you couldn’t help but re-act your first encounter for a bit – but you didn’t expect him to lean into it so fully, letting you relive the awe of a handsome stranger being so impressed by whatever you had to say.

The nip of teeth on your lower lip brought you back to reality, heat swirling in your belly, having you press into Andy’s firm body further, not an inch left between you just as it should be, especially since your head was already beginning to spin with the lack of oxygen.

He was the one to retreat, smiling against your lips, nose caressing yours, your palms smoothening over his shoulders lovingly.

“You started it,” he opposed, pecking your lips again and then once more for a good measure, a little breathless himself. When you met his gaze, you saw nothing but adoration in his eyes. “I simply played along. …hi, by the way.”

You chuckled and returned his greeting, meeting his lips once more.

“Hi stranger. Happy anniversary.”

His smile was almost blinding as he tucked the lose strand of your hair behind your ear, fingertips stroking your cheek.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes roaming your face so attentively – as if he was admiring what had been no doubt etched into his memory by now – that your felt your skin heat up again, gaze lowering timidly. “You’re beautiful. I love you.”

I love you. It was a simple admission – but that didn’t mean it still didn’t send your heart flutter, especially when he looked at you as if you were the single most precious piece of art in the whole complex.

“I love you too—what?” you questioned, when his eyes suddenly flickered behind you, back to the painting, and a frown twisted his features.

“There’s something missing,” he mused, causing your chest to spasm with panic. You spun on your heels and escaped his embrace so fast you nearly toppled over. Your eyes frantically searched for any sign of what was wrong – a missing plate with description? Had piece of the golden frame broken away? A- “I do like the painting, but it’s just… it’s missing something.”

You huffed out a breath of relief, turning back to Andy swiftly, hitting his chest with the back of your hand, earning a burst of silent laughter.

“Sorry-“

“You are not! Don’t do that, Andrew!” you whisper-yelled, your ribcage actually aching a bit from the sudden scare. “I’d be in real trouble if there was something missing, you know that! But do enlighten me, Mr. I Don’t Know The First Thing About Art. What is missing here?”

He had the decency to look a tiniest bit guilty as he gently touched your shoulders, spinning you back to the painting, wrapping his arm over your middle to pull you flush to his front.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s beautiful. I know you love this one. But I… I think finally figured out what the scene is about,” he explained slowly, voice dropping back to a whisper, only a trace of gentle laughter in his pleasant timbre.

“Oh?” you inquired nonchalantly, still pouting a bit even as your exasperation evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. You could get fired if something got lost on your watch, so that was a mean joke – but you should have known better. You had known him for two years now after all.

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, guiding your hands to lay on your stomach, placing one of his warm palms over them, chin resting on your shoulder. “Well, obviously, they are a man and a woman.”

“Is that how you win all the cases at court? With your excellent observation skills and dead-on-point arguments, Mr. Obvious?”

Andy continued, unbothered by your snarky teasing.

“And he’s an old, maybe a little dorky man, who is crazy in love with this gorgeous woman with passion for art…”

The corners of your lips twitched as you turned your head to him, nose nudging his cheek as you understood where this was going. “You’re not that old… but you’re plenty sappy for sure.”

“Who said I was talking about us?” he teased, squeezing your hands again as he nudged you to look forward again despite your prolonged ‘riiiight’. “But he’s a little bit like the artist, asking a muse for her favour… he’d feel like the luckiest man on Earth if she’d allow him.”

You leaned your weight back onto Andy’s warm body, tilting your head, as a full smile spread on your lips along with the sweetest warmth curling in your heart.

“Well… I know you said it’s not us, but… if it were, he wouldn’t have to ask. He’s already plenty in her favour.”

You let your eyes slip shut, revelling in the feeling of being in the arms of the man you loved, almost tasting his own affection for you on your tongue, feeling it float in the air. You felt at peace; safe, warm and loved. Nothing could measure up to the serenity of the moment. Whatever Andy had planned for you two, as nice as it no doubt was, it didn’t matter much – you could just stay like this for hours, with his lips occasionally reaching to kiss your cheek, your temple.

“I adore you, Andrew Stephen Barber,” you sighed. “Sappy and all.”

His chest rumbled behind you as he hummed, his finger softly stroking your hand, pulling you somehow even closer to him. “Well perhaps he’s asking something else then.”

You felt your eyebrows rise, eyes fluttering open, smile still plastered on your face – you were probably grinning like a loon at this point.

“What’s he asking then? And what was that thing you said was missing?”

He caressed your fingers again. You felt him gulp behind you before he straightened and took your left hand, bringing it to your shoulder, to his lips, his hold on you never faltering.

“Maybe he’s asking if he could gain her favour forever.”

You chuckled breathlessly. Sap. For someone who had already been married once, even if mostly for convenience of an unplanned child, and then got divorced, he sure stayed a romantic.

“Forever is a long time,” you hummed noncommittally, not at all opposed to the idea though.

Andy was without doubt your Prince Charming in a three-piece suit, the wishful image of a happily ever after having crossed your mind more than once. With him, forever sounded sweet – and entirely plausible.

“Yeah, I know. But I want to try my luck asking anyway.”

That was the only warning you got before Andy suddenly released you from his embrace and used the gentle hold he still had on your left hand to turn you to face him, the strangest expression on his face.

Adoration. Affection. Worry. A nervous smile.

Nervous? What reason-

The realization slammed into you the very second Andy began to drop to one knee, a voiceless ‘oh my god’ knocked out of you along with your breath. A little blue box held up in his free palm, he gazed up at you as you watched him with wide eyes already filling with tears.

God, had you had any capacity to do so, you’d feel like a dumbass for not figuring out sooner what all his talk had meant. Why the missing thing. Why this was the painting he decided to stand in front of, this one among hundred others that adorned the walls of this place. Why the hand that had been right under his had been your left one, the whole time, and he hadn’t been caressing all your fingers. He had been – perhaps subconsciously – tracing a line of a ring which he hoped to put on your ring finger.

“Andy-”

“Sweetheart… I’m supposed to be great with words, but now when you’re actually facing me when I kneel here, they all… disappeared. But know that I love you. I love you with everything I am, with my whole heart. I will never understand art as well as you do, but I promise I’ll never stop trying and never stop listening, because I want to understand everything you love. I promise I will always do all I can to stay in your favour, in the favour of a woman who might as well be a muse herself,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes turning glassy as a huge lump grew in your throat, several tears escaping you and rolling down your cheeks even as you were biting your lip – as not to cry, a not to laugh giddily.

He wanted to marry you. He wanted to spend the rest of your lives with you and he wanted to make it as tangible as possible. He made this damn moment all about you, a true promise, a true testimony that he meant what he was saying. You bit your tongue hard as not to blurt out your answer before he could even ask the question.

He choked a little as he said your full name, thumb pressing to the edge of the box for it to open and reveal a no doubt beautiful ring – but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it, not when his lips twitched in a smile, his hand a little clammy as he still held yours. Or perhaps it only felt that way because your own were trembling, your heart threatening to beat its way out of your chest?

“Will you marry me?” he asked at last, finishing the question with a wide grin as you started to nod halfway through, the yes escaping a little too loud in the enormous room, the echo drowned in Andy’s relieved laugh, his hands – indeed shaking – slipping the ring on your ring finger meticulously before rising to his feet and framing your face with his palms and smashing his lips to yours, a grin to a grin, salty tears to salty tears.

Your fingers found purchase into his locks, holding onto him for dear life as he kissed you with vigour, nearly bending you backwards in half, one hand gripping your nape, the other moving to your lower back instead for better balance as he continued to steal your breath all for himself, an insistent press of his lips tasting like heaven and a promise of happiness.

“I love you.” A kiss to your lips. “I love you.” A kiss to your nose. “I love you so fucking much-“

You giggled against his lips, returning the affection as much as you could, your heart pounding in your chest, pressed against Andy’s ribcage – his heart was racing too, as if he had run a marathon or argued the case of his life in front of a full courtroom.

“I love you too-“

“Thank you-“

You laughed breathlessly, yelping when his hands slipped under your thighs and he lifted you to up to spin you around, a brilliant smile on his face.

“You’re a sneak, Andrew Barber,” you teased him, the world still spinning even as he set you down, taking both of your hands to place a tender kiss to your fingers.

It was the first time you actually took a proper look at the shiny ring – and your breath caught in your throat, eyes burning, nose tingling with fresh tears.

“Andy…”

It was gorgeous – and most definitely not a mindlessly picked piece of jewellery with the biggest diamond in a ten-mile radius to show off. No. Much like he had shown dedication to the proposal itself – you were getting married, holy damn, Andy just PROPOSED – he must have put plenty of thought into choosing what was to adorn your finger for hopefully a very long time; forever even. Delicate but intricate in design, a bigger centre stone with what seemed to be a thousand of tiny gemstones surrounding it as a halo in an unpredictable but beautiful pattern. He must have spent a fortune on it – it was a piece of art itself. Probably one of a kind.

Just like the gem of a man who now stood in front of you with a mix of pride and bashfulness in his expression as you admired your new accessory – a new promise.

You met his gaze, eyes probably shining brighter than the ring.

“It’s gorgeous,” you sighed, unable to resist and leaning in for another kiss, hoping to pour all your gratitude and delight into his lips. “I see what you did here, Andy. Thank you… and I really really adore you, you have no idea. I’m the lucky one.”

He shook his head with a grin, nudging your nose with his, hugging you close. “Let’s agree to disagree, sweetheart…”

A smirk pulled at the corner of your lips. “Mr. Barber… are you already disagreeing with your future wife?”

Judging by certain sensation against your belly, you weren’t the only one who felt a shot of euphoria through your veins when you said it; Andy’s pupils dilated, gaze flickering to your lips, this time with less than sweet intent, hand wandering from your lower back to the globes of your ass instead.

You giggled and let him pull you to him until you realized the direction you were facing – not. Because like this, Andy’s hand appreciating your ass was perfectly visible to the camera.

“Andy, wait-“

“I wouldn’t dare to disagree… guess we can both thank to our lucky stars then…” he muttered, completely ignoring your protest, lips nearing yours, suddenly painfully slow, butterflies fluttering in your stomach despite the rational voice in he back of your head that your really shouldn’t give in. But how when his palm sprawled further, long fingers reaching to your quickly heating centre.

“An-“

He swallowed your noise of protest and plea at once, your knees buckling an inch when he stroked over your covered slit.

“Celebrate with me?” he whispered against your lips, his hips rutting against yours making you whimper.

“Andy, the cameras-“

“-are off, I bribed the guard, I swear-“ he cut you off as his other hand slipped under your pencil skirt, already tracing the line of your panties on your thigh.

“Andy-“ you whined as his lips retreated only to pepper soft slow kisses down the column of your throat, your head tilting back on its own volition as your body craved his touch, your core now throbbing. He’d better not be joking about the cameras, otherwise you really would-

“Come on, love, you gonna let me pin you to the wall like the masterpiece you are deserves?” he whispered and it was a terrible, terrible line, but he nipped at your pulse point and your feet obliged as he back you into the wall, fingers pushing the soaked fabric of your underwear to side, finding your hot and wet and waiting for him. A groan escaped his lips, his hard cock rutting into you as his fingertips teased your slit. “Gonna let me paint you all pretty with my cum, like a good little wife?”

“Jesus, Andy-“

“Gonna say yes to me one more time today, won’t you?” he demanded huskily, a knowing teasing lull to his voice as he kissed you again, letting you taste his sinful smile. He knew you would. You could never tell him no, not when you knew what awaited you was pure bliss, a loving but no less filthy ecstasy.

It was wrong. It was beautiful. It was insane and you’d happily take the leap. You were getting married. What other answer was there, especially with such a reward in your reach?

“Yes,” you sighed, head hitting the wall lightly, the hard warm planes of Andy’s body indeed pinning you in place, right between two damn exquisite painting. “Yes, I will.”

And then, because that beautiful bastard seducing you in the least appropriate place deserved a retaliation, you breathed out the last coherent words you could form before Andy made you forget how to do so:

“I will always say yes to my husband.”

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Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed 🥰

Once again, Happy Holidays to all who celebrate 💕

Headboard info: framed picture from this artist (edited) - https://displate.com/displate/5918780, gif from Tenor

#r #andy barber x reader #andy barber imagine #andy barber x you #andy barber #defending acob au #andy barber fluff #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fanfic #a night at the museum #anika ann #gift fic

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

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sooooooooooo for the NRC family day interactions, i'm curious to see what would happen if riddle and step-dad ashengrotto met in the wild, because riddle has expressed that recently he's gotten interested in law. it would b cool for him to chat with the canon lawyer who taught azul about laws n contracts.

plus the whole, riddle being unsure actually because his whole life his parents had plans for him and planned for him on becoming a healer like them, but now he's interested in something else. n while i kno he reads about law, it would give him a lot of insight to actually, speak to someone who does this for a living, who maybe even suggests ideas of finding a way to combine both medicine and law, like medical law (branch of law) or medical jurisprudence (branch of medicine).

and other stuff too.

idk i just think a conversation between the two could be interesting, even outside of like, riddle's own interest in law; like another interesting thing would b his whole, family/homelife situation & the fact that riddle hints that his parents don't really get along that well + knowing that step-dad ashengrotto met mama ashengrotto while she was filing for divorce... just lots of ideas in me brain i think.

idk hopefully this isn't unintelligible sdfjsdklfd thank youuuuuuu

Thank you for submitting this really interesting idea ^^ This one is really long compared to the others, so I slapped a cut in to make scrolling by easier. This fic borrows ideas from a theory that I talked about a few days ago?

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but I think it's cool that Azul not only has a stepdad, but actually gets along with him. Rarely do I see divorce portrayed as a positive thing (I mean, how often do we see wicked stepparents or a child that refuses to accept the stepparent), so Azul's family was really refreshing to see.

Not me taking inspiration from the divorce lawyer in Enchanted and various characters from Ace Attorney for stepdaddy Ashengrotto—

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

The cafeteria was packed, and the ghost chefs were working overtime to feed the influx of hungry guests. Staff, students, and their family members had been coming in and out throughout the day, leaving not many tables open and the food line long. Some had taken to sitting cross-legged on the floor or spilling out into the hallway to make space for new arrivals.

One look at the gaggle of people along the walls and on the ground, and Mrs. Rosehearts had turned up her nose. "I won't have you sitting like a barbarian, Riddle. We'll find you a proper seat. Look, there’s one now. You sit—I’ll see what they have available on the menu and fetch you an appropriate meal.”

“Yes, mother.”

Riddle shifted uncomfortably at a cramped table. He dared not falter in his posture. Back straight, head high, hands neatly folded in his lap. He was a rose among those deemed the weeds called riffraff.

… It’s noisy, Riddle noted.

Indeed, it was. The cafeteria buzzed with activity, students exchanging chatter and laughter with their loved ones. Sharing bites of food and stories, nourishing their bellies and their souls.

A memory clad in flowers filled his mind.

“Riddle!”

He was back in the Heartslabyul gardens, colorful decorations and card soldiers in every direction. Flamingos and hedgehogs at the ready, the roses painted red, a dormouse in the tea pot. Cakes, tarts, and finger sandwiches sliced up and served with tea.

Ace and Deuce were arguing over something silly again. By the sumptuous spread of snacks, Cater was snagging pictures before so much as a bite. In the memory, Riddle made to tell them off, only to be stopped by the vice dorm leader at his side.

“They have so much energy,” Trey had remarked. “It’s livelier than usual today.”

Yes, that was the right word for it. Not noisy, but lively.

How curious that dining at Night Raven College is like this. At home…

There was a lone platter set for him, a sad, limp little square of food in the center. His mother, arms folded, to the right. His father, trembling in his chair, to the lift. Raised voices and scathing remarks.

Some days the dining room was empty altogether, save for himself and stacks of textbooks. When he did crossword puzzles and sudoku, the vocabulary and the numbers kept him company.

His heart twinged. Riddle frowned and curled a hand over his chest, as if trying to soothe the pain.

What is this? Why… do I feel this way?

"Excuse me, young man."

He jolted upright.

An older gentleman in glasses was beside him. His hair, peppered with streaks of white, was neat, and he was dressed in an even neater suit. He smelled like salt wrapped in a sea breeze, faint citrus and sunshine.

The stranger gestured to the spot beside Riddle. “Pardon me if I disturbed your train of thought. I wanted to ask if this seat was taken. I need a quick place to rest my legs, then I’ll be out of your way.”

Riddle took a quick glance at the line—which still snaked around the room, but at least his mother had vanished from view. Relief. “It’s open. Please, sit.”

“Thank you.” The man slipped in next to Riddle. He sighed, just as relieved as the boy was. “Much appreciated. I hope I’m not stealing this seat from one of your parents.”

“Not to worry, sir. Only my mother is with me today, and it seems like it will be quite a while before she returns," Riddle reassured him. “My father is preoccupied with work, so he was unable to attend."

It was partially true. Whenever possible, his parents actively avoided each other. Strategically taking specific hospital shifts just so happened to be a means to that end.

"I'm here with my wife and son myself, they're perusing the food. A shame about your father. Really. Perhaps he'll be able to attend next year."

"Perhaps."

Riddle hoped not.

He looked away, dodging the man's eyes. Fearing that his own would betray him.

A glint of gold snagged his sight, and Riddle's heart leapt. Pinned to the stranger's lapel was a small pin depicting the scales of justice.

The man took notice. "I see you've spotted my bar association badge."

"You're a lawyer, sir?" Riddle's question came out small.

"That's right." He tilted his head to one side. His smile was slight, yet encouraging. "Might you have an interest in law, young man?"

"Ah, well..." Riddle instinctively looked to the line again before his gaze darted back to his conversational partner. "Y-Yes, I suppose you could say that. However, I'm aware that it is a big commitment, and I have already resolved to pursue magical medicine."

"A career like that can be fulfilling as well," the man said kindly. "I have colleagues that specialize in medical malpractice and negligence. We also sometimes work with forensic scientists for certain cases.

"There is most certainly crossover between the legal and healthcare sectors. You could consider looking into those fields as a middle ground between your two interests."

Riddle blinked.

"Did I overstep my bounds?"

"No, I just..." Hesitation. "I'm not used to speaking like this."

"About your future?"

No, Riddle wanted to correct him, it's being given advice and suggestions, rather than expectations and orders.

"About straying from the path," he said, a quick half-truth. "It's difficult to compromise, even if the options exist out there."

"Hmm." The man nodded understandingly. "Changing course can be scary, yes. I don't fault you for thinking that way. If it would help in any way, you are free to ask me questions about my own experience. I'm no medical lawyer, but hearing it from the horse's mouth has helped some of my clients before."

"You would offer such a thing...?"

The man's eyes shone with the trace of a contained laugh. "I don't charge for the first consultation," he joked.

"Then..." Hope crept into Riddle's voice. "Could you tell me about your own specialization?"

"My firm mainly deals with cases of divorce."

Divorce.

The word was bitter on Riddle's tongue as he swallowed it. But the lawyer spoke it with such ease, like it was nothing more than the weather forecast for the day.

Divorce, divorce.

It had always been an option for Riddle's parents since the first problems had started between them, but never seriously considered, never discussed. His mother would sooner die than confess she was anything but right, that she had made the mistake of choosing the wrong man. And what would the community think? What would they say?

As a child most foolish, Riddle had prayed to the Queen of Hearts to share her secret to a successful marriage. No answer ever came, and it was then that he realized: divorce was never in the cards for his parents.

The man carefully took in Riddle's frozen expression. "It happens. I see it a lot in my line of work—and it is one hundred percent normal. People are like castles in the sand, you see. They change, their feelings change. They fall out of love. Part of my job is to ensure that the separation occurs smoothly.

"There is stigma attached to the concept of divorce, that it ruins families and brings them great shame. But sometimes a family is better apart than together, and they can find new happiness once they've picked up the pieces. Cutting ties can be the most liberating feeling in the entire world.

"I speak from experience myself. I met a lovely, bright-minded woman while she was going through her own divorce proceedings. Now that woman is my wife, and her son, my own."

Riddle's brows knitted. Disbelief and confusion crowned his features. "It almost sounds like a fairy tale. Can such a drastic change truly lead to happiness?"

"For me, it did. It may not be the case for you, because you and I are different people."

"Th-Then tell me!!" Riddle stood, slamming his hands on the table. Food and silverware rattled, people stared. He didn't care, his volume spiking. "How? How do I do that...? Please tell me. I don't... I don't know how to do it myself."

"That, I cannot say."

"Why not?! You... You said you would help me!"

"I did say that, didn't I? I said I would help you by talking about my own experiences. Tricky thing, wording. It's easy to overlook the fine print." The man pointed at him. "The rest is in your hands."

"I can't do a single thing," Riddle protested. It felt like roses were choking him. "My hands are tied. My path was determined a long time ago. Change is absolutely unacceptable."

The lawyer regarded him coolly. "Let me tell you something, young man. The law is the law because there is a human element to it, no matter how impartial, how black and white, we try to be. We write the laws, act on them, and interpret them. Likewise, you, too, are responsible for that interpretation.

"What is right, what is wrong, and what role you must play therein... these are things you alone determine, whether that be in career, in love, or in life. You are your own judge, and the decider of your own destiny. It is something only you are capable of, and no one else but you."

Riddle reeled his head, reacting as though he'd just been decked.

Right and wrong... The role I must play... Something only I can do?

Someone had told him something similar not too long ago. The words harsher then, and paired with a sound punch to the face.

"Is that all you are?!" Ace had demanded, fist clenched, still raw from making contact with his dorm leader's cheek. "An extension of your mom? Can't you think for yourself?"

The twinge to his chest had returned. Stronger, sharper. Like thorns tearing into his skin.

"... I see," Riddle said slowly. "I think I understand it a little better now."

"I'm glad to hear it." The man's smile broadened. He looked at something beyond Riddle, then rose from his seat. "Well, if you'll excuse me... It seems my family has finished their business. We should get going now."

"Of course. Thank you very much for speaking with me, sir." He humbly lowered his head to the man,

A voice came from behind the redhead. "Oya, what a surprise. If it isn't Riddle-san."

He immediately bolted up in horror. The dorm leader of Octavinelle stood before him, lips cocked into a smirk. A woman with the same silvery hair was next to him, cut in a sleek black gown and with seashells in her jewelry.

"Wha--?! Azul...?! What are you..." Riddle faltered with both his words and his calm.

"Oh? Is it a crime to come collect one's stepfather?" The merman sighed dramatically. "I was going to come over sooner, you know—but it looked as though you two were having quite the engaging conversation. I thought it rude to interrupt and cut it short."

Riddle's head whipped back to the lawyer. "Th-This is your stepfather?!"

"Azul, I didn't realize this lad was your friend. We were just having a nice talk about career goals."

"Career goals, you say? My, that sounds so interesting." There was something unsavory, slimy even, about the way Azul emphasized his interest. "I'm jealous, Riddle-san. We've shared our dreams with one another before, but never on such an intimate level."

"And just who in their right mind do you think would willingly divulge that information to you? Don't act as though we're friends."

Azul smiled wryly. "Aren't we? After all, we've been through both hell and high water together."

"It sounds to me like you boys are good chums," Mr. Ashengrotto remarked, exchanging raised eyebrows with his wife, "though you certainly have a strange way of showing it."

"Why haven't you told us about him, Azul?" his mother asked. "I'd love to have him over for dinner."

"Riddle-san can be surprisingly shy. I wouldn't wish to cast a spotlight on him."

"Who's shy here?! All you've been doing since you showed up is put me on the spot!"

Mrs. Ashengrotto put a hand over her mouth, stifling a chuckle. “If you visit us, Azul could invite his other friends—do you know them? The Leech twins. You could all get to know each other, and that could help you get out of your shell.”

“N-No thank you, ma’am!!” Riddle said (perhaps a little too loudly, and too quickly). The farther away I stay from those sketchy brothers, the better!! I wouldn’t be caught dead trying to cozy up to them!

“No? Maybe another time then. The offer is always there. Come to us when you're comfortable with it, dear.

"I guarantee you won't regret it," Mr. Ashengrotto chimed in. "She makes the best food I've ever had under the sea. Azul could pack away an entire bucket of her fried..."

Azul loudly cleared his throat. "While this chat has been amusing, I believe it's time we stopped hounding the poor, unfortunate soul and moved to the next item on our itinerary. I'm sure that Riddle-san is busy with his own matters as well."

"Yes, my mother will be back soon with lunch."

"That so? We'll be on our way then. Wouldn't want to disrupt your time together." Mr. Ashengrotto tenderly squeezed his wife's arm. His other hand found its way onto Azul's shoulder. "Have a happy Family Day, Riddle."

"Happy family day to you too."

With that, Azul and his parents departed. Their mouths moved, their expressions changed, playing off of one another. Saying things Riddle couldn't hear, nor understand even if he could hear.

The rose-red ruler, entrenched in a sea of people, was left with many thoughts racing through his head. Those gathered in the cafeteria, Heartslabyul, the Ashengrottos...

One question lingered like the last vestiges of sunlight on a lazy summer day.

Are these... what families are meant to be like?

#Riddle Rosehearts #Azul Ashengrotto #twst #twisted wonderland #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #NRC Family Day #disney twisted wonderland #Trey Clover #Ace Trappola #Cater Diamond #Deuce Spade #Heartslabyul #beyond the looking glass

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cultofdixon · 9 months

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See One, Do One, Teach One

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • The fall of the prison brought these two closer together compared to their time within the prison. • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence / Injuries / Illness

Requested by: Anon

The Governor…that stupid son of a bitch

We should’ve been more careful

Keep an eye out for that bastard to show up at any time…

But the peace that came from the fall of Woodbury that abruptly ended right as the prison illness subsided…wouldn’t change that for the world

Even if Daryl right now, watching the prison burn from afar…wished he could relive those peaceful moments. Peaceful moments with—-

“what are we going to do…” Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts as he didn’t move his gaze until he had to.

“Survive” was all he said as he carefully took her bicep into his hand pulling them into the woods when he noticed some were still fighting in the fields. He had his priorities and had to protect them.

There was no clear way to go. No more home. Missing family. Daryl was right, all they had to do was survive for the time being. Even if one has more experience within the woods than the other.

Y/N was found during the prison days, which meant whatever hell she escaped from. She went into a short-lived paradise. She of course did her part around the place but nothing beyond the walls. Mainly farming and taking care of the animals given in a past life, her hobby was gardening and her job was as a vet. So she was as helpful as Hershel when it came to anything medical. But not enough survival experience.

Granted. Almost everyone at the end of the world, gains survival skills. Not go in with it.

With the exception of a few.

This led Daryl not to speak to Y/N for the most part because his mind was keeping her and himself alive. But as the night crawls in, a herd started to as well when the two were on the road. Daryl didn’t utter any words all he did was point to where they were hiding and Y/N never argued with the man.

The occasional bump of the car by one of many walkers would startled Y/N but Daryl would nudge her to keep her focus on him as he only kept eye contact to make her forget what was happening around them. When the growling got lower that’s when Daryl broke it to look through the crack of the trunk to see if they’ve finally given them some distance.

“When I move. You do” Daryl whispers to Y/N, not hearing a response back. Hopefully, she gets it.

Daryl pushes the trunk open slowly watching the herd fade into the night as he stepped out extending a hand to help her. But the trip on the way out lead to a few walkers being triggered and the archer forcefully shoving Y/N into the forest before they could catch who it might be.

The second they were in the clear, Y/N felt the back of her shirt get forcefully grabbed and pulled back so that she locked eyes with Daryl.

“Be more careful next time”

“I—-“

“Nah. You gotta learn, but I ain’t letting yea get your shit rocked to learn” Daryl scoffs watching Y/N cower slightly, not saying anything in response in case he snapped. “Cmon”

The awkward silence ate Y/N alive but she didn’t speak another word. Of course, Daryl didn’t. He decided if he said his mind that it wouldn’t be nice in any format. But he still cared for her.

They’ve collected cans along the way before making up camp, and Daryl showed Y/N how to make the can trigger line to keep them safe when they camped out in the woods.

Y/N used her knife to cut the excess string, something they found in the trunk, and accidentally nicked her finger. She set the knife in her lap before instinctively sucking on the tip of her finger to stop the bleeding. Daryl finished tying his side noticing how limp the line was and took notice of what she was doing. He quietly approached her tying the line from her end before taking her hand and checking how bad it was.

“It’s just a cut” She frowns as he checks it for his own eyes before going to his bag to take out a small bandaid and give it to her. “Thank you…”

The archer nods to such as he next started to make a fire, but as he was doing such he made sure Y/N was watching. She was. Everything he did, she kept an eye on. He finishes making it and situated himself on one side while she stuck on the other.

Is she warm enough? Daryl thought as Y/N brought herself a bit closer to the fire and finally her body relaxed. Which made him do so as well.

Cold mornings are usually the best inside a home with a working fireplace or a heater. Hell even the cold mornings at the farm and the prison beats cold mornings outside in the middle of the woods with zero knowledge if your friends are alive or not.

But during the night, Daryl had made sure to keep Y/N covered with whatever they had and he even left to go back to the car they were held up in the truck during the herd passing. That when she woke up, she woke to a jacket that he had found in the car loosely draped over her while he naturally gave off a lot of heat to keep himself comfortable.

Y/N quietly rises from the ground, only to watch Daryl quickly stir and run toward something across the can line. The action kick started her anxiety until she heard the trigger of his crossbow fire and the life end of whatever he caught.

Making her breakfast a snake. That she picked at at first which only irked Daryl a bit in the sense of it’s not luxurious or something?

“How did you even hear it…?” That’s what she was thinking. Daryl didn’t know the right words to explain it in the moment but decided to try something that could explain such.

“Yea trust me?” What a weird start.

She nods watching Daryl take out his bandana from his back pocket after discarding the bones of his portion into the fire. He approaches her close enough to kneel in front of her and fold the bandana into a blindfold.

“Askin’ again. Do yea trust me?”

“Of course”

“Alright” Daryl carefully put the bandana over her eyes and before he even said anything to explain what he currently did. Y/N tried to focus on something since her vision was compromised. “Ain’t the best hearing but once yea get used to being in the woods a lot huntin’ shit. You can hear some things in the sound”

Nothing

Leaves rustling

Growling

Growling?

“Walker” Y/N calls out tugging the blindfold off as Daryl quickly swiped his crossbow from its leaned position against a tree and took out the walker approaching.

Y/N took note of how Daryl loaded the bolt into his crossbow and carefully taking aim so he doesn’t miss. He also made sure it didn’t get too close to break the can line. But they were moving again.

The two moved a lot, and Y/N has been learning a lot. Mainly from observation and Daryl making her learn a thing or two or…ten.

When they found the abandoned country club, Daryl started coughing. Nothing as bad as the prison illness but enough to assume one is getting sick with something. Y/N truly noticed it was getting worse when she finished setting up most of the camp for them to camp out in the abandoned building.

Daryl had crouched down to start the fire in a secured contained pit he made, when he grew too tired and decided to sit. He watches Y/N approach the pit and start the fire herself before looking up at her with hooded exhausted eyes.

“You should rest”

“Yeah.” He agreed but with the way nothing was happening, Y/N decided to return the favor. Taking care of him instead of the other way around.

The exhausted man watches her take apart the couch cushions laying them on the ground before leaving the room they were in to grab some blankets she saw upon entering the place. One covered the cushions as the other she prepared to drape over him. Daryl looked at her standing with the other blanket as if she’s waiting.

“Lay down”

“Seriously?”

“Doctor’s orders” Y/N shrugs. “Well. Vet’s orders. But same thing”

“As long as yea don’t shove a thermometer up my ass, I’ll do whatever you say” Daryl scoffs, slowly bringing himself to lay down on the cushions before Y/N draped the blanket over him.

“We should stick here until you feel better”

“Mm. Past a week. Just leave me here”

Y/N knelt down beside him tucking in one side, now being the one to ignore what he says. She looks at him with a neutral expression that Daryl could only read as such, but she was worried. She has always been worried for him.

But he never noticed.

The first thing on the agenda was getting water. For drinking and to help Daryl cool off by setting his bandana and placing it on his forehead. Since before she thought of the plan for the moment, she checked his temp and the man was sick with a fever.

So bedrest in a safe environment, safe-ish…was the best option for Daryl and not that he objected. His exhaustion knocked him out the second Y/N tucked him in.

“What you’re going to want to do first is collect water from the creek, with whatever yea got” Daryl states holding up one of the cans they didn’t use for the trigger line. He filled it with creek water as Y/N did the same with the can in her hand.

Y/N knelt down to the creek closest to the country club and filled the large canteen up with water from the slow moving creek.

“Next. We get the rack we use for cookin’ the squirrel meat to hold the can up.” Daryl sets the cans down on the rack once he got the fire going. “Now it’s gonna take a bit cuz we don’t know the exact temperature of the flame. But we’ll know when it’s boiling? That it’s doing it’s job”

“Doing its job?”

“To boil the bad shit in it. To make it drinkable”

“Is this…real or something you’re making up?”

“It’s real. Done it a lot when camping with Merle”

That must’ve been fun Y/N thought back as she had got the fire going and a few cans full of the canteen creek water, waiting for them to boil.

Once the water was boiled, Y/N set a few cans to the side to cool and used one to help heat up an MRE she found in an abandoned shed coming back.

“How do you know if walkers are in the building when the windows are grimey?”

Daryl turned to Y/N with another signature deadpan look of his before knocking on the window. She tensed when a walker started hitting the window.

“What if there’s no windows?”

“Knock on the door. Yea can tell that way how many because of the weighted response. While the window, you can just assume by silhouettes”

“Five dollar word right there”

“Fuck off” Daryl scoffs but Y/N admired the smirk that followed.

The archer relaxed for the third time? The third time Y/N changed the bandana to be a bit damp again. But she checked his temp with the back of her hand, sighing from relief when his fever has gone down. She returned the bandana in its place before using the last of the water to wash the fire out given she was going to check the snares she had placed outside with things she found inside the building.

“Did yea place them right?” Daryl asks weakly, given this is day four and Y/N was leaving at the same time to check such.

“Yeah. I learned from the best”

“Mm. Damn straight” He sighs shifty slightly before falling back asleep.

The first two days, Y/N mainly stayed by Daryl’s side and only left to get water or to take out any walker that managed to pick up their scent. Mainly Y/N’s since upon arriving to the country club, she had cut her leg from tripping over their own can line so her blood trickled along her for a bit.

But after patching it up, and leaving in short shifts…Y/N around day 3 explored the rest of the country club and found a few articles of clothing to replace her gross sweaty ones. She also found photos from the people before and it stung a bit.

She missed the old world

Only difference is

He wasn’t in it

And she would rather die than go back to the old world without him.

Her prized findings were a few pill bottles. The ibuprofen being the most used once finding such. Y/N didn’t hesitate in giving Daryl a dose when she found it and it helped with his fever. She kept the rest in her pack, which was a small backpack she found within the building that had this pin on it. The pin had a bunny on it and Y/N thought it was cute, didn’t want to dwell on it or she’d spiral thinking this was a child’s and the child died…which…yeah.

Coming on day 5, Daryl woke up feeling a lot better and noticed Y/N was knocked out cold propped up against the couch that obviously had missing cushions. He couldn’t help but notice a few things…

The arrows…she made them?

The bandages on her arms…what did she get into?

Their canteens were full…she actually learned somethin’ from me?

The final thing Daryl noticed was his vest folded on top of his own backpack that Y/N found, filled with his findings, and another canteen that was full. But his prized possession, he took into his hands and noticed that the wings were fixed…he wanted to thank her, thank her for all of it. But when she woke out of an anxious trigger that he’s never seen before, all that happened was the sound of something falling that lead to her reaching for his crossbow.

But she relaxed noticing Daryl was wide awake.

“Oh thank fuck”

“You…alright?”

“Yeah yeah, I am now” Y/N laughs nervously brushing her hair back out of her face. “Uhm. I saw some signs around…for this sanctuary…Terminus? Maybe we can find our friends there”

“Yeah, that sounds like a smart move…that mean we’re done here?”

“No! No. If you’re not ready we can stay a little while longer”

So they did, then packed up the next morning and made their way to the main road. Daryl was about to take out the walker that was approaching them when Y/N took the crowbar she found on a run during his resting period, and immediately took it down.

The archer didn’t say much and was taken back by what happened. It was just a walker kill…but she didn’t need his help. He watches her crouch down to the body and rummaged through the corpse’s pockets.

“The fuck yea doing?”

“Learned that I can find items off people”

“…Isn’t this wrong?”

“It’s wrong if I dug up a grave and took from a resting corpse. It’s wrong if I killed an innocent person and took from their body. There’s criteria…it’s just a walker that was once a human with an unknown personality and unknown past.” Y/N kept this sadden expression when looting this body even when she did find a few items. A pack of cigarettes with a lighter and another pocket knife. This felt like a video game, but it stung. Even with the reasoning.

The two returned on their way to the road and eventually on their way to this sanctuary. Daryl the entire time kept his eyes on Y/N and how quiet she had gotten since when they first ran into the woods, she would not shut up.

“We have to find our friends”

“What if someone got hurt”

“How could this have happened, I thought he was dead!”

“You think we’ll find someone?”

“I’m scared Daryl”

Part of Daryl was relieved she learned from their time apart from the others. But he missed it. Missed hearing her optimism…her rambling that she thought was in a hushed volume…how she spoke her mind during the nights she thought he would be sleeping.

Y/N has always been a strong person

But she was also missing so much…

“We’ll find them. In any situation, we’ll get our family back”

The words left him without a second thought as Y/N stopped walking looking at the endless road before them. She gripped the crowbar tightly as her mind raced like it did when the explosions happened.

“You promise?” Y/N turns back to the archer watching him nod.

Everything…fell apart

The Claimers came and went

Terminus came and went

Bob…died

Beth…died

Tyreese…died

The group was dying.

It was a lot in the span of a few days, or who truly knows how long each event happened because no one can tell the time nowadays. Only the seasons really. But the group, what remains, held their ground and even if Y/N has shown Daryl during these times that she is an even bigger asset…his anxiety ate at him when they were walking to nowhere in hopes something happened and she kept quiet.

The archer carefully took her hand into his, bringing her back as the exhaustion written on his face made her stress thinking he was getting sick all over again or his injuries were getting worse.

“Are you—-“

“Nah, are you okay?”

“Daryl, you’re not—“

“Hey, no. Not me right now” Daryl frowns gently lifting her chin to get her to look him directly in the eye instead of scanning his person for anything. “Are you alright?”

“No…can I just keep it at that?”

“As long as I return the favor” Daryl whispers gently tucking her hair behind her ear as she tilts her head confused. “Let me take care of yea”

“Okay…”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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moonlitdesertdreams · 3 months

Text

By the Sea (part 1/?)

A/N: Why am I on a True Blood kick in February of 2024? I have no idea, but please enjoy if you also are. Tags: Eric Northman, vampires, Eric Northman True Blood, True Blood Imagines, Eric Northman x OC, Eric Northman x mythical creature!reader, Eric Northman x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-typical swearing, overwhelming amounts of sweet, confused Eric Summary: Eric's been cursed to forget all his memories, but you stick out... and have to deal with the aftermath.

Word count: 1.6k+

You had no interest in meeting with the new King of Louisiana.

Bill Compton’s new position as King had given you nothing but pause, and part of you recognized his calling upon Eric as a power play.

So you lounged in the back office at Fangtasia, drifting in and out of consciousness. You could hear the faint arguing between Sookie and Pam in the other office, no doubt about relinquishing ownership of Sookie’s house. The same issue, you assumed, that Bill had requested Eric to discuss. You chuckled at the remembrance that it was your idea to buy the decrepit old farmhouse when Sookie went missing, both to keep an eye on the new King and have a safe haven for Eric away from Fangtasia.

Despite never being fully human, sleeping was one of your favorite indulgences. And tonight you were content to let Eric handle Mr. Compton’s silly requests while Pam argued with Sookie in the other room and you remained at ease. The couch in Eric’s office was worn and comfortable, and you settled yourself underneath one of his jackets, propped against the armrest. When Sookie’s annoying voice drifted away, you were left with the dull roar of protestors outside Fangtasia.

Dreams of blue seas and daylight walks with Eric plagued your mind. The warmth of the sun on your skin, and the golden dance of his hair in a Mediterranean breeze flitted by, and you relished in the fuzzy feeling it brought.

But the invigorating daylight suddenly vanished, replaced with a drab gray office and the annoying scream of a cell phone. You quickly realize it was not in fact your cell phone, but the Fangtasia office phone ringing obnoxiously on Eric’s desk. The sound of Pam and her… company through the wall gave you the idea she wasn’t getting to the phone anytime soon, so you yawned and climbed to your feet, having half a mind to let it ring till it quieted.

However, the newest anti-Vampire movement was raging, and everything at Fangtasia now was about saving face and playing nice. You picked up the receiver and tucked it in the crook of your shoulder, putting on your best vampire purr.

“Thank you so very much for calling Fangtasia. How may I be of service?”

“Y/N?”

You grimace, recognizing Sookie’s sing-song twang. “What do you want?”

“Listen, this is no time for your normal attitude-”

A snarl breaks through your lips. “Watch your mouth, brat. I’ll be on that doorstep before you draw in your next breath.”

“Y/N!” Sookie breathes heavily. “It’s Eric. I found him walking down the road on my way back.”

You stiffen. Sookie’s house was less than a mile from Compton’s, and the thought of what happened to Sophie-Ann at his mansion invaded your mind.

“What’d Compton do to him?”

“This wasn’t Bill.” Sookie’s tone was defensive in spite of everything he’d put her through. “I’m not sure who did this. Y/N… he doesn’t remember me. Or, much of anything. He keeps saying your name.”

Your slow-beating heart ticked up a notch. “You’re home?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

You call on every power you have, letting your eyes fall closed. Teleportation was more of just extremely fast flying, mostly manageable but just exhausting. Sookie’s front porch materializes in your mind, and shortly after you feel a warm Louisiana breeze on your face. The sound of screaming cicadas followed, ringing your ears to the point of a migraine.

Before you can get a hand on the doorknob, the wooden panel flew open. Six feet and five inches of blonde viking greeted you, big hands palming at your shoulders and arms as he drew you close in an instinctual embrace. Sookie’s scent caught your attention as well, but your face was buried in Eric’s bare chest, too busy reveling in his closeness to care. He hummed against your hair nonsensically, nose nuzzled into the roots.

“Älskling” Darling.

He murmured the Swedish word into your hair, pushing a soft rumble through his chest. You finally found it in you to return the embrace, rubbing what you imagined to be reassuring circles on his torso. His behavior was startling, as public affection was not his favorite. He wasn’t afraid of it, per say, but he was more brutish. Eric was possessive and pushy, grabbing onto you and nuzzling against your body to mark you with his scent before visiting vampires or their nests. Coddling and dotting outside of that was usually reserved for the bedroom and private rooms away from prying eyes.

“Eric?” You take a step back, and your heartstrings tug painfully on one another.

His blue eyes are wide, full of confusion and apprehension The air of calm and power he usually carries is missing, replaced with the naivety of a scared child. You reach a hand up to cup his cheek.

“What happened, my love?” You whisper, ushering him to sit on the porch swing.

As you walk away from the entryway, Sookie’s eyes meet yours. She nods briefly, and steps away before closing the door with a soft ‘click’. Eric reaches for you once he’s settled on the cushions. You allow him to have a hold of your hand, but maintain a bit of space and sit cross-legged facing him.

“I’ve missed you.” He murmurs, even though you saw him less than five hours ago.

The gush and fluttering of human emotions was something you haven’t felt in years. “I know. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“The sea.” Eric takes your hand with both of his. “Where we met. You were so beautiful.”

His words were full of emotion and love, and you hated that your face blanched. When you met, when he could smell and taste the shore of the North Sea as it danced under sunlight, was the last few days of his humanity.

“Do you remember what happened to you tonight?” You implore him to continue, trying not to choke at the sight of his ruffled hair.

Eric’s face fell, far away from the contented glaze he had when speaking about the sea. “I know I am a vampire. You are mine. But I… I don’t-”

“Shhh, Shhh.” You hush him gently. “That’s okay.”

Eric shakes his head, gripping your wrist as if you could take his memories via osmosis. He mutters in Swedish, and you prompt him to speak up. The words he utters tell you of flashes he’d seen, but couldn’t provide any context.

“Det var hon, men det var inte hon.” It was her, then it wasn’t her.

The description is of a face morphing from older to younger, but nothing more.

What the hell had Bill Compton done to him?

Sure, Eric recalled a woman’s face, but there was nothing to say Bill didn’t set him up. You were suddenly pissed at yourself for not accompanying him to the new King’s hold. You hadn’t so much as asked why he was going. Pam was her normal stoic self upon hearing about him being beckoned, but you bet she had asked why.

“Eric?” His eyes are fixed on you, unwavering and diligent.

“Yes, my queen?”

You almost blush at the pet name. “Can you go sit inside with Sookie? I just have to call someone.”

A lopsided grin stretches his face. “Anything for you.”

Eric leans in and meshes his lips with yours, and it’s the sweetest kiss he’s ever laid on you. There’s no possessive undertone, no domineering fangs brushing against your lips. It’s an innocent show of affection, driven by absolute base instinct and a loss of personality.

“I love you.” He murmurs, breath fanning over your lips.

“I know.”

That amnesiatic smile twists his lips again, and he shuffles back into the farmhouse. You dwell for a moment on the odd behavior before withdrawing your cell phone and immediately dialing Fangtasia.

“Good evening, Fangtasia, Northern Louisiana’s most fang-tastic club. What do you want?”

On any other day, you would have laughed at Pam’s greeting. And you tried so hard to be nice.

“Pam it’s me.”

“Are you really callin’ me from the other office? I thought we talked about-”

“Something happened to Eric.” You stop her, “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

The line goes silent, and you half expect her to come rushing onto the porch as you had.

“Elaborate.”

“Sookie called me… She found him wandering down the road on the way home from Fangtasia. He doesn’t remember anything.” You force yourself to keep your voice steady.

“What do you mean, anything?”

You sigh. Nervous Pam is not good for anyone. “The last thing he recalls is the last days he was human…. When we met. He knows what he is but not who.”

Pam’s voice quakes, and you can’t tell if it’s anger or fear. “Bill set him up.”

You raise a brow. “I had an inkling. What did he go there for?”

“Some new coven of fuckin’ witches in Shreveport. Rumored to have been practicin’ necromancy.”

Your blood runs cold. “And Bill sent him in alone?”

“Probably knew it was a trap, too. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to get rid of Eric.” Her hatred of Bill is palpable, even through the shoddy phone connection. “If the AVL finds out, they might sign off on assassinating Eric.”

“Alright.” You scrub a hand down your face. “Thanks Pam. I’m gonna take care of him”

“Y/N… be careful. I don’t trust Sookie.”

Said southern belle is trying to covertly look at you through the window and you turn away.

“You know I will.” A pause. “And Pam?”

“You get all mushy with me and it’s just gonna piss me off.”

You laugh for the first time that night. “Just do me a favor and don’t worry.”

The line disconnects, and you know she’s worrying. From inside the house, Eric smiles at you, dopey face swaying ever so slightly in the window frame. You look at the sky, wishing you didn’t know there was no such thing as God.

“Fuck my life.”

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