#'cause quite frankly i'm at a lost for words here

[primofate]

Is it a crime to post unfinished drafts? It's been sitting for 2 years already. I'm letting this one go.

Genshin Series - The sides of him only you get to have and see Part 5: Angry/Frustrated [All male characters]

Other works in this series: (Part 1 - Soft and Gentle) (Part 2 - flustered) (Part 3 - clingy) (Part 4 - Worried)

Warnings: some fluff, some angst, depending on the prompt, lots of different scenarios, some protective, some a bit yandere, some aggressive... quite long cause i got carried away >_>

Personal favourites in this work: Ayato, Bennett

Aether

When his investigation about his sister���s whereabouts turns up into a dead end

“...What if I never find her?” His voice is just a whisper as the two of you sit side by side around the campfire. Paimon is already sleeping off to the side, exhausted by the day’s events. 

You can hear the desperation in his voice, and it cripples you as well, the hurt that comes with losing a loved one and being unable to find them. You let yourself fall sideways and lay your head on his shoulder, hoping to give him some comfort. “...We’ll keep looking, Teyvat’s a big place, you know,” you whisper and it seems that your answer only serves to frustrate him more.

“That’s exactly the problem... Sometimes I don’t know where to start and I don’t know where to look first... I just...” His fists clench for a moment but he relaxes with a small sigh minutes later, arm wounding around your back to pull you closer to his side. “Sorry... I don’t mean to complain so much,” 

You shake your head as you bask in his warmth. “You’re allowed to feel this way, Aether. I’m right here beside you, okay?”

His gaze softens, head leaning towards the crown of your head to place a kiss there. “Thank you, Y/N,” he wouldn’t know what to do if he lost you as well.

Albedo

When someone is too rough with you.

Could he request you not to work at the tavern? Possibly, yes. But Albedo was not the type to tie you down or tell you what to do. Plus, you were capable of taking care of yourself. 

Sometimes he would pick you up from your shift, however, today the Cat’s Tail was a little understaffed and you had to work a few more orders before you could go. 

“Hey!” You jump as one tavern-goer stands and smashes his glass of beer on the table with a loud THUD. “This isn’t what I ordered!” Frankly you were used to this by now, but it didn’t mean that you were any less startled. You calmly walked over to the table and took back the mugs that you just placed when the same person grabs your wrist.

The mugs sway in your hand, the beer in it pouring over your fingers a little as it sloshed. “Sir?” You ask as the man’s hand tightens around your wrist. 

The man grunts and growls “Make sure you tell the bartender to give me a discount for giving the wrong order!” Drunkards were like that. They were loud and sometimes couldn’t control themselves, you twist your wrist away successfully and relay the message to the bartender, though you noticed that Albedo was there too, waiting for you to come back. 

Albedo catches your arm and lifts your wrist up to eye level. There’s a blank look on his face that you can’t quite read and for a moment his eyes dangerously flicker to the group of tavern-goers who gave you trouble. You sense that he’s a little irked. “It’s okay ‘Bedo, I’m fine, just the usual rowdy people, you know?” You reassure him and his stern face drops, replaced by that of defeat with a small sigh.

It’s “just the usual” you say. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about that, if this was “usual”, yet he understood. Every job came with its risks and this was already relatively safer than being an adventurer. Albeo sighs again and brings your wrist up to his lips, his eyes yet again dart towards the said table. He really wanted to have a word with those rude men, but he avoided conflict for your sake. 

“Alright, Y/N. As long as you keep your promise,” he reminds you. Jogging your memory that you had promised to tell him if something dire really happens at work.

Ayato

When his status affects you

You’re aware that ever since you and Ayato were married, his shuumatsuban had also been following you around. Ayato reassured you that it was for your own good, and you somewhat agreed. You weren’t that bothered by it, since the shuumatsuban were so good at concealing their presence, it seemed like nothing changed in your every day routine.

“Master Ayato,” and so imagine Ayato’s annoyance when he receives a report from one of his men that you were being tailed by someone suspicious. “...Capture him,”

In the secret dungeons of the Kamisato residence, there is a pitiful man sitting in the middle of a cell with bars. Kamisato Ayato stands in front of him, cold and calculating look on his face. “State your reason for tailing Y/N,” he would break this man quick, and get all the answers he needed for your safety.

“I-I-I swear I’m not a bad guy! I just--Someone told me they’d pay me a huge amount of money to kidnap Y/N!” Ayato doesn’t break his cold gaze from the man, but he also can’t control the way he unsheathes his sword and starts to clean it with a cloth, as if getting ready for an execution.

“Then for your own good I suggest you give me all the names of these people who bribed you,” His tone is calm, but also eerie. “After that’s done, you won’t lay your eyes on Y/N again... Is that understood?” 

He couldn’t afford for anything to happen to you, specially not when it was because of him.

Bennett

When his bad luck affects you

Bennett had been quiet the whole way back to Mondstadt. As per usual a few things happened that proved his luck was horrid. 

Today seemed to be one of the worst.

Not only did you not finish the commission given to you, but things happened one after the other.

First, the two of you couldn’t find the monster you were looking for. Second, when you finally found it, it proved to be difficult to subdue. Third, the treasure the two of you found was not really treasure at all. Fourth, you could not find the item that you were supposed to bring back to town and finally, fifth, a once wonderful, cloudless and breezy day suddenly turned glum and the rain poured down on your heads.

Bennett was utterly defeated, and you knew it cause he had been quiet up until the gates of Mondstadt, when the two of you finally took shelter for a moment from the rain. He usually would still be upbeat and positive, no matter what he went through, but seeing you sneeze and shiver in the rain, on top of being tired and grimey, he really couldn’t help but hate his bad luck.

You glanced at him at the corner of your eye, he was looking at the ground with his brows furrowed. The look of frustration was foreign in his face but you said what you always did after an adventure with him. “...Today was fun, Bennett. Let’s go again tomorrow!”

His head snaps up in an instant, eyes wide and tracing your face for any lies and dishonesty. All he saw was your bright smile and eager disposition. Truthfully you had learned to be incredibly positive because of him, and if he needed a little bit of that positivity, then you were willing to give it back, no matter how hard things were.

For a split second his lips looked as if they trembled, his shoulders relaxed and a wobbly smile appears on his face. He nearly barrels into you with a hug, and mumbles “You’re the best Y/N,”

Bennett always thought that you were his sun, and he loved every bit of the time he spent with you.

Chongyun

When he isn’t able to protect you

“’Yun?” You call out from your sitting position on your bed, and Chongyun, for the umpteenth time that day, slightly jerks up on the chair next to you, eyes darting towards your face. 

“Hm?” he says, trying to brush off the fact that he had been zoning out, small, shy smile on his face.

You’re silent for a moment, staring back at him. The cogs in your mind working a bit more. “...You’re upset aren’t you?” 

The way he tenses up at your accusation tells you the answer, but still he denies it. “N-No,” 

You sigh, your bandaged arm resting on your side. The wound didn’t hurt that much, but Chongyun was the one who insisted he’d feed you instead of making you use your dominant, injured arm. He was so embarrassed when he offered it. Face red and unsure what to say except that he was holding the bowl of porridge your mother made in his hands and that was enough of a cue for you. 

“...Aah,” You open your mouth again, and that’s when Chongyun snaps out of it, realizing that he hadn’t even finished feeding you. So he proceeds to give you another spoonful. 

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” You confirm after you swallow that bite and he again tenses up without saying anything. 

You knew he hated it when the two of you went adventuring together and you ended up getting hurt. Occasionally it would be him with the injury, but when you got injured, somehow, to him, it was a graver matter than him getting hurt. 

That statement opens his dam of insecurities. “I’m too weak...If I had been a little faster...”

“I must be pretty weak too then, if I wasn’t even able to dodge it,” you counter and you see him open his mouth in protest but close it again, knowing that you had laid a trap for him if he disagreed. He went silent again. 

“...I think you’re really cool Chongyun, the way you handle your claymore makes you look really handsome,” you giggled a little cause you knew he was going to go red and sputter out a response. 

“W-W-What do you mean?” He proceeds to shove another spoonful in your face, probably so that you wouldn’t actually be able to reply. “A-Anyway...I...I’ll work harder to protect you,” he finishes his sentence and you don’t protest nor say another thing anymore, seeing as he at least got some of his good mood back. 

Dainsleif

When you don’t keep a promise

“You said you would meet me by the tree in Windrise. Imagine my distress when you didn’t show up,” Dainsleif had his arms crossed over his chest, eyes actually glaring at you. 

“I know but you know how things can get. The job was a little more difficult than expected and it took longer to finish,” 

You’d found yourself trudging deep through the forest to locate the cabin he considered his “home”. Far away from everything else and nearly impossible to locate if you had never been there before. You arrived by morning, knocking at his door and unsurprised with the dumbfounded look on his face. 

He still welcomed you in, but he didn’t say a word and the air was tense even as he placed a glass of water on the table for you. 

Then you were here, getting the lecture from him. 

“Then you shouldn’t have promised to be there. It’s a simple thing to communicate with me that you’re not sure when you’ll be done, I would have waited,” He continued and you sighed, cause you knew that he was right. You really shouldn’t have promised you were going to be there on time. It’s not as if it’d be the end of the world if you were a day or two late. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I just wanted to see you as soon as I could and I wasn’t thinking,” you should’ve known by now that promises were a heavy thing to Dainsleif. 

You heard him give out one of his own sighs and then his hand cups your chin and tilts it up to meet him eye to eye. “I trust you understand why I’m angry,�� his voice had levelled down a little, and though he was frustrated earlier you can always see the worry behind his gaze and the love in his eyes. 

You smile a little and nod your head, still a little apologetic. “If I can’t find you, if you happen to go missing, do you know what that would do to me?” He asks you, eyes finally dropping the glare and just softly gazing at you.

“I know,” you whisper and lean your face closer to his hand. Your arm reaches out to hold his coat, tugging on it a little as if a small child. “...I know you weren’t able to sleep...and I spent the whole night trying to make it back to you...so can we rest for a bit?” You suggest and he found it a good idea.

He wordlessly sweeps you into his arms and kisses your forehead, bringing the two of you into the bedroom.

Diluc

When you forget to tell him where you’re going and he doesn’t know where you are

“Adelinde, did Y/N mention skipping dinner today?” Diluc asked his head maid. He was alone at the dinner table and you were nowhere to be found in the mansion. 

Adelinde considered her words carefully. A slight misuse of words would send the young master into a spiral of worry and anxiety. She was a hundred percent sure you had just forgotten to tell someone that you were going to be out for dinner, because you’ve done it before, bless your bad memory, but Adelinde really wished you would at least tell the young master. 

“...They didn’t mention, Master Diluc...but I’m sure they must be out on some errands in Mondstadt,” it was a gamble for Adelinde to state that, because she also didn’t know where you were, and she would be in deep trouble if you didn’t come home at all.

Diluc started to eat, albeit slowly and glanced at Adelinde when she made that statement. “...Did they mention going on an errand?” he asked again, to which Adelinde now had to truthfully reply. “...No,” 

Cue the distress in Diluc’s features. Furrowed brows, cutlery not even moving, eyes calculating. You could practically see all the assumptions run through his face. Maybe you were in trouble, maybe you were taken, maybe you were lost somewhere and needed help. You would have said something if you were going to be home late, no? 

Diluc dropped his cutlery on the table, and he started going back through his memories to determine whether or not you actually had said anything about today. He would have remembered, and as far as he could tell, you didn’t say anything about not having dinner with him today, or anything of the sort.

He was about to push himself up and away from the table, to double check at Mondstadt if anyone had seen you, when the front door opened, revealing you with a basket of goods and a smile on your face. Diluc practically deflated, your name a sigh on his lips, “Y/N,” 

You knew that look, and you knew that look that Adelinde was giving you. “Oh Archons. I’m sorry, I went out in a hurry and just forgot to tell anyone where I was going,” your smile dropped almost immediately as you scurried over to the table with an apologetic gaze on your face turned towards Diluc.

You knew how worried he could get, he could already feel the adrenaline starting to pump through him, thinking about all the worst case scenarios. Diluc sighed once again, repositioning himself properly in front of the table and picking up his cutlery again. He was slightly angry, you could tell. Mostly because this wasn’t the first time it had happened. “...Put your things down and we can eat,” he simply said and you pouted a little while passing the things over to Adelinde, then sitting on your side of the table.

“...I don’t get my welcome back kiss?” You chide him playfully, to which his eyes lazily graze over you and back to his plate of food.

“When you start remembering to tell someone where you’re going in the middle of the night, I’ll start giving you your welcome back kisses,” he strictly exclaims and you could only grumble under your breath.

Gorou

When he spends too much time training or working and loses time with you

“Hahhhh...” Gorou plops down on the tatami floor of his home with a loud and long sigh. Not only was training and the patrols a little harsh today, but that was another day gone without getting to see you.

How long had it been now? Eight, nine days? He was starting to get really antsy about not being able to see you and he knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault but his. 

That night he couldn’t immediately fall into a peaceful sleep. He tossed whenever he thought of you and turned whenever he started thinking too much of what the two of you would do together the next time you saw each other. It was like planning out a whole date in his mind but realizing that he didn’t even have any day offs soon. So he would deflate and be disappointed in himself, try to go to sleep, then get carried away thinking about you again, causing him to snap his eyes open and repeat the thinking process.

“Arrghhh!” At some point he shakes his head and shuts his eyes tight, the frustration getting to him. He had to sleep, or he’ll have a really tiring day tomorrow. 

When he woke up the next morning to knocks on his door he immediately thought he had overslept. He scrambled to his feet, swinging the door open with his still disheveled fluffy hair and said “I-I’ll be right there! I just--” then he reels back, blinking, realizing that it was you standing there are the door. “Y-Y/N?! What’re you doing here?”

He smooths his hair down, tries to pat down his wrinkly house clothes but his eyes are tacked on to you, wide and happy. 

“I figured I’d visit you this time, since you seem really busy,” you laugh sheepishly, scratching your cheek. “I hope I’m not intruding,”

“Of course not!” He replies quickly but coughs on his hand right after. “I-I mean. Yeah, you’re always welcome here,” he smiles and beams at you, but then slumps his shoulders right after. “I...I still have work though, so I won’t be able to spend a lot of time with you...”

You shake your head and wave your hands “That’s alright! I can still spend lunch and dinner with you, right? That’s more than enough for me,” 

His heart blooms with a warmth that engulfs his body, his cheeks might have turned red. You were just oh-so sweet to him and oh-so kind, he didn’t know what he did to deserve an angel like you.

Heizou

When he can’t help you with your problems

Heizou is a genius at solving problems, but he knows that sometimes there are problems that he can’t solve nor he shouldn’t interfere with. One of those was problems within your family.

Sure, he had solutions and probably ways to diffuse the rising tensions in your family, but he wasn’t really in the right place to do so. All he could do is listen to you rant and complain about how things are getting so much harder with your mom and dad, and you just wanting to run away from it all, move out as soon as you can but you were tied down with the obligation of caring for your sick mother. 

It pains him and frustrates him, watching you stress over it day by day, but as much as he wanted to tell your parents that they were affecting you this much, there are some things that he shouldn’t meddle with. 

All he could do was offer advice. “...Perhaps move out and live somewhere close to them? It would still give you the advantage of privacy,” he suggests, as he sits next to you on a bench, arm coming around and behind your back, hand resting on your hip.

“I would, but the houses nearby are actually pricey, mostly because they’re family houses, not for a single person rent,” You lean sideways into him. He’s always so good at giving you solutions, though you’re unaware of the internal battle inside him, seeing you so distraught like this.

“...Well why not live with me then?” You can hear that familiar mischief in his voice, and though you know he’s joking it still flusters you. 

“D-Don’t say that as a joke, Heizou!” He chuckles at your reaction, just as he expected, but he leans in to place a kiss atop your head, his next sentences sending a shiver up your spine. “It’s a joke now, but someday I’ll make it real, regardless of what your parents say,”

Of course he ends it with a wink.

Itto

When someone hurts you and he witnesses it

Itto doesn’t get angry easily. He just doesn’t have the capacity for it. He was loud, yes, but good natured overall and never means any actual harm to anyone. 

Unfortunately you can’t say the same thing about some people in Inazuma. For the most part, people were friendly, amicable, helpful...but sometimes there were the odd balls that just appeared out of nowhere, wreaking havoc when they wanted to.

Just the other day a group of ronin who claimed to be the strongest group of vagabonds roaming Inazuma entered town and they were loud and gruff about it. “Where’s the best inn in town?” They asked at the entrance, and a kind man directed them towards it.

The next day that man was bullied by the same ronin. “We said the BEST inn in town, not the most EXPENSIVE!” You had witnessed it, the man who was just trying to help them was starting to cower backwards, the ronin were complaining about the price of the room, how they wanted the man to pay for it and you just couldn’t stand that blatant bullying.

“What’s your problem? Of course it’s going to be expensive!” You appeared behind the group and just couldn’t help but be angry at their stupidity and overall disgusting behaviour. One of them looks at you, then starts to laugh and the others follow suit, all laughing at you as if you were a clown on the streets.

You didn’t falter and merely crossed your arms above your chest. “If you have nothing better to do then maybe you should look for a job so you can pay for your next inn,” was provoking them a good idea? Of course not, and you knew that.

One of the ronins grabs you and twists your arm behind your back. You could only let out a whimper at the sudden motion but as soon as it happened it was over. You found yourself suddenly pushed behind, looking at Itto’s back as he shoves the ronin away with a harsh force. 

“The hell do you think you’re doing touching Y/N like that?!” Itto’s voice is loud, louder than when he’s excited about eating ramen or louder than when he’s discovered a magnificent onikabuto. The anger in his voice is unusual, you don’t immediately recognize it as his.

Itto’s tall. Taller than any of the ronin around you and suddenly it’s as if the ronin become meek little mice, stepping away from him and you. “W-We were just--”

Itto brandishes his claymore, “Less talking, more fighting. You want a real arm wrestle? Come at me,” you can’t imagine what kind of face he’s making, but the ronin--actually just cowards--runs at the sight of Itto’s weapon and he’s just about to go after them when you call out to him, telling him to calm down.

He doesn’t listen easily, but you place a hand on his arm and he stops, still glaring and huffing at the sight of those stupid ronins running away. 

Scaramouche

When you have to be paired up with another Harbinger for work

“You’re going with who?” There’s poison dripping from his voice, but you’re so used to his antics by now that it doesn’t scare you one bit.

“Tartaglia. The Tsaritsa said--”

“Fuck what the Tsaritsa says,” Scaramouche cuts you off. “You’re not going with that fool,” He stands and paces back and forth now. You simply sit at the table and watch him, knowing that he’s going to throw one of his “tantrums” again. “Possibly the worst person to go on a mission with,” he continues to grumble, now biting on his thumb.

“You always get worked up whenever the two of us are paired up together. It really isn’t that bad,” you exclaim, shrugging your shoulders and he stops walking to glare at you. 

“So it’s a little bad? Is that what you’re insinuating?” He doesn’t let you finish and adds. “You don’t know how dangerous he is,”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh quite obviously. “Scara, I think you’re more dangerous?”

Tartaglia

“I’m different,” He mumbles under his breath.

When his alone time with you gets interrupted

Thoma

When you get sick but he’s busy

Venti

When he hasn’t seen you in days

Xiao

When he wants you to stay

Xingqiu

When a book he’s reading isn’t as good as he thought it would be

Zhongli

When someone doesn’t respect your boundaries

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[heartz4levi]

ivan dacryphilia smut with dom reader? ❤️ i love ur works

episodic, visionary, hit it like on mission !

☆ thinking abt ivan + dacryphilia . . .

☆ ivan (alnst) ,, gn reader . . sub!ivan ,, dom!reader ,, handjob (ivan receiving) ,, dacryphilia ,, edging (ivan receiving) ,, reader is sadistic if you ask me ,, it took me literal hours to write this cause i kept getting distracted and i feel like i wrote a whole bunch of nothing? feast your eyes upon this.. i guess..

"aw, you cryin'?"

the honeyed tone of your voice was so sickeningly sweet that it only made ivan choke up even more.

here he was, thinking he was about to get a treat. you made him lean back, pressing his back against your chest while your arm snaked around his waist and began to palm at his cock. excitement immediately began to course through his veins and ivan was ready to have you make him feel good.

that was about an hour ago and he hasn't cum once. you've been stroking his cock in slow, tantalizing up and down motions since then, bringing one hand to his nipples and giving them a pinch or a tug from time to time. he has been on the verge of climaxing multiple times, and yet each time he leaned his head back on your shoulder and asked you if he could cum, you said no.

at first, ivan only huffed and puffed. he didn't go against your word though, no, he continued to lay there, all pliant in your arms and allowed you to bring him to the edge once more only to be pulled away, not pushed off.

when you denied him again, he started whining and almost considered turning the tables on you. almost. he ended up letting your antics slide one more time. then one more time, then one more time..

here he is now, with big tears rushing down his handsome face. his jaw clenched in response to your teasing remark, hips bucking upwards in search for even the smallest amount of friction he can get. he's lost count of how many times you've denied his requests to cum by now and, quite frankly, he can't handle it any longer.

"p–please," ivan sobs out. "let me cum, please! pleasepleasepl—"

ivan's words end up getting cut off the moment once your hand resumes its previous actions, no longer keeping your fingers idly wrapped around the base of his cock.

maybe you've finally decided to be good to him, ivan thinks, chest heaving as he feels another orgasm gradually building up. this is the fastest pace you have set yet and that piece of information only sends more blood down to ivan's dick, twitching in anticipation.

your free hand slides upwards, touch ghosting over the juncture in his collarbone before you get a firm hold on his neck. it's firm, but not constricting. you use it to push his head back, inching his face closer to yours. ivan's glossy eyes meet yours and the look he's giving you is the saddest, most desperate one you have ever seen.

it makes you wonder what'll happen to it if you don't give him a taste of mercy.

your warm lips come in contact with ivan's skin, tenderly kissing away the tears streaming down his cheeks as if you haven't been torturing him for about an hour now. in response, he leans into your touch, whimpering at the sudden display of affection. he really is acting like you don't shower him in it as often as you can.

"oh—fuck!" ivan gasps.

you can feel his body growing tense with each passing second. "i'm—'m cumming, hngh! 'm so so close, please let me cum, please.."

the coil in ivan's stomach tightens. it tightens a little more, then it feels like it's about to snap..

and then it's gone. you stopped. again. you didn't even say no first, you just put a halt to your movements — and to think that he begged so nicely for you! ivan thought he was on his best behavior, even if he was writhing a little bit! he let you kiss his tears away and everything.

your heart stings a little when ivan's eyes widen tenfold, surprise and disappointment swirling within them. it's as clear as day — his silent way of asking "why? why would you do that?" — but.. can you really be blamed?

ivan looks oh—so pretty with those pathetic tears tainting his scrunched up face. his pretty cock is leaking, weeping, and he keeps on begging you to let him cum once. you can't help it. you can't help but want to play with him, his cock and his feelings like this.

and you'll do it again, until you're satisfied or until ivan breaks.

[bewitched-hours]

Not the same anon who asked for Apathetic Reader x Robot Survivors but dawg we need a part 2

Like One they the robots collectively decide to get Reader to yk not look like an emotionless person ( ironic that even robots can be more emotive than reader) and what better way to do that than to make Them smile or Laugh.

When I say they tried I mean they practically combed through the internet to try and make Reader laugh. But nothing dawg( not even a snicker). And they all out here looking defeated how could their creator be so null all the time. Till somehow by something silly( like someone falling over or something) does it get Reader to laugh( but not hehe, I'm talking manical evil scientist laugh, or psychopathic laugh. Like how are you gonna make Sentient robots without a bit of insanity) Anyone else would have pulled the cross out but these SIMPS- I mean robots are just mentally screaming ( LETS FUCKING GOOOO) or something like that

I shall now dub myself

-Yapper Anon

DAMN SIMPING ROBOTS- I LOVE YOU YAPPERS-

Once more, reader's getting she/her~

It had already been months of you becoming a shut-in and surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as you expected.

Your robotic companions provide you with all your social needs and even try to help you stay healthy as more and more orders came in. Some of your robots even asked for upgrades to their builds and you were happy to comply, though your face didn't show it.

And quite frankly, they were upset by this.

You didn't smile once for C00lkidd's drawings and even when you did, he could tell it was for show. You didn't laugh once at Shedletsky's bad jokes, despite him being sure they were good by human standards. You didn't even smile when you agreed to make a household portrait to remember the day you accepted their sentience.

They were trying their hardest to change that though. Quite ironic considering they were the robots and you were their creator...

Now all of them were trying to sneak in jokes through conversations or theatrical displays but...

Nothing... Not even a snicker or twitch...

They really thought all hope was lost. If they couldn't make you laugh, how would they make you love more openly?

You've always been so calm and collected since calming down from the initial shock of realizing you created life and they knew they could talk to you about it but you weren't really good at taking care of yourself already so they doubted that they could do much with just words.

They were sure it was a lost cause. That your apathy was a wall they couldn't even hope to see crumble after so many failed attempts. So many attempts at humour that went right by you like a cloud of smoke you didn't even flinch at.

But as you were looking through books to cook yourself dinner one evening, you could hear the ceiling creaking. You had instinctively pulled something from your pocket just as the ceiling caved in and broke into you.

The robots were all in a panic, quickly scurrying to pull you out of the rubble only to find you with some sort of shield managing to cover your curled up body and thus protect it from damage. They were all stunned but you soon began laughing.

Not a chuckle, not a giggle. And your laugh was definitely nothing short of maniacal.

"It fucking worked!" You laughed like a mad scientist, almost sounding psychotic as they pulled you out effortlessly like a cat.

Most people would worry for your non-existent sanity but with your lovers(+children) being robots, they were simply in awe at your display of genuine joy. They were practically giddy as they finally figured out what made those reinforced walls of yours crumble and understood where they had been wrong.

You were a mad inventor, not some common person to be entertained with humour. You felt joy in knowing your inventions work in your favour and they couldn't be happier to see you enjoy the success of your little "pocket shield".

You later explained with a huge grin on your face how the shield reacts to a fastened pulse and enlarges to protect the user. Their faces were practically sparkling with love and a shared understanding that they had no real need to be possessive of you. Your apathy and insanity was enough to have people keep you away so your beloved robot family could keep you all to themselves.

You were adorably insane to them. Perfectly isolated and content with simply following your schedule so you have rarely any need to leave them. One of them could always by at your side and smother you with affection and you wouldn't even protest. You just returned it with a silent promise that you truly did love them.

A silent promise that- although you were their creator- you belonged to them. And they already had plans to make sure your mortality wouldn't get in the way...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[hysterical-honey]

Heaven

Heaven - Bitter:Sweet

Steve Raglan x Fem! Reader Ao3 Word Count: 1,231 Summary: Down on your luck, you've been desperate for employment, and Steve Raglan has been doing his best to help you to no avail. Tws//: 18+ ONLY, Reader is AFAB, Reader uses she/her, Age Gap, Age difference, Power imbalance, Divorced DILF Steve Raglan, Reader is in her 20s, Misogyny, Takes place in the Early 2000s, Steve is a thinly veiled jackass sorry not sorry, Girl failure reader, Sex fantasy, Sexual Tension, Hand kink, Mentions of masturbation and fingering. A/N: I genuinely don't know what possessed me to write this, but here we go, gang. Also, the cologne mentioned is Mackie for men by Bob Mackie. Chapter one build-up!!

Ten months, nineteen days, eight hours, and seven minutes have passed since you were last employed and left practically desperate for work.  Anyone else would have given up on you by now—frankly, it's a wonder Mr. Raglan hasn't forwarded you to another caseworker, another poor soul to dredge through your resume and smile stiffly through those inevitable words.

'I'm not really sure how to help you, dear...'

The sentence you've come to dread, repeated until it led you here to your current career counselor's office. Steve Raglan—a man you've met quite a few times before, the only counselor persistent enough to keep offering help, arranging various interviews that proved fruitless and ended in rejection. Each subsequent reprint of your resume meant more time at the local library and, more recently, in his office. The warmth of printer paper once brought comfort before this last year's events; now that subtle burn only solidifies the countless rejections.

The office sits silent except for the buzzing fluorescents and the coffee machine's soft drumming. It's early—you arrived at 6:00 AM sharp, just as always. Mr. Raglan's office carries an oddly nostalgic scent, like a church basement kitchen after Sunday morning breakfast, only muskier, without lingering peppermint oil and cinnamon vanilla. Instead, fresh cologne lingers thickly, as if he'd doused himself before every appointment like a teenage boy. The combination is smothering, though you never comment.

Mr. Raglan's brow furrows, his expression twisting as if pained, while crow's feet crinkle and a pout breaks across his face.

"Is everything okay?" The words escape with worry you can't suppress.

Breaking the silence, your question draws his pout into a polite upturn as your eyes meet.

"Hm? Oh, sure... just looking this over..." He trails off, though, he isn't reading anything as his eyes return to the off-white and black lettering. He's read it countless times by now—the changes you make are always insignificant, little things he mentions in passing.

Steve knows the truth, though he'd never say it to your face: there isn't much of a case to work with. You're a lost cause. Employment simply isn't your bread and butter. You might as well get hitched while you still can and pump out a few kiddoes who may prove better at cultivating careers than you are. If Steve were a different type of man—a mean one—he'd recommend exactly that.

He has no clue how to break the news, how to explain that he's run dry once again regarding your ‘career counseling’. It's almost endearing how hard you try without success, nearly out of rent money and barely able to afford the county library printer—hence using his instead.

Steve genuinely feels for you. A strange affection has burrowed into his heart, though his grace can only stretch so far. His eyes drift from the papers toward you for a split second while you fidget nervously despite his assurance that everything is fine. Your gaze falls to his hands, watching dorsal muscles contract and flex under tight, wrinkled skin, observing how his fingers turn each page, how he sometimes wets his pointer finger with his tongue when pages stick together. You probably don't realize he notices the way your eyes linger.

What you definitely don't notice is how his eyes linger in much the same way.

Steve Raglan is a busy man—a busy divorcee with a grown child and an empty suburban home, a job he neither hates nor loves, along with ‘other’ obligations. Despite this, like any man, he finds himself under desire's timeless weight: fist tight around his stiffened cock, pumping and gripping, fondling and gasping for someone he knows he'll never possess.

You.

A twenty-something, barely younger than his own daughter. He often wonders what your father did so wrong to raise such a woman—a pretty girl with obvious potential, yet he sees how you peer away and shy from his gaze. Your lack of confidence bleeds through so profoundly that you might as well be a crime scene of social ineptitude.

A lost cause.

A selfish distraction.

It eats him alive, stringing you along because of his superficial attachment, yet he does it anyway. Here you sit in his office, studying his hands like a Victorian witnessing an exposed ankle. Do you wonder what it might feel like to have them wrapped around your throat, as he does? To feel the thick meat of his pointer and middle—maybe even ring finger—carve into what he imagines to be the tight heat of your wet cunt?

Another break in the silence, you clear your throat, and it snaps Steve from his dirty, ridiculous ideals. He begins to read the useless paper once again. 

* Attention to detail, technologically savvy, prefers night shift…

Oh, he might be the inept one here, not you.

"I have an idea..." He catches your attention as if it had ever strayed from him. It was something you’d heard from him a thousand times before, but the follow-up was new. "I have an... off-the-record job opportunity."

That makes you pause, eyes narrowing, cheeks a bit warm suddenly. Perhaps your mind wandered slightly, flicking from his lips to the cheery disposition he kept over that critical eye.

"Off the record?" You parrot back, almost scoffing out the words.

"Yeah, you know, a personal type thing—I have a...buddy—"

"Mhm,"

"Owns this old place out on the south end of town, you know..."

"Uh-huh..."

"Night shift security pays...terribly, and the hours are worse, but it is something," he says optimistically, his voice straining with the effort as he makes a subtle hand gesture.

You're giving him an odd look; he mirrors it. 

"Oh—sorry," you snap out of that stare, a fake little smile stretching your pretty face. 

"Just...I've never worked a security job. Do I need any certifications or training, maybe?"

"Do you know how to open a door, click a few labeled buttons, and work a flashlight?"

"Yeah..."

"Then you'll be peachy-keen, sweetheart." Steve leans back in his chair. The hinges protest with a loud creak. "I'll say first," he continues, "it's a pesky gig. High turnover and all, but it could be a good fit." His voice carries a more playful tone. "All you need to do is tidy up a little, make sure nobody breaks in, and don't fall asleep on the job." 

"What kind of...place is it?"

"That old place on the south-end...uh..." He'd get up quickly, earning a squeak from that poor chair's hinges. Rummaging through filing cabinets as if he didn't know precisely where the cream-colored folder was. "Fazbears," he drags the title out in a very sing-song manner as he finally finds it. Mr. Raglan pushes his glasses up his nose with his knuckle as he looks through the few papers with what seems like mild intrigue. The file is thin, and the paper is almost yellow rather than cream.

"Oh! The pizza place?" You hadn’t heard anything about that place in forever, you can still recall the shutdown day being all over the news. Your mother taking all the merchandise and shoving it away into some tote out in the garage. 

"Where fantasy and fun come to life!" That sing-song tone persists; it makes you smile more genuinely. You’re sure Steve Raglan must be a saint. Despite how messy everything is, how difficult this job search has been, you have hope for the first time in a long time.

[zoofzoofxx]

“OH MY GOD THAT’S JOOST KLEIN!”

(Pt. 2)

Pairing - Joost Klein x fem!reader

Summary - Following an attempt to ignore Joost and act as though nothing had happened, you both meet on a rainy day while waiting for the bus. He offers you a ride but first takes you out for a dinner and shows you the beauty of Amsterdam at night.

Genre- fluff, maybe little bit of angst.

Mentions - @dozcan123 , @multifilmfan & @mrschandlerbing

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About three months back, something went down with Joost Klein. We chatted at first, but then I got busy, and Joost wouldn't quit trying to get in touch. I brushed off his messages until I finally blocked his number. After that, he stopped trying to reach out on other social platforms. I felt a bit guilty, but I figured he probably moved on. Sometimes I thought about unblocking him and telling him how I felt, but when I saw he was into Eurovision, I hesitated. 3 weeks ago, he dropped a track called Europapa, and it blew up. The song brought back memories of Joost, making me consider going to Eurovision with my sister. Lost in thought, a message from my best friend Zofia interrupted me, signaling her arrival. We decided to grab a drink and catch up, with Zofia's unexpected entrance and our trip to a nearby bar helping clear my head.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 3 hours later ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

I checked my bus app to see when my bus will arrive. I still had 35 minutes left but the walk wasn’t short so basically I already should be on my way. I escorted my best friend to her place; she was completely wasted, and so was I. It was the usual routine - she'd get super drunk, I'd have to take her home, and then make sure I got back to my flat safely at night. I glanced at my friend before asking if she could at least get ready for bed and sleep. She agreed, closed the door, leaving me alone. I turned on maps to find the nearest bus stop direction, and just as I did, a few raindrops fell on my screen, signaling the impending rain. And sure enough, it started pouring. I began to run, and as I was about to cross the street, a car came speeding towards me, honking loudly, nearly hitting me. Shocked, I turned around, not knowing what to do. The car was already gone, so I tried to forget the scary moment and went to sit on the bench at the bus stop just a few steps away. Sitting there, rain pouring down on me as there was no roof over the bench, I stared at the ground, hoping the bus would arrive soon, even though I still had 10 more minutes to wait in the cold rain.

“Y/n?” A low male voice with a pronounced Dutch accent addressed me. I turned looked up to find a recognizable individual standing directly in front of me. I was taken aback by the sight of him drenched from head to toe, standing there as confused as I was.

"Joost?" I uttered, rising to my feet and adjusting my coat. An extended pause ensued, with neither of us certain of how to initiate this dialogue.

"It was you crossing the street? Please be more cautious next time," he began, causing my eyes to widen in surprise.

"I apologize." I glanced aside and then back at him. He appeared altered. His hair had brightened notably, nearly reaching a platinum blond tone. His demeanor was grave. It seemed like he wasn't content to see me, and frankly, I wasn't excited either.

"How are you?" Were the only words that escaped my lips.

"I'm good. Have you been drinking?" He inquired, moving a bit closer, though there was still a noticeable gap between us. I caught a whiff of his cologne once more. It was the same scent from three months back when he assisted me in zipping up my jacket.

"Tipsy, not drunk," I corrected him, settling back onto the bench, which was once again damp. I glanced down at my shoes, feeling embarrassed.

"I can catch a whiff of the alcohol from here," he remarked, and I simply pouted, unsure of how to respond. He moved closer and settled beside me. Our shoulders brushed together. In a sudden impulse, I rested my head on his shoulder, shutting my eyes and relishing the moment. It dawned on me how much I had missed Joost.

"Y/n, do you want a lift?" Joost interrupted my thoughts. I hesitated a lot, unsure if I should say yes or no.

"Sure." I say standing up. He stood up as well, and I just followed him. It was a 1-minute walk until we arrived at the car I almost got hit by. I sat in the passenger seat and inhaled the scent, Joost's specific cologne mixed with cigarettes. I yawned, leaning on the window. He started his car, and we drove through the city. There was complete silence between us until there was a loud growl. I covered my stomach with my arm and started to daydream about what I would eat when I arrived home.

“What are you doing?” I inquired as Joost made a sudden right turn.

“I’m starving, do you like McDonalds?” He asked and I furrowed my brows.

"I suppose so, but I've got some food at home, so I'll decline," I replied, earning a chuckle from the blonde guy.

"Ha, that's totally a classic mom move: 'We've got food at home,'" he mimicked, leading to a moment of silence as we both pondered our next words.

"It's on me." He stated, breaking the silence as he parked his car in the parking lot and switched it off.

"Please," he uttered, casting me those identical pleading eyes as during our initial encounter. Exhaling deeply, I release my seatbelt and unlatch the car door.

"Macdonalds around midnight just hits differently," Joost remarked as he savored his first bite of the Big Mac.

"Would you like some?" He inquired, flashing me a comforting smile.

"Thanks, but I'm good," I replied, smiling back, enjoying my chicken nuggets. I noticed Joost eyeing them, so I pushed the box towards him and nodded, signaling he could give them a try.

"May I?" He inquired, gazing at me. He looked very handsome. His beautiful blue eyes peered through his thick-framed glasses. He wore a Burberry scarf around his neck. His sharp jawline was what made him truly attractive.

"Sure," I replied, looking down, aware that I was blushing intensely.

"You know I've never tasted chicken nuggets," he remarks as he takes one, slyly snatching the sauce I was using. He sampled the nugget while I indulged in some French fries that I also relished. I glanced out the window; it was entirely dim outside. Then I shifted my gaze back to Joost.

"Why did you block my number?" He inquired out of the blue. I sat upright, unable to provide a response to his query.

"I was occupied," I replied curtly, feeling a bit anxious that this conversation might escalate. He simply nodded, unsure of what to say. After a moment of contemplation, he finally broke the silence.

"Occupied with someone?" He inquired, prompting me to tilt my head slightly. I needed a moment to ponder and craft a thoughtful response. I wasn't preoccupied with anyone. I was simply engrossed in self-care, focusing on my mental well-being, striving to improve my life even just a little. My daily routine felt monotonous - waking up, having breakfast, heading to work, eating dinner, sleeping, and repeating the cycle. I grew weary of this routine. I longed for my parents, my younger sister, and the carefree days of childhood.

“No.” I replied dryly, as I took my final sips of coke. Joost had already pushed the box back, but I nudged it back to signal that he can have the last nuggets. He accepted the food, pondering his response before blurting out something foolish.

“So you were occupied with…?” He prompted me to complete the sentence. I simply sighed in response.

"My mental health," I respond, causing his eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

"You could have informed me that you were having a tough time. I would have been there to support you," he says, gazing at me with concern.

"I just needed some time to myself," I say, hoping to end this conversation.

"You know, I felt foolish when you blocked me. You could have simply mentioned you weren't interested in me, and I would have backed off," he says, sitting upright, with a hint of remorse in his eyes as he gazes at my hands. I was fidgeting with my sleeve.

"Feeling tense?" He asks, taking hold of my hand. I wanted to say no, but deep down, I knew I could only answer yes.

"No. Not really." I respond, attempting to avoid the eye contact he's seeking.

"Do you desire any more food?" He inquired, and I simply shook my head to decline.

"Let’s go then." He suggests, gently patting my back. We exited the building together.

"I can walk home from here," I say, glancing at him. He was tall and had a very masculine appearance.

"Can I accompany you home?" He questioned, and unsure if it was a wise choice, I sensed it might be our last meeting for a long time, or possibly never again. Nevertheless, I nodded, and he grinned. We began walking towards my house.

"I like your scarf," I mentioned, breaking the silence. He didn't say anything but gently removed it and wrapped it around my head.

"It looks much more flattering on you," he remarks with a smile, reaching out to grasp my shoulder, drawing me closer to him. Suddenly, he makes a wrong turn.

"That's not the route to my place," I mention, furrowing my brows. I was nearly sober.

"I know. There's a spot I'd like to take you to," he mentions as we reach the bridge. The wind was strong, messing up Joost's hair. He tried to fix it quickly, but it didn't really work. I couldn't help but laugh, and he rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in response.

"Hey, what's so funny?" he says playfully, giving me a gentle push.

"Nothing," I uttered as he drew me closer once more, and I simply relished the moment. It dawned on me that I was thoroughly enjoying the time with the tall Dutch gentleman. A quiet interval ensued until we reached a bridge. It was truly a sight to behold, and I couldn't resist capturing it in a photograph. Stepping back, I ensured Joost was also in the frame. He glanced at me, posed with a smile, and shaped a heart with his fingers.

"Aww, adorable!" I say with a smile, and he approached without a word. I tucked my phone away, and Joost simply embraced me. No words. No sounds. Just two individuals embracing at the bridge. Two hearts beating in unison.

"I deeply yearned for you," is the only utterance he managed.

"I missed you as well," I reply softly, maintaining the embrace. We linger in the moment before eventually deciding to head back home as the chill of the evening sets in.

"When do you plan to depart for Sweden?" I inquire purely out of interest.

"My manager mentioned they're counting on me to be at the hotel tomorrow," I respond, nodding in understanding.

"Are you not keen on joining me?" He inquired. He had already asked me this question during our meal.

"I'd be happy to join, but I need to find a way to make some money," I respond, to which he pouts in disappointment.

"I comprehend. Please inform me if your decision changes," he states, and I offer a smile. Upon reaching my residence, we bid our final farewells. He mentioned I could keep the scarf but requested something in return. As I lacked valuable items, he noticed my bag and a small keychain, a fluffy pink heart. He inquired about exchanging it, to which I happily agreed, asking if he desired anything else, but he declined. We shared a parting hug, and he mentioned he would text me. After he left, I unblocked his number but never received a message from him again.

A/n - guys I’m so sorry this is so shitty 😭 I feel like I made so much grammar mistakes. English isn’t my native language so if you see any mistakes please contact me 😘 BY THE WAY I DONT KNOW IF YALL NOTICED BUT Y/N’S BEST FRIEND IS ACTUALLY ME 😍😍😍😍😍THANK YOU SO MICH FOR 60 FOLLOWERS ILY! leave a comment behind please it gives me a lot of motivation ✌🏻 I’m actually thinking if I should make a part 3 but idk lmk 😊 PEACE OUT ��✌🏻LUV U GUYS 🥰❗️💋💋💋💋💋

[robinvomit]

[ sit. ]

"can this day please be over.."

you sighed as you opened the door, shoulders heavy with defeat and a want for nothing but sleeping for the next three days. your back hurt, your feet ached and quite frankly, you never wanted to go back to that god forsaken job.

stepping inside, you let your bag hit the ground and just stood there for a moment, trying to finally process the fact you were finally home. toeing your shoes off was slow, almost painful, and you were blinking like the lights made everything hurt even more - all of this kept you distracted from the fact you weren't greeted at the door, which was a little strange.

you finally looked up to see bart on the stair case on his back, legs resting up against the wall, head tipped slightly over the side edge. he was already watching, because of course he was, but not just watching - he was studying. the way you moved, the sounds you made, the way you breathed.

your voice didn't even manage to make it out before he was in front of your half shut down frame, causing white noise to fill the space for half a second. you blinked at him through the threat of tears, almost like you weren't even coherent enough to realize how quickly he'd moved or that he was suddenly in front of you.

he was already pushing his hoodie into your hands by the time reality finally hit. "sit down."

your eyebrows pulled together as your fingers curled into the familiar, worn material. "bart, i'm-"

"i wasn't asking," he said, leaving no room for arguement as be shifting to guide you to the couch. he knew better than to ask if you were okay or if you needed anything, not when you came home looking like you barely made the walk.

slowly sinking down to the couch, you mumbled something incoherent as you pulled your shirt off, replacing it with the hoodie before sinking back. your eyes closed, welcoming the plush hold of the couch and trying to let go of the tension in your shoulders.

"you don't have to say anything, just.." he paused, waving a hand like he was trying to find a word that didn't dismiss the stress of your day. "be here. with me."

you did - not that you had a choice - while looking up at him with what had to be the most defeated, pitiful look possible, which he wasn't entirely sure what to do with. he just crouched in front of the couch, hands settling to offer a soft squeeze at your lower thigh. his head tilted a little, just taking another moment to look over you before he spoke again.

"was it that bad?"

you didn't have the energy to talk, so you just gave a short nod.

he frowned. "worse than that?"

you nodded again.

he furrowed his brow before pulling his hands back. "like.. you're never going back or.. you had to fake a smile for the last several hours so you didn't burn the building down bad?"

"yes."

the fact you'd just agreed to both agitated him a little bit, knowing he couldn't really do anything to change what happened or the fact it was just your job. he got lost in thought and you could see it on his face, like he was deciding whether or not he could get away with arson in your place. bart didn't like when things tore you down or hurt you in any way and he definitely didn't like when he couldn't always do something to fix it.

"i don't think i can do it again tomorrow," you finally said, hands coming up to rub over your face before they flopped back into your lap. "it's so.. i feel like my spine is going to snap and my feet are going to fall off."

he didn't argue. didn't give you some speech about quitting, nor did he try to encourage you to work through it. he shifted up onto the couch, dragging the throw off the back as he settled, guiding you to tuck yourself against him.

"that's okay," he mumbled, making sure it draped properly around your shoulders before smoothing a hand over your back. "you don't have to. we'll figure something else out."

[ taggies: @acreativeusername ]

[rei-ismyname]

Let's talk R-LDS

R-LDS or Resurrection-Linked Degenerative Sickness was alluded to in X-Men #4 and the Infinity Comics before being named in X-Men #7. We're told that Magneto has it and it's directly caused by Krakoan resurrection/The Five, kinda.

Here's Beast doing some alluding.

In the panels above, we learn that Hank McCoy is the only one working on the problem - the problem being Magneto's loss of his powers and his body breaking down rapidly - his very chromosomes unraveling. He seems quite sure that it could happen to 'any of us' though the lack of quarantine suggests it's not contagious.

The next bit of information we receive is from Magneto and Scott in conversation, reflecting on The Iron Night. They took down a wild sentinel that was attacking the town and Mags lost control over his powers immediately after, requiring Scott to knock him out for safety's sake. Scott is no scientist, and while Magneto is a genius polymath autodidact (with plenty of experience in genetics) it's not a character trait that's seen focus lately. Thus, I'm assuming they're discussing it as amateurs and as patient zero in Magneto's case.

Magneto confidently names the condition for the first time as well as using an acronym for it, suggesting it's confirmed to exist, he's had a positive diagnosis, and they're using the term enough to require shorthand. He even spells out the subtext for us - it was a hidden flaw in Krakoan resurrection. I'll come back to that notion. Scott says 'we don't know that for sure,' implying that R-LDS is just a theory or speculation, which Mags doesn't directly refute. Instead he lays out the worst case scenario. They can't both be right here, so what's the deal? Magneto's symptoms are obviously confirmed, but how did they get from there to here?

If Magneto is the first and only person affected by his condition, why are he and Beast so sure about its providence and everyone being in danger? How could they possibly link it to Krakoan resurrection? I'm no scientist but I do know that there's only so much you can conclude from a single data point. Magneto was indeed only resurrected by the Five once, but he died again after that on Arakko (X-Men Red #7). The body he's in came out of a portal from Overspace in Adam Brashear's underwater base (Resurrection of Magneto #3.) His body suffering a condition borne of something that happened to a different body doesn't make sense. Considering he's the only person to return to life that way AND the only one allegedly with R-LDS, that would be the place to start for Beast's sciencing.

There he is, good as new.

Word of God

In a recent AIPT interview, Tom Brevoort removed any ambiguity and just straight up confirmed it. With the caveat that his recent X-history knowledge seems pretty poor, he is the de jure ultimate authority on the matter. I don't agree with that, and not just because I don't respect him as a creator. This habit of on-panel ambiguity and editorialising in interviews is vexing.

It's especially vexing when he contradicts himself. He counterpoints his own information with some of what I just pointed out, but the fact that they've made a list of who was and wasn't resurrected suggests R-LDS is a plot point they're committed to. I have to wonder why he bothered giving a detailed answer to this question if it's 'yes,' then 'maybe', then 'it will definitely be a thing you'll see as we progress.' Saying all of that and then ending with 'we know very little so far' really makes me wonder what he's thinking. Tom Brevoort could have given his usual cagey answer about not wanting to spoil anything, but he didn't here. I'm saving most of my Brevoort-specific criticism for a separate piece, but this glib and irreverent tone is typical of his commentary - even managing a light jab at Jordan D White.

Frankly, I think it's a graceless and cynical development. There are so many character beats, mistakes, and conflicts to use from the First Krakoan Age that choosing to create R-LDS feels like a shot at the core of hopefulness and creativity that blew our socks off in 2019.

HoxPoX

House of X/Powers of X was hopeful and magical. After a decade plus of endless misery and genocides, dull stories and bizarre characterisation, for once mutants got a W. The ability to use mutants working together to right the horrendous wrongs they'd suffered was central to that - the power of community and cooperation. What they built wasn't perfect but The Five was something they got right.

What would possess someone to take the cornerstone of the greatest X-Men story of all time (don't @ me) and try to tear it down? Remember, when the dust settled we ended up in Moira X life 10E. In 10A, the original Krakoan experiment, the mutants won! They thrived and protected what was theirs against Dominions. It took a literal apex AI God existing outside of space and time directly opposing them to fail. Enigma, on the back foot, sent Omega Sentinel through time to start ORCHIS years early and ensure Krakoa's collapse. Am I to believe 'no, sorry. That was a dead end?'

Haven't we been here before?

We've had mutants suffer from the Legacy Virus and M-Pox already, and I might even be missing other examples of nebulous diseases that threatened to wipe out all mutants. Obviously it's the prerogative of the X-Office to use whatever plot points they want, but do we really have to do this again? There are plenty of ways to sideline Magneto as a combatant that don't require repackaging old storylines. We've even had Hank McCoy decades behind the curve desperately trying to catch up before - in All-New All-Different X-Men.

Small World

Defenders-era Hank McCoy might be the worst possible 616 scientist to tackle this problem. He's literally decades behind the science curve and doesn't have the experience in dealing with anything like this. He's not the same guy that worked on M-Pox or the Legacy Virus. He never set foot on Krakoa and has never met any of the Five. We don't know how much data was recorded or kept from The Five but Beast may not have access to it.

Why isn't he talking to Cecilia Reyes, Forge, Jean Grey, Reed Richards, Doctor Strange, Adam Brashear, Healer, Doctor Nemesis? Even doctor dickhead that extorted Storm has the ability to instantly diagnose anyone. It makes the world feel tiny, and when you're following an era of interconnectedness that's just so disappointing. Portraying him as supremely concerned about 'all of us being ticking time bombs' rings hollow if he's working on it solo. Hank McCoy has always had a sense of arrogance where his scientific ability is concerned but not to this degree. Look at the guy! He's hating the stress he's under.

Sins of Sinister and the White Hot Room

I have to wonder if the implications of linking Magneto's illness to The Five's resurrection have been fully considered. The Sins of Sinister timeline ran for a millennium with the Five resurrecting on an industrial scale. Rasputin IV would have noticed, or the Quiet Council. The mutants left behind in the White Hot Room in RotPox spent 15 years bringing back ALL the dead mutants. That's 16 million, minimum. 15 years is less than a thousand but it's still longer than the First Krakoan Age, several times over. Nobody noticed anything? Elixir, member of the Five and Omega biokinetic, with his unlimited mastery of DNA didn't notice anything? Destiny didn't see mutants falling apart? Sounds dubious as hell to me.

Towards the end of the era many humans were resurrected too. 5% of the Five's work was set aside for bringing back poor children etc through the Phoenix Foundation. Steve Rogers was resurrected into his current body on Judgement Day. I am extremely skeptical that this has been considered, and in Steve's case whether the X-Office can even use him.

Conclusion

Magneto's physical degradation has been swift. Here he is in Uncanny X-Men #700, implied to be at most 6 months before X-Men #1. I think I've demonstrated that the concept is nonsensical and to reiterate, I think it's a terrible narrative choice. If I'm being generous, it'll be interesting to see if they can explain R-LDS in a way that makes sense - if they can do something new and interesting with a tired concept. There's only been one issue since it was introduced, so perhaps I'm jumping the gun on breaking it down. Let's check back in 6 months.

What do you think of R-LDS? Do you think my reasoning is sound? As always, I'd love to hear what other fans think.

[shirefantasies]

was thinking about thorins company again and was thinking about a request and my mind jumped to "I wonder how they'd react if reader called them petty." so that's my request. how thorins company would react if the reader told them they were pretty.

Posting back to back because I got asked the same prompt for both stories almost simultaneously hehe! Ok now THIS? This can go one of two ways either so fluffy or so funny 😆 I think it would be divided so:

"OMG you think I'm pretty?": Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Ori, Fili, Kili, Bilbo

"How DARE you I am NOT pretty what do I look like some sort of elf lassie FDGSHVDGSH": Dwalin, Gloin, Nori

*Deadpan voice* What.: Balin, Thorin, Oin, Bifur

Bofur, frankly, is just a bit shell-shocked, but not unpleasantly so; in fact his smile says otherwise. “Well, no one’s ever called me something like that’ before!” Bombur would blush bright red at your words and smile widely. “Me? Really? Coming from someone as pretty as you?” Dori puffs up a bit despite the incredulity upon his face. “I try my best. But really, it- it’s working? Well, I…I…” Ori’s all smiles, sheepishly glancing away from you. “Me? No, I quite think that’s you, actually. Why, if you saw yourself the way I do, you’d know exactly what I mean.” Fili winks at you and flips his hair off his shoulder. “Oh, you think so, do you? Because I’ve thought the same and then some. …huh? About me or you? Maybe both! Just kidding. You’re the only one who’s ever caught my eye.” Kili acts quite similar, throwing you a wink as well. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know that? Ever have I desired an excuse to tell you.” Bright red- that is the only way to describe Bilbo as well, adorable in his stammering. “Me? Well, I try to take my best care of myself, but I don’t know about…. You insist? All right, then I’ll take the compliment so long as I can pay you back with a few. No, no, too late, please listen, because I am quite certain the only pretty one here is you.”

Dwalin’s arms are crossed the moment the word leaves your lips. “You think I’ve gone to war, bloodied my axes and dirtied my nails, just for some young thing to call me pretty?” He scoffs, but you make out the flush upon his cheeks and simply smile, shaking your head with amusement. Gloin is indignant, all but shouting that he hasn’t grown pointy ears or lost his beard, so don’t go acting like he’s one of those elves you can’t even tell maids from lords. “Oh, all right,” you tease, “what do you prefer then? Strapping? Handsome?” That shuts him right up. “What are you on about,” Nori asks you, “eh? Trying to charm something from me? I’ll have you know I’m not some tittering elf maid. You’ll have to try harder than that.” By harder than that, he evidently means the way you grab him by the collar, causing him to cave to your wishes immediately.

Balin freezes at your compliment, tilts his head. His brown eyes search yours. “I beg your pardon?” “You heard me.” Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Haven’t heard anything like that in a long time.” Deadpan describes both Thorin’s voice and expression as he seeks repetition of your statement. “Surely you have been told you cut a majestic figure before?” “Why are you telling me this?” The king responds. “Why do you think?” You shoot back, shaking your head. When the compliment leaves your lips, you can tell Oin is unsure if he heard you correctly; stepping closer, you repeat it breathily, a smile on your lips. “You mean I did- We-he-ell then!” He grins at you. Bifur peers blankly at you. “Yes, you,” you repeat, “need I describe the lovely pattern of your hair, your smile, your little creations you share with me or the way you…” Shaking his head, Bifur smiles and takes your hand.

Rest of the Taglist 😉: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @joonies-word @stormchaser819 | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

let's be more positive about books for a while! here are some queer historical romance novels that i've been rereading recently that i think do something interesting with making characters feel historical in their mindset and worldview, but are also fairly progressive, diverse queer books that are, frankly, a delight to read

this is by no means exhaustive and to be honest i could put almost anything by cat sebastian or kj charles on a list like this so this is purely the highlights of what i've reread in the past week to take my mind off work, and why i think they're interesting from this specific angle

cat sebastian, the ruin of a rake (turners #3)

this is technically the third in a trilogy but they're only very loosely connected, so you don't need to have read the others if you don't care about knowing who all the background characters are. the others are also good though

why it's interesting: features a character who has had to painstakingly study and learn the rules of polite society in order to claw his way up to respectability, and is now deploying those skills to help another man repair his reputation. shows the complexity of those rules, the social purposes they serve, and the work that goes into living by them, as well as the consequences of breaking them. also explores some of the financial side of aristocracy, and features a character with chronic illness (recurring malaria following repeated infections as a child in india) whose feelings about his illness are very relatable without feeling overly modern.

kj charles, society of gentlemen series.

this trilogy is closely related plot-wise and best read in order. all three explore cross-class romances and characters struggling to reconcile their political views and personal ethics with their desires, in the aftermath of the peterloo massacre, with a strong focus on the political role of the written word. first book is long-lost gentleman raised by seditionists / fashion-minded dandy teaching him to behave in society; second book is tory nobleman submissive / seditious pamphleteer dominant who've been fucking for a year without knowing the other's identity; third book is lord / valet and all the complicated dynamics of consent there with a generous side-helping of crime.

why they're interesting: close attention to the history of political printing and the impact of government censorship and repressive taxes on the freedom of the press; complex ideological disagreements that aren't handwaved as unimportant; examination of trust, consent, and social responsibility across class differences and in situations with problematic power dynamics; most of the characters are progressive for their time without feeling like they have modern attitudes. the second book, a seditious affair, deals most strongly with the revolutionary politics side of things, but all tackle it to some extent.

kj charles, band sinister.

look i'm probably biased because this might be my favourite KJC. it's a standalone about a pair of siblings: the sister wrote a gothic novel heavily inspired by their mysterious and scandalous neighbour whose older brother had an affair with their mum (causing scandal); the brother is a classics nerd. the sister breaks her leg on a ride through their neighbour's estate and can't be moved until she heals so they both have to stay at the house and find out if the neighbour is really as scandalous as he seems.

why it's interesting: discussion of atheism and new ideas about science and creation (very shocking to the brother, who is the viewpoint character); details of agriculture and estate management via main LI's attempt to grow sugar beet, as well as the economics of sugar (including references to slavery); "unexpurgated" latin and greek classics as queer reference points for a character who nevertheless hasn't quite figured out he's queer; material consequences of society scandal

bonus: wonderful sibling dynamic and a diverse cast including a portugese jewish character, which i don't think i've seen in a book before

i will add to this list as i continue to reread both of their backlists! (bc i have read them all enough times and in close enough succession that they blur together in my head unless i've read them very recently)

[abigailspinach]

CHAPTER XXII - LITTLE DOG MONDAY KNOWS

"Susan clicked her knitting-needles briskly.

"Now, Miss Oliver, dear, you know that is not a reasonable remark. You know we are just two years nearer the end, whenever the end is appointed to be.""

True facts when things get rough. When going through hell, keep going. You don't know when the end will be.

Quoting the entire section with Jim Anderson and Jims cause I love it so behind the cut

"Has that pore orphan's father never been heerd from yet?" asked Cousin Sophia.

"Yes, I had a letter from him in July," said Rilla. "He said that when he got word of his wife's death and of my taking the baby—Mr. Meredith wrote him, you know—he wrote right away, but as he never got any answer he had begun to think his letter must have been lost."

"It took him two years to begin to think it," said Susan scornfully. "Some people think very slow. Jim Anderson has not got a scratch, for all he has been two years in the trenches. A fool for luck, as the old proverb says."

"He wrote very nicely about Jims and said he'd like to see him," said Rilla. "So I wrote and told him all about the wee man, and sent him snapshots. Jims will be two years old next week and he is a perfect duck."

"You didn't used to be very fond of babies," said Cousin Sophia.

"I'm not a bit fonder of babies in the abstract than ever I was," said Rilla, frankly. "But I do love Jims, and I'm afraid I wasn't really half as glad as I should have been when Jim Anderson's letter proved that he was safe and sound."

"You wasn't hoping the man would be killed!" cried Cousin Sophia in horrified accents.

"No—no—no! I just hoped he would go on forgetting about Jims, Mrs. Crawford."

"And then your pa would have the expense of raising him," said Cousin Sophia reprovingly. "You young creeturs are terrible thoughtless."

----

LOL Susan I agre. Let's all side eye Jim Anderson some more. Rilla is very nice to send photos and a long letter to deadbeat daddo (some grace for circumstances but sir... you could at least write one letter a month... 2 years!!!)

Dr. Blythe sends 4 kids to college (and Shirley did something? Queen's?) so I'm sure he can affords little Jims.(Dying for one scene of Gilbert being doting grandpa or at least stand in father figure for Jims... give it me!!!)

Here, let's all pause and watch a video of a sweet old chihuahua named Gilbert. Brace ourselves.

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A post shared by Aimee Burton (@nopain2trainandgilbert)

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A post shared by Aimee Burton (@nopain2trainandgilbert)

Ok back to the book

"The last one I made I left it on the lower shelf and little Kitchener sneaked in and clawed all the icing off and ate it."

Heck yeah Jims having some realistic toddler moments. Eat that icing, sweetie, you are doing great.

"He is a prisoner in Germany and his mother got a letter from him last week. He wrote that he was being very kindly treated and that all the prisoners had plenty of food and so on, till you would have supposed everything was lovely. But when he signed his name, right in between Roderick and MacCallum, he wrote two Gaelic words that meant 'all lies' and the German censor did not understand Gaelic and thought it was all part of Roddy's name. So he let it pass, never dreaming how he was diddled."

I swear this isn't in my paperback and I bet Susan would normally find the word "diddled" shocking! Or maybe it didn't have the second meaning yet?

"I wouldn't want to go back and be the girl I was two years ago, not even if I could. Not that I think I've made any wonderful progress—but I'm not quite the selfish, frivolous little doll I was then. I suppose I had a soul then, Miss Oliver—but I didn't know it. I know it now—and that is worth a great deal—worth all the suffering of the past two years. And still"—Rilla gave a little apologetic laugh, "I don't want to suffer any more—not even for the sake of more soul growth. At the end of two more years I might look back and be thankful for the development they had brought me, too; but I don't want it now."

I find this very relatable. Lots of shitty things have happened but I would be scared to change them if given the chance... maybe things could be worse. Also be kind to yourself Rilla. You had a soul! You were 14 and just fine.

"There was no wind, and Rilla heard distinctly a dog howling in a melancholy way down in the direction of the station. Was it Dog Monday? And if it were, why was he howling like that? Rilla shivered; the sound had something boding and grievous in it. She remembered that Miss Oliver said once, when they were coming home in the darkness and heard a dog howl, "When a dog cries like that the Angel of Death is passing." Rilla listened with a curdling fear at her heart. It was Dog Monday—she felt sure of it. Whose dirge was he howling—to whose spirit was he sending that anguished greeting and farewell?"

TIME TO CRY I CAN'T HANDLE YOU DOG MONDAY AND YOUR SADNESS

"He was sitting all alone in the moonlight out there at the end of the platform, and every few minutes the poor lonely little beggar'd lift his nose and howl as if his heart was breaking. He never did it afore—always slept in his kennel real quiet and canny from train to train. But he sure had something on his mind last night."

I don't wike it. .... no thank you

"But Rilla Blythe shed no tears before the nightfall. When her father, his face grey and drawn and old, came to her that afternoon and told her that Walter had been killed in action at Courcelette she crumpled up in a pitiful little heap of merciful unconsciousness in his arms. Nor did she waken to her pain for many hours."

Well this book does have great chapter ending lines.

[a-yellow-van]

Wish You Were Here | Part 1

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year. Running over the same old ground, what have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

20 years after the outbreak, you’re a stable, well established member in the community of Jackson, Wyoming. You have been for a long time now, the horrors, the brutality of survival buried deep inside, leaving place to the safe simplicity of routine. You didn’t think there’s anything that could disturb that, after all you’ve been through. That is, until you meet Joel Miller, and a drunken choice leads to…much more. Set in between Part I and Part II. Canon compliant (I'm breaking my own heart)

Series masterlist

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, eventual smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, joel is a good parent to ellie, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC for Part 1 : 4.5 k

Warnings for Part 1 : drinking, swearing, implied sexual content

New Year’s Eve 2034. Jackson’s tavern is packed to the brim, people in every corner of the room, almost shoulder to shoulder. It’s hot and humid inside; layers have been shed, revealing patches of sticky skin. A musky, sickly sweet smell assaults your nose : a mix of sweat, booze and dust, making you nostalgic for a time you never knew, before the world fell apart. The windows are fogged up, blocking out the view of snow falling peacefully, coating the street. You’ve rarely seen anything like it. Nearly every adult survivor in the community has seemingly decided to come out tonight, and the fact that Eugene has finally dipped into his batch of mead, home brewed by the barrel, is most certainly to blame. Maria, Jackson’s leader, doesn’t exactly approve, but she’s making an exception. Just for the holiday. You spot her at the back; she’s holding hands with Tommy, her husband, protectively watching over the crowd. Eugene’s feeling particularly generous this evening; he offers a hefty bottle to whoever asks, reminding each lucky recipient to “savour ‘cause she’s been fermenting since July!” You must have heard that sentence a good twenty five times since you got your own bottle, the words getting progressively less intelligible as Eugene indulges in his creation. You’re still not certain why he refers to his mead like it is a woman, and frankly, you’re afraid to find out. One thing’s for sure, the beverage is incredibly strong, has a horrid taste, burning your throat like acid with every drop. It’s questionably safe for consumption, but the occasions to get shitfaced in the midst of an apocalypse are quite limited, so you endure. Even Jackson’s most reclusive members agree with that notion. Including him. Joel Miller. He’s nursing a drink at a table near the bar, opposite to the one you’re sharing with your usual group. You wouldn’t exactly call them friends, but they’re fellow patrollers, close to you in age, so, naturally, you’ve grown familiar. 

“What are you looking at?” Max, the one you’ve known the longest, nudges you with their elbow.

Your gaze quickly snaps back to meet theirs. You realise you’ve been staring at the older man. Noticeably. You don’t quite know why. Maybe he intrigues you, all quiet and pensive in the middle of a rowdy celebration. His expression is hard to read, but there’s a hint of…sadness? You get a hold of yourself and brush off the thought. 

“Nothing,” you lie. Max cocks an eyebrow, a little grin forms on their lips, freckled cheeks dimple. 

“Uh-huh.” There’s a glint of malice in their green eyes. “You sure? No one particular caught your attention?” 

You don’t let their teasing get to you. “Nah. Just checking at Seth trying to hit on Leanne,” you reply without missing a beat, “for the millionth time.” This one isn’t a lie, as the scene really is unfolding a few metres away. You blink at Max, feigning innocence. They narrow their eyes, not buying it. 

“Man, when is he gonna get the hint?” Fred chips in, breaking the unspoken exchange between you and Max. She quickly peeks in the direction of the duo, a muscly arm propped on the back of her chair, long cornrows draped across the other shoulder. She scoffs, and takes a swig of her drink. “She looks like she’s seconds away from kicking him in the balls.”

“Don’t know how she hasn’t done that, like, years ago.” It’s Astrid’s turn to talk. She sighs, shaking her head, her wavy golden blonde hair rustling with the movement. 

“Maybe you should go beat him up for her, A,” Fred jokingly suggests. “Bet she’d like that.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” Astrid responds, seriously. “I’d have him in a wheelchair for the rest of his days.”

“Oh, yeah. And then you and Leanne would run off into the sunset,” Max adds, taking their attention off you, finally. They start screeching in a horrible, high-pitched voice. “Oh, Astrid! Oh, thank you! You saved me from the big, bad man! I lo-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Astrid cuts them off, cheeks reddening. 

“Hmm. I think they hit a little nerve there, A,” Fred continues, laughing, moving her arm to playfully put it around a flustered Astrid. She’s too easy, you think. It’s pretty endearing.  

“Who are you kidding,” you join in Astrid’s torment. “You can’t even say hi to Leanne without stuttering.” The woman gets even redder, the angry tint reaching her pale neck. Fred and Max giggle. “You’re such a teenager,” Max strikes. 

“Just fucking drink.” Astrid commands the three of you, pouring the group another round. 

“Fair enough,” Max says, before clinking glasses with Fred in front of them. Astrid finishes hers in one gulp, which makes her cough, while you sip slowly. The buzz is setting in. It’s nice. It eases the burden on your aching shoulders.

You let your companions carry the conversation as the night progresses, occasionally humming or laughing at a remark. You’re not exactly concentrating. You keep getting drawn back to Joel Miller, for some reason. He arrived in Jackson last summer, about six months ago. Him and a kid, a girl, around fourteen or fifteen. You assumed that was his daughter, but soon learned that you were wrong. People talk, especially in such a small community. Something about Joel smuggling her across the country for the fireflies? A failed operation, clearly. You heard the organisation disbanded since then. It was about time. You’re surprised they lasted that long in the first place. He’s Tommy’s older brother. There’s history there, you know some of it; Joel already had a bit of a reputation before ever passing through Jackson’s gates. He hasn’t done much to help it since then; he barely interacts with anyone besides Tommy and Ellie, the girl. He keeps to himself, brooding, silently observing, tough, cold, detached. That’s how Joel’s treated you on the few patrols you’ve had to go on together these past months. He usually works with Tommy, you usually work with Max, but Maria likes to switch around the schedule occasionally to test out different pairings. You and Joel have done a very efficient job, only speaking when absolutely necessary, technical terms only, mumbling salutations. However, on the last patrol, in early December, you made a great shot at a stalker, and you could have sworn Joel’s mouth twitched in approval. It was so short it might have been a product of your imagination, but then, after coming back to Jackson and bringing your horses to the stable, he mumbled your last name instead of his usual grunt goodbye. It’s fair to assume there’s mutual respect for each other’s skill there. Nothing else. So then, why does your gaze keep returning to his tousled, greying curls, scruffy beard, piercing brown eyes, and the scar on his left temple? Maybe it’s the alcohol. Yeah, that must be it-

Joel’s eyes suddenly lock with yours. Your heart skips a beat, making you choke on your drink. Shit. What the hell was that? Fred immediately interrupts the story she’s telling and you feel three pairs of eyes on you. You clear your throat, looking down at the table. 

“Sorry. Went down the wrong pipe,” you mutter. They keep staring. “Uh, Fred, what were you-”

And then, as if the universe takes pity on you, Mike, Jackson’s butcher, jovial fellow in his early sixties (but barely a wrinkle creasing his dark skin) claps loudly and calls out over the incessant chatter. 

“How about some music, huh?” A few supporters acclaim him. He pushes through the crowd, reaching the old console piano standing at the south wall, underneath a window. Around, some tables have been stored away, allowing some space for dancing. The instrument is in poor shape, the keys are yellowed, a pedal has fallen off. Mike sits on the worn piano bench. Most survivors in the tavern have momentarily lowered their volume, following the man’s moves. He tries a little riff. Not as bad as was expected, just slightly off tune. You know he’ll make it work. “Alright. Get ready to groove, everyone!” He plays the intro to Johnny B. Goode by Chuck Berry perfectly, earning cheers and applause. Chair legs scrape on the ground, glasses and bottles are snatched up as the crowd converge around Mike. 

“Woo! Come on!” Fred exclaims. She stands and takes Astrid’s arm, forcing her patrol partner up. Astrid resists, but just for the principle, a beaming smile on her face. The pair leaves, already bobbing their heads to the rhythm. Max takes another shot before shuffling away from the table on legs rendered wobbly by the booze. They hold their hand out to you, but you don’t take it yet. You dare look over at a certain someone again, who is grounded in his seat, indifferent to the change of mood. Max wiggles their fingers impatiently.

“I’ll, uh- I’ll join you later,” you say, averting their eyes. 

“Ugh. Fine. You suck,” they reply.

You raise your middle finger in response. They turn away abruptly, flashing the back of their frayed jean vest, the sleeves cut off by hand. Max catches up with Astrid and Joey, and you watch as they start dancing, snorting at how uncoordinated the three are. You’ve downed a good five drinks now. One more won’t do any harm, right? You fill up your glass with the last drops of mead from the current bottle. Warmth spreads through your veins, making your head throb in a pleasant way. Your eyelids are heavy, your surroundings blurred. Something is clear, though. You and Joel are amongst the very few survivors that aren’t taking part in the fun. Hell, even Maria’s letting her husband spin her around. 

And then it happens again. Joel meets your gaze. But this time, he holds it for a couple of seconds, before looking to the side and rubbing his chin. Almost like he’s doing it on purpose. You must be drunker than you thought, because that makes no fucking sense. And what your clouded brain makes you do next is even less logical. Slowly, you rise, and walk unsteadily to the now deserted bar, heading towards Joel. Your heart picks up its pace. This is so stupid . You sit down at one of the stools, just a few feet away from him. You lean over the counter, resting your head in your hand, staring straight ahead at the row of vintage bottles aligned on a shelf behind the bar. On the piano, Mike has moved on to I’m Still Standing by Elton John, his voice strong, smooth. You catch a glimpse of Joel in your peripheral. He’s tensed up ever so slightly, his back straightened. He’s aware of your presence. This is so stupid.

“Hey, Miller,” you hear yourself speak, still looking ahead, but loud enough he can hear you. 

He sighs. That’s something. He hasn’t gotten up and walked away, he hasn’t told you to get lost. He’s acknowledged you. It’s full of irritation, sure, but it gives you enough motivation to keep going. 

“Not a fan of the music?” You attempt a sultry tone and make yourself cringe. Great start. Joel grunts, takes a swig of mead and crosses a leg over the other, nonchalant. 

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly peg this as your scene,” you continue, gesturing vaguely at the crowd. The booze has taken the reins, and you can’t hold your tongue. 

A full minute passes in silence. You’re about to give up. And then Joel talks, gruff, sarcastic, the inebriation accentuating the southern drawl in his voice. “Right. And like you’d know, of all people.”   

A sentence. Joel Miller just spoke a full sentence to you. You’re stunned.  

“Fair point,” you recover after a few seconds. “You just, uh, don’t really seem like the social type.” A pause. You feel Joel’s gaze burning the back of your neck. “No offence,” you add.

“None taken.” Joel downs the rest of his drink, exhales. “You’re not dancin’ either,” he observes. 

“Perceptive,”  you retort. You spin on your stool, now facing him. A corner of his mouth curves upwards almost imperceptibly. It goes back down immediately, but you caught it. And it gives you a boost of confidence. You’ve made the grumpy bastard smile, or, well, the closest to it he can probably manage. 

“Why not?” he questions. “Your friends looks like they’re havin’ fun.” He nods his chin over at Max, who’s gone up to the piano and is belting the lyrics to the song, stomping their feet, while Mike plays the melody. Two things : first, Joel knows who you hang out with, which means he’s not completely oblivious to who you are, and second, he’s making conversation with you. Astonishing. 

“Guess I’d rather be bothering you.” You shrug, trying to suppress a smile. “Thought you’d have cursed me out by now, if I’m honest.”

Joel scratches his forehead. “Dunno why I haven’t,” he mumbles. 

“Maybe you should.” Did you really just say that? Did you just try to flirt with him? And why did his gaze flicker to your lips?

He looks back up and narrows his eyes at you. “Nah. You don’t want that.” 

You don’t miss a beat. “Hey, I could take it.” You’re maintaining eye contact from your seat at the bar. “I’m tough.” Well, this is happening. Damn Eugene and his mead .

The ever-so-subtle smirk passes over Joel’s face for the second time. He shakes his head.  “Don’t wanna make you cry.” 

“Hm. How considerate,” you reply, unable to fight a little smile. Joel emits a short, low, rumbling sound. 

“Was that a laugh?” You ask, the smile growing larger. 

“Hm. No.” He goes right back to irritation. But still, he’s not pushing you away. So, in your drunken state, you decide to test the limits. You slip off the stool and take a step towards Joel. He furrows his brows, but doesn’t say anything. You take another step, and then another, until you reach his table. There’s no going back now. 

“Uhm, mind- mind if I sit?” 

“Are you really gonna leave if I say no?” He asks, rhetorically. He’s challenging you. You feel your cheeks heat up and your stomach drop. You pull the chair out and settle on it. You’re suddenly very conscious of your near proximity to Joel. The courage you had mere minutes ago is disappearing; you have to fuel it up. You grab an empty, upside-down glass sitting near two bottles of mead, one empty, one half full. Joel is acting quite coherent for a man who’s had that much. You tilt your head in request. 

Joel scoffs. “Go ahead.” 

You pour yourself a seventh drink, knowing perfectly well that it is an absolutely terrible idea. You down most of it in one gulp, wincing, before putting the glass back down with a thud. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Joel asks, the nickname dripping with irony. Still, your stomach does another flip. “Can’t hold your liquor?” He mocks. He leans back in his chair, legs open, right hand on his knee, left hand palm down on the table. Your gaze travels from his face, down his neck, to his broad chest where the small unbuttoned portion of his flannel reveals a few dark hairs. What the hell are you doing? Your eyes snap back up

“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath. Joel looks pleased with himself. You finish your drink, looking straight at him, taunting.

“What was that?” he asks, even though he heard you perfectly. His smug smirk is assured now. You don’t answer. Joel fills up his glass. You take it as a sign that he intends to see this interaction through. Fine by you. You search the depths of your sluggish brain to find something witty to say.

“So, Miller. What’s with the accent?” This is the best you can come up with. The words are slurred. 

He scoffs again. “Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he says, pointedly adding your last name. He’s playing you.

“Ah, come on, cowboy ” you continue, impressed by your own audacity, “Where you from?” 

Tommy has mentioned this to you before. Definitely somewhere south, but you can’t recall in your current state. And you want to hear Joel say it. 

He rolls his eyes at the nickname, but he doesn’t stop smirking. “Texas. Austin.” He takes a sip. “You?” 

Texas. Right. Makes sense. In a way, you feel proud to have gotten this minimal piece of information out of him. You didn’t think you’d ever witness Joel Miller opening up to you, not even a tiny crack. But here you are.  

“Washington. Seattle.” You copy the structure of his answer; Joel nods, casual. “Uh, you’re a long way from home,” you add.

“Yup.” He doesn’t elaborate. Takes yet another sip. “Seattle, huh?” His gaze pierces through you, eyebrows knitted in reflection. “Born and raised?”

“Yeah…” You’re not certain what he’s getting at. 

“There’s a QZ, right?” A pause. “D’you end up in it?” he questions. 

The words are like a slap in the face, sobering you up a little. You don’t want to think of that right now. Not at all. You look down, fidgeting with your empty glass. 

“Hmm,” you confirm. 

“Damn. Heard things got pretty bad up there,” Joel says. You wish he’d just shut up. You don’t like this turn the conversation took. 

“Yeah, well, I left, so.” The sentence comes out harsher than you had planned. Joel understands the message; he raises his hands up in defence.  

“Got it. Sorry I asked.” The guy doesn’t look one bit apologetic. It frustrates you, and yet…You’re enjoying this little game. 

“Yeah, watch it, Miller,” you warn, but your tone has gone back to being playful. Joel relaxes in his seat. He rests an elbow on his denim-encased thigh, shifting his weight. 

You proceed. “So what’d you do? In Texas?”

“Hm. Contractor.” He really is a man of few words. His past occupation suits him like a glove.

“Fitting.” You give him an unimpressed pout; he stays unbothered. 

“Yeah, yeah. What’d you do, then?” He asks. 

It makes you chuckle. “Uh, middle school student. 6th grade sucked ass.”

Joel takes a second to register. Something quickly washes over his face, an emotion you can’t quite discern, before vanishing. You’re too drunk to analyse it. 

“Huh. I would have guessed elementary,” he states. 

“Aw. Don’t flatter me,” you reply, dryly. 

“I’m not. Just sayin’ you don’t seem like you’ve learned much past fourth grade,” Joel says with a shit-eating grin. 

Wow. You’re speechless. And then you burst out laughing. And, miraculously, Joel starts chuckling with you, the corner of his eyes crinkling. The sound is hearty, surprisingly warm. It’s the kind of laughter that you would try your hardest to hear as often as possible. That could make you all fuzzy inside, if you’d let it. And just like that, the tension that had been building between the two of you breaks. It’s comfortable, you’re at ease. The moment stretches out; you feel a strange connection with Joel, and you wonder if it’s mutual, or if you’re going completely insane. It’s probably the second option. You manage to utter a few profanities, between two breaths. Joel watches, amused, waiting for you to calm down. 

“Alright, you’ve got me there,” you concede, a smile lingering on your lips. 

Joel’s expression has softened. He looks younger, somehow, like a few years of constant stress have been erased just by talking with you. 

“I may not be the brightest, but at least I can take a joke.” 

“You’re not wrong there.” Joel fills your glass with the remnants of the mead, while you push a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to conceal a blush. “You deserve it,” he explains, “if you can take another round.” 

“You keep underestimating me.” You raise your glass up in the air. 

Joel imitates you. “No hard feelings?” He suggests. 

“Deal.” You clink Joel’s glass with your own, and tilt your head back to swallow the foul liquid as quickly as you can, your gut churning in protest. You groan.  

“Think my estimation was correct, actually,” Joel quips. You look over at him. Besides a slight glaze over his eyes, he appears unaffected by the alcohol.

“How are you doing this?” You ask, baffled.

He shrugs. “You’ll get there eventually.” 

“And by there, you mean kidney disease?” You naively bat your eyelashes at him. 

“I’ve survived worse,” he remarks. It’s lighthearted, but it hides a bleak truth you know all too well. You ignore it. 

“Yeah. It shows.” You tease, giving him a scrutinising up-and-down.

“Hm. Funny. You didn’t seem to mind it that much when you were starin’ earlier.”

Jesus Christ.

Game over. Joel wins, one million to zero. You want to bash your head against the table, or run very far away, preferably out of Wyoming. And get torn apart by clickers. Instead, you stay right where you are, mouth agape, cartoonish. Fucking idiot. Are you twelve?

“That’s not- I- I- wasn’t-” 

Joel is delighted by your reaction. 

You wisely decide to shut up and quit stuttering. As if on cue, Mike hits the iconic intro to Don’t Stop Me Now. Max starts singing dramatically, in an offensively bad Freddie Mercury impression. Some survivors join in, not a single one on key, resulting in a cacophony. You take it as an opportunity to get out of the situation. You scramble off the chair and start walking away, stumbling and catching yourself on a nearby table. 

“Where you goin’? We weren’t done.” Joel calls after you. You turn around. 

“Me? Oh just stretching my legs.” You start stepping side to side and swaying your shoulders, following the rhythm. “Showing some love to the artists.” You shoot two fingers at him, moving your arms to the music. Joel shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re terrible.”

“Well then why don’t come here and try to do better!” You shout back, doing a ridiculous twirl as the sheer quantity of mead you ingested finally hits you. The room spins, transforming into blobs of colour. So, you close your eyes, and you flail around carelessly, your mind too foggy to worry. The tempo of the song increases. 

I'm burning through the sky, yeah! Two hundred degrees, that's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit-

Suddenly, there’s a presence next to you. You crack your eyes open, checking on who’s intruding. Joel is standing about three feet away from you, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets. His left heel is tapping the beat. 

“S’a good song,” he mumbles. 

Joel Miller, nervous to dance with you? Anything truly is possible tonight. You approach him, not interrupting your dance. He stays put. You two are away from the crowd, and it feels like you’re alone in the tavern with him, like no one can see you. 

I'm travelling at the speed of light, I wanna make a supersonic man outta you!

As Max puts all of his might into the chorus, you get closer to Joel, because he lets you, close enough that you could reach out and take his hands if you wanted to. And you do, but they’re hidden in his pockets. So you keep dancing, wiggling your hips, jumping up and down. Joel still isn’t budging, but you feel his gaze on you, eyeing your bare arms, the tattoo right under your left clavicle, and going lower down your chest…You take a step towards the man. 

“Who’s staring now?” You hadn’t planned to say that out loud, but it’s too late. You take another step, now inches from Joel’s  chest, which is rising and falling faster than before. His lips are parted, his eyes intense. It’s now or never. Fuck it.   

Your right hand moves up to rest on Joel’s shoulder, causing him to tense up. His expression goes stern, serious, like he’s fighting an internal conflict, debating whether he should pull away. Yet, he remains still. So your left hand goes to his other shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes. He holds your gaze, then inhales like he’s about to say something.

A clunking noise interrupts him, shattering the moment. Your arms fall back to your sides and you glance over Joel’s shoulder, searching for the source of the disturbance. You find it easily. Astrid is standing near the table your group had claimed before, her hair thrown in a ponytail, face glistening with sweat, the sleeves of her sweater pushed up. Her water gourd lays on the ground, its content spilled. Her eyes are wide with surprise, jumping between you and Joel. Her mouth contorts in a silent, one worded question. 

That’s bad. That is very bad.  

Joel notices the shift in your attitude and whips his head around, as a snickering Astrid jogs up to the crowd, merging into it again, certainly to tell Fred about what she just stumbled upon. Joel turns back and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers:

“Outside. Now.” 

His breath tickles your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Something stirs in your lower abdomen; a longing, a desire that demands to be dealt with, urgently. 

Joel snatches his coat from the back of the chair he sat in, before striding towards the exit. You follow behind, docile, not bothering to retrieve your own jacket. Once you’re out of the tavern, the freezing wind barely even pinches your skin. You’re too preoccupied with another feeling that’s dangerously rising up inside. You need his touch. And you get what you want. Joel grabs your forearm, and drags you to the alleyway at the side of the building, lit up by a single, flickering street lamp. In a second, your back is pressed against the logs, Joel’s face taking up your entire field of vision. He’s seething with anger. His pointed finger digs into your sternum. 

“You- you- ” he growls. You look back at him like a deer in headlights.

And then he kisses you. Hard. His lips crash onto yours and you let out a startled yelp, jerking your head to the side. Joel stares, anticipating your reaction. You don’t let him wait for long before you kiss back. His hands glide down to your waist, gripping it, while yours go to the nape of his neck. You pull each other in and a burning heat spreads between your bodies. Time seems to slow down as you part your lips to deepen the kiss, letting his tongue in. He tastes bittersweet like the mead. Your heart races. An ache forms where your thighs meet.

Just as suddenly as he came in, Joel shoves you away roughly. Your head bounces on the tavern’s facade. He storms out of the alley without another word, leaving you alone in the cold, panting, riled up, confused. 

What the fuck just happened?

Next chapter

To read on AO3

[opheliajupiter99]

The Beast's Belly Pt.2 (Darkest Dungeon Horror Fanfic)

The night air clung thick and damp around the beleaguered hamlet, most within tucked away indoors, except for a former lawman and his beloved companion; his hound. He stood on the outskirts of the tavern, leaned against the wall of the building, muffled laughter and distant groans echoing from within.

His hound, as they so often did, needed some time outside, so he watched her as she mulled about, bounding along the wet grass and puddles of mud, occasionally barking at a passing bird that fluttered out from the branches. He chuckled to himself, crossing his arms as he smiled at her. The realm might be in ruins, many may die - hell, even he himself may die, but there was warmth in his heart as long as he had his hound.

The calm was broken however, as she suddenly stopped mid-bound, tail limply wagging side to side as her ear perk, and she lifted her head, staring onwards for a moment, before she barked excitedly, sprinting into the darkness. "Woah, girl! Slow down!" He called out, as he quickly ran after her.

She rushed through the brush and foliage, nearing closer and closer the hamlet's edge, her master reaching out to take hold of her collar to slow her pace, but she stopped before he had to bother. His hound's tail was eagerly wagging, as she yipped and playfully pounced at the lumbering form of one of the hamlet's abominations, with one of the jester's stood close beside him.

He quickly recognized the pair as part of a group of four that had been sent out to the ruins some time ago. They hadn't heard back from them since, so it was assumed to be a lost cause, and yet here they were, minus two of their party, but still. He rose a brow, looking to the masked face of the jester, his wide, wild eyes staring brightly back at him.

"Where are the others?" He said, standing close to his hound as she continued to lick at the horror. To most, the abominations were unholy, hideous monsters, only called forth out of desperate necessity - but to his hound, and quite frankly, to himself as well, he was a beast like any other, deserving of the same respect and tending.

"Oh, heh, yes, the others! Yes, yes...I'm afraid they were beseeched in the night - if not for my dearest friend here, we surely would've been lost as well!" He said, conveying the terrible news with the palpable ecstasy he seemed to speak every word he uttered with, no matter the situation. His eyes darted to the abomination himself, huffing softly under his breath.

That was a perfectly plausible explanation - hell, the very same fate had fallen three other adventuring parties in the last month alone, but the lawman had learned in his years as a guard not to trust even the most obvious explanation at face value. He quickly noted the abominations body language; happy, especially with his hound so happy to see him, but also a bit tense, uncomfortable.

It reminded me of his days breaking up underground dog fights, seeing hounds so eager to please their masters, while at the same time fearing their master's unforgiving hand, both emotions pulling them towards victory, for the sake of both love and lack of punishment.

"Report your return, then." The jester nodded, moving to take the abomination by his scruff and pull him along beside him, but the houndmaster firmly grabbed his wrist. "Just you, friend. He's hardly in any state to convey anything, you may give the report yourself." The jester's eyes shimmered a bit, the glee briefly tainted with a look of pure hatred, before it was once more engulfed by manic joy. The jester forced out a giggle, sounding like he was clenching his teeth as he spoke. "Of course! Ehehehehe..."

The jester wandered off, leaving the three alone. His hound nuzzled against the abomination's side, whimpering, she too sensing the beast's discomfort, as the houndmaster kneeled down. The beast was hulking, but stood upon all fours, so could easily be knelt down to, as the houndmaster scratched behind the beast's horn. The abomination rumbled, nuzzling against the pets.

"That fool, what he said...it isn't true, is it boy?" He said softly, the abomination huffed and lowering his head, as if ashamed in some fashion. The man smiled, giving him a gentle pat on the head. "It's not your fault, boy. Humans can be nasty things; far nastier than you, believe me." He said with a chuckle. The abomination licked his face, making the man chuckled, even as its caustic slobber made his face burn a bit at the touch.

"Don't worry. We won't let him get away with it."

(@soldier-of-mayhem @deblep-kai tada surprise part 2!)

[atinyhellu]

Heart-Shaped Helper

I'm a bit nervous, but here it goes! Back to writing fanfiction :D Originally written for DA femslash feburary, but real life got in the way. I combined two prompts for this, "Elfroot" and "Ambush".

When Neve gets hurt during an ambush, it is up to Bellara to treat her and get her to safety. Sometimes treating your crush can be difficult, however.

Pairing: Bellara/Neve

Word count: 1436

AO3 link.

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

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Bellara murmured, and immediately repeated it again under her breath: “I’ve got it.”

Quite frankly, she didn’t know whether she was reassuring herself or Neve, who sat propped against the wooden planks of someone’s house—if the shack could be called one—barely conscious. The reddened fabric had been carefully peeled out of the way of the long wound snaking through her shoulder and along the collarbones. The warrior’s blade had to have been serrated to cause such a horrifying gash, but Bellara had not seen it. She had barely seen the attack even. Her hands finally felt the right pouch in her bag, and with a quick breath of relief, she pulled it out and emptied it near Neve. 

“Elfroot,” she whispered as Neve’s head lolled towards her. Neve’s gaze was unfocused, but her brows furrowed a little in an attempt to understand. 

Bellara grasped the green herbs from the floor. Elfroot was important for any Veil Jumper to have. (No—for any explorer.) The Keeper’s First used to sing about it. Heart-shaped leaved with veins of green: elfroot, to ease the pain. She had liked the First’s voice. Soothing, calming—a squeak broke her train of thought. Bellara’s fingers twitched, but she tried to ignore it. There were a lot of rats in Dock Town, and she could not afford to get distracted. Another squeak, accompanied by the tapping sound of their little feet scurrying about. Heart-shaped leaves with veins of green, she repeated to herself. Green, green like the painted lips of that hooded mage. The humidity in the air as the mage (a magister?) had lifted her hand, the curves of those green lips rising at the corners as she whispered curses to crawl to the wound. No, Bellara really had to concentrate. The instructions were simple, she had done it a hundred times. Crush the elfroot, then pour the extract onto the wound to ease the pain. The rest could be mushed into a paste to expedite the healing process. Nothing for poison. Nothing for magical curses. She had nothing for those.

The ambush had been unexpected, though now that Bellara thought about it, it probably hadn’t been for Neve. It wasn’t the first time that the Venatori had hunted the detective, who by all the stories true and untrue was a thorn in their side. The fight had been brutal: they had been outmatched, and Neve had led her fast through the winding alleyways of Minrathous to shake them off. Occasionally they had stopped to shoot behind them or to see if they had lost their pursuers. Two of the agents had managed to catch up and corner them for long enough to wound Neve. One of them had been that blood mage, adept at corrupting her enemies’ blood. Though the magical connection had been long broken, Neve still suffered from the after-effects. They seemed to have known the streets well, too well. It didn’t matter now. Bellara had taken Neve to one of the shacks by the street without the owner’s permission and hid them there. All they could hear were the rats squeaking, the murmur of the other inhabitants of the adjoining shacks, the market in the distance droning on, and no Venatori. Their attackers were impaled into someone’s house, frozen to the ground, left bleeding without anyone to treat them. And someone was treating Neve. Bellara was. 

“Bel,” a low voice called to her. Bellara raised her gaze to look at the angular face of Neve. The detective’s dark eyelashes fluttered once, then twice, as she tried to regain focus. The elfroot paste seemed to be giving her at least energy to fight for consciousness. 

“It’s alright, Neve,” Bellara reassured her, lowering her voice in hopes that Neve would mimic it. “Everything’s alright. We’re safe. Well, relatively. I couldn’t take you to you-know-where. Might not have been safe. And—”

As she continued speaking, Bellara became aware of Neve’s gaze on her, those dark eyes hooded with tiredness. A gentle but faint smile was tugging the detective’s lips up ever so slightly. 

“I’m alright, Bel,” Neve said slowly. 

Of course she wasn’t, not with the amount of blood she had lost. Yet somehow Bellara felt that knot in her heart ease a little, and she scrunched the hem of her yellow tunic between her fingers to stop them from trembling. 

“You got hurt protecting me,” Bellara said, and she wished her voice hadn’t cracked at the last word. 

“We got into a fight because of me,” Neve sighed, and raised a hand to tiredly wave the notion off. 

Impulsively, Bellara caught the hand and cradled it between both of hers. The action made her lean towards Neve, much closer than she had intended. She looked into the brown, slightly startled eyes, and then immediately down, sweeping past the golden prosthetic to the ground. She awkwardly let go of the hand and slumped back down, feeling like needles were being stabbed to her limbs. 

“Oh, Bel,” Neve sighed softly. Her hand gently extended towards Bellara’s face. Without thinking, Bellara leaned her cheek into it, and half-way through the action realized that Neve was probably trying to pull her into a hug. Her eyes flitted to Neve, whose gaze seemed to be travelling across her face, wondering, searching (for what?). Bellara swallowed nervously, and then moved clumsily to Neve’s side. Neve’s hand was frozen in the air for just a moment, before it fell down to rest in her lap. Bellara wasn’t sure if she imagined the slight hesitancy in the movement. Her heart was beating like a drum in her chest, and she wasn’t sure if it had been the slight touch of the fingertips on her skin or if it was her racing thoughts about what just happened that spurred on her heart. 

Suddenly, Bellara felt a careful little touch and weight against her head, and a few strands of dark hair pooled on her shoulder. She froze, hesitated, and then leaned her head towards Neve’s. A quick glance showed her that Neve had closed her eyes and she was breathing steadily. Somewhere, a rat squeaked again. Another one answered it. (Were they siblings? A rat family? Or friends?) Was this how friends comforted each other? Bellara knew her heart did not race like this usually, not when she was lying in the grass with friends, all limbs stretched out on top of each other and laughing with no care in the world. It was only when those brown eyes stared at her that her soles felt like the ground was too hot to stand on, her muscles went taut and her whole body wanted to sling itself to the air. Yes, she felt like combusting on the spot, and it was a little like pins and needles pricking all over her. What was that soft tone, so rarely heard in normal conversation, but which crept in when it was just the two of them? Did she imagine it? Were they friends, was there something more? Oh, the hope of something more stung in her chest and made her curl her toes inside her shoes. The slight scent of blood and the sea and the filth was in the air—and the light perfume that clung to Neve that she couldn’t quite place, something warm and syrupy. Neve’s head was so close, Bellara could not help smelling it now, and though she felt as taut as a bow, at the same time she wanted nothing more than to melt against Neve. (Oh.) That was a dangerous thought. 

“The hideout isn’t far,” Bellara blurted out. “When you feel up to it, we need to keep moving. To get you to proper care. We have to make sure there’s no residue of magic left from when I cut the connection between you and her—that mage—and even if I healed you a little, and I mean, even with the elfroot, you have to get proper treatment, and—”

Neve’s head lifted from hers, and Bellara felt the loss deeply in her heart. Coldness spread where warmth had touched her, fast erasing the lingering memory. As she began to get up, she glanced at Neve’s smiling face.

“Thanks, Bellara,” Neve said, and with a final sigh, began to scramble up. “I know where we are. I can make it to the hideout.”

They departed shortly after, quiet and slightly introspective. The brush of a hand against the other was enough to make both of them jolt, and yet neither dared to put anything to words.

For now, at least. 

[jadeddangel]

Hi! I think I'm supposed to put this here. Can you do a Vox x dreamy/airhead type reader? I mean dreamy/airhead like very mellow and tends to not pay attention.

Vox x Reader

"Getting lost in the rabbit hole"

Summary: In which you, a newer young overlord, have a meeting with the Vee's on an incoming collaboration.But struggles with zoning out

Warnings: valentino(he's a warning in of itself), mean! Vox, swearing, threats

You sat quietly in the meeting room, sounds of velvette's nails tapping against her phone screen and val's cigarette crackling with each long inhale he took. The room was full of smoke as you started to zone out at the wall background music playing in your head, Velvette slammed her phone down on the meeting table forcing you out of the liminal space your brain was sinking into, your pupils expanded slightly as your eyes readjusted to viewing the world around you. Velvette let out the heaviest sigh you think you've ever heard fall from her lips, " Vox said he's caught up with the press about the radio demon again, he's going to be late, apparently its causing quite a ruckus " Velvette uttered in aggravation, her accent and words rang heavy in the once quiet room. Val smirked, taking another long drag of his cigarette, " perhaps we should find temporary entertainment with our little quest here while we wait~" Valentino purred suggestively. You could feel your face fix into a stern frown, " Apologies Valentino, but I don't mix business and pleasure and quite frankly, I'm not interested in you or your line of work, I'm here for a meeting with Vox and he insisted you both be dragged into it" you uttered clearly and sternly, though part of your tone sounded bored. You could nearly hear the gears of pure frustration turn in Valentino's head, and yet again, the room fell into silence. After perhaps 30 minutes, Vox entered the room, seeming bored, "Let's get this over and done with I have a broadcast in under an hour," Vox said, drawing the other Vee's attention.

You hadn't even noticed he had entered the room, apparently the wall was just so much more entertaining, you were zoned out, focusing on every little possible design and detail that the wall was crafted with, your brain was playing elevator music in the background of everything. Suddenly, you were snapped out of it by Vox's slim fingers snapping in front of your face. You retracted your head away from his hand as soon as your brain was caught back up to reality Your words were caught in your throat as you struggled to find an excuse as to why you weren't paying attention. Your eyes met Vox's unamused ones as his smirk drooped into a frown. "What can't even bother to pay attention to the world around you? Or are you just better than us?" Vox's eyes narrowed as he stared down into your irises. You felt your heart jump into your throat at having all of this attention on you, "oh uhm i- uhm well, I was just waiting for you to get here, sir, Vox? Sir?" You stumbled over your words quite pathetically as you struggled to find the right words to excuse your behavior and lack of attention. A smirk snuck through Vox's teeth at your pathetic display before practically skipping to his seat, proud of how nervous he made you, "Don't let it happen, understand? Or we'll make a new spot for a collaboration, or perhaps a new overlord, " Vox threatened, using Acoustokinesis to make his voice appear more threatening. You took his words into consideration before giving him a sharp nod, showing him you understood what he was saying, not trusting your own words. Vox's smirk widened "good now let's get started on business.."

The following hours flew over your head. You hadn't meant to, but you were only giving Vox half of your attention. Your brain didn't mean to, but it really didn't, but that wall was really, really interesting. And then there you were completely lost in your thoughts as the Vees talked amongst themselves, Vox caught onto your eyes glazing over as he watching your brain pretty much switch off as he silently dismissed velvette and valentino to do their own work.

Vox cleared his throat to gain your attendance. You took a moment to separate your eyes and attention from the wall, turning to face him realizing that velvette and valentino had "disappeared." Vox raised a virtual eyebrow at your stubbornness towards keeping your attention on unneeded things. "You may go as well, but a few words if caution," Vox adjusted his voice so he seemed more intimidating "you ever stop paying attention to my words, what I have to say, or when I'm around you, your soul is going to lose any form of existence it still has. " Vox's eyes twitched in frustration as he watched you scramble to get up. You nodded a bit "I see where your coming from, but Vox? Work on your Insecurity before taking it out on everyone around you." You spoke glaring at him finally getting tired of his attitude before turning and leaving and surprise surprise, (I'm being sarcastic), he did absolutely nothing even as you left. But he did gain a new fascination towards you and your little habit.

[adragonthatwrites]

Time for a bookbinding update!

Alright strap in everyone I've got quite the tale to tell!

So! I haven't updated much regarding my next bookbinding project because I've been struggling with my Word documents.

So it goes like this; after I've finished formatting a fic into a printable form, I'll need to export it out into a pdf, which allows me to automatically organize the pages into signatures for printing (as opposed to slowly copy-pasting the pages into signatures for printing in Word, which takes an enormous amount of time and effort)

Anyway, I ran into some trouble when trying to export the Word doc into a pdf; that being, for some reason the pdf was sort of shrinking text down, pushing it up pages and overall compressing the fic slightly, which resulted in the formatting getting severely fucked up and occasionally entire pages being lost; which obviously causes huge problems.

Here's a quick example of what that looks like, with the Word doc seen in dark mode and pdf in regular (taken from Beast With Two Backs by VampireFuan, if anyone wants to check out the fic!)

As you can see, the text is up much father in the pdf than it is in Word; this can be a huge problem when it happens all throughout a large multi-chaptered fic binding and causes chapter titles to float in the middle of a page and shortens the page amount; which needs to stay consistent for organization into signatures.

I tried, I kid you not, for months to try and figure out what was causing this. I (and others from multiple Discord servers) tried so many things to fix this; changing text font size, line spacing, paragraph spacing, looking for hidden text or formatting, changing the margins, adjusting page size, uninstalling and reinstalling Adobe and then adding a different PDF reader to try viewing it, and about twenty other things I can't even remember over the months.

One temporary fix we found was putting in a bunch of page breaks wherever the problem occurred; though this is obviously unsustainable as the problem would just crop up again a few pages down from the page break, and I can't have like fifty different page breaks and sections in the Word Doc; that's not realistic, and is frankly likely to break in a whole new way.

It was only recently that I discovered what was apparently causing this problem; apparently, Word and the PDF viewers did not like that was using size 6 font for the page numbers up in the header of the pages. Upping the font size to 9 fixed the issue; this is the lowest it can go, size 8 and the problem starts up again.

Why does Word throw a fit when I use a smaller font size in the fic? Fuck if I know and at this point I'm too tired to try and figure it out (nor am I teck-savvy enough for this) so at this point I'm just going to shrug my shoulders, make the numbers size 9, and get on with my binding.

So yeah I'll be announcing my next binding project either later tonight or tomorrow, now that I can finally make pdfs for binding again lol!

[louiesselfshipramblings]

Once in a Lifetime: ENA selfship!!

My relationship with ENA as a series is a bit interesting. I knew of her through tumblr for a while, I'd say, but never looked into it. My friend showed me the trilogy of shorts that had her (it was "Auction Day", "Extinction Party", and "Temptation Stairway" at the time), and I thought the style was cool! I didn't think much of ENA as is, but to be fair, I was still a blossoming bud when it came to figure out what I liked. After all I was only, like...eighteen. Lol.

Ena is def one of my more recent selfships, and I was kinda unsure of her when she re-entered my mind. I was unsure if it was really smth special, or just kind of a spur of the moment situation. I was still kinda feeling that as I got this quite frankly amazing commission, but seeing the WIPs and ESPECIALLY the final product made me go "Oh yeh...that's my gf!!!"

The Lore!!

My sona here is known as Lüc, which is a somewhat corruption of my own name? I wanted something that matched the sorta off-kilter, fake-video-game vibes of ENA as is. Tho, given the sparse nature of world building as of now, I'm kinda just making the setting...Earth-like with special features, lol. Maybe DreamBBQ will change things, idk yet.

But!! Lüc!! He's a starry eyed (quite literally) mid-twenty-something who owns a local theater, but it's a lil crummy. Has an old, 80s style appearance due to lack of budget, which also effects the showings. Since I can't afford big releases, I mainly show older public domain films and cartoons, with "new" content being indie films. It attracts...people, at least. I also sell cashews instead of popcorn cause I don't like how kernels get stuck in my teeth (and in lore an unpopped kernel cracked a tooth of his as a kid)

Ena sorta just stumbled in, as she does, and hung out in the lobby. Didn't even see a film, but she did buy some cashews. We did chat for a while. It was a brief encounter, but...I kinda fell for her at first sight XD

The feeling of liking was mutual, course, but she didn't really think it romantic at first. Which is why she visited so often! To see her friend! Yippie...but eventually I had the guts to tell her how I feel (we were close enough friends by then), and she was a little surprised at first! I was worried I upset her at first, but turns out she was just thinking it over. The look of realization on her face and the way she blurted out "THAT'S WHAT THE CARNATIONS MEANT!!!" still stick in my head, heh!

We didn't start right there, exactly. Ena said she needed time to think it over, so of course I let her. I was bracing myself for waiting a whole week of not seeing her, but she ended up popping back in three days later, roughly. She seemed a lil lost for words, which shocked me seeing as she usually had such colorful vocabulary. I tried to give her some support in realizing her feelings and such, before she blurted out, again, "I LIKE YOU A LOT TOO?? CAN WE DATE MAYBE???"

And we just kinda started dating! I took her out to a very nice restaurant, and that's also where we had our first kiss!!! And we've just been kinda going regular since! She still lives at her place, but she visits a lot to mine (second floor of the theater, saves space and money!!).

We're still very much enjoying being each other's bf and gf, so marriage is hardly on the table. No kids either, probably. Neither of us think we'd be able to handle it, lol. Moony visits sometimes too! We...get along best we can. I realize she's Ena's best friend, she realizes I mean a lot to Ena. We tolerate one another for her sake.

But yeah! That's my self ship with Ena! The series timeline is kinda...nebulous? Especially with DreamBBQ and the whole "second" Ena. I mainly just ship with the OG blue-yellow pre-TempStair version of her; gonna have to wait and see with this new gal!

The amazing art of me and Ena coming together was done by the always spectacular @cupiidzbow! I said before but you did just AMAZING here!! Like my sona is great but also your Ena is so cute???? I def gotta get more with her from ya! And you, the reader, should support Freddie and his monkey business!