#I say Shadow Milk cookie but it’s really just me who wants to see my favourite crk little guy suffer :3

[darkfluffydragon]

Changing Cookie Names

Usually, cookie run characters will have their name changed when they turn evil or change in a way, for example, Dark Enchantress Cookie and Healer Cookie.

Pure Vanilla’s name won’t be changed in this AU. Having a different name gives Pure Vanilla the chance to associate everything he does with this name, which isn’t what Shadow Milk wants. He doesn’t want this separate identity to exist, he wants Pure Vanilla to cope with everything as just ‘Pure Vanilla Cookie’. He can’t easily avoid the weight of his actions, he can’t lie to himself and say that ‘it was not my fault, I am not [insert name here]’. He will do everything as Pure Vanilla Cookie and no one else.

He already watched Pure Vanilla manage to avoid his guilt as Healer Cookie, even if unintentionally. Shadow Milk Cookie will not make that mistake. Even if Pure Vanilla managed to free himself, the weight of his sins would continue to haunt him and he would have no other name to associate with the past. His very name would be corrupted by Shadow Milk’s schemes.

I don’t know if I’m going to do this with the knight as well, since Shadow Milk views him differently. I should also probably think of a name for the au-

[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[lalovi]

AN: Def seems like the person to deny being sick, and act like a little bastard, and not take medicine, and just act whiney and clingy

Sick! Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader

Oneshot (headcanons below)

Warnings: idk, just a silly little post of our favorite trickster ☆☆☆

-Sick-

"Shadow Milk, you have to take the medicine or you're not going to get better!"

"I already told you- It's gross and I don't wanna!"

This back and forth had been going on for who knows how long.

You see, Shadow Milk had caught a cold, and you have been trying to get him to take medicine to recover. The only problem was, he was being a stubborn little brat.

"And I'm fine! It's just a cough. I'm not even sick-"

Oh, and there was that too. He kept insisting that he was fine when he clearly wasn't.

"You threw up an hour ago."

"That's unrelated."

You frowned.

"If you don't take it then I'm going to become sick. You would want that, right?"

He glared at you. "I don't like how you're using your own health against mine," he'd say.

"Fine, give it here," he reached his hand out for the bottle of medicine, to which you happily gave him.

Then he began to gulp it down by the bottle-full.

"MILKTHATSNOTHOWYOURESUPPOSEDTOTAKETHEMEDICINE-" You'd scream out in mild panic.

"Just be grateful I'm even taking it in the first place!" He'd hiss.

He finished the entire bottle.

"This stuff tastes gross. I don't know how you normal people do it," He'd stick out his tongue, and you would snatch the now empty bottle from his hands.

"That's because you're not supposed to drink all of it."

"Yada Yada, rules aren't really my thing, doll. Anyway, am I like.. not sick anymore?"

What a clueless, loveable, idiot.

"...No. You have to wait a while,"

He had a disgusted look on his face.

"Are you serious? I drank that whole bottle and it doesn't even cure me? That's such a scandal." He would cross his arms.

"Again, you weren't supposed to drink it all."

"Yeah yeah, my bad. Now hurry up and cuddle me. It's been much to long since I've last had you in my arms." He would reach his arms out for you, making grabbing hands and a pouting face.

"No way- I don't want to catch what you have."

He ignored your response and snatched you under the covers with him.

You were really stuck now. You both know that if Shadow Milk wants something, it's his. And in the current moment, he wanted your attention.

"If you do end up getting sick, then I'll be the one to take care of you."

It was going to be a long week.

Headcanons ☆

Runs around the house to avoid taking medicine

Denies being sick, even though he sneezes like every five seconds

Refuses to rest

Will get abnormaly warm, but will still complain about being cold

Will cuddle you in the night and you're legit overheating

He says sorry but doesn't do anything about it

Either takes all of the blankets from you, or puts ALL of the blankets on both of you

Either way, he uses all of the blankets

Ten times clingy, but he insists its for 'no reason in particular.'

Gets so whiney and needy

If he doesn't have your attention 24/7 he screams

Will 100% use his sick status to avoid responsibilities

Still a flirty bastard

If he ever seems to get randomly better, he'll say it's because of your love

One time has attempted to start an... interesting doctor and patient role play

You shut down the idea quickly and he wouldn't stop nagging you about it for the rest of the day

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

HIII ITS ME AGAIN, i’ve got another idea for you, that you make a little drabble about.

so the time line is like before the yan!beasts got corrupted, or like post-corruption or something, reader is a very overpowered cookie but timid and shy in a way, including considerate and kind, they wants to help people they genuinely loves and cares about (including the beasts), therefore this also makes them a people pleaser/push over, so they keep theyre power secretive

after a while, reader started to see a shift in theyre personality and how they started to resent cookies that didn’t have the same power as themselves, and how they are being kinda possessive/obsessive towards reader, and more really unhealthy behaviors, but of course, like the fool they are, reader decided to ignore those red flags, cause it’s better then having literal no one (said by reader)

anyways when days pass, more things start to change, they start becoming more malicious towards other common cookies, how they cause more chaos and other stuff, of course reader is a bit too delusional to care… till the witches/creators came, saying they need to trap them for good, of course you retaliated (verbally), saying how you care for them and other stuff, and you won’t go through with this, and they tell reader something that will really open theyre eyes to the world, pointing out the actions the beasts do and how shitty and bad they are (including some things they say, how they treat reader etc) how bad their intentions truly are, after this reader was really upset about them, they might be delusional but not THAT delusional, so i think you can vison what happened next now, they advise a plan to get them in a place where the witches can trap them, using reader as a bait, then once it’s done, reader left, no matter how many pleads or yells the beasts through at them, reader didn’t turn back, not even to glance at the prison that they brought themselves upon, as reader walked off, they made a vow to themself, a promise to never be fooled and manipulated like that again, to never pretend to be something they aren’t, after that, they became a whole entire different cookie (woahhh character development, anyway imagine them having a more bayonetta like personality/mindset and strength and speed?) maybe a little crossing of paths once the beasts get out of prison

(also i recently just learnt I HAVE MY OWN TAG? idk why it just made me feel special)

You have?? Such?? Good ideas?? Never stop sending in requests, I love all the ideas you always come up with!!

You were a cold Cookie, with no one really knowing why. You hardly trusted and tended to be very suspicious of Cookies of power. To say it took you ages to even think of trusting the Ancients wa an understatement.

You were heavily against the idea of going to Beast-Yeast, yet you eventually relented. Not for yourself, but to make sure that none of them got manipulated like you did.

You were completely ready to throw hands when the Beasts showed up. To stay you were pissed was an understatement. Somehow, they were convinced they were the victims! Because their fun was cut short!

Shadow Milk Cookie is the biggest instigator. He still thinks you're a pushover and portrays you as such, only to be completely confused when he sees you decimate that animatronic. That was.. a change in the script he didn't expect.

Burning Spice Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie are both taken aback by how ready you were to fight them. Guess that shy part of you was gone!

Eternal Sugar Cookie used to lovebomb you a lot whenever you were still shy. She's surprised to see it no longer works, but doesn't mean she still won't try!

Mystic Flour Cookie is the only one who realizes that you're no longer the same pushover. However, it doesn't mean she won't try and use you for her own benefit again.

[cookierunauprompts]

Requested by @deirdredeity (I accidentally deleted the og ask because tumblr was being fussy) :

OMG?? 🤯🤯 whattttt omgggg fuck being an anon I’m the one who requested the flustered reader shi (mmm was an anon bcz I didn’t wanna embarrass myself but whatever) omg dayumm you went crazy with it and I’m more than satisfied 😍 you always EAT (get it? haha.. eat.. and shadow milk.. haha) I love it tysm ❤️❤️ glad that I didn’t accidentally break a rule hehe.. we love girlboss girlfailures in here 😘 didn’t expect it to be that spicy but nevertheless I am GLAD ty for this juicy piece also you said currently he’s sealed so continuation where bro is UNsealed? 🤯🫣 (jk don’t take me too seriously I have a mental age of 5 jokes aside thank you i really appreciate it, it turned out super well way beyond expectations I was expecting like a few pickup lines or smooches but definitely not this it blew me out of the water hard tytytyty ily❤️)

Alright bet I get to go crazy again

Requested Prompts #43 - 💓

There's a ringing in your ears, what the hell happened? You just wanted to take a nap... yet it feels like you were in a dome of glass that just shattered. You can feel a poking against your cheek, it's something large, metalic and- wait. You crack open your eyes, just enough to see the intimidating form of Silent Salt staring you down. You're lucky that the beasts consider you... actually, you don't know what they really think of you. Do they think you're their pet? Their friend? a Frenemy? Well, either way you were their warden. " Silent Salt...?" You groan, pushing yourself up from the ground. Silent Salt says nothing, merely just pointing a ways in front of you to- ... hold on, WHAT THE FUCK??? " THE SEAL???" You exclaim, looking at the humongous crack in the realm of the seal. It pulsed with a blue, shadowy energy, which could only mean that Shadow Milk had escaped. And that was bad, very bad, because it meant that you were failing at your job. And... with how big that crack was you doubted that Elder Faerie was on the outside trying to wrangle Shadow Milk back into the seal... Meaning that you had to go outside to get him back in, but doing so would leave the other beasts unattended. Either way, you're failing at your job. So what choice do you really have? You look back at Silent Salt. " Uh... thanks for letting me know?" You said to him, to which earned you a thumbs up in response. You quickly pondered on your choice before looking back to Silent Salt. " Try not to escape while I'm gone, I don't want to double fail at my job." You tell him before running off towards the crack in the seal.

----

As you expected, everything was chaos. Possessed faerie cookies lingered, danced, and fooled around all around you. There were quite a few things that were on fire and the echoes of twisted laughter almost mocked you as you steeled yourself. None of them were who you were looking for despite the resemblance he'd dressed them up in. " Dammit... where would he go if he got out on his own?" You muttered to yourself as you looked around. Fortunately, you could narrow it down to a few places, unfortunately you realized that you are but one cookie. You cannot traverse the entirety of Beast Yeast in just a few minutes or so, it'd take you a few days realistically and by then all the other beasts would have likely gotten out! Were you really fucked no matter what? Probably. You took a deep breath, if anything he'd probably be in some kind of gigantic theater- Well wouldn't you know, there's a gigantic theater right over there that's just oozing with Shadow Milk's aura. There was no way he wouldn't be there, and so that's where you'd go. Hopefully you'd be able to drag him back to the seal.

----

Shadow Milk watched as those pesky little heroes ran about, celebrating as if they'd truly won. Those poor, ignorant fools! They really thought that they'd actually sealed him away in the tree again? They'd been running around in his silly little maze ever since he'd taken hold of the new half-a-cookie guardian's little friends! It was honestly quite pathetic how they hadn't realized they'd been tricked into a false sense of security, he was literally the beast of deceit! Everyone's most beloved Trickster! Tricking them into this just felt too... easy, too boring. He could try his hand at getting Silly-Vanilly to chop down the tree, all he has to do is show him the truth! And why wouldn't he want to know the truth if he embodied it? Unless he was willing to live in a lie... then he was much farther from the Truth than Shadow Milk thought- His train of thought was interrupted when the doors of his theater of lies swung open. " Hm?" That was... odd. Elder Faerie certainly shouldn't be alive, White Lily and co are stuck in his maze of deceit, so then who...? There you stood, looking quite peeved off if he had to say so himself. " Oh! Little Warden, how thrilling that you've come to make an appearance!" He chirped, casting his view of the maze to the side. The maze could wait, his little warden was here! " Shadow Milk Cookie!" You called out, pointing at him accusingly. " You will return to the great seal immediately! And that is an order from the Warden of the Seal!" You commanded him, don't mind the quick pov switch but it was frustrating enough that Shadow Milk escaped in the first place, and now he had the audacity to give you such a smug grin in reply? " Oh Little Warden..." Shadow Milk began, laying on his stomach as he rested his chin on the back of his hand. " It's so so so cute that you think that you can order me around like that~! I'm a free cookie now, and that means that I can do whatever I want again~!" He chirped with a flourish of his free hand, you could see the excited mania dancing in his eyes, you couldn't allow this to stand. " Okay, but you haven't actually earned your freedom at all. You just waited until the seal was weak enough so you could break out!" You retorted, which may have been the wrong thing to say judging by the way his grin dropped for a moment. He soon broke out into a maniacal cackle, seeming to have found your words hilarious. " Ehe he he ha ha hah! Sure, I may have done that, but does it really matter?" He teased, reaching out a clawed hand and picking you up by the edge of your cloak. You shrieked as you were hoisted into the air, you didn't have the protection of the seal that kept you from crumbling while in the real world, so your life was in a lot more danger here. " Ack- Put me down! Or at the very least hold me properly!" You protest as you squirm in place, you feel a shudder run through your dough as the beast before you lets out a low, rumbling chuckle.

" And why should I? You adorable little morsel~" He purrs, flipping you around in his hand so that you were laying on your back on his palm instead of dangling in the air. God fucking dammit, he was doing this again. He knows every, single, god damn weak spot of yours and by god does he abuse them frequently, mainly because they mostly relate to him. " You-!!" You protest, quickly shutting up when you feel his breath wash over you like a wave of hot air. And the way he's looking at you is already making you weak- No, you have to stay strong. " You know..." You hear him begin and fuck when did he get so close? There's a certain glint in his eyes, one that both intrigues you and makes you fear for your life. " I never really got a taste of you like I wanted to... Care to let me just have one little bite? Or maybe just a taste... either would be fine~" He teased with the low, stupidly sexy voice of his. You could already feel his lips at the tips of your little cookie feet, ready to open and swallow them whole if you let him. You could already feel your face turning cherry red, and you knew that he could see it judging by the slight excitement that made itself known in his eyes. You felt tempted to indulge him, but you also didn't want to lose your feet... But maybe he'd go back to the seal? No, he wouldn't... Would he? Or maybe he won't just go for your feet, he's teased you multiple times about gobbling you up in one bite. So if you give him this will he just... eat you? Apparently, you took too long to decide. You felt something moist and blue against your arm, a semi-satisfied hum creeping out of the beast holding you captive. " Mmn... I was right, you really are a sweet little treat. One that I can have all to myself~" Shadow Milk purred, his face looming over you as he left you to process what he'd done. You were in for a long ride, weren't you?

----

AUGHIJBSGHGKSHG I CAN'T, I CAN'T WRITE ANYMORE/lh Shadow milk... you bastard why must you make me FEEL THINGS????

but, uh, i hope you enjoyed and if anyone wants to continue this then PLEASE.

[lych33dragoncookie]

alright so the main reason i wanted to make this blog; those new Wind Archer trailers.

I already had a lot to say about the first one, for... One big reason.

The fact we're going to the laboratorium is pretty exciting, but I did not expect for us to already catch a glimpse of the Ultimate Cookie. In fact, I had almost forgotten about that; I thought Matcha making MyCookie was more of a byproduct of the Beast cookies needing bodies to inhabit, but...

Well, I guess Dark Enchantress's original ambitions haven't left her. And she's really, really close to realizing her dreams; the dreams she carries on from White Lily Cookie.

It really makes me wonder how White Lily would react to these developments. To see her dreams realized, every bit as horrifying as she most likely knew they'd be, carried on by a part of herself. I really, really wanna see where they go with this.

On another note...

sorry, i just much prefer his Japanese VA HE'S BAAAAAAAACKKKKK~

You have... No idea how frustrated I was to see that the first Beast cookie to release was Mystic Flour and not him. And while it's not guaranteed we'll get him this time, either (even if i really hope we do)... Come on, it's just nice to have him back. He's a really, really fun antagonist. Sometimes, when all your antagonists have complex motives, believing that despite everything they've done, ultimately they're the ones in the right (with even Dark Enchantress only committing as much harm as she has as a response to the revelation that the world, on a fundamental level, was seemingly much more cruel, uncaring and pointless than she had ever thought; a desperate need to make a difference, no matter how many lives and pain it takes), it's incredibly nice to have that one villain, that one villain who doesn't try to find an excuse for what they do, having fun, not believing that they're doing everything that they do for some greater motive, but just to have fun, to make the entire world one big, brightly burning play area for them to toy with as long as they want, however they want. I love Shadow Milk, because he perfectly offsets the usual monologuing, self-righteous villainy we tend to see (And often enjoy, don't get me wrong, both Dark Enchantress and Mystic Flour have grown one me) with just pure, uncaring, show-stopping villainy for the sake of villainy.

He's manipulative, playful, silly, over the top, more concerned with putting on a show first and foremost than actually accomplishing his objectives; because you and I both know that he knows that he could probably just brute force his way into getting his soul jam back, into taking down the heroes without any opportunity for them to do anything about it. If he wanted to, he could very, very easily create an unwinnable scenario. But he doesn't. Because that's no fun.

And I absolutely adore him for it. Every single scene he's in is an absolute delight.

... Right, uh. Wind Archer.

I'm excited for him! It's been a while since we've gotten any Ovenbreak legendaries, and with Wind Archer in the game, it means we're likely very close to seeing Fire Spirit and Millennial Tree (Both pretty big faves for me, though Millie is the one that does unholy things to my brain just from looking at him). And honestly, this feels like a really, really good use for him! No beating around the bush, no overcomplicating anything, just going straight to the point and trying to stop the current threat at its root. He's going to fail, obviously. Even if he takes out the ultimate cookie, chances are it can just be rebuilt, and the beasts on an individual level would be way too much for him to handle. And with Shadow Milk having awoken... Yeah, he stands just about no chance. But, it will be very fun to see, methinks. It's also just a pretty natural fit; a protector of nature that hunts down anything that may disturb or corrupt said nature being sent to strike down what's pretty much a threat that's entirely artificial, unnatural, bodies made through forbidden, arcane magic and ethically dubious means, stumbling upon the culmination of someone's ambitions to create perfect life by artificial means. It works out really, really well, methinks.

But yeah that's my thoughts so far on the 2 Wind Archer update trailers, I'm actually really excited for where they're gonna take this, we've actually got some good plot progression going on and a lot of interesting writing ideas that while I don't fully trust the devs to execute perfectly, I do still really like and feel pretty hopeful for!

... Now just give me Shadow Milk and Millennial Tree and my life is yours. And Lychee, maybe. That one might take a bit. how are they even gonna do Longan in Kingdom. that's... quite a lot to try to adapt without either rehashing content or completely hijacking the plot. god i hope this doesn't mean they'll just stop at Lotus. I miss my dragons. Except not really because OB has been doing some good stuff with them.

Sorry for the really long post, but I wanted to dump some thoughts and have a sort of primer for the kinda stuff I wanna make for this blog.

Oh, and expect some shitposts along the way, too.

[oorusandei]

An Analysis: The Beast-Yeast Update + White Lily, AKA What Could’ve Been

Crossposted on the Youtube video of White Lily’s release in a fanatical comment. Will do the same here, only longer and more detailed, for the White Lily stans (around 5 total)

For the people who don’t get the lore and/or White Lily’s character, I made a very long explanation and analysis. (The Literature student in me couldn’t resist.) Scroll to the very bottom for short summary.

From what I can tell from this video, Whire Lily seems to have been in some sort of coma or unconscious state. This is likely because she fell into the Ultimate Dough and most of her consciousness was reincarnated into her “evil” form Dark Enchantress Cookie. However, the part of her that is pure and good is trapped in the glass coffin shown, and she’s trying to gather her essence to stay awake for as long as possible. She needs “life powder” to escape, so she can only remain in the coffin if no one else sacrifices themself. Faerie King did make the necessary sacrifice, thankfully, and she’s escaped with the intent of repenting for her sins as her alter ego, Dark Enchantress. Then, it’s revealed that an even darker and more dangerous force has awakened: Shadow Milk Cookie, the first Fallen Hero and Pute Vanilla’s counterpart. Seems like the Fallen Heroes are all counterparts to the Ancients. The Ancients and the Fallen Heroes have the same essence (Truth, Happiness, etc) but things went awry some time along the way, turning them evil.

Looking deeper into it, White Lily is a good example of “same goal, different choices, different story”. Perhaps she, like the Fallen Heroes, had the same fate, but she was at least able to preserve her last bits of goodness. She is my favorite Ancient because the conflict happens internally and not externally. Basically, she’s fighting another version of herself. And the interesting part is, it shows that anything can be “good” or “evil”. You could also say that she’s a morally gray character who could go either way, and this created 2 personas: White Lily and Dark Enchantress. You ever read an “Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence” fanfic? This is exactly what happened. Both of them want to seek the truth. It is only the actions they took (and will take) that differ, and what makes them so different from each other. It is why White Lily’s soul split into two. White Lily wants to seek the truth to help Cookiekind: improving stamina and attempting to bake a perfect Cookie, while Dark Enchantress has gone rogue in her quest for and obsession with the truth, firmly believing that Cookies are made to be eaten. It’s noted that this destroyed her character fundamentally, and is ultimately what turned her evil. I like to think that she herself was the reason behind her descent into madness and villainy, not the Ultimate Dough.

Back to the update. Did anyone notice that the Fallen Heroes each have their own corner, or nation, on the map of Beast-Yeast? If we look at the parallels between the Ancients and the Fallen Heroes, we can see a pattern: the Fallen Heroes are direct rivals of the Ancients. If I recall correctly, Pure Vanilla represents kindness, and sincerity (at least he does in my eyes). Shadow Milk is written as a trickster, as someone who likes pranks and doesn’t take anything seriously, the opposite of the genuine Pure Vanilla.

Also, I love PureLily. Don’t hate on PureCacao or anything. Just putting it out there that they were childhood friends turned almost lovers turned enemies to almost lovers again (?) in the coming update, and I’m really hyped. My favorite trope.

I’m honestly impressed that a Cookie gacha game has such intricate lore. Looking forward to this update a lot, the 3 year wait was worth it.

TL:DR: White Lily is in a glass coffin and needs Life Powder to get out. Faerie King sacrifices himself. Evil awakens in the tree as Faerie King’s magic is no longer active: aka Shadow Milk Cookie, first of the Fallen Heroes in the preview and counterpart to Pure Vanilla, similar to what Dark Enchantress is to White Lily.

[bonsiii-art]

Random question; what do you think of the new update; Shadow milk cookie?

To be completely honest, Beast Yeast Chapter 2 was good but at the same time, a little disappointing for me ε-(´∀｀; )

(Putting a read more here because I know the story details are super new and don’t wanna spoil anyone accidentally.)

- Spoilers for Beast Yeast Episode 2 -

The ending with that amazing cutscene of White Lily outsmarting Shadow Milk was hype, I’ll not deny that. And Elder Faerie giving her that one bit of courage was very sweet too qwq

I think how Shadow Milk acts and what he does in the story has a lot to do with my disappointment with this part of the story. :0

When Shadow Milk was introduced with the other Beasts in the teaser vid, I was like oh shit, powerful mastermind character whose a jester, this is gonna be good. And so I was ready for him to really mess with the characters’ heads, either by unveiling some new truth or turn people against each other!

So when I read through this chapter, I realized I may have expected too much. ε-(´∀｀; )

He messed with them alright, specifically Pure Vanilla, but instead of an experienced puppeteer, he came off more as… a sore loser :P I’m saying this as someone who like him, btw!!

I mean it makes sense, considering everything! His play gimmick was fun but felt more like Shadow Milk taking the opportunity to puff up his own ego and finally make fun of people. Which would be fine if it wasn’t for the fact that our heroes’ reaction to it was “Oh, don’t believe his lies! He likes to cause confusion and chaos! He takes the truth and covers it in lies!!”

Like…he’s not really lying, he’s just retelling the story in a way that makes him and his friends look good in the most blatant way possible. Like they act he’s manipulating them in some grand way when reasonably, them and us, the audience, know what’s truth anyways.

I hope this makes sense, I’m not great at explaining stuff (￣▽￣;) I just think the pure vanilla mental conflict was the closest to what I wanted to see for Shadow Milk but even that has some lost potential.

I think that’s a good way for me to summarize it- missed potential.

[useless-sack]

One Quiet Moment

(Decided to take a crack at my own tale from the eyes of Sugar Globe Cookie, based on the work of the brilliant @brittle-doughie. CW: Implied self-deletion) ...If you're reading this, Cookiekind as we know it is extinct.

A few weeks ago, one of my old comrades breached their prison. Looking him in the eye felt weird, I must say. Seeing him in such deranged joy as opposed to me just feeling nothing but disappointment... it's truly jarring. My allies and I tried to fight him off, but it went wrong. It went so, so terribly wrong.

Pure Vanilla was the first to perish. Seeing him be bound in those strings and torn apart just like that was one of most gut-wrenching things I've ever witnessed. I'll never forget the wail I heard from White Lily at the sight of it before she too was strung up and dismembered before us. Next was Elder Faerie... that man had guts, I'm telling you. The Brave Gang was about to be annihilated before he jumped in and took the full brunt of the assault for them. Nothing remained of him after that... and it didn't even matter.

Have you ever had to hold a kid in your arms in their last moments? Because that's what I had to do with Gingerbrave. Poor kid was laying there, bleeding out, and he thought I was the one who needed the emotional support. He told me not to worry, and that even if we couldn't defeat the Beasts, he was sure there'd be someone out there who could see the world through. He uttered those words to me, took one last breath and... that was it.

And then Shadow Milk managed to free the other four.

It's quiet now. Nothing but the trees over my head rustling like the whispers of what once was. Occasionally, I find the crumb piles of those who I fought alongside, left there by the others like broken toys. I always make sure they're given as proper of a burial as they can have. I've searched all the other kingdoms I can find, hoping against hope that at least someone is out there... but I've yet to find anyone. What I did find on one trip, though, has just... broken me.

The forge hammer of the one I held dearest to me. Sometimes, as I look at it, I hear her hearty laughter brush past my ear... though that's most likely just the trees again. It's a miracle that I've even been able to go out on these searches anyway. You try going on search missions while five all-powerful Cookies are constantly breathing down your neck, like that one drunken flirt at a party you refuse to talk to.

First, Silent Salt Cookie. Likely the least unhinged of the five, but that's not saying a whole lot. They act as a bodyguard of sorts around me, not even letting a dust particle brush past me without swatting it away. I've tried to convince them to at least leave me be... but come on, like that'd ever work.

...Would it be strange to say that I'd find consolation in someone hating my guts in these times? Because I was certain that's how Burning Spice Cookie felt about me before all this went down... but no. They're just as ridiculously in love with me as the others are. Really should've seen that coming, huh?

Turns out, Mystic Flour Cookie actually spared a select group of Cookies. Great, right!? No. She did it purely so she could threaten and indoctrinate them into forming a cult for me. Attempts have been made to dismantle this cult and save those in it. All of them have failed.

Shadow Milk Cookie. For the love of the Sugar Swan, when will this little rat leave me alone? He's always dragging me into his little shows, and they're all the exact same; "Oh, look at us, we're soooo much better than the Cookies we've slaughtered, including your GIRLFRIEND!!". Never have I wanted to punch someone more than him.

...And then there's Eternal Sugar Cookie. Good. GOD. If I'd known what that twitching ball of madness was gonna do to my family, I'd have jumped back into the arms of White Lily or Black Pearl in a heartbeat in order to ensure my own safety. I don't even wanna write down the things she's done to me here, just know it's BAD.

I've tried to escape sometimes, y'know? Ascend to the clouds where I could find my loved ones again, apologise, try and make amends, and I've actually succeeded in the past... if only for a few minutes. Then I'm dragged right back down to the barren hell I tried to run away from. They won't even let me die. I guess that's why I'm writing this down. Because I'm one step away from snapping, and I have to vent somehow. So here I am. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you all, I'm sorry that this is how it's all ended, and I'm sorry I can't be there to apologise to your faces. Maybe one day, we'll all get to meet again in an uncorrupted world, but for now... this is it for us.

This is it for me.

~ Sugar Globe Cookie.

[rumblebumble22]

How to calm down when you are on the edge 

There are a lot of different techniques which are supposed to help people calm down. I don’t know who wrote this weird advices but it seems that I’m actually do something wrong, because most part of them don’t work for me. I mean, what the fuck? In a terrible rush I google something online and realised that every source try to offer me some bloody thing. Do you want an example? Okay, how about ‘’breathe deep’’? I honestly tried it, but it only caused hyperventilation and shaking state of mind. This reaction of my body led just to panic attacks in me, not less anxiety. I mean, what I did wrong? And what about this life hack: ‘’Squeeze some balls in your arms many times, it will help you to calm down’’. I did it, but my anxiety only became more intense. Did I choose wrong ball or what? Frantically squeezing something just let me in some wrong mood, like I’m trying to get the milk from the cow, you know. It’s totally not relaxing. This piece of advice sounded quite simple: 'Meditate'. I cannot meditate when I have terrible thoughts; instead, I focus even more on them. When I am messed up, the last thing I want to do is sit and try to meditate. Instead of calm and peaceful mood I just got in a total chaos. My thoughts become bump into each other, I feel weird and alienate, and how the fuck I should handle this? If I would be a monk maybe it will work; monks, at least, have in this some more practise. Okay, another recommendation is quite ridiculous: ‘’Eat well-balanced meals’’. I’m sorry, but when I feel stress I can’t even eat a stupid banana, not to mention a full meal. All what I can do is actually randomly put out of fridge the first sneak which I see or fiercely eat chips (it’s pop out only on a very high level of stress, though). Usually I just lose my appetite, simply drink litres of coffee and then run around as a hurt bear. After breakdowns like that I’m quite often hear compliments like ‘’Aw, you lose weight, you look good!’’. Yes, thank you, except the blues under my eyes and nervous attitudes, I look good, indeed.

I have my own recipes for relaxation and I can surely say that they work for me. Firstly, I totally recommend a cup of hot milk with cookies, a warm hoodie and wool socks. Get all this stuff together and put yourself in a warm blanket at the end. I promise, you’ll immediately feel more comfortable, though I don’t know how it’s work. Another thing which helps a lot is fresh air. If I don't want to walk, I just sit on the balcony and watch the sky and the mountains. Also, I notice people in other houses, their TVs, and shadows. It helps me to calm down and understand that I’m not alone in the world. But it is essential you don't use a phone or laptop; otherwise, the technique will lose its meaning. Just sit there, breathe, and look around. Sometimes I use an extreme technique: go to the hot bathroom and sit there for 1 minute (I can’t bear it anymore). If I stay longer, my blood pressure becomes too high and I feel really dizzy. However, one minute in the bathroom can make you feel alive and cheered up, at least for a short while. 

Reading books helps a lot too, as far as writing. When I immersed myself into some story or non fiction text, I just far away from my personal feelings; it distract me well. Writing helps also, but the one problem there is to start. I hesitate to write when I’m anxious, though, but if I finally start, hesitation fades with every minute. So if you inclined to books or writing, I totally recommend it to calm your mind.

Chatting with friends is also the thing which helps me to relax, but I found out that it works only if the connection is personal. Online chatting or calls don’t work like that, unfortunately. I thought about why it’s like that and came to the conclusion that human creatures still need others to feel better. Get a bottle of wine, some snacks and just be together and chat about random stuff. It’s working better than any advice before, though.

[plant-flwrs]

hi!! can i request a sad fred/george out past curfew after doing a prank or detention and they find (more like smell) the reader making sweets from the kitchens - he falls in love with her bc she helps him feel better and everything she does reminds him of home and his family 🥺 thank u!

sweet treats // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: i love this request! it’s such a cute little blurb and idea and i hope i did it justice! i might even like ur request more than what i wrote 😳 n e way i hope u like it!!! thanks for requesting!!!

------

He knew the sound of his feet shuffling on the stone floor was audible, the risk of getting caught after curfew loomed over him like a rain cloud. It usually would have thrilled him, but right now he couldn’t feel anything besides paralyzing fear and worry.

It had only been a day since Ginny went missing, presumably taken into the Chamber of Secrets, and George was nauseated every minute since he found out. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and he didn’t think he would ever sleep again. His eyes felt heavy, but his mind whirled with every possibility of what was happening to Ginny. The entire castle felt different, every looming shadow felt like a threat, and every hidden passageway felt like a death trap.

He made sure to avoid all shadows, and walked cautiously in the center of the hallway. He hadn’t even bothered to take the map with him, deciding he didn’t care if Filch caught him.

He walked aimlessly. The only thing on his mind was Ginny. He felt his eyes watering, and didn’t bother to wipe the tears away.

He hadn’t known how long he had been out of bed for. He was nearing back to the common room, walking past the Great Hall. The massive doors were cracked open, and the dim light of a few candles shown through the small opening. George shuffled in, deciding to sit at the table for a minute. His eyes fell on the spot where Ginny had last sat for dinner, and his body felt weak. He sat there, where she had sat, and ran his hands over the wood. Tears fell from his eyes and onto the table. He looked up, glancing at the enchanted ceiling above him. The sky had clouded and the dazzling stars were barely noticeable.

Regaining some composure, he lifted himself from the bench. He then looked around, trying to find where the light was coming from. He noticed that the door leading down to the kitchens was ajar, light spilling from the entrance as it did the Great Hall. He walked over to the door, wiping his face of any tears. Pulling it open, he was rushed by the smell of pumpkin and baked goods. He looked over his shoulder, making sure no one saw him start down the stairs. He made one last effort to conceal the fact that he had been crying, bringing the neck of his sweatshirt up to wipe his face.

He pulled open the door to the kitchen, and the smell was stronger. It reminded him of a specific moment of his childhood. He had woken up in the middle of the night, feeling scared from a nightmare he had. He stumbled down the rickety stairs of his house, going to get a glass of water. There was candlelight illuminating the bottom of the stairs, and he followed the light. He turned the corner to see his mother pulling cookies from the oven. She turned to place them on the counter and nearly dropped them when she saw George watching her.

“Fred?” she narrowed her eyes, shaking her head, “George, what are you doing up?”

He shrugged, moving to sit at the table, “had a bad dream.”

His mother looked at him suspiciously, trying to decide if the mischievous boy was telling the truth. She saw the sweat stained brim of his shirt, his watery eyes, and his disheveled hair. She filled a glass with some milk and put a couple of cookies on a plate. She brought them over to George and sat next to him.

“It was just a dream, dear,” she said, placing a hand over his.

He drank the milk and ate a cookie, feeling very grateful for his mother’s cooking skills.

“I know, just scary, ‘s all,” George said.

“You’re alright now,” she smiled at her son, pulling his head to rest on her shoulder, “safe and sound.”

 He leaned into her touch, still chewing on some of the cookie. His eyes felt heavy and he nearly fell asleep there, safe in his mother’s embrace.

Peeking into the Hogwarts kitchen, he was disappointed when he didn’t see his mother making cookies. Instead, he saw a girl from his year leaning over an old and tattered book, twirling her wand between her fingers. Bowls and utensils littered the counter around her, some flour and batter stained her pajama shirt.

You furrowed your brow, reading the cookbook intently. You were trying to figure out how much was too much pumpkin essence, always feeling tempted to add extra. You read your messy handwriting on the side of the page, a note you had left to yourself about not adding too much of the sweet ingredient. 

George watched you brush some hair out of your face, leaving a trail of flour on your forehead. You moved back to a large bowl, opening a bottle in the shape of a pumpkin and pouring it generously into the bowl. You bit your lip in concentration, capping the bottle when you were done. He watched your eyes flicker to your wand before you picked up a wooden spoon, deciding to do it by hand. You stirred the mixture, and once you were satisfied, you ate a little bit off the spoon. Smiling to yourself, you reached for a pan across the counter. You applied some parchment paper and began to spoon on scoops of the mixture.

George was debating whether or not to go back upstairs. He would climb into the unfamiliar bed, try to fall asleep but be unable to, haunted with worry. He heard a noise from above him, and startled, opening the door to the kitchen and shutting t it behind him.

“Ah!” you yelped, dropping the wooden spoon with a clatter to the floor. 

You stared at the boy, who had his back pressed against the door. He looked sad. Big, heavy, purple bags hung from under his eyes and his skin was ghostly pale. You recognized him to be one of the Weasley twins, and you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out which one he was. You bent to pick up the spoon, meeting your eyes with his once you straightened. He began moving from the door, standing awkwardly behind the counter between you two.

“Hi,” you said, wiping your hands on a rag.

“Hi,” he said, his voice cracking. 

He looked down at the floor, seeming to be embarrassed.

“What are you doing down here?” you asked him, putting the dirty spoon on the counter.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was walking around the castle when I smelled something down here,” he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants.

“Oh,” you replied, looking down at the mess you made in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I was baking. I bake when I can’t sleep,” you smiled nervously at him, thinking he might find you odd.

He hadn’t found you odd. He smiled fondly, and nodded his head. 

“Do you mind if I stay down here?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you responded, blushing from the way he smiled at you.

You took the spoon to the sink and washed it, bringing it back to the bowl. George sat at a small wooden table a few feet away, where he could still see you. The chair was far too small for his long body, and he realized it was because it was made for house elves. He watched you begin to scoop the batter again, the pan nearly full now.

“What are you making?” he asked.

“Pumpkin cookies,” you said, not looking up from your batter.

George smiled again, a small smile he couldn’t seem to wipe off. Moments ago he had been torn with worry, but now he felt strangely at peace with you in the kitchen.

Your face was illuminated by the candles on the counter, an orange glow warping your features. He thought you were very beautiful in the candle light and he felt very comforted just by your presence.

You could feel George’s eyes on you, but you didn’t mind. You could tell something was bothering him, and you had heard about what had happened to his sister. You felt terribly bad for all the Weasleys. You had seen the redheads moping in the halls, and many people in Gryffindor ties were crying in the halls.

You slid the cookies into the large oven by your feet, and looked at the clock to mark when they would be done. You wiped your hands on the rag, and picked up your wand. You moved all the dirty bowls and kitchen equipment to the large sink, where you then casted a charm to make them wash themselves. You looked at the kitchen one last time, feeling accomplished, and moved to sit with George. 

You smiled widely at him, looking at his large legs bent awkwardly as he sat in the chair that was too small for him. You bent a little too, fitting into the chair easier than George did. You looked at him, his eyes cast down at his hands in his lap.

“Are you alright?” you asked.

His eyes met yours and his brow furrowed. His lips were pulled into a tight line. 

“Not really,” he said, his voice weak.

“I’m sorry,” you hadn’t wanted to say what you were sorry for, in case he didn’t want to hear it. 

He nodded appreciatively at you, and his eyes fell back down to his lap.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” you broke the silence, hoping that you could distract him from his thoughts.

He looked back up at you, interest piqued. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask you why, and you sighed.

“I’m feeling a bit homesick, I suppose. My mum wrote to me today and it made me miss her even more,” you said, bringing the letter from your pocket. You twisted it in your hands and placed it on the table. You had brought it down with you to read again while you ate the cookies.

“I guess I am too,” George said, looking back at the kitchen where you had been, “my mom bakes a lot. She’s a great baker.”

George seemed like he was trying not to cry, and you frowned at him. You reached forward and placed a comforting hand over his on the table.

“She sounds lovely,” you said.

He looked at your hands, swallowing back some tears. He ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. He turned his hand up so your palms were touching. He closed his hand around yours and squeezed it.

He looked up at you, meeting your concerned eyes with his sad ones. The two of you sat like that for a while, holding hands.

You eventually glanced at the clock, and felt glad to see that your cookies were just about done. 

“The cookies should be done,” you said quietly, and the both of you retracted your hands.

George’s eyes followed you as you went to get the cookies. You waved your wand, and all of the now clean and dry dishes flew back to their right places. You levitated the pan from the oven, putting it to rest on the counter. You retrieved a large plate from a cabinet, and a spatula from a drawer. You dished the cookies onto the plate and got two glasses from another cabinet. You pulled open a fridge and got a jug of milk. George smiled fondly at you, his heart spinning in his chest.

You balance the plate on the inside of your arm, your hands full with two glasses of milk. You put one glass in front of George and the plate of cookies between you two. The room filled with the wonderful smell of pumpkin, and George felt at home.

The two of you ate cookies together, and you were able to make George laugh a few times. He felt better, he wasn’t consumed with thoughts about his sister, and he felt like he could actually get some sleep.

You put the remaining cookies in a container you had conjured, closing the lid and holding the box in your hands. You and George stood at the bottom of the stairs, about to walk back up.

“I’m glad I found you here,” George said, turning to you.

“Me too, I’m glad you came.”

He smiled and sighed heavily, his eyes feeling very heavy.

“You made me feel a lot better, and the cookies were delicious.”

“Here,” you moved the container into his bigger hands, “you can have them.”

You shifted, moving your cookbook to fill the space in your hands.

“Oh no,” he said, holding them back out to you, “you made them.”

You shook your head, refusing to take them back.

“Are you sure?” you nodded your head, “Alright, thanks.”

You smiled up at him, and he smiled back down at you.

The two of you walked wordlessly upstairs, and you walked George back to his common room. You faced each other one last time, still smiling.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he said, his voice hushed.

“Goodnight,” you replied, and started walking to your own common room.

George watched you until you turned the corner, his only thoughts about you.

The next morning, George’s eyes felt heavy and swollen from lack of sleep and crying. He had felt happy for a moment when he first woke, his mind still occupied by you, until he saw Fred’s abandoned bed next to his.

He pulled the covers off of him and changed from his pajamas. He wore his Weasley family sweater, feeling awfully homesick.

The Gryffindor common room was eerily quiet. Everyone’s mouths were in downcast frowns, moping around like scared animals.

George couldn’t stand it; he had to get some fresh air. He passed his brother on the couch, leaning into Angelina’s comforting arm. Their eyes met and neither of them smiled.

George stuffed his cold hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looked at the cloudy sky, sitting at a bench in the courtyard. He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a tin hitting the table in front of him. He looked towards the noise and saw you. You had put a tin full of assorted cookies on the table. You were wrapped in a scarf with your house colors on it, the tip of your nose pink.

“Hi, George,” you said, moving to sit across from him.

“Hi,” he smiled, relieved to see you again.

“I made these this morning, and I know it’s early, and you just had some yesterday,” you rambled, and George found it adorable, “but you looked like you could use some more.”

He looked at you, eyes full of adoration. He nodded happily, picking a cookie up and taking a large bite. His eyes closed in euphoria, appreciating how good of a baker you were.

“These are really good, thank you,” he said, taking another.

“No problem,” you said, pushing the tin forwards.

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

“Me? Oh, yeah,” you replied, smiling bashfully at him, happy to know he remembered what you said the night before.

“Good,” he said, smiling at the blush on your cheeks.

“What about you? You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want,” you told him, lowering your voice to a serious and comforting tone.

“I’m just worried, you know?” George said, his expression saddening at the thought of Ginny.

“I know, but I’m sure she’ll be fine, really,” you said, bringing your hand to cover his again. He smiled at them, turning his palm like he did last night and holding your hand.

“I hope so,” he said, squeezing your hand.

George and Fred left the infirmary, saying goodbye to their parents as the adults went to Dumbledore’s office. They began the walk to their common room, finally feeling a release from their shoulders. They had seen Ginny safe and sound, a bit torn up, but safe. Just as Fred said the password to the portrait, George realized there was only one person he wanted to see, and you weren’t in the Gryffindor common room.

He told Fred he had to go, and broke off into a run. He ran down the stairs, taking them by two, and his long legs carried him through the halls. He ran through the doors of the great hall and down the stairs to the kitchens.

He found you there, putting icing on a beautiful cake. You eyes shot up at him, and you smiled,

“George? What are you doing down here?” you asked, and he walked towards you.

“I had to see you, I had to tell you; they found Ginny,” he said, and he was breathing heavily. He couldn’t tell if it was from running or from being so close to you.

His face was inches away from yours, and his hands gripped your shoulders. 

“Oh! That’s great, I’m so glad!” you said, dropping your icing spatula and embracing George.

He wrapped his arms around you, breathing in the smell of freshly baked cake. He pulled you away from his chest, bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks. You stared at him, and he looked down at your lips. 

He closed the distance and kissed you gently. He tasted the sweet icing on your tongue, and smiled a little. Your hands were messy, but you didn’t care. You ran your hands through his hair, letting your fingernails drag through the red locks. You both pulled away, out of breath. He smiled at your swollen lips, and you smiled at the icing you had just rubbed all over his face.

You pulled out of his embrace, reaching for the rag on the counter. You brought it to his face and wiped away the sugary substance. You both stood there, smiling senselessly at each other.

“I baked a cake,” you said, “now it’s a celebration cake.”

“Can I have some?”

“Of course,” you moved away, finishing the frosting and slicing a generous piece for George.

You watched him take a bite, his mouth turning into an even wider smile.

“It’s delicious.”

[sweeethinny]

Insecurities and loneliness

Summary:

Lily faces problems on her first year, problems that Ginny knows very well and knows that she will need to talk about - almost - everything about her own first year. Things are almost never easy in the beginning.

Thanks to @startanewdream, for the prompt, thanks to @whathefawkes for the incredible help and conversation, I hope you all like it.

No, in my HC all cousins are not best friends, because each one has their own life. Lily is the youngest. She is going to the second year, Albus to the fourth, James to the sixth :)

Read bellow the cut or on AO3

'Can I come in?' James asked, looking a little flustered, his cheeks flushed and his hair a little messy, just putting his head into Ginny's office.

'Sure, did something happen?' Ginny continued to sort the papers into organized stacks, keeping her mind working and still trying to pay attention to what James had to say. It was only a week away for her to deliver that work, and if a comma was wrong, she was screwed.

'Look, I don't like to gossip... well, not like that, at least, but I think there's something wrong with Lily.' As soon as he stopped talking, Ginny had already dropped the papers and stared at her son, big eyes towards him, a little scared.

'What do you mean, something wrong?' James looked at his own feet, seeming to think the exact words, and Ginny hated that he was not as impulsive in these moments as she was, but more rational like Harry.

'Mira realized that... I also noticed... that she is a little alone. Since Rose traveled... She doesn't seem to have friends.' James grimaced, as if he didn't like having to say it out loud. 'I know it's her first year, but Lily seems a little out of place, I don't know. I mean, Louis is out, Rose is older than she, Hugo and she are not that attached, Albus has his friends.. I just want to say that maybe she is feeling a little alone. She was alone all afternoon today, basically, in the living room. Albus is locked up with Scorpion and even when they go to the kitchen, I don’t think they’ll talk to her, and I was with Mira… We asked her out, but Lily said she didn’t want to.’

'I'm going to talk to her,' Ginny assured, thinking that those papers could wait a few more hours. Harry would work until later, and she could take the time to work. Something about her maternal instinct didn't seem to like what James was saying. 'Thanks.'

'You're welcome.' James smiled, waving and running out of her office, leaving Ginny surrounded by silence.

She didn't want Lily to feel alone, Ginny knew what it felt like to be alone and the consequences of that weren't the best. Her daughter was the youngest and her brothers always seemed too busy for her. Lily was the youngest of the entire family. Perhaps the lack of a close cousin and with her age would make her feel more alone than usual.

Of course, Ginny noticed that James and Albus got letters from their friends, but Lily only received a few from time to time from Rose, but she particularly believed that her daughter had found other ways to communicate with friends. Through the mirror, or perhaps, she would send letters but she was only more discreet; Ginny felt like a bad mother.

Leaving her office in the underground, next to Harry's and their wine cellar, Ginny went up the stairs and walked towards the living room, where a loud noise of voices was heard. The room was dark, even though there were still traces of sunlight outside, the curtains all drawn, and the only source of light was the TV on over the fireplace. Lily almost disappeared in the middle of the sofa cushions, lying where Harry used to be. There was a thin blanket on top of her, an empty popcorn jar, empty cookie wrapper inside the jar, and a cup on the coffee table, which Ginny guessed was chocolate milk.

Which made her understand the gravity of the situation and how miserable Lily was feeling, since she only drank hot chocolate when it was miserably cold, or when she was miserable.

The girl's arm was still bandaged, as she had fallen off the broom when she was trying to accompany James on high, and Harry was unable to fully relieve the fall. Lily had been fine, even though Ginny had seen her terrified eyes when the healer said that she would need to put the bone in place and it would probably hurt.

'Hey,' Ginny said quietly, walking around the couch to sit next to the girl, who did not take her eyes off the TV, where now a blonde girl seemed willing to dye her hair black. 'All right?'

'Yea,' Lily murmured, shrugging her shoulders as if she didn't pay much attention to her mother. Ginny smiled sadly.

'James said you didn't want to go out with him and Mira today... did anything happen?' She tried again, lifting the blanket and lying next to Lily, as they used to do before she went to Hogwarts.

‘They clearly didn’t want me to go together. So, I didn't.' Lily continued without looking at Ginny, her glasses reflecting a little of the colored lights that came from the TV.

'Do you want to talk?' This time, Lily turned her attention away from the TV, for a few seconds, looking at Ginny quickly before turning around again.

'No.' Ginny nodded, trying not to take it too personally.

'Do you want to help me make dinner? I thought about cooking that pasta dough that your dad made… Maybe make meatballs?' Ginny knew it was her favorite dish, of course, it wasn't Harry's homemade pasta with meatball, but she could try.

'Why doesn't Al help you?' Lily said, looking at her mother again. 'Or is he too busy?' Lily's sarcastic tone didn't go unnoticed, and Ginny didn't think it was even the girl's intention to make it clear what she meant, but still, it hurt a little inside her. The 11-year-old Ginny seemed to feel the pain that Lily felt.

'Your brothers are very busy, huh?' Ginny tried, stepping on eggs and afraid to end up breaking one, causing Lily not to open up to her.

'Everyone is.' The girl pulled the blanket up to her chin, turning her attention back to the TV.

‘Even your friends?’

'They didn't send me any letters, so they must also be busy.' Ginny wanted to break the main rule that she and Harry stipulated when Teddy started being a tantrum teenager, which was ''give them space to talk when they feel comfortable'', and wanted to hug Lily and ask a million questions and then go up to James and Albus' room and force them to interact with their sister.

But Ginny was steady, taking a deep breath and trying to keep her composure.

'Did you send them a letter?' It seemed that it hurt Ginny more than it hurt her daughter, the monster from the past terrorizing her mind, even if it wasn't real at all.

Ginny knew that eventually it would happen, and that raising a girl would bring out this demon she kept under lock and key.

Dealing with Teddy, James or Albus' insecurities seemed a lot easier now. It was as if theirs didn't hurt as deeply as the ones she shared with Lily.

Ginny knew what it was like to be lonely even with a big family.

'It's just her. I only have one friend,' Lily said, looking ashamed of it. 'And I did, but she didn't respond.' Ginny blew out a breath that she hadn't even realized she was holding, closing her eyes for a second as if she was trying to find the right words.

‘Lily, honey-’

'-It's okay,' Lily interrupted, speaking a little louder, as if she was controlling herself to explode. 'She looked like she was my friend just because of James, anyway.' She shrugged, denying vehemently as if she wanted to forget. ‘Okay, I’m over it.’

‘Lily-’

'-It is true. I'm fine here. Today I saw three good films, and two bad ones, much better than yesterday, that everything I watched was bad.’ She smiled, as if she was trying to be happy. 'Besides, maybe when I remove the sling, I can improve my nail painting technique. The left hand always gets worse than the right.'

‘My love, but are you going to be locked in here?’

'But there's not much to do, mom,' Lily complained, her voice wavering and shaking. 'Rose is traveling, Teddy is away, Albus is always very busy, and James too. Everyone has something to do but me.' Her brown eyes teared up behind her glasses, which was the last straw for Ginny, who hugged the girl as if she were still her little baby, lying trapped against her chest and kissing her forehead.

Her mother's heart, which wanted to protect her children from all harm and pain, broke when she felt Lily's tears wet her white button-down shirt, one arm hugging her back, while keeping the other protected from the grip.

Ginny wanted to be able to feel that pain herself, wanted to open Lily's chest and remove any shadow of insecurity that might arise, with her own hands, to take care lovingly so that she would never doubt herself, and that she would always be happy.

But Ginny also knew that she couldn't do that, not just because of the obvious, but because it would help Lily grow and learn to defend herself. It was necessary if Ginny wanted her daughter to be independent and really sure of herself.

However, it still hurt.

Ginny kissed Lily's head, stroking her red hair, and closing her eyes when the demons themselves seemed to want to visit her, the ones who hardly made any more noise but who occasionally tormented her.

'I didn't have a good first year either,' Ginny started, her voice strangled. 'I also felt lonely and out of place, and a little lost, because I saw my brothers just being my brothers at home and when I got there everyone had friends of their own, and they were famous, and they didn't seem to care much for me.' She laughed sadly, pressing Lily against her. 'But I know they still loved me, they just had their own lives, and I know it hurts when we don't feel inside any group, or when we see ourselves alone, but... You are not alone, Lily. You never will be. It's your first year, everyone who came in with you is also lost, I promise you that, and little by little you will get to know more people, loosen up more, and make friends... This girl? Maybe she really is your friend, even though she likes James.. It’s because he is older, and when we are that age the older boys look much more interesting.’

'But James is ugly,' Lily complained, her voice muffled against her mother's shirt. Ginny laughed softly, thinking about how that sounded a little with a little bit of jealousy.

'Well, maybe your friend doesn't think so. Who knows, maybe she just can't answer the letter? Call her to come here, or to come with us to the Amusement Park next week. What about?'

'What if she doesn't want to?' Lily lifted her head, her glasses fogged and a little crooked on her face, her brown eyes a little red from crying.

'So, when you return to Hogwarts you make other friends. Maybe you meet someone on the train and become friends with that person, who knows? The youngest always go alone, it is a good opportunity to meet someone. That's how I met Aunt Luna.’ Ginny smiled, seeing her smile too. Not a big smile, but a lot better than the crying of before. ‘James was worried about you.’

'James?' Lily's eyes blinked, looking confused by that brother's demonstration. Ginny would have to talk to him and Albus about not leaving Lily alone at Hogwarts, at least for now, while she was still adapting.

'Yes… I know that now he and Albus don't seem to want you around, and I swear, when you get to their age you will also feel that way, but they are still your brothers, and they still love you. Never forget that, okay?’

'Okay.' She nodded, her cheeks a little flushed.

'And me and your father always, Lily, always, we will be here. You can always send us a letter and call us whenever you feel necessary or want to talk. Never think you can't tell us how you feel, okay? Promise me.' The demons who seemed to have woken up with that situation, stirred inside her, as if only the memory of what she lived and the times she thought of telling that she felt something was wrong but was afraid, would make her want to cry again.

It had been a few years since the last time something had reminded her of Tom and made her feel that way.

'I promise.' Lily hugged her, as if now it was Ginny who needed that warmth.

It soothed her in a way, it was like the times when Harry held her after a nightmare, silently promising that it was all over and that she was fine.

'Are you going to make dinner with me? I bought the cookies you like.’

'This is a great way of bribing,' The girl took the blanket off them, dragging herself off the couch. 'But I'm still going to paint my nails.' Lily picked up the whole mess of dishes and packaging, following her mother into the kitchen after turning off the TV.

'Okay, we can do this together.' Ginny smiled, winking at her. 'I love you, my love.' She hugged her once again, taking advantage of the fact that Lily still liked affection, and had not yet reached Albus' age, who seemed to hate showing affection.

‘I love you too, mom.’

'Now, tell me...' Ginny cleared her throat, taking the pasta dough that Harry had made two days ago. 'Mira and James?' Lily's eyes widened, turning away from her and opening the refrigerated cupboard where they kept the meat, looking like she wanted to buy time.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, mom.’

| LATER |

'Hey,' James interrupted the music Lily was listening to, sitting on the bedroom floor as she arranged the new books her father had bought for her, by color. She almost got off the ground with a fright, looking at the door and seeing Albus and James standing there. ‘How are you?’ The older asked, wearing only an old pair of shorts that were stained with paint. Albus looked as if he had been forcibly pulled out of bed, with messy hair and the old wrinkled Muggle band T-shirt, as well as the shorts he wore.

'Fine. Did something happen?' Lily was surprised, they almost never entered her room, Teddy did, but James and Albus not.

'No, we just wanted to be with you,' Albus said, showing the Explosive Snap box he was carrying. 'Want to play?'

'Hm... yes.' She frowned, placing the last book on the shelf and crawling forward, being followed by her brothers who also sat on the floor, not even complaining about the music she heard.

'I brought you cake, I thought you would want it too.' James reached for a plate for her, a nice piece of the carrot cake that Al and Harry had made the day before. Lily smiled.

'Of course, thank you.' She imagined that her mum might have spoken to them, or maybe - and more likely - James had forced Albus to accompany him, but Lily didn't care much, she liked that they at least cared for her, it didn't matter how they got there. ‘Mom asked me about you and Mira today.’

'What?' James turned, his cheeks incredibly red.

'Oh, James, you were discovered.' Albus laughed, pushing his brother's shoulder with a slight provocation.

'I didn't say anything.' Lily swore. 'You're welcome.'

'Thank you.' James was still flushed, but rolled his eyes when she and Al laughed. ‘I don’t even know why she asked if there’s nothing going on.’

'So can I tell her that I saw you two kissing today?' Albus asked, a cheeky smile on his face, eyebrows raised.

'Fuck off, Albus.' James pushed him back, which only made them laugh even more.

Mum was right after all, Lily thought, filling her mouth with cake and watching Albus tease James even more, they were still brothers and her best friends.

[lalovi]

AN: My parents walked into my room midway of me making this and asked me what I was doing- 😰 Um... enjoy?

Part 2:

https://www.tumblr.com/shmolish/746719597375504384/hi-read-your-um-possessive-shadow-milk-x-reader?source=share

Shadow Milk Cookie x GN! Reader

Oneshot (1/2)

Warnings: Suggestive scenes, marking, possessiveness, mild swearing. MINORS, DNI.

-Jealousy, jealousy-

You had been talking to someone new at the theater. They were naturally charming, and you couldn't help but laugh at their jokes, and smile at how they spoke.

He was obviously in love with you, but for some reason, you didn't notice.

Those hungry eyes should be obvious to anybody, though.

Little did you know, someone else had been watching the entire time.

A certain blue jester, gazing and silently hating from afar.

He knew he could make you laugh so much harder, smile so much wider... Make you feel so much better.

Surely you hadn't forgotten about him.. right?

If you did... he would just have to remind you.

You were finished talking to that person soon enough, and Shadow Milk took this as the perfect opportunity to reunite with you!

"Hello doll. Been having fun without me?" He had that normal smile on his face, like he always did. To any normal person, it would look like nothing was amiss...

But something was very wrong.. The fact that you were talking and smiling with somebody else. And the way he looked at you with those eyes- Shadow Milk Cookie absolutely despised it.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that." You would just smile awkwardly.

"Say... who exactly was he?" Shadow Milk would ask while taking your hand. He just started walking somewhere with you.

"Oh, just a guy I met today. He's pretty funny," you explained.

Shadow Milk nodded his head before quickly shoving both of you into a janitor closet.

"Ack, what are you-" Shadow Milk Cookie put a finger infront of your lips, promptly sushing you. His old smile was replaced with a more sinister and stern look.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He would take both of your hands and pin them above your head, and you could feel his breath on your neck as he moved closer to it.

"What is this for..?" You'd ask him, breath hitching as he sent butterfly kisses along the side of your neck.

"Doll, you're so oblivious that it hurts."

You could feel him begin to nip at the skin on your neck.

"You seriously didn't notice how he was looking at you?"

You would let out some quiet mewls before responding.

"I guess not-"

He bit down hard on your neck, to which you immediately whined at.

"Doll, you have to be quiet. I know you can take it~ And besides, you wouldn't want someone to hear us, right?" He would ask teasingly. You knew he had that shit-eating grin on his face.

You would shake your head and try your best to stay quiet.

"Struggling, are we? I don't see why. I've been much rougher with you before..."

He would continue sucking and biting at your neck, leaving you no time to rest.

"I guess it's entertaining though."

He moved his other free hand to slowly trail down your side, only stopping to be placed firmly around your waist. He pulled your bodies closer together, yet to him, it was never quiet close enough.

At this point, you were practically melted under his touch, and your legs were trembling.

He had told you time and time again to not be so loud... but it really couldn't be helped.

Purple and red bite marks were dotted all over you neck. There was no hiding all of them..

Shadow Milk would take his knee and nudge between your legs slightly.

"Dove, why don't we take this to the bedroom?

Fin ☆

Uh, if you guys want more, just request- 👀

[elriell]

Chapter Two—  

[Chapter 1]

In The Absence of Light

Restless sleep continued to plague her the following nights, just as she had feared the cold spikes of anxiety that crippled her mind refused to ease up their battle for control.

Azriel never mentioned their tense early morning encounter, but she could not deny that after his departure she had finally managed to succumb to a few good hours of rest, and for that she was grateful. She put it down to simply feeling calmer after seeing a friend and refused to look any further in to why that would be.  

So, when Elain saw him over breakfast, she offered him a genuine smile and accepted the muffin he silently offered her in return. She tried not to dwell on the fact that he did not in truth look as if he had been blessed with a good sleep, as she had.  

~

Several nights had passed since then and time trickled by slowly, each night she found herself staring up at the ceiling, tossing and turning among the expensive linens, unable to settle down. Vivid dreams swirled around in her head; the same thoughts as always, they appeared to be taking up permanent residency, she was less than pleased with that realization.  

Every noise poked at her subconscious, taunting her mockingly. She let out a sigh at the ridiculousness of her thoughts, as if the branches crashing in the wind could possibly be trying to ridicule her, she truly was losing it alltogether. Taking a deep breath, she gave up on her quest for sleep and slid her feet in the soft pair of slippers and set off for the kitchen, doing her best not to awake anyone on her path, though she doubted she would, everyone in this house seemed to sleep through most her terrors.  

Lost in her own scattered thoughts she barely saw him lent over, in truth he looked as though he too was in his own world. Strong powerful arms flexed over the sink as he gazed out the window in to the gardens below. The dark leathery wings hung limply behind him, he painted quite the sorrowful picture, moonlight casting down upon him.

A fallen angel, infinitely beautiful and untouchable in an heartbreaking way.  

“Trouble sleeping?” His honey voice caught her off guard, she really had to stop being surprised when it came to the shadow-singer, his instincts were sharp as the thorns that she tried to avoid when gardening.  

“Seems to be going around these days.” A soft shrug. “I was just going to make myself something warm, would you join me?”  

He turned towards her at that and it struck her as it always did how easily he concealed his emotions, as if he could carefully tuck them away in a box and forget about them. His eyes however spoke volumes, they were devastating to her mental resolve, a crack splintering straight to her heart.

“I would like that very much.”  Agreeing gently.

Elain willed herself to focus on the task at hand; warming up some milk for the both of them. She felt more than heard him shuffle amongst the kitchen retrieving mugs and placing them to her left, returning to his former place. “Thank you for the other night— No, no, no... Please don't stop me, I want to, no I need to. I haven’t gotten that much sleep-in months, so thank you.”

A small blush crept up his face much to her quiet delight, it was such a rarity to pierce his stoic exterior.

She poured them both a cup each and set out to retrieve some cookies from a jar she had baked earlier in the day, once she had set a sufficient amount on a plate, she joined Azriel at the small breakfast table at the far end of the room.

Though dark out it was a beautiful spot, the whole side of the wall was built from different shades of stained glass and under the moonlight it shone a messy pattern of colors across the cobblestone floor, it had quite easily become one of her favorite places once her nightmares began. A colorful sanctuary to be at ease.

There were so many questions on the tip of her tongue, she wondered so much about him, about his troubles, his travels, about Nesta, who she had not received any letters from since her departure though that was no surprise all things considered. She wished she could tell her she had not known of the plans, wished she could have at least said goodbye, god, she wished for so many things.

Perhaps she would ask Azriel to take her on his next visit to the mountains, she filed that away for another day.  

“I suppose the tonic didn't work then?” He inquired before dunking a cookie in to his mug.

“Ah—” Hesitating for a beat too long. “It's alright you needn't lie to me; your secrets are your own. If you do not wish to say I shall not bring it up again.”  He jumped in before she finished.

Truth. She knew without a doubt he would not push her, would accept whatever she was willing to give.  

“That is quite alright, to be honest with you Azriel, I am not sure I quite know myself.” She considered it carefully. “I think deep down, beneath every excuse, I just, well I just don’t want to be...”

“Medicated.” He finished for her.

It should not surprise her after all this time, he was always able to read her seamlessly and understand her completely even when she wasn’t sure she understood herself. He was able to deduce that she was a Seer when the rest thought she was going mad, even her own mate, scoffing internally at the word. It was a shame, she supposed, that it had nothing to do with Lucien. He was a good enough man but she simply couldn’t handle the burden that such a bond posed after the events of last year.  

“Exactly.”

He was uncharacteristically sheepish when he asked, “It’s not my place, but is something wrong? Lucien?” He stumbled over the last word as if he found it hard to roll off his tongue. Odd. Azriel rarely if ever spoke on the subject of the former spring court emissary, almost seemed to avoid it at all costs.

Upon reflection she could not think of one time through their many conversations that he had ever inquired about him if she had not started the discussion.  

It was eery some days, it was as though he could see inside her soul, study her like a well-read book.

And if she was following that analogy through then she was certainly an old nattered forgotten book that was far too damaged to be of much value... She heard Nesta’s voice as the thought formed scolding her for thinking that any book would not hold its own important value in the world.  

“No.” She replied honestly. “I am not quite sure what is fuelling my problems only that they are rather determined at keeping me from a peaceful sleep. But enough about that, let us talk about better things, happier things, tell me about your favorite places to...”

And so, they would spend several hours hunched over the table talking in hushed tones about everything and nothing at all, refilling their mugs repeatedly as time faded away and all that remained was the moments within, the coloured light streaming over them bathing them in a pool of colours steadily shifting as the sun rose, not that either noticed until household staff awoke to prepare for the day.  

And when she returned to her bedchamber, she would not care on bit that she was still on the brink of exhaustion.

~

They developed quite a habit of it unexpectedly. At one point or another in the night when her sleep or lack there of, became too much to bare, she would wander down to the kitchen where inevitably he would be sat as if waiting for her.

She tried not to be so self-absorbed as to think it was solely because of her. But after the first few times happened and it became a reoccurring pattern, warm milk always lay on the table waiting for her, always warm, almost as if he could sense when she would arrive despite it changing most nights.

It did not help her ever growing endearment to him.

~

Although she knew Azriel would eventually grow bored of this habit they had formed, perhaps conversation would become tiresome to maintain for him but she promised to enjoy his company while it lasted.

He made her happy and the small private moments she would cherish among the bland parts of her day, though it wasn’t particularly healthy for either of them as it meant neither was sleeping much.

But it was a worthy sacrifice, all considered she was not sleeping before therefore she was not losing anything, however she did feel a twinge of guilt for the shadow-singer. Hoped it would not interfere with his day-to-day activities and not put him at greater risk whilst following out orders.  

But alas all good things must come to an end and last night would mark that for them both.

He had been uncharacteristically quiet all night, simply letting her ramble on about the new plans for opening up the back garden to prepare it for new flowers and wildlife, he had simply watched her for hours with a gentle “Mmm” and “Of course” along the way, in hindsight she should have guessed something was coming.

He arose from the bench first keeping his eyes locked to the ground, and fiddling with the lapels of his jacket seemingly trying to buy time, while the silence hung heavy in the air.  

“It seems there has been some problems arising in the northern territories and Rhys has asked that I head out for a few days to ensure it is nothing more serious.” Shifting his feet back and forth still reluctant to make eye contact.

“I see.” She really didn’t. “When are you to leave?”

The grimace was noticeable on his controlled face, “An hour ago. Give or take.”

He did not give her time to respond as he leaned over her, closer than they had been to each other in some time and he smelled like the woods after a rainfall if that could be a smell at all, fresh yet masculine. The kiss he planted on her forehead was so gentle had she not had her eyes open she scarcely would have felt it.  

Her lids fell and her breathing changed, and she wondered if one could feel as if their heart both stopped and raced at the same time, she was losing all sense of reason and by the time she regained her thoughts enough to open her eyes he was gone.  

His absence hit her quickly and she had to take a deep breath to hold back the tear stinging her eye, yet again she was left to her own devices. Perhaps it for the best that she not grow too reliant on his company, though she was infinitely grateful for his friendship and companionship she did not want him to feel burdened by her.  

This would give them some much needed separation and time to rebuild her mental walls and form some boundaries for herself.

~

The first night was not as bad as she expected and she tried to be optimistic that this was a new leaf for her.

Unfortunately, as she well knew nothing lasts for long, especially something good. Not for her. By the fourth night the dark void had returned in full to cause chaos on her mind, and so chaos spread, worsening night after night.  

Elaine’s nightly visits to the kitchen had not ceased they simply became a solitary adventure and as the week reached its end, she was near desperate for the relief of her favorite companion would provide.

Having overheard Mor speaking to Feyre in the lounge she was able to confirm that he had returned to the estate sometime midday, though his meetings with his High Lord kept him out of sight much to her disappointment.

She did her best to tame the growing excitement that bubbled up when she thought about his return.

Tonight, for a change she made no attempts to sleep simply busied herself with brushing out her curls and spraying her favorite perfume, feeling silly for going to such efforts. Truthfully though she knew that beneath whatever crush she had formed it had little to do with her attachment to him, it was his companionship and friendship she coveted most, he was a true and loyal friend, a rare thing to her these days.  

She made a promise to herself not mare it with her growing attraction. She refused to lose another person she cared about.

Which is why when she finally made it down to the kitchen after holding off as long as possible only to be greeted by an empty room, she felt her heart twinge. Feeling silly for simply assuming he would be there, for not even questioning it. Not that she blamed him, the kinder part of her hoped he was getting a descent nights rest again, refusing to think on it for long she made herself warm cocoa and set off for bed.

Unsurprisingly sleep did not come easy to her but at least on this night it was not the terrible evil that plagued her, rather the piercing eyes of her favorite spy.

As the hours ticked on and she grew more restless her body wrenched itself out of bed as if on its own accord, and paced a way across their home, it was as she reached the West Wing she realized where she had unconsciously ended up. It was not hard through process of elimination to work out which was his, no light shone beyond the door and no detectable sound either, though she doubted she would know if he was moving about.  

It was silly to have come all this way and she was well aware of how embarrassing her need to visit him was but as she stood with only a large oak door separating them, she understood exactly why she had come, because in that moment she finally felt calmer than she had all week, the anxiety that weaved its way through her reseeded slowly.  

She figured that it couldn’t hurt to stay for a few moments to calm down a little more before venturing back, it would not hurt anyone what they did not know.  

Unaware of when it happened, she found herself sliding down against the door until her bottom hit the cold cobblestones, it was a rather strange feeling that simply being in proximity to him would bring her such small comforts but so was the case as she felt exhaustion slowly creep over and when it came, she felt safe enough to let it take her, she closed her eyes and drifted away.

~

Pheeeeew, That was long and still a little sad but i promise it is going to get less DEPRESSING™️ I just want to lay the groundwork for what is going to happen 😉 I would love any and all critique as always, it is what fuels me!

Also i was almost finished writing the chapter but the title and colourful glass is inspired by the book I am re-reading with that name.

As always anyone who wants to be added or removed just let me know 🖤

@elriel-oblivion @elriel-incorrect-quotes @tswaney17 @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @stars-falling @verifiefangirl @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @julemmaes @thefangirlofhp @empress-ofbloodshed @elrielllll @abraxos-is-toothless @julesherondalex @courtofjurdan @amitynotpity @libraryonthepond @mis-lil-red

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

[octopodeez]

Wasted Time (Elijah Mikaelson x Reader)

Based on this request:  Can I request a Elijah X reader where the reader is good friends with Elijah and Klaus teases her to be in Love with him, and she acts like Elijah knows and might forces him to play along, turning out they both have feelings for each other but didn't admit it? Klaus playing match maker

Your coven warned you to stay away from New Orleans, but you felt you had a pilgrimage to make. The entire city was known to be bursting at the seams with magic, and you’d dreamt of going since the moment you cast your first spell. You longed to tap into that energy. Maybe even pick the brains of some of the local witches to see what they could teach you.

You also admittedly had a curiosity about the very thing you were warned about: the war. Word spread fast about the city’s chaos once the original family made their return. Vampires and werewolves and witches were battling in the shadows, right under the noses of every tourist and townie. It was fascinating, and you figured a little quiet observation wouldn’t hurt anyone. Your naivety was laughable.

Not 24 hours into your trip did you end up becoming a pawn passed back and forth between the witches and the vampires. A wildcard for every side to use—new blood in the game. It ended with your coven alienating you. They wanted no part in any of it, especially when the original family was involved, and to offer you safe harbor was to bring the bloodshed to them. The witches of New Orleans gave you a similar answer when you desperately sought refuge with them, though, theirs ended with plans to execute you.  

And then there was Elijah. Elijah who found you labeled as a traitor, about to be sacrificed. Elijah who rescued you and gave you his word that he’d keep you safe.

The living situation wasn’t ideal, and you lost the ability to move freely about the city, but over time, you came to like it. Winning over his siblings wasn’t easy, especially Klaus, but after Elijah reminded him that he was the one to drag you into this, he softened slightly.

You did your best to earn your keep, though Elijah insisted you didn’t have to. You’d happily cast spells upon request, but mostly you found yourself cooking and cleaning. It irritated Rebekah to no end when she came around.

My brothers are over 1,000 years old, if they haven’t learned to pick up after themselves by now then they deserve to live in filth, she chided the first time you met. If you must do something, make it to be that you keep to yourself. The less involved with our family you are, the better. Trust me on that.

You nodded along for her benefit, and even took her advice for a bit while she was there. But the second she left again, you were back to making cookies and disposing of bodies.

Occasionally things would quiet down. Someone would propose a flimsy peace treaty, or a faction would be forced to withdraw as they licked their wounds. It was those times that Klaus was at his most dangerous. Without the distractions of war, he had time to turn his attentions to other things…namely your friendship with Elijah.  

At first, he was relatively quiet about it. He’d shoot smug, knowing glances and take the occasional vague jab in one of your directions. But as time went on and his boredom grew, he became far more vocal about what he’d suspected since day one: you and Elijah were in love.

He was half right. You had it bad for his elder brother, and everyone knew, save for Elijah himself. Or rather—he did know and simply chose not to acknowledge it. The latter was more likely. Few were more perceptive than Elijah, and there was absolutely no way he didn’t catch you staring at him as he read or lighting up whenever he walked within six feet of you. You’d come to terms with it quickly, and decided it was probably for the better he didn’t say anything. He’d quickly become your closest friend, and you’d rather have that than nothing at all.

Klaus decided otherwise.

“Your affections for my brother are exhausting, you know,” he said one day. He was leaning against your doorframe with his arms loosely crossed, watching you change your bedsheets.

You sighed and fiddled with a pillowcase. Ignoring him had never made him go away in the past, but you could sure as hell still try.

He remained persistent. “It’s no secret you fancy our dearest Elijah, and your longing stares after him are losing their humor.”

“So you’ve caught me looking at your brother a few times. What’s the big deal?” You snapped.

Klaus clicked his tongue after finally getting the reaction he wanted out of you.

“It seems I’ve struck a nerve, little witch.”

“No, I’m just tired of having this same conversation. I don’t know what you’re hoping to get out of it. Or are you just jealous?” There was venom in your voice and Klaus looked more delighted by the second.

“You’re not my type, love, but thank you for keeping me in your thoughts,” he replied. His sarcasm made your blood boil. “A quick word of advice—my brother seldom opens his heart to others. If you do choose to grow a spine and act upon your feelings…just know I’ll gladly reach down your throat and rip it right back out, should you ever hurt him.”

***

Klaus’s words stuck with you. They kept you up that night and well into the morning as they played in your mind over and over again. My brother seldom opens his heart to others. My brother seldom opens his heart to others. My brother seldom opens his heart to others. You knew better than to read into it. Hearts could open for friends just as much as for lovers…but could they really?

“You look conflicted.”

Elijah appeared in the kitchen with impeccable timing, as usual. You had just shoved a large spoonful of cereal in your mouth, and now your cheeks were swollen with Cheerios. A dribble of milk dripped down your chin and you nearly choked as you scrambled to wipe it away. He smiled and waited patiently for you to recover.

“What?” You finally managed. It was the first time you spoke since rolling out of bed and the sound was less than pleasant.

“You look conflicted,” he repeated, and then added “did you not sleep well?”

“Oh, no, I slept fine. Or, I guess I had a little trouble falling asleep…woke up a few times, too. But other than that, fine,” you stammered. Each word was clumsier than the next.

“Mm. Perhaps you should take it easy today. Maybe draw yourself a bath later on. You’re welcome to use the tub in my room. I expect it’s a bit nicer than yours.”

You nearly choked again. In all your fantasies and daydreams, you’d somehow never pictured him in the bath until now. Your mind’s eye was practically whirring with excitement as you envisioned him relaxed. Head leaned back. Eyes shut. Breathing deeply as one arm hung lazily over the porcelain’s edge. The other had its fingers wrapped delicately around the stem of a wine glass, filled with an unmistakable shade of deep red liquid. An empty blood bag lay crumpled and discarded on the floor. Nothing sexual. Nothing romantic. Just the wonderful idea of Elijah experiencing a rare moment of bliss.

He must have heard your heart skip a few beats. The clearing of his throat snapped you back to reality.

“Sorry! Maybe I’ll take you up on, uh, that. I’m not really feeling myself today.”

“You don’t say. What happened?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well.”

Elijah stayed quiet for a beat. He looked at you expectantly. Waiting for you to confirm what he already knew: you were full of shit. You pretended not to notice. You’d sit at this table, stubbornly eating the same bowl of Cheerios for an eternity before you willingly gave up the fact that he was the reason for yet another sleepless night.

“I noticed Niklaus coming from the direction of your room last night…so allow me to ask you again. What happened?” His voice was firm and his eyes were narrowed. Had you not known better, you would have almost thought he was jealous.

“Nothing! Klaus was just being Klaus, I don’t know! He stopped by, bugged me while I was trying to clean my room, then left. No conspiracies. No secret love affairs. Nothing new to report.” You chomped down on another spoonful of cereal. Everything came out harsher than you meant it to, but you had no intentions of apologizing.

“Is that so? Because if I recall the conversation I had with my brother last night as he left your room, the placement of your spine was threatened on my behalf…I suppose the question I should be asking isn’t what happened, but for how long?”

You spent so much time daydreaming about Elijah over the short course of your friendship. You pictured a life together. Maybe even an eternity, if he offered to grant it. You imagined what it would be like to feel him drink from you. The way he’d rest his hand on your waist as you drifted to sleep in a shared bed. The taste of his lips between sips of champagne on some far-off beach.

There was a part of you that felt terribly foolish. If something were to happen, it would have happened. He would have acted upon the tension he damn well knew was there. Your relationship was platonic because that was all he wanted it to be. But then there was another part of you. The same part of you that brought you down to New Orleans to begin with. That voice in the depths of your brain that kept whispering Klaus’s words: My brother seldom opens his heart to others.

“A while,” you finally confessed. It felt anticlimactic. Of the thousands of heartfelt speeches you’d planned over the months knowing him, all you could muster was two miserable words.

“I see. And you said nothing.”

“Right.”

Unable to look at him, you grabbed your empty bowl and moved towards the sink, but only made it halfway before he was in front of you, blocking your path.

The way he studied you made you feel small and exposed, a feeling you’d experienced many times in your life, but never to this degree. His body was close to yours. You could feel his breath lightly on your skin. It rippled over every nook and cranny of your being, making your hairs stand on end. If you wanted to, you could reach out and kiss him—and you did want to, badly--but you remined frozen in time, waiting for him to speak.

He never said a word.

His hand found its way to you neck, and he tangled his fingers in your hair as he kissed you. It was tender, but had an underlying fire to it that made your knees buckle. You wrapped your arms around him for support. To draw him in closer, closer, closer, closer, until you had to come up for air. He allowed you to take a breath, just enough to keep your heart pounding, before kissing you again, somehow with even more fervor than before.

When it was finally done, Elijah smiled and held you against his chest. He kissed the top of your head. The side of your neck. The shell of your ear.

There was so much wasted time to make up for.  

I’m not super crazy with how this one turned out, but matchmaker Klaus was a ton of fun to write! If you like what you see, check out my AO3 and master list :)