#I want my favorite fanfics in physical form

[wonder-and-wildflowers]

Physical media is so dear to me

but not always in the cute

"Look at my collection!! Look at how well organized it is!! Look at all I've got and am getting"

kinda way

But sometimes in a very feral, stars-in-eyes, foam-at-mouth

"Look at my collection!! Look at how well organized it is!! Look at all I've got and am getting"

kinda way

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 10)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds 📍 Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 10 Good Deeds

Alastor takes you out as promised, but work/hobbies call him away. Not that you mind, you have your own hobbies to pick up.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, references to racial violence, reference to a word that’s now very much a slur, Hate for Aubrey, inaccurate portrayal of how easy it was to drink, oh yeah murder, mentions of a dismembered body, bloody shoes, physics hijinks with a corpse, these idiots in love, gators aaaaaye baby, domestic fluff?? Kind of?? Did I do it?!」

I think about Emmett Till often. Though his heinous murder came after the time this story is set, what happened to him wasn’t an isolated incident. So it is referenced here in a sense, because I can’t stop thinking about him when I think about racial violence in the south both what it looked like before and what it looks like now. I don’t say anything explicit and change the act, but it is still important to warn you. If you don’t know about the tragic death of Emmett, here’s a site with links to articles and essays. Be careful, it is awful and his deceased and battered face will come up on some links, as his mother wanted the world to see what they did to her baby. It’s an image I cannot forget and I rightfully shouldn’t. I know it’s off to have such a heavy topic before this love story but this case is the kind that would motivate such a killer as Alastor, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity to remind us of Emmett’s short life even if it’s done in a silly fanfic surrounded by nonsense. So forgive me for perhaps an odd real life addition, I’d be disappointed in myself for not addressing it when Emmett has been on my mind every time I think about the era someone like Alastor could have lived in. An era that did exist and people did live and suffer in.  An era not far removed from us, my father was alive when this happened.

Part 10 - Good Deeds

minors if you interact I will interpret that as a deep hate for me as a person so MDNI 👌🏼

“I’ve got to speak with the valet, go on ahead and find a table you like.” 

You didn’t want to do that at all, but knew Alastor wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want it. Well, he didn’t really ask, did he? He was certainly in his element, the shining and towering hotel every bit as pristine as his own public image.

It was as if every head in the room spun around to look at you. Everyone’s hair freshly styled, jewelry shiny and heavy, clothes immaculate. Your dress was lovely, no doubt, but no one looks at the elephant in her tutu at the circus and proclaims, “A ballerina!” This was, rather obviously, not your scene.

Alastor had presented the dress to you so sweetly, though. You woke up to find it hanging on the closet door hook, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He had either waited for you to fall asleep to hang it or woken up before you for just the reason. It was red, his favorite color for you. The latest fashion, loose and straight. No corset. The neckline showcased a large, flat bow. 

“Partly a gift for me,” he had said as his hands slid down your sides when you had gotten dressed, “Such softness shouldn’t be hidden behind rigid boning.”

You settled into a large seashell shaped booth, the back coming up and over like you were the speck of sand yet to form into a pearl. The table was small, a glittering pattern under its shiny veneer. Everything was…glistening. Even the darkness past the windows seemed to be sparkling back at you. A few people turned to look you up and down, smiling and beginning to speak to their group before even turning back to them. 

You could wither, or bloom. So you learned back as if you were bored, legs crossed and feet gently shaking with anxiety or boredom, you hoped no one could sus out which. 

It was so odd. In your usual haunts, newcomers were greeted with curious smiles and maybe the tiniest suspicions. You were being picked apart to the bone by sharp stares and even sharper tongues, no matter how silent their jabs were to you. 

“They’re probably jealous.” Your head snapped up, when had Alastor made it in? “They look at you and know, ‘oh, that’s the kind of woman my husband would rather have a conversation with.’” You laughed, you absolutely could have stolen the attention and more from at least one of these women’s husbands.

“Perhaps they recognize these earrings, gone missing from their jewelry box earlier this year.”  You weren’t above accepting a woman’s stolen jewelry. It was her husband's fault anyway, might as well enjoy it. 

Alastor’s finger came to your chin, lifting your face further into the light, “Give em a good look, darling. I want them to eat their hearts out.” The blush that swept across your features was so fierce, the difference in temperature between your cheeks and your arms caused a chill to run down to your shins. He took a seat beside you, scooting up close and flashing that smile. A smile that had you chasing him into dark alleys and grabbing dead men by the ankles. 

A waiter came by, placing a drink in front of Alastor and asking what you’d like. You were so used to being in such spaces with the kind of men who answered for you that you didn’t reply immediately. When Alastor brought his drink to his lips, you realized it was you who was expected to speak. 

“Oh! A corpse reviver please.”

The man smiled and left with a nod. Alastor choked, hitting his chest with the fleshy part of his palm, “That was intentional, wasn’t it?”

You danced in your seat, “I’ve never been somewhere that has the stock for it that I was…allowed to order what I want.”

Alastor set his drink down and leaned back, shoulder pressing into yours teasingly, “I can’t imagine anyone disallowing you a thing.” With a sigh, you reminded him of the things you did to get your marks drunk and off their guard. You were surprised when he nodded like he remembered. “I saw that! You would sit so quietly on their laps. I remember thinking you were much more boring than you had initially made me believe.” You recoiled, and he shot you a look, “Who stalked who first, hm?” 

With a huff, you let it go. You weren’t actually sure the answer to that anyway. Focus let free from Alastor, you began to notice the looks were back. But no longer cutting into you, but wide and devouring. A few smiled at Alastor, some tipped their heads to him and offered a look of recognition. “Aren’t you popular.”

“I haven’t been out in awhile. They’re probably curious.” He took another sip, “Should be, atleast.”

A prideful smile slid up your face. You uselessly tried to mask it by licking your teeth. 

Something that happened when in public with Alastor that was unlike you was the tendency to become small. Not shrinking to provide him space; it was a turning in of your shoulders and touching of your knees in a subconscious effort to curl into a little ball of joy. Actively fighting the tug, you leaned back and opened your chest. An exercise in mental focus. 

“It’s weird. How you can be friends with my kind of people and….well, whatever is happening here.” Your hand waved at the room before you both. 

“My friendship with these people compared to our friends at the dives is…. A light bulb compared to a fire. One was manufactured to fit a need, one exists somewhat naturally.”

Tall and slim, body flat from collar bones to knees, a slip of a woman entered the room and you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Her hair was short and pitch black, fashionable to say the least. A few heads turned, a few upturned lips shifted into sneers. Side glances, hushed words, intentionally heard huffs. You turned to Alastor to find his face was as confused as your own. 

“Who is that?” You said it low, not knowing if she was friend or foe. 

“That would be Mrs. Aubrey Debreaux. Popular socialite and frequent hostess.” A sip of his drink, speaking about her like a character in a novel. “This icy reception is news to me though. She’s usually the life of the party.”

“She’s a real wet blanket now…Your circles seem really fickle. Always a bit of gossip.” You realized as soon as you said it that, well, that was the point. Alastor needed the gossip, and, well, he clearly enjoyed it.

“That’s what the wealthy do. Gossip and pretend the drama is as stressful as someone looking for their next meal.” Swirling his drink absentmindedly, his eyes followed Aubrey through the hotel bar. When you asked if he knew everyone there, he said it was his job to know people.

“Your job is in radio. You host a show, Alastor.” You laughed through your nose.

“Well, my other job.”

“I’d call that a passionate hobby.” Your hand came to rest half on his and half on the booth bench low and hidden, not wanting to monopolize, but he quickly took it and held it on the table. Another struggle to keep your shoulders from drawing inward.

The room moved on, forgetting you both were there and eventually about Aubrey too. Or so you had thought. When you drink was starting to mellow you, you turned to Alastor to admire the view. You’d come to enjoy that silence, the kind that only existed between people comfortable enough to know they didn’t need to entertain each other to enjoy each other’s company.

He was scanning the bar still, elbow on the table as he rested his chin there. From a distance of space or familiarity it could be seen as boredom. But up close and personal, you could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes.

“Golly, when in Rome!” Alastor hooted and grabbed you by the hand with one of his and carried his drink in the other, “Let’s go gossip. Bring your drink.”

He pulled you into a group of four people in a circle talking. They opened and let you both in, smiles warm. A clamor of excited ‘how long has it been’s, ‘how are you’s, and ‘you look well’s.

You’d expected him to ask for gossip like he’d said, but realized that’d be pretty conspicuous. Instead he waited, and when Aubrey passed by one of them rolled their eyes and he had his opportunity.

“What’s that look for?” He asked. 

Everyone got quiet and passed a glance between them. Finally a woman in a beaded dress and finger wave bob piped up.

“She reported a young boy touched her on the street.” Alastor watched Aubrey cycle through the groups as the friend spoke. “Grazed her hip with his hands, made a comment about white women as he did it.”

Alastor’s head whipped back around. “He got taken away that night.”

You gasped, hand coming to your mouth in sincere horror, “Just for touching her? Is he still in jail?” 

The woman’s lips pursed together, no one looking at you.

“Bless your heart. He didn’t touch her and he didn’t make it to the jailhouse, sugar.”

Suddenly the way everyone was looking everywhere but at each other sunk in. 

Panicked, you looked to Alastor. His expression was still, like the calm waters of a deep and foreboding bay. What horrors lie underneath? His tongue wiped across his teeth, and you reached out to take his drink from his hand. The action snapped him out of his daze for a second, expression softening a tad as he nodded a thank you.

If he shattered that glass now, people would remember. And when Aubrey went missing they may recall Alastor’s dramatic reaction. You knew his smiles intimately, the ones that were true and the ones that were illusions. The expressions of joy and the mask for his rage. The smile painted on his face now was nothing short of shallow.

You spent so many days in a bubble with Alastor, shielded by his grace or by the accepting and illegal circles you ran in that you sometimes forgot the reality of life. A dark privilege you hadn’t seen until you were the one looking naive for once. 

That’s right. The world was a bad place, of cruelty and injustice. Not just for you, or for parts of you, or for sides of you. Not just for women with smart mouths or a love of dance. No matter how safe the comfort of your friends and the dark halls you all commiserate in, no matter the like minds and mixed complexions of your peers, you were all just one cruel voice from being dragged into the night. Just a single accusation from being a whispered story in a glittering hotel bar. A headline no one would write. 

And some of you would be mourned more than others. 

You took a second, blinking rapidly to dry your eyes. 

“Apparently, she did it to get Hubert to leave his mistress’s apartment and come home.” A short man whose name you never got took a drag of his cigarette, “Worked. He’s been yapping all week about the state of New Orleans society and the importance of protecting the fairer among us.”

Alastor was quiet still, lips tight. You’d seen the photos in his home. You’d never discussed it, no need. Things can’t become normal if you’re always pointing them out. Plus, that was his piece to share. 

“Glad to see most of us here aren’t too keen to welcome her. I’d hate to have to find another bar.” Someone said, glancing around the room. “George just started making my martinis right.”

“Care to dance?” Alastor abruptly turned his entire body to you with a slick swivel on his heels.

You nodded, offering small polite goodbyes and setting your drinks back on the table before turning to him.

His open palm was outstretched and offering you a dance. You spread your hand over his and felt him hold you firmly before pulling you into him. 

He held you so close, much closer than anyone else on the dance floor. A scandalous lack of distance between you two. Quiet, Alastor’s eyes were distant. You were in front of him but he wasn’t seeing you. You let the song carry on a little longer for appearances before sighing into a smile.

“Why are we dancing when you have work to do? You have your tools.” Looking up at a man was rarely a view you enjoyed but the way his eyes slid down his nose and landed so sharply on you made it worth it. A look that said he’d devour you if he didn’t adore you so much. Your hand snaked behind his back to touch the hidden outline of this trusty little knife. He briefly wondered if this could be considered foreplay, the way he felt your hand on his lower back and running over his weapon. Much more intimate than he’d ever let anyone else be.

As your bodies swayed, the lights slid across the curve of his eyes and lit that bright honey brown color like a diamond twirling in the sun. The facets of his irises mesmerizing you. 

How terribly did you love him? 

How far would you fall for him?

“This would be a long one. You’d be waiting… could be a couple of hours. I need to be out of sight before she leaves.” A chill. Oh, you’d forgotten for a second, Alastor was a killer. He didn’t do it for ‘justice’ alone, he enjoyed what he did. Immensely. His voice had a note of giddiness and anger that didn’t mix well, but was oddly arousing. 

“Correction, I’d be dancing for hours. Drinking. Letting handsome men waste their money on me.” 

“Oh? Can they buy me a drink, too?”

You brought up your pointer finger, “You remind her of her humanity, and I’ll get a man to buy you a drink.” 

He linked his finger with yours. “I’ll need to give her special attention. She’s earned it.”

You loosely understood this wasn’t attention like you’d be given. This was attention that ran opposite affection. 

“I’m not here to be in your way, Alastor.” A quick kiss to your hand, one you hoped no one else saw. While no one here would be bothered by Brady, you still wanted to keep some semblance of confusion on what you two were to onlookers. 

His laugh was louder than you expected, a few heads turning, “Impossible. I’m always going wherever you are, dear.”

Would you never get up again?

“I’ll stay at the bar. If they close, I’ll just go to Beth’s.” Your fingers lingered in his, “Be careful. The best good deeds are done in the dark.”

A kiss to your nose. So gentle despite the topic. You could imagine it, the violent death of a woman. You could hear the sounds. Hers, his, the knife’s. A pang of guilt set in before you could remind yourself why this woman was going to die. A tiny smile settled on your face, he offered you a gentle command in return, “Understood, honey. Be safe.” 

You let him kiss your hand again and bow out of  the dance. You were doing it, it dawned on you as you watched him walk away. Truly kissing him goodbye at the door as he went off to work. The closest you’d ever gotten, atleast. 

He stopped by a group and said some quick goodbyes, apologies for leaving early, and left the hotel bar. 

You knew he had killed women before, Alastor was all for equality, but a part of you worried. Women tend to scream louder, and be heard more often, than men. A man screams and people just…keep walking. What would he do? Where would he do it?

With a sniffle, you let the jealousy of just what he would need to do to get her alone flutter away. Taking a seat back at your table, you sipped your drink and watched the others dance and chat. How odd, they could sway in such large places with big windows and bright lights with no fear of cops. Your scenes were dark, dusty, never seeing the sky. 

“He left ya?” One of the earlier women came by, someone you vaguely remember him nodding a ‘hello’ to at some point in the evening. 

Thankfully you were still quick on your feet. “Well, we came separately, of course we’d leave separately.”

A laughed, “Of course.” She leaned down, touching at your hair for a second, curiously, “Don’t hold your breath. But, it is nice he got you in here, huh? Must be a treat for you.” 

Your own laugh was just as abrupt as Alastor’s earlier, your hand coming to hide your smile. All you could muster was a nod. Yes, you stood out. Yes, you didn’t fit in with these people for many reasons. But, it wasn’t your first time in nice spaces. First time not pressed into a man who’d been made to believe he was more important the whole time, but still. 

It took two more drinks for Aubrey to leave. But there was a problem. As she was trying to bow out of the room, a man kept hooking his fingers under the loose belt of her boxy drop waist dress.

With practiced skill, you took note of where her eyes lingered on him, how her hand came to his arm but didn’t actually press him away. Not earnestly.

The pushy man saw it too, every little soft ‘no’ was a half ‘yes’. And Aubrey seemed to like that. It was almost ironic, given what she had done, how she egged on the younger man before her now by pretending she didn’t want him. His hand landed on her hip forcefully, her hand on his chest gingerly. He leaned in close, she pulled away barely.

The next act was the most classic to women of your era. The false exit.

Aubrey whispered something, he nodded eagerly and his many hands returned to himself.

She smiled at the back of everyone’s heads, as nearly no one would look her way, and she slipped out the doors.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shimmying as you slid from your booth. Barely a step away, you leaned back and grabbed the last sip in your glass. You swished it around your mouth like listerine, and swallowed it. Before you got too close, you pinched your cheeks until your eyes began to water.

You’d just found a way to make yourself useful.

“Whoopsie Daisy!” You giggled, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest as you stumbled past.

“Watch - ooh, hey,” the free hand that had come to keep you from getting closer quickly softened, curling around your waist. The same hand that’d just been on the socialite. You were sure to look up and sigh into him, your breath soaked in alcohol. “You okay, doll? Had a bit too much?”

With glassy eyes you nodded, closing them and letting your head nod lazily, “I lost my thing!” You laughed, hitting his chest.

“Your what? I happen to be a thing.” 

How quickly he forgot his target when easier to pick fruit appeared.

“No, silly!” A practiced hiccup, “my little…”

“Your little…?”

Your fingers wiggled in the direction of your hip.

“Purse!” A beaming grin. He asked if you needed help finding it. “Well, how else am I gonna get another drink!” The hand on your waist fell to your hip and slunk lower. 

“Oh well, I could help ya with that.” He leaned in, looking around first as if he had a secret, “I have a room upstairs.”

You tutted, “No no, I am a married woman!” He lifted your left hand, turning it over in a dramatic search for a ring. “Well, engaged…” you diverted your gaze. He lifted his hand to his brow then and scanned the room like a sailor to the horizon. “He’s working late.” You whined.

Why did his kind of man always want the taken woman? Did they think the chase was more meaningful then? Did they feel like they’d won some tug-of-war with an invisible, unaware opponent?

Maybe they were hardwired to hoard resources.

You let him seat you at the bar, and when he ordered you a drink you asked to know your savior’s name. William.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor was none the wiser, smoking a cigarette under the streetlamp just off to the side of the hotel awning. He didn’t smoke often before you, but he found the lure of sitting on the porch passing a pill between you both too hard to fight. And soon enough the habit grew from a drinking pastime to just… something to do with his hands.

As Aubrey appeared, waiting for her driver to retrieve the car, Alastor tossed the butt to the street and walked up on her.

“I’m quite cross with you, Aubrey.” His tone was smiling as his hand slid behind her neck and tugged her away from the safety and lights of the awning.

“Oh! Alastor, I’m actually waiting for my car.” She struggled to keep up with his pace in her heels, weakly pointing back to where the valet had stood earlier. She resisted a little, the palm on the nape of her neck silently shutting her down.

“Nonsense. We have business together.” Alastor let his hand fall to her upper arm as he yanked her into the closest side street. “I hear you’ve been a very bad girl.”

Aubrey huffed, pulling back against him once, then twice, but ultimately acquiesced when she could see his car down the street.

“Fine, you can drive me home then.” A misplaced giggle, her survival skills dulled by ego.

He tossed her roughly against the car, hand gripping her face tightly. She tried to say his name, but his hold was so firm her jaw was locked.

“You’re going to get into my car now.” Alastor’s eyes had lost their pupil, an expanse of a seemingly endless dark brown in the heavy shadows left by the lamp’s light. When he let her face go, she rolled her eyes and pulled open the back seat door.

That wasn’t what he had meant, not there, but he closed the door behind her and got into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t brought the tarp tonight, not expecting to need it, so maybe the backseat was his best option regardless.

When he pulled away, she reminded him he didn’t know her address.

“I’m not taking you home. I told you. I have a bone to pick with you.” Alastor found himself incapable of putting on a ruse for her. His patience was entirely lost in his unraveling anger.

“Oooh? A bone, you say. Well, well.” Aubrey leaned forward onto the front seat, hands snaking down his shoulders and chest so she could nip at his ear, “Finally letting me have a ride.”

He had to set his right hand in the darkness of his lap to hide the tremble, a disgusted rage manifesting in uncommon ways. 

As her fingers found the buttons of his waist coat, Alastor struggled to see the road in front of him. His vision was going white, and then red. His blood pressure was so high he was nearly blind. 

And when two hot fingers broached the small space between buttons of his dress shirt and touched the bare skin of his chest, the car came to an abrupt halt. The force threw her into the backseat. 

Alastor slammed the front seat door shut before opening the back and caging her in. “I can’t stand another second of your existence.” She crawled backward, making room for him. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

Aubrey settled her back against the opposite door, “Oh, the petit mort.”

His head hung low in frustration, a growled  “No, the big one.” as he raked his fingers through his hair to keep from punching his own car seat.

“So I’ve heard.” She pulled up the hem of her dress slowly.

“For fucks sake Aubrey! I’m not using double entendre!” His hands wrapped around her neck. “Must I really remind you of what wrongs you’ve committed?!”

A brief panic finally came, “Wrongs?? Excuse you.”

He could have sworn the snap in his brain had been audible to her as he lost his last bit of patience.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Excuse me.” You settled back into the seat, having taken a bathroom break to down some water in secret. You weren’t trying to actually end up blacked out.

“Anyway,  that's how we secured the riverside house.” William leaned into you. You tried to sip your drink and found it empty, having managed to finish it absentmindedly while he rambled on about himself earlier. As you stared at him you let your eyes lose focus and drift into plans for the morning. You’d like biscuits. Alastor had some sausage he’d picked up the other day, maybe a little gravy and some eggs. It’d be like a Sunday meal nice families ate after church. You assumed. Out of the peripheral of your daydream you saw him tap the bar twice and hold up two fingers. “Charge to 1033.” He said. With the clarity of someone who wasn’t pretending to be drunk you quickly held up three.

William shot you a confused look.

“One for my darling.” He made a show of looking around, the bartender pausing. You gave him a confirmation nod, “Three, please.”

“And is he in the room with us now, Helen? I’m beginning to think he’s imaginary.”

It seemed a fine enough name to give him.

“No! But I made a promise. Or…,” you returned the lean, head resting on his shoulder, “are three drinks a little steep for you?“ With a huff, he pulled out a pair of C notes and set them on the bar. The bartender nodded, reaching for the top shelf. You whistled at the sight. Too much money for the total seven drinks he’d ordered, if you weren’t somewhere Alastor frequented you’d have slipped them under the lip of your stockings when the man wasn’t looking. He was charging the room anyway, the large bills were just for show…

“One reviver for the miss, one brandy for the sir, and a rye whiskey neat for the beau.” The bartender set the drinks down on red napkins. The whiskey sat between you both, and after a beat you realized you hadn’t actually told him what to make for Alastor. And come to think of it, your last drink hadn’t been a reviver at all but a brandy ordered by William.

“Ya know I stood up another woman to help you,” he said it into your cheek, stealing your attention by breaking your line of thought. His arm around your shoulder curled to hold you closer, “Don’t I get a reward for that?”

His breath reeked of sickeningly sweet brandy, the taste sticking to the back of your throat. Your head tilted back so you could look at him down your nose, right hand coming to rest on his thigh.

The heat of his body was radiating through the fabric of his pants and made your stomach turn. How many hot and sweaty bodies had you had the pleasure and displeasure of touching?

A smirk painted your face, remembering seeing sweat sticking to Alastor’s forehead the last time he fucked you. What had you done for that reward? Ah right, the somehow shocking act of not withholding praise for how well planned out his greenhouse was. How impressive he was to you in so many ways. You could have lingered on that recollection, on how Alastor set down his coffee and kissed you. And how he didn’t stop until you were both left undone and flustered. But movement stirred away the pleasant memory to bring you back to an unpleasant reality.

His hand roamed down your arm, uncomfortably warm palm on your exposed skin. 

“Oh, I know you did.” You said.

William chuckled, absolutely no idea what you were talking about and not particularly giving a shit. “Did I mention I have a room here?”

“Ten thirty three.” You repeated. 

He looked genuinely shocked, “How’d you know that?” The man was absolutely mystified.

“I— you just…,” your mask slipped in the face of such abject stupidity, “Lucky guess.” William drank his brandy slowly, mentioning you should bet on the ponies together. You nodded. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor didn’t care for strangulation. It took so much time and wasn’t particularly satisfying. No pleading, no screaming, no blood and gore. Just…. someone flailing beneath you and turning purple. Boring. 

He brought up the accusations before he began to squeeze, and her panic transformed to relief. “Oh that?” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, “Are you really miffed at me about that?”

“Yes, Aubrey! You condemned an innocent child to a horrid death!” His hands loosened, all of his neurons firing off to feel pain in his own heart. 

She rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t call them children. You seem so upset, hun. Did you have a mam-?”

The rest of the word was barely squeaked out of her, he couldn’t let her finish it. He wasn’t sure what face he made. But whatever it was, it scared her. The carefree way she’d been handling the interaction finally died, and he could register actual fear in her eyes then. 

But the rage just … withered. How many children had his mother loved and doted on before her last, much kinder position? How many Aubreys had she raised. It was nothing short of an overwhelmingly violent sadness that laced his finger together around her neck and tightened, the full weight of his body coming down to crush her airways. He wanted such sentiments to be smothered out of the world like the air in her lungs. If he killed enough, could he make a dent in their influence? He could try. For her. For his mother. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Ya know, I could take real good care of you. If that’s what’s stopping you from coming upstairs.” 

With a deep breath, you gulped the drink halfway down. “Your fella doesn’t need to know. I could even get you your own place, you could wait for me there when he’s late with work. Have dinner ready. Slip off my shoes like a good girl.”

“Trust me; you’ve got a better chance of her smacking you with your shoes than slipping them off like a maid.” Alastor was resting his elbow on the bar behind you, head leaning on his hand. “Hey doll. That one mine?” He pointed at the glass.

“Oh? Alastor is the fiancé?,” William gave off a snide laugh as he was interrupted, Alastor standing up and walking to come between you two, “This guy?! Everyone knows he’s a frigid bitch. You must be a dive alley-cat if you’re—,” Alastor��s fist connected with the man’s jaw, eliciting a sickening crack. He needed both hands to keep himself from falling down with William as he was knocked back out of his bar stool. Alastor’s feet slipped on the spilt brandy, causing him to seize the stool for momentary support.

Alastor took the glass of whiskey with his non-dominant hand and downed it. He cooed, “Top shelf, Georgie?” The bartender nodded. “Good choice. Picked a worthy sucker, sweetheart. Ready to peel?”

You watched William try to stand, glass stuck to his palm. He did manage to get on his knees, shouting at the staff who stood motionless and unphased behind the counter. They didn’t say anything at all, oddly, until Alastor extended his swelling hand to you.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Alastor flashed his signature smile and guided you out of the hotel bar. You only got a few steps before quickly running back and snatching one of the 100$ bills from the counter. William would’ve taken it back from the bar anyway. What a waste!

When a waiter offered Alastor a warm and familiar look you had to wonder, did people really not know what he did in the darkness of the New Orlean’s alleys? Did a part of them not feel some kind of debt to him? Or was he just painfully friendly when socializing?

“Just to be clear,” Alastor let the doorman open the lobby door, “It’s not the accusation of sex work that compelled me to sock him. It’s the implication you’d be cheap.” He waved the valet from the car and opened the door for you, “If you chose to sell your companionship at true worth, his daddy’s money couldn’t even buy him a kiss.”

“Aww,” you smiled at him through the thin windowpane, “Would you really be so cavalier about such a job if I did?”

“Would I? Gosh that’d make retirement much quicker for me.” He slid into the driver's seat and the door shut with a sharp ting. As he took hold of the wheel he reclined to let his hand settle behind you on the backrest, and then you three were off. 

“Oh by the way, Aubrey’s in the backseat.”

You turned slowly, first coming into view were her tiny, shining silver shoes. Your eyes kept traveling; stocking covered calves and then the bottom of her dress just past her knees.

Alastor’s coat draped over her torso and shoulders caused you to flit to him, confirming his jacket was gone, and back to her. 

Her face looked like that of a sleeping passenger. 

No blood.

When the car was a few blocks from the hotel, you leaned back and lifted the jacket. Her abdomen was clean, the white of her dress pristine. At first her neck seemed clear of cuts or abrasions until you rode past a streetlamp and a beam of light revealed the slowly forming collar of bruises.

Special attention.

For a hair of a moment you began to gently cover her again, before remembering her crimes and dropping it on her unceremoniously.

“Trunk not good enough for her?”

“Got interrupted. Booked it back to you.” He shook his head and patted the seat in tandem.

What luck that just as he felt sure she was too far gone for revival, he let go over her neck and sat up in time for someone to notice him. Fishing in his jacket draped over the seat, he found his cigarette case just as—

“What exactly are you two doing?” An officer was flashing his light through the passenger side back window.

Alastor froze, Aubrey motionless between his legs and a cigarette dangling unlit between his lips. “You startled me, officer! We were just canoodling. But she’s gone and fallen asleep before the main event.”

The officer’s brass light shone down but couldn’t reach the dead woman’s face past the shadow cast by the car door and glass. “She alright?”

Alastor’s eyes drifted down to the deceased socialite, “Truth be told sir, she’s had a bit too much of the giggle water.” Fishing your lighter from his waistcoat pocket, he lit this cigarette before setting the jacket over Aubrey like a gentleman.

“Alright y'all better get lost. Tell your moll this ain’t ladylike.” The officer tapped the window with his knuckle and when she didn’t stir just left with a huff.

Alastor was quick to leave the backseat and drive off, circling around at the next block to head back to the hotel.

“Is… everything alright?” You asked, very obviously concerned.

“Peachy! I just said we were necking before she passed out drunk.“ he leaned over and kissed your cheek, “Anything exciting on your end?”

Patting his leg you beamed up at him, “Always so quick on your feet! I don’t know why I worry so much.” His face lit up and you wanted nothing more than to launch into a praise filled rant that fueled his smile. But, you moved on to the question at hand. After a moment to think, you remembered ‘the best good deeds are done in the dark’. “Nope! Just got tipsy on William’s dime. An odd woman did touch my hair…,” you recounted every second, leaving out why you chose William, to Alastor. You hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t actually asked, the evening’s events just seemed to flow out of you. The way he always added little comments and nodded made it feel like a conversation and not just you rambling. 

When the car was pulling into the driveway, you asked Alastor if you could drive it behind the house. Puzzled, he put it in park and let you sit between his legs. You started slowly, but quickly began to accelerate. As you approached the house you turned sharply to the left, right side tires ever so slightly leaving the ground. A sharp correction to the right to straighten out. One of his hands clutched you at the waist, the other gripping the seat.

He tried to form some kind of words but they came out a jumbled and panicked mash of sounds as you barreled toward the greenhouse. 

You slammed your foot on the brakes and Aubrey flew off the back seat and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Ha!” You slapped the wheel, “I’ve been wanting to hear that sound the whole drive!” 

He used both arms now to squeeze you appreciatively, “You’re just the bee’s knees.” Alastor nuzzled into the back of your neck, truly feeling his heart flutter. You made him skip a beat. So many days and nights not even imagining such a pairing.

The best scenario he could think up was a partner who wouldn’t ask questions, who didn’t care to know, who was maybe a little too naive but otherwise capable. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t dared to think someone would exist who could support him.

And not just in the killing, which was a hurdle of course, but the other parts of him. The little sacrifices you made for him without complaint. 

What did he do for you, he worried. Your body was his on the occasions he wanted but never did you ask for him. You shared the housework equally. Yes he drove you around but your skills with the car were still new. Insignificant things, like making your coffee when he awoke first and waiting for you after work. With the detective still looking for connections, he couldn’t even properly introduce you or flaunt you around to his circles.

Like a flash of lightning taking down a tree, insecurity shook him. What on earth was keeping you there? Of all the people in New Orleans, how was he any more worth your time than the next?

If anything, he was nothing short of troublesome. His hold on you twisted from thankful to desperate.

Even the lovely evening out he had promised you, he’d left you alone in a strange place. A stranger had bought you more drinks than he had. 

“Would you like to go to the woods with me tonight? To dispose of Aubrey?” His lips swiped across the fabric of your dress as he said it.

The sudden advancement into his hobby took you by surprise. You hugged his arms against you, “Really? Are you sure?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“Is that what I said?”

“Well, no….”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I absolutely want to go!” Your arms squeezed his.

He chuckled into your shoulder and gave your hip a pat, “Let me get her packaged up. You go rest your feet and I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go.”

You watched from the kitchen, the light he hung from the greenhouse ceiling setting the entire space aglow. When he finally emerged, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his hair was falling into his face, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose before he could push it back into place. He waved from the porch, and when you made it out to him he was already pulling out small bundles.

“We’ll bury the pieces in separate places.” He dragged out a small trash tin with the lid already clapped down. “And this goes into the water.”

The packages were like Tommy’s, but smaller. They fit easily into the trunk, and beside them he snuggly fit the metal bucket.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Ford was parked down a dirt road far from sight, taking a parcel at a time and a shovel, you followed him into the woods. 

You had to ask, why not just his land? Wasn’t that safer? Easier?

“Well, a skull found out here is easier to act shocked about than on my property.”

The ground was still soft, but you could imagine it was rock solid in winter. “Isn’t this dangerous? Aren’t you slowed down in the colder months?” You kept your eyes open wide, adjusting to the pitch black of the forest. The trees were too close and too full still to see the stars. But soon they’d brown and die, revealing the sky’s light. Revealing Alastor.

“Eh it’s mostly busy during mating season because the hunters come out in numbers. But in general I avoid being here in the very early morning hours.” He paused and you reached out for the shovel for your turn, “It’s not too bad overall.”

“They mate in fall. It’s almost fall now.” You widened your stance for balance and began to dig. 

“Yeeees but I’m not alone!” He chirped.

“Fine… just, don’t come out when I’m not able to join you. Just wait or, I don’t know, burn them or something.” You tried to dig fast, wanting to spare his injured hand another turn.

“Very ineffective, brings too much attention and the body never burns all the way. It’s still identifiable in many cases.” Alastor said it quickly, as he’d had nearly a lifetime to think of these things and test them. 

You huffed, “Well, fuck. Okay. Still.” You leaned over and offered your index finger, not looking at him as you did. He laughed before wiping his hand clean on his pants and hooking his with yours. 

A small scream erupted from you, startling him. Your short heel sunk into the dirt when you leaned to lock fingers. The sudden loss of balance startled you. “Sorry… flat shoes. I need flat shoes…these are gonna be the death of me.”

Alastor’s hand came to his heart, pounding in his chest, “Of us. My heart nearly stopped.”

You dug many holes, all of them quite small in radius, just wide enough to slip in what you needed to. After each was deep enough by some standard you didn’t know, he would untie the twine around the package and let the contents spill out and down into the little cylinderical pocket of dirt. 

The first package had her hands. Then next was her feet. Her arms in pieces and then later her legs. The hips, the chest and shoulders, and finally, her head. You were grateful for the darkness, not wanting to see her face now that it was no longer attached to her body. 

The brush was so thick and the woods so dense that you found it hard to distinguish the burial spots once they’d been filled in and covered up. He explained most people came out there with a purpose, not really noticing some disturbed dirt here and there. It’s not like they’re people sized.

“You’re just something else, ya know that?” You said it into the shadows and didn’t see him wince. But you somehow, accidentally, knew to clarify, “I’m always so impressed by your way of doing things. You’ve really thought it out well huh? I know I should worry less but it’s hard.”

Because of the shade you didn’t see the way his shoulders relaxed. You never made him regret your inclusion.

Alastor carried the bucket as you slowly made your way through the darkness. You could hear the sounds of bugs, though you couldn’t see any.  The water surprised you, his arm coming to stop you from walking into the bayou.

“In winter they’ll get really still, so I slow down then too. But we still have time, it’s not too cold yet for them.” He took off the lid, the smell of copper blossoming from the tin.

With practiced moves, he tossed the viscera as far as he could into the small inlet marsh of the river. 

Within seconds the water frothed and rolled with the snapping of powerful jaws.

“Gosh they’re so neat.” You said, reaching out into the darkness for his hand. You couldn’t see him looking at you as you watched the prehistoric animals dispose of his crimes.

He wanted to kiss you. To confess every little happiness you filled his formerly hollow chest with. But he held back. He knew better. He’d tried before, once. When he thought settling was better than nothing. It ended terribly. It was better to just exist beside you for as long as you’d entertain his company. If you knew, he thought, of all the futures he imagined with you, you’d just feel tied down by his hopes. You weren’t a small bird he could hold in his home. 

You promised to not get in his way. The least he could do was not cage you with his love. He wouldn’t hold you back.

“Alastor.”

“Yeah?” He said dreamily.

“I think… ” You fought the urge to scream at the sensation between your toes, “Aubrey dripped into my shoes.”

Alastor yanked the bucket away from you, the angle he haphazardly held at it with a single finger to hold your hand having caused the liquid remains to leak out.

“Ankle boots. Ankle boots, no heel.” You muttered, the shoe rinsed off in the water with a paranoid speed now squishing under your sole. The action was enough to draw attention to your shore, long and round snouts moving toward you in the night as you got rid of Aubrey. It was time to go. 

The drive home was dark and silent. The bucket and tarps rinsed with the gas can full of water he always kept in the oversized, custom built trunk. It had taken longer than you had realized, which just brought up renewed worry for his sleep schedule.

When you finally made it home and into the bedroom, he mumbled it was too late to shower. A coordinated grumble between you that you’d both just wash the sheets in the morning. Alastor sat on the end of the bed and bent down, your hand coming to his shoulder to stop him. 

Exhausted, aching, and quite confident you smelled of sweat coated dirt with the tiniest hint of dead Aubrey mixed with alive William (blood and brandy, respectively), you lowered yourself to your knees. You untied the waxed laces of the right shoe, made of a shiny brown leather, and slipped it off. 

Alastor felt his throat tighten as he had to blink to keep tears away. You always seemed to listen when he spoke. Really listened, even when he was just being playful. Another tiny sweetness piled onto the mountain you were currently burying him under. Another ounce of inadequacy tipped on his self measured scales.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Hush, I don’t have to do anything.” You said it and he laughed breathlessly knowing he’d heard it before and praying he’d hear it forever. “I want to.”

You set the left shoe beside the right. When you didn’t stand but instead stared at him patiently, Alastor undid his pants and lifted his hips to push them down. You folded them neatly beside his shoes. Feeling up his legs as if you couldn’t see them there in front of you, you found his sock garters. 

“Keep the socks, please. It’s getting chilly.” He undid his shirt and folded it on his lap. 

When he was in just his underwear and socks, you looked up at him and wondered if he knew. That this was the closest to expressing “I love you” you had ever been. The act itself perhaps far louder than any words could be.

Sitting back, he patted between his legs like he had in the car. As you sat, he undid the buttons down the back of your dress. Why were so many women’s clothing items made in a way that required two people?

In the mirror above the dresser you took in the sight. When the dress fell to your waist he kissed your shoulder and met you in the reflection.

“Quite a pretty couple, if I do say so myself.” He rested his chin where he had just kissed and smiled at you. “What did I do to deserve your attention?”

“Affection,” you corrected. “Aubrey got attention.” He nodded slightly. “I think it’s karma.” You watched his brow arch. “You’ve earned me. Whatever that means, or looks like. We were put together for a reason.”

It was the sappiest thing you’d ever said and a year ago you’d have laughed in someone’s face for saying it. If a character in a novel spewed it out in a confession you’d have closed the book. But you meant it. Every single word was part of the fact this was supposed to happen. The idea that any timeline existed where your paths never crossed gave you the shivers.

Alastor closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up quickly as comfort opened the door for it. That didn’t make any sense to him at all. Why would anyone, god or the devil, give him something good just for the sake of being a good thing. He was very plainly bad. There must be a catch. That fear he felt before, the fear of wanting something too much, reappeared. Turning its ugly head to him as if called by name. 

Why? He could feel something, someone, setting their sights on him. 

When he opened his eyes, you were there still, looking at him. A smile too sweet. He felt the compulsion to tell you to run. That if this was his karma, it would end the way he deserved. And he didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve you.

But instead he leaned down, lifted your dress, and unclamped your garters. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to cling to what good he had now. Even knowing he couldn’t possibly get to keep it. His fingertips delighted in rolling down the delicate nylon. He watched the red stained end loosen around your toes, a mental note to burn them before he continued his undressing.

“Lift your hips, my love. I’ll get you all ready for bed.” As he pressed forward and bent into you so he could slip off the stockings he turned to look at the you in front of him, “And I’ll keep you warm.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[lorryicious]

do you perhaps have any more Loretta/Bill content I’m VERY curious about their dynamic now 👁️👁️

I HAVE. SO MUCH. CONTENT. Loretta has been an oc I have had for YEARS so I absolutely have SO much stuff on her! Shes definitely my favorite oc alongside Jack, my other gravity falls oc. The short of it is they are forced to work together out of inconvenience by the Axolotl.. The most recent development has been the change in Lorettas ability revolving her sight because I thought it would be so cool if Loretta had the same/similar kind of mutation to Bill. It didn't change much to her character, just another reason why they ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time (time police events. I seriously need to write fanfic of the whole story LMAO)

Their dynamic is SO FUN. They bicker ALL the time and usually are yapping about something. They live together, so I think they argue over the smallest things. When they first ended up needing to work together, Bill was not thrilled AT ALL. He was VERY closed off. Loretta, not knowing this creature at all, just decided to let him do his own thing. It's only after an event where Loretta protects Bill when he's at his weakest that Bill realizes Loretta is harmless and that it wouldn't hurt to try to get some enjoyment out of her company. That turns into an actual friendship, which turns into Bill finding out Loretta is like him. Through this, they open up and become closer because of their similar identities. They just ended up on different paths because of their own mutations AUGH. Bill wanted more, when in comparison Loretta was content with what her world was already like.

Loretta is a demon hunter. She takes bounties from individuals around town to get rid of weirdness. She naturally has a knack for attracting it, so the job is perfect for her. Bill helps her with her bounties; in exchange, Loretta lets Bill drain her energy so he can regain his physical form. I have a whole animatic on my tiktok that shows how the possession works-

They are silly. They fight over what to watch on the tv, they karaoke and drink together, it takes AGES for Bill to actually open up to Loretta, Whenever they decide to share the bed (even though Bill doesn't sleep) he kicks off Lorreta off of it anyway just to frustrate her, they do makeup together, They drive up to one of the hills in gravity falls via Loretta's motorcycle and watch the sunset together. Love them. I have SO many thoughts on their dynamic, but they are there for each other, and despite all their issues, they love each other. They NEVER say it to each other because Bill is deathly scared of that word.

They are an oc x canon ship so they are together as partners TECHNICALLY. Still, I also think they are so messed up via the canon story that an ACTUAL domestic relationship dynamic just doesn't work for the two. Plus, Bill needs help understanding labels and Loretta doesn't need them. Plus there's the Jack situation...Which is a WHOLE OTHER RANT. JACK. AUGH. The love triangle (literally) goes insane. In my happy au they are a polycule asf.

Literally ask ANY questions about them, I might even draw something up if its a fun scenario you guys send,,, I LOVE THAT PEOPLE ARE INTERESTED IN THE OCS BECAUSE !!!! I HAVE SO MUCH CONTENT FOR THEM.

Some of this is older art but it still works <33 and I STILL LOVE IT

This one I did recently-

Great side effect for being able to see outside your plane of reality AND being intertwined to a demon, you get to relive HIS trauma TOO!! (imagine how horrifying that was when Loretta told Bill the dreams shes been having) (double note: Bill played it off like they were random when he was FREAKING OUT ON THE INSIDE)

[intooned]

MY FAVORITE SHIPS!

This was a LONG time coming! And I want to thank @expensiveeggplant & @coffinbrotherr for putting up with my procrastination while boiling down the who and why of this list!

Adventure Time: Finnceline

My first real ship, the first fanfiction I ever read, and I spent hours watching Finnceline AMV's way back when YouTube didn't have commercials. Finn and Marcy's personalities and experiences play so well off of each other that I'm thoroughly convinced the writers were terrified of their potential. They would be an amazing butt-kicking couple, but that wouldn't leave Finn with as many flaws to develop as a young man coming of age. And it's such a shame because you know they'd always have each other's backs and best interests at heart. And with a fully grown adult Finn I'd bet money they'd have at least turned out as cuddle buddies... who occasionally engage in some very aggressive cuddling.😏

Flame Princess and Huntress Wizard were great and had their cool moments with Finn, but something tells me Marceline would give up her immortal life in a heartbeat to protect Finn. Having seen each other's pasts and memories and going out of their way to help each other with deep-rooted life issues, Finnceline just has more depth to work with than the other ships.

Gravity Falls: Dipper x Pacifica x Mabel

The first episode I ever saw was the one where Pacifica and Mabel play mini-golf. I wasn't fully paying attention and assumed Dipper and Mabel were just best friends dealing with a bully. The car ride home together was cute and solidified my first ever threeway ship. THEN I found out they were siblings...

Then I found out fanfiction didn't care! In fact, here's a [link] to the BEST fanfic I've ever read for this ship, enjoy!

Star Vs. The Forces of Evil: MonStarco

The MonStar AU is where things are relatively the same except for one thing: Star is half or part monster. It makes good sense that Star, being an interdimensional magical princess from an interdimensional magical kingdom would be a little more... interdimensional. It gives some fresh blood to Starco fics, which can be a bit too vanilla most of the time, especially when you get to parts where Star's otherworldly anatomy and quirks cause all sorts of problems and shenanigans!

Sort of like her muberty phase but she's stuck looking that way, and if you remember the show said there's a chance every Mewman actually COULD end up stuck in butterfly form! Super interesting! It reminds me a lot of the episode of Teen Titans(original) where Starfire was going through alien puberty, and how fun of an episode it was to watch. The fact that there's tons of Monster Star AU and Mewberty art out there helps a ton as well!

Steven Universe: Lapiven & Stevinel

Lapiven: These two are the perfect example of "cute sunshine boy X hot goth gf". Plain and simple, Steven's optimism is exactly what Lapis needed to begin working through what happened to her. And no one appreciates a cinnamon roll the way a scarred person does. Also, tell me they don't look like a couple everytime they're onscreen together? I mean really watch them! Blushing, giggling, constant eye contact, twinkling eyes, immediately responsive to each others change in mood, plenty physical contact, elation whenever Steven calls or visits.

You can call it platonic for the Shtewball, but Lapis adores Steven in every sense of the word! She warned him and negotiated his safety when she realized Homeworld would get involved. She held Jasper prisoner in her own head just to protect him. She faced her trauma and returned to confront the Diamonds, ready to put hands and feet on an enemy she knew she couldn't beat. And entirely because, to her, Steven's safety was more important than her own life! Weigh out those exact same scenarios, their exact same interactions with each other with just about any other two characters in animation and tell me it doesn't make sense? I swear most of their episodes together are just them going on dates!

Stevinel: Now this is special to me. On the opposite side of the scale Steven and Spinel share the same feelings of abandonment and inadequacy from and by Pink. Of course they aren't the only ones, but Spinel didn't raise Steven as a parent or sibling. There was no one better suited to empathize with Steven's issues, and his downward spiral into becoming a monster who hurts people.

What Spinel went through in the movie is too on the nose for what Steven goes through in Future, and I'm flabbergasted that the writers chose to have her be of little to no help when Steven needed to be shown that he didn't have to hold himself together on his own!

But back on topic. The other Gems love Steven, but Spinel is wired to love him just like Pearl, on top of whatever blooms between them naturally. So when those wires were damaged from Pink's abandonment, it's quite poetic that Steven is the one to mend them. From there It's as easy-peasy pink-heart-squeasy to assume the seeds of affection could sprout from such fertile ground. It also helps that Rebecca Sugar blatantly suggests Steven and Spinel's relationship isn't concretely platonic, at least for Spinel. Even going so far as to give us fan service!

Possibility is all that is needed for shippers and fanfictioneers to run wild with wishful thinking. I also might have a revenge boner for heartbroken characters who find happiness despite the tomfuckery done to them. "Pink abandoned me in her garden? Guess I'll have Steven frolicking in mine.

RWBY: Nora's Arc

Although I may grow enamored with other RWBY ships, I always come back to this one. It's just tons of fun! Responsible & Awkward meets Extroverted Hurricane, legally banned from IHOP and the Sloth exhibit at the zoo! Premium family man real estate meets poster girl for found family and there's no one better than Jaune-1-of-8-kids-Arc to get the job done!

I'm also of the mind that Nora's bombastic personality is meant to draw people to her, because she's absolutely terrified of being alone and left behind again. And with family gatherings at the Arc residence, isolation is all but nonexistent.

Wakfu: Yumalia

Dreams do come true! LET'S GOOO! Not much to say; they were set to be together from first sight and it was a rollercoaster from there. A lot like Aang and Katara, Yugo got his feisty princess and Amalia got her dashing hero. It's classic, it's timeless, and you love to see it done well!

The Dragon Prince: Rayllum

Obvious cuteness is obviously cute. It's nearly unheard of for the strange but exotic alien girl to be the one intrigued and smitten with the human boy. An action adventure fantasy but the non-human girl is the awkward one hiding her feelings? Sign me up! It's a breath of fresh air!

Sonic The Hedgehog: SilverWolf

The newest addition! Some fresh meat to sink my teeth into as I rekindle my love for the Sonic franchise! I haven't followed anything Sonic since the fever dream that was Sonic 06, but happened to see a few panels of Silver talking to what appeared to be a new character, Whisper the Wolf! Shy, soft spoken, but not from timidity, rather a desire to not scare others away because of her frightening features.

Pairing her with the very approachable and reassuring Silver makes for good chemistry in my opinion. I also adore Whisper's color scheme and the combination of silver, gold, and neon lights they have in a lot of comic panels together. They'd make a cute pair that's easy to reduce to a blushing mess with any little bit of teasing, and I'm here for it!

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT!

I have loads more ships but these are the ones that I felt were most worth sharing.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

I’ve been a lurker for a little bit and I love your stuff, could we pretty please get some Headcanons for Charon or Gob. I’m on my knees over here they have like no fanfic or content 😭

What a coincidence, I literally just posted headcanons for Gob here (NSFW), and our favorite bouncer is next. I also have long-form works for both in the pipe, but the Charon piece already has some serious work done on it.

Charon's writing frustrates me endlessly tbh. He's so intriguing (and fuckable, obviously), but there's so little there in the canon to answer the questions you naturally have about him. So, I may be taking a few liberties here.

Charon (Fallout 3) NSFW Headcanons

I firmly believe he's prewar, and I think he's been enslaved/"under contract" since he became a ghoul. Regardless of how the whole contract thing works, he has the same issue as Gob where he hasn't been allowed to have desires or boundaries, just in a different way (Charon is obviously able to defend himself physically, and even technically has some manner of free will, but he knows that there are often unpleasant consequences for failing to obey his contract holder). The man IS a slave, but a strangely complicated one. If you want meaningless sex, he'll give it to you. Whether or not he actually wants or enjoys it, you'll never know without a real connection or a long, long time of studying his general behavior. He's incredibly hard to read up front, agreeable but not really warm or open.

His contract is supposed to entitle the holder to his labor in combat, so he's not really required to do anything else, as far as I can tell, including have sex with them if they ask, but I think he would use it as a sort of excuse to do so if he was already inclined.

You can't give him the contract or otherwise "free" him from his enslavement in the game, but in my opinion, that's silly. Sure, I think it would take a long time of him getting used to the idea of it, but I also think he'd certainly WANT to no longer be a slave at some point. Eventually, the contract is moreso an excuse. He never takes it from you when you offer it to him; he's following you because he has nowhere else to go, because he wants to. Eventually, he's following you because he's in love with you in his own way. But as long as you physically hold that piece of paper, he has the excuse.

If he does care about you, he will resist your physical advances, at least at first. He believes he's protecting you, as he always does, by sparing you from the social consequences of choosing to be with a ghoul. However, at the end of the day, he wants you, too, and eventually he won't be able to deny himself, especially if he knows you won't deny him. Even then, he'll kind of hate himself for being too weak to not fall in love with you, and he'll feel insanely guilty and selfish for not letting you go like he should. He's a fairly morose man overall, and I think he'd spend a lot of time pondering what the consequences of you two choosing one another this way will inevitably be.

Even with that under consideration, he'd still be happy with you. Keeping you safe and happy is pleasing to him (even if he likes to feign annoyance at your little peculiarities and your choices sometimes), and you'd get to slowly, painstakingly slowly begin to see him sort of begin to become his own man again. Over time, he'll talk more, but it's still almost always to ask about you, to remark about something that isn't himself.

Speaking of which, once he begins to "wake up", so to speak, become more aware of his newly-granted autonomy and his desires, as well as your own, he's gonna be rearing to go all the time. Slowly, he's gonna become fully cognizant of the fact that you really do want him as much as he wants you, so...why shouldn't you be fucking right this second, again? Doesn't really matter where you are. Who's gonna stop him from fucking you? Who's gonna succeed if they try? What I'm saying is this: I hope you're ready to basically be a free-use pocket pussy for this big-ass ghoul.

Some ghouls, like Cooper Howard, were once pretty serious ladies' men who've developed some hard edges over their long lives; despite this, that charisma often remains buried somewhere deep inside them, waiting to jump out at the right person. Charon is not that. This man had zero game before the war and he has less than none now. If you want traditional romantic gestures from him, you are going to have to specifically explain and request them, as unromantic as that may sound on its face. He wants to see you happy, but he's never really had to think romantically, so it doesn't come naturally to him at all. He knows about foreplay as a concept, but lacks patience and finesse when it comes to getting things started. Lots of shoving his hand up your shirt, down your pants sort of awkwardly in the beginning. Roughly groping you to signal he's in the mood to the point where it sort of hurts.

You know what they say about men? The dense ones fuck the hardest. Charon IS that; he's not unintelligent, just a very straightforward thinker. But he's obviously great at following directions, including when you beg him to fuck you until you can't stand.

He's just as quiet during sex as he is normally, save for a few grunts and growls and occasionally asking if you're okay, but you may notice over time that he's more physically affectionate. Likes to stroke your face, pet your hair, pepper you with kisses in a way he usually doesn't. I think he would see you being distracted by him rearranging your guts as an opportunity to be slightly more vulnerable.

Big fan of cockwarming. Already likes to just hold you in his arms while you both do something quiet, but he likes it even more when you're doing whatever you're doing slid down on his cock. His favorite is when you climb up into his lap, naked from the waist down, sink down on him, and immediately take a nap on his chest.

[likes-words-and-shrimp]

For my gf @taco-night-frenzy's birthday, I had one of her fantastic Detective Luigi's fanfics bookbinded! This is truly one of my most favorite stories with its blend of characters from Mario RPG, Paper Mario and more. I loved the idea of getting it in physical form, along with wonderful cover art for it by @frayed-symphony! The bookbinding itself was done by Cattle Abduction Bookbinding.

There's only one printed copy of this book, but the story is available to read on AO3! I highly recommend it if you want an amazing noir-style fanfic with Luigi as the main character. Check it out! ✨

[jackinalex]

I have an idea that is impossibly ambitious and may end up being a complete disaster, but if it works, it’ll be an awesome event for our little fandom. As a fan fiction reader and writer, I know how important interaction is for the longevity of fanfics in the fandom. In order for readers to have content to read, writers have to write. And for writers to write, they need feedback and love. Comments and kudos are great, but have you ever wanted to take it a step forward? As a reader, have you ever wondered what you could do to encourage your favorite writers and give back? Have you ever wondered if your work is honor-worthy? I certainly have, and for that reason, I want to host fanfic awards! 

Here’s how I think it will work: For my concept, it will be completely fan-nominated and fan-voted. I have come up with categories and stipulations, but I am open to suggestions for both. I plan to create a Google Form in which fans can nominate stories for each category, and the stories that are nominated the most for each will become the nominees (or if there are few votes, then all suggestions will become official nominees). Then, I will create a second Google Form in which the official nominees will be voted upon. The nominees in each category that gain the most votes will win! I’m still trying to come up with prizes, but at this point, I think an official graphic that winners can display on their blogs, profiles, etc. will be enough, as with the official titles. If you have an idea for prizes, let me know! 

Stipulations for Nominations: 

-Please only nominate one story per writer for each category. To clarify, you can nominate a story by your favorite writer for two categories, but not two in the same category. 

-Please only nominate stories from the past five years (I want to try and highlight stories from the more modern era since our fandom has fallen off. The writers who have been here deserve some recognition!) This does not pertain to the Legacy Fic award. 

-Please don’t nominate a fic in one category more than once. I’m not collecting emails for privacy reasons, but it isn’t fair to nominate one fic five or six times. Give other fics a chance! 

-You may nominate one fic in more than one category if the fic will fit into that criteria. However, I will likely use my best judgment to determine if the fic needs to be in both categories. 

-Please only nominate fics in the All Time Low fandom.

-Please CAREFULLY read the criteria for each category before nominating. Also, be sure to check the year a fic was last updated/posted to ensure that it is from the past five years (nothing past 2019). Fics can be posted anywhere (ex. ao3, wattpad, mibba, etc.) 

Categories: 

-Best Fluff (any pleasant, feel-good work)

-Best Angst (main plot has to do with prevalent physical or, mainly, emotional torment of characters)

-Best Smut (focuses on sexual activity)

-Best Kink (fics focusing on a specific kink(s) rather than just sexual activity)

-Best Crossover (fics featuring members of ATL and members of other bands, actors, etc.)

-Best Drabble (fic under 1000 words)

-Best One Shot (single-chapter work)

-Best Ongoing (fic that is still being written)

-Best Completed (fic that is multi-chaptered and completed)

-Best Legacy Fic (an iconic fic that is well-known and respected in the fandom and has been for many years)

Please direct any questions, comments, or suggestions to my ask box! More information will be out as more is decided.

The nomination form. 

[thevirtualvalentine]

005. ONE PIECE, VINSMOKE SANJI.

content warnings: readers gender isn’t specified but they are wearing a dress, terrible tooth rotting fluff (author is in love with sanji), morticia and gomez energy, smut author writes fluff (rough).

plot: it’s your anniversary with Sanji and it appears he has something to tell you.

authors note: me x sanji but in the form of x reader fanfic. this is how he confessed to me btw if u even care. Also, the accompanying song is Mio Amore by the Flamingos.

Such beautiful days on the water, it’s been a few months with him already; he only makes your experiences feel that much more sublime. You admit it was risky having relations on a sea bound ship, but you could tell Sanji was different. Not like men who only valued your physical attributes, but one who sees you for your most bare and essential parts.

He asked that you meet him in the kitchen tonight, just the two of you. You expected a fancy dinner and to most likely be interrupted by your Captain who was going to inevitably be hungry and plead with your date to make him a third dinner. However, that was not what you were met with exactly.

Stepping into the kitchen there he was, clad in a black suit with a button up in your favorite color. Pots simmered on the stove as the kitchen was shrouded in ambient light with low jazz filling every corner of the space. The dining table only set for two with bouquets of fresh flowers, where could he have even gotten those? You’ve been at sea for two weeks without stopping at an island.

He turns to you, dropping his knife before cleaning his hands on a towel. “And don’t you look beautiful,” he says, taking your hand while guiding you deeper in his set up for your anniversary date.

“Sanji, what’s all this?” He’s always like this, overly romantic in his affections for you. It’s like he’s never heard of the word subtle. Honestly, it’s what you love about him. His extreme attention to detail over you, the dedication it shows. No one in your life has ever been so thoughtful.

He doesn’t find your words to be critical, learning early on in your relationship that you’re eerily similar to him; posing questions as a means of guarding your own heart. “For you my sweet, happy anniversary.” He places your hand over his heart, allowing you to understand exactly how he feels in this moment. Nervous but calm, excited to be with you anywhere.

“Oh! Before dinner, I wanted to do something.” When he begins to speak, his heart rate picks up the slightest bit. His hand that was placed over yours let’s go before he’s swiveling on the heel of his foot over to where the record was playing. “There’s this song, it reminds me of you,” only softness is found in his voice as he tries to give context to his actions.

The music he listens to always brings a grin to your face, Sanji is quiet the romantic you’ve come to find out. Despite his womanizing first impression, you’ve learned that above all he loves with every fiber of his being; down to his finger tips and toes. He loves his crew, he loves his mom and sister, he loves the Baratie, he loves his true dreams; but you’ve wondered, does he love you?

When he places the needle down on the disc, an old sounding tune fills the air. He rushes back to you asking, “May I?” Ambiguous. You’re unsure what he means but you just nod. You’d give him anything he asked of you.

“𝐌𝐢𝐨 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.”

As the song begins to play he plants a soft and sweet kiss to your lips, pulling away all too soon before taking your hands in his.

The dress you’re wearing matches the setting so well, of course it would be like him to ask to dance. You can’t help but smile. It’s one that lights up every corner of your face, showing all the care you have for him in your heart. A small laugh escapes you as your eyes meet his.

“𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.”

He’s nervous, you can tell in the tension in his shoulders that his posture is abnormally rigid. You’re both keenly aware of each other, intuition a gift and curse you both were blessed with. “You’re sweet dear, this is perfect.” You try to encourage him, settle any anxieties he may have about this whole set up. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

He can’t tell you just how much he likes hearing those words come from your mouth. Something instinctively within him wants to be your first for many things. He wants to show you a world where you’re the sun he revolves around, yet that you can also depend on him with any worry or qualm you may have.

“𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

You’re both now swaying on the wood floors, the occasional creak of the Thousand Sunny’s can be heard as your heels clatter against it. “Everything for you, always.” It sounds like a promise, something similar to a code he means to live by. A set of values that he refuses to break as his tone is serious.

“𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

“Sanji…” you say softly, he always manages to make butterflies erupt within you. Your hands are placed on his shoulders while his find your waist.

“𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

Your head is tucked into his chest as he holds you close. You can hear the erratic beat of his heart clearly. “I mean it. I would kill for you, I would die for you, do you understand that? I would give up the all blue in your name if you asked me to.” At that you gaze into his eyes, they always seem to tell a depth of truth about him that words can’t. The intensity you’re met with is almost frightening, dark eyes that refuse to waiver. His words go against all that you know. His loyalty to his crew should be first, not to you…

“𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

“Anything you could ever want, I would do my best to give it to you.” It’s tender and raw, his feelings always end up that way. You’re all he’s ever wanted and he’ll be damned if you don’t end up the person he wakes up to every day.

“But Sanji, why? What about everything you stand for?” You can’t help the rise of anger in your voice, he’s prone to sweet talking but this is flat out too much.

His face is unreadable, you’re looking for something; anything that could explain his irrational thinking right now. “Because, I’m in love with you.”

“𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞? 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.”

Well, that could definitely explain his ‘irrational thinking.’ Your face screams “what” as your jaw is left agape. “I’ve been in love with you.” He corrects himself. “It feels like I was made for you, and you for me.”

His confession leaves you speechless. Stunned that a man could have such profound things to say about his feelings.

“𝐎𝐡, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞.”

He drops to one knee in front of you, taking your smaller hand in his while his thumb rubs against your knuckles. “I promise you that y/n,” he leaves a kiss on them while awaiting your response.

“𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥.”

Those damn eyes, the ones that see you for who you truly are. The ones that rip you to bits and can pick apart your essence, almost as if he can see past your physical being and into something more.

It’s trust that he places in you, handing his fragile and vulnerable heart on a silver platter that you could break into tiny pieces. He’d glue them back together and still love you. He’d rather be a fool that doesn’t learn his lesson than turn away from you.

“𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝.”

Sweeping his blond hair that covers half his face, you’re met with a man who wants nothing more than to love you and to be loved by you. Down to his core, that’s all he could ever ask from you.

“I love you Sanji, more and more every day.” Bringing yourself down to his height, you kiss his forehead, holding his face within your hands.

You swear you could hear him gasp in surprise. Whether it be your confession or action, he wasn’t prepared for it to be reciprocated in the same way. Just as you’ve never had someone to care this much, the same goes for Sanji. While he’s had Zeff, this is far different. A love that is romantic and unconditionally given, all consuming and devoted. You are better than anything he’s ever lusted after, and now that he has you he will continue to make you his.

“𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

He stands back up to wrap his arms around you, dragging you into a bear hug with a swirling storm of kisses that don’t seem to stop. “I’m yours, always,” he says to you. Carding his hands in your curls as he tries to meld your forms into one. “Yours, yours, yours,” he repeats. In the way that you need him, he needs you.

If it wasn’t for the food continuing to cook, you could have stayed right there with him forever.

[thegatorsgoose]

Mourning Dove notes, batch #1

So since I am a very visual thinker, whenever I post my ideas (that aren't in-the-moment rants, that is) I like to draw something for it. It's the closest thing I can get to transferring something directly from my brain to yours. Unfortunately, I have a lot of thoughts, which means I have a lot of drawings I want to make to help get my points across. And since it's easier to write my ideas down as they come to me anyway, I'll be posting Mourning Dove stuff in batches, drawing + notes = a batch :)

Speaking of the drawing part, this is actually a redraw of fanart I did for Wayne's Haunted Mansion I drew a while ago, so you can actually use the bear as a size reference! He's bigger than Bearwing now, but to be fair the bears not that big. Danny, at 14, is 5”2 at most, probably closer to 5’0. He's still a small king.

I decided to have him be 14 when he becomes a vigilante because 1. That seems like a reasonable amount of time for him to have recovered mentally and physically enough for him to be able to handle unfamiliar environments and have the training necessary to be cautious and know when and how to step in (at least 4 years of training + his powers make him a tiny terror).

2. Yo Danny Phantom he was just 14

This batch is going to be dedicated to why Danny is this au has autism and ADHD, and how that affects him. The why will come from the original fanfic this au is based on, Wayne’s Haunted Mansion by @tathartiel (which you should definitely read if you enjoy dp x dc!). How it affects him will mostly be part of the au. Ok? Ok. I tend to ramble a bit but I tried to make it easy to follow.

First of all, Danny enjoys knitting! He's already sewing, it's only the natural progression for him to find out about knitting, and the family would definitely try to encourage the hobby with less sharp tools. It gives him something to do with his hands, and at the end of the day he has something he made all by himself, something he can be proud of. He loves making stuff for people he cares about, he likes knowing he can do something to keep his loved ones warm, whether by making a blanket, scarf, sweater- you name it. He's definitely not great at first, but he does practice a lot. Whenever he's nervous or fidgety, it's nice to do something with his hands.

One of his favorite parts of knitting is the yarn itself. Specifically the texture and feel of certain yarns. The Waynes are rich so they have no problem supplying him with extremely soft yarns to make the softest sweaters and blankets. And you know how he loves pillows? Well I'd imagine that he’d also love the extremely thick, pillowy yarn. He uses it to make a huge blanket that enhances his pillow nest 10 fold. The day he got a giant roll of thick fluffy yarn he spent all day making a giant fluffy blanket out of it, and the following night shoving it in the birds and bats faces so they can experience the bliss that is the feeling of his new soft, pillowy creation.

Speaking of textures, Danny loves hoodies, especially his Batman hoodie(s). Not only so that he can physically show his appreciation for his family, but that they are warm and soft on the inside, and make him feel secure. His siblings have all gotten him their merch at one point or another, but it wasn't until Jason got him Red Hood merch in the form of a leather jacket did they realize that texture could be a problem. The inside was just not working for Danny, but he was happy to have merch so he tried to ignore it to make Jason happy. It lasted until dinner that night, Danny had a breakdown because the uncomfortable feel of the jacket was agitating him and suddenly the klinks of silverware on plates was to loud, the scrapes and stabs of forks hitting the plates felt like he was physically being hit on the head, and the vibration of the table when someone moved felt like pins and needles going through his arms that were resting on the table. It all became too much for him and he excused himself from the table with a wobbly chirp before promptly disappearing.

It wasn't until later that night, before Jason left, that he reappeared in front of him, tears in his eyes, and handed back the jacket with a guilty chirp. It took Jason some prodding to get Danny to explain why he was handing it back, and then when he finally understood it took a lot more convincing to get Danny to understand it's ok to not like the jacket, no i'm not mad at you, its ok. After he got Danny to calm down he left the manor and informed the rest of the group chat of the new development… and then got Danny another, comfier Red Hood jacket. Bruce, having autism himself (i'm not even sure if that's a headcanon or canon at this point), helps Danny in making sure he knows its ok to feel that way about certain textures and asks what textures he likes and doesn't like, even writes them down so when buying something online or getting something tailored, they can make sure it won't be uncomfortable. His siblings 100% take advantage of this list and start a sort of unspoken competition of who can buy Danny his favorite piece of merch.

Speaking of merch, he has a hoodie of every single Gotham vigilante and wears one almost 24/7. The media was given the vague explanation that Batman saved him from a physically abusive household at 10 (or whatever his age ends up actually being, they don't reveal his existence to the world until he's 12, where by that point he can change back into his human form comfortably. I'm making the assumption he eventually can for the au cus I don’t know everything) so they just assume it's hero worship from that. His siblings however know that it's because he loves them and thinks they're the coolest people ever. Everyone thinks he's adorable anyway. When he first saw Mourning Dove merch he was super excited, until he realized it would be too uncomfortable to wear. Later that week when Bruce gives him a tailor made Dove hoodie, he cried. (Bruce totally won the competition for it, the kids are just a little bitter about it)

Merch was made for him because Gotham does know Mourning Dove exists, mostly from eye witness accounts of the baddies he took down, but also from the literal one blurry video of him that exists. It shows Dove holding onto Batman's cape as Red Robin talks. This was taken on his first official patrol, so he was a little nervous. At first Gotham was mad at Batman for bringing yet another child into the fold, until all the criminals Dove brought in came back terrified. They realized they really should have learned their lesson from the latest Robin, and now just respect their funky shadow child.

However Dove doesn't actually come out all that often. He started his vigilante career because he got wrapped up in the supernatural side of Gotham, at first it was just helping the occasional stray ghost find their haunt, but you know how dangerous magic and the supernatural world can get in just the blink of an eye. Think Jujutsu Kaisen, he was able to see Gotham spirits causing and feeding off of citizens misery, and he just can't not help. When the Batfam realizes what he's doing, he's fully committed to helping the spirit of Gotham deal with her curse. They know there's nothing they can do to stop him, so they do the next best thing and give him armor, a mask and a weapon. They also up his training, which they had been doing before because… it's Gotham. So Mourning Dove doesn't actually come out as often as the others, just either when they're down on members, there's an emergency and need his powers, they want to teach him something, or when he just asks.

… Anyway, back on topic. Another way his autism affects him is making him mostly nonverbal/selectively mute. I'm making the assumption that they eventually do get his voice back, but at that point he can adequately communicate without his voice, using chirps and gestures. He knows now that if he needs to talk (talking to a stranger, needing to explain something more complicated, etc) he usually can. Usually. If he's stressed or uncomfortable in any way, he often finds that he can't talk. Thankfully he's been learning sign language for a few years now and can get across simple ideas and feelings just fine in a pinch. And sometimes, he doesn't even feel bad. And yet still, he can't find it in himself to speak. In those cases, if he needs to explain something complicated, he can write it down. He's gotten a lot better! And if he ever trips up, he can always look it up or use autocorrect if it's over text.

Another thing his trama definitely made a lot worse is that he has episodes of hypersensitivity. An analogy I once heard is that most minds are like doors, and most people can choose to shut the door on small pieces of information that are deemed unnecessary. Like the ticking of a clock, or the scratching of pencils around a classroom. But people with adhd can’t choose to closes those doors, and the flood of information can easily overstimulate us. With his super hearing this definitely becomes a problem, and I can only imagine it gets worse when in crowds. I actually already talked about this, with bad textures. Often we can ignore the extra sensory input and go on with our day, but when faced with something that agitates us, it opens the floodgates to make everything agitate us. The sounds of dinner don't usually annoy Danny, but with the extra bad sensory input that he just couldn't ignore, it made it so he couldn't ignore other pieces of input like usual, and it became too much for him. I usually counteract overstimulation by wearing headphones or earbuds, and while I know Danny definitely has noise canceling devices made for the supers with him 24/7 just in case, I think he deals with it, again, by controlling the texture of the cloths he’s wearing and using it to fidget. He counteracts the negative input by surrounding himself with positive input. If he's not in public or that doesnt work, he’ll curl up into himself and rock back and forth, countering the input with a soothing motion and clenching onto his skin like a stress ball. Of course, that's if Cujo, his service dog, isn't there to help him through it.

One thing that carries over into the future is his short attention span. curse you ADHD! He has trouble sitting still and concentrating on a task that doesn't interest him. However he still LOVES space, and often hyperfixates on it. He’ll sit in front of the tv or a tablet and watch documentaries for hours without moving an inch. The first time this happened the batfam where scared something was wrong, maybe he's having an episode and can't move? But when they approached him to see if he was alright he started wildly flapping his arms and letting out excited chirps, till he noticed the look on their face and got out his phone. An hour later he sent them a poorly written, excited and long text about his favorite star in the galaxy to the family group chat. Suffice it to say, space is his special interest. Since then they started using it as a way to get him to sit still or to distract him. Often it helps to play a documentary in the background while he does a task that doesn't interest him so he won't get so bored he up and leaves.

Last but not least, he has trouble understanding social cues. This is absolutely not helped by how sheltered he is in the social department. Danny's part ghost, and ghosts don’t really lie. It's just not a thing they do. They are loud and honest with their intentions, no beating around the bush. Danny just doesn't understand why people aren't straightforward as well. Danny is very honest and says exactly what he means. I always find this ironic when reading the actual story, that the one person in the family (minus Alfred) that's good at communicating can't talk. This is something that becomes an issue with Bruce and his habit of not using his words to talk. I'd like to imagine that, in trying to set a good example for his youngest son yet, he’d realize the importance of communication, and how he communicates.

You could argue that a lot of these traits come from his trauma, and you're absolutely right. It definitely contributes to making some of these traits a lot stronger than before in this au as well. However, I don't want to just make it all a trauma response because then it sort of implies something is… wrong with him. That there's something to fix. And I don't want him to be treated like that. There's nothing wrong with him liking hoodies. There's nothing wrong with him not wanting to talk. There's nothing wrong with him loving space so much. Those are just a part of who he is. Everyone has quirks, and those are his. I don't want the batfamily to obsess with fixing him, or try to make him “normal.” I want them to accommodate his needs like they do for everyone else in the family. I want them to accept him, and his flaws, like a normal person. Not look at him like he's broken. After everything, he deserves a family who accepts him, chirps and all.

Tldr of the last paragraph: making everything a trama thing makes people sad and want to help “fix” him instead of treating him like a normal person. I aint having that in my au so even if he wasn't hurt the way he was, he would still act like this. There's nothing wrong with Danny, he just needs to be accommodated for and treated like a normal person.

Bonus: close up and flat colors (idk if you can even see them but I am way more proud of those eyelashes than I have any right to be)

[hxney-lemcn]

Oopsie — Peter Maximoff x gn! reader

summary: Peter found your fanfic (idk how else to summarize this 💀)

tw: descriptions of panic (possibly panic attack?)

a/n: idk how I feel about this one.

wc: 1.1k

Master List

“Give that back, Peter!” I shouted, standing on my tippy toes trying to reach the notebook he held over his head.

“Why do ya want it back so badly, huh?” Peter asked with a smirk. “What are you writing about?”

I don’t think my heart has ever beat as fast as it is now. I could feel my blood rush as panic coursed through me. No, I didn’t use it as a diary or anything…or maybe I was in a convoluted way? When I felt down or needed to vent, I would write scenarios with my favorite characters. The thought of anyone, especially Peter finding out made me want to change my identity and leave the country. He would never let me live it down and some of those stories were extremely personal to me. 

Panic continued to clench at my heart as Peter opened the notebook, still holding it above his head. Pure desperation took hold of me as I jumped, using his shoulders to propel me higher. 

“Whoa there,” Peter laughed, zipping away to the other side of the room. “You really don’t want me reading this. It can’t be that bad.”

“Peter, please,” I begged, trying to stop my voice cracking from the tears that threatened to fall. His smile fell and he looked at me with furrowed brows. Either he read some of it using his super powers to give him more time or he felt guilty due to how desperate I seemed, but I didn’t want to find out. So as a last ditch attempt, I shot a beam of darkness at the notebook, disappearing into the shadows only to reappear in my hands. Before Peter could utter a word I disappeared into the shadows, only to reappear in Jean's room. 

Jean gasped in surprise. I typically didn’t use my powers that often. I wasn’t a part of the X-Men, but I was friends with Jean ever since I first attended the school, which meant I was basically a part of their group. Having the powers of umbrakinesis, at the beginning wasn’t so special. I could manipulate shadows. Didn’t seem like much. Until Professor Xaviar taught me about my true potential. I could travel through shadows, and even manifest the dark particles into a physical form. It was a good defense, creating weapons made out of dark particles, but I wasn’t the fighting type. So I never really used my powers. There was no need to.

So when I not only traveled to Jean through shadows, but also had the most panic stricken face, she led me to her bed. Her work was left forgotten on her desk. 

“Hey, hey it's okay,” She cooed. “You’re safe here.” Jean rubbed my back as she sat next to me. 

I took deep breaths, trying to calm down. I felt so silly getting worked up over such things, but at the same time it was something deeply personal…and embarrassing. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Jean asked. I bit my lip, contemplating if I could stomach saying it out loud or letting her just read my thoughts.

“Could you just…look?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t rude too. 

She nodded, a gentle look in her eyes. I trusted her with the knowledge of the contents of my notebook. Especially when she’ll see how important it is to me. A scowl took over her face after a minute.

“That idiot,” She huffed.

Even after what just happened, I couldn’t help but vouch for Peter, “He didn’t know…”

“You’re letting your crush on him talk,” She rolled her eyes. 

I felt myself warm at such a blatant accusation of my feelings. She wasn’t completely wrong. I was smitten over the silver haired mutant. I found his dorkiness charming, and he just had the cutest smile. He made it so easy to be friends with him, including me in everything, and not to mention his casual affection. An arm around my shoulders here, ruffling my hair there. It was something I wasn’t used to. Yeah Jean would include me in stuff as well, but her affection was more reserved. 

And yes, Peter can be annoying. Prime example would be his incessant talking. He could talk about anything and everything, yet not say a thing of substance. Which I personally didn’t mind, but Jean and Scott found it grating from time to time. 

“I’m just scared he’s gonna think I’m weird now,” I finally confessed. “I mean…it is weird, but…”

“It's not weird,” Jean consoled. “We all have our hobbies, and yours helps you emotionally.”

I fiddled with the notebook pages, “I guess.”

Suddenly, an urgent knocking sounded through the room, followed by Peter’s voice, “Jean! I think I seriously messed up!”

Once more, a frown found its way onto Jean's lips before she sent me a concerned look. She shuffled me into her bathroom, ‘I think you should hear what he’s gonna say.’ I nodded anxiously, staring at the white tiles as she closed the bathroom door. I sat on the toilet seat as I heard Jean open her door.

“What’d you do this time, Maximoff?” She asked.

I could practically hear the nerves in Peter’s voice as he replied, “I-I swear I didn’t know it was such a big deal. I thought we were messin’ around like usual, but then they started to really freak out. I thought it was just some work stuff…but I read some of it, and I won’t say what it was, but I realized I definitely shouldn’t have read it and now I can’t find ‘em.”

“Slow down Peter,” Jean sighed. 

“I can’t!” Peter’s voice broke. “The look they gave me before they left…I can’t get it outta my head. I gotta apologize, but I’m no good at those.” He let out a frustrated groan before finishing, “I always ruin stuff.”

It was silent for a few seconds before Jean finally spoke, “I’ll give you guys some time to talk it out.”

“Wha?” 

The bathroom door opened on its own and I slowly peaked my head out. Peter stared at me with those big puppy dog eyes that melted my heart and I watched as Jean left her own room. I felt a bit bad that our drama made her leave her own room, but was side tracked as Peter started apologizing rapidly.

“I’m so sorry (y/n),” He said. “I-I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m such an idiot.” He brushed his hand through his hair tensely. 

I let out a quiet sigh, “It's okay.”

“It’s not!” Peter refuted. “That was your personal info!”

I bit my lip, “I mean yeah…but I forgive you. As long as you never speak to another soul of what you read.”

“Read what?” He asked with fake cluelessness. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

A bright grin fell onto my face, happy that he didn’t seem to be judging me.

“But…y’know, just for the record, if you wanna cuddle…” He opened his arms like he was gonna go in for a hug. “I’m always open.”

I rolled my eyes, but failed to hide my amused grin, “Whatever Quickie.”

[callipraxia]

I was just asked to share a favorite writing tip, and as I wrote, it sort of organically expanded from the realm of writing tips I have received and into the realm of writing tips I’ve worked out for myself. I cut most of that from the original response because it wasn’t really what was being asked, but for anyone who might find it helpful - here are six notes on writing from someone who’s been doing it for twenty-something years and has no Agenda, financial or academic, to steer me much astray from confession of my actual practices:

Tip #1: my favorite writing tip I ever got from an outside source is (paraphrasing) “if you want to write like Tolkien, the key isn’t to stick a bunch of dwarves and elves in a low-medieval setting. The key is to write about subjects that you love as much as Professor Tolkien loved Northern European languages and mythology and the pre-Industrial English countryside and Catholic theology and etc.” It isn’t the details of what creatures you have in there that gives something that particular engaging quality that will carry it through and overrule a lot of its inevitable flaws - it is, instead, a subtle, difficult-to-define sort of energy the work will have that, as far as I can tell (and I’ve tried, many times, with concepts and projects that just didn’t work out), cannot be faked.

Tip #2: Based on my own experience as it applies to Tip #1, start trying to figure out what your interests are as early as possible and never stop looking even once you think you’ve found them. There’s a plethora of low-to-no-cost, low-to-no-commitment ways to pick up at least the basics of topics you know nothing about***, so give something a try every now and then, you might surprise yourself. For another personal anecdote, I grew up with the firm belief that physics was something I would a) find really boring and b) not be smart enough to get even the vaguest grasp on no matter how hard I worked, and that even trying was therefore probably a waste of time. I still can’t do the math and would probably flunk any real exams, but physics writing, obtained from the public library’s New Arrivals section, has ended up being one of the richest sources for my writing that I’ve ever encountered.

Tip #3: if you truly can’t find a subject in the world you find yourself especially interested in, that’s probably either the depression or the after effects of bad educational experiences talking. Or both - both is always an option. Start addressing that stuff and the world will most likely become a much more interesting place and you will most likely become a much more interesting writer.

Tip #4: if you find yourself with a sort of author crush, with someone (including other fan authors!) whose work you really, really admire, and you desperately want to be like them when you grow up - find out what they read and read it, too. This doesn’t work 100% of the time, but it is often a productive exercise; the reason I tend to include so many footnotes in my fics is because I’ve benefited so much from other people who left footnotes with reading recommendations or trivia explanations on their fics.

Tip #5, the Big One: Combine multiple things you are geeking out about into one story. The best writing I probably ever did began with how certain characters were represented in three different fanfics in two different fandoms. The presentation of Character A from Franchise 1 in two fics reminded me, in ways she normally wouldn’t, of the presentation of Character B from one fic from Franchise 2. I also just really liked Character C and thought it might be fun to introduce some elements of Character D to him and then see what happened, so I isolated some of the things I liked about those characterizations and combined a character trait or two from each in order to form two ‘new’ basic characters who would form the ‘center’ of the story. I then ran them both through additional filters: the first filter was some specific other interests (ornithology and tea culture) I happened to have, and then the second was the general impressions I’d gotten of family lives and dynamics from reading a couple of blogs for several years****. And then I topped this concoction off by dusting it lightly with references to and elements from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and an old Cage the Elephant song. Yeah. Other sources of musical inspiration have included, but are far, far from limited to, songs from Breaking Benjamin, Foster the People, Hozier, Lana del Rey, The Mountain Goats, The Offspring, and The Smashing Pumpkins. Even I kind of roll my eyes at that list, but hey, if it works, it works.

Tip #6: Don’t get the wrong idea from Tip #5 - I don’t recommend approaching stories or subjects with the aim of finding something to combine with something else in mind. The example I gave coalesced in my head over the course of several years before I ever put any of it into writing. The ideas will form in their own time, and I think the best thing to do is to just absorb as much enjoyable media and neat information as you can and then let your brain gradually do its own thing in its own time. It’s frustrating, but trying to think of things to jam together for a story or character idea on purpose doesn’t work nearly as well in my experience - maybe it can be pulled off for a one-off, preferably one that is a direct homage to or parody of the original, but when it comes to longer-term and more nuanced stuff, it’s rare for a deliberately sought out mash-up to ever quite get that Certain Something that I talked about back in Tip #1.

*** I can only really speak for the U.S. here, but with that caveat - I cannot overstate the utility of public library resources like inter-library loan and Friends of the Library bag sales, along with the contents of the library itself and particularly the New Arrivals sections if one is fortunate enough to be within reasonable driving distance of an even moderately well-stocked public library. If they’ve got a subscription to something like JSTOR or another academic database, so much the better, though you can find a surprising amount of information just through free articles and excerpts on JSTOR at least. The website and app Coursera also has a modest but useful collection of free courses, some of which are designed to be completed in as little as two days, and the similar website/app edX has quite a few classes where you can access the materials freely enough and just won’t get credit toward any professional certificates unless you pay them. I’ve done some studies also through Modern States, which is completely free as far as I remember and aimed at preparing people for exams that could, in theory, allow someone to test out of their freshman year of college or university. I have the very vague impression that Khan Academy sometimes gets mixed reviews, but I’ve found it a useful resource before. I’m sure this list also only just scratches the surface of what’s out there, too, since these are just resources I’ve personally used.

**** One of these was a LiveJournal, to give you some idea of how long ago this was…The other, in the category of “less obvious places to look,” was a collection of tea-tasting logs from a website called steepster; some users use/at least used to use their logs as a sort of journal/social media as well as a place to review teas, and some of those people are really good writers. Haven’t been to steepster in a while, though, should probably peek in sometime to see if it and/or any of my favorite loggers are still around….

[shrekgogurt]

Ten Questions for Writers

Thank you for the tags! @artsyunderstudy @roomwithanopenfire @youarenevertooold @emeryhall @monbons @larkral I'm eating up reading your answers because we're all so DIFFERENT.

How many works do you have on AO3? 9 (technically 10 but we orphaned one of them out of shame)

What’s your total AO3 word count? 99,978 (mine) + 7,531 (shared) + 9,991 (someone else's) = 117, 500 (total)

What fandoms do you write for? presently, Carry On but back during my high school ff.net days I did some Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus (Percabeth and some separate OCs), Alex Rider (OCs), The 100 (as an elaborate prank), Harry Potter (literally just a My Immortal parody), and Divergent (OCs) and if they weren't oneshots they were never finished.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? YES! I'm currently behind on my replies, but it's so fun! It's like a book club but for stuff I created!!???? Shit rocks. I fully didn't expect anyone to read IKABIKAM (my first fic on ao3) when I first published it and so every comment still feels like a miracle.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! I love collaborating because it gives me something to bounce off of. A scene partner. A ticking timer. It's like lifting a heavy object by yourself versus getting someone else to bear some of the weight with you. It's easier. I also find myself constantly seeking collaboration with other people even with my solo fics. I'm all up in those DMs pestering people both as motivation and as external processing. And by GOD, do you fuckers have some good ideas. Y'all make me exponentially better.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? SnowBaz but also in a very real sense...Percabeth. (You never forget your first.)

What are your writing strengths? I got my start with rping, so dialogue is really comfortable for me. I also think my training in other art forms (dance, music, theatre, film, academia) positively influence my approach. When writing action, I often mentally frame it as 'blocking' the scene or 'choreographing' the movement. When crafting sentences, I'm constantly evaluating the rhythm and rhyme and repetition (not to mention alliteration) as if it's a song, always searching for the perfect word or metaphor. I also listen to actual songs and pull the emotion from them, using them as character studies or a musical soliloquy. I imagine shots and then write what I see from the perspective of a director explaining the actor’s motivating thoughts. I constantly revisit my thesis, grounding the narrative in callbacks and a cohesive structure like it's an academic paper. And all those things combined create this kinetic cause and effect style I'm really proud of and tangibly improves every time I write something new.

What are your writing weaknesses? I do not have a firm grasp on proper grammar. I'm also really slow and inconsistent with my output because my process is so physically disorganized and meticulous which often frustrates me. I'm also impatient. I don't do wholesale messy drafts; I edit as I go and when I'm done I want it published immediately. I also fall victim to the white room syndrome with physical descriptions. Establishing shots? Don't know them. What a guy looks like? What they're wearing? Sorry, I haven't told you because it felt weird to jam in there. Outside of fanfiction, I also struggle with creating something from nothing. I'm a theologian rather than a god. I much prefer playing in a sandbox and exegeting meaning from someone else's grunt work rather than conjuring the wood and the sand myself. My writing is also incredibly referential to pop culture which I'm not sure would translate outside of fanfic, but I guess I'll cross that bridge if I ever get to it.

First fandom you wrote for? Divergent (big cringe)

Now tagging! @onepintobean @cutestkilla @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @mooncello @brilla-brilla-estrellita @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @urban-sith @prettygoododds @valeffelees @ileadacharmedlife TELL ME HOW YOU WRITE YOU GENIUSES

[usmsgutterson]

Stay- K.B x male! reader

Okay. This fic is one of three of it’s kind that’s coming out this month. This one comes out today, the next one (for Jesper) comes out on the 16th, the third (for Nikolai) comes out on the 30th. 

I’ve always wanted to write something that feels authentic and in line with my experiences as a queer person in aspects of things like heartbreak, yearning, and some of the lighter parts, too, and I chose to do that in the form of these fics. I poured my heart and soul out a little bit so I hope this touches some hearts, too. This is also, by far, my favorite piece of queer fanfic that I’ve ever written. It’s also very long and so that you know what you’re getting into, I’ve added a word count to this fic for convenience. 

Also, yes, there are multiple different gifs with this one but they all have their significances within this fic lol

Fic type- this jumps all over the place but the main genres in it are hurt/comfort and heavy angst

Warnings- mentions of death, mentions of and depictions of gunshot wounds/being shot, mention and depiction of yearning and heartbreak, mention of blood and mentions of physical violence

Word count- 11.6k

You had been in love with Kaz Brekker for what felt like forever, but in reality, had been two thousand days. Five and a half years, give or take. Sixty-five months. You had realized you were in love with him when you were fifteen years old, and in the time since, you'd had a sixteenth, a seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, and a twentieth birthday.

You did not know how else to state it. You loved him with the surety of a stream rippling and moving over water covered stones, ones that were always a light-ish brown but looked nearly identical to the color of his hair because they never did have the chance to dry unless someone took them out of the water.

You loved him and were as sure in that as you were in the fact that you loved to watch the sunrise from the rooftops with Inej when she was visiting, as sure as you were in the fact that you would never grow tired of Jespers jokes or the songs Wylan could play on the flute.

Some days, the fact that you were deeply in love with Kaz Brekker and had been for nearly the entirety of the six years you had known him was the only thing you could be sure of.

Because you loved Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel who was never seen anywhere without his gloves, you yearned. Yearning naturally came with loving him as it did loving anyone else, and it was intense because you had not told him how you felt. You weren't entirely sure that you ever would.

Yearning was odd. Sometimes, it was the phantom feeling of a kiss against a forehead, the overwhelming idea of how nice it would be if you could rest your head against his shoulder or simply wanting to hold his hand. It was mildly pleasant in those times, though still quite the inconvenience, you could admit.

Other times, however, it felt like a punch to the gut. It was the pain of wanting a forehead kiss. It was the pain of wanting to be hugged and a gut punch, a bullet wound, when you really wanted to know what it would've been like to be in a relationship with the one person in the Barrel who had everyone in his pocket, the one person who had become untouchable alongside you after the success of the Ice Court and all of the big heists since.

Sometimes, yearning was like waking up on the perfect morning. It was waking up on your favorite day of the week, finding that the weather outside was just perfect, making your drink of choice just right and finally having the motivation to read the book you'd been setting aside for weeks in the favor of other tasks in need of doing.

Other times, it was like being stabbed. It was an ache; a bone deep, heartsick ache. It was waking up and wanting for the one thing you could not have. It was going down to the bottom floor of the Slat, grabbing a brandy and hoping that it did the trick and got you back to normal, only to remember that alcohol did not always work that way and objecting to take the whole bottle instead. Yearning was drinking brandy from the bottle as you read a book you hated but could not give up and yearning was hoping that drinking yourself to sleepiness would have you back to normal the next morning.

Of course, the bottle of brandy never worked. It made you tired after a bit, sure, but it also left you feeling hungover and sluggish the next morning. It had Nina laughing as she commended you for surviving a rough night as Jesper wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you lightly into the booth, nodding his understanding because he was your friend and he loved you, and he'd fancied Kaz once, too, so of course he understood.

"It sticks with you," Jesper said as the two of you headed into the Slat from Fifth Harbor. You'd been grabbing breakfast and Kaz had wanted you in his offices for a meeting by nine bells. "The yearning, I mean. I've been with Wylan three years now, and damn it, it really never goes away."

"I can't let that be the case with me," you said. "I can't. I can barely survive this as it is, Jesper. If the yearning keeps going the longer I stay in love with him, I don't know what I'll do."

"There are a couple of gay bars in the city," Jesper suggested. "I can't imagine that they'll quite fulfill the needs you have but they'll be good for moving on if you flirt with the right people."

"The right people for me are the emotionally unavailable ones," you said. "I honestly don't have much of a preference, but if they've got light blue sea glass eyes, a cutting jaw and brown hair that looks glorious when it's been a few months since it was last trimmed and has had a bit of a chance to grow out, that all would be quite the convincing added bonus."

"You lovesick fool," Jesper said with a laugh as you proceeded into Kaz's office.

"Who's in on the job?" Were the first words out of your mouth, eyes scanning the area. You noticed a map of Ravka on his desk, a map of Fjerda right beside it, a cup half full of coffee placed bare milimetres away from the spot where Kaz had chosen to sit his cane while he worked. "I'm assuming Inej, if she gets in from her voyage in time, and especially if you need a spider. Raske is good on house calls and Ketterdam based Dregs business but he would never be suited to something overseas."

Kaz blinked. "How do you know it's a job across the pond?"

"The map of Ravka on your desk helps me to determine that much, though the map of Fjerda right next to it provides more of a clue," you said. "Let me guess, jewelry? Jewelry was stolen by Fjerdans who managed to infiltrate the Little Palace and steal as much as they could grab?"

"Druskelle, specifically," Kaz said with a nod. "At the orders of their new commander. The aim was to make Grisha afraid, and so they did so by breaking into the one place where Grisha felt safe and stealing something valuable.

“They aim to strike fear into the hearts of all Ravkans,” you said with a nod. “The royals are just the start, as their new commander has said to the news. I’ve kept up with the news as their managing to steal Ravkan jewels is of interest to me--I haven’t the slightest idea how they’d managed it--though it seems that the royals are angry with it. Sources say that Zoya feels like she’s been duped.” 

"They are quite angry indeed," Kaz said. "Angry enough that they hired us. It'll be us three, Wylan, and Inej. Nina, too, but she's been working for the Ravkans since Matthias died so she'll meet us there.”

"What's the payoff?"

"Six hundred thousand kruge split six ways."

"One hundred thousand for a break in? Seems a bit generous from the Ravkans, doesn’t it?”

“It’s money borrowed from the merchant council. They’re paying us, essentially.”

"It’s boat and life forever spent at sea money," Jesper said pointedly, referencing a conversation you two had had over breakfast. 

You’d been watching Kaz's expression, saw surprise flit across his face for a split second before he schooled his expression back to neutrality.

"You've thought about leaving?" He asked. "What, do you just need an excuse to go?"

"I prefer to call it a reason," you answered with a shrug. "And no. Leaving Ketterdam is not something that I have thought about in depth, I only started thinking of it last night. Figured I could buy a boat ticket and head off somewhere new. I could use a refresh in the scenery, learn to walk a new city until I've memorized every path and shortcut. I need something different, Kaz. I've needed something different since we were seventeen, since I watched Nina climb into a sickboat and lay beside her dead beloved."

You looked to Jesper as he slipped a supportive hand into yours, Kaz's gaze hardening as he turned your words over in his mind.

"Reason and excuse. What's the difference?"

"Reason: you have decided I am unfit to remain on the Dregs, or you have decided that you hate me, or perhaps you love me and it is something you cannot face, so we come up with a solution together. The solution being my departure," you hummed. It was too easy to joke about Kaz being in love with you when you were in fact the one in love with him, but whenever you did, it made your chest ache. You wished he'd felt the same as you did. "Excuse: I find myself with enough money to afford a cheap boat ticket and quite the large townhouse in a port city off the coast of Ravka or Novyi Zem, even the Wandering Isle or Shu Han. It is with the knowledge of the money in my account that I make the decision to buy a boat ticket, pack up what little of my belongings exist in my room at the Slat, and go."

"Ah," Jesper hummed. "Well, if you do leave, promise to visit?"

"Summer and Christmas," you said, pairing it with a smile like that would've made it any easier to think of leaving. Just because it was something you’d begun to debate did not make it any easier to fathom. 

"Well, we're in for a week and a half of travel on boat," Kaz said. "To Ravka. We're meeting with the royals for two days to discuss how exactly we plan to pull it off."

"Where are we rescuing the jewels from?"

"The Fjerdan royal palace."

“I normally quite like a good gamble or two,” Jesper said. “Rather unfortunately for you, Mr. Brekker, I’m not seventeen anymore, and the knowledge that the odds are nearly guaranteed to be stacked against me does not sound exciting.” 

“Well, even as such, a sharpshooting Fabrikator is needed on this job and you are the best suited for it. You can still say no, Jesper, but you’ll be missing out one hundred thousand kruge if you do.” 

“Wylan will probably agree to come along. At least, if you’re putting yourself up against death, you and Wylan will probably die together,” you offered with an uneasy smile, giving Jespers hand a squeeze.

“Hand in hand, provided you get lucky,” Kaz added.

Jesper sighed. “I’ll talk it over with him, and you’ll have an answer by nightfall.”

“You’re in, correct?” Kaz asked, looking to you. 

You nodded. “I’ve still got more than half of the money from the Ice Court heist left. May as well add to those funds a bit before I take them with me when I leave.” You still didn’t know if you wanted to go, but it was better to talk like you’d made up your mind as it were. You didn’t like uncertainty, had no particular fondness for variables. 

Kaz nodded. 

Jesper let go of your hand and left, the door closing soundlessly behind him. 

“What of it, then, Kaz?” You asked. You did not mean to stay behind, not really, but you did. Kaz had more to disclose with you, as always, though it was something that went unsaid. 

You were the one person in the world that Kaz would--albeit a little begrudgingly and only when he was nearly black out drunk--admit he cared about, and as such, you always got more to it than Nina did, than Jesper or Wylan or Inej or even Matthias had while he was alive. 

But, you could not let that, nor how you felt about him, get in the way of your goal. You wanted to know as much of it as you possibly could before you fully committed before breaking into a palace that was located in the Ice Court, which, if your memory served, was a place with more security than any reasonable facility would’ve employed, even a place with a prison sector. 

The knowledge you’d long learned pricked in your chest, the thought that accompanied it bubbling up in your mind as you met Kaz’s gaze, saw the blue of his eyes reflected in the rare Ketterdam sun as it filtered into the room through the office window. 

Loving Kaz Brekker is lethal. Don’t get caught up in it.

“What of what, Y/N?”

“What of the plan?” 

“Why should I tell you what my plan entails when you plan to go once all is said and done?” 

“Reason versus excuse.”

“Reason: You are a valued member of my crew and to insinuate that I would ever want you gone for any reason, be it your feelings, my own, or the simple fact that I might deem you unsuited for my crew, is very insulting,” Kaz looked at you. Your heart quickened. “Excuse: I do not need to elaborate. I do not want to.” 

You shrugged. “Even if you don’t want to discuss it, I need to know just how likely it is that I will make it out of the heist alive, or I will walk away and I will encourage Jesper and Wylan to do the same. Royals be damned, I am done putting my life in serious risk overseas. I did it once three years ago, and once is starting to seem like more than enough.” 

“It’s not likely.”

“My survival or my death?” 

“Nobody is likely to survive, Y/N,” he said. “But that’s why we do it, because we know nobody will care about Barrel trash.”

“Nina and Inej are not Barrel trash,” you spat. “Wylan and Jesper are not Barrel trash. Just because the only people who care about you, me, Wylan, Jesper, Inej, or Nina are those who’s names I have just listed, does not make us nothing. It does not make us worthless.” 

“If you make it, buy a boat ticket, settle somewhere, and never think of me again,” Kaz said. “I could do without thinking of you, too.”

“The day that you let someone in, allow someone to care about you and let yourself care about them deeply in turn, is the day that my heart stops and I cease to exist, I swear to the saints.” 

“The rumor is that I am heartless, so you should remain alive for a very long time.” 

You said nothing, only scoffed and walked out of Kaz’s office, up to your room in the Slat.

-

Inej was at your windowsil by that afternoon, a grin on her face, a braid of black hair sitting on her right shoulder. She was wearing a black roughspun tunic and gray leggings along with a long black hooded coat to hold her knives and conceal her body while she scaled the buildings in Ketterdam, black boots that went up to the middle of her calf adorning her feet to finish the outfit off.

She looked exactly like what she was; a ships captain, one who always rolled her sleeves up to the elbow and had hands calloused from tying knots. She slipped through the opening of your window, vaulting gracefully off of it once she’d gotten her footing--you’d opened the window to let in a draft. The Slat always got humid in the summer and Ketterdam had a tendency for infrequent but strong breezes on days where the sun showed itself--and ended up a foot away from your bed.

“Kaz wrote me,” she said. “Though I assume it’s confirmed now, more than just possible?” 

“We’re breaking into the Ice Court again, yeah,” you said, nodding. “When did he send?” 

“Three weeks back. He had a feeling, according to rumor. I assume that he gave you the information while stone cold sober, though the letter he wrote to me read like he wrote it while he was drunk.” 

You scoffed. “I may be one of his closest friends, but Kaz Brekker barely tells me anything. The most I can think of in regards to hints is the fact that he mentioned it just the other day while he was whiskey drunk. Said that the Ravkans need something back, something very valuable. I was given no other context clues to this.” 

“You’d think for the one person Kaz Brekker will never truly let in, he’d tell you more than he does on the basis that he knows you’d never tell anyone a damn thing,” Inej commented. “Though, he’ll never let anyone in. It’s not his style.”

“Don’t I know it,” you said, sighing a bit. “Oh, don’t I fucking know it.”

Inejs face split into a pitiful smile. “Still?” 

“Five and a half years gunning,” you said as you stood up. You draped an arm over her shoulders, let her lead the way out of your bedroom. “Not stopping any time soon, unless I get a one way boat ticket to Ravka or decide to live there permanently after the heist.” 

“Come back to Ketterdam with me once this is through,” she said. “I’ll be staying two weeks to check out a couple of leads. Stay until I go, and I’ll take you with me to Novyi Zem. Drop you off in Cofton, where the decent houses are cheap but the good ones in the country are cheaper and have the better views of the sun while it rises and sets.” 

You opened your door, left the room. “Yeah. That’ll help me tie up a couple of loose ends, too.”

Inej laughed. “What, will you leave him a note?”

“Perhaps,” you answered with a shrug as the two of you proceeded down the corridor. “A letter is more my style, I think. It’ll make Kaz hate me--for thinking to leave with just a note, for not telling him goodbye officially before I place it on his desk--but it’s what’s necessary.”

“It is not,” Inej said. “You say that you’ll write a letter of goodbye to him now, but I know you. You’ll leave the letter behind after you’ve hinted at your leave, at the very least.” 

“No,” you couldn’t bear it. You could not say goodbye to his face nor hint at a goodbye, and that was something you’d realized as you thought of the heist that was to come throughout that day. It was something you realized as you thought of what would happen after it. “I can’t say goodbye to him in person. I can’t see that monotonous expression staring back at me while I’m close to tears and when he asks why, and I tell him I have loved him since we were fifteen, what then? How will I survive leaving Ketterdam--how will I survive saying goodbye to Kaz bloody Brekker, if I don’t do it in the form of written word?” 

“You’ll start by drinking a lot of brandy, knowing you,” Inej said. “I started my leave off by learning how to tie every knot the members of my boat crew could. I wanted to leave, well and truly, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. I learned knot tying, I wrote letters to my parents after Kaz had found them. I’ve never fully moved on from Ketterdam--I still love these streets and if I could die here, I would do so in the middle of a fight with the handle of a knife clutched in my palm--and I don’t intend to. You are not trying to move on from a city, Y/N. You are currently in the throes of trying to move on from a person.” 

You said nothing because you knew Inej was right. You were so tired of the yearning, of the constant pain that loving Kaz Brekker brought on. 

You loved Ketterdam. Well and truly, you did, but if you loved Kaz Brekker much longer, you were sure you would die of a broken heart. You did not want that for yourself--you did not want to be another one of the bodies brought out to the Reapers Barge and burned on the shores. 

You found Kaz sitting at a table on the bottom floor of the Slat where Inej found Jesper and Wylan, and the two of you split off.

“When do we leave?”

“So you’ve made your decision?” 

“When do we leave, Brekker?” 

“Three days time. Ravka first, then a couple days on foot. We’re using the summer festival as a cover up this time.”

“The royals will be celebrating with the other delegations on the White Island?”

“And we don’t have to move through the prison. It’s just a matter of getting in, getting to the palace and grabbing the jewelry and then getting out.” 

“You make it sound entirely safe,” you intoned. “Quite the opposite of what it is to be, I imagine.”

“One hundred thousand kruge is all any of us are getting after the split,” Kaz said. “Less money than breaking in is worth, but I convinced the merchant council out of thirty million once. I’m sure if I ask Nikolai to give us a better offer for our time, he will be the one stuck convincing the merchant council. It means there’ll be more time for me to wonder what I’ll put the money to.” 

“Expansions, investments,” you said. “More flooring at the Slat, the building next to it and a couple of construction workers to join the places together. Worth it endeavor if you think about it.” 

Kaz smirked at you. “A boat ticket, a farmhouse, jurda crop in the spring that you’ll sell in the fall?” 

You snorted. “Or no boat ticket, no farmhouse, no jurda. Maybe a house in the financial district and a bed that feels like laying on a blanket made from the fur brushed off of Samoyed dogs.”  

Kaz only shook his head in response, and a somber kind of silence settled over the two of you. A pang struck you in the chest as your eyes ghosted over his cheekbones, ran along the surface of his lips and down from his shoulders to his wrists to the tips of his gloved fingers.

He was looking at you in a way that you could not read or understand. Kaz’s expressions had always been unreadable, always something you had tried to understand when you thought over them. You could read his expression when you saw emotion flit across his face, but otherwise he looked monotonous. Annoyingly, handsomely, monotonous. 

He would never say it, but you could tell he wanted you to stay. It was present in the unexpected anger that flitted across his gaze whenever it came up, the sarcastic manner with which he discussed it. 

“If you want to leave, you’re welcome to go,” Kaz said. “I don’t need you to stick around if you don’t want to.”

“Perhaps I’m looking for reasons to stay,” you said. “Reasons aside from Inejs bi-monthly visits, reasons that do not primarily revolve around Jespers jokes, Wylans flute, or the rise and set of the sun.” 

“Well then, I do hope you find those reasons,” 

“And I do hope that if I do not, you’ll find time in your busy mob boss schedule to pay me a visit?” 

Kaz looked at the darkly stained wood of the table instead of saying anything. It made you want to punch him in the face, made you want to punch yourself in the face for daring to ask that of him.

 You’d dared to ask for some small admittance that he cared about you even slightly, and when did that ever quite go the way you wanted for it to? 

But then, after a couple of seconds, he spoke. “You’re to visit during the summers and Christmas time, if you keep to the words you told Jesper this morning.”

“Come visit me in Spring or Autumn,” you said. “If I end up in Ravka, it’s always quite nice to watch the leaves turn and fall to the ground during the autumn season, and spring means lots of rain, which isn’t too different from Ketterdams weather year round anyway.” 

Kaz said nothing again. You got up and spun around on your feet, heading straight for the bar. You needed a brandy and to not think of Kaz Brekker or the blue of his eyes or the sound of his voice for a minimum of twelve hours. 

-

The three days leading up to your leave were monotonous. You worked your shifts at the Crow Club, watched the sun as it rose in the mornings and and set in the evenings. You talked with Inej, laughed with Jesper and found solace in the music Wylan played with his flute. 

The trip to Ravka in and of itself was turning out to be just as monotonous. You’d taken to watching the waves, to closing your eyes and breathing in the cold air, listening to the sound of the waves as they hit the boat and rocked it lightly side to side. 

You were another six, maybe seven hours out from Ravka. The shore was beginning to show itself, a mere dot across the almost endless expanse of the sea. You’d stood, watching and listening to the waves, for upwards of an hour by then. Jesper had joined you at first, you’d discussed what you would do with the money--you were still contemplating leaving, where Jesper revealed that he and Wylan were debating buying a farm house in Novyi Zem so that they could visit his father in the autumn and help him sell the jurda he grew--and laughed as you shared anecdotes. 

But then, Jesper left. You stood in silence for the next thirty minutes, contemplating everything as it were. 

You remembered what it was like to fall in love with Kaz Brekker. It had not been easy. It had been a mess and was a mess even still, and it made you want to leave. 

Leaving, you quickly realized, meant moving on. Moving on, in the end, meant that you would probably fall in love with someone new and you would experience it all over again.

Could you handle falling in love again, though? You were entirely unsure of it. 

Falling in love had been a mess the first time. Once, you found, was more than enough, especially if it meant you went through a repetition of what you’d been going through with Kaz; a love unrequited and a flame never lit. 

Moving on almost sounded worse, though. You’d fallen in love with Kaz Brekker and, even as heartbreaking as it was, you’d grown used to it. You could handle loving him forever, never getting rid of the ache in your chest that he’d been the direct cause of, if it meant you never fell in love again and never had to go through it all a second time or a third after that. 

However, speak of the devil and the devil shall come. You barely had a second to register the sound of his cane against the flooring of the boat before he was at your right, cane leaned against the railing as he pressed his back to it. His gaze was skyward, pointedly avoiding the water. 

“What of it, Y/N?”

“What of what, Kaz?” 

You were not looking at him. You could not stand to look at him. 

“What of all of it?” Kaz asked. “One moment, you speak like you only ever want to leave and be rid of me forever, the next you talk as though you’re not going anywhere. What of it, Y/N? What of that?” 

“Nothing,” you said, shrugging your shoulders aimlessly. “Perhaps I speak like I do with the aim of keeping you on your toes. It seems to be working in my favor.” 

“Make a decision and stick with it,” Kaz said. “I cannot deal with not knowing whether you are to stay after all of this is done or if...” Kaz paused.

Kaz Brekker never paused. He never hesitated in anything. 

“If you are to leave Ketterdam behind,” Kaz finished. You looked over to him, saw a surprising bout of regret flash in his gaze before yours moved back to the water. “I cannot handle it.” 

“Well, you will have to handle it until my decision is made,” you said. “And besides, other than these random fits and starts, you have made no effort to indicate that you really do want me to stay. If you would like me to stay, just say it, Brekker.” 

A long pause passed over the two of you. Kaz felt so close, but like he was miles away all the same. 

“And if I do not?” 

“If I am being honest, whether or not you want me to stay plays a very little part in whether or not I will,” a lie. A complete and total lie. 

If Kaz Brekker asked you to stay in Ketterdam, you would have. It was quite as simple as that, but he could never know as much. You would never ever tell him that whether or not you stayed in Ketterdam was nearly entirely dependent on him because it would break your heart and harden Kaz’s into steel. 

You would be let go from the Dregs and forced to leave regardless, for Kaz Brekker loved nobody. He thought love was a weakness, and those who were weak had no place in the gang he’d built from the ground. 

“Then why does my admittance of whether or not I want you to stay mean anything?” 

“I told you once that the day that you allow yourself to care about another human being is to be the day that my heart stops and I cease to exist,” you said. You turned to look at him. “Perhaps I just want you to admit that you care, or perhaps I have a death wish. I shall leave that up to your own contemplation.” 

“If I asked you to, you would stay?” 

“If you asked me twice, I would consider it. If Jesper and Wylan asked me once, I would consider it further, but if Nina offered me a place to stay or if Inej offered me a place on her crew, I would yes on the spot. I cannot do this forever, Kaz.” 

“Do what?” 

You flinched, felt grateful that Kaz only turned to look at you after it had happened. You realized that you had said too much. 

I cannot keep loving you and wallowing in my heartbreak for the rest of my life, even as terrifying as moving on seems, even as terrifying as falling in love again sounds, you thought. 

“This,” you gestured broadly. “The heists. The near constant act of risking my life for much less money than even I, a criminal, happen to think it’s worth.” 

“So that’s it, is it?” Kaz asked. “You’ve made your decision. You’ll do the heist, you’ll collect what you’re owed, and then you’ll move on? You’ll forget about Inej and Nina, about Jesper and Wylan, and...” there it was again. A pause. 

“I did not say that,” you said exasperatedly.

“You implied it well enough.”

“I was not trying to imply anything,” you said, growing more exasperated by the second. There was fire in Kaz’s gaze. It made you want to kill him, made you want to kiss him, and made you want to shoot yourself in the foot all at once. “I am only trying to say that I will stay if I am asked by the right people or if I decide that I do not want to leave after all is said and done! I am trying to say that I do not know what I will do, and that if I decide to leave, you are welcome to throw a party to honor my absence! Saints know you won’t miss me, Brekker, if you’re so bloody emotionally cramped that you can’t even bring yourself to ask of me the one thing that might prompt me to stay in Ketterdam for at least another little while!” 

“I am not--”

“You are emotionally cramped like nobody I have ever seen in my entire life,” you said. You knew you were being cruel, but you decided you didn’t care. “You cannot bring yourself to admit that you care about people, and how dare you love anyone else because love is weakness even when you have more of a hold on Ketterdam than Pekka bloody Rollins did in his time. Love is weakness to you, Brekker, and I look forward to the day that you wake up and realize that love does not have to be weakness, but it can be strength if you would just listen to your emotions and let it be! Saints, you are awful.” 

“I am treacherous,” Kaz said somberly. “I know that. You know that.” 

“Well then, it looks like we finally have something in common,” you snapped. “I care about you, Brekker, and I care about you very deeply. All I need in order to stay is for you to finally just say it. Ask me to stay, tell me that you care, pretend to believe it when I lie and say that whether or not you do really doesn’t matter at all.” 

Kaz said nothing. You watched him turn around, turn his gaze to the water. You saw his gaze harden, realized he was relieving something painful--a memory he hadn’t told you about, so it seemed--and grimaced. 

“Caring is weakness,” Kaz said. “Weak is the last thing that I can afford to be.” 

You scoffed and walked away, not meeting his gaze as you headed belowdecks in the hopes of finding a bit of peace of mind and the will to rest. 

-

He found you in the palace a day and a half later. Negotiations had been completed, the carriage that would get you up to the Fjerdan permafrost in the preparation stages but nearly ready to go. You’d negotiated up from 100,000 kruge per person to 200,000 kruge. Not much, compared to the money you’d grabbed for the initial Ice Court heist--the theft of Kuwei Yul-Bo--but just in the realms of being good enough. 

“What are the chances we survive this, Brekker?” You were sitting by the lake, feet in the water. trying to calm your heart down. “How many of us are risking our lives in having agreed to this?”

“All of us are,” Kaz said. “Nina knows it just as well. Inej and Wylan and Jesper know it. We’re the only ones who are capable enough to do this job, and if you survive, you get a decent pay out.” 

You nodded. You’d known that all along, had figured that the odds of one of the six of you who remained dying were not quite the best. You just hoped it wouldn’t have been Kaz or Jesper. Had either of them died, your heart would’ve shattered in two with no large enough pieces to put back together again. 

“I’m sorry for what I said on the boat,” you were. Kaz might’ve deserved all of your cruelty, but you were still apologetic. A lot of what you had said had been heat of the moment anger, some of it just a little true but never meant to be said as you had said all of it. “I never meant to say it like that.” 

Kaz Brekker went still. 

Silence lapsed. It was a silence that went on for several agonizing, suffocating minutes, silence that had your watching the sun as it set encompassed only by the sound of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears, the almost silent sound of Kaz’s breathing as he sat to your right. 

It was suffocative. The silence you were experiencing in that moment had made you want to die like you’d never quite experienced it before. It was intense, a pain in your chest that you could only hope would go away. It hurt. You were hurting. 

“Will you go?” 

“I would very much like to as of now,” you said. “But I also would not. Thinking about it has become an absurdly repetitive process.” 

“If you intend to, find Genya. I’m sure she’d be willing to tailor away the crow and the cup tattoo that sits on your forearm.”

“If I am to leave, I will not get rid of it,” you said. “I will be keeping my crow and cup, along with the Dregs affiliation that it carries, thank you.” 

You were being sarcastic. It was the only thing you could will yourself to do in that moment. 

“How long will you go, if you decide to leave?”

“If I am to leave and not come back around to visit, I wouldn’t be expecting my presence for at least three years,” more than half of the time during which you had loved him was the amount of time you expected moving on from him to take. You didn’t quite want to move on, but you needed to. You needed to move on from Kaz Brekker, to stop loving him, or you would die of it. 

You would die of the love you felt for Kaz Brekker because loving him would’ve broken your heart in the end. There was no more escaping it, no more denying it. Loving Kaz Brekker would kill you whether or not that was something you wanted to admit. 

“Will you write, in the least?”

You let yourself grin. It wasn’t quite the ‘I care about you’ in the direct, forward fashion you’d hoped for, but it was enough. 

“I may,” you said. “I’ll enclose a return address so that you have no excuse when you do not respond.”

Kaz smiled. You noticed how rarely you actually saw him smile. You wished you were a Heartrender for a moment so that you would be able to listen to Kaz’s heartbeat instead of your own, and the moment passed. 

“Be ready at sunrise,” were Kaz’s parting words before he was walking away, the familiar sound of the click of his cane being the only thing you heard before you heard the familiar sound of Jesper and Ninas footsteps. 

Jesper joined you at the lake, pulled his trousers up a bit and put his feet into the water as he wrapped an arm around you, pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead. 

Nina did the same, hiked up the skirt she wore to her knees and dipped her feet into the water as she grabbed one of your hands, shot you a somber look. It had been the first time you’d had the chance to see each other since she left Ketterdam in a schooner designed to look like one of the ones that would go to the Reapers Barge, laying beside her deceased beloved. 

She hadn’t been too involved in the negotiating process simply due to the fact that she was busy tying up a couple of remaining loose ends in Fjerda, and while Kaz had been filling her in on the details you already knew, you’d been sitting by the lake or drinking tea by one of the samovars, wallowing within the depths of your own mind and trying not to resent every single second of it.

You wanted to cry. The first time you’d seen one of your closest friends in three years and there you were, wallowing in pity and in heartbreak because you had fallen for the worst person in Ketterdam who you could’ve fallen for. 

“What’s happened?” She didn’t know. You hadn’t told her.

Jesper had found out from one too many times finding you crying about it in your room at the Slat, but Nina had never seen you cry. She had never known about how you felt for Kaz because you had never quite gotten around to telling her in the hopes of avoiding her pity filled gaze, but you had meant to. You’d promised yourself you would tell her before the Ice Court and you just...never had. 

“He’s fallen for the worst person in Ketterdam that one is capable of falling for,” Jesper said. “And now, every time he thinks about that person, he wants to die because it is either A: continue to live in Ketterdam and exist in the pain that this person brings on, or B: leave and move on and debate coming back to Ketterdam three years from now while hoping that one look at the aforementioned person will not have him falling head over heels all over again.” 

“You fell in love with Kaz Brekker?” Nina asked. You turned to look at her, and there it was. The pity in her gaze. “Oh, Y/N. You glorious fool.” 

You laughed, a tired, sad laugh. “I know it was dumb,” you said. “But, if it helps, I didn’t mean to fall in love with him. It just kind of happened.” 

She gave your hand a squeeze. “He’s an idiot.”

“As am I.” 

“You two have that in common then,” she gave you a grin, and you grinned back, and for a moment you felt like you were seventeen again. You felt like the boy who laughed with Nina on the boat as you were headed for Fjerda, occasionally looking to her Fjerdan to find him glaring at you because he thought you were standing too close. 

You were the boy who looked at Matthias as Nina laughed at one of Jespers jokes and saw that it looked like he had stars in his eyes. 

You were the boy who flinched when Kuwei said that Kaz looked at you whenever you laughed or grinned the same way that Matthias looked at Nina whenever the sound of her laugh met his ears, denied it profusely because you had not seen it for yourself. 

“He’s Kaz,” Jesper said. “Never knows shit about shit with his emotions but he’ll figure it out once he lets his emotions in a little bit, if he does do so. Doesn’t want you to leave, which is clear as day.”

“He doesn’t want me to go, but he refuses to tell me to stay,” you wanted to die. you wanted to jump into the lake and die. “I wish he would.” 

“If he asked, would you say yes?” 

You would’ve. You would’ve stayed, for at least another little while. “Yeah.”

“So all that needs to happen for you to stay is for Kaz to ask that of you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Lovesick idiot,” Jesper shouted. “Saints, I know I might’ve been this bad with Wylan, but at least he’s never ripped my heart out a thousand times and still had the gall to ask me to stay with him. If he had, I wouldn’t’ve said yes. I would’ve vowed never to speak to him again. You are a lovesick idiot.” 

“I know,” you said. “I legitimately yearn for death whenever I think about it too much, it’s just that--”

“Kaz Brekker is your first love,” Nina said. “Letting go of first loves is never easy for anyone.”

“The thought of leaving and moving on is terrifying to me,” you admitted. “Falling in love with Kaz was scary enough. Moving on just means getting over Kaz and doing it all again with someone new.” 

“Yeah,” Nina nodded. “Trust me, it’s never easy. If you lose him, moving on will feel like a betrayal at first.”

“You can’t seriously think that--” began Jesper.

“It’s the bloody Ice Court,” Nina said coldly. “We went from seven to six the last time. Who’s to say we won’t lose someone else?” 

“It’s more likely than not,” you chimed in. “Let’s just hope we do our jobs well enough. In and out, no losses.”

“No losses,” Jesper said, cutting a flare at Nina. “We’ll make it.” 

“Making it out of the toughest situations is what we do best,” you offered, grinning slightly.

You didn’t know if you were right, but you had to hope, even if just a bit. 

-

Kaz and Jesper had been walking through the halls of the Fjerdan Royal Palace when Kaz’s mind wandered. He was thinking about you again. 

Just as he had been for four years. You, it seemed, had found a way to occupy all of the corners of his mind, sneaking up on him when he’d least expected it. He’d not found a way to stop thinking about you in the days since he’d begun to at sixteen, but at twenty, he was more than happy to allow that to keep on as it was. 

The thoughts were a bit of a distraction as Kaz and Jesper moved, but Kaz had set a quick pace and he was able to keep it up even when lost within the depths of his mind, so it didn’t bother him much. 

He was thinking of you again. 

He did not know whether or not you would stay in Ketterdam after the heist. He knew what he needed to do to incentivize you to stay, but he just could not bring himself to say the words.

He’d wanted to when it was first discussed in the weeks before, when you had brought it up as a mere possibility. He’d wanted to say it when you were in the Slat the same afternoon, had yearned to do so on the boat amidst your fighting and as the two of you sat by the lake. 

All that you had wanted was an admission from Kaz; a simple admittance to the fact that he cared about you--which, deep down, he knew he did. Hell, even on the surface, he knew he did. 

He’d started truly giving a damn when the two of you were sixteen and he had not stopped since. He’d liked you, at first, and then somewhere along that line, liking you had turned into romance. It had turned into a love that Kaz had always thought would remain unrequited. 

All that you had wanted from him was just “Fine. Yes. I care about you and I care about you deeply.” An admittance. Even a begrudging admittance would’ve worked, Kaz knew. 

What did you get instead? 

Caring is weakness, he’d said. Weak is the last thing that I can afford to be. 

Thinking about it made Kaz want to grab one of Jespers revolvers and use it to shoot himself in the foot. 

He remained unashamed to say that he’d had his idiotic moments but that moment was not idiotic. It was the next thing below it. It was the last thing he’d wanted to say to you right then, the first thing that came to his mind. 

He would’ve told you to stay if it meant you would’ve. He would’ve said it a thousand times over, but there was still the necessity of acknowledging that you did not quite know what you were going to do. You did not know whether or not you were going to stay in Ketterdam and it was entirely too unfair of Kaz to ask that of you if staying was not what you wanted to do. 

Kaz Brekker was not going to ask you to stay if it meant that he was making you feel like you had been forced. He was not going to ask you to stay if you really did want to go out and see what the world had to offer outside of the streets of Ketterdam, all of the familiar walkways in the Financial District and the abundance of alleyways and shortcuts throughout the best spots in the Barrel. 

He was not going to ask you to stay if it meant he was forcing your hand in the matter. If you truly wanted to leave, Kaz Brekker was not going to ask you to stay and get in the way of your yearning for a life outside of the Barrel and its depths. 

He’d wanted to ask you to stay, though. That much, he could admit. He’d really wanted to ask you to stay. 

But he had not, and he would not. Not if it meant he was getting in the way of some bigger dream of yours. 

Kaz and Jesper proceeded to take a left, run up a set of stairs, and move down a long corridor to the end of a long hall. The heist was simple enough. 

You and Nina had walked every corridor in guards uniforms the night previous, Inej had scaled nearly every corner of the building in search of a window that could be opened from the outside, only to find that all of them locked and unlocked from the inside. 

All that Kaz and Jesper had to do by that point was get the jewels, open a palace window that had been locked from the inside and give the jewels to Inej, From there, Inej would get the jewels to Nina and Wylan and you were left with distracting the guards to keep them from noticing as Kaz and Jesper slipped out of the palace through the entrance and left through the White Island exits, forged papers on their person so that they held up when they were examined at the exit checkpoints. 

Easy enough, when one discounted the fact that alarms sounded off in the palace every two hours during the summer celebration to alert guards to the presence of possible thieves. 

Kaz and Jesper were working in that two hour window, and even with how fast they were moving, getting to the top floor of the palace was taking a lot more time than either of them had anticipated. By the time they’d reached the top, they had only an hour and fifteen minutes to get the jewels out of the triple-locked safe the royals had stored them in, exit the room and get down to the bottom floor before escaping without being noticed. 

The first step was unlocking the window and pushing it open so as to allow for Inej to slip into the room. 

The room that the safe was in was a perfect representation of Fjerdan honor. icy white tiled floors, pristine white walls, clear windows displaying your average scene of snowy Fjerda and the mountains beyond the Ice Court and the palace. The safe was the same depth of black as the bulky Druskelle wore, the key lock on the window just a bit darker than the safe had been.

Kaz cracked the lock on the window first, grateful that it was a simple lock that only required a key and could be picked with one of the lockpicks that Kaz had managed to tuck into the inner pockets of the rough spun coat he wore. That cut down on time significantly, made it less likely that he was to be risking his own life, though the risk had always been the fun part. 

“Jesper, you get the window,” Kaz said as he moved to the corner of the room, resting the lock atop the safe that stood at six feet tall. “I’ve got fifteen minutes to crack the safe before Inej gets here, and it took us forty five bloody minutes to get from the bottom to here. We’ll be running on borrowed time with the more of it we waste.” 

Jesper heaved a sigh, opened the window. He and Kaz both bristled at the harsh winters breeze that flooded through the room with the action, though Kaz’s gaze was already on the first of three locks, eyes scanning the room for clues in the numerical code.

“You’ve not asked him to stay,” Jesper said as he began to scan the room as well, eyes searching at the same time as his hands moved under windowsils and along walls, in search of number shaped dents. “All that Y/N wants is for you to ask him to stay and he’ll do it.” 

“That’s the elephant in the room, isn’t it? Him wanting me to admit that I care and my continued refusal?” Kaz asked, eyes going to the ceiling, squinted, searching for a number combination. 

“Fjerdan queens birthday?” He asked. 

“October eighth,” Jesper said. “Thank Nina for that one.” 

“No thanks are owed. The code on the first lock is six digits, and with luck, October eighth presents itself as four at most,” Kaz said. “Did you notice any numbers while we moved?”

“You had us moving like bolts of lightning. Of course I didn’t.” 

“We walked six floors,” Kaz began. “Two flights from one floor to the next including the lead up to the palaces. Two flights per floor is twelve flights at minimum. Did you count the steps you took?”

“Twenty steps per flight,” Jesper said with a nod. “Try 621220.”

Kaz input the code, and to both his and Jespers collective relief, it worked. 

The next lock was less simple. It was a more complex version of the lock on the window, three key locks that needed to be unlocked in four second intervals. When one wasn’t prepared for something of that sort, opening them was akin to walking through hell twice and then exiting to find you’d only left the previous circle and gone into the next. 

Kaz input all three lock picks, got the first free, then the second and the third. He could feel Jespers gaze on him as he stood by the window, listening for the distinctive silence that meant Inej was just around the corner. 

“I’ve wanted to ask him to stay,” Kaz confessed as he examined the third lock. It was another set of triple locks that needed to be unlocked rapidly, four seconds one after the other at minimum. There were two sets, and Kaz had to hope that they were programmed as two sets of three. There was also safe code that needed cracking. It was a word that time, thankfully. “I have, and I have almost done it several times.”

“Then do it,” Jesper said. “Forgo all fears of weakness and just tell him you want him to stay. I don’t know if you’re in love with him or what, but if you are and you don’t at least ask him to stay in Ketterdam for the sake of the waffles and the views, he will go and you will lose him forever.”

Kaz only turned his gaze to the safe. “Word of Fjerdan significance?”

“Djel,” Jesper said. 

Kaz input the code as Inej slipped through the window. “Talking about Y/N, I would assume.”

“Jesper is,” Kaz said pointedly. “He’s doing most of the talking, actually.” 

The code did not work. 

“Maybe it’s more than four letters,” Inej suggested. “Try honor. Pride. Druskelle. Loyalty. Murdering innocents.” 

Jesper gave an ungraceful snort at Inej’s last suggestion, and Kaz only shook his head, though he could admit that he’d found it amusing. 

Kaz typed in pride first, then when that didn’t work, typed honor. He took a deep breath in when the code scanner gave a warning that it was the last time a code could be inputted before the lock reverted to it’s original coding--a code set during the manufacturing process, one that had been changed by the royals since the locks purchase. 

He typed in his last hope. Druskelle.

The screen on the lock turned a bright green color, and relief flooded the room as Kaz grabbed the lockpicks and situated them in the first locks, moving with deft hands and feeling almost at ease as the first set of three locks clambered to the floor and sat around his feet. He repeated the process, putting the lockpicks in and working the locks within four seconds, feeling relief flood his system as the locks fell to the ground.

The final of three doors opened, and Kaz was back in his rhythm. He took all of the Ravkan jewelry that he could see in the safe--several emerald necklaces, an antique tiara worn by one of Ravkas previous queens and each Fabergé egg that had been taken--and passed them to Inej, who put them into the bag she’d had on her back and reminded Kaz and Jesper of the time of the rendezvous and the rendezvous point. 

“Jesper, it’s best you go,” Kaz said. “I’ll relock the safe and meet you at the rendezvous.”

“If you don’t make it--”

“Provided that I make it to the bottom floor, Y/N will have my six. Stop worrying.” 

Jesper only shrugged. “No mourners.”

“No funerals.”

Kaz did not watch Jesper go. Instead, he closed the first of three doors and got to putting the locks back in their places. He had a job to finish, money to collect, and someone to ask to say in Ketterdam on the way back home.

-

Kaz was on the bottom floor, close to the exit, when the alarms went off and two guards saw him, firing off two shots rapidly. Kaz was able to get one of the guards with the gun he’d thought to hide in the pocket of his coat, though he missed the shot he fired at the other. 

Kaz was disoriented as his eyes moved rapidly around the corridor, searching for an out at the same time as he tried to take inventory of his injuries. 

He’d been shot in the arm, if the burning pain in his right bicep was of any indication, and it felt like he’d been shot in the stomach as well. 

“Oh, you’re a Ketterdam criminal,” said one of the guards as he approached. “Brekker, isn’t it? You’re one of the hot shots in that wretched Barrel spot?”

Kaz didn’t say anything, eyes continuing to rove around the corridor as he took cautious steps back. He realized he wasn’t looking for an out any longer, but instead trying to find you in a sea of black guard uniforms.

I am going to stay alive, Kaz thought. I am going to make it through this. I will not die without telling him that--what? What will I tell Y/N? 

“Kaz Brekker,” Kaz said. “Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands. Pick one.” 

A shot rang out from somewhere nearby. 

“Who’s on your crew, Brekker?” 

“The worst of the worst,” Kaz said with a shrug, trying to ignore the fact that he was losing blood and feeling in his right arm. “If you wanted names from me, shooting me in the arm and the stomach was not a good idea. How can I give you names if I fall unconscious and die before you have the chance to actually question me?” 

In response, Kaz recieved a bullet wound in his leg, one that made it harder to stand and near impossible not to lean on his cane. 

“That is more counterintuitive than you think.” 

Another shot. 

“Looks like one of your buddies is comin’ round to save your arse,” said the guard. “Too bad you’ll be dead before they get the chance.” 

A third shot, though that time it went through the head of the guard who had been taunting him. 

“You really can’t go one Fjerdan mission without risking your life?” Nina asked as she, you, and Jesper came into sight. “Saints, Brekker. I thought Y/N had a death wish, but it seems you do instead.”

“Can you walk?” You asked as you approached. Kaz realized he was sitting on the floor, having fallen at some point without realizing. “Ghezen, these wounds are bad. You can try, but you’ll fail.”

“I will not--”

“You might not have a choice, Kaz,” you whispered. “You need to be able to walk or I will have to carry you out.”

“We could just leave him here to die?” Nina suggested. 

Kaz watched you turn around and glare at her, knowing that the fury in his gaze likely seemed futile to Nina.

“I am not leaving him here,” you said. “No. That is not an option that I am willing to consider.”

Kaz blinked, fighting off his exhaustion as you draped one of his arms over your shoulders and helped him to stand. He felt the bare skin of his wrist against your shoulder as you got to moving, and instantly, it felt like he was drowning.

The waters were rising again. He could hear Jordies voice somewhere far out, feel the water at his ankles and quickly rising to his knees. He wanted to die in that moment, yearned for it more than he did anything else. 

But he was going to leave the Ice Court alive or not at all, and he refused to stay, so he forced his gaze to the ground. He reminded himself that your heart was still beating. He focused on the sound of your breath, in and out. In and out. Alive. You were alive.

Kaz had been trying to work on his touch aversion since he was seventeen. There were good and bad days both, but it seemed that that day was terrible, that it was Hell incarnate. 

He wanted to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to ask you to stay in Ketterdam despite the fact that he did not want to know whether or not you would. Kaz Brekker needed to tell you that you’d consumed his every thought since he was sixteen years old, and he needed you to understand that he was fine with that. 

As he slipped into unconsciousness, hearing only the sound of your voice as you begged for a medik to see to him, Wylans voice as he asked Jesper what happened and Jespers voice as he explained, he was thinking about you. He needed to tell you everything. 

-

The following few days were a blur. Leaving through the exit point with a medik in tow, getting to a hotel and eventually heading back to Ravka in a carriage. Kaz had pockets of consciousness and every time he woke, your name was the first thought to enter his mind and the first word to leave his lips. 

When he woke in a bed in the Ravkan palaces, he found you at his bedside. 

“The money has been split six ways into the offshore bank accounts we were set up with during the first Ice Court heist,” you explained as Kaz looked at you. “I told Nikolai to talk to the Merchant council again, demand an additional fifty thousand for each of us.”

“On what grounds?”

“You nearly died,” you said. “You deserve 250,000 kruge for that. The rest of the crows deserve the additional compensation because they know that they’re worth more than 200,000.”

“And you?”

“I don’t deserve it,” you said. “I’ve taken to the habit of not believing I deserve anything good as of late, but I figured that Nina, Jesper and I saved your life and that does count for something.” 

“Thank you,” Kaz said. He wanted to ask you to stay. He would not. “For saving my life. I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing,” you said. “I cannot let you owe me, Brekker.” 

Kaz turned his head. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to die. He wished that the guard had killed him while he’d had the chance. 

“You and the others will leave tomorrow at nightfall,” you said. “I wish you luck, Kaz.” 

Kaz did not watch you go, only heard your footsteps and the door opening and then closing. 

He turned again, sat up and took inventory of the room. It was a typical room in the Little Palace--lots of windows, bright yellows and warm blues. There were lamps burning high, and from Kaz’s first guess as he looked out the window, he assumed it was early morning, the last hour or so before the sunrise. The clock hung on the wall parallel to his bed confirmed his suspicions.

The only thing that looked even slightly out of place was the letter placed on the pillow to Kaz’s right. His name was on it, and the letter was written in your hand. He picked it up cautiously, began to read.  

Kaz,

I am writing you this letter because I am a coward. I am a coward who would not be able to manage saying my goodbyes to you, confessing all of this, watching your heart become steel while mine shattered into a broken, unfixable mess. You may call me cruel, you may call me cowardly, you may choose to never reach out to me again. I will understand whatever choice you make, and I hope that you choose to cut contact. It’ll make moving on easier. 

I have loved you since I was fifteen years old. I cannot handle it any longer--the yearning, the heartbreak, the constant reaffirmations that you cannot care about me, that you refuse to let yourself.--and I have chosen to leave. 

I have loved you since I was fifteen years old and if I keep going as I am, the heartbreak that I feel day in and day out will kill me. When you read this, I will have explained that the money is in the offshore accounts you set up during the first Ice Court heist, and I will have told you when you and the others are to go. Jesper and Wylan are the only ones who know I plan to leave. 

I will see you again as I have things I need to grab from the Slat before I go, but I ask that you do not acknowledge me. I am trying to move on, as much it breaks my heart to do so, and moving on will be a lot easier if you just pretend I do not exist.

Best regards, 

Y/N.

Kaz didn’t have much time to react. He only set the letter down, closed his eyes, and willed himself to go to sleep again. He could save reacting to the letter for later if it was to be so necessary. 

-

A week and a half later, Kaz was approaching Fifth Harbor with nothing but an ache in his heart and an extremely diluted sense of hope lingering at the corners of his mind. 

The minute he found you, the hope grew stronger. He willed himself to move forward, found himself standing at your left just minutes later. His hands were gripping his cane, the typical coat gone so that he didn’t die of a heatstroke in Ketterdams summer humidity. 

He was wearing a white button up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, black slacks and a black tie. He looked like a relaxed version of himself, though he was anything but relaxed. 

“You wrote me a letter in the presence of a goodbye,” Kaz said. “In your letter, you say that you couldn’t’ve done this in person. You said that you couldn’t bear to watch my heart turn to steel while yours broke. You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye, and you’ve been avoiding me while you’ve packed up the last of your things that were in the Slat.”

“I told you to act as though I did not exist.”

“And I listened for two days,” Kaz said. “You didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye to you, Y/N. I have more to say to you and I am not going to be saying whatever it is that you think I will be.”

“And if I assume you’re professing your love for me?”

“Well, it’s a very good thing that Inej is currently dealing with the spies from our rivals that are within earshot, then,” Kaz said. 

“My boat leaves in a half hour,” it hadn’t even docked yet. 

“Then I’ve got at least twenty minutes,” Kaz said. “I do care about you, Y/N. I have loved you since I was sixteen years old, even as much as I do not want to admit that. Love is weakness to every last person in the Barrel, and I could not have anyone knowing I loved someone else.”

“Even so, loving you has been--”

“A trainwreck,” Kaz said. “A medley of heartbreak and sorrow and near constant yearning. I know. Jesper has told me all of it, as have Inej and Wylan. They read the letter you left me and while Jesper and Wylan took a more direct approach, Inej was subtle. She would bring it up in ways that felt like I was being stabbed in the gut. I know that all loving me has meant for you is constant emotion, not all of them happy, and I accept that for what it is.”

“I have to go. I have to move on--”

“Stay,” Kaz said, desperation crawling in through his blood and being pumped straight into his chest. “Stay in Ketterdam. Just for another little while.” 

You turned to look at him. You finally turned to look at him. 

You thought on it for a while, until your boat had docked and you and Kaz were hearing the captain shout last call for passengers. 

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “I’ll stay for another year.” 

Kaz couldn’t help it. He grinned. You grinned back at him, and he felt his heart grow so light it could’ve left the cavity of his chest and he wouldn’t’ve noticed. 

You walked back to the Slat while talking of the next job and joking and jabbing at one another, though that time, it was different. Kaz had said as he needed to say. You were staying in Ketterdam, on the way to becoming a couple, and Kaz was happy. Well and truly happy for the first time in what felt like forever. 

[angelfirstclass]

Rogue above all else.

This is fan post declaring my love for Rogue and that I love her more than I am attached to a particular ship. For all I know, Rogue can be with whoever she wants to be with and I'm sticking by her. I am an equal opportunity Rogue shipper and have liked and enjoyed Rogueneto and Romy fanfics and art and etc. I don't believe in ship wars and just want to promote my girl.

I love Rogue. I think she is the most beautiful animated character and she is such a complex, interesting character from the comics to cartoons to the movies. Her powers are super interesting with or without Carole Danvers' superpowers and make her an empathetic person.

Firstly, I love that Rogue is the daughter of Mystique and Destiny. What a crazy upbringing that must have been and so unique. I love that she was born and raised in Mississippi and still keeps her roots, but then became the adopted daughter of two smart, ambitious, and strong lesbian women. The backstory of them raising her is super interesting because there is such a conflict of interests for Destiny and Mystique from knowing Rogue was going to be a powerful mutant, using and training her to be part of the Brotherhood, introducing her to people like Magneto, and also loving her like a daughter.

Mystique is such a unique character and such a powerful woman that it makes sense why Rogue is as powerful and strong willed as she is. In my headcanon X-men First Class stuff still applies so Raven is still Charles' adopted little sister and so Rogue is like Charles Xavier's distant niece which makes things interesting. Raven and Destiny hid Anna Marie away while she was growing up, but came to Xavier to help her after her run in with Carole Danvers. They had to reluctantly give Rogue up to the X-men in order to save her, but it was a bittersweet moment that Irene and Raven both regret.

Secondly, I love Rogue's vulnerability and empathy. Her absorbing powers are so unique and bring up a lot of questions about what makes a person. She can absorb powers, memories, and feelings and can even hold on too long and absorb entire psyches and life forces. In the beginning of her story way back in Avengers Annual 10, she is bad and unafraid to use her powers. She not only uses her powers indiscriminately, but she also isn't afraid to kiss people to absorb them.

The Rogue we see in X-men 97 is far more tempered and though has a past, has learned to use her powers sparingly and not want to hurt people. She uses her super strength and flying powers, but rarely uses her absorption power because it is a double edged sword. She may gain powers and drain energy from people, but gets their memories, traumas, fears, etc. which may not be a pleasant experience.

Thirdly, I like pretty much all forms of Rogue. I love X-men Evo Rogue for her gothic personality. I think a teen Rogue would be introverted and different to most girls her age. I like Wolverine and the X-men Rogue for being independent and Wolverine's best friend. I like their dynamic and I like when she is Wolverine's partner and team mate and platonically just gets him because she has absorbed him and they're so much alike. The most vulnerable of all Rogues is Movie Rogue which is a controversial portrayal of Rogue. I personally think Anna Paquin is gorgeous and good actor who portrayed the sweet, vulnerable Rogue to a tee.

This Rogue wasn't raised by Mystique and she didn't absorb Carole Danvers' powers yet. She was a scared teen girl who couldn't touch people and whose storyline revolved around her feelings about her powers and wanting to have physical intimacy. It's not my favorite version of her, but it did beautifully show Rogue's inner angst.

My favorite version of her is X-men TAS or 97 Rogue who I think is Rogue Prime. She is the daughter of Destiny and Mystique, has absorbed Carole Danvers' powers, is the ex of Erik Lensherr, in an on off relationship with Remy Le Beau, sister of Kurt Wagner, great friend and dedicated X-man, and all around bad ass chick.

She has the Brotherhood/Magneto's ex/Mystique's daughter thing as her background which makes her a complicated character with a dark past which makes for juicy storylines, but she is mature enough to be fully reformed and a good person. Her duality and grey toned sense of the world makes her so well suited to complex men like Erik Lensherr and Remy LeBeau who are not traditional good guys with squeaky clean pasts and morals.

I love X-men 97 Rogue. I love Lenore Zann. I love the sass, the Southern charm and cute accent, I love her no bs attitude, her compassionate heart, and her empathy. Rogue is my Queen and I stan.

[mcweskers]

Sentient Wesker hc's

A/N: I wrote this really fast. This is the 2nd fanfic I wrote today and I didn't have anyone proof read it. Sorry for all the mistakes but I wanted to post something today! I also got inspired by mothxmoons! I'm so sleepy rn, goodnight y'all.

Warnings: He's out of character ofc

Rating: Fluff

Summary: What if Wesker was sentient, found a way into your world because he had a little crush on you.. This is what I feel like it would be like to date Wesker.

How did the two of you meet?

So funny thing, he just crawled out of your computer monitor one day. He liked you ever since he could remember and found a way to travel between worlds. He wanted to surprise you but he didn't take in the fact you didn't know he was sentient and self-aware.

He almost gave you a heart attack, shit looked straight out of the Ring.

For a month the two of you got to know each other, one night Wesker revealed he liked you and to his surprised you liked him too.

How did he adjust to his players world?

At first he thought his players world was just like his. It took him a while to adjust to this, peaceful life. You had to teach him how to act normal, sometimes he has his moments where he acts like...himself.

Three months after the two of started to date you brought him to the family gathering, he started to teach your nephew how to complete world domination.

"This is how you create a bio-weapon that'll-."

"Honey, I don't care if you almost completed world domination don't teach my nephew how to end the world."

"Oh, sorry dearheart I got carried away."

"It's the video game villain in you. You guys love sharing your master plans to everyone."

How long can he be inside your world for?

Two days at the most before his body becomes all weird. He kinda just becomes static like, unable to grab certain things, phasing in and out, and no longer has a physical form.

The two of you where cooking when this happened, he dropped the plates when he started to loose his physical form. You panicked for a little bit as he walked over to your computer and just went back in. Give him a good 5 hours and he'll be back.

What type of partner is he?

So he's still you know himself, so he has a huge ego and is so full of himself. He's constantly bragging about how he found a way into your world, and just loves to talk. He loved to praise you, hold you, cuddle with you, and kiss you. His favorite thing to do is hold onto you when you sleeps.

Wesker is very over protective of you, if you want to go to the grocery store he'll crawl out of the monitor to go with you. He's worried If he leaves you alone and you get hurt and possibly die he'll never see you again. He wants to be able to protect you. Luckily he still has his powers.

How jealous does he get?

Before he found away into your world he would get so jealous when you would be on discord talking with a friend about a person you met and was interested in or interested in you. But even now he's still a very jealous person. Homie gives the side eye to every person who tries flirting with you.

Has he tried to bring you into the Resident evil universe?

Yes. Did it work? No. The two of you tried it didn't work, don't worry Wesker's finding a way for you to join him in his world. Permanently.

[divine17]

↳ JOEL MILLER NSFW ALPHABET | MASTERLIST

REQUEST: N/A

WARNINGS: Very NSFW, usual TLOU warnings, based on show!Joel instead of game!Joel

WORD COUNT: 5.0k

A/N: I know, I know, I have to stop disappearing for months and then coming back with self-indulgent fanfic about my newest little guy... But, alas, that day is not today. Enjoy!

Aftercare

He’d have to be a little drunk to ever admit it, to tell you out loud in just as many words, but Joel loves those few minutes right after sex. It’s like striking gold for him. The moment where everything is safe and calm and nothing else exists outside of those four walls, it’s just the two of you and your shallow breathing and the way your body feels when it’s pressed against his. He loves to hold you close, or to have your head on his chest or you curled into him. Hell, he even loves to have your arms around him, keeping him safe and grounded so he doesn’t drift too far off from this heaven he’s created. He loves feeling that almost-euphoria as the two of you ride out the last of that high together. It’s intimacy in its purest form, and he loves it.

Body Part

On you, he’d be hard pressed to choose just one favorite part. It’s probably just you. How soft your skin is, how sweet you smell, the way your hair feels between his fingers. It’s your hands when you rub circles onto his thighs when he’s nervous, and your legs when they wrap around his waist to pull him closer. It’s your lips when you smile, or when they’re all plush around… Y’know. But, on him? It’s easy, it’s his hands. Sure, they’re rough and covered in callouses from years of working construction and usually a little dirty from the whole part where he sleeps on the ground most nights, but they’re his. They’re the same hands that hold you when you need him, when you’re scared or sad or your emotions are just a little too big to process alone or even when you just want him close. They’re the same hands that bring you so much pleasure, that make you beg and plead for something else. And, most importantly, they’re the same hands that load your guns and clean your knives and whatever else, the same hands that work every day to keep you safe and sound.

Cum

Joel hates cleaning up messes, but he sure likes making them… Where he comes really just depends on the situation and the circumstances. When you’re on your back and he’s on top of you, depending on how fast you untie your legs from around his waist, he’ll do it on your stomach. Or if he’s taking you from behind, he can’t explain why but he really likes seeing your ass all covered. One thing he doesn’t like though, would be coming on your face. He’s never really been one to do that; it feels strange, almost disrespectful to you. If it’s something you love, he’ll do it, but if anything, he prefers your mouth, if you’re comfortable with it. He loves to kiss you afterward, to taste the physical evidence of him once being there left on your tongue. It might be a little gross to some, but he just can’t bring himself to care, not with the way you gasp every time. His favorite, though, his go-to, would be your curves... And really, he doesn’t mind cleaning up after himself. It’s all part of the fun.

Dirty Secret

Appropriately, his most private, most strongly guarded secret is a dirty one… And he’s definitely never told you, at least not outright, but you’d probably pick up on it at some point… There would definitely be signs. But Joel would love to come inside you, to just have that moment where the world stops on it’s axis and everything is so still within those four walls, where you’re absolutely, completely his in every single way. So full of him, marked and ruined for any other man, all by his physical presence. He’d love it, and he’d do it every goddamn day if he could, but he just can’t move past the possible consequence of it. Not with the state of the world being how it is right now. But he’ll do it eventually, once both of you are safe and sound and settled down on some farm in the middle of nowhere. One day, one day he’ll get to do it, and what a glorious fucking day that’ll be.

Experience

Before the outbreak, Joel only ever really had one serious relationship, and that was with Sarah’s mom. After her, over the years, he’d had a few one night stands and maybe even an extremely casual ‘friends with benefits’ type of thing with someone, probably a co-worker or an old friend. That’s really the extent of it though. However, he’s always open to exploring new things with you… Which, to be honest, there’s quite a lot of. He thinks he knows what he likes and how he likes it, but he also realizes he was pretty plain and vanilla back in the old days. And that’s not a bad thing, he’s happy with it, but he’s also chill with seeing if there’s anything else that gets him going, especially if it’s something you’re into. No guarantees he’ll like it or want to do it again, but he’ll definitely try most things. No such thing as too much pleasure.

Favorite Position

He loves anything where he can see your face. He loves to touch you here or kiss you there, and see what expression crosses your face, or see what sounds you make. It’s almost like a game for him, to work you up as much as he can and make you come undone all around him. Making you fold is a hobby of his, and he’s gotta see your face to do that… In the beginning, at least. He’s fairly quick to learn your body, your likes and loves, what you react to and how you react to it. He reaches a certain level of confidence in his ability pretty quickly… He means that in the least cocky way possible. Well, maybe a little cocky. Who else could make you come that hard? But honestly, aside from that, he’s a sucker for a little doggy. Taking you from behind, watching you struggle to keep holding yourself up as you brain goes numb, seeing your ass and the curve of your back right in front of him, it all makes him go a little crazy.

Goofy

Joel is mostly a pretty serious guy, and he likes to keep it that way, especially in such a private time… But, of course, he has his moments. Sometimes he just looks at you and he can’t help but smile, no matter how hard he tries to wipe it off or will it away and focus. You’re so fucking beautiful, you’re just so pretty, and you love him. Him! You love him, how awesome is that! It’s not exclusively in a sexual way, but there’s been a couple times where you’re beneath him, eyes closed and brows furrowed together, lips parted as you whimper his name, and he just can’t hold it all together. It’s corny, absolutely, but he loves you and he’s so grateful that you stick with him, even if he’s n old man or there’s an apocalypse or whatever. And besides that, sometimes funny things just happen. There’s definitely been a time or two where the walls creak a little too loudly from the activity they haven’t seen in years, or when something falls off a table and breaks into a million pieces below. It’s just a little funny, he can’t help but chuckle a bit before he goes back at it.

Hair

To be honest, he’s usually pretty natural. Razors can be a bit of a luxury in this new world, and it always seems like time is of the essence, but he tries to keep it all as tidy as he can for cleanliness sake. Whenever he’s at his little apartment in the Boston zone, he takes the time to make it neat, but that usually only lasts a few days. If you prefer it any sort of way, he tries his damndest to keep it that way, to form the habit of keeping it like that. As for you, he genuinely has no real preference. There’s hair, no hair, some hair, whatever? Okay, he’s going to eat you until you cry anyway, he’s alright with whatever’s down there. He wouldn’t really let such a minuscule thing get in the way. Whatever makes you feel good is good by him.

Intimacy

He swears he’s not, but Joel is an oddly very intimate person. It’s just sort of in his energy, the way he carries himself, he embodies it. Well, once you’re his person and he truly cares for you, at least. There’s the more obviously intimate things like sex and the moments after, or showering together, or just how he holds you. But there’s also less obvious forms, like how he rests his head in your lap and falls asleep as you comb your fingers through his hair, or how, about once a month, you’re able cook a meal together and he embraces you from behind, his head buried in your neck. Hell, anything involving his head in your neck. He can’t even begin to fathom how, but you always smell so sweet to him. Even in the field, you’re so sweet, a little earthy and oh so familiar, it’s intoxicating and comfortable. And another form of subtle intimacy would be in how he cares for you. He’s always zipping up your jacket and making sure you stay warm or tying your shoes so you’re ready for anything, or making sure he takes the time to clean your weapons and assuring you’re good with them.

Jack Off

Joel doesn’t really jack off. It’s a bit difficult to let his mind float off enough that he gets horny, and there usually just isn’t any time or anywhere private enough. But, on the rare occasion, the mood does strike and he’s gotta go take care of it. It usually happens at such an inconvenient time too, like when he’s on a long smuggling run and he’s just about to fall asleep for the first time in a couple days. He’ll offer to take the night shift and Tess always happily accepts. She’ll drift off to sleep, and then he’s got to go find somewhere out of sight and out of mind. Memories of you flood his brain. Not even only sexual ones, either. At some point, the memory of you cooking dinner for him back at the QZ will appear in the mix, or you just standing at the window in his t-shirt. Other, more obvious ones would be in there too though. He’d swear to God you were right beside him with the way he could hear you whispering in his ear, begging him to come for you, to just let go.

Kink

Joel isn’t a particularly kinky person, and he’d tell you as much if you asked him. Sure, he appreciates a good restraint or gag (usually your panties) here and there, but not a whole lot more beyond that. It’s more in the way he fucks you, not how. He’s naturally sort of rough without even trying. He grips the soft flesh of your hips and slams into you like it’s his last chance, and when he’s between your thighs, his fingers dig into your skin to pull you closer, even if there’s already less than zero space between his mouth and your cunt. Or, his favorite, how his hands hold your waist so gently and how they guide you, rocking you back and forth, pushing himself into you as you ride his thigh… The rough part there, you ask? Well, it’s when he looks you dead in the eyes and tells you not to come until he thinks you’re ready. It’s a game; you’re chasing him, the pleasure, and he provides it happily and willingly, but at the cost of getting to watch you break down. Eyes squeezed shut and body quivering in front of him, he gets to hear all those pretty little sounds you make. He revels in it.

Location

In the QZ, he’ll only do it in his apartment or yours. Even then, he can be a little hesitant, the time has to be right. FEDRA are all jackasses who love to make examples of folks whose crimes are much less than public indecency or a few noise complaints, and he’s not trying to fuck around and become one of the people he sees on the street past curfew. Outside of the QZ, however? The whole world is pretty much fair game, baby. Abandoned houses in the middle of nowhere, broken down cars on previously-busy highways, the dining table of some old restaurant that used to be filled with patrons, the front desk of a hotel and the luxury suite upstairs, the list goes on. It’s all possible, but usually only if you can keep the noise down. He often wonders if moans could attract clickers; the thought is enticing, and honestly a little funny to him, but he’s definitely not trying to find out. He’d really hate to be cockblocked by a dead guy. Anyway, the whole world is waiting for you.

Motivation

Truthfully, we’d be here all day if we were to sit here and list every little thing that gets him going. With you, so much as a gust of wind in the right direction would be enough to send his mind to a much dirtier place. But to act on it? That’s a little tougher. The quickest way would be to just be all over him, to sit on his lap, to touch his neck, kiss his face, to bathe him in your presence. Especially if you do that little wiggle in just the right way that your ass pushes down against his cock, and your hands go up behind his neck so you can kiss him, or to whisper something in his ear. He’s ready to go, now. But the slow burn, the one that’s a little less quick, would just be to touch him. Not constantly, and not overtly; in fact, to touch him so little that, at first, he doesn’t realize what you’re doing. Brushing his hand against yours but not taking it, “accidentally” putting your hand on his thigh and letting it move closer and closer. Or kissing him, but just on the cheek, or the corner of his mouth, combined with a nice hand in his hair to pull him closer. By the end of it, he’s painfully hard and practically begging for you to do something about it.

No

Joel doesn’t have too many hard limits, but he’s strict on the few he does have. The usual harder, more “out there” kinks and stuff aside, he’s not a big fan of anything to do with feet or even anal, that’s just not in his wheelhouse. And he wouldn’t really be comfortable doing anything that would or could hurt you, at least on more than a superficial level. He’s alright leaving marks on you within reason, like little bruises from grabbing your thighs or hickeys down your stomach that he knows you’ll be pissed about once you realize they’re there. He’d be alright with, though very hesitant about, a light smack or two, but mostly anything beyond that is maybe a little much for him. Another boundary, and probably his strictest one, would be people. He will never bring another person to bed with you. Apocalypse brain and safety concerns aside, it’s plain and simple. He doesn’t share, he doesn’t like to share, and he never will share. Seeing someone give you the same pleasure he does really might just finally drive him insane… He supposes he’s just old-fashioned that way. Or just jealous. Probably the latter.

Oral

He definitely has a preference for giving instead of receiving, but he’ll never, ever turn down a good blowjob from you. There’s something about your lips around his cock, the way your mouth is so warm and wet and how he swears it was made for this, it makes him crazy. Especially when you take the lead, when the tables are turned and it’s you, hand on his cock and eyes looking into his soul, telling him not to come until you think he’s ready. He’s not a very submissive man, but God, it’s real easy to be one in that moment. But on the other hand, given the opportunity, he’d happily spend the rest of his life between your legs and never complain about a damn thing. He loves everything about it. How close you are (physically, but metaphorically too), how hot and just how fucking wet you get for him. The way your pussy clenches around his fingers when he hits that perfect spot inside you, eyes nearly rolling back into your skull as he works his tongue. But really, it’s the way it has you whining and whimpering, hands grabbing at his hair and begging him for more.

Pace

The pace sort of depends on a lot of things, and it’s mostly just coincidental; the mood, how well he slept last night, the location, those are all important when deciding how to fuck you. He usually tends to just go with the flow and let your bodies figure out the details, where, oftentimes, you’ll end up with a little bit of both worlds. The lines get blurred as he blends speed and depth and touch. He starts out slow, his tongue sweet in your mouth as his hand falls between your thighs, using his fingers to help you, uh, open up for him… Well, more open than you already are, if that’s possible. But once you’re there, one orgasm down, another already building in your stomach as you desperately reach for his belt? It turns rougher. Harder, faster, and needier than you ever would’ve thought it would be. That said, Joel loves a vocal partner. If you ever want it a certain way or want to do something, all you have to do is tell him. If you set the pace, he’ll do his best to keep it up, to keep himself in sync with you.

Quickie

Joel isn’t the biggest fan of any kind of quickie… But he is a fan, period. He very much prefers to be able to take it slow with you and enjoy his time with you to the fullest extent, but sometimes, that just isn’t possible. Sometimes, he’s gotta pull you into the nearest, safest building he can see. It’s only happened a handful of times, where you’re in the field on a run or whatever else, and he’s just gotta push you against some old graffiti and make out with you. That’s enough sometimes, but when it’s not? Well, if you’re down for it, you’re getting bent over a dusty desk. Or in the bed of a rusty truck, or on the kitchen counter in an old farmhouse or… The list goes on. It’s dangerous, and so fucking thrilling to beat the (relatively) self-imposed allotted time limit for his little extracurricular activity. It’s always quick and dirty, and when he’s done, he always hungry for a second round despite knowing he can’t have it. So, he tucks himself back in and pulls up his jeans, helps clean you off and get situated, and back on the road you go.

Risk

In a way, risk ties in with quickie. Outside the quarantine zone, Joel knows that one wrong step can cost a little blood or even his life. He doesn’t much like taking risks, especially unnecessarily ones. But calculated, unnecessarily risks? Especially in such a moment of need? Well, alright, he’ll do the math… And he usually ends up buried deep inside you, in some sort of risky little location, certain you can both kill or outrun whatever may come your way. Risk inside the QZ is a whole other monster though. One bad call and he isn’t sure he could outrun that punishment. He tends to lay low in the zone for smuggling’s sake, his and yours, and getting caught fucking you somewhere random just wouldn’t be good for that. Also, there just really isn’t anywhere random to fuck… Trust me, he’s looked.

Stamina

When Joel was younger, he was insatiable. He could go round after round, for hours and hours, not quite fully satisfied until he physically couldn’t keep going anymore. When he wasn’t inside his partner, his hands or tongue were all over them, which allowed him some much-needed rest time, or to take breaks so he didn’t come until he wanted to. But now, that’s all slowed down a bit… Which, honestly? He doesn’t really like to think of himself as old because of all the stigma nowadays that comes along with it, but he’ll certainly take that one little perk of aging. Now, he’s pretty solid, just a lot less… Wild. He’s learned to be patient; he knows what he wants, and he knows his body’s limits a lot better than he used to. As long as you allow him a little break here and there, he can go for, uh… Quite some time.

Toys

Toys aren’t a very common thing in this new world, but they’re certainly there, and available if you know the right guy and can pay the right price. Joel hasn’t ever really felt a need to get any, not when he’s got the hands and tongue he’s got, but he isn’t totally against it. It’s actually kind of hot, he thinks, the idea of fucking you with a faux cock while he eats you out and how he could get you to whine for him, or your asshole being plugged while he takes you from behind, just seeing it in front of him. The thought of using toys on you is a turn-on, even if it’s a little unrealistic on some level. If it’s something you’d like to try, he’ll do his best to make it happen. All you have to do is ask. Maybe he could get you a real gag and save your panties some use, best kept on you instead of stifling all your noise… Oops. Well, that mental image is gonna stick around in his head for a while.

Unfair

God… He’ll sit there and pretend he isn’t, but don’t let that little facade fool you; Joel is one hell of a tease. He’s kind of annoyed at how he’s grown older, but if aging ever did one good thing for him, it would be how it calmed him down. It seemed like he was always a bit short on time, but now, he could afford to sit around and wait for a good thing to come… You being the good thing, ironically. He loves the build up and the chase, the little dance that leaves you wondering… Will he, or won’t he? He loves to keep it nice and long, to have you squirming with just his words, and to have your panties soaked without him ever even having to lay a hand on you. It takes a little while to get you like that, so needy and broken for him, and he savors it. But, he’s not a cruel man, not usually. If you do the same, if you wait, take the time and enjoy the chase, you’ll always get your reward.

Volume

It might be surprising, but Joel really tries to be vocal for you. He loves nothing more than hearing you, hearing every little sound you make and every word you moan or utter… So he’s always just kind of figured, you probably want that too, the same as he does. He’s full of little sounds; grunts and groans, whines and moans, low growls of your name when he’s almost there. The filthiest things tend to spill from his lips, as sweet as the Southern accent that comes with them…. Especially when he’s on the bottom. It’s easy to get backed into a corner, trapped in his own bush mind and forget to let all the pleasure out, but God, it’s like that filter is totally removed once he feels your weight on top of him. Little moans start pouring once you start touching him, and he kind of loses himself a bit; it’s never long before he’s a whiny mess, groans and cries mixed between gasps and little moans of your name, or whichever one of his nicknames for you comes to mind first.

Wild Card

Joel is not a submissive man. He’s strong, and dominant… But all that tends to slip his mind and go out the door once you slip your hand down his pants. You’ll have that strong, dominant man reduced to a whining, whimpering mess in about… Twenty minutes. And he fucking loves it, he eats it up every time and he’s always left begging for more. He loves to be a pathetic little mess, hands tied above his head while you ride him so goddamn, painstakingly slow, he can feel you around him but it isn’t enough stimulation for him to come. He’s worked up, his face and chest are flushed bright pink and he’s practically biting at the bit to touch you, just to put his hands on you, to guide your hips and demand they go faster, harder, he wants to be so deep inside you that he can’t breathe. But you deny, deny, deny, until you’re done playing. You aren’t terribly cruel, he always gets his release (or two). The thrill, that euphoria of realizing you’re moving, actually moving, and that he ain’t gonna last too long, is better than any drug or drink he’s ever tried. But, if you were to ever ask him what he thought of it, he’d get all bashful, cheeks immediately pink as he just mumbles “‘s alright.”

X-Ray

It might surprise you, but Joel is pretty average down there, at least in terms of the outside. In length, he’s average, or maybe a little above. And probably a little more girth than usual too, but it’s not too remarkable, he’d be the first to admit it. His real charm is in how he uses it. But if it’s not quite enough for you, he more than makes up for it with his true talent… His hands. It’s honestly a little impressive, just how good he can be with them. He’s only had a few partners over the course of his life, definitely less than ten, but he’s always made sure to explore their bodies, to be an observant lover, and there no exception with you. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out what you like (and what you love) and what you hate, what makes you shiver, what makes you come. How you gasp with surprise when he slides his hand over your hips and give your ass a sharp little smack, how you whine when his fingertips dig into your thighs, the way you moan his name so desperately when he curls his fingers into that sweet spot inside you… He can fuck you pretty damn well, but with his hands, he’s amazing.

Yearning

Well, Joel had to admit… It ain’t quite what it used to be, but it’s still a hell of a lot higher than he’d have imagined it would be at this age. And, honestly, it kind of surprised him. Before the outbreak, back when he was twenty years younger and a little more ??, it wasn’t ever the highest. It’s true, over the years he’d had a one night stand here and there and occasionally got himself off when he just couldn’t seem to shake the dirty thoughts, but that was pretty much the extent of it. His teenage self would’ve considered that a nightmare, but really, he was fine with it. His primary focus was raising Sarah. Immediately after her, he focused on working his ass off, and taking care of his brother. The plate was already full, there just wasn’t a need for it, or much time available. Then, he’d have thought the world damn near ending and all the years of bullshit afterward would’ve killed most of whatever was left. And it did, for a few long years. But once he met you? Shiiiit, he was done for, all of it came flooding right back. Didn’t much help that you were, uh… More than willing, really, to help him explore it.

ZZZ

After everything is said and done, once you’re both all cleaned up and the bed is made and you’re both tucked in comfortably, he usually falls into a sort of state of half-sleep. One where he’s somewhat conscious, but his eyes want to close and he’s not thinking much. When he’s like that, he usually just watches you for a bit. Not in a creepy way, but out of love. It’s rare that he gets the chance to see you well and truly asleep, in such a safe or comfortable place. It’s nice, it’s good for you, he can tell by your face. You look so soft and serene, hair pooled around the pillow and lips parted slightly as you curl into his chest, one arm lazily thrown over his belly. You aren’t worried about infected or intruders, you’re exhausted and at peace, your body and mind can finally take a moment to catch up to each other. He almost wishes he could capture that peace and bottle it, but he always falls asleep beside you before he figures out how… Maybe some other time.