#WHINGING this is WHINGING but i don’t care

[rackartyg]

i have a cold and it’s started messing up the pressure in my head and god it sucks

[ohwowimlonley]

more public sex with james please 🙏🙏

No :)

-

Everyone is piled onto one large L shaped sofa in James’ living room, despite there being plenty of other seats available. James says it’s because you get the best view of the TV from where you are, but you’re convinced it’s some kind of ploy.

Sirius is sat to the left of you, James to your right and Remus to his right. There’s a pink sherpa blanket over your thighs, one that you’d offeredto the boys on either side of you, but they’d both refused, with Sirius claiming that he doesn’t need a blanket to watch a horror movie, and James saying he’d let you know if he gets too cold.

In all honesty, you’re not at all interested in the movie playing on the TV screen, despite the fact that you were allowed to pick the movie, one you knew would scare the life out of Sirius and Remus.

James’ thigh has been pressed to yours for the past fifteen minutes, and even through the expensive matierial of the blanket you can feel the heat that he’s somehow always radiating. It’s distracting, really, the way he touches you just oh so casually, like there’s no intention behind it at all. But you know better. There’s no way that he just so happens to repeatedly brush his hand slightly too high when stroking your thigh over the top of the blanket.

Quickly, but as nonchalantly as possible, you throw the blanket over his lap too, and swing your right leg over his knees. He’s suggested doing this sort of thing before; touching eachother in front of the boys, and you’ve always been eager but too apprehensive to actually try it yet.

“You sure about this?” James knows what you want. Somehow, he can always just tell. His hand is already underneath your skirt, on the brink of prodding the waistband of your panties. His lips are on your earlobe, breath fanning all the way down your neck and giving you goosebumps, “we can just go upstairs, you know the boys won’t mind,”

You don’t trust your voice. If you try to speak now, the sound that will come out will be nowhere near appropriate, so you just nod, slow and meek, and keep your eyes flitting to the boys on either side of you.

Your subtleties last not even a minute. The second James’ calloused fingers make contact with your clit, you let out a low, warbling whinge. All three marauder boys look at eachother and snicker. You don’t care about them knowing any more, you just smush your cheek against your boyfriend’s muscled pec.

“Needy, s’she?” Sirius has that toothy grin on, one that all the marauders know to be his ‘thinking dirty thoughts’ smile, “Moony can sort that out, y’know?”

You prove his point only moments later by grinding yourself against James’ fingers. He slips them over your slit, up, down, up, down, and finally allows them to circle around your empty, aching hole. A simply unholy sound leaves your mouth when he slips a finger inside, all the way in until his palm brushes your clit.

“Let them have their fun, pads,” Remus tuts, stretching his gangly arm around you and James to flick him on the shoulder, “you’re havin’ fun with Prongsie, aren’t you pet?”

“Yeah,” it’s barely even understandable, the high pitched preen you let out, but the boys always get you. James leans down, nosing alond your jawline and letting his teeth drag on the topmost part of your neck. He takes out his finger, and replaces it with two of them.

“Gonna show the boys how pretty you sound when you cum, love?” His fingers speed up, tapping against your gummy walls and grinding against your sweet spot. His other hand reaches round and tugs experimentally on the blanket still covering your modesty. He only removes it for the boys to see when you nod frantically against his chest.

“Already? Not even been five minutes, sweetness,” Sirius teases, eyes widening when he sees your pussy contract at his words.

“I think she just likes the attention,” James curls his fingers, using his knees to spread your legs further apart to show you off to his friends, “s’that it, honey? Y’want the boys to watch you get all desperate for my fingers? Want one of them to have a turn next?”

You choke back a sob as you finally cum around James’ fingers, barely even hearing the boys’ gasps of wonder as you gush creamyness around the rim of your puffy hole.

“So,” Remus clears his throat, “my turn?”

[gay-dorito-dust]

How high on the clingy/protective scale these boys are …

Dick: a solid 8.5/10.

A very clingy bean.

Dick would be attached to your hip 24/7 if he could but he couldn’t answer that makes him sad.

In the wise words of @obsessedwithromance on one of my recent posts; ‘if Dick was a dog, he’d be a husky.’

And he’d make a very vocal husky at that with how often he whines and whinges whenever you tried to move from his grasp, acting as though every attempt in removing yourself from his arms were an attack against his character. So he will take personal offence to you wanting to leave him out in the cold and desolate place that was your bedroom. 💀

���Stop trying to get out of my arms.’ He moans, tightening his hold on you as he buried his head into your neck, locking legs with you for extra measure. ‘Dick, I love you but you’re being too clingy for me right now.’ You reply and had just noticed the error of your ways almost immediately and were about to explain yourself but it was already too late, for you had set Dick the human husky off.

‘Me? Clingy? I thought you liked it when I was clingy? Why the sudden change? What did I do wrong? Why don’t you love me?’ Dick began his tirade and you could only lay there and let him talk your ear off -and loudly might I add- about how you apparently didn’t love him enough, which was a bunch of bullshit, but dick was too in his feelings to listen to reason. You’ll have to kiss him to shut him up, there’s no other option.

So once he’s settled down, he’ll go back to cuddling against your back,smiling dopily while you could only congratulate for a job well done at defusing the situation form getting any worse. You love your dramatic human husky and you wouldn’t change anything for anyone.

Jason: 7.5/10 or a 8/10.

The only time you’re seeing this man be clingy as all hell if he’s in a particular mood and want your affection, which might as well be all the time with this man, or after a not so great nightmare.

He would wake up in a cold sweat and immediately look for you and hold you against his chest as though you were his personal teddy bear, only just until his breathing evens out and not so tense in the muscles. Until then he holds onto you tightly and familiarises himself with you in anyway that he could, whether that be counting your eyelashes, noting the different shades that make up your eyes and much more.

At least just enough to help him gain some sense of self and awareness that he was safe and sound from all harm.

Like Jaime, Jason would watch over you like a hawk as Red Hood without a shadow of a doubt, and Jason has his reasons to do so as he knows the type of people who litter the streets of Gotham at night like the back of his hand. He doesn’t want to subject you to that sort of life of constant fear of having to look over your shoulder in hopes that there wasn’t someone following you home.

For in his minds eye, he’s your sole protector and the one thing that stands between the scumbags of the street and you. Jason doesn’t take this position he’s given himself lightly, it’s unlike him to anyway, as your safety is his top priority and he’d do anything to obtain it; whether they way it’s obtained was morally questionable or not, he doesn’t care for as long as your safe, he’ll live to learn with having permanent blood on his hands.

Damian: 5/10 on a good day. 2/10 in general.

He’s not an overly clingy person. Protective? yes. Clingy? No. It’s just not in just nature and he can be very awkward going about it too.

Damian knows he doesn’t have to constantly survey you 24/7, he has more faith in you and your abilities then most. He knows that you won’t call upon him if at all when faced with a situation that you could easily resolve yourself.

However if you were to get hurt on his watch or otherwise, that’s when he gets slightly clingy and will attempt to be within any space with you possible. Damian shows care in a completely different way than most and will more or less act like a guard dog when it came to you.

This little dude will point his sword at anyone that comes into close contact with you while glaring at them, meanwhile you’re having to push the blade of his sword down and away from the poor victim, only for Damian to raise his sword back towards their throat once more.

‘Pack it in.’ You’d hiss.

‘No. You’re practically useless when hurt, so let me deal with this one.’ Damian said.

You purposely ignored the fact that he had just called you useless and instead pushed the blade of his sword down until it was pointing at the floor again. ‘He’s not even a threat, just a regular citizen. So you can stop it with the fear attics now.’ You told him in a hushed tone. Damian meets your eyes with a glare of his own. ‘How you can be certain he’s a harmless civilian? What if he’s a low life thug of an underground drug syndicate on the rise? You can’t allow yourself to trust every face you meet.’ He replies, not one to back down for anyone, not even you.

You sigh as you rubbed the sides of your head. ‘Well at least try not to cause more issue for your dad. I swear between you, Jason, Tim and Dick I don’t know who gives him the most grey hairs.’

Jaime: runner up for Dick’s crown with also a 8.5/10

He’s clingy in a sense that he fears of loosing you constantly.

Khaji-Da doesn’t make the situation any better as it only encourages Jaime’s Innate clinginess tenfold, and now Jaime can’t go a couple of minutes without offering to join you on wherever your going.

He just cares about you very deeply and wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he’d ever lost you despite having the ability to stop any harm from coming your way. So needless to say that you spend most of your time with him and his family is a severe understatement.

It’s not as though he doesn’t trust you, he wholeheartedly does, but that trust doesn’t extend to potential outside threats. Hell, he would even go as far as to watch over you as Blue Beatle, much to the behest of literally everyone that isn’t Khaji-Da because the scarab is just as clingy over you in a sense that you were Jaime’s mate and there for should be within close proximity to him at all times.

It’s endearing but I think it’s about time you told Kahji-Da to cool it on the whole threatening people you talked to with plans to eliminate them…

[plaidos]

The craziest part of all that Dropout discourse about how they almost never feature transfems outside of drag is that dozens of people were saying shit like “Well, if you don’t have any recommendations of trans feminine comics, then you can’t complain and you’re just looking for something to whinge about and you’re just as bad as them”

like first of all, i don’t live in LA and neither to most Dropout fans — it’s their job to find interesting & exciting talent local to them, not ours. secondarily this complaint & belief basically implies that the reason Dropout barely ever features transfeminine talent is because they just haven’t “come across” any. I saw literally dozens of TME people asking “well how do we know any transfems are applying?” — first of all, transfems who applied for positions at Dropout personally reached out to me to tell me that real world staff members of Dropout agree with me & that all of the transfems who are involved behind the scenes in the company do feel like they are being undervalued and underrepresented.

but secondarily, this just implies that Dropout would’ve definitely had more transfems if only they knew about talented transfeminine performers or if ant had applied — and this betrays such an obviously transphobic understanding of this situation. There are not so few trans women comics in LA that it would not be incredibly easy for Dropout to find one, and the belief that we are is indicative that you see us as some niche incredibly rare minority. there are straight up thousands of trans people in LA. LA famously has an incredibly rich & diverse scene for transfeminine talent.

…but even beyond that, the fact that many Dropout fans can’t name any transfem comics to suggest Dropout hire (which, by the way, that’s not how this works, and the reason most of us weren’t doing this is because it doesn’t make any sense to, it would be ridiculous to demand Dimension 20 hire one specific person?) is not an indicator that they “just want to whinge and don’t actually care” — it’s an indicator that transfems are so underrepresented that many people outside of the industry haven’t seen any big popular transfeminine comedians/etc. like… isn’t that fucking sad? isn’t that tragic??? isn’t that absolute proof that we need more people like us highlighted?

it just seems like a good way to punish transfems for complaining. Like I really don’t understand why so many Dropout fans are so upset at the fact that trans women are saying “hey, it’s really disappointing how little we’re represented, could we have more?” other than because they fundamentally don’t want to see us outside of as a drag queen. Like sorry but us wanting more transfem comedians doesn’t make it our responsibility to name each one. It’s giving “if you’re a fan of this band, name five of their albums” Why? Why should transfems have to name ten counterexamples every time they felt underrepresented? It’s an objectively shitty double standard.

[smolkooks]

incoming call... (part ii) - kenji sato

a/n: roughly 2k more words of kenji sato fluff! sequel to 'incoming call...' link to part i

ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚

“ouch!”

you snickered, “ken, i told you not to get too close! she doesn’t like strangers,” you leant down to scratch the little kitten’s cheeks, and because she knew you and you were undoubtedly her best friend, she purred in contentment, all the while giving kenji sato an irritated glare.

the nickname—ken—slipped off your tongue smoothly, the same way you’d been saying it for the past few months that you’d been spending around your highschool sweetheart. even though you’d been apart for so many years and hadn’t seen each other for so long, it had been easy to slip back into an old rhythm.

“fuck, i didn’t know she’d actually bite me, she looks so tiny,” he hissed, shaking his reddened finger.

“size means nothing when it comes to animals,” you retorted, and despite the way you rolled your eyes, you still handed him an ice pack from your freezer, “take this, big baby.”

he huffed but took it anyway, pressing it to his injury.

it had become a bit of a routine—after his games, he’d come over to your clinic to visit you while you handled the late-night clean ups. the rest of the vet team headed home at closing, but with no kids or family to care for, you often spent your evenings here, keeping the animals company and handling some of the extra paper work. 

“how’s emi doing, by the way?” you said as you refilled some of the water bowls. most of the animals were sleeping at this time, but you still liked to make sure they were all fed and watered. in fact, it was better to do it while they were asleep—less whinging from the little babies for treats.

“she’s doing well,” he said, and it was his turn to roll his eyes as he leant against the bench, “attitude and all, as always.”

“she’s a teenage girl,” you said with a laugh, “it’s so normal. i was one, so i can affirm.”

“mhm,” he said, eyes gleaming, “i remember.”

it was weird, toeing this line with kenji sato. so long ago, you’d been each other’s universes and after separating to go to university, the two of you had been sucked into different orbits—him going into baseball in the states, and you pursuing veterinary medicine in australia. it almost felt like fate nudging you, having the two of you run into each other—back in japan all these years later.

saving you from responding, his phone rang at that very moment. being around kenji all these weeks had gotten you used to his late night calls—how he’d have to run off to take care of the city. but this call seemed to come from one of his teammates, with the familiar way he addressed the person on the other side of the line.

he’d told you that at first he didn’t have any friends here, too busy to do anything but work. but now, he’d grown close to plenty of his teammates and of course, he had you.

“yeah well, i’m kinda busy right now actually...why?” you overheard him say as you busied yourself with some clean up and tried not to look like you were eavesdropping, “oh...oh! yeah uh—what?! what the...” his change in tone piqued your interest.

“...right, thanks for telling me, i’ll call you back later, yuta. thanks...” he hung up, and turned sharply to you, meeting your awaiting gaze, “the press caught you, uh, getting into my car.”

you frowned, confused at the problem with that, considering it wasn’t at all illegal for kenji to have friends.

“they’re blowing it up,” he said, running a hand through his hair and messing it up again, “i...i don’t mind, but i don’t want it to hurt you, that’s all.”

you waved his concerns off, “it’s whatever, to me. as long as it doesn’t harm your reputation, i don’t really have a public image to maintain. my patients don’t care who i date or don’t date.”

date? you felt flustered the moment those words left your lips. even though the two of you had been getting closer again and flirting and doing things that one would do while dating, neither of you had clarified the boundary yet.

kenji seemed equally as flustered and didn’t address what you’d said, not wanting to embarrass you, “you’re right,” he smiled crookedly, and you returned one back despite your racing heart.

***

the moment you stepped into your mum’s house, you were bombarded.

“what’s this about you dating kenji again!” she exclaimed, shutting the door behind you and ushering you into your childhood living room, “i haven’t seen that boy in decades. and since when were you—,”

“what, mum?” you cut her off sharply, even as she shoved you into a chair and poured you hot tea, sitting down opposite you eagerly, “i’m not dating him? plus, where’d you even—,”

she shoved the article in your face before you could even finish the question, her phone screen so bright that it took your eyes a second to adjust. “mum, your phone’s so bright, it can’t be good for your eyes.”

“not important, y/n,” she snapped hurriedly, “look at it.”

blinking your eyes to focus, you finally saw the image clearly. it really did look like you were dating. the window of kenji’s porsche was wound down, and you were leant over towards him, pressed so close to him in a way you didn’t remember doing, even though you knew that you’d only been reaching over to grab the gum from his glovebox. the way he was looking at you, though—you hadn’t noticed in the moment. it was really full of adoration, eyes glittering with a love you remembered so clearly from your highschool days, and his arm was reached out around you in a way you also hadn’t noticed before.

“explain,” your mum demanded, although she didn’t seem annoyed, she seemed...quite excited, the way her eyes were suspiciously bright, “i miss seeing that lovely boy around.”

embarrassed, especially as your eyes scanned over the headline—baseball star kenji sato’s new sweetheart?!—you stuttered, “uh, i ran into him a few weeks ago and we’ve been hanging out, you know, at the clinic.”

“well, then, what are you doing in his car?” she rushed, waving her phone around again, “doesn’t look like the clinic to me. and look—,” she scrolled down a bit further to another picture, this one even more incriminating.

it was you, tucked in the audience of one of kenji’s baseball games, dressed in his team colours, cheering amongst the other vip guests sitting amongst you—friends and family of the players.

“well—,”

“i’m not hearing it,” she cut you off, a grin breaking out, “you’re bringing him over! i can’t believe it—my daughter and kenji, reunited,” she sighed happily, “i was worried you would never settle down, you know.”

flustered, you didn’t even bother to object, sagging in your seat at her insistence.

***

“y/n, i’m really sorry, i didn’t think it’d be that bad,” he said hurriedly as he followed you up the stairs to your apartment, “i’m really sorry. i’m trying to get them to take it down but you know how—,”

you whirled around as you shut the door to your apartment after letting him in, “my mum wants to see you.”

“huh?”

you sighed, switching on the lights and throwing yourself onto your couch, “she saw the article and couldn’t stop going on about how i was finally settling down and how she needed to see you again.”

he ran a hand through his hair, “you...don’t mind?”

“kenji,” you sat up straight, beckoning him over, “i don’t mind. and i wouldn’t mind...”

the silence was loud, the only sound in the room the quiet humming of your lights and the traffic outside, as he sat down beside you, sinking into the cushions.

you knew you didn’t have to finish your sentence. kenji sato knew you too well. he met your eyes and pulled you close, hugging you to his chest. you breathed in his scent—clean, and a little tinted with fish. you’d found out that he often had to go fishing—diving, more like—for emi’s dinners, and that was why he was so often around your apartment block...to fish in the river like a weirdo.

“y/n...”

you hummed, waiting for him to continue as you pressed your face into his chest.

“i really meant it when i said i missed you, back when we first saw each other again,” he began, and you smiled into his skin, “i was so lonely. drained, and it was like fate—seeing you that day saved me, i swear. you were all i could think about. i couldn’t...i couldn’t imagine never seeing you again.”

“kenji,” you murmured, leaning back to look at him earnestly, “i missed you, too.”

“what i’m trying to say is,” he swallowed, looking down before looking up to meet your gaze again, “i...i wanna date you, y/n. if you’ll have me,” suddenly shy, he flushed a bit at his own words.

you smiled at how sweet it was, how shy he seemed and also how your stomach fluttered with butterflies, “ken, of course i’ll have you. you’re all i want.”

you’d barely finished your sentence when his lips met yours in a gentle, soft kiss. you couldn’t really put it into words, how it felt to kiss kenji again after all these years. it felt like coming home. it felt like taking all the colours of the sunset and smearing it across a canvas. it felt like drinking warm milk tea. you hummed into the kiss as he deepened it, pulling you closer by the nape of your neck, and you reached up to tangle your hands in his dark locks, pulling him down towards you at the same time.

you were so close to him you could feel his heartbeat—almost hear it, and you hoped he couldn’t hear how quickly yours was racing. he tasted of caramel, and you couldn’t help but sigh as his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you onto his lap as you broke apart from the kiss, curling into him in a hug.

“y/n,” he murmured, keeping his arms wrapped around you, “i really, really missed you.”

you’d missed him too. his little habits, his dishevelled hair—fish smell, and all. you’d missed him more than anything.

finally, you’d come home.

[lina-transverse]

Queer discourse on this site of fun cause it just turns into mostly White Queers just saying the same things over and over and no one is capable of understanding nuance or willing to consider the others point of view cause they're more concerned with "winning" the argument. Which is stupid and pointless because arguing is for idiots.

Y'all know we're on the same side right? There's no point in having discussions over 'who the most oppressed' is when it's obviously black and brown queer people, especially transfem black women.

This is a fact.

Do y'all even remember back in the late 2010's when the only time "transgender" or "transfem" trended n this site was when another black or brown sister was killed?

Do y'all even care about them? I've seen tons of posts for Pauly Likens which is great, but where's the outrage for Shannon Boswell, shot to death in the street while police denied said shooting even happened? What about Tayy Thomas and River Goddard, just children who were killed by their partners? Where's your rage for TK Hill, shot outside his hair salon? Or Africá Garciá, homeless and shot to death in a dirty street.

Last year 320 trans people were killed. Three-hundred and fucking twenty.

Of those deaths, 94% of them were transfem/ trans women and over 80% were black and brown people. Many were sex workers or homeless. Lots of them were degendered by the media and police in death. Even more deaths are unreported either due to degendering or their bodies not being found. So many of these people (again, mostly black and brown transfem's) are violated and horrifically tortured by their tormentors.

If your discussion of transphobia doesn't include black and trans people, if you cannot recognize this simple fact, then you're no ally to the trans community.

Community means you look out and support those that are the most vulnerable; it means you show the fuck up and speak the fuck up when you hear racist shit. It means you ABSOLUTELY DO NOT call the cops on a homeless person, it means you look out for those that have less than you, the disadvantaged and disenfranchised. White queers have white privilege! We still benefit from our whiteness (especially in the US) so fucking use that shit!

Get your heads outta your asses and actually be a part of your community instead of whinging and whining and wringing your hands helplessly while ignoring the ACTUAL dangers trans people face.

I'm gonna close this with a quote from a friend of África Garciá that perfectly encapsulates how the world views transfem's.

“A lot of trans women are on the streets and are made invisible because many people believe that their lives are worthless,” LeQueen, a trans artist and friend of García’s, told the paper. “They don’t give them the ‘spotlight’ that they deserve, and those men take advantage of that. They think, If I kill her here, no one is going to care.”

Source 1

Source 2

[hollowed-theory-hall]

why dudley redemption it makes a lot of sense to me in the second book we know he cares enough to remember what Harry's birthday is. yes he uses this as a chance to mock him but he knows it regardless. He also changes drastically after the dementors my favorite theory is because it shows him himself the raw and ugly selfish person he is and that is terrible enough to cause change

(Referring to this post)

Yeah, Dudley's redemption makes sense because he was a child, and he learned, and he improved. And yes, him remembering Harry's birthday is a sign of care, roundabout as it is.

What I find fun about Dudley's redemption is how terrified of magic he is. Like, his parents teach him to be scared of magic and hate it. And, I mean, he was harmed by magic multiple times:

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, “NEVER — ” he thundered, “— INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig’s tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

(PS)

Harry wheeled around. Dudley was no longer standing behind his parents. He was kneeling beside the coffee table, and he was gagging and sputtering on a foot-long, purple, slimy thing that was protruding from his mouth. One bewildered second later, Harry realized that the foot-long thing was Dudley’s tongue — and that a brightly colored toffee wrapper lay on the floor before him. Aunt Petunia hurled herself onto the ground beside Dudley, seized the end of his swollen tongue, and attempted to wrench it out of his mouth; unsurprisingly, Dudley yelled and sputtered worse than ever, trying to fight her off. Uncle Vernon was bellowing and waving his arms around, and Mr. Weasley had to shout to make himself heard.

(GoF)

He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors here, in Little Whinging . . . Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking.

(OotP)

And yet, he's never really scared of Harry and actually grows to have respect for Harry after he saves him from the dementors. I just really like that for all his fear of magic. He doesn't fear Harry. Not really.

And, we see his position on Harry change, he has his own subtle little arc of realising his parents are full of shit:

“Er — no, they don’t,” said Harry. “They think I’m a waste of space, actually, but I’m used to — ” “I don’t think you’re a waste of space.” If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was, he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and astonished himself.

(DH)

And when Dumbledore calls Vernon and Petunia out in HBP (quite late, on his part), Harry assumes Dudley is stupid:

Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.

(HBP)

But I think Dudley was actually considering Dumbledore's words here and taking them to heart. I think he frowned because he was actually thinking about it. Becouse he got what Dumbledore meant.

I can't really get behind that theory for what Dudley saw, personally. I don't think that's the case since it's not the sort of thing we know other characters (Harry) see. Dementors make you relive your worst memories (his parents' death and later the graveyard, in Harry's case), not the thing you need to see for your character development.

I don't know what Dudley saw, but I'm sure he saw a specific moment, a memory that was his worst moment. The moment he, himself suffered the most. I consider the situation with the tongue-swelling toffee or any of the other times Dudley suffered at the hands of magic to be likely candidates. So, no, I don't think Dudley improved because of what the dementors showed him. I think his character development happened because Harry bothered to save him. Harry acted in a way that contradicted everything Dudley's parents said about him and his magic. Harry used his magic to save Dudley. And I think that was the fact that really set Dudley on his small arc.

That moment proved to Dudley that Harry was an inherently good person and that magic could be used to save lives (his life). It basically gave Dudley undeniable proof his parents lied to him.

I mean, Dudley makes it clear Harry's actions of saving his life were a big deal for him:

“Well . . . er . . . thanks, Dudley.” Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression before mumbling, “You saved my life.”

(DH)

So I belive that was the source of his arc.

And I think it's interesting. Like, I won't say Dudley is a character I particularly like, but I understand him, and I think he has a small redemption. Like, I can't see post-books Harry being super close to Dudley, but I like to think they chose to meet up again and try to have some familial connection. Not anything super close, but, it would be something, yk?

I also think an adult Dudley would not be very close to his parents. Like, he'd see them for holidays and stuff, but these meetings would always be tense, especially when he brings up the question of why Harry isn't there as he did in DH:

“Why isn’t he coming with us?” Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze where they stood, staring at Dudley as though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina. “What?” said Uncle Vernon loudly. “Why isn’t he coming too?” asked Dudley [...] They heard the front door open, but Dudley did not move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too. “What now?” barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway. It seems that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words. After several moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, “But where’s he going to go?” Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence.

(DH)

It makes sense to me, at least that Dudley's relationship with his parents would go more strained and that he'll try to keep in touch with Harry. That he'd feel like he needs to and eventually they'll get along well enough. Again, I don't think Harry and Dudley would ever be super close, but it would be something.

[satorusugurugurl]

Hiii can i request reader x gojo, where reader keeps ruining his orgasm n just messing with him? And he’s all whiny and begging and shit? 🥺👉👈

Cranberry Juice and Rings

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 1,725

Warnings: Edging, orgasm denial, smut, whinny Gojo, dirty talk, sexting, toys

A/N: Ah, nothing like a good old whing Gojo fic! I love whimpering, groaning men!

Satoru was known by many as a pain in the ass. He was arrogant and cocky, but that didn’t stop you from loving him. He was one of your favorite people, a goofball, and he spoiled you rotten. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

But he was Gojo Satoru. Some days, he was unbearable to deal with, even for you. Days like today, for example. You had gotten a nasty UTI and were on a strict sex ban for a week. Gojo had been kind the first few days, picking up your prescription along with cranberry juice and supplements. By day four of the sex ban, he was pent up and decided it would be fun to tease you relentlessly. He started sexting you, sending you pictures and voice memos that had you clenching your thighs to try to ease the throbbing between your legs.

Satoru: I’m so sweaty! Look, it’s running down my V-line, baby~!

You: Stop trying to turn me on asshole. I literally cannot flick my bean or have sex for the next three days.

Satoru: Oh? That sucks for you. I don’t have to deal with that.

The man then proceeded to send you a video of him jerking off in the bathroom. If you didn’t feel like razors sliced you each time you used the bathroom, you would have found him and made him pay for a new pair of underwear and take care of the mess he had turned you into. However, the unpleasant throbbing between your legs prevented you from acting upon your desires.

You: Keep it up, Satoru. I will make you regret your choices.

Satoru: Oooh, I’m so scared~!

Your dear, sweet, idiotic boyfriend did not heed your warning. He only seemed to get worse after your ominous threat. Three days of torture later, Satoru eagerly ra into your shared condo, his calendar chiming with a reminder today was the day your medical sex ban was lifted. He has a week's worth of pussy eating to make up for, and he planned to take his time with you.

”Sweetheart!” He sang out, making his way through the condo. “I hope you’re ready!” Stepping inside the bedroom, Satoru blinked, finding you sitting on the edge of the bed in your sky-blue lace set. “What a good girl you are!” Drooping to his knees before you, he clapped his hands together. “Thanks for the mea—“

”Shut the fuck up and get on the bed.”

The stern tone of your voice has Satoru staring. “I’m sorry?” His smile was full of confusion as he forced your legs apart. “I said thanks for the meal, didn’t I?” Satoru began to dip his head between your thighs, but before he could reach your sweet, dripping core, you put your foot on his forehead, pushing him away. “Hey!” His bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“Didn’t I warn you I would make you regret sending me all those thirst trap pictures and messages?”

”H-Huh?”

”I said, didn’t I warn you I would make you regret your choices?”

”W-Well, I m-mean you did, but I—“

”Good, boy.” A round silicon ring hit him in the face. “Now put that on and get on the bed.” Gulping, Satoru shakily did as you commanded, regret setting in the pit of his stomach as he did.

Any hopes for mercy went out the window as you bounced up and down on his cock as he sat upright against the headboard. You were grinning, hands gripping his shoulders as you came around him, pulling off, denying him the pleasure of feeling your cum, denying his orgasm for the third fucking time.

”F-Fuck Toru~ you’re such a good dildo.”

”S-Sweetheart—please, baby, I need you.”

”You need me?” You questioned with faux sympathy. “Oh, sweet boy, am I teasing you too much?” A delicate hand wrapped around his red throbbing length, the cock ring preventing him from cumming, thus making him ten times more sensitive.

”A-Ah! Yes, yes, baby, please, please, I need you!” Blue eyes watched as you stroked your hand up and down, pre-cum dribbled out of his tip, running over your manicured nails. “Oh fuck, I can feel it, keep going, keep going don’t stop!”

“Yeah?” Satoru cried out as you wrapped your other hand around him. Your hands squeezed his shaft as you moved them up and down, smirking as he whimpered, eyes transfixed on your tiny hands as his mouth opened in an ‘O’ shape. “Are you close, Toru? Are you going to make a mess for me?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

”Gonna cum pretty boy?”

”Fuck yes! Oooh fuck I’m so close, so fucking close, almost there, almost there!”

The second you saw white lashes flutter, you yank your hands away, preventing him from reaching his sweet release. Your boyfriend’s eyes narrowed and shot open in disbelief, focusing on the throbbing, swollen red tip that sobbed pre-cum instead of actual cum. His dick looked as upset as him, the intense orgasm fading.

”Babe!” Satoru threw his head back against the wooden frame with a pathetic whine. “I wanna cum!” Reaching out, you gently rubbed the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip.

”You wanna cum?”

”Yes, so bad!”

You straddled his hips with a hum, lowering yourself back down onto his velvety shaft with a satisfied moan. “Well, that sucks for you, I don’t have to deal with that.” You quoted his text before dragging your tight wet pussy up and down his swollen cock.

Satoru cried out, whining as you used his cock like it was a sex toy. This was literal torture, feeling your wet, warm walls clamp down around him, watching you tilt your head back in pleasure. Even hearing your moans fill the bedroom was driving him insane. You looked so hot and beautiful when you used him like this. He just wished he could be holding onto your hips, fucking his cock up into you, filling you with his cum as you both lost yourselves in pure orgasmic bliss. Lips moving against lips, swallowing each other, moans as you came down.

Instead, Satoru was crying out, whimpers sounding in the back of his throat. His hands fisted the sheets as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. He had thought teasing you this week was all fun and games! Get you all worked up and desperate for him to rearrange your insides. In his horny mind, it was like mental edging without touching

Yourself. What a terrible mistake that had been. The only one having fun and getting off at the current moment was you. While he suffered from the worst case of blue balls in his entire life.

“Shit! Oooh, shit!” Your brows furrowed as you cried out, reaching down and rubbing your clit. “C-Cumming~! Cumming Toru!” Just as your orgasm hit, you pulled off of him, squirting all over his stomach and cock with a squeal.

“F-Fuck, oh god.” Satoru quickly grabbed his cock, stroking himself off while you came all over him. “So hot~ so fucking hot!”

You recovered just in time to see Satoru jerking himself off, the tips of his ears turning red as his eyes began to roll back. “Nuh-uh!” swatting his hands away, Satoru groaned. “Bad boy!” When he reached for his swollen cock again. You grab both his wrists, pinning them down on either side of him. “I said no!” Poor Satoru cried out in frustration, tears welling in his eyes.

“Sweetie, baby, please.” He sobbed, cock dribbling more pre-cum onto his lower abdomen. “Please let me cum, please, baby, please! I'm sorry I was such an ass this week. I won't ever do it again!” Fingers gripped the sheets underneath him. “Please let me cum! Please!” Those tears filling his eyes finally spilled over his white lashes, staining his flushed cheeks.

“Oh, my baby~” Leaning in, you locked the salty tears up with the tip of your tongue. “You learned your lesson?”

“Uh-huh!” Satoru hiccuped as more tears streamed down his face.

“You see how it's not nice to tease? How cruel is it to cum in front of your partner when you're unable to do anything?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, honey! So sorry!”

Releasing both his wrists, you grabbed the sparkly blue cock ring that was securely on his base. “Good boy, Toru.” As soon as the toy was off, Satoru shoved you off, pushing you into the mattress. “Ooh fuck!” Giggled erupted as he threw both your feet over his shoulders before sliding into you.

“So good! S-aS good!” He cried out, throwing his head back, crying softly, and he slammed on and out of you. “I’m going to cum! Please cum with me! Milk my cock, baby! Milk it!”

“Yes, Toru! Cum inside of me, baby!” Your fingers found your clit with ease, rubbing it back and forth, whimpering as Satoru twitched inside of you. “Cum on, baby~ cum for me!”

Satoru’s jaw dropped open, eyes clamped shut as he cried out. He was crying out your name, whining, and whimpering like a cat in heat. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides, filling you to the absolute brim, leaving you crying out with him. He rubbed his hips against you, only stopping when his eyes rolled back, dizziness overcoming him.

He collapsed onto your chest, full weight resting on you as he whimpered into the crook of your neck. He could stay like this forever, but just as he found himself dozing off, you were tapping on his shoulders. Lazily lifting his head, cerulean eyes met yours.

“Five minutes; I’m pushing you off if you stay inside me any longer.”

“Huh? Why?” Your boyfriend panted out.

“The last time we fell asleep like this, I got a UTI!”

“Mmm, it’s fine.” he’s sleepy, wrapped his arms around you. “Just five minutes.” you relaxed against him as he agreed on your time limit. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Satoru.” as he snuggled in closer, humming sleepily, you smiled, fingers brushing strands of hair off his brow. Maybe ten minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Forever Tag List!

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness

[cosmal]

Poly!Marauders x touch-starved fem!reader who’s too embarrassed to ask for attention..

cuddle

summary you really want a hug from your boys

content poly!marauders x fem!reader

note i don’t like this sorry

You get home from work later than you'd anticipated. You're exhausted, every step you take feels heavy, slow. You smell like the tube and your limbs are screaming for a hot shower.

But when you see your boys, you bubble with adoration.

You've all only just moved in together, the routine is fresh and exciting. You're not used to coming home to being welcomed by a parade of love and something on the stove.

You hang your coat and take off your shoes. The feet of your tights are a little damp. Sirius meets you in the hall.

"You're home," he says with a smack of a kiss to your cheek. You beam. "Is it raining out there? Sweetheart, I would've come and picked you up."

"It's okay," you smile. You think he's just finished work too, he's probably just as tired. "I read on the train." Sirius doesn't look pleased.

James hugs you as soon as he sees you. He's all flushed like he's just gotten back from the gym. Grey sweats and a black hoodie. You melt under his affection. "Cold out there, huh?"

"Yeah," you say quietly. You struggle to not show how affected you feel under their loving. You tuck a damp curl away from his face instead. Ignoring how warm your face feels. "You feeling tired?"

"A little."

"My poor baby." You kiss his shoulder and follow the sound of your name from the kitchen. James groans.

You're welcomed by Remus's long arms and a kiss to the top of your head when you find him. He keeps an eye on his sauteed vegetables while he squishes you. The heat from the stove hugs your face while you feel just as shy in his hold as you did the others. You wonder if you'll ever get used to it.

Eventually, Remus gets busy with dinner, boiling pasta and adding sauce to the veg. Sirius sets himself up behind his computer, and James gets in the shower. You were hoping, selfishly, for an invitation from him but felt stupid for thinking so. He’s tired. Sirius would probably whinge. Understandably.

You sit on your bed, work skirt and top discarded. A pair of tights and the vest makes you look a little funny but you don’t have it in you to care. You know the boys wouldn't mind either.

You wonder what they’d say if you asked them to cuddle. You know, hopefully, that their answer would most likely be yes. You just don’t like how you’d sound. Because, you really hate yourself for it, you’ve never actually had to ask them. They hug and kiss you all the time like they have a sixth sense for when you need it.

You feel tired, bored. You know they'd be the perfect fix. You just don't know how to go about it. Hey, Remus, wanna cuddle? Sirius, come sit on the lounge? James, your lips look pretty soft today.

You walk out into the main part of the house and it smells even better. Welcoming. You stand in the lounge room, damp tights pressed into the crush of carpet. Sirius is busy, Remus is making sure his pasta doesn't turn to mush, and you think James is still washing his hair.

You're used to your own routine after work but now you want to include the others because it makes sense. You feel silly.

Sirius looks up from his computer, his jaw washed in blue light. He pushes his reading glasses up his face and into his hair. "You okay, darling?"

You turn, mildly startled, with the pad of your finger in your mouth. You blink slowly. "Hmm?"

He seems half-amused, turning in his chair until he can see you properly. You feel barer than your clothes can allow. "You're half naked in the sitting room."

"Sorry," you wrinkle your face up. You're without a plan now and feel embarrassed. "I was gonna..."

As Sirius stands from his chair, James comes out of your room in his pyjamas on and a towel over his shoulder. His curls damp and a little flat. You think you might put some cream in them later if you remember.

Sirius stands in front of you, James stands to the side, half curious. "You were gonna?"

You swallow. Sirius has a funny way of making you shy. Probably because you know he'd have no problem asking you for a kiss, he does it every day. You're half-envious, half-nervous.

You duck your head, much to both boys' displeasure, and twist your feet until your tights bunch. "I feel silly now."

"Sirius does that sometimes," James says from over your shoulder. You can sense the look Sirius shoots him without having to look at them. You bite back a smile.

Sirius encourages your face up with the side of his finger under your chin. Your skin feels branded. "Hey, it's okay. What's on your mind?"

"You guys are busy."

"Not really," Sirius says softly. You really, really want to hold his hand.

"Yeah?"

"Well, Remus is," Sirius says. "But James and I are free."

You try to work up your courage and remember it's just Sirius. "Could we, maybe..." Sirius smiles, pretty teeth peeking out from his smooth lips. It strikes your heart alight. "Coul we maybe cuddle? Or something, I don't know, I just really need a hug."

You watch Sirius's shoulders fall. Letting out a breath he's been holding in. He relaxes. "Oh, baby, that's all?" He gets you into his arms when you pout. "I thought it was like super serious."

"It is serious," you mope into his button-up. "I really wanted a hug. I just didn't know how to ask."

"You're right," He steals a hand from your back to cradle your face. He holds you back and pushes a finger into your cheek. He looks mildly put out. "You're right, that is super serious. You know you don't have to ask for a hug, right?"

James finally comes around to steal you from Sirius. Gets you into his chest and hugs you until you're smothered. "You never have to ask any of us for a hug. Or a kiss. We're free range, baby."

"You guys were doing stuff," you go a little limp against his frame. He holds you up like you're nothing. "I felt stupid. I was just bored."

"Doesn't matter," he kisses the top of your head, swaying you back and forth a bit. “Hug me whenever. I know the others feels the same.”

“Even when I’m dressed like this?” You smother a giggle into his neck.

“Especially when you’re dressed like this,” James says. Sirius seconds it.

“Okay,” you sigh.

Lovesick, still hugging in the sitting room, you hear Remus call out that dinner’s now ready. You follow each other into the kitchen like a bunch of children.

You plate up your dinner while Sirius butters you a fresh roll. You smack a loving kiss to Remus’s cheek. “Thanks, Rem. Smells amazing.”

“Hey, can we eat on the sofa tonight?” James asks, already shovelling pasta into his mouth.

“Why?” Remus asks.

“Y/N wants to spend more time with us,” James wipes some sauce from his face, “She really wants to cuddle.”

“Oh, honey,” Remus pouts, “Why didn’t you just ask? I’ve been wanting to hug you all night.”

“That’s what I said!” You hear Sirius from behind you.

You warm, stuffing your mouth full of pasta to distract yourself.

The boys cuddle you all night.

[bunniidollii]

trailerpark!rafe 🤝 spanking like need i say more

it was the small things that set you off, always leaving you in a bad mood for the rest of the day whilst rafe had to deal with your attitude. he tries his best to be patient, but when the whining turns full temper tantrum, he’s had enough and is quick to bend you over his knee. at home it’s easy, the car is risky yet still possible, but in public, you’d find yourself escorted (practically manhandled) to the nearest empty room. and that’s how you found yourself, mid summer bbq, hips uncomfortably trapped between the sink and your boyfriend’s form leaning over you. first it was because the dress you had planned on wearing turned out to have a massive stain all down the front. then rafe took too long getting ready, and you ended up late. they then ran out of veggie burgers, so you were stuck eating the squeaky halloumi while your boyfriend devoured his burger. a neighbour had made a comment about the length of your skirt, which left you snappy with anyone else who attempted to make conversation with you. it was after a nasty run in with your aunt who had never approved of your relationship, that led to rafe pulling you into the small downstairs bathroom. he was quick to flip up your skirt to expose your backside that was barely covered by the white lace you were wearing. his calloused hands pulled at the thin material, causing your hips to rise slightly to avoid the friction and a whine to leave your lips. a hand was placed over your mouth, and rafe tugged harder on your panties in response, before finally speaking.

“you havin’ fun embarrassin’ me out there, with all your whining— hey, don’t you go stomping your feet now” his gruff voice was cut off when you tried to do your usual attempt of retaliation by stomping your feet and whinging until rafe gave in. annoying him beyond extent always got you your way, while the little punishments to try and stop you only spurred you on.

“things weren’t going my way—” you were cut off by a sharp slap on your ass as rafe pulled your panties impossibly higher, with the friction against your clit causing you to let out a light moan. “things don’t always go your way, kiddo, you gotta learn to deal with that.” another slap as his free hand snaked around your throat, “cant be going round havin’ a big ol’ tantrum when something don’t end up how you wanted it to, s’not how real life works.”

rafe gave you another few slaps, leaving a blush of red subtle enough to not draw attention when you returned to the bbq. “you gonna stop being such a crybaby now, doll?” you were turned around, still wedged between your boyfriend and the counter, but facing him instead. he could see the tired look in your eyes and knew you were bordering past your social battery. you just latched your arms around his neck, rafe following your cue as he picked up your legs to wrap them around his waist, picking you up and setting you down on the counter. you just pawed at the collar of his shirt, not bothering to look up at him as you sank into his embrace. “gotta handle just an hour longer, and then we can head on home, alright? and we can forget all about today in a bit, i’ll take care of that, don’t you worry.”

“yes daddy” the familiar doe eyed look on your face as you stared up at rafe with nothing but adoration in your eyes.

“‘s rafe, baby” he reminded you before placing a quick peck on the lips as he helped you rearrange yourself to your former socially acceptable state. he guided the two of you out, and you stood happily by his side for the rest of the evening with the hope of rafe fucking you brainless when you got home.

[yameoto]

scumbag fuck but i swear that she’s not

she's so good to me, and nobody else

supernatural!au quinn masterpost

big sis. roadhead. barfight. somno.

“yeah, well maybe i don’t want to spend my life hunting monsters til' i'm fucking eighty, quinn!” quinn gives you the most unimpressed look of her life, because seriously? the two of you aren't living til' you're eighty, anyways. “yeah, well tough shit, baby sis.” she jerks the wheel just a little sharper than she should, like a fucking ass. "you run away again and i'll tie your tight-ass up and cram you in the boot, you hear me?"

backstory

▸ born in a supremely episcopalian, puritan household, LUCY QUINN FABRAY is the first daughter of russell fabray, famous preacherman in the deep south. when her mother, judy fabray, bursts into flames at the hands of a devil, above the cot of her baby sister, russell turns back to the hunting life, for good; taking his two girls' along with him.

▸ quinn's baby sister was dropped off on the fabray's doorstep when quinn was 4. russell believes she was ‘sent by the angels’, and the second coming of jesus.

▸ russell's cover as a travelling preacherman, and the long nature of certain hunts, meant he often left his girls’ to live alone for long stretches of time. for most of their lives, quinn has taken sole responsibility of the care of her baby sister. cooking, cleaning, the whole nines. from the moment russell thrust the infant into quinn’s arms as they fled from the fire, quinn has formed her entire identity around being her baby sisters’ protector.

“but daaaddd..” quinn can't help it. the baby is swaddled up in cloth, eyes blinking guilessely up at her, because apparently she's its ‘big sister.’ it’s been quiet since it came 'home’. a good girl. almost too good, her mom says. and yeah, okay. maybe it really is a gift from the angels. quinn doesn’t know what it has to do with sunday school, but she knows one thing; she’s jealous. she wants to be cooed over and coddled and called sent by the heavens like she used to do (but the way her dad says it this time sounds different. like he means it more, or something). besides, she doesn’t want to share her toys with a stupid new baby. “lucy, enough. good girls don’t whinge. say something nice, or don’t say it at all.” quinn opens her mouth to protest, before deflating on the stern look on her father's face. “i guess it’s kinda cute.” quinn huffs, blowing air out of rosy cheeks, golden curls framing her face like she’s been ripped right from some old romantic painting of a cherub. quinn reaches out, gingerly prodding the baby’s cheek. it makes an indistinct babbling sound, little arms reaching upwards. “looks like she likes you, honey.” comes russell’s deep rumble, overlooking the scene, expression unreadable. “really?” quinn perks up, because the prospect of being the only one this dumb baby likes makes it a little less dumb in her books—before she catches herself. crosses her arms. “well, i don’t care.” except she’s crawled over to sit beside the baby’s cot anyways. she asks, eventually “..can i hold her, daddy?”

▸ quinn has hunted from an early age, russell bringing her out on hunts to ‘watch’ as early as six years old, in order to familiarise his child with the supernatural in order to better protect herself and her younger sister better. quinn was 12 years old when allowed on her first, proper hunt. russell never allowed them to hunt individually, even in early adulthood.

▸ russell fabray originally never intended for his daughters to hunt, as he wanted to keep them ‘pure’ as possible. quinn, however, snuck into her fathers’ car when he was going out for a hunt one too many times (with her oblivious baby sister towed along, of course).

▸ for long, long hunts, russell would drop his children off a motel or at a fellow hunters’ house for extended periods, in which they would be enrolled at the local school for 1-6 months. quinn flourished, adopting the head bitch role like a second skin. even took up cheerleading. quinn enjoyed these brief stints of normalcy (and gratuitous popularity) though she would never admit it.

"hi, baby sis.” quinn gives you a fond hair ruffle as she passes you by, and you swat her wrist away, scowling at the retreating form of your older sister. you're just glad she didn't pinch your cheek or anything. that would be lame. though, what's totally lamer, is the slackjawed look your potential new friend is giving you right now. “your sister is quinn fabray?” the girl gapes. “the quinn fabray?” you stare back, uncomprehending. “um. last time i checked. yeah?” “instant head bitch, prom queen shoein, second coming of jesus, quinn fabray? because, like, everybody’s been waiting for chiara’s epic downfall, ‘cause everyone knows she’s a hypocrite and also a major slut, and then your sister strutted in the lunchroom on her first day and—“ you tuned out five seconds ago. is this a dream? this feels like a dream. the two of you have only been in town for four months! you didn’t know quinn was fucking notorious, or something. most demons’ or talkative monsters just dub you as those fabray brats and are done with that. this is entirely uncharted waters for eighth-grade you. you take one glance back, because you’ve got to be missing something. in your head, you’re thinking more like; too-lazy-to-clean-the-toothpaste-tube-and-lets-it-harden-into-something-disgustingly-crusty quinn fabray? takes-five-years-in-the-shower-and-uses-all-the-last-body-wash-and-fills-it-up-with-water-before-it’s-your-turn quinn fabray? your annoying, overprotective, (admittedly badass) older sister, quinn fabray? you've seen her, sure. sashaying down the hallways, blonde hair tight in a highpony, in a cheerleading uniform—which was so fucking weird the first time and you don't think you'll ever get used to it. not because you've never seen quinn in skimpy clothing before (whenever dad needs her to charm the wits out of some sorry sucker), but never like this. never, so.. normal. even if she's got this glint in her eyes that you recognise when she's facing off bloody wendigos; except its period 3 bell in some bumfuck town in the middle of ohio. it suits her, you think; normal. like she has eyes at the back of her head or something, midway down the hallway, quinn turns around and meets your gaze. her mouth changes, from that sweet, sweet smile disguising the devil underneath you've seen her wear nowadays, into that warm, fond grin she reserves only for you, with a flash of her canines and a subtle wink she learned when the two of you would play pranks on dad, in the early years. you shoot her a brazen middle finger for her troubles, and she just throws her head back and laughs, airy and breathy and carefree. you suppress the instinctive urge to return it with a grin, as you both go opposite ways, new spring in both steps. the quinn fabray. yeah, right. that's just your big sister.

▸ when quinn was 22, her baby sister got into stanford on full scholarship, abandoning the hunting life for a normal one. this led to a huge blow-up argument which escalated until they both went radio silent, for two years. stems from their intense sibling codependency, and the fact quinn, as her ‘protector’, derived all meaning from caring for her sister—and thus didn’t know what the hell she was good for, without her. this is the same reason quinn keeps to hunting. even beyond the whole, family first, ‘it’s in your blood’ schtick. there is nothing else that she knows.

facts.

▸ quinn's episcopolian upbringing means she has extensive biblical knowledge, especially due to being so exposed to her father. she is family-first, always.

▸ quinn wears a cross necklace around her neck that she never takes off, as her baby sister gifted it to her, on one of many christmases spent just the two of them, when russell left them alone for two weeks in a motel room.

▸ quinn had lingering faith in god, though moreso for it represented her idyllic childhood and a time in which she lived in relative normalcy. she is now a heretic. not a skeptic, a heretic.

“i thought you were saving this for dad..?” quinn, 12 mumbles, sleepily lifting her head from the shitty motel couch. she frowns, as you, 8, crawl up on the cushions to face her. your form is illuminated by the christmas lights she stole from the house down the street, while you were sleeping. “dad’s not here. you are,” you point out, as if it’s as simple as that. maybe it is. “i warded it. kinda.” your brows knit, sitting cross-legged in front of her as you hold up the necklace, shifting as if embarrassed. “i dunno. i jus' followed a few things i saw when i was snooping through dad’s journal. they probably don’t work, but..” they don't. she knows, just from running a finger over the silver emblem of the cross, that it's virtually useless. she couldn't give less of a fuck. instead, she turns, hands gathering up her hair and pushing it upwards, exposing the pale expanse of her nape. "put it on for me?" she asks, after a moments' silence, not even scolding you for, first of all; looking at dad's journal (big nono). secondly; trying your hand at an ancient, potentially town-levleling rite you can't even read properly because you wanted to give her a christmas present. who does that? (her baby sister, that's who. and the thought swells quinn with pride and a curshing wave of love, even though she knows she should be a good big sister and tell you off). except, she can't. not when your fingers so cautious, so soft—unweathered by the callouses of hunting life, the grooves of clutching a knife to your chest, unfamiliar with the cold metal of a trigger guard. she savours your softness. drinks it in, in a way she already knows is greedy but she can't help it, and in the moment you finish clumsily clasping it around her neck, she turns and flings her arms around you and tucks you close to her chest. nose burrowing into the familiar, earthy scent of your sweatdamp locks and promises to mom and to god that'll she'll take care of you for as long as she fucking lives. "i'm never taking it off, ever. i swear, lil' sis." "..never ever?" "never fucking ever."

▸ since losing her faith, quinn wears the cross necklace inverted. it is symbolic of her devotion—not to god—but to her sister.

▸ nobody calls quinn ‘lucy’ except for her father. this is because judy named her, and he clutches onto his wife through quinn. quinn goes by her middle name for the same reason.

▸ russell used to keep quinn's hair long as a child, for the same reason that she reminded him of judy, and preserve his eldests' semblance of innocence. quinn now regularly hacks it off to various lengths for practicality's sake.

OVERARCHING PLOT CONTEXT (SPN S1-5): follows the canon trajectory of spn seasons 1-5. angels/demons working together in order to break the seals, free lucifer and jumpstart the apocalypse. quinn is the vessel for michael, and her baby sister is the vessel for lucifer.

her baby sister was not sent by the angels, but was in fact delivered by azazel, the same demon who killed their mother. russell fabray, rather than being a voice/prophet of god, he has been obliviously consorting with devils, disguised as angels, who have been using him and his children to bring about the apocalypse.

to be finished.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Carve Out A Place For Me to Sing

Okay so, I had an idea for a story a long time ago and I was going to write this out, but I figured I'd try a hand at making this into a fanfiction first. I think y'all will really like the idea though. Hear me out:

Exectutioner!König

I know others have done the idea, but this is a world I've been building for ages with its own established lore and history. I think you'll all find this to be pretty fun.

CW: public execution, mild descriptions of gore,

Wordcount: 4.8k

Art from This Post

Story below the Cut

Carve Out A Place For Me to Sing

You hated execution wakes*. They were miserable, wretched shows of viscera and torment for the insatiable masses below. You despised the way the crowd roared and cheered as the criminal’s severed head was held up to the crowd, eyes still fluttering with prayers for forgiveness on their trembling lips. You were revolted by how judge Holten would laugh like a great, bellowing tracker* as the criminals would writhe and beg for mercy at his feet. What chilled you most of all, though, were his eyes. Not judge Holten’s, most certainly not Father Kim’s, but his.

Cold blue eyes like the hold of Criah’s-turn* on your heart. A chilling draft through thatched roofs. His blank stare felt like stepping into a frozen forest, lost under a pale sky without neither a hearth or home in reach. Whenever he looked at you, you could feel the cold chill winding up your spine. You were a good, honest woman. A good, honest woman was always afraid of a bad man. Any woman would be afraid of a beast like him.

You shuddered as you kneaded the sourdough bread beneath your hands. Your aunt clucked her tongue at you.

“Well come on! We don’t have all day, now do we?” she shook the dark curls that framed her face, “daylight’s fading fast!”

“Auntie, my arms feel like they’re going to fall off!” you complained as you dropped the dough into a bowl to rise again.

“Well I’ll knock them off if you keep up with your whinging!” she squawked and threw another tray of buns into the oven.

“You know, if you’ve got this sort of energy, you’re free to go out to market tomorrow in my stead,” you tried once more as you drew out another batch of dough to knead.

“I’ve got three young’uns underfoot,” your aunt scolded you, “I don’t have nearly enough time to go out hawking bread to those animals.”

“Animals” you scoffed, “I didn’t think witch Rozlin was an animal.”

“Witch Rozlin is a good woman, but anyone going out to one of those blood shows is naught much more than a pig out back,” Auntie sniffed.

You rolled your eyes as you got to kneading the next batch. It wasn’t like you disagreed with your Auntie, but you were rather nonplussed by the idea of going out and selling buns to the rabid mob that was sure to form in the town square next Brak-Hah’s-watch*. Your Auntie had a point. The three rapscallions that currently out at school would be a handful on a Hollinwake, but all god-watch you’d been looking forward to having the day to yourself. After all, Hollinwake was the one wake in a god-watch devoted to caring for yourself and for your family. It was meant to be a day of peace, rest and personal growth. As such, it figured that judge Holten would schedule an execution for the final day of a god-watch. It was just another tally onto the ever-growing list of why judge Holten was the most deplorable man in Mormonia.

It wasn’t like anyone else disagreed with you. Judge Holten was a miserable toad. He was a stout man sporting a grotesque belly overhanging his gilded rope belt with a pugnacious air to him radiating off him with the scent of his tobacco. He’d walk around town in his blessed scarlet robes, scoffing as he whacked small children and animals alike out from under his foot. It was a wonder that any woman willingly shared a bed with the man. You just wished that Halax* might take a shine to you and smite the bastard from existence.

Alas, Halax had long-since turned her back on you when your uncle had fallen ill. Normally, he’d be in your place to prepare the bread and buns for tomorrow, but he had been struck ill at the start of the god-watch. He’d been bed since last Dandorwake*. You’d prayed at church with Father Kim, who’d kindly offered you a cup of mead and a fresh cabbage from the church’s gardens, but you’d declined and urged him to keep them for someone else. He’d tried to insist while gardening, but by the time he turned to hand one over you were already out the door. Maybe it was a sin to turn your back on a priest when he hadn't finished giving an offering, but you knew full well that he needed that cabbage far more than you ever could.

Last cycle* had been cruel. This turning-time* had been fruitful in harvests, but it didn’t make up for an entire cycle of suffering. There had been nothing but torrential rain to drench the ground followed by ages of heat that left the earth splitting with cracks and coughing dust. Most families had to turn to their own reserves, but of course, Father Kim and the church had no such stores. The church, as any good church ought to be, was entirely dependent on donations to run. With families unable to feed even their own children, Father Kim had to make do with an entire cycle of kitchen scraps and meager growth from their garden. Even now, Father Kim was still bony and frail in frame, a mere shadow of the power and might he’d carried the cycle before.

Maybe it was because you’d denied Father Kim’s offerings that your uncle still lay sick, but you weren’t too concerned. Just last wake, witch Rozlin had come with the town apothecary, Darnell to your door. On seeing your uncle, they laughed and told you he’d be up and on his feet within a couple wakes. They still charged you for their time, but you were glad to only be giving over a handful of brass coins rather than paying full price for some balms. So, with the reminder to wait, your uncle had been urged to rest and you had gone out to give the good news to your cousins.

A spark of embers caught your attention. You realized your Auntie must have left to go grab the children from the school master for the evening, leaving you alone in the bakery to work on the next batches. You heaved a sigh and straightened your aching back momentarily before turning back to your work. After all, you had plenty of work to do.

The next wake had started with you loading up the market wagon.

“Auntie, are you sure you want to sell the salted buns?” you asked as your Auntie piled in another load of bread.

“I’m sure of it,” your Auntie declared, “they’re the best thing I’ve made in moons!”

“But-”

“No buts!” she held a roughened finger up to your lips, “just go! You’ll be lucky if it’s not over by now.”

“I hope it is,” you muttered back.

“And just you be careful about The Axe, alright?” your Auntie worried over you as she adjusted your head scarf.

“Worry about The Axe? Why?” you asked.

“He’s a mean one, he is,” your Auntie warned you, “barely talks but… Well… He’s an executioner, dear. He’s not a good man. You’d best keep your distance if you can.” 

“Doesn’t my uncle deal with him?” you frowned.

“Oh he’s nice enough to your uncle, but to a young lady?” your auntie clucked her tongue, “I don’t like thinking about it. He’s not right in the head. If only I could I’d go with you, but with the little ones…”

You smiled warmly, “I understand. Don’t worry Auntie, I promise I’ll be safe.”

“Make sure you have someone with you when he comes to get his rations!”

You barely heard her as you picked up the handles of the wagon and set off to to the Criahlin’s* stone. It wouldn’t be more than a half watch* to get there by foot, less by beetle. You’d always tried to get your uncle to buy one, but he’d stubbornly refused each time you brought up the idea, pointing out the cost of feeding such a thing.

At the very least, the walk was a good one. The warmth of Brak-Hah’s turn had a spring in your step as you moved down the dirt path, formed by generations of beetles, turtles and lizards drawing wagons from town to town. Being on the outskirts had its benefits, that couldn’t be argued, but you sometimes found the walk to be tiresome. At least today the skies were bright and cheery, much like the sun god himself.

As you pushed the wagon, you let yourself focus on the growing wheat of your uncle’s fields. They were slowly turning a nice, bright golden yellow with the coming of Hanndoal’s-turn*, which was heralded by the trees in the distance turning a rugged burgundy splattered with patches of golden yellow. And as you’d noted earlier, the sky above was bright and blue, a glorious day for an outing. It truly was a beautiful day for an execution.

You rolled the cart through the cobblestone streets to the Criahlin’s stone, where the red splotched platform had been dutifully erected. Already, a crowd was milling about in their fine clothes, all shades of bright yellow, soft green and pastel blues, a fond farewell to the warm sun of Brak-Hah’s-turn* and welcoming in the cool winds of Hanndoal’s-turn. You smiled at the sight of it all.

Already, a few others had set up their stalls in preparations for the day. You saw the farmers arranging their Brak-Hah’s-turn’s crops and hanging up garlands of spices to draw in patrons from the crowd. Across from that roughened few, a cobbler was setting up a place to clean people’s shoes of the blood. Today looked like it was turning out to be a beheading. If nothing else, it was an easy death.

You spotted a familiar dark head of hair and hurried to her side.

“What’s the crime?” you asked as you came up to Salvatrice.

She glanced back at you, the scar on the left side of her face bunching with a grimace.

“Why’re you out here?” she growled.

“Is that how you’re greeting a friend?” you laughed.

“Well, it’s how I greet you,” she snorted as she turned to face you properly, “but where’s your uncle? Usually he comes out to these sorts of things.”

“He’s sick as a tracker right now,” you laughed, “but he’ll be up on his feet soon. We had Darnell and witch Rozlin come out to take a look at him.”

“Why didn’t you get your aunt to come instead of you?” Salvatrice scowled.

“It’s almost like you don’t want to see me!” you put your hands on your hips accusingly.

That at least brought a smile to her scarred face, “I just didn’t think you’d like being here. I know you’re not too big a fan of what we’ve got going on this wake.”

“Eh,” you shrugged, “I can look away. But I already know what I’m doing, what’s the crime here? Who’s getting whacked?”

“Judge Holten found Cramus Wright guilty of murder,” Salvatrice explained, “he punched some poor bastard in the back of the neck so hard that their spine cracked.”

“Wait,” you shook your head, “why’d he do that?”

“Beats me,” Salvatrice shrugged, “but he did it, so here he is. Or, well, will be.”

You looked up at the platform where Father Kim was reciting his prayers to the crowd. Most of the crowd looked at him blankly, only a few bowing their heads with his. Beside him, Judge Holten was scratching his stomach and yawning. His great book of law was tucked under his other arm like a fat black slug.

“Where’s the executioner?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly.

“Leading Cramus, I’d think,” Salvatrice fiddled with one of the skinning knives on her belt.

“So it should take a while to get here,” you surmised.

“You should start selling that bread before he shows up,” Salvatrice reminded you, “people might not be so hungry after.”

“Oh you know they always are,” you groaned, but wheeled your cart back to a spare stall and laid out your goods.

It only took a couple of shouts for people to starting making their way over to you. You rolled your eyes when your Auntie’s salted buns sold out first, but vowed to tell her what a great success they were when you got home. Sadly, your uncle’s browned beetle meat buns weren’t quite so popular, but at the very least your crisprunch buns were selling well enough for you to feel confident in your experiments. Of course, the salted turtle buns sold well, but so did anything your Auntie made. You didn’t quite have the talent for coming up with recipes like she did. At the very least, what you lacked in useful creativity you more than made up for in technical skill. You knew your lattice pies were always sure to win over the crowds.

You passed a turtle bun to a small girl when you heard the yelling from behind you. You turned to look, and immediately wished you hadn’t.

There in the center of the road was a great monolith of a man carrying the soon to be departed Cramus Wright, wailing like a mowler on his back. You shuddered as he neared the square, his heavy footsteps slowly trudging by you to make his way to the great platform. The crowd split silently for the man, not a soul daring to step within his radius. Children huddled into their mother’s aprons and men shuddered at the sight of him. Up on his back, Cramus Wright threw his meaty hands against the giant and bellowed like a swamp toad. His eyes bulged so that even from afar you could see the whites of his black eyes as they whirled round and round in their sockets.

“It ain’t me!” the man’s voice carried through the crisp air, “I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!”

Judge Holten rolled his eyes as Cramus was strapped into the stocks. He begged and cried until his voice went hoarse as he thrashed against the black iron chains. His neck strained as he tried to move his head from the chopping block, but eventually his body gave out and he slumped down over the wood.

Judge Holten sighed and turned to the crowd. He pulled out the black and gold leather book and started up his readings, calling out with a pious voice that grated on your ears. You ignored his callings to focus on Father Kim, who sensing his opportunity, had kneeled by the prisoner’s side to give him his final prayers. He painted the man’s face in pigmented oils, forming complex patterns that linked and looped across his cheeks up to his forehead, where Father Kim painted a bright and glorious eye in red. When he’d finished, he kissed the man’s forehead and stepped back to stand beside the half-giant and speak to him. The crowd roared and cheered as Judge Holten whipped them up into a fury, but you saw past them to the silent duo who stood waiting by the edge of the worn wood platform.

There with his cursed black hood stood the half giant only known in the village as ‘The Axe’. He was a horrendous man, what with his tremendous body and his hulking pose. He stood out in any crowd he stood in, a shrouded wraith covered in dark cloth from head to toe, save only for a tan tunic he tucked in with a girthy black leather belt. He lorded above Father Kim, and yet there was something so tender in seeing a man born of blood and death bowing down so that a chosen holy spirit could whisper into his ear. You couldn’t see his eyes from here (and thank Halax for that), but you could see the man’s shoulders shake with a good laugh.

Eventually, Judge Holten closed his book and tucked it back under his left arm, turning to face the unfortunate Cramus Wright.

“Cramus Wright,” Judge Holten’s voice boomed around you, “you are found to be guilty of murder in the highest degree. Additionally, you are charged with the theft of four-hundred gold coins, thirty-eight silver coins, forty five bronze coins, and ten copper coins. You are hereby deemed unfit to live amongst common man, and are to be beheaded with a blunt axe. May Forruxik* have mercy on you.”

Your knees felt weak. A blunt axe? That seemed absolutely barbaric, and yet the crowd cheered all the same.

From the back, you saw The Axe take his namesake axe from his side, rusted red with a grotty hardwood handle. He twirled it expertly in one gloved hand as he walked forth, ignoring Cramus’s screams and the cheering of the crowd. He leisurely sauntered to the side and looked down on Cramus. He bent in half to lean down to the man’s ear. A brief exchange was made, and The Axe rose back up to his full monstrous height and raised the axe up high above his head in his tremendous hands. The crowd was silent as The Axe took a deep breath, momentarily soaking in the moment, then swung down with all his might. You turned away just in time to hear a fleshy thud.

The crowd screamed with wild delight as Cramus’s head was raised up his, painting The Axe’s creamy tunic in bright scarlet red as blood rained down upon the crowd. They eagerly surged forward to try and catch some of it on any piece of clothing, anything to keep as a memento of the event. The Axe looked down upon them with those cold, cold eyes. You could see the sheer hatred and disdain from where you stood at your stall. You shivered as The Axe took the head and hurled it into the crowd to be torn apart. They grappled over it like wild lizards, teeth gnashing and spit flying as they tried to get a piece for themselves.

When you looked back at the stage, Father Kim had his hand on The Axe’s bicep and was speaking to him. Judge Holten was stepping down the platform stairs to make way for the morticians that crawled up from the earth to take their prize. They’d get the head in about an hour, when all was said and done. If they were lucky it’d be picked clean by then.

You sneered at the display, and instead focused your energy on making your sales to the now-ravenous mob.

You made your sales easily. It was sometimes easier to turn your brain off and just take the coins, tuck them into the pouch on your belt. You worked quickly, efficiently, not fully realizing how many you’d gotten through until the sky started to turn and the crowds dwindled to nothing.

Only once all the patrons had left for the day did you notice a shadow crossing your stall.

You looked up, only to immediately freeze under the watch of those frozen eyes.

“Hallo?” his voice was strangely accented, “I am here for my rations.”

You blinked as you took in The Axe. You’d never seen him this close before, where you could actually see the red trails that hung below the holes he cut out for his eyes.

“Your rations?” you whimpered as you trembled.

The Axe nodded slowly, almost as though you were stupid.

You looked around your stall, but it was bare of any goods. Everything had been sold that day. What did he mean?

“What rations?” you managed to squeak out.

“My bread,” The Axe said as though that might help clarify his meaning, “I want my bread. The provisions bread.”

You blinked up at him.

“What provisions bread?” you asked, now confused more than afraid.

“For my duties I am given rations by the council,” The Axe explained in his whispery voice, “your uncle always puts them aside for me.”

Oh! The rations! Surely your auntie had packed them somewhere.

You turned and rummaged through the cart, but there wasn’t so much as a bun to give over. The shelves under your stall held naught more than a coating of fresh crumbs. You turned up to him with a frown, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any bread for you. Are you sure that you’re meant to get rations from us today?”

“There is no other miller in the village,” The Axe grunted, “do you not have my rations?”

You cringed at his accusations and subtly tried to shift your coin pouch away, ever so carefully creeping from him as you told him, “I don’t have your rations. I’m sorry.”

The Axe stood still. You couldn’t help but freeze under his icy eyes. You swore you saw rage like no other in those Criah’s turn eyes, cold and billowing out like a hailing gale. He looked you up and down with those frosted eyes before letting out a puff of air, making his black mask billow out before resting back on his face.

“Then next time,” he said quietly.

You turned to leave but he coughed to grab your attention.

“What?” you asked, a bit ruder than you intended.

“Is your uncle alright?”

You lowered your tensed shoulders, then scowled, “Why would you care? You’re not looking for him, are you?”

The Axe swung his head back and forth slowly, “I just want to know if he’s alright. He’s kind when giving me my rations. What happened to him?”

“He’s sick,” you said tersely.

“A shame,” The Axe said quietly, “I hate to hear that a good friend is suffering.”

Your scowl deepened, “What do you mean? That’s literally your job. You kill people all the time. You make people suffer for money. If you don’t like hurting people, then why are you still here?”

“It pays well,” The Axe muttered, “and it’s all I’m allowed to do, anyways.”

You paused. What in Mormonia* was he talking about?

“Couldn’t you get a job as a tailor? Maybe a glove maker?” you offered.

“Who would take an executioner’s son as a journeyman?” The Axe chuckled, “you see how the others are afraid to even be near me. Nobody would take me in.”

You drummed your fingers on the counter, “Why don’t you go to another town?”

“With what work history? Nobody will hire me,” The Axe supplied.

You nodded slowly before grimacing and offering your final solution, “Why don’t you become an adventurer? Somebody as big as you would make a good fighter, right?”

“And leave my home?” The Axe shook his head, “I love my home. I could never abandon what little I have. And anyways, what if I lose it all? What if I lose more than what I have now? Nobody likes me here, but this place is safe. I’m happier here.”

You leaned on the top of the stall, curling your fingers into a fist under your chin as you thought carefully. The Axe didn’t seem quite so scary now. You’d always figured him to be rude and abrasive, a beast of a man, but now that you spoke to him he seemed just as nervous of you as you of him, if a bit (understandably) melancholic.

You tried to think of another solution, but all that came up was, “Why don’t you make somebody else do your job?”

“Hah!” The Axe barked, “nobody can do my job as well as I can. They would draw out the pain, make the prisoners suffer. I make it quick! I try to make it as painless as possible. After all, it might be my head on the stocks one day,” his eyes softened, “I can only hope whoever’s next is as forgiving as I am.”

You nodded slowly. In the end, he managed to take a man’s head off with one sweep of a dull axe. There wasn’t another man in the village that you could imagine being able to pull off the same feat. He easily could have drawn out the killing, had every excuse with a dull axe, and yet he chose to make it as quick as possible. 

“So, you really don’t have a choice,” you concluded.

The Axe shook his head mournfully.

“That…” you slumped a bit, “that’s terrible. I’m so sorry you have to do this.”

“It’s not so bad,” The Axe offered, “just lonely.”

“Lonely?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Lonely,” The Axe nodded, “only a small few are willing to speak to me, and only because they must. I am friends with Darnell, Witch Rozlin, and Father Kim. Occasionally, Sister Callisto or Sister Mila will speak to me. But if they are not forced to speak with me? Nobody speaks to me. Everyone in this village hates me. If they don’t hate me, they are afraid of me.

“So,” The Axe shrugged, “I am lonely.”

You frowned at the thought. It sounded like a miserable existence. You’d always known the community to welcome you with open arms. You laughed with neighbors, chatted with vendors, haggled with patrons with ease. Life was always busy with five nieces and nephews running underfoot in at home. 

The Axe, though, was a different case.

You knew The Axe to be the only son of a waif of a woman and a giant man that had hung himself after his wife passed. For at least four years, you knew the Axe to live on his own out in a cottage deep in the woods, father from town than even your uncle’s mill. Supposedly, it was to protect everyone from the butcher’s rage. Now, you were starting to think the reverse might be true.

“That sounds awful,” you admitted, “I can’t imagine everyone in the village hating me.”

“You get used to it,” The Axe offered.

You frowned, “You shouldn’t have to ‘get used to it’. You should be able to have friends like anybody else.”

“Well, would you be friends with the man who kills for a living?” The Axe snorted.

You looked the man up and down carefully. The blood on his tunic had turned a maroon red. In the dying light of the sun, you could make out some flecks that had made their way onto his slider belt buckle. You flicked your eyes away from his crotch to look down at his thighs, each one thick as tree trunks and just as sturdy. Looking back up at his face, his cold eyes now seemed less dour, severe. Instead, you wondered if he was lost in his own frozen forest.

“I think I would be,” you offered.

The Axe’s eyes widened.

“You would be?” he parroted.

“I think if he let me,” you gave him a small smile.

The bells of the church rung out, indicating the late hour. You hissed as you scrambled to grab your wagon and pull it out from behind the stall. When you turned, The Axe was still standing, looking completely shell-shocked.

“Hey,” you caught his attention, “if you come back tomorrow at the start of the tenth watch*, I’ll get you your rations.”

“But won’t that be after sundown?” The Axe shifted his weight.

“The moon will be up by then,” you agreed, “but it won’t be too late. I can still make it out here and back before my Auntie and Uncle go to sleep. Do you wanna meet up then?”

The Axe looked down at his hands and shuffled awkwardly, “If you’re willing to do all that for me…”

“I’d love to,” you cut him off, “anyways, it’s getting late. I should probably get him before my Auntie gets worried.”

The Axe nodded and sent you off with a wave.

You walked down the path, following the glowing blue and white blossoms of moon flowers. A few patches of luminescent moss growing across the wood fences helped keep you on course when you finally made your way home.

When you did manage, your Auntie was waiting in the living room for you.

“You’re back!” she exclaimed and threw her arms around you before pulling away, “I’m so sorry! Was he mean to you? Did he try to hurt you?”

You screwed up your face, “Auntie, what’re you talking about? Who would’ve hurt me?”

“The Axe!” she exclaimed, “I forgot to pack his rations for you today! Didn’t he yell at you for them? I only noticed once you’d left! Surely he got upset, didn’t he? Was he too scary? I can tell your uncle he needs to find another baker if he tried to hurt you.”

“No, no,” you shook your head, “he was fine. I just told him I’d get them to him later.”

Your Auntie shrieked so loud you had to cover your ears.

“You told him you’d see him again?” she screeched, “what in the realms* were you thinking, girl!? Oh what have you done?”

“I told him I’d meet him at the tenth watch,” you explained, “out by the Criahlin’s stone.”

Your Auntie looked like she’d keel over and faint right then and there, “Oh by Halax’s name, what have you done?” she paused and shook her head, “no, you’re not going. I can’t have you seeing that dangerous man on your own, and especially not after dark!”

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, “I made a promise! You can’t have me breaking a promise, can you?”

“Oh I most certainly can!” your Auntie huffed, “it’s what’s best for you!”

“But Auntie he wasn’t that bad!” you tried to reason with her, “he’s nice! He’s just lonely!”

“Lonely?” your Auntie scoffed, “pah! That’s ridiculous. Now you listen and you listen close: you’re not to go and see him tomorrow. You stay right here with us. If I see you skeeving off, you’ll be in for a realm of trouble!”

You glared at her, but you were too tired to argue. You simply closed your eyes and nodded.

“That’s a good girl,” your Auntie sighed, “now, off to bed with you. We’ve got a busy day of baking tomorrow!”

You tromped up the creaking wooden stairs to go to bed.

You brushed out your hair in the window, thinking about how lonely The Axe must have been out in his cottage. You could see him now, sleeping alone in his thatching, shivering without so much as a fire to warm him. As you settled down into the straw, you vowed to make sure you’d change that.

Glossary

Wake - Day

Tracker - Type of lizard used for hunting (Mormonia's version of dogs)

Criah's turn - Every turn is a season named after a god. Criah's turn is named after the god of death, grief, hope and forgiveness. This turn is effectively winter

Next Wake - tomorrow

Hollinswake - tenth day of the week (there are ten days in a week), named after the goddess Hollin (diety of dreams and nightmares)

Halax - Creator goddess

Dandorwake - fifth day of the week, named after Dandor (diety of aspiration and responsibility)

Cycle - year

Half Watch - half an hour

Brak-Hah - God of the Sun, Light, Children and Joy

Hanndoal's Turn - Fall season, named after Hanndoal (diety of Trickery, Fun, Truth and Creativity)

Forruxik - God of Justice, Order, Wisdom and Intelligence

Mormonia - World

Tenth Watch - Days are split into 12 watches, each lasting 2 hours 24 minutes long

The Realms - There are an undetermined amount of realms of reality, with the three most pressing ones being the Looking Realm (our realm), the Feeling Realm (the realm where the otherworldly live) and the Highest Realm (the realm where Gods live)

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[arliedraws]

The laws for underaged magic in the WW are so damn inconsistent. In OotP, the Order members and Harry have to fly from Privet Drive to Grimmauld Place on broomsticks because if someone performs magic around an underaged wizard, the Ministry can detect it, and THEN two seconds later, someone puts a Disillusionment charm on Harry. So WHAT is the RULE??? How does the Trace work???

It’s occurring to me now that I personally find it interesting if one were to apply an equity lens to the Trace as a way to keep Muggleborns behind in magical schooling. Part of Harry’s problem with underaged magic is that he gets in trouble for violating the Statute of Secrecy by performing magic in front of Muggles, and because there are no other wizards in Little Whinging, the Ministry can attribute any use of magic to the underaged wizard who lives there. Because the Trace is activated when anyone uses a spell around a magical child, I believe R*wling says that in wizarding homes, it’s simply up to the parents to patrol their children’s use of magic.

Considering this, one can see why Muggleborns would fall behind their pureblood peers in academics. We see this in the real world how the summer disruption of learning can set back many students who have been systemically disadvantaged in contrast to affluent peers who attend summer camps and study with tutors during the break. So if you have Muggleborns who aren’t allowed to practice magic because it’s against the law and the Ministry has a built-in detector for such, you’ve got pureblood kids who can use magic all they want at home if their parents don’t care (or perhaps even actively encourage their children to practice).

Of course, this contributes to further disparities within the magical community. You’ve got students who’ve grown up in this world and don’t have to waste time learning the culture, AND they have the privilege of at-home practice. Then you have Muggleborn students who are thrust into a foreign culture with new vocabulary and expectations/customs who, when they return home, cannot legally cement the physical practice of magic they just learned. When it comes to exams in fifth and seventh year, this discrepancy would absolutely lead to an overall imbalance of scores. Pureblood students would, on average, perform better on exams which would grant them higher positions within the Ministry of Magic, and in turn, they would maintain the laws regarding underaged magic that served them so well, thus preserving conditions that make the false notion that “Pureblood wizards better at magic” appear to be true.

In any case, I still don’t know how the Trace really works because the books are inconsistent about it, but it’s an inequitable law. Anyway, I think it’d be interesting to explore more!

[baconcolacan]

In your arms [Stay AU]

HELLOOOOO! Hi sorry, I don't know what came over me, I just had to write this.

This takes place years after Eduardo found Edd on the streets. They're housemates and have been "dealing" with each other for a while now, so their relationship is very very different now. This is basically them at the beginnings of their QPR.

Some things wont be elaborated on, and this is slightly a canon-non canon drabble for the Stay AU ^^

TW/CW: Self-harm

Words: 2900

One scream.

That was all it took for him to bolt out of bed. He barely registered how hard his feet had slammed against his floors. The sound was loud enough to rival when Jon would just throw his metallic husk around, as if the thing didn’t cost a million fucking pounds on top of a bounty on his head. He was sure that Mark would have been jolted up, if the scream hadn’t first.

None of the pain made it into his awareness, as he sprinted across the house on panging feet, as his thoughts held deathly tight to the sound that woke him from dreamless sleep. Part of him knew that when things calmed down, he would probably be dealing with the aftermath in the morning; Mark’s irritated bitching and Jon’s worried whinging, the absolute hell he’d wreaked on his soles, and at this age he was worried he did lasting damage.

But none of that mattered right now.

Finally, the last stretch to his old room had him swinging his hand forwards, the door had no lock anyway, and whatever items had been pushed into it for privacy was carelessly thrown away with a minor nudge from his powers.

The green glow of his eyes offered little light in the dark room, but he didn’t need to see to know where he needed to be.

“Edd.”

There, in the corner where the bed had been pushed up, was his old neighbor, former rival, and now current housemate. Unseeing eyes darting frantically in the dark, unable to register his presence in the throes of what seemed to be one of his worse attacks.

Edd had pressed himself up to a corner, his hair fell haphazardly around his face, some of it curled up and around, a sign of distressed and interrupted sleep. Eduardo could barely see half of his face with how much of it fell over him, the ends of it slightly matted, split and uncombed. A small part of him made a mental note to try and convince the other to let him cut his hair a bit, or at least let him style it back and away from his face, to get it back down to a manageable level.

Though, with their track record so far, he wasn’t holding out much hope.

He’s seen this scene many times before. Seen it enough to know that the hand wrapped around its owners’ neck was pressing too tight, squeezing out air that Edd was desperately trying to breathe in. His other hand bunched up the front of his borrowed T-shirt, gripping on to it so tight that his hand shook, every so often his fingers would uncurl just to tug more of the fabric into his grip, riding the material above his waist.

Mark had given him that shirt. It took a lot for them to make Edd change clothes these days. He genuinely thought they were making progress when he had accepted the offer with little resistance.

Shit. Maybe the change was too soon.

Edd’s breath sputtered, broken gasps that pattered off into panicked gurgles, choking into a wheeze as his grip on his own neck tightened, his eyes were starting to bug out from the strain.

That was what snapped Eduardo back into attention, immediately crossing the room to settle in front of…he didn’t know what to call him at times. So he settled on ‘his new housemate’ in his head.

It hurt him a little, not knowing who Edd was anymore. It used to be easy to know.

There was no time for him to be gentle, no time for him to be careful as he moved into the other man’s line of sight. They spoke about this before, many many times, his hesitant questions about certain scenarios had all been answered with one sentence, always said in flat indifference:

‘Just don’t let me hurt myself.’

“Edd, fuck, Edd stop.” Eduardo reached out, gripping onto Edd’s wrist, on the hand that seemed to have a mind of its own, depriving its owner of the oxygen he was trying to pull in. He felt when Edd jumped under his touch, saw as he tried to jerk away only for him to bang his head against the wall behind him.

Eduardo cursed under his breath and made a wide motion with his other hand, blatantly projecting his every move even as Edd’s eyes refused to stay still, watching for something that only he could see around them, shaking violently in their sockets as Eduardo pulled close to cushion his head with his arm.

He sucked in a pained gasp when Edd’s other hand darted up from his shirt, gripping tight on the hand he used to try and pry his own away from his neck, a jolt of electricity raced up from his arm to the tip of his head, and he watched as Edd’s own powers struggled to break free from within him. His pupils flashed a blinding green before sputtering like a broken light, but at least they had stopped darting around the room, only tremoring the slightest bit as they strained to concentrate on Eduardo.

He wasn’t out of the woods yet though, Edd wasn’t seeing him, not really.

“Edward. Stop.” He hissed out through his teeth, making direct eye contact as he did so. He struggled to wrench Edd’s hand away from his neck, their arms trembled with the resistance, but he found new strength as he heard his housemate’s breath choke and sputter with every passing second, he was fighting against time here too. “Puta ma- EDD!”

His eyes flashed a sick neon green, the colour tapered off in the veins around his eyes. The hand holding Edd’s wrist pulsed with power, reacting to Edd’s own dormant ones, reflecting in the way his pupils lightened up in response to Eduardo’s own.

This was a gamble, and a really dangerous one, he knew. Vaguely, he was aware of some items in the room levitating in the air, a subtle glow to them in a lighter green colour than what manifestations of his own powers looked like. He silently prayed that there wasn’t anything sharp readying to spear into his back, he knew he could block it, but risking Edd siphoning off more of his powers wasn’t something he needed to deal with on top of anything else that might happen.

“Edd.” He tried again.

The hand around Edd’s neck was starting to pry off. Blunt, bitten, nails dug deep into his skin, leaving red, welting, scratch marks with every inch Eduardo was able to take back. He stopped every so often, fearing deeper damage, but jolted the hand forward every time he saw Edd’s fingers relax minutely.

“Edd.” He whispered this time, firm but gentle.

His eyes glowed a little bit brighter.

Eduardo felt something prod against the back of his head. His grip tightened.

Edd’s pupils pulsed with his own light in response. His eyelids fluttered.

“…E…Edu….?”

Edd’s voice came out in a crackle, whispering but strained. The items around them fell unceremoniously as Eduardo was finally able to pull Edd’s hand away from his person. It bumped into his chest, and he kept it there as he watched Edd blink owlishly at him, slow and unsteady, but recognition was beginning to lighten his eyes into focus.

“Yeah. Yeah. Fucking hell. Yeah, it’s- it’s me….” Eduardo felt his shoulders sag as he let go of Edd’s wrist, he moved his hand behind him while the arm behind Edd’s head fell to the side as he leaned back slightly, pulling Edd towards him in the process. The other man fell limply into his chest as Eduardo brought his hand up to the top of Edd’s head, scratching slightly at his scalp while the other weakly tried to wrap his arms around him.

Eduardo felt him tremble before he buried his face into his chest.

Fuck…..Fuck…

He let out a shaky breath of his own, the gravity of the situation bearing down on him as he processed what just happened. They had dealt with a number of Edd’s episodes before, each one bad in it’s own way, but this one…..he dreaded to think what would have happened if Edd hadn’t screamed out before he silenced himself with his own hand. The thought alone caused him to shake as he dipped his head down to the crown of Edd’s head, his hand combed through his hair, gentle as he raked fingers on his scalp.

His eyes felt like it was burning.

“Edu….Edu….please don’t leave me tonight….please don’t go….” Eduardo came back to himself at the sob. Edd’s voice had yet to recover, breaking at every word, struggling to go above his whispering. He felt as the other’s fingers clawed at his back, struggling to find grip until he was able to bunch the fabric of his night shirt into his hold. He gasped and sniffled into his shirt; his frame wracked with sheer terror as he shook in Eduardo’s hold. Once or twice, a broken sob would claw its way out of him, before he seemingly stopped himself somehow before it devolved into a wail.

Eduardo worried his lower lip, a frustration building in his chest as he turned his head upwards to the ceiling. He tasted blood.

This…..hurt. It hurt so much in a way he still wasn’t used to. Back when he was younger, he had dreamed of a scenario like this. With Edd down on his knees, reduced to something lower while he prevailed above him. He always thought he’d feel some sense of justice, or- or joy or something like that if it had ever happened.

Like, there he was, getting the upper hand on this snobby prick who thought he was better than everyone, better than him. This fucking guy who seemingly got his way no matter what, without a shred of hard work even! How was it fair that he could have it all just because he was lucky? Just because people seemed to like him so much more for no reason at all? Even if he was a fucking bastard most of the time?!

It was only right that he got his comeuppance sooner or later. Eduardo was waiting for it.

But not like this.

Not like this.

“I’m not. I’m not leaving you. Not tonight.” Eduardo looked back down on him, whispering quietly. He frowned when he felt Edd tense against him before another wave of sobs seemed to break into him. He swallowed, unsure, he was never great at this, this comfort thing, but he liked to think he was getting good at it these days. He had Mark for reference, so it wasn’t hard to emulate that but…….god, he never felt sure when it came to Edd anymore.

“Hey, what are you crying for? I just said I wasn’t-“ Eduardo bit his tongue, he winced. He dipped his head down again, lips barely brushing against the crown of Edd’s head. “Edd…fuck, I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m not leaving you alone after that shit that just happened, that was terrifying, who the hell would leave after that?”

He startled slightly when Edd lifted his head up to meet his eyes. His were red and splotchy, tear tracks running freely down his cheeks and sticking some clumps of his hair to his face, he had a thin line of snot dribbling down his nose and over trembling lips. Eduardo sucked in his disgust and used his own shirt to wipe at the others’ face, it’s not like his shirt could be salvaged at this point anyway.

“…I…” Edd hiccuped after he was done trying to clean him up, “I…don’t know…” He muttered, eyes falling downwards as he pulled in stuttering breaths.

“You, don’t know…what?”

Eduardo had to congratulate himself for not tacking on a derogatory nickname at the end. Not that he wanted to be mean, it was a habit he was trying to shake off nowadays, but it was hard, especially when it came to Edd, as he was so used to a certain dynamic with the other man.

Now though….he always felt as though he was walking a tight line, he never knew where he was going to fall. Sometimes, there was a flash of the Edd he’d always known; quick to retort, a sardonic smile on his face as he teased, a backhanded comment under his breath that only he seemed to find funny, as if happy to tell a joke to himself.

Then….there were moments like this…this Edd who fell apart at the smallest things, the one who would refuse to leave his room, the one who held on to a dirty, old jacket that was falling apart at the seams, the one who would wake up screaming, crying into Eduardo’s arms any second he could, when he would have mocked him for ever offering his comfort once upon a time.

The one who asked him to stay.

Eduardo….he didn’t know this Edd, he was afraid of making a mistake when it came to him, afraid that if he did something wrong….

This was all that was going to be left of him. That he was going to bury somebody he knew- a rival? A neighbor? A housemate? A…..A fr -while he was still alive.

It was terrifying. He didn’t know what to do.

What was he supposed to do?

Edd bumped his forehead against Eduardo’s chest, punching out a soft breath out of him in surprise. His hands moved before he could think, carefully wrapping around his…housemate, in a loose embrace.

“I…don’t know….wh-who would leave….” Edd muttered quietly against him; Eduardo felt his hands tightening their grip on the back of his shirt. “….I don’t know….” A sob tore out of his throat at that, threatening to send him down another spiral of tears.

“Wait, hey, no don’t-“ Eduardo floundered as he looked down at him, he wasn’t making a lick of sense, but whatever those words meant to Edd, it was enough to make him upset. Eduardo winced and made up his mind, he gave Edd a quick squeeze as he curled around him, as though shielding him from something. “You don’t…need to know that…” He tried, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not leaving you. What more do you need to know?”

“But you-“

“Shut up.” Edd tensed in his arms again, he felt him try to weakly pull away, but Eduardo kept him in place. “I’m not leaving you.” He repeated, firmer this time, “Here and now, right now I’m here, and I haven’t left you at all, stupid.” He groaned inwardly when he couldn’t stop himself from insulting Edd, but when the other stilled in his arms, he took it as a good thing. He saw Edd peer up at him from behind his fringe, but all he did was bump their foreheads together in response. “I’m right here….”

He watched as green eyes watched him hesitantly, they glanced to the side intermittently before skittering back to meet his own eyes again, albeit seemingly shy.

Edd let out a breath, his eyes drooped slightly as he sagged in Eduardo’s embrace.

“……I’m tried….”

Eduardo scoffed at that, he turned his head, but only managed to accidentally nuzzle at the side of Edd’s head, lips touching the skin of his neck underneath his ear. “Yeah I figured.” He whispered as he chuckled, relief slowly settling around him as he recognized that the situation was coming to a close. He apologized softly when he noticed that Edd shivered a little when he spoke into his neck, he moved to pull back but was surprised when the other tugged him forward, the both of them landing on their sides on the bed, still in each other’s embrace.

Eduardo kept his gaze forward, even as Edd started to settle down beneath him. He used to feel awkward when this happened the first time, but at this point, he’s done this with Edd too many times to feel embarrassed about anything. It felt more familiar now, like something he could do on a whim, he wasn’t used to it, but it also wasn’t unwelcome.

It was…kind, warm.

“I’m…sorry…”

“Pft, for what?” Eduardo answered quietly, fingers back to combing Edd’s hair, untangling what he could when they caught on something.

“……” Edd didn’t answer, only tangling their legs together as he tried to get comfortable against him.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Eduardo scoffed, as he looked down at him, he sighed. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Gold. Just leave it.” He yawned. “We’ll talk if you want tomorrow, I can’t deal with this shit right now….too tired…”

“….Okay…” Edd mumbled quietly, his breath still hiccupped now and then, but Eduardo could tell he was starting to relax. “..Thank you Edu….”

“Mmh.” Eduardo stayed awake until he heard Edd’s breathing even out. He stared at the wall, fingers still combing Edd’s hair even as time slowly ticked by. He swallowed down his own anxieties for the night, figuring to follow his own words and leave them to be dealt with tomorrow.

For now, he just wanted to sleep with his trainwreck housemate in his arms, and leave wondering when all this got so complicated for his more well-rested self.

He tightened his embrace on the other man, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 28 - Plot Twist

That’s not Philip:

Of all the engines who worked at the Big Station, Philip the boxcab was possibly the one who had the biggest personality. He was young, eager and entirely on the wrong side of too overconfident, much to the consternation of the big engines. The little engine had been brought in to help shunt coaches and trucks around the station, but unfortunately, he was distracted very easily.

“Gordon! Gordon! Race me!” “No Philip, I have to prepare for the express,” reminded Gordon, trying to stay calm. “But whyyyyyyyyy,” whined Philip loudly. Gordon’s eye twitched. The big engine moved to head to be refuelled, hoping Philip would get the hint. Philip did not. The little boxcab trailed after Gordon, whinging and whining about how unfair it was that Gordon wouldn’t indulge him in a race, especially cause they were the two fastest on the railway, surely! Philip could beat Gordon in a race, why wouldn’t Gordon race him?  

“I’m not busy, after all,” Philip added, trying his best to annoy the big engine into cooperating. Gordon wondered absently if he’d been too harsh on Thomas for being cheeky, all the way back in the early days. After all, even Thomas wasn’t this bad. “Don’t you have to arrange the express?” retorted Gordon. Philip snorted, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Nah! It’s not that important anyway – let’s go, let’s go let’sgolet’sgolet’sgo!” Gordon reached his boiling point, his safety valves popping as he erupted furiously.

“GO AND ARRANGE MY EXPRESS, NOW!” roared Gordon. Philip shook, stunned, before glaring defiantly back. “You’re a big meanie,” he snapped, sticking his tongue out petulantly before zipping away. Gordon sighed, and set about either finding another engine to fetch his coaches or getting them himself.

As Gordon left, he muttered under his breath. “I do wish Philip would learn some competency for his work.” And then he was gone, speeding down the line with headlamps swaying in the cool evening breeze.

Back at the Big Station, something was very wrong. Paxton, the other station pilot, couldn’t find Philip. The Class 08 checked everywhere, from the sidings to the harbour to the station and the sheds – but there was no sign of the little diesel boxcab. Duck joined in the search when he finished his last passenger run of the day, followed by Oliver, Stafford and finally Charlie, who told so many awful jokes that Duck very nearly shoved him off the end of the quay.

But still nothing. All five had to concede defeat and head back to the sheds, where they told the others about the missing engine. “Let him stay missing!” huffed James. “The yards ran smoother when he wasn’t here.” “That’s an awful thing to say,” snapped Duck. “Philip is just young – I’m sure he’s doing his best.” “Duck, please,” sighed Henry. “We keep trying to get along with him, but he just doesn’t care about doing his work. The smallest thing distracts him! You know where I found him last week?” “Where?” “On the mainline! He’d chased a butterfly half the way to the Junction and I very nearly turned him into a sardine can!”

Duck winced – he had to admit, Philip had done similar on his branchline, though that had been because he was following a sailboat as it made its way along the coast. He’d bumped right into Douglas, who’d torn the poor little boxcab a new one about railway safety.

It was not comforting to know he was not learning.

Duck was about to retort when the engines all heard Philip’s horn. The little engine rumbled into the sheds, looking very different. His paint was scratched all over, his number having been altered so it looked much closer to sixty-six as opposed to sixty-eight. His headlamp had been shattered by something, though what none of the engines could tell. And then there was Philip himself – his eyes were entirely the wrong colour, their former dark brown now a weird, almost red tinge. His almost always present smile had fallen flat, and they had a slow, calculating look about them.

None of the engines spoke for a long moment. “Philip, there you are,” James finally said. “You’ve ruined your paint. You need to go get it cleaned up at once.” “It should be fine,” ‘Philip’ replied, his words slow and halting, as if trying to predict what the other engines would do or say. Again, the engines all just stared, not sure what to say.

“Are you… sure?” checked Duck. Stafford and Charlie both cowered a little more behind the Pannier, a little spooked and afraid. ‘Philip’ considered. “Yes,” he replied, a little quicker this time. Duck hummed in consideration. “Well, you shouldn’t have run off like that. You made everyone worry for you. Now go get off the main road, Paxton needs to collect Gordon’s coaches when he returns.”

‘Philip’ smiled; it wasn’t quite the huge beaming grin that the engines were used to seeing on the little boxcab. It was smaller, less natural and more calculated. “I can do that,” he said. “They go in the… coach sheds, right?” “Carriage sheds,” sniffed James. “What did they even try to teach you young engines?!” The little boxcab hummed lowly, and slunk away to wait for Gordon. The moment he was out of earshot, the shed erupted in chatter.

“That’s not Philip, it’s an imposter!” exclaimed Duck. “We need to do something!” “Like what?” “An exorcism maybe? I don’t know!” Duck wracked his brain for an idea, but none were forthcoming. “If only Edward wasn’t being overhauled, he’d know what to do!” There was a long pause, before finally Henry spoke up.

“What if we… did nothing?” “Did nothing?!” “Think about it,” Henry went on, ignoring Paxton’s outburst, “Philip is completely clueless and causes us so much trouble – but this new engine, whoever it is, seems like they’ll do their work. All we need to do is keep an eye on him and try our best to steer him into being a really useful engine so that we don’t have to deal with Philip being an idiot and nearly causing us yet another accident.” “Edward wouldn’t agree to that,” Duck reminded Henry sternly. “Well then it’s a good thing Edward isn’t here,” Henry retorted. “If anyone asks, he had a long think about his future on this railway – we might just make a good station pilot out of him yet!”

“This seems immoral,” Paxton said quietly. “That’s because it is,” came the blunt addition from Duck. “You’re suggesting we do nothing while the real Philip is… is… what is even going on anyway?” “He might be… uh… possessed,” said Stafford quietly, the other engines straining to even hear him. “Trevor told me about it – it’s when evil spirits sneak into a person or engine and take them over. They’re supposed to want something… but I don’t know why they’d want Philip.”

The engines all shared a long look, none of them really wanting to admit it…

… but they all wanted to wait and see what happened.

‘Philip’ seemed to change overnight. After a few days’ worth of slightly painful adjustment, he seemed to click into what was needed. Trains ran smoother than they had in months. ‘Philip’ was a natural at shunting, zipping through the sidings and doing the work asked of him with ease. Even Sir Topham Hatt was impressed!

“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “But you’ve really smartened up, Philip. I’m rewarding you with a new coat of paint.” ‘Philip’ just smiled his weird, slightly stilted smile. “Thank you, sir,” he replied. He was repainted the next day, getting a very smart new livery that he barely cared for at all, instead focusing on his work. James could have wept for joy when he realised his train was arranged and prepared before he’d even gotten to the platform for an entire week.

But none of the engines at the Big Station told anyone about what had happened on that odd night, keeping it a closely guarded secret. The weeks passed, and the engines kept up the charade. It was clear to them that this engine was not Philip – he had the wrong accent and his horn sounded vaguely like the screams of the damned – but they had grown fond of him, of having their trains on time and of having an orderly yard.

‘Philip’ was good at his job, kind, quiet, and when he did speak he had an absolutely brutal dry wit that had even Gordon howling with laughter.

“I still don’t like it,” muttered Duck one evening, nearly three months after ‘Philip’ had shown up at the sheds. “We don’t know why he’s here at all.” “Oh shush,” huffed James, his eyes focused on the TV the crews had left in the corner of the sheds for the engines. “The big plot twist is coming – I bet he’s been sleeping with her sister.”

Duck rolled his eyes – James was way too invested in a recent Mexican telenovela which a local channel had been playing. “Aye, it is a devil in my husband’s skin!” Duck and James both stared at the television as the major plot twist turned out to be that the husband was secretly possessed, and had been engaged with the maids, the sister and a weirdly attractive uncle of the wife.

“No,” Duck snapped. “You are not going to suggest Philip should act like that.” James just chuckled. The two looked over to the shed doors as they heard a familiar rumble.

The little boxcab rounded the last bend and raced into the sheds, much too fast.

“Hi guys! It’s been weird – I was lost! But I’m back now – the vicar told me that he ‘helped’ me but I didn’t understand. Who wants to race?”

James and Duck shared a look; Philip was back.

For a few days, all was quiet. The engines once again were forced to carefully navigate this unfamiliar engine in Philip’s body, only this time it was the original once more. And Philip hadn’t learnt a thing despite having spent six months possessed. He still raced about far more than he ought to, not really focusing on his work but rather the first thing that intrigued him. He ended up in all sorts of crazy positions, including somehow getting shunted onto the middle of the Midnight Goods and going halfway across the island behind a slightly peeved BoCo.

But… Philip wasn’t stupid. Naïve, perhaps. But not stupid. And in those few days, he began to notice something; he began to see it in the corners of his eyes when the other engines thought he wasn’t around.

They sighed more, when they saw him. They pursed their lips at the sound of his horn, as if hoping or expecting a different noise to come out. They scowled at his perfectly polished paint that he loved, having made his driver repaint over the smart livery with his own preferred, zanier one.

Engines like Gordon and James had infinitely less patience for his antics than before, as if their slight fondness for him had been replaced by disdain, barely masked behind a veneer of indifference. Engines like BoCo, Bear, Charlie or Oliver who had been supportive of his attempts at learning the yard before now just watched on silently, as if what they saw in front of them didn’t quite line up with what they had in their minds.

Something was wrong.

The worst thing for Philip was seeing the shift in Duck and Paxton. The two had gone from being perhaps the only two in the entire yard who genuinely liked him to being little more than distant colleagues. Whatever had happened during the time he’d been lost, wandering through an infinite woodland with a million different places to explore, it had given the others a reason to just… watch him.

Always watching, always judging. None of them seemed to like the outcome of these judgements, always pretending to be looking elsewhere whenever Philip caught them. All of the others would attempt a smile, but it felt weak. Lacking.

Philip felt rather alone, and it hurt.

It didn’t take him too long to find out why. Philip had been heading back to the sheds after another disheartening day, rumbling quietly alongside the sheds, when he overheard the engines inside.

“It’s not the same,” hissed Gordon. “He’s not the same!” “Why did the vicar have to fix it,” agreed James. “The yard was finally running so smoothly!” “Well, it’s done,” snapped Duck. “And we have to live with it. The other Philip is gone, and we need to get used to this Philip again.” “I wish we didn’t have to,” admitted Charlie, almost silently. “He doesn’t even try and learn, he just flutters about. I miss the other Philip.”

Philip fled from the sheds before he could hear any more. He couldn’t take it – all his friends had said they preferred another Philip, that they weren’t happy with him. They didn’t want Philip, they wanted a different engine. They wanted a different engine wearing his face, working with his engine. They wanted a version of Philip that he wasn’t. They didn’t want him.

His friends didn’t want him.

His friends didn’t even like him, they just dealt with him while missing a ‘Philip’ only they had met.

Philip ran to see the Fat Controller. Surely he would be able to do something! But when Philip entered the Big Station, all he saw with Sir Topham Hatt shaking his head as he poured over a spreadsheet.

“And he was doing so well the last six months,” the Fat Controller sighed. “I’d hoped Philip was finally being really useful – perhaps I was too hasty.”

Philip hid in the carriage siding, his mind whirling. None of his friends wanted him. His owner preferred a different version of him. They spoke of a him that had existed when he was lost as if he was better, more reliable. More useful.

The Fat Controller wasn’t sure if he was really useful or not.

Philip went to the yard foreman the next morning, before any of the other engines awoke. He was in tears, barely able to speak around the painful lump in his throat. He was transferred that same day, grabbing some empty trucks and vanishing out of the yards.

Philip would end up working in the diesel yards at the far end of the line, where Douglas had found Oliver so many years ago. The diesels here just snarled and growled at him every time he tried to introduce himself, snapping orders and glaring at Philip until he completed them. In time, a different engine passed by, heading for Sodor. He looked like a truly ancient steam engine, his paint rough but showing signs of recently being touched up. He had a stern look on his face, though it lightened some as he vanished out the other end of the yard.

Philip had been entirely replaced now; his friends and his controller had even bought a new engine to take over from him, to finally give the Big Station the care and attention Philip hadn’t had the capability to give before.

He gave his new yard far too much attention, scuttling between rusting hulks, constantly forced to keep his cab down and moving. If he even considered trying any of the many fun activities he’d enjoyed back at the Big Station, he was verbally ripped to shreds, the other diesels sneering and rolling their eyes whenever they caught sight of him.

Philip should have stayed in that infinite woodland, chasing butterflies and enjoying his life. Why had he ever left? 

Philip cried himself to sleep, and never stopped sobbing.

Back to the Master List

[honeyblonde8929]

Our Home - Ellie X Reader Fanfiction.

TW - mentions of blood, bruises, wounds, swearing, slight NSFW

• You were injured during a patrol walk and Ellie tends to your abrasions. While talking, things get a little… heated.

*

“Fuck! Is she okay?”

Joel bought you to Ellie’s house by horseback. Your head was on Shimmers hips, it was making your head sway uncomfortably. The nauseous headache that was creeping through your forehead made you want to throw up. Though, it would be a bit embarrassing if you did that in front of your favourite people. Ellie rushed to you, clomping her boots into the thick snow. She was breathing rapidly, you could see the clouds of frost exhaling her lips. She was cradling your head when Shimmer stopped at the porch.

“Yeah.” Joel sighed, turning his head to you.“She’s just a bit banged up that’s all.”

Ellie swallowed a lump in her throat. Slightly rubbing her hands together in an anxious jitter. You could feel the vibrations tickling the back of your scruffed-up hair.

“…Infected?”

Joel got off Shimmer and you felt Ellie’s biceps poke into your ribs as she carried you through to her house.

Joel cleared his throat. “Not that I know of.”

“Okay. I’ll check her through.”

Ellie sat you down onto her sofa and propped a pillow under your knees. She stroked the back of your hand, noticing the cuts on your fingers. You enjoyed the way she was in charge and taking care of you, even though this wasn’t the best of moments.

“Thanks, Joel.” Ellie spoke, her voice cracking a little.

Ellie went up to Joel and gave him a small hug, they may not have been on the greatest of terms, but she wanted to still have a relationship with him. He held onto that hug like his life depended on it. He gently kissed the top of her hair, exchanged a few words and left. Ellie appreciated how hard he wanted it to work, to fix things. You should always be grateful for who you have. You don’t know how much time you have with them.

Ellie directed her attention to you. Thoughts circling her head, begging that you weren’t infected. It would break her.

“E-Ellie?”

“Shhhh. I’m here, alright? I said I would be, right?”

You chuckled slightly, blush tinging your cheeks, making your dimples poke through ever so slightly. Your head was in a blurry haze, a foggy mist, but having Ellie comforting you demolished the darkness and shone a beautiful light in between.

Ellie helped by taking your clothes off and heated some warm water in a bowl to soak your swollen feet, blisters cascaded across your heels. You’ve never exposed yourself to Ellie before, but you only trusted her with tending to your body.

“This’ll sting a bit okay? I just need to clean your cuts.”

She started by patting softly on the gashes running down your arm and upper chest. It hurt like hell, but you knew that this would quickly pass. Whinging from the stabbing pain, she went back to stroking your hand in reassurance. It sent warm tingles over your thighs, sending goosebumps from the chill. It made your lip quiver, you had to keep as quiet as possible to not freak her out.

“This is a bitch.” You locked your jaw to contain the agony. She was stitching your forearm with a thread and needle, you couldn’t tell which one was worse. Well, at least the bleeding has subsided now.

“You’re doing really well.”

Ellie looked into your eyes, examining them.

“I hope so!”

You tried to laugh but your ribs said otherwise, your lungs felt very weak, breathing in and out quickly to get oxygen in them.

“I said for you to shush.”

She whispered, Jesus that sent a hot flush over your body. She finished stitching your arm, thank fuck that’s over. And then she took your jacket and shirt off, luckily you were wearing a bra today, that would be a bit embarrassing.

There was a sharp exhale from Ellie, reverting her eyes away from staring at your black laced bra, you could feel the heaviness of the air around you both. It wasn’t uneasy, just… natural.

“Right, I can’t see any marks on your front. Can you turn over for me?”

You nodded, more than compliant to her orders. She supported your shoulders as you laid on your chest, feeling your stomach go up and down onto her springy sofa.

Ellie placed her hands on your spine, following her fingers, going downwards slowly. It was an unexplainable feeling, having her hands glide, cleaning your wounds and pressing into your bruises. Despite the soreness, her rough veiny hands brung you feelings you never felt for her. You shouldn’t be getting turned on from your friend gliding her fingers near your hips, but you savoured this moment, indulged in it.

“Thank God. Phew. No infections.”

You curled your toes in relief, you had some close calls on your patrol today, but made it through successfully by a thread. Your neck relaxed a little more onto the pillow and you rolled your strained writs, releasing clicks from the tension.

“Well, this calls for a celebration, El!”

She scoffed in amusement back to your response.

“Sorry, missy, I don’t have any Champange on me. I think that’s what it’s called.”

“No! I just-“

You sat up too fast and clutched into the grazes on your stomach. Ellie crunched her eyebrows together, giving a concerned look.

“Hey! None of this getting up. Stay put.”

She got up for you, what a gentlelady.

“Do you want a cup of coffee? I only keep it here for Joel-“

You butted in unexpectedly.

“Because you think it tastes like shit? Ha, Dina thinks so as well doesn’t she?”

Ellie snicked at you, holding the kettle in her hand.

“Stop it, you know i’m right. Now, you want some or not?”

You stared again into her eyes, they get you every time, sending butterflies fluttering in your lower stomach and making your heart twist and turn in God knows how many positions.

“I’ll annoy you and say… yes.”

Ellie’s teeth poked out, smiling wildly and shaking her head at the same time. She was cautious to say anything back and let it slide.

The brew warmed your fingertips while your thumb pulsated from the affection you received from her. She didn’t even bother to put a hoodie on, she still had her white bra on, not that you were complaining.

You sipped your coffee, it soothed your dry throat. You started up the conversation this time.

“So, are Jesse and Dina back together again? I haven’t caught up with them in a while.”

“Yes… I think? Jesse keeps telling me what a shitshow their relationship is.”

She sat by you, inches away from the back of your arms coming into contact. She continued her sentence.

“Dina doesn’t know what she wants, she just needs to figure things out, as always. But I couldn’t deal with the pressure of being on and off in a relationship. I’d rather stick together than take breaks all the time. Joel has taught me that if a person is worth it, you’ll see that you’re more compatible than you realise.”

Ellie fiddles with her hands, getting rid of the dirt under her fingernails.

“I realise that too.”

Your eyes, for the third time, locked in synchronised timing. It felt like you found the last piece to a complicated puzzle, you complimented each other, and now was the perfect time to become lost in it all.

“Hey…. I, um.”

Ellie was completely lost for words. She dropped her gaze onto your lips, looking so luscious and… kissable.

Your hand rubbed the back of her hair, becoming knotted by the motion. You put your coffee down with the other hand and glided it to her neck. A slight noise that you couldn’t make out swept out of her lips. And before you knew it, you shared your first kiss to her.

The rush of emotions flooded every place imaginable. You pulled her hair and she lifted your back onto the sofa, wary of you being hurt and controlling her thirst for you. It was so much in a few seconds but the ecstasy was worth anything.

Fuck being friends.

She was ravaging your bottom lip and bit into it, pulling back and kissed deeply into the corner of your neck. Your moans echoed the living room as your hands explored the muscles on her back, impatiently wanting to get the belt of her jeans off. Her quickened breaths salvaged your mind, and following suit to down below. You were soaked from the moment she first stared into your eyes this evening, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“Shit, Ellie, what are you doing to me?”

She was on top of you, pinning your wrists but careful of avoiding the stitch on your forearm. Ellie took your bra off, showing an arousing view on her perspective, her pupils dilated, in awe of how submissive and lovable you are. She grabbed them, placed her mouth near one of your nipples and looked up at you. You’ve won the lottery of a lifetime.

“What I should’ve done a long time ago.”