#as always i might never end up writing this

[yooniivrse]

no but imagine a figure skating au where you and jungkook are ice dancing partners. the chemistry was certainly there during your performances, but off the ice, you just never seemed to click with him. practices always ended with petty fights and weird tension.

until one day, you guys hook up to relieve some of the overwhelming pressure that is on your backs for the competition the next day, and coincidentally, you end up winning gold.

of course, jungkook is convinced that you guys have to fuck before competitions from now on because “it clearly does something”. but it can’t escalate to feelings because everyone knows, that breaking up romantically but still having to stay partnered for the sport rarely ends well.

so now you’re in a fwb relationship with him but you can’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach or the warmth cradling your heart every time you guys celebrate and he kisses your temple on the podium or twirls u around after a good performance.

but of course, you can stay professional…right?

[luveline]

hihihihi! 💕 if you’re willing, can you write a little something with shy!r being the one to initiate the first kiss with hotch but her glasses get in the way? tytyty! 🙏🏼

—Hotch almost dies and you can’t take it anymore. He’s not expecting a kiss. fem, 1.7k

The thing is that you don’t mean to panic. Hotch is marching out of the building with handcuffs cut open on his wrists, Emily and Morgan just in front of him, and you’d been stuck out here with JJ because they never let you do the touch and go stuff. An UnSub held a shotgun to the back of Hotch’s head and you just had to watch. 

You hold yourself in place with all your strength as they come down the path of the house to the blockade of cars and emergency vehicles. “I’m fine,” he says, before any of you can ask him. “Not a scratch on me.” 

You can see the skin of his wrists has cut from tugging, so he’s lying, but that’s not surprising. You shift with your hands clenched together. He’s closer now, you could touch him, nearly speechless as he says, “Honestly, I’m surprised it happened to me, and not Reid.” 

Everyone else laughs. 

You can’t take it. He looks at you, and you, despite the last year of pushing down feelings of nervousness and affection, of pretending you don’t notice how his fingers feel when they brush the backs of your hands or the way his suit stretches across broad shoulders, despite practice, you can’t stay still any longer. 

You weave around JJ, past Spencer, in between Rossi and Hotch himself to press yourself to his chest. You hug him tightly, worried he might disappear if you don’t hold on. Safe, your brain says, even as your hands tremble. He’s safe. 

“I’m alright,” he says quietly, clasping your back carefully. The handcuff stuck to his wrists jabs through your vest. You can feel it on the bone. 

“I–” Your eyes are still open, too shocked to let them close. 

“I’m fine.” 

You take that for a polite ‘unhand me’ and step back. His hand lingers on your shoulder as though checking you for injury, like you’re the one who just had a gun to their head. “You’re sure you're okay?” you ask. 

“I’m not hurt.” 

You look pointedly at his wrists. 

“Mm,” he says, turning on the spot. “I suppose I am. But there’s nothing to worry about.” 

You’re egregiously worried regardless. In an attempt to keep from making the situation about you, you turn away from him and take a walk, pretending you need something from the car you came in. You open the passenger door, sweeping your hands across the leather seat for your phone, but you don’t want it, so you hold it in two hands and try to calm down. You’re shaking like crazy. He must have felt it when you hugged him. 

If you thought he cared enough about his life to prioritise it you might not have panicked as hard, but an advantage to being quiet is getting the opportunity to really listen to people. You don’t talk much, but Hotch does, he’s always telling someone what to do, or reassuring them, and he’s constantly on the phone trying to coordinate. You’ve heard his voice for hours on end. So when Rossi told him through the wire that they were gonna get him out of there, you heard the fake confidence in Hotch’s voice as he said, “I know.” 

He didn’t know. He was scared, so you were terrified. 

You check the time. It’s almost two in the morning but the cars give enough light to see inside the car. You trace the stitching on the seat, your eyes sore and blurry at once. Admitting defeat, you climb into the seat and dig around for your glasses. You’d thought you might need them —if Hotch was injured you’d need to go to the hospital and your contacts are dailies, so you knew you’d have to take them out. 

You pull the sun guard down and flip the cover on the mirror to take your contacts out, dropping them in the glasses case to throw away later. Your eyes sting. You rub them hard. 

“Y/N,” a familiar voice says. 

Hotch is a blob. You slide your glasses open and up your nose, blinking as he comes back into definition. “Hotch.” They’ve cut his handcuffs off and wrapped light bandaging around his wrists. “Okay?” you ask. 

“Are you?” 

“I’m fine, sorry.” You clear your throat. “My eyes are tired, that’s all.” 

He stares at you for too long. Desperate to be out of his scrutiny, you get out of the car and shut the door. “Can we go home soon?” you ask. 

“I believe so.” 

“Oh,” you say, looking down at his hand, “good.” 

There’s another gap of silence, and then simultaneously:

“Are you–”

“Can I–”

Hotch smiles. “You first.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? That must’ve been so scary.”

Hotch gives his head a slow shake. “I’m fine. I was more scared at the time than I would’ve liked to admit to, but I’m okay now. I’ve felt worse.” 

“Really? Worse than that?” you ask, trying but failing to smile. Your wrist is too hot in your own hand. 

He seems to measure his response. “When you and JJ got stuck in the middle of New York a few months ago, when we couldn’t contact you, that was the most scared I’ve ever been on the job.” 

New York. He’d just separated from Haley, and everyone kept telling you how much chemistry he had with Kate, and you were already hopeless for him. It sucked. He almost died and you had to act like everything meant nothing to you, he was just your boss. 

But you’re friends now. Maybe you can be a little more honest. 

“I was scared too,” you say. You can’t help pouting. You must look like a petulant kid. “You wouldn’t believe it, Hotch, I watched you on the camera twenty different times. And now today, I had to see it again, I can’t keep watching this stuff happen to you.” 

“That’s the job.” 

“But why does it have to be you?” you ask.  

His eyes track over your entire face, his brow ever so slightly furrowed. “Because it does, and it always will,” he says, eyes softening, voice like silk. He’s talking to you like you’ve hung the moon even as he lays down an unfortunate truth. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I know exactly what it is that I’m doing. I don’t want you to worry about me.” 

“I can’t help it.” 

He smiles just a touch. “I know. I can’t help it either.” 

You look at him and you know he’s not gonna kiss you. He might want to —it’s insanity, it doesn’t feel real, he almost died tonight and you never would’ve known how this feels. 

You step into his chest. You’re frowning at him, the edge of tears without any of the heat. “I don’t know what I’d do if something really happened to you,” you confess. 

The scratch in your voice perturbs him. Careful, his hand comes to rest against the small of your back, drawing you in. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“Don’t be. Please. God knows I’d lose my mind if it had been you in there tonight.” 

He doesn’t move as you touch his cheek. Doesn’t step away as you steel your nerves. He must know what you’re about to do, but he doesn’t stop you. For a moment you can’t let yourself have it. But then he lets out a breath, and closes his eyes, and he angles his head down to meet you. You tip your head to the side and lean in. 

For a few seconds, your chest is uncomfortably hot, and you’re so scared he’s not gonna kiss you back and that you’re ruining everything you can’t think right. And Hotch —Hotch must know exactly how he likes to be kissed, and you’re probably not doing it right. But you’ve wanted it for long enough to try twice. You kiss him with lips parting, your hand unsteady on his cheek. 

He makes a sound at the back of his throat and curls you in. 

You’re hungry for it, there’s no other word —the second he responds you bear up. You kiss him hard enough to make your lips sting.

“Ah,” he says with a laugh, tilting his head to the side. “I think you blinded me.” 

“What?” 

“Your glasses, sweetheart. They’re at risk of giving me a concussion.” 

Sweetheart. You touch your glasses, remember the problem and touch his face, just under his eye. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

He pushes them up against your forehead. “Okay?”

“I can’t see you.” 

“Well, I don’t think that’s a necessity unless you do,” he says. 

You’re not sure what he means until he’s brought his hands to your neck, holding you by either side. 

“It’s been a long time since someone surprised me,” he says softly. Before you can make sense of it, he’s leaning down to kiss you chastely. He’s much sweeter about it than you’d been and what an embarrassment that is, you’d thrown yourself at him and he’s kissing you like a prince. 

He kisses you. His thumb runs along your cheek. When he pulls away he smiles, settling your glasses tenderly back on the bridge of your nose. 

“I’m really alright,” he says. He’ll be lucky if you ever speak again. Knowing, he cups your face with his thumbs, his fingers slipped behind your neck. 

You duck your head. He takes it as a sign to hug you, ushering your face into his neck, your glasses smushed to your eyes. If he can feel the heat coming off of you, he’s kind enough not to mention it. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he murmurs. 

“Do you think I can give you back?” you ask. 

You’re glad when he laughs, a surprised chuckle that vibrates from his chest to yours. “That’s harsh, agent.” 

You were obviously kidding, but the teasing has to stop. You won’t survive it. 

“Will you kiss me again?” you ask under your breath. 

He’s too busy doing as you’ve asked to tease you. You’re too busy being kissed to remember you were scared.

[girlrotterr]

✧ ⁺˳ She might not look like she gets bitches.

꒰ streamer!ellie headcannons ꒱ a/n: I know this is a little short but wanted to write something silly!

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose bad posture is only made worse by the massive gaming headset permanently denting her hair. By the end of each stream, there’s a wild, flattened patch on her head. Chat’s constantly telling her to take a break, but she just grins, shaking her head with a stubborn “This is the look, trust.” ignoring the fact that her neck is basically molded to fit the headset

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose mic is almost as old as her setup, hanging off a stand with a few screws loose. It crackles with static if she yells too loudly, but she refuses to upgrade.

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose webcam glitches, freezing her mid-sentence in the least flattering positions, like mid-eye roll or tongue out. She’ll smack the side of her screen, muttering. “Oh, fucking come on!” 

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose desk is a mess of clutter: tangled cords, stray stickers, and half-finished doodles scattered across the surface. Chat is obsessed with trying to guess what all the random junk is, especially when something odd slips into frame—like an old action figure with a missing arm or an unopened can of Spam.

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie who leans back in her chair, stretching out her arms with a carefree sigh, her hair falling messily over her face. When suddenly, the camera catches a glimpse of her strap-on, casually hanging out in the corner of the screen. 

"IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?!!"

"DAWG NO WAY!?"

"NO WAY BRO GETS ANY TYPE OF PLAY"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose chat’s favorite pastime is mocking her everytime she gets cocky. She’ll brag like, “Watch this fucking clutch.” only to immediately fumble, staring straight into her webcam, deadpaned. The chat spamming with messages like: 

"Just uninstall bro.."

"How tf is she this bad?!"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose quick to pick up on any kid’s attitude in the game. The second she hears a high-pitched “You’re trash!” she instantly counters, “YOUR DADS STROKE GAME IS TRASH!” She’ll sit there grinning, hyping herself up as the kids try to come back with more insults. Chat’s losing it, spamming, "BRO HE'S 12?!"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whenever in the heat of a game, her brows furrow, her jaw sets, and the chat braces for impact. When she misses a shot, her frustrated yell reverberates, echoing through thin walls that neighbors are definitely complaining about. “I’m never playing this shit again!” Spolier: She always plays it again.

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whenever she’s roped into playing with Abby, her chat lights up with anticipation. Abby always manages to take her down, which only amps up her muttered curses and exaggerated sighs. “I WAS FUCKING LAGGING” she yells, while her chat’s ablaze with "IM CRYINGGGFF!" and "ELLIES ACTUAL FUCKING CHEEKS BRO!" Abby barely has to try; one word and Ellie’s thrown off, dropping all her ammo in the wrong place.

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie when you show up in her game lobby, she clears her throat, trying to play it smooth. She lowers her voice a full octave, attempting some kind of “cool” introduction. But the chat? They’re absolutely losing it.

"DID ELLIE JUST TURN INTO A FUCKING MAN?!"

"I CANNOTOTTTT"

"PLEASE ELLIE UR EMBARRASING."

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie always tries to play it smooth by making some bold promise, like, “Stick with me, and we’ll clutch this.” But then she immediately gets taken out. Chat explodes, throwing in every possible roast, like, "BRO ELLIE PACK IT THE FUCK UP!" and "THE HOES ARE RUNNING"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie who, by the end of the stream, knows you’re still there in chat. So a quick, stumbling sentence slips out, “Uh, if you...you know, ever wanna game or whatever, just hit me up.”

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie when you send over your Instagram, she freezes, her in-game character getting KO’d. But she’s too hyped to care. She jumps out of her chair, nearly flipping it backward, screaming into her mic, “BRO, BRO, BRO, NO WAY—LETS GOOOO!!” She starts pacing, muttering, “CHAT, ARE WE SEEING THIS!?.”

The Chat’s blowing up like: 

"WWWWWW!!!!!"

"OKAY ELLIEEEE WE SEE YOUUU!!!!"

"THERE'S ABSOLUETLY NO WAY"

"BRO?!?!?!!"

and she’s just laughing, all out of breath. 

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie who’s bouncing in her seat, half-yelling at her monitor, “FUCKK ” She’s pointing at your handle in her chat, looking dazed, like she’s still trying to process it. Her hands are shaking, and she’s practically yelling over her poor-quality mic, “I FUCKING DID THAT CHAT!”  Chat’s spamming, "PLEASEE SHE WAS DOING CHAIRTY WORK ELLIE!" and "NAHHH THATS DEFINITELY AI"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie who’s too hyped to even hear the first few bangs on her door. But then, it’s like her soul leaves her body. “dude, what was that?” She leans closer to the mic, whispering like her neighbors can’t still hear her, “um… chat…?” Chat’s flooding with "NUH UHHH" and "AWWW SHITTT"and she’s just grinning, trying to stifle a laugh. “Alright, hold on, lemme go check”

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie where a moment later, she comes back into frame holding a piece of paper up to the webcam: an eviction notice. She stares at the camera, lips pressed into a thin line as chat explodes, crying.

"NO WAYYYYY!!!!?!??!?!"

"SENDING YOU JOB APPLICATIONS"

"IM FUCKING CRYINGFFFF!!"

"UR GONNA HAVE TO SELL THAT STRAP"

[askshivanulegacy]

Posts like these always strike me as ... off-key somehow.

As a writer and an artist, I began posting my work because it was there.

I draw for myself. I write for myself.

I post because I CAN. Because my work is available and there's no reason not to. Because I can have a neatly organized portfolio that I can share if I ever want. Because I just like scrolling through my thumbnails on my art sites or my summaries on A03.

They show progress and achievement.

I don't need anyone else to tell me what I've achieved.

Two decades ago, well before A03 was ever a real thing, when I was doing a lot of my late night reading and thinking, I realized something foundational.

Your stories - my stories - connect you with the reader. For a short moment in time, you are the same. You have the same thoughts and feelings and goals and dreams. That author you're reading understands you on a level you might never be able to articulate to anyone, and you understand them. That means there's a person, somewhere on the planet that identifies with your most secret feelings.

And that's true for every story. And that's true whether you can say anything to the author about it or not.

And that means every story is worth sharing, even if just one person out there loves it, even if they never say so. It's worth it, for that one, silent person.

You don't need people to tell you that you have an impact for that impact to be very real.

And that's beautiful. It means everything.

The other piece of creation is that you, as a creator, cannot outsource your happiness.

There's nothing wrong with encouraging engagement, but you simply have no say in it. It's not something you can control or influence. Whether you post or don't post, it will not affect what other people do about it.

There is a harmful trend of creators deciding they NEED engagement. They become addicted to it and suddenly the only reason they create is for attention. The only reason they post is for attention. And because they've outsourced their happiness but can't control it, they crash and burn if they don't get whatever levels of engagement they've decided they want.

You, as a creator, need to find internal motivation. You need to develop the basic strength to be satisfied with your work. You need to develop a healthy relationship with your work.

Yes, it's a crying shame that readers/viewers do not bother to provide feedback. But you also cannot allow the actions of other random people to dictate what you do. You will ALWAYS end up disappointed. They will never perform up to your standards.

There is at least one person out there who was changed by your work, and that means something, even if they haven't said so. It's more important than sitting on your creations for no real reason other than someone you don't know not doing something very specific.

You can always do what you want with your stuff. If you don't want to share, then it's a choice. But is not sharing because you're bitter about unspecified randos really how you want to do it? Are you going to let bitterness dictate what you do? Or are you going to make your decisions for yourself?

You can only ever make an impact and you can only ever get feedback, however rare, by sharing.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[caitlinsnicket]

viktor relationship headcanons

warnings: if you squint, you might see something a little intimate, but other than suggestions, there's nothing.

a/n: surprised myself by not only writing this so quickly but also by not including any filth. wow.

masterlist | 🍉 | ko-fi

He lives for shoulder kisses, treating them as a sort of stress reliever.

You visit his lab, bringing him a cup of tea (to make him sleepier and get him to bed quicker), and as you pass by, you lean down to kiss his shoulder.

Even through his shirt, he can feel your warmth, and as you leave, he manages to relax a little more.

Sometimes, before you go, he'll hold your hand and kiss your knuckles, his lips wandering down your wrist and arm until you start pulling him away from the workbench.

On good days—the days when he doesn’t feel as much pain or discomfort just from breathing—he asks for your help removing the harness he wears around his middle section.

He doesn’t actually need the help, but he loves the way your skin feels against his, especially during such an intimate moment, and he savors every second with you.

Putting the harness back on is a hassle, but it’s easier now because you understand.

It’s one thing to force your help on him, and another to ask if he needs it. He appreciates that you ask—and that you back off when he tells you to.

Another bittersweet aspect of your relationship is that he’s always cold. While it’s uncomfortable for him when he’s alone, it’s the best thing in the world when you’re around.

He’ll shiver slightly, and you’ll appear out of nowhere, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and pulling him close, tucking his hands under your thighs and kissing his nose until he’s boiling hot.

You also insist that he drink more warm beverages (except coffee—you banned that from your apartment ages ago), wear thicker clothes, and even use masks in the lab because his colds are always worse than expected.

Viktor insists he’s a grown man perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but when you hold his hands in yours and blow on them, he swallows his pride and lets you. Your love comes in waves like these, and he’s learned to catch as much of it as he can.

He doesn’t pay much attention to his appearance. While that unintentionally makes him a hundred times more attractive, it becomes a problem as he grows more important. It’s hard to explain that he can’t show up to an important meeting looking disheveled and that he needs to fix his hair before leaving the house.

So, you sit him down on the little bench you use to get ready yourself, using some of your products to tame his hair, smoothing down stray locks and ensuring he looks polished. The entire time, he fights to stay awake because of your gentle touch, eventually resting his face against your belly and breathing you in.

When you’re done, it’s a bit hard to get him up and out the door, but you manage by peppering kisses on his cheeks and nose. His heart races at your affection, and he promises to return as soon as possible so the two of you can be together again.

At some point, while redecorating the apartment for the millionth time, a picture falls out of one of his books: it’s him as a child, holding up a toy boat with a huge smile on his face. The sight makes you momentarily consider starting a family right then and there, so you call him over to show him.

He stutters, trying to snatch the photo from your hands, but you stop him, giggling at his embarrassed expression.

"You were so cute as a kid! I mean, you still are, but you looked so small! Baby Vik!" you tease, and he buries his face in his hands.

You end up framing the photo and hanging it on the living room wall, right beside one of your own.

But his absolute favorite thing the two of you do together is bathing. He never saw the point of it before—showering was easier and more practical—but now, he needs at least one bath a week just to keep going.

You fill the bathroom with bubbles, scents, and soaps, and he gets to sit back and relax with you in the warm water (which soothes his pain) in a dimly lit room. He loves it: your hands gently touching him, the care you take to ensure he’s comfortable and content in the tub, and even washing his hair for him.

He finds it almost pathetic how completely in love he is with you.

[myownwholewildworld]

12. MORNING DEW

chapter 11 | ao3 | series masterlist | chapter 13 (soon)

pairing: post-outbreak!joel x f!reader. summary: you and joel need to discuss what the future might look like for the both of you. whether that's together or on your own. a/n: HI! please accept my apologies, i know it's been like a month since i last updated this series. but fret not, here's chapter 12! hope you guys like it. as always, i appreciate comments, reblogs and likes, they keep us writers well fed and motivated! take care, lovelies <3 x warnings: 18+, mdni. fluff, some angsty hurt/comfort. smut because i got my period halfway through writing this. fingering. handjob. oral (m!receiving). edging. soft dom/sub dynamics. brief references to attempted suicide and attempted SA. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov. and a special guest’s pov too 👀 dividers by @\saradika-graphics w/c: ~6.5k. taglist aka the drama wagon at the end of the chapter (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!)

It never seemed to be the proper time to speak to you, Joel thought. Ever since his fuckup last night, he had struggled to find the words, to explain what his thought process was. A few hours ago, he had talked himself into ripping off the plaster and apologise to you, but when he called your name and you turned around with a composed expression, he froze in place.

He didn’t want to lose you too. Joel was afraid he would say something wrong again that would push you even further away from him. And then he would truly be alone, all because of his own actions, his own words. That fear clamped around his throat, preventing him from saying anything. From reaching out.

It was stupid, really. He knew that. Knew you were expecting him to say something, anything. Your blank expression was just a façade, a wall you had built around your heart so he wouldn’t hurt you anymore.

Joel hated himself for it, for your concealed hurt. Hated he had broken that trust between you two and made you feel like he was no longer on your side. He was, always had been, always would be. But he had let fear come between you, an abyss so vast he didn’t think it was salvable. It had to be though ― couldn’t be any other way.

The possibility of being a father again laid in front of him like a path full of dangers. Joel understood how much he could lose, because he had already lost Sarah. How suffocating that experience had been ― still was, every single fucking day.

He was frightened to go through it all over again. Having to hug another dead child of his; having to witness the light flicker away from her eyes. Sarah had been his everything ― his hope, his pride, the love of his life, the reason he would wake up in the morning to go to work, counting his blessings. And it didn’t matter in the slightest how good she was ― she was taken regardless. This world was cruel and unjust and greedy.

But there was also a sliver of hope, of dull excitement, shimmering underneath. One he wouldn’t allow himself to feel.

He still felt like a failure of a father who could not protect his baby girl when she needed him most. That emotional baggage would forever be with him. And he wanted it that way, because it meant he still remembered. This grief he carried was a reminder of the love he held. And he hoped it stayed with him, that she would stay with him.

Joel could still vividly remember digging with bare nails the grave Tommy had prepared for her. Elbow’s deep in the dirt, his fingers reaching for her as thick tears blurred his vision. The wails ripping his lungs apart, leaving his throat raw and tender. And Tommy hugging him from the back, arms clamped around his shoulders ― crying, begging him to stop.

“Little Sarah is resting now.”

“Let her be, Joel.”

“Stop unburying her, dammit!”

“I’m sorry, truly sorry. God I can’t―”

“She’s at peace now, Joel. No more suffering.”

Tommy’s slurry voice still filled his ears. His little brother had tried his best to comfort him, but at that moment in time, Joel had been too blinded by the gut-wrenching pain, the unbearable loss. He never really thanked Tommy for that. Never thanked you for stopping him from killing himself either.

Being an ass to the people he loved, apparently, was his only strength. Just like he had been with you when you needed him most.

Joel watched you as you struggled to unzip your sleeping bag, the soft material catching on the serrated teeth. You yanked the pull, almost snapping it from the slider, mumbling something to yourself.

He covered your tiny hand with a broad one of his, lightly squeezing your fingers.

“Let me help,” he muttered as you leaned back away from him.

Your subtle physical rejection stung, but he knew he deserved it. His hurt was nothing in comparison to yours.

Letting go of the bag, you faked looking for something in your backpack, avoiding his eyes when they searched for yours. Joel felt that the void between you only grew and grew, like darkness gaining ground to the light outside.

Could he mend your relationship? Your trust? Your love?

With careful hands, Joel managed to release the pinch on the fabric and tested that the zipper worked how it should do. When he glanced up at you, handing over the sleeping bag, Joel caught the rawness in your eyes, the slight dampness clinging to your eyelashes like morning dew on a petal at dawn.

It was now or never. He was hurting from seeing you hurt. Couldn’t take it any longer, he just had to say something, apologise to you. Ask to start the conversation all over again. One more second of this and he would lose his goddamn mind.

“Sweetheart, I―,” he managed to say out loud.

“I’m tired, Joel,” you quickly interrupted him. “Just wanna go to bed now, if you don’t mind.”

Your words were like a sobering, cold shower after a few beers ― stopped him right in his tracks before he could even begin to express what he wanted to say. Slightly shocked, Joel watched you fiddling around with your sleeping bag before you got inside it and turned around, facing away from him.

His slack jaw was soon gritting. But that brief anger quickly shimmered away when reality started to set in.

Perhaps he had misread the whole situation; perhaps you were not waiting on him to talk.

Perhaps you were past that ― past him, his bullshit and his doubts.

Perhaps your relationship was truly beyond salvation.

He paled in the face of such possibility, his hands shaking as they gripped his own sleeping bag.

Joel was up almost all night, eyes transfixed on you as his brain worked out all scenarios.

You faked falling asleep, but rest evaded you for hours until you finally gave in to exhaustion. Didn’t last long though, because a couple of hours later, you were, once again, wide awake.

The whole situation with Joel was overwhelming. You had hoped he would come to the car as soon as you left him behind, but he didn’t. Then that night you waited for him to say something, anything, and yet again, he didn’t. Not a fucking word when you both woke up this morning either, except for your name falling from his lips like a regretted whisper. Then complete radio silence and nothing else.

The silence treatment he had given you today was unbearable. Even if your doubts had lingered, pushing you to postpone the inevitable, deep inside you had hoped his reaction would be different. Shocked, yes, but then he would be… perhaps not happy, but at least a bit more excited? And after the shock had worn off, he would have soothed you, calmed you, told you everything was gonna be alright.

Maybe you had expected too much of Joel, your little delusion blinding you. After all, he had already lost Sarah. So now, in retrospect, this announcement might have unearthed bad memories, but especially regrets.

Was that it? Had you unburied his most primal fear? You had been so focused on what laid ahead, you had not stopped to consider what laid behind ― what this would mean for Joel. You had briefly contemplated he could perhaps see this as a blessing or a curse, but didn’t dwell too long on the thought, preoccupied as you were with other pressing matters.

You felt sick and it had nothing to do with pregnancy.

And then, when he had tried talking to you before going to bed, you had shut him down. But you were so tired, so mentally drained, you didn’t have an ounce of energy left to deal with a conversation like that. Because you truly didn’t know what he would say ― he wore such an impassive expression on his face, it was really difficult to tell.

You turned on the hard, creaky, wooden floor and faced Joel. One of his arms was resting on the wooden planks, extended towards you, as if he was trying to reach for you in his sleep.

You were in an abandoned cabin just outside Oswego. It was bare and completely stripped of furniture, but at least had a roof that would protect you from the cold, wet weather outside. It also had a covered chimney, but being so close to civilisation, it had to stay put out. Sleeping in the bag was not ideal, but it kept you warm.

Taking a deep breath, you then felt some sort of cushion under your neck that had not been there before you fell asleep. By touch, you realised it was one of those inflatable travel neck pillows that you had seen people use in airplanes. Frowning, you gathered Joel must have found one and tucked it under your head in your sleep.

You carefully studied Joel’s handsome, weathered face from the safety of your sleeping bag. Even in his sleep, his eyebrows were bunched together, a deep wrinkle ploughing through his skin almost permanently, giving him a worried look. His aquiline nose was buried in the fabric of his sleepsack, his long eyelashes caressing the top of his cheeks.

He would roll his eyes at you every time you called him “gorgeous” or “handsome”, but he really was. You loved to tell him, to help him see through your eyes. You knew he sometimes needed to hear it, to remind him of his own humanity. It was normal to lose sight of it in the current world you lived in.

And you loved him, the whole of him and his ghosts, even though he was a tactless prick sometimes. You had come to learn that when cornered, Joel could react like a beaten dog ― crouched back and showing teeth, ready to bite at the slightest provocation. Couldn’t blame him, even if you tried.

Feeling restless, you carefully unzipped your sleeping bag, not wanting to wake Joel up, and put your boots on. God knew you both needed some rest. Silently you stood up and stretched your back and arms, then one hand mindlessly stroked your belly. It wasn’t swollen at all, but the idea of a life growing inside you sat snugly in the back of your mind.

“What are we going to do, little one?” you whispered to yourself before grabbing your coat.

Needing some fresh air, you walked outside in the middle of the freezing night. It had been snowing, because there were at least three inches of white fluff blanketing the ground. Which meant the car battery could quickly drain and leave you stranded, so you went to check on the hidden Jeep.

Joel’s body jerked uncontrollably, one leg shaking as if he was falling off a cliff. Instantly waking up, he nervously looked around him, trying to recall where he was.

His hand patted the wooden floor in the dark, and when he located your sleeping bag, his breathing hitched at finding it empty. Then he heard the front door creaking, a sliver of moonlight coming through.

Were you leaving him in the middle of the night? Had he completely broken your trust, your relationship? Had he no chance of mending his mistake? Were you so hurt you would go without a word, without saying goodbye?

God knew he deserved it. He wasn’t cut for a relationship; he always ruined it. Should have known better than falling for you and giving in, but you were so warm, so effortless to love, so natural… How the fuck could he not? He was only human after all.

With a deafening pulse in his eardrums, he kicked the sleeping bag off as he got up with jerky, edgy motions, running towards the door to stop you from leaving him. For you he would fight, he would give you a whole motherfucking speech of why he loved you and how sorry he was. He at least had to try.

Joel swung the door open, and a frosty breeze greeted him, his skin bristled almost painfully at the feeling of frostbite.

You were walking through the snow, wrapped in your coat and with the hood on ― you looked so ethereal, your side profile bathed by the moonlight like a night fairy. Your features glowed under the lunar lustre, and he couldn’t help but fall for you even more.

Barefoot he followed you, his soles numb after a few steps through the snowy mud.

“Babe, wait,” he muttered, one hand reaching for your elbow.

You startled at his touch, and Joel didn’t know if it was rejection or that he had surprised you.

Your big, beautiful eyes widened when you saw him there. You wore a tired expression, and he knew himself the culprit.

“Where are you going?” he questioned in a whisper, heart still and lungs empty.

“I―”

“Please don’t go, don’t leave. I can do better. I’m sorry,” Joel stumbled with his words.

Had never felt this exposed as he was about to split his core in half, to undress emotionally in front of someone, allowing himself to be hurt by the only person it mattered.

But it had to be done to keep you by his side. So he did.

“I panicked. I wasn’t expecting― it didn’t even cross my mind that you… well, could be pregnant. It caught me so off guard, the news didn’t sink in. I’m sorry I reacted like a fucking idiot; I know I’ve disappointed you because of it. It’s just… ‘s hard, you know?” Joel swallowed to dissolve the dense knot forming in his throat, “I already had a shot at fatherhood, and I fucking blew it. I couldn’t protect her despite loving Sarah with all my heart, so the possibility of having to go through all that heartache again… I just, I don’t―”

Joel took in a deep, trembling breath as he unconsciously palmed his broken wristwatch, trying to soothe himself. He attempted to read your expression ― your lips pursed and eyes teary. Was he breaking your heart even further? You were about to cry, and he didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad one.

Anxiety was taking hold of his throat and gut, strangling him.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m fucking scared, so scared I don’t think words do it justice. But I’m also thrilled, baby, I swear I am. I owe it to you, to myself, to this baby of ours… I ain’t going nowhere. Wherever you go, I’ll follow you both,” he husked, almost breathless. “I’m sorry I said what I said. Neither of us have a choice, but even if we did… I wouldn’t change a thing. This baby is happening for a reason and whatever that is, I’m all in, come what may. I love you, I really do, and I hate myself for having hurt you like this. I just suck at expressing my feelings and―”

You placed a gentle hand on his naked forearm, which made him lose track of what he was saying. Your fingers gently squeezed his cold flesh as you took a step closer to him. Your free hand slid across his left hip, dipping under the tee shirt he was wearing, until it reached the small of his back and you pushed him towards your body.

His taut muscles visibly relaxed at your touch and hug, his lungs filling up as he drew in the deepest breath of his life. Wrapping his arms around you, he held you close to his chest, chin resting on the crown of your head.

“Joel, I wasn’t leaving,” you murmured, cheek nuzzling against him, a tentative smile lingering on your mouth.

Joel’s eyebrows knitted together. From his perspective, it was more than obvious that you were actually leaving.

“Oh? I thought―”

“I was just going to check on the car battery since it’s freezing out here,” you interrupted him, glancing up at him.

Joel pursed his lips together, then licked them nervously.

“Well, everything I said still stands. I am truly sorry, sweetheart,” he said, mouth lightly pressed on your forehead.

A deep sigh after, you took a step back, your hand travelling from his forearm to his fingers, intertwining them with yours. Your palm was so warm in comparison to his, he just realised how little clothing he had on.

“For being a man who “sucks” at expressing his feelings, dare I say you’ve just spoken like a professional orator?” you jested, a grin curling the corners of your lips. “And I am sorry for not being straightforward with you. I was afraid of how you would take the news, and, well…” you shrugged, “you can’t blame me, can you?”

Joel shook his head vehemently. He definitely couldn’t ― the proof was there for both of you to see.

“But I understand how frightening this is for you. I can’t even begin to comprehend how you must have felt when… when Sarah left us. I was so blinded by my own insecurities, I didn’t dwell for too long on how this would affect you emotionally. So I apologise and―”

“Don’t. Don’t apologise, please. That’s a pain for me to bear, you shouldn’t have to think about it.”

“But I do, Joel. I want to bear it with you, so you don’t have to do it alone. That’s the whole point of this, of us. After all, we are going to be a family now,” your voice dropped to a low hum.

A pang of nerves traversed his stomach. No, not a pang, more like… butterflies? Joel had not felt that―the purest form of ecstasy―in a long, long time. The idea of being a dad… it always called him, always felt like that was what he was meant to be, nothing else. Sarah had been the center of his world and while no one could ever change that for him, the possibility of having another child to shower with the love he had buried… it was so overwhelming it brought tears to his eyes, his breathing shallow.

“A family,” he repeated, voice raspy with emotion.

You nodded and laughed, teary eyes too.

“A family, Joel. You’re gonna be a dad,” you snickered, now sobbing.

He couldn’t help but join you, draping his arms around you to bring you against his chest.

He didn’t deserve you, your forgiveness. The second chance you were offering him, in all the senses. A second chance with you. A second chance to form a family. A second chance in life, really.

Joel cradled your flushed cheeks, tilting your face up so his mouth hovered over yours.

“I can’t believe my fucking luck, honestly. You, the mother of my child…” he didn’t finish the sentence because he would choke on his own words if so. Took a second to compose himself. “If I’m ever such a dick aga―”

“Are you planning on being a dick often, Joel Miller?” you said playfully with a cocked brow.

He laughed, feeling completely at ease.

“I hope not. But if I ever attempt to be, just kick me in the balls so I may come to my senses quicker, please,” he replied with a lopsided grin.

His thumbs caressed the apples of your cheeks before bowing down to kiss you. A slow, loving stroke of his tongue over yours and he felt everything was right again. Your sweet taste soothed him, his mind finally at ease. How you achieved that for him with the mere brush of your soft lips, he didn’t understand.

You were the one to break the kiss, pecking his lips a few times before finally taking a step back.

“Let’s go back inside, you must be freezing only with those sweatpants and a shirt.”

And with that, all the anxiety, the mental struggle, was forgotten.

Joel took your tiny hand in his broad one and led you back inside the cabin. Dried off his feet quickly before helping you out of your winterwear and settle back in in the sleeping bag ― his sleeping bag. Luckily it was big enough for the both of you.

You hugged each other, trying to get back to sleep, but both of your hearts were fluttering so hard, it was difficult to ignore the excitement.

“I’m so thrilled right now, I don’t think I can go to sleep just yet. I can’t believe this is happening,” you whispered with a beautiful grin.

Joel couldn’t help but notice how you were beaming now, how much worry you had carried the last couple of days because of him. He felt infinitely better now that the joyful spark had returned to your eyes.

Dragging his thumb across your jawline, tracing an invisible line on your soft skin, Joel tilted your face towards him, his heart swollen with love. He hadn’t felt this alive in ages.

“Neither can I,” he admitted in a rasp.

His right hand roamed your body under the sleeping bag until it found the perfect spot to rest: your belly. Joel splayed his fingers over your lower tummy protectively, wanting to shield you both from any harm.

You hovered one of your hands over his, your palm stroking the back of his hand in a light caress. It felt like such an intimate moment, a respite among all madness and darkness, that he knew he would treasure it forever. When days would become hard, he’d only have to think back to this exact moment in time ― both of you cocooned in a sleeping back, warm and loving, calm and happy.

Fuck, was he happy and grateful. It still felt like a dream, but this was real. You were real. Yes, he was fucking scared out of his mind too, but the joy he was feeling right now eclipsed everything else.

With rough lips, he coaxed yours apart, the tip of his tongue tentatively swiping your teeth so you would let him in ― the place where he felt most at home. And you happily complied with a subtle sigh. Your tongues curled around one another, your sultry taste and sweet scent overtaking all his senses.

Joel felt your hand dragging his downwards and only took him one second to catch on. Soon his fingers were buried under your panties, his hand cupping your mound possessively while his middle finger dipped in your slit ever so slightly to faintly stroke your hooded clit.

Just one stroke.

“Joel,” you cooed, and he inhaled your breathless plea.

“I know, baby,” he hummed back, gifting you with another light stroke.

Your thighs trembled around his hand, and you parted them involuntarily, your body telling him everything he needed to know.

So he obliged, his finger slipping from your clit to your crying hole, gathering the wetness on the tip to bring it back up to your sensitive nub. With languid touches, Joel paid precise attention to your bundle of nerves with his thumb, while his index and middle fingers rubbed your dripping furrow incessantly, his fingertips hitching in your entrance from time to time.

You gasped, chest heaving and back arched, when Joel finally dived those two fingers in your slick, warm entrance. He groaned at your responsiveness, your eagerness, always ready for him. He could never have enough of you; of that he was fucking sure.

Joel nipped your neck, his stubble tickling your skin, then lapped at it while the rhythm of his hand increased. He knew you loved it when he curled his fingers, stroking that heavenly spot that would drive you wild with lust.

Then he suddenly stilled and you grinded your wet pussy against his palm, desperate for release, your hips tilting underneath.

“Joel, please,” you begged in a whisper, your walls clenching around his digits.

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“I wanna come, please let me,” you pleaded with half-lidded, glassy eyes, melting under his touch.

“What a good girl, asking for permission,” he grazed your slack jaw with his bare teeth, then soothed the bite with a kiss. “No, not a good girl, a good momma, aren’t ya?” he corrected himself, his erection swelling at the thought. “Not yet, baby.”

He teased you a bit more, dragging the pleasure, letting it build and coil inside you the way he knew you liked it.

“F-fuck… Joel…” you moaned, his fingers still and deep buried inside you, your hole squeezing uncontrollably.

Your pleas worked, because soon enough Joel was fingering you relentlessly, pumping in and out of you fast ― your gushing cunt making obscene, squelching noises under the sleeping bag. Your moans grew louder as the pace between your thighs increased, your back so arched Joel feared you might break it.

“You can come now, baby,” he spoke softly, knowing you were holding back until you got his permission.

Then your walls furiously fluttered around his digits, choking and clamping and clutching. And Joel fucked you with his fingers through your orgasm, his thumb smothering your clit, applying the right amount of pressure. You keened, breathing heavy, as you came down from your climax, eyes shut and mouth agape.

Joel leaned to kiss you, his wet, pruney fingers still embedded in your leaking hole while your hand teasingly caressed his tummy, his muscles straining in anticipation.

“Feeling calmer?” he asked, the tip of his crooked nose nuzzling your ear as his fingers slid out with a pop.

“Mhmm, way calmer now,” you husked, tipping your face to trap his mouth with yours. “Let me help you relax too, gorgeous.”

A deep rumble coursed through his chest as your tiny fist dove and wrapped around his swollen girth, your thumb gently caressing the leaky head under his underwear.

He was ready just by working you, that was the power you held over him and Joel was fully aware of it. And he didn’t care one bit, he loved that you could get him hard just like that. It was lust, but it was love too; a deep, shared connection ― something he’d not felt before with anyone else.

You pumped him slow at first, your teeth scraping the skin over his Adam’s apple, then his jawline, until you hunted down his lips, swallowing his gruffy moans. Your playful hand stroked him faster, your fingers gripping harder, and he was close to losing his mind.

Then you licked his neck and nibbled his earlobe, and Joel had to summon all strength he could muster to not come there and then. You giggled at his intense reaction ― his muscles so tight he could snap at any moment, his breathing heavier and erratic.

Your hand imposed a devilish pace upon his throbbing cock, jerking him off fast and furious now, seeing how far you could take him before he broke. His balls felt tight and heavy, ready to spill his warm load on your hand.

Joel couldn’t stop groaning even if he fucking tried ― it had only been five days since the last time he fucked you, but those were too many days already. He pursed his lips together, eyebrows knitting in concentration to not come yet, while your mouth ghosted his. A few moans ended up slipping out and you breathed them in as you masturbated him with a tight grip.

And whatever cue he gave you, you knew he was close ― his orgasm imminent. Swiftly you dived your head under the sleeping bag and Joel lost sight of you. You freed his erection and a second later he felt your plump lips seal around his mushroom head.

His hands curled into tight fists, your little licks, taps and laps maddening. Then you suckled the swollen tip as if it was your personal pacifier.

“Holy fuck,” he huffed, shutting his eyes, as your wicked tongue commended him to come, your hand working his shaft dextrously.

Joel couldn’t hold it any longer. With a deep moan, he blew his sticky load in your mouth, and you drank eagerly from him. He felt your plush lips pecking his balls, then his column, and finally the tip, showing gratitude to his softening dick. Tucking his cock back into his underwear, you patted his bulge, gently, for a sweet second.

Then you popped your head out of the sleeping bag with a sinful grin, your thumb swiping across the corner of your mouth to gather a drop of his cum and guiding it back inside. Joel cupped your chin to bring your face closer to his.

“Thanks, baby. Always so thoughtful,” he joked before tasting himself on your tongue.

“Anytime,” you snickered.

You settled across his chest, warm bodies and calmer hearts, and a comfortable silence filled the room. Soon after that, you both fell into a peaceful slumber.

You woke up first, Joel’s arms draped around your shoulders in a solid hug, almost suffocating you. The first morning light filtered through the bare window, casting elongated shadows of the trees outside across the floorboards. Morning dew condensed on the windowpane, frozen like tiny, sparkly snowflakes. Some birds chirped, their melody pacifying. The whole scene was so tranquil, you didn’t want this moment to end.

Loafing about, you nuzzled Joel’s sternum, his thorax slowly rising, then coming down. His heart beat steadily too, so calming it almost lull you back to sleep. Something about Joel sleeping so profoundly made you feel at peace. Both of you had a very much needed rest after a tense couple of days.

You stroked the hairy trail down his belly button absentmindedly.

Joel grunted and stirred under you, his curved eyelashes fluttering a few times before his beautiful brown eyes stared at you. A boyish smile curled the corners of his lips before he closed his eyes again, hugging you closer. Joel buried his nose in your hair, then inhaled audibly.

“As much I’d love to stay here forever with you, I think we should get going,” you laughed, palming his chest.

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose. He wasn’t a morning person.

“Alright. I’ll get up just ‘cause you’re asking nicely,” he conceded, one hand reaching out of the sleeping bag to unzip it.

The cold air hit you both and you regretted your decisions, but if you wanted to find Tommy soon, you were not going to achieve that from this cabin, as idyllic as it felt to be here, in your bubble with Joel.

Half an hour later you were both up and fully awake. Joel was packing away the sleeping bags when he suddenly stopped.

“Fuck. You didn’t check on the battery last night, did you?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

You bit down your bottom lip and shook your head no.

“Shit. No, I didn’t. I, well― got distracted,” you replied apologetically, a nervous chuckle slipping.

“You mean I distracted you, right?” the teasing edge to his voice made you smile. “Don’t worry, love, ‘s alright. I’ll go check on it before we go into town.”

Joel brought you in for a hug, his hands lacing on the small of your back. He brushed his lips against yours in a chaste kiss and you wanted to laugh so badly, you sniggered. This man, pretending to be so decent now.

“What’s so funny?” he enquired, a cocked brow, not letting you go of his embrace just yet.

“You being so gentlemanly and proper now with your decorous kissing, as if you didn’t make me come with just your fingers last night. As if I didn’t eat yo―” you jested bluntly, butterflies filling your belly.

Joel growled at your provocation, interrupting you, his hips flush with yours.

“That nasty mouth of yours is gonna be my downfall one of these days,” he muttered. Then he kissed you, his tongue quick and ravishing. “Enough. Stop being so damn tempting.”

He let go of you, taking a step back and turning around. You took the opportunity to smack his ass before he walked off with a smirk on his lips.

You stayed inside, gathering all the bits and stuffing them back in your backpacks. You were going to venture into Oswego today again, stake out the town and the area where Joel thought Tommy and his group would most probably be.

Shuffling through your belongings, you found the pregnancy test you took a few days ago. The digital screen was still displaying the positive result ― one you dreaded, but then embraced.

In the span of forty-eight hours, you thought your relationship with Joel had crumbled down and reduced to nothingness, to then come back stronger like a phoenix rising from its ashes.

The look on his face when he thought you were leaving him still haunted you ― you hoped he would forget that feeling sooner rather than later. His confession had tugged at your heart so much, you had forgiven him after the first sentence. But you had let him keep on talking, because the self-indulgent part of yourself wanted to hear him say all those things. It wasn’t often that Joel Miller would make use of his mouth to verbally express his feelings.

You smiled to yourself, tremendously happy with how the situation had turned out in the end.

Throwing your backpack over your shoulders and Joel’s hanging from one arm, you walked outside with the pregnancy still on your hand, daydreaming ― your grin now permanently sculpted into your features.

Then you heard a voice you quickly recognised.

Tommy’s.

You froze halfway through the three steps on the porch, your gaze scanning the area until you found them.

Joel had a very schooled expression, almost blank, while Tommy frowned, gripping a shotgun close to his chest.

“You’ve been following me?” the younger Miller asked, visibly upset.

“Yes, we have, you dickhead,” Joel replied, his voice restrained. “You just left a―”

“We?” Tommy scoffed, taking a step back. “You’ve not ditched her body yet?”

Joel’s hazel eyes found yours, still glued to the steps. A silent plea for you to go back inside, sensing this would not end well. And you tried ― you took a step back to run back into the cabin, but Tommy was quicker.

Tommy turned around and almost jumped back as if he had seen a ghost. Probably because he thought he had.

You raised your hands up, showing him you were no threat.

“Hey, Tommy,” you greeted him with a feeble smile. “If you keep pointing that gun at me, I’m gonna start thinking it’s personal,” you joked to diffuse the situation.

“Tommy,” Joel’s firm voice made his brother looked at him askance, his pupils fixed right back on you. “Hey.”

Joel’s fingers wrapped around the barrel, pushing it down so it wouldn’t point at you anymore. You could see Tommy’s stiffness from the distance, ready to do whatever it was necessary.

When Joel yanked at the shotgun, Tommy broke eye contact with you to stare at his brother, not letting go of the shotgun.

“How’s she alive?”

“It’s a long story, bu―”

“She’s fucking infected. You’re fucking infected!” he screamed in a panic, stumbling back with his own feet and then directing the gun back at you.

Joel tried to approach him while you stayed as still as possible, your breathing hitching. Would he shoot? You hoped not, but he looked scared enough to do so.

“Tommy, listen to me―” Joel attempted to talk to him again.

“What’s that you’re holding?” Tommy snapped at you, ignoring his brother.

You paled. You had forgotten the pregnancy test was on your hand, lost as you were in your train of thought when you had walked out of the cabin.

No words left your mouth ― your orbs quickly found Joel’s. Both of you, frightened to death. Not for yourselves, but for your baby.

Tommy wouldn’t hurt you, would he? Unconsciously, your free hand dropped to your belly, wanting to protect this new life you were harbouring, growing.

Tommy’s façade fell, his jaw slack.

“You’re PREGNANT?!”

Joel reacted first, standing in the way, the barrel kissing the center of his chest. Then he pushed Tommy back, his composed expression gone. He was angry, you could tell. Really angry. You had only seen him that irate the night those two men almost raped you.

“If you ever point that gun at her again, I swear to fucking God, I’ll kill you myself with my bare hands, Tommy,” he growled.

Tommy blinked rapidly, his resolution coming back as he cocked the gun again.

“You both have lost your fucking minds,” Tommy scoffed, walking backwards towards the woods. “Don’t follow me anymore. Leave me the fuck alone.”

A minute after, the younger brother disappeared between the trees and Joel rushed to your side, his anger transforming into urgency.

“We gotta go.”

His words were impregnated with the same panic you were feeling.

Unbelievable, Tommy thought.

Had his brother gone mad? What the fuck was he thinking? And how were you alive? What kind of sinister magic was that?

He had so many unanswered questions, his head throbbed with an impending headache. Tommy needed the distance and the time to think this through. At first, he had been elated at seeing his brother after so long, but the excitement quickly shifted the moment he saw Joel accompanied by you. And fucking pregnant, by the looks of it.

Shaking his head, Tommy hooted like an owl, letting the people keeping watch know that he was approaching the two houses they all had been living in. The two buildings were on the forest boundary, far enough of other homes but close enough to town.

Bursting in through the doors, Laney met him in the corridor, hands on hips.

“So?”

“They are here. And what’s worst, she’s alive and pregnant,” Tommy almost spit the last word out.

Laney’s scowl deepened.

“Pregnant? Like, with a fucking zombie-like monster growing inside of her?”

The emphasis on that specific word made Tommy frown. He wouldn’t go as far as to say that. Laney could be a little dramatic sometimes.

“Well, I don’t know. No, I don’t think so? I mean, she looked fine, so I guess―” Laney walked past him, interrupting what he was saying. “Where are you going?”

“On patrol. Need to go into town for some supplies.”

“Need a hand?”

“No. Stay here, keep watch.”

And with that, she stepped out and closed the door behind her, leaving Tommy in the middle of the hallway with a nagging doubt picking at the back of his brain.

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981 @fancyyoouu

@smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille @harriedandharassed

@thepalaceofmelanie @eternallyvenus @theoraekenslover @vickie5446

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello again :) Not my first time requesting but it’s been a minute. An unlucky maiden (reader) is sent to Donna’s by Lady Dimitrescu, because she was caught talking badly about Lady Beneviento to the other maiden’s after Donna came to visit for tea.

(Maybe making snide remarks about noticing Donna’s veiled appearance, or whatever you might come up with!)

Reader thinks she’s being sent to work as Donna’s maid, terrified of what might happen to her even more than she was at the castle. But Donna has other plans in mind..Over some time Donna teases reader, making remarks about her body and touching reader but only in passing. Reader doesn’t understand why her body reacts the way it does especially because she has yet to see Donna’s face. Eventually the teasing gets to be too much and, in the midst of Donna teasing her, reader brushes up against her erection. Reader is about to question it but Donna wastes no time in dominating her. Rough, very dark smut ensues. Afterwards Donna finally reveals her face, Reader finds her beautiful and they share their first kiss, ending with a fluffy moment.

Thank you for all your hard work, I love reading everything you write 🫶🏻 ~A

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your words, and for your request, I hope it wasn't too long... Anyway, I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))))

Poor, unfortunate maid

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, slightly dark Donna, Donna being Donna, fluff

Word count: 8,806

Summary: You must learn not to talk about Lady Beneviento...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

As a lonely and resourceless villager, you had no choice but to serve the Lords, to join those girls who, after being hired in the castle, you never saw again.

You knew your mistress, a huge, capricious woman who wasn’t very difficult to deal with. The rumors seemed to be wrong, or you simply had not given your mistress any reason to punish you, or to take you to her chamber at night.

You knew it was a matter of time, but as long as you stayed as far away from any seduction as possible, you could endure not knowing how dark your new life was. At least you weren’t alone.

Serving wasn’t so terrible after all.

Even so, there were still moments of doubt, moments when your body trembled at the unknown, especially when Mother Miranda, or any other visitor, broke into your routine.

On that occasion, the strange presence that accompanied your mistress was her little sister, the woman in mourning who lived apart from the village. Silent, with a veil covering her face, holding that creepy doll in her arms, there stood Donna Beneviento.

Normally, rumors about your mistress, Alcina Dimitrescu, had some basis; they could be easily proven or disproved, since the vampire wasn’t averse to human contact.

But Lady Beneviento… There was no one who had returned from her estate to explain what that woman was like, if she was really crazy, if she was, without a doubt, the most dangerous Lord.

Knowledge was power, but ignorance was terror. As you moved to remove the teacups, a tremor in your body betrayed the discomfort you felt with that dark presence, with that black veil, hiding where her gaze was directed.

“So… everything is the same in my dear sister's life,” Alcina commented, lighting a cigarette as she leaned back on the sofa, completely ignoring your presence.

“Yes,” the shrill voice coming from the doll said, making a shiver run down your spine.

Could that woman really talk? Was it always the doll, or her?

“Mm, how boring, my dear,” your lady said, shaking her head.

“Yes, yes! How boring!” the doll shrieked, with a little different tone than before, less dark. “Alci, my Donna is lonely.”

Your mistress laughed, shaking her head as the lady in black reprimanded the puppet's attitude with a gesture, without saying a word.

“Oh, poor Donna,” Alcina said, pretending to pout as you struggled to ignore the conversation.

“Yes, poor Donna,” Angie repeated, being again struck by a glance from the veiled woman, who shook the puppet in her lap.

“My dear, being alone is a penance,” the lady in white said, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “You should take one of my maids.”

“No,” the doll said, with that dark tone again. “You keep insisting and I always tell you the same thing: I don't need a maid.”

“I insist because I care about you,” Alcina whispered, blinking petulantly. “You won't find maids as helpful as these anywhere,”

“I said no, I don't need a maid, much less one of yours,” the puppet said, darkening her voice even more.

You, who had already finished cleaning up, were about to put that conversation aside, standing elegantly and making a small bow before leaving.

“Mm, wait,” interrupted your mistress, grabbing your arm with her huge hand, stopping your path. “Donna, you offend me, what's wrong with my maids?” she sang, bringing you closer to them and putting you right in front of the veiled woman, who turned her head towards you.

You could feel it. You could feel that all of Lady Beneviento's attention was on you.

“Look at how beautiful she is,” Alcina said, holding your chin with her hand and pushing you a little closer to the ventriloquist. “She has beautiful eyes, don't you think?” she murmured amused.

“Hello, maid,” Angie said, moving from her owner's lap and approaching you in a threatening manner.

You would have backed away if it weren't for your mistress' strong grip.

“(Y/N), what manners,” Alcina scolded you, pushing you even closer. “Come on, dear, speak and show my dear sister that my maids are nice.”

“I-I'm… glad to meet you, my lady,” you said, looking away from that black veil.

“See? A beautiful face, a perfect body…” Alcina sighed, running her hands over your waist, highlighting your features. “And very, very helpful… That's what my maids are, dear, I don't know what's wrong with having one for yourself.”

“I said no,” the doll insisted with a dark voice.

“Ugh, you are stubborn,” Dimitrescu joked, still framing your figure. “I don't understand you, little sister, if I had the same gift as you... I certainly wouldn't waste it like that,” she sighed, making you swallow hard as you didn't understand exactly what she meant.

“Stubborn!” Angie repeated, causing the lady to murmur something that you couldn't hear properly, forcing the doll back into her lap. “Alci, do they know how to play?”

“Oh, they do,” your mistress murmured, tightening her grip on your body.

The castle lady's gaze fell on the woman in black, who seemed frozen, with that invisible gaze resting on every part of your body. Of course, Alcina was always very observant, and after looking at you with a sinister smile, she laughed softly.

“Look at you. You seem to like her, am I wrong?” the lady in white purred, bowing her head. “Anyway,” she sighed, finally pushing you towards the door. “You can leave, (Y/N).”

“Yes, my lady,” you said, bowing again and walking slowly towards the door, wanting to disappear from that place as soon as possible.

Breathing nervously, you arrived at the kitchen, leaving the tray with the tea on the counter and sighing in relief.

“(Y/N), what's wrong? You're pale,” Olga, one of your companions, who was washing the dishes, commented.

“Ugh, nothing,” you said, shaking your head, letting the trembling of your body calm down on its own.

After a second to catch your breath, you picked up the tray again, ready to help your friend.

“You don't have to be ashamed, it's okay to be scared,” she said, rubbing your back. “I had a worse time when Mother Miranda came. I thought that at any moment I was going to grow horns or something like that.”

You smiled knowingly, dipping the cups into the water while you dried the plates she handed you.

“That woman makes me nervous, you know, Lady Beneviento,” you commented after a few seconds of silence. “She's terrifying.”

“Mm, well, that's what they say,” Olga answered.

For some reason you felt like talking about her, telling your friend the impressions that this woman in mourning made on you. In front of her you were terribly nervous, almost panicking, but you had enough time to notice some details.

She was a young woman, or so her hands told you. You looked at her body, at how the black dress framed a hidden and mysterious figure.

“What about her doll? It's very creepy,” you continued. “It's impossible to know if Donna speaks or the puppet does.”

“Well, I've heard that doll has a life of its own, you know, thanks to the Black Gods,” your friend said. “She probably uses it to communicate with others. Alcina has said sometimes that Lady Beneviento doesn't want to talk to anyone.”

“Why?” you asked curiously, starting to dry the dishes. “I mean, can't she talk or...?”

“Oh, yes she can, sometimes she calls the castle,” she said, nodding without giving it too much importance.

“I wonder what her voice sounds like...” you murmured thoughtfully, not really knowing why you were questioning so many things about that woman.

“Her voice? Is that the only thing you wonder about her? I could ask better questions, (Y/N),” Olga joked. “I'm much more worried about what they say in the village, you know, that she's insane.”

“I'm not surprised, living alone surrounded by dolls can't be good,” you said, playing along with her joke. “Although to be honest, she seemed like a very calm woman to me.”

“Why so curious?” your friend asked, wiping the soap off her hands. “Did she catch your attention or something?”

“What? No, well…” you said nervously, blushing for some reason. “Well, it's just not normal to be able to see that woman up close.”

“See her, I don't think that's the right word, she always wears that veil,” Olga said, leaning on the counter while you placed the plates.

“Yes… I wonder what she looks like,” you said. “I mean, her body is beautiful as well as her hands…”

“It's obvious that she has something to hide,” she said, nodding, disinterested. “If you ask me, I'll tell you that I don't want to know, putting up with the lady's daughters is enough contact with little monsters.”

“Do you think she's a monster?” you asked, lowering your voice, since the silence in the kitchen was starting to be too noticeable.

Olga shrugged, sighing.

“I mean, Alcina is very tall, and Moreau… well, he's not exactly a beauty, why would she hide?” you insisted. “I find it hard to believe that she really has a monstrous appearance, her figure doesn't say the same.”

“She's probably uglier than her dolls,” Olga joked, nudging you. “Hey, if you're so interested…”

“I didn't say I was interested,” you defended yourself, blushing again. “I'm curious to know what kind of hideous creature hides under the facade of such an apparently normal woman.”

“Hideous creature?” a dark voice asked, making you both turn around suddenly to discover something terrifying: Alcina was standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, with a smug smile.

“My lady,” you said in unison, lowering your heads.

Your body trembled again disconsolately and your face burned with shame, how long had she been there? Her expression told you that long enough.

“Well, well, well… So talking about my poor sister, huh? How rude,” the lady said, approaching you with a sensual step and her hands on hips. “How unbecoming of ladies is to judge others…”

“Sorry, my lady, we were…” Olga murmured.

“Shut up,” she said in a brusque tone, arching her eyebrows. “You better go and take care of your chores before I feel like punishing you.”

“Yes, my lady,” you said again, trying to walk past her with your head down.

“Tsk, tsk, not you,” Alcina whispered, clicking her tongue as she grabbed one of your shoulders and abruptly stopped your escape. “My dear, you disappoint me…”

“My lady, I…” you whispered frightened, playing with your hands, which were already beginning to sweat in terror.

“Young lady, it's not right to mess with someone like poor Donna, especially if she's not here to defend herself,” Alcina said.

“I wasn't messing with her, my lady, I was just…” you said, unable to look her in the eyes. “I was just wondering what she was like, just curiosity.”

“Mm,” Alcina murmured, blinking in confusion.

“I'm sorry, my lady, I didn't mean those things,” you apologized again, lowering your head so much that you thought your neck would be cut off. “It was my ignorance speaking, my lady.”

“How dangerous ignorance is,” she said, with a sinister smile, pinching your cheek, hurting you. “I should punish you for being so cruel to my little sister.”

“No, please, my lady,” you begged, clasping your hands together, on the verge of sobbing. “Not the dungeons.”

“Dungeons? How unoriginal, dear,” Alcina mocked, shaking her head.  “I've always thought that the punishment should fit the crime and… well, as much as she denies it, Donna liked you, you just had to see the way she looked at you…”

“Excuse me, my lady?” you asked looking for your friend with your gaze, a friend who had long since fled in terror.

“Oh, yes, of course she likes you…” she murmured, speaking to herself while grabbing your chin, as if she were studying you. “Mm, yes… Pack your bags, (Y/N), your work at the castle is over.”

“What? I mean, are you firing me, my lady?” you asked scared, with your eyes wide open. “Please, I need the job, I…”

“Shh… You're a girl who likes to take things for granted, aren't you? I said that your work in the castle is over, not that you stop being a maid,” Alcina corrected, shaking her head.

“I don't understand, my lady,” you whispered with a broken voice.

“Since you like to talk about my sister so much… well, you'd better work for her, don't you think? From now on you'll be Donna Beneviento's maid,” she finally said, pointing at you with her finger. “And before you protest, my dear… there's room in the dungeons for disobedient maids.”

“But, but…” you said frightened, shaking your head at your new destiny.

 No, anything but her, but that… monster.

“Do I hear complaints?” Alcina asked, with a defiant look. “Do you have any problem serving Lady Beneviento? Well, maybe you prefer the dungeons after all,” she sighed, turning around and setting off all your alarms.

You moved quickly, reaching for your mistress's arm and tugging lightly on it. She didn't mind, on the contrary, she started laughing in a sinister way.

“No, please, I… it's fine, I'll serve Lady Beneviento,” you finally sighed, lowering your head, giving up.

“Good girl,” Alcina said, satisfied, putting a hand on your chin again. “You'll leave tomorrow, I still have to convince my stubborn sister although… I don't think I'll have to try too hard.”

The lady of the castle wasn't lying. You didn't know what was said during that conversation, but your former mistress's pleased smile told you that you would have no choice but to pack your bags and head into the forest.

You were scared, truly scared. In the village everyone liked to speculate, to talk about those semi-deities that protected the village from those unfaithful to the Black Gods. The lady in black was no exception, although you would have liked it to be.

Terror, nightmares, mind games, hallucinations… those seemed to be the powers of the youngest of the Lords. You certainly had no reason to doubt such rumors, but they weren't enough to reassure you, quite the contrary. Life in the castle was truly hard, all your companions kept an eye on Alcina Dimitrescu, avoiding being one of her frequent whims.

Luckily, you were spared from those nightly visits to her chambers, although you didn't know for how long. Free of that responsibility and the firm hand that controlled you in the castle, you should have been relieved, you couldn't.

Donna Beneviento was mysterious, dangerous, mentally ill, a reserved, isolated woman, a woman who always covered her face and who always aroused your curiosity. But curiosity and fear clashed with each other.

Working in the castle wasn’t pleasant, but not knowing what awaited you in that sinister mansion made you want to run back into the arms of your former mistress.

“Maid!” Angie shrieked when you reached the door, suddenly opening it and causing you to almost trip. “It's about time!”

“H-Hello,” you stammered, looking first at the Angie doll and moments later reaching the face of the lady, who was waiting patiently behind the puppet.

The woman in black barely moved, making a vague gesture with her head and turning, leaving you paralyzed.

“What are you doing, stupid? Come in,” Angie insisted, pulling on your dress to drag you into the mansion.

Everything around you was… damp. The walls had seen better days and the layer of dust in that place was even breathable. It seemed like an almost abandoned place, but at the same time you felt warmth, surely because of the lights that made it not seem like a sinister or terrible place.

“M-My lady,” you stammered, drawing Beneviento's attention.

She stopped in her slow walk, turning to look at you, taking several steps forward.

“I-I'm (Y/N),” you introduced yourself, bowing shakily.

The lady in black didn't move, she just watched you in silence, creating a terribly disturbing atmosphere between you two.

“I know who you are, you fool!” Angie shrieked, scaring you again, walking around you mockingly. “You're the gossipy maid.”

“Gossipy?” you asked, backing away slowly, keeping an eye on the exit door in case you had to flee.

“Don't play dumb, you fool,” Angie snapped, threateningly. “You're that stupid girl who talks about my Donna.”

“What? I, I don’t…” you said, terribly embarrassed. You didn’t think Alcina would give you away like that. “My lady, I promise you I…”

“Save your promises, silly maid, Alci told us you were talking about my Donna,” the doll accused you, unfortunately being right. “What do you have to say?”

“I’m sorry,” you said in a whisper, looking away from the black veil that remained impassive, watching you. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone, it’s just that… W-Well, I… just…”

“Ugh, shut up, you’re very annoying,” Angie protested, running back to her owner, also pulling at her black dress. “Donna, Donna, let me play with her. She’s a bad girl…”

The lady shook her head at the doll, denying her companion’s dark request, much to your relief. After a few more seconds of tension, she moved slowly towards you, with an elegant and stoic walk.

She was so close that you could hear her breathing through the black fabric, and when the woman raised a hand towards you, you couldn't help but shrink into yourself.

“Cosa fai?” she asked, leaving you even more frozen.

As far as you knew, no one, much less a simple maiden like you had ever heard Lady Beneviento speak in her own voice. It was a melodic voice, hoarse from lack of use, but it had a certain charm, or so it seemed to you at first.

“Um, I, I...” you stammered regaining your previous posture as the lady sighed, moving her arm towards you again. “I'm sorry.”

“What are you wearing?” the lady asked, not paying attention to the trembling that showed your fear.

“Um, a dress, my lady,” you said as best you could, looking away.

“Mm,” she murmured, touching your clothes passively, almost with contempt. “You didn't dress like that in the castle.”

“No, well, there I wore the uniform,” you explained, letting those slender fingers run over your dress.

She didn't seem to notice your discomfort, or rather, she didn't care at all. Lady Beneviento continued to run her hands over your dress, allowing you to confirm that indeed, she was a young woman. You wondered if those hands were as soft as they seemed...

“Mm, so why aren't you wearing it here?” she asked in a serious tone, moving away a little from your personal space. “You're my maid, you have to dress like one.”

“Yes, well, I just arrived, my lady,” you said pleasantly, with a shy smile, tightly gripping the handle of your suitcase. “I'll change right away and…”

“Alcina told me I could do whatever I wanted with you,” Donna commented, tilting her head, making her black veil dance.

“Oh, um,” you said with wide eyes, praying to the Black Gods to have mercy on your soul. “I-I suppose that's what she told you…”

“Tell me, what should I do with you?” she asked again, with an impatient voice, which betrayed a certain nervousness. “I know what you said about me.”

“I didn't know that… well, I…” you stammered, with the suitcase shaking in your hand, closing your eyes to await your fate. “ I just spoke without knowing and… I…”

“You said I have pretty hands,” she interrupted you, joining her hands in front of your body. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes, of course, they… seem very soft,” you answered with your best performance, looking sideways at those hands, the hands of a woman who must be… beautiful?

“Mm,” she murmured again.

“Donna, Donna, let's play with her,” insisted Angie, who seemed impatient to torture you.

The lady looked slowly at her doll and then at you, in a strange way, staring at you so much that you could feel a cold draft on your chest.

“No, not now,” she finally answered.

Not now?

“My lady, I…” you whispered, not knowing whether to apologize or to directly ask for mercy for your poor unfortunate soul.

“Taci, I don't want to hear you, you annoy me,” the lady in black protested, with a cold, dark tone despite that melodic voice marked with a seductive accent. “From now on you are my maid, mine, do you hear me?”

You nodded, lowering your head.

“Listen carefully, silly, silly,” Angie sang, laughing in a disturbing way.

“I don't need to say what a maid does, do I?” Donna said, with a cocky, almost mocking tone, to which you shook your head. “I want you to clean the house, do the laundry, and…”

“I know what a maid does, my lady,” you interrupted, with the terrible idea of ​​being somewhat defiant, a bad idea, of course.

“Mm, shut up while I'm talking,” the lady snapped at you, clenching her fists. “Don't disturb me when I'm working, and don't talk unless I ask you to, is that clear?”

“Yes, my lady,” you said, making your first mistake, speaking without permission, making the lady in black put the hands on her hips. “Oh, I'm sorry, I…”

“Well, let’s make a change: if I tell you to shut up, you shut up, better that way?”

“Yes, my lady,” you sighed nervously, wanting to get out of that place, wanting to go back to your life in the castle, something you never thought you wanted so badly.

“One more thing… You have to do what I tell you, when I tell you,” she hissed in a dangerous voice, approaching you again. “If you disobey me… you will regret it.”

“Yes, my lady,” you said, believing that at any moment your heart would fail you.

“Mm, take off that horrible dress and put on your maid uniform, then you can rest,” Donna ordered you, turning and walking away from you without paying you any attention.

“Sorry, my lady…” you said, interrupting her walk again. “Where…?”

“Piano superiore,” she whispered, pointing to the stairs and abandoning you definitively.

You decided not to say anything, to obey as you had been ordered and walk towards the stairs. On the wall, there was a portrait, a portrait of a beautiful woman that you couldn't help but notice.

Her cold gaze, her regal pose, the Angie doll in her arms… It could be Donna, or it couldn’t be. You thought you had enough punishment for your innate curiosity, but your insides were demanding a lot of answers to the questions you still had.

“Is that you?” you asked in a low voice, running a hand over the canvas, staring at her eyes. “Tell me, why are you covering yourself? You are a beautiful woman… but terrifying too,” you commented, slowly climbing the stairs, fleeing from the captivating gaze that caught your attention.

Without wasting time you changed your clothes, adjusting the somewhat indiscreet castle uniform while looking at yourself in an old mirror. Of course the room was small, but at least you wouldn't have to share it with anyone.

From that moment on you knew that this room was your refuge, it was a safe place, although you doubted if there really was a safe place in that house.

“Hey!” An unpleasant squeal scared you, making you stumble and fall on the bed.

The Angie doll was there, it made you nervous to think for how long.

“Miss… Angie,” you said with your hand on your chest, putting on your clothes and trying to regain your composure.

“Did I scare you?” she asked while laughing at your clumsy movements and your terrified look.

“You did,” you said, frowning. “I mean, miss.”

“Bah, stop with the formalities. I'm not Donna, although she doesn't really like that concept of... my lady either,” the doll said, mocking her owner and making you glance sideways at the door, just in case.

“She hates me, doesn't she?” you asked without really knowing why, why you were worried about your new lady's opinion of you.

“No,” Angie said, shaking her head. “My Donna has a habit of scaring everyone, but it's not her fault. Unlike me, the wonderful and majestic Angie, she doesn't know how to deal with people.”

“Um...” you murmured confused.

“It's nothing personal, she does it unintentionally,” the puppet explained, moving your stuff with childish curiosity. “I don't even believe that she would finally want to have a maid, I've been insisting for years.”

“I see,” you sighed, letting yourself fall on the bed, finding some comfort with the doll. “She seemed upset by… well, by what Alcina told her.”

“Upset? No,” the doll said, comically rummaging through your clothes. “Why would she be upset about that?”

“W-Well, Donna knows that Alcina heard me talk about her in the castle and…” you whispered, playing with your hands and watching Angie as she messed up your luggage.

“So?” the doll asked, finally emerging from your luggage. “My Donna likes when people say nice things about her.”

You stepped back, frowning and starting to get more and more confused.

“N-Nice things?” you asked with a trembling voice, scratching the back of your neck. “I…”

“Yes, yes, yes…” Angie said, interrupting you abruptly. “I know, she has a nice body, her hands are beautiful, she probably is beautiful … you don't need to repeat it, silly.”

“Um, I, I… I thought that…” you stammered.

Well, Angie didn't lie, you had said those things in the kitchen, but you had also questioned her appearance, you had speculated about the monster that black veil must hide.

You didn't know why Alcina had been spared the worst part of your gossipy comment. The situation was getting more and more tense, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

Donna didn't know that dark part of your conversation, although her threatening and arrogant attitude seemed to say the opposite.

“What? Were you lying? You gossipy maid...” Angie hissed, pointing at you and getting very close to your personal space.

“No, no, no,” you said nervously, waving your hands in a defensive position. “I wasn't lying, that's what I think.”

“Good, because Donna would be very disappointed if you were, and I suppose you intuit what happens to stupid girls who disappoint my Donna, right?” the doll threatened.

“Um, I don't know,” you murmured, still looking at the door.

“Well, the truth is that I don't know either, you're the first fool who works as her maid,” Angie said, somewhat thoughtful, sitting down next to you.

“Yeah, um, hey, Angie, you don't seem to hate me too much,” you said with a cautious tone, making the doll turn around amused.

“That remains to be seen, silly”

“Yeah, um, could you give me some advice? I mean, I'd like not to disappoint your Donna, but it's just that… I-I don't know how to be with her, she's… weird,” you said nervously, studying the doll's subtle reaction.

“Oh, yes, she's very weird,” Angie confirmed. “But don't worry, she won't hurt you if you're nice to her, especially if you keep saying such nice things…” the doll whispered in a confident manner. “Although don't expect her to thank you, my Donna is very reclusive.”

The first few days were the worst.

The lady in black was certainly a woman who wasn’t well in the head, but in all that time you hadn't noticed anything as serious as the rumors said. She was simply… there. Sometimes she watched you in silence, other times it was as if you didn't exist. You couldn't say you were comfortable, but your stay wasn't unpleasant either.

Little by little you asked yourself questions, you let curiosity accompany you at night, imagining a thousand horrible things that could be under that black veil, things that were pushed out of your mind when you remembered that beautiful portrait. You couldn't say that woman attracted you in any way, but at the same time you couldn't stop thinking about her.

She was so mysterious, so strange that you couldn't help but direct your gaze towards her from time to time, noticing every detail of her body dressed in black, her hands, her careful manicure, the elegance of her walk.

Anyway, you didn't have many more things to entertain yourself with in that place. After two weeks, loneliness began to fall on you, but, if you wanted to serve your new mistress, you would have to endure a little longer. Who knows, maybe one day Alcina would call and you would return to the castle.

On the one hand you wanted it to happen, on the other you wanted to stay a little longer, to discover something else about that mysterious lady.

 “(Y/N),” her dark voice called you from the hallway while you were cleaning like every morning. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, um, cleaning, my…. Donna,” you said without meaning to, remembering the words of the Angie doll the first day. Seeing her nervous reaction, you immediately regretted your words. “Oh, sorry, my lady, Angie told me that…”

“What's wrong? You don't like my name?” she asked with an offended tone, tilting her black veil.

“Of course I like it, it's a beautiful name,” you said in your defense, dealing with the lady's erratic attitude. “I-It means woman in Italian, right?”

“Mm,” Donna murmured with disinterest. “Angie is right. I don't like you calling me as if I were your former owner.”

“Owner?” you asked to yourself, blinking in confusion. “I-It's okay, Donna,” you said faking a smile. “Do you need something?”

“You haven't cleaned the basement in two weeks, (Y/N), why?” the lady asked, with a soft, but serious tone.

“Um, well, I… I didn't want to disturb you,” you said with an apologetic look. “I thought…”

“What did you think? Do you need me to tell you what you have to do at every moment?” she questioned, with a pretentious tone. “Are you stupid?”

“No, I…” you said annoyed by that out of context insult, but you stood firm. “You told me not to do anything you didn't ask me to and…”

She sighed, relaxing her posture a little, as if she had somehow become nervous, something curious.

“W-Well, I'm asking you now, I need you to clean the workshop,” she said with a brittle, nervous, even embarrassed tone.

“Okay,” you whispered, walking towards the hallway she indicated, passing close, very close to her.

A shiver ran down your spine, making you tremble when you noticed how her hand brushed against yours due to the proximity. Surely it was just that, a casual brush, but you couldn't help but think that she had done it on purpose, that her fingers moved just at the moment you passed by her.

You blinked confused and looked at her out of the corner of your eye, but you didn't say anything, just like her, who just followed you slowly, walking behind you, making the sound of her heels on the wood seem like some kind of subtle threat.

Donna entered the elevator with you and leaned down to press the button, brushing her arm against your body again. You should feel uncomfortable with that contact, but you didn't. Your cheeks flushed as you noticed the lady's lavender scent, as you noticed her so close to your body.

You shook your head and looked ahead, but you kept noticing something, a look, a look that didn't seem to want to move from yours as you descended. You really couldn't be sure if she was really watching you in silence but... what else could she be looking at?

“I'll try not to disturb you too much,” you whispered as you entered the workshop, seeing how the lady ignored you again, sitting at her work table and nodding slowly, almost imperceptibly.

“Va bene,” she sighed with a soft, muffled voice, grabbing a porcelain head that gave you another kind of chills.

In silence, far from any source of natural light or even from Angie, your undercover ally, you felt the atmosphere full of tension, full of an uncomfortable heaviness.

With all your skill and discretion, you cleaned each of the shelves in that place, feeling a small pang in your back, a silent alert that your body sent to your mind, making you turn your head.

Again, again those invisible eyes were watching you. Her veil looked towards you, until your eyes fell on it. The lady turned her head slowly, going over the details of the porcelain.

You noticed a detail… You had seen that head, but you hadn’t seen progress in its painting, so… Donna hadn’t been working but… she had been watching you all the time.

You swallowed as you tried to keep your shaking hand from wiping away the dust. The thought of the lady watching you definitely didn't make you uncomfortable at all, but you felt warmth slowly rose up your legs until it settled in your chest.

The sound of the chair dragging across the floor alerted you, causing you to wake up from that strange dream and clean faster. One step, two, the lady in black was slowly approaching and you had to fight not to let yourself be carried away by your instincts and turn around.

“Donna,” you said in a formal tone, stepping away when the lady seemed to be searching for something on the shelves, looking at you briefly. “Do you need something?”

“No,” she whispered coldly, bringing you closer as she moved some paint jars.

The lavender was present again and the warmth that lay in your chest spread to your cheeks. Her body was brushing against yours, her dress was brushing against yours, she was too close and for some reason you didn't care.

You gasped in surprise when you noticed something on your back, a hand running slowly up and down. It couldn't be anyone else, it was Donna. It was her hand exploring your uniform while she pretended to be searching for something.

Slowly her gaze returned to yours, she moved away from your eyes the view you had of the side of her face: black hair framing a normal ear and a pale skin that you were convinced was soft, very soft.

Her fingers continued to play with your back, passing over your neck and finally moving away from your skin. Of course Donna was perfectly aware of what she was doing, bringing that daring hand to your waist, passing over it with a subtle touch.

“Il tuo corpo è bellisimo…” she whispered in your ear, coming closer, leaning in slowly as her hands began to run over your figure.

“S-Sorry?” you asked nervously, letting yourself be carried away by those strange sensations due to the softness of her discreet caresses.

“Unlike you, I'm not afraid to tell you,” Donna whispered, abandoning your personal space, letting the cold be the signal your body had to relax. “Che stai guardando? Keep working, maid,” she said, returning to her chair, leaving you completely paralyzed.

“O-Okay,” you whispered, with the cloth shaking in your hand, with your heart beating rapidly.

You didn't know what had happened exactly, but you did know that it had been something intentional.

The lady in black had approached you, had touched you subtly, had commented that your body seemed beautiful to her, or so you thought. It was probably just a test. To your surprise, it wasn't.

It didn't matter much what you were doing. Sometimes she would come closer in silence, just to brush against you, to have her body caress yours, passing it off as a coincidence.

Her fingers would sometimes run over your skin, sometimes would smooth your hair. Always in silence, always with your own body freezing, allowing those teasing, those caresses on your skin that seemed to have no sense.

Other times the lady's attitude was different, she could be calm, and suddenly get nervous. She never apologized for those approaches, and she knew she didn't have to, but she made some comment, some observation out loud that praised some of your virtues.

The softness of your skin, your supposedly perfect neck, questions about what kind of beauty your uniform hid... They were disturbing comments if you weren't enjoying them.

You soon got used to those shy and at the same time brazen approaches, letting your skin be just a canvas for her hands, to touch, to touch whatever they wanted. She was your mistress, and you wanted to continue seeing her that way, but you couldn't help but dream of those caresses, of that woman in the portrait, with that black veil on a face that you were sure was beautiful.

Of course you found a certain mockery in her words, certain references to the comments you made about Donna and that Alcina didn't hesitate to tell her. Was she laughing at you? Did she like to make you nervous? Was it a sign of her power over you, over her maid?

More and more questions and fewer answers.

The only thing you knew, the only thing you didn't understand, was the heat your body generated with those touches, the heat you felt one day when you were cleaning the kitchen and the lady came closer without stopping looking at you, bending down to take something from a cupboard, making her breasts brush against yours.

The heat was unbearable. The trembling of your body prevented you from doing anything but smile shyly at that contact. You even began to wish for it, even to wake up wondering if she would ever do it again or if she would get tired of making fun of you. Denying that Donna attracted you would be like denying your own existence and you simply couldn't do that.

You existed, your body existed; you wondered if perhaps it only did so Donna would touch it.

“Oh, no thank you,” you said one evening, an evening when Donna asked you to have dinner with her, something that was increasingly common.

Normally silence was the only thing you could hear during those meals, meals that your mistress prepared for you. You never thanked her for that gesture because, according to Donna, you should do what she asked you, without saying a single word.

The veiled lady took the bottle from your glass with a slow gesture as if she couldn't, simply couldn't stop watching you.

“Do you reject my kindness?” she asked in a cold tone, far removed from the melodic and honeyed accent she used when she felt like touching you. “You're rude.”

“Oh, I don't want to reject anything, but I never drink at work, Alcina didn't allow it,” you commented with an innocent gesture, starting to eat.

Donna, for some reason, found something wrong with that comment, leaving the bottle on the table with a loud bang, growling.

“Are you still thinking about her? I should have assumed that one of her maids wouldn't forget her easily,” Donna hissed, crossing her arms.

“No, I...” you said nervously not knowing the reason for her abrupt reaction.

“Taci, I don't want to hear you defend her,” she told you in a cold tone, her hands trembling dangerously. “You're probably looking forward to getting back with her, aren't you?”

“No, I…” you stammered again, with a sad look. “The truth is that I'm fine here, with you.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured, lowering her head again, moving the black cloth away from her face a little so she could eat. “I'm convinced that you miss a woman as beautiful as her, right?”

“What? Oh, no, the truth is that…” you said even more nervously not understanding the reason for her sudden anger.

“You'll always be hers, right?” she sighed, disappointed with your vague answers. “You're not able to have some wine with me because you're still loyal to her.”

“That's not true,” you said, shaking your head.

“Vaffanculo,” the lady hissed, clenching her cutlery very tightly. “You say that you think I'm beautiful, but in reality you only think about her. You will leave me. You will abandon me to return to her arms, to that beautiful woman’s arms.”

“You are talking nonsense, Donna, you must calm down, I…” you said fearfully, trying to make a bold move, to reach her hand to caress it.

“Lasciami, domestica,” she growled, moving away from your touch, opening a wound in your fragile heart.

How could Donna think you missed Alcina if you couldn't stop thinking about her caresses? How could she be jealous of that woman if she never had the privilege of touching you like that? You didn't understand, you simply didn't understand.

“Clear the table, we're done,” Donna whispered, getting up and leaving senseless, leaving you wanting to know what she would say about your body, if she would say you were beautiful again.

You couldn't do anything but obey, going down to the kitchen to clean the dishes, thinking, mulling over that absurd jealousy that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Your body was cold, eager for her hands, for her caresses. Your heart was beating impatiently to feel her close to you again and you, unknowingly, by rejecting something as stupid as a glass of wine, had lost that opportunity.

The sadness of her absence revealed some feelings that you refused to accept, that attraction Donna exerted on you, the attraction that turned into an embarrassed crush, one that you would never recognize.

A tear ran down your cheek just as Donna entered the kitchen, leaving a cup of tea on the counter, without touching you, staying subtly away from you.

“You forget this, you clumsy maid,” she murmured with contempt, moving away from you again.

You couldn't stand it, you couldn't stand the lavender disappearing that soon, her hands not running over your skin, not playing with your hair at the same time as her words played with your heart. You wanted her, you needed her.

“Donna,” you whispered, getting her attention just before she disappeared again. “Please, touch me.”

The lady stood upright, thoughtful, but it didn't take her too long to take two steps towards you while you turned around, turning your back for her to do whatever she wanted, to feel her hands around your waist again.

That pleasant sensation returned to your body. Her hands traveled hesitantly down your back, over your hips as her body came closer. Afraid to think she would never believe your devotion, you took another chance, bringing your trembling hand to hers, guiding it down your body.

The silence was only broken by nervous breaths as your hands went up to your breasts, as her fingers closed over one of them, as your bodies swayed subtly.

You closed your eyes to enjoy these new caresses, releasing her hand to let it to do what it wanted, to take what she wanted. Her fingers tickled your neck and her hand squeezed your breast making you gasp as your helpless body clung to hers.

“I would like to believe that you are mine,” Donna whispered in your ear, leaning on your neck, brushing your skin with her breath through the black fabric of her veil, as her hands gripped your waist, passing over your belly, over your breasts again, over your legs.

You were hopelessly in love, dazzled by that lustful touch that seemed to not want to lose its innocence. Heat rose up your cheeks, your hands began to sweat, joining hers again, lowering them down the skirt of your uniform, forcing them to run over the skin that ridiculous dress covered.

Donna didn't say anything. She just watched you out of the corner of her eye as you guided her movements towards your underwear. With a gentle slap she removed your hands from hers, claiming their independence as they conquered your incipient wetness.

Her mischievous fingers slipped through the fabric, feeling, caressing your folds with delicacy, introducing one of them little by little, with a constant rhythm.

“Donna...” you gasped at the sensation, at the pleasure of having her inside you, of having that soft finger playing with you, making your fantasies come true.

You opened your eyes, turning your attention away from the pleasure you felt when you noticed something, something pressing against your body, something that deformed the black fabric of her dress in a subtle way, but enough for you to notice.

Confused, you pulled away, shaking your head, causing her to back away.

“Donna, what...?” you asked, knowing what it was exactly, what you were feeling, knowing that no matter how many rumors there were, no one knew Lady Beneviento.

“It's a gift from the Gods, (Y/N),” the lady hissed, with a cold tone. “I won't let you reject it.”

Her tone became darker and darker and without saying another word, or letting you ask or question what was happening, the lady in black pulled your hair hard, pushing you away from the counter and guiding you towards the kitchen island, pushing you face down on it.

“Donna, wait,” you said somewhat nervously, sorry for having offended her.

Well, actually you had heard rumors about the changes that the Gods’ gift caused in the lady's body, but you never paid attention to them. They seemed like impossible exaggerations.

Of course it was all true, and instead of being scared or asking more questions, you decided to go with the flow.

“Shut up, maid…” she hissed, pulling your hair again. “I won't let you reject me, you can't reject me!” she yelled madly, terribly nervous, while her hands wasted no time, pushing aside your uniform and lowering definitely your underwear.

“Donna, Don… Ah!” you screamed when without warning her erection made its way through your wet walls, stretching and causing you a slightly painful discomfort. “Donna, please … It hurts”

“Shut up,” she said, moving her hips hastily while she growled at the feeling of having claimed you, of having made you hers with just one rough movement. “I don't care if you don't want it…”

“I want it,” you said, beginning to notice how the pain disappeared, how your body adapted to her trembling shaft, caressing it, squeezing it. “I… want it…”

She stopped, ceasing her thrusts and running a hand over your face, tilting it up to study it better, to look for the lie in your words.

“Do you want it?” Donna asked with a serious voice, placing herself in a more comfortable position. “Do you want me?”

“Yes…” you moaned as you noticed lust for the first time, as you felt her penis settle inside you more and more easily, sending a wave of overwhelming sensations to your body. “I love you…”

She didn't say anything, but she did resume her movements slower, rocking her hips, enjoying the tight ride of your walls on her erection. The moans came out of your mouth, expressing the pleasure you felt with her inside you, with that touch, those games she played with you for so long.

The pleasure was intense and you could only close your eyes and let yourself be carried away by it, by the sensations, by the obscene and wet sound that bounced off the kitchen walls. Her hands gripped your hips; her perfect nails scratched your skin, guiding your body, moving it, conquering it completely.

“Sei mia…” she hissed, entering you completely, leaning over your raised chin and speaking in your ear as the sensation became more and more intense.

“I'm yours…” you whispered, unable to suppress the moans that clouded your statements, with lust unleashed, wanting more, much more. “Donna, please, keep going… keep going…”

A sinister laugh came out of the black veil as she resumed her thrusts, increasingly wet, easier. Your body accepted Donna without fear, hugging her, squeezing her, wanting to feel every part of her, to imprison her, to not let her escape.

“Mm, you are a naughty maid…” the lady whispered again, being as far inside you as possible, moving back as she watched how she took you, how her erection disappeared in your wet entrance. “Do you want more, tesoro?”

“Yes, yes,” you said with a moan of pleasure while your hips moved nervously.

You wanted to feel more, you wanted to notice how she broke your innocence, you wanted to prove that you were hers, and you would never be anyone else's.

The moans eclipsed any comment, any obscene and incomprehensible whisper. Donna's thrusts were intense, but they almost seemed like caresses, precise caresses that made your body tremble.

“(Y/N)…” the lady sobbed, drawing your attention as she leaned her body towards yours, still moving. “(Y/N), per favore… tell me you'll never leave me.”

“What?” you asked surprised, holding back the desire your body had to release, to tense up and let out the pleasure with a fierce cry. “Donna…”

“Say it! Please say it…” she insisted, hugging you from behind almost desperately, becoming very rough with her thrusts. “Ti sto supplicando, per favore! Say that you’re going to stay with me… forever…”

“Yes, yes, yes! I will stay with you, Donna!” you screamed, unable to hold back your release any longer, tensing your whole body, feeling a certain discomfort as you noticed how hers imprisoned you, how she held you desperately.

“Oh, Cazzo, I’m going to…” she hissed, moaning for the last time, releasing her seed inside you with an intense moan, tensing up just like you, while her heat caressed your walls.

Neither of you said anything. Donna simply pulled away slowly, putting away her shame again and controlling her breathing. You felt wet, dirty and desecrated, but no one said that it wasn't feeling good.

You felt a unique release, the materialization of everything that had happened up to that moment, you felt love, desire, passion, you felt her, you felt her deep inside you, and above all, you felt you didn't want to lose her.

“Donna…” you sighed, pulling up your underwear and turning around, watching as the lady stood, breathing nervously. “I want to stay with you, I'm in love with…”

“Un attimo, (Y/N),” Donna interrupted, bringing a hand to her black veil, moving it aside slowly, very slowly. “My penis isn't the only thing I've been hiding from you.”

You stood perplexed, seeing the lady in the portrait in front of you, seeing her black hair, her pale skin, a single bright eye that seemed to want to cry. She was… you didn't know what to say, she was simply beautiful.

Her scar, the different parts of her body were no reason to run away, to stop admitting that you loved the lady in black, that you were always wrong, that she wasn’t a monster, but the most beautiful woman you had ever met.

“Say something,” she said, frowning at your astonished look. “Am I the hideous creature you imagined?”

“What?” you said thoughtfully.

All this time you were wrong, Alcina had told her everything she had heard.

“Tell me, tell me because otherwise... I...” she murmured, bringing a hand to your face, a trembling hand that caressed your cheek. “No one had ever thought that I have beautiful hands, or that my body is beautiful... you are the only one who has done so.”

“I...”

“Shh...” she hissed, putting a finger on your lips. “I've made you mine, I've taken you, I've claimed your body, but I'd like to think there's something else, that you feel something for me just like I do for you.”

“Donna, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, I will never regret having thought of it, or telling you at this very moment,” you whispered, getting a little closer to her, with your legs numb, but determined. “Yes, you’ve made me yours, you have taken my body, but… there is still something, something I am dying to do, something I have been dreaming of for a long time.”

“What…” she whispered, while your hands guided hers to your waist and your lips slowly approached.

It was a slow kiss, almost clumsy, but deep. Seeing how beautiful she was, how lonely she was, how much she wanted to hear someone say that she was beautiful… it seemed tender to you, sweet, just like that wet and slow kiss.

You slowly moved away while she watched you absentmindedly, playing with your hair, with a half smile on her face.

“I wanted to kiss you,” you murmured, your eyes shining, cupping her face in your hands. “I want to keep doing it, forever.”

[superpowereddonut]

Sirius Black x Reader

This came to me in a dream and I had to write it down! I've never posted any of my own works anywhere, but figured it's a short little one-shot that I may as well put out there even if no one ever reads it! If I feel inspired I might turn this into a proper fic, but idk yet.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader (No use of Y/N)

A/N: set at Hogwarts, fake dating trope

Warnings: Swearing, Sirius isn't gay (even though Wolfstar is obviously canon lol)

Word count: 1401

*****

Barely catching her breath enough to mutter the password, the Gryffindor girl rushed into the common room, all windswept hair, flushed cheeks and wide eyes. She spotted the Marauders all lounging by the fire (except Peter - he was always off snogging Dorcus in a closet these days) and made a beeline straight for them. Remus was squashed awkwardly in an armchair, a book open against his long legs where they were draped over one arm and his back resting against the other. James was sitting up on one end of the adjacent couch, his transfiguration homework in his lap, with Sirius sprawled at the other end, legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back and eyes closed, listening to the music emanating from the record player nearby.

She felt a twinge of regret when the cosy atmosphere broke as she stormed over, her gaze flicking over each of them before settling on Sirius, who had cracked an eye open to look at her, now standing on the carpet in front of the fire.

“Black, I need you to be my boyfriend.”

James and Remus both snapped their heads up at that, and Sirius’ eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“Lucas Davis just asked me out again!” The three boys in front of her seemed to let out a simultaneous groan. They were almost as sick as she was of Davis, the irritating Gryffindor two years above them who had been hellbent on wooing her for almost four months now. Unlike James, who had been smitten with Lily since they were eleven and asked her out at least once a week, Davis was aggressive - cornering her in half-empty hallways only to speak over her, invading her personal space whenever he got the chance, and making creepy sexual innuendos anytime a teacher was out of ear-shot. At this point it didn’t even seem to be about her. He just liked the chase and enjoyed making girls squirm. Even girls who hated his guts.

“Just tell him to piss off”, James suggested with a shrug

“Oh jeez, thanks James! Why didn’t I think of that?” She rolled her eyes, “I’ve told him to piss off a hundred times, in a hundred different ways! But he’s relentless- convinced I’m playing ‘hard to get’ or some bullshit like that. The only thing I think would actually get the misogynistic bastard to leave me alone is if he thinks I’m already seeing someone. So,” she said, turning again to Sirius, “can you just pretend to be my boyfriend, Black?”

“Why me? Ask Remus - you two already spend all your time together, surely dating isn’t that much of a stretch!” She shook her head impatiently, “He’s gayer than Bowie and everyone knows it!”. The boy in question huffed a laugh, “Cheers, love.” She ignored him.

“Get James to do it then!” Sirius exclaimed, and the messy-haired boy next to him opened his mouth, sitting up straighter. He probably would do it, she thought, because he would do just about anything for his friends. The noble idiot.  “Oh please, you think anyone would believe that this lovesick fool has moved on from Lily?” She retorted, making a vague gesture towards James, who just grinned ruefully and relaxed back into his seat, nodding his head in agreement.

“And you think anyone would believe we are a couple?” She paused for a second, unsure of how to answer. Although she and Sirius had always been… sort of… friends, it was largely only because of her friendship with the other Marauders - mainly studying with Remus and playing quidditch with James. While they inevitably spent a lot of time together due to their mutual friends, it was true that they were at each other’s throats more often than not, she supposed. Remus was complaining just last week about their constant bickering and their incessant need to outcompete each other in every little thing. 

She was saved from answering by James. “Actually, a Ravenclaw in our charms class - you know, Macmillan? - asked me if you two were dating a couple of weeks ago.” 

They both turned to look at him, shocked, and he just shrugged, “he said he wanted to ask you to Hogsmeade but wanted to make sure nothing was going on between you and Sirius”. Before she could unscramble her thoughts enough to answer, Remus piped up from his armchair. “A girl in the year below asked me something similar recently. Thought she might have a shot with Sirius, but wasn’t sure. She said something about you two having ‘chemistry’ at that party after the last quidditch match.” She fought the blush that spread across her cheeks at the memory. They’d thrashed Slytherin last month and she’d gotten pretty drunk at the party in Gryffindor tower afterwards. She always got a bit flirty when she drank, and Sirius was a shameless flirt even when he was stone cold sober. They’d traded a few harmless remarks early in the night, and later, though she couldn’t really remember how it happened, she ended up dancing to some ABBA songs with her back pressed against Sirius' chest, his arms around her waist and his hot breath on her neck. It hadn’t led anywhere - in fact she had been pretending it never happened - but she still felt a burning pit in her stomach whenever she thought about the way he had felt pressed against her, or the way he had grinned and licked his lips when she turned around and they danced chest to chest.

She shook herself slightly and forced herself to look at Sirius, who was frowning at Remus. “Plus,” she said bitingly, “you’ve established a pretty solid reputation for fucking anything that moves”. Sirius scowled at her before roughly shoving himself up from the couch and strolling past her to the record player that was now sitting idle, the last track having finished. She watched his tense shoulders as he carefully selected a new record and switched them over. She softened her tone, “I’m sure Davis will move on and start pestering some other poor girl before long. I just need you to play the overprotective boyfriend role until he backs off.” She shared a glance with Remus and James when he still didn’t respond. “Please,” she finally relented. When Black still didn’t answer, now decidedly fiddling with the tuning knobs on the record player, she sighed. She’d have to find another way to deter Davis and it’d have to be soon - she didn’t know how many more times she could hear his sleazy “hiya sweetheart”, before she’d resort to hexing him. And that would probably just make him re-double his efforts.

She barely noted the sound of the gryffindor portrait opening to let someone into the common room, but then- “There ya are sweetheart! Bin lookin’ all over for ya!” She gritted her teeth, turning around to see Lucas Davis stalking towards her, that stupid fucking smirk on his face. “Can’t think why, given that you saw me an hour ago and I told you to ‘leave me the fuck alone’”, she snapped. She could see both Remus and James tense in her peripherals, probably preparing to tell Davis to ‘fuck off’ themselves, but Sirius remained silent behind her. Davis either didn’t notice the two boys glaring at him, or didn’t care, and he only smiled wider, “aw come on princess, don’ be like that!” He whined, “I think you just need-” 

But she never found out what he thought she needed, as Sirius suddenly stepped up to her side, casually slung an arm around her shoulder and drawled, “You heard my girl, fuck off and leave her alone.” Davis visibly recoiled, and she might have laughed at his shocked expression had she not been entirely preoccupied by Sirius' comforting warmth as he leant against her. “Your girl?” He sputtered. 

“My girl.” Sirius repeated, and she could hear the mocking smile in his voice, “Girlfriend, paramour, lover, whatever. The point is: fuck. off.” Even Remus seemed to be hiding a grin as Davis stood there, dumbstruck, his eyes darting between her and Sirius as though stupefied. She relaxed into Sirius embrace and intertwined her fingers with his where they hung over her shoulder. “Bye Davis”, she crooned, with a smug smile. He seemed to struggle for another moment before turning on his heel and striding out the door without another word.

[lacyscabinet]

ellie williams with blind reader

I JUST CANT FIND THIS ANYWHERE AND I THINK ELLIE WOULD BE A SOFTIE WITH THE READER😭😭

A/N: HELLO POOKIE!!! I love love love this request so much and I had so much fun writing it, thank you so much and I wish you a wonderful day!🤍🤍🤍 It was supposed to come out WEEKS ago but I got sick because I have the immune system of a Victorian child and I forgot to post this, I beg on my knees for forgiveness 😔✋🏼

give me feedback, gays 💜

NAVIGATION

okay so where should I start...

First of all can we say that being blind ESPECIALLY in an apocalyptic world is not EXACTLY ideal...

While Ellie may not fully grasp how you experience the world without sight, she knows what it's like to feel isolated and alienated

She’d make it her mission to keep you emotionally safe, always checking in with you, and gently coaxing you to talk when you’re feeling down or scared

BUT I'd like to think that Ellie wouldn't treat you like a little child just because of your condition, she knows you just need some extra help for some tasks

Ellie would totally read books out loud for you, because I don't think braille would be a thing in the apocalypse

She doesn't even mind doing it and she actually loves being able to help you with that

she might sit with you at the end of the day and read aloud from any scraps of books she can find out on patrol. If she doesn't have a book handy, she might make up stories on the spot, trying to paint vivid images in your mind

Sometimes if she doesn't have any ideas she'd just tell you about her adventures on patrol

...and it would be hilarious sometimes-

"Alright, so I was getting chased by this huge group of clickers, right? And they’re all like… trying to get me, but I’m just this...stealthy ninja, dodging left and right— Anyway, I had this crazy plan, and I kinda... tripped but, hey, that’s the story of how I almost died!"

I also believe she would be SO worried whenever she leaves for patrol because she knows you'd have to stay alone for a while.

Ellie would likely become hyper-aware of your other senses. Since you can’t see, she would focus on sounds, smells, and even tactile sensations to keep you informed of your surroundings

she might tap your shoulder lightly to guide you if you're about to bump into something

She would hold your hand to guide you when walking through a dangerous area or wrap her arm around your waist to steer you through crowded spaces in Jackson

Even though you’re blind, Ellie might still try to teach you about things that can be learned through other senses.

She could explain how to recognize different plants or what types of birds are nearby by their calls

Maybe she’ll even take it upon herself to teach you how to identify objects or places by their texture or sound, making you feel more connected to the world around you.

"This one’s a little tricky, but feel the texture of this rock—it's rough, right? Man, I love rocks..."

Ellie might get frustrated at times, but never at you, more at herself: she feels like she can’t do enough to make your life easier.

She might worry about how you experience the world, wanting to fix everything but realizing that some things are beyond her control

This would lead to moments where she becomes fiercely determined to find a way to help, trying to make things better in any way she can

"I just wish I could give you more, you know? I wish I could make you see the things I can see, just so you don’t feel like you’re missing out on things."

Overall she would be such a pookie because she's Ellie and she's a cutie patotie (and she also reduced the population of Seattle by 50%)

[teecupangel]

Permission to be horny you say, then how about minotaur Desmond (y'know cuz horns)

Anyway best place to drop him would be as a "guardian" of some PoE

Like we could have him at Altaïr's apple and save that group from the templars (and have monsterfucker Altaïr to circle around to what you really nave in that post)

But also I have the thought of him guarding the anti-earthquake machine (that I can never remember if it had a Canon name). Because imagine being Achilles, you send one of your men to a suspected location of a PoE and he comes back with a huge half bull man and like is he the PoE!?!?

Giving me permission to indulge in my monsterfucker Altaïr agenda will always be accepted whole heartedly XD

We can even make this a whole ‘Minotaur in the Labyrinth’ kind of situation where Altaïr gets thrown into an undiscovered area and the ground collapsed under him, causing him to fall deeper beneath the mount.

Malik managed to get the ‘treasure’ but their escape is blocked. He noticed how Altaïr had fallen and Kadar getting stabbed on the stomach took his choice away from him. He grabbed Kadar and they both fell into the hole, hoping that it was a better choice than trying to charge the enemy lines.

They fell into the waters and gets dragged into some underground waterway that ends with them meeting with Altaïr, swimming upward to the nearest source of light.

Which turned out to be a dimly lit (lines of glowing gold all around the walls and ceiling) central plaza of sort with what may or may not be a fountain-sized lake.

And that’s how Desmond finds them in this fucking labyrinth that he’d been stuck in for god knows how long.

He died as Desmond Miles then, the next thing he knows, he was now a Minotaur stuck in this labyrinth.

And now he has to talk these two wet most probably suffering from hypothermia Assassins from killing him so he can try and help Kadar.

It’s really a good thing that he could write Arabic and the ground of the labyrinth was soft sand.

(This can end up as either Monsterfucker Altaïr OR Monsterfucker Altaïr and Kadar with ambiguous situation Malik)

.

As for a Shay situation. I kinda like the idea that Shay tries to take the device and Desmond beats the crap out of him, half because Desmond is larger and stronger as a minotaur and half because he had the element of surprise.

And instead of killing Shay, he manages to talk to him by writing and showing the paper to Shay while Shay is in the ground, his entire body screaming in pain.

‘If you take that, the ground will split open and kill countless.’

And Shay can’t exactly agree to not take it because he was ordered to and also because he didn’t necessarily believe the minotaur so the minotaur just sighed and ordered Shay to take him to his mentor and he’ll explain it (Desmond doesn’t know it’s Achilles)

Cue the crew of Morrigan thinking Shay Cormac has brought the devil onto their ship, an awkward journey and…

Desmond realizing that Achilles during this time period is a stubborn jerk.

So Desmond stays in the homestead because he has the key to open the place where the device is kept and now he’s arguing with Achilles using papers.

When he realized that Achilles could just stop talking to him by not reading what he wrote, he goes and grab Shay to read out loud his writing.

Shay doesn’t know when he became the minotaur’s assistant but, really, he’s just worried if he doesn’t do this, Desmond and Achilles might start trading blows.

[thedissonantverses]

Davrin or Harding: Is it Arbitrary?

No, of course it isn’t. This whole blog got started because I want to bring recognition to how the gameplay decisions work with the narrative. Also, I don’t feel comfortable as a white-passing Hispanic to get into if it’s racist or not. I think we’re probably all the on the same page about is Davrin’s VA as well. I’m not here to talk over anyone, I just want to share why I love this as a story moment. If you’d like to correct me please do! As with everything I write here it’s meant to be a conversation starter.

Anyways, I am still not over it. Not only because this game gave me, a certified dirtbag and queer woman not one but two outdoorsy romantic interests which is incredibly unfair.

All joking aside, let’s talk about what these two characters represent. Learning from the mistakes of the path to build a better future is one of the central themes of Veilguard.

Lace Harding. Her name represents something soft and delicate in combination with strength which is representative of her whole personality. She’s a bad ass already. She was with the Inquisition for ten years. She’s helping Varric track down the elven god of lies, trickery, and rebellion, depending on the story. Everything she goes through from the Inquisition’s formation to the time of the final battle can be linked back to Evanuris meddling. She is the dwarves, they’re kindness and strength and anger even when she didn’t know it. An avatar. A paragon. She respresents a future where the Titans, and the dwarves, have their dreams returned.

Davrin(I don’t think he has a last name??) is a Grey Warden who is also a bad ass. He’s worked his whole life towards the goal of being a weapon, joining the Wardens voluntarily so that he’s a killer with a purpose by his own admission. He’s a hard man, forged so by necessity. But, he’s the inverse of Harding, who presents a soft interior but with a steel spine. Davrin’s heart is softened by his partnership and love of Assan. He’s a Dalish man and a Warden, both of which are groups that developed in response to what the Evanuris did to break the world. He represents the future of the Wardens and Thedas by being the father of the griffons. A future where the Blight won’t shape the people of Thedas, but one where the people of Thedas will carve out their own, better, future.

When it comes to the decision to kill either character, it is not supposed to be easy. It is supposed to feel like a hard choice, and the reason it is so difficult to decide is because you know, either way, you’re sacrificing someone who has already given up everything to put an end to the Evanuris. Someone who has been shaped by the centuries of torment Solas and Mythal unleashed. Someone who represents what the future might look like. It’s an impossible, terrible call, and someone has to make it to ensure that better future for the world.

Davrin and Lace are presented because once more the past requires another sacrifice to put it to rest. While that’s cold comfort to the survivors, they don’t die in vain. There are times you have to give up everything to make the world a better place.

I know they’re both my heroes. I know I will always cry choosing between them, because they’re my friends and sometimes my lover. I hope the choice never becomes easy.

I also know that like Davrin and Lace, I would give up anything and everything to ensure the future is a better place.

[chipmunkfanno1love]

Cliva Romance Headcanons Part 1

I thought of a Cliva headcanon based on @jinelys_art drawing on Instagram:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 🎨🌈Jinelys💖🖌 (@jinelys_art)

I imagine Clay writing a sad story about the advisor and best friend of a princess who is secretly in love with her, but who has long since accepted that the two of them will never be together. The princess then goes off and marries someone else, and the heartbroken servant is left with the bittersweet thought that at least he'll always be the Princess' friend.

Perhaps Clay reads the story to his nephews and niece after they insist on their Uncle Clay reads his book to them, even if he embarrassingly insists that it's not their type of book. He ends up reading the book to Viva, Poppy, Brandy and his brothers as well, due to the insisting he reads the book to them too.

It's pretty clear to everyone that Clay based his book off his own experiences with Viva and how he believes he'll never be with her romantically has sadly accepted that at least he'll always be her friend. Viva suspects that the story might be about her from the way Clay glances at her while reading the story. From this, she realises that she may have feelings for him, too. Though at the time, she is possibly still in denial about her feelings and/or she too shy to act on them.

Poppy and Clay's brothers pick up on the inspiration and encourage Clay to tell Viva how he feels. At first, he's too scared to act on his feelings, but with some encouragement from Poppy and his brothers, he eventually decides to take a chance and confess his love for Viva.

[six-white-venus]

i've been staring at a blank page for months now, searching for the right words. the ones that used to flow out of the tip of my pen with a gasping cry of 'finally, finally' are nowhere to be found. the thing is, right, poets cannot thrive in mediocrity. cannot bloom, cannot scream all things beautiful without a laugh or a sob stuck in their throat. no one wants normal, you see. because normal is everywhere. but beauty? beauty is found in the reckless and jarring and the glittering night sky. but you can only write about the blue sky for so long before you get sick of it. can only bleed in paper till your wound closes, can only laugh till your breath runs out. and just like all things do, those moments end. that's what makes them worth of poetry- their fleeting, dream-like nature.

no one wants to read poetry about the days you waste scrolling through your phone or the assignment that you got a B- in. the thing is, right, just existing isn't worth of poetry. there is no way for a poet to thrive in a life of mediocrity and i'm afraid that's exactly where i find myself.

it makes me sad sometimes. i find myself missing the taste of copper in my mouth and the angry purple of the bruises on my knees. i hold my worn-out plush in my hand and wonder where it went- the joy it once used to bring me. my favorite t-shirt no longer fits me. i fold it up clumsily and think: have i outgrown greatness too?

but most of the time, it doesn't bother me. because you never really stop being beautiful despite what you might think. maybe you don't write as well as you used to. maybe reading your works no longer makes people overcome with an emotion that feels larger than life itself. and i've come to find that that's not so bad. not everything has to be booming and bright or miserable and black. you might not be great but your smile, candlelight soft and tired, is real. your wounds no longer make you feel like you're dying but your joints do ache terribly during thunderstorms.

the thing is, right, you will always be a poet. maybe not one that everyone adores or understands, but a poet nonetheless. what's beautiful to you might not be worth a second glance to me. what makes your day might be nothing worth remembering to a stranger. just because something that means the world to you means nothing to someone else doesn't make it meaningless.

keep a hand on your chest. feel your heart beat, steady, steady.

thump. thump. thump.

being beautiful is not what makes you alive.

thump. thump. thump.

you breathe, and therefore you are.

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Part of the Team

The vigilante Duality gets hurt in a fight, Virgil goes to the only hero he can trust to help him.

It turns out that they might all know each other better than they thought.

----

| Ao3 |

Warnings: None

Pairings: Virgil/Roman/Janus/Logan (Analoroceit??)

Word Count: 1421

Notes:

My second fic for the @tsspromptmonth sleepy bean cafe event!!!

So Roman/Janus/Virgil/Logan is not a ship I would normally write and I actually intended this to just be anaroceit but then Logan inserted himself in so now we're here.

Written for @nonbinary-octopus

The Prompt: superpowers, secret identities, mutual pining, and ""only one knows their dating"" with a polycule of at least three

----

Virgil smashed the rock that had been launched at him mere seconds ago, it broke into shards that bounced off his costume easily. 

“Can you listen to me for one fucking second?” Virgil yelled at the superhero attempting to fight him, the hotshot in town, “I don’t want to fight you-”

“Of course you do!” Prince said, puffing out his chest as he landed in front of Virgil, who was about three seconds away from a panic attack as the most powerful hero in the city and also Virgil’s longest standing crush, “That’s like- our entire thing!”

Virgil, admittedly, loved their fights. It gave him an opportunity to both punch Roman in the face and also to get close enough to him to see his face, how his eyes widened and his pupils dilated when Virgil got too close, how his hair never looked messy no matter how many times Virgil landed a hit, it was fun to fight the hero. But not right now.

“Look - I just- fuck-” Virgil said, lunging to grab Roman by the collar of his shirt with an involuntary crack of electricity in his hand to stop him from zipping away with those stupid flight powers he had on top of the others, “I need your help.”

That seemed to strike a chord, as Roman practically went limp for just a few seconds before righting himself. 

“You need my help?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Don't make me regret asking you, Princey,” Virgil growled, choosing not to notice the blush that bloomed on a Romans face because of it, instead dropping the hero, “Duality is in trouble.” 

“Duality? The vigilante?” Roman asked, immediately getting up from the floor seemingly unharmed to Virgil's displeasure, “What- what's wrong with him? And what did you have to do with it, villain?” 

Roman had hastily added that last part to cover up the clear worry on his face at the idea that the vigilante who always seemed to pop up during Roman's operations to help might be in trouble. 

“I didn't have shit to do with it, you asshole,” Virgil hissed, the idea that he would've done something to get Janus hurt, “It was another villain he ended up fighting who could stop him from shifting - I had to drag him back home and I don't know what the hell to do- I just- you have healing powers so-” 

“Okay okay-” Roman said, reaching forward to take Virgil by the arms. The villain froze, “I'll help Duality okay? You just gotta take me to him.” 

Virgil took a deep breath and nodded, taking Roman's hand and dragging him off,  determinedly pulling him along until halfway there when he stopped abruptly, “Princey.” 

“Tempest,” Roman returned, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Look - he’s- he’s not in the best state right now, before we go in, and I wanna warn you - you’re gonna find out stuff that you can’t fucking tell anyone. Okay?” Virgil stressed, “Not even your stupid hero buddies.”

“Like I would tell them anyway,” Prince rolls his eyes, “They’d arrest me for talking to you like a normal human being let alone helping a vigilante, just shut up and show me what’s going on.”

“Right - well um- Logic is also there, so just- be prepared,” Virgil mumbled, going back to dragging the hero across town to a fairly nice apartment building.

“What- the hell is Logic doing there?” Prince asked, eyes wide. 

“They're my friends, and it's my damn apartment so I'll invite whoever I want, deal with it.” 

—

“Duality isn’t in costume,” Virgil told him firmly, “So just- nothing you see here leaves this room.”

“I already said yes,” Prince rolled his eyes as Virgil dragged him up the stairs. Virgil called out once they arrived at the apartment, fumbling to unlock the door and drag Prince inside. Prince came easily, pushing the door closed behind him and trailing behind into the living room, where Duality - or, right now, Virgil’s best friend Janus - was laying on the sofa. Currently he was being looked over by Logic, the notoriously hyper intelligent supervillain - which sure was a sight for the hero to behold… especially since he happened to recognise Janus. 

Prince stopped in the doorway, staring at the two of them, before grabbing Virgi’s wrist and dragging him back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Virgil hissed as Prince shoved him back into the hall. 

“That is my boyfriend-” Prince said in a whisper-yell, Virgil’s eyes widened. 

Janus was Virgil’s best friend - they knew each other’s civilian identities, and because of that Virgil knew that Janus was dating two people, and one of them was already in his apartment with Janus. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Virgil mumbled, “You’re Roman Kingsley.”

Roman went pale, before flailing a little, “What? No- no of course not- why would I ever be-”

“Roman shut up,” Virgil said, shaking his head, “This is so dumb - I’m Virgil.”

“...Oh,” Roman said, blinking at him, slowly his eyes widened, “Oh! Virgil!”

And Virgil found himself swept off of his feet and spun around by the hero, and Virgil struggled to get out of his hold.

“Shut up - what the hell-”

“Virgil! Oh this is wonderful! We’re all together now! Thank you for telling me what was going on-”

“You’re welcome-?” Virgil said awkwardly, blushing despite his attempt to quell his own feelings - they were all in a relationship, apparently, which meant even his crush on the stupid superhero was even less attainable, “Can we - can we just go inside-?”

—

It took almost no time at all for Janus to be patched up with both Roman and Logan helping out. It was odd to Virgil to see both a notorious supervillain and hero working together to help someone they both clearly cared about. Virgil meanwhile was steadily keeping watch, both on the two of them to ensure they didn’t try anything in his apartment. 

At some point, Logan’s identity had also been revealed and the two had comforted Roman on the fact that he was dating a supervillain, while Janus just snuggled up to Roman’s side, mentally and physically exhausted from the day. 

“Here,” Virgil says, carrying a pile of blankets and pillows into the room, placing them next to Janus, “I’m guessing you guys are gonna want to stay here, so um, here’s some blankets and stuff, you guys can stay on the sofas and stuff? Unless you’d rather take my bed and I’ll sleep out here-?”

“Why can’t you join us?” Roman asked, tilting his head, looking a little disappointed as he held a pillow. 

“I-” Virgil started, looking around at the three of them, who all looked at him the same way, “Why would you want me to stay?”

“Why wouldn’t we want to spend more time with our boyfriend?” Logan asked, looking confused, “Especially when he’s done so much for us today.”

“I- I’m sorry, what?” Virgil asked, “The hell do you mean, boyfriend?”

“You’re… our boyfriend, aren’t you?” Janus asked, looking confused. 

“Not as far as I knew!” Virgil cried, confusion and fluster alike squeezing his chest tightly, “You guys - you guys think we’ve been dating?”

“Well- yeah! We kept inviting you on dates and you kept coming-” Roman said, shaking his head, “We thought you knew!”

“I thought they were just hanging out!” Virgil said, fidgeting with his sleeve, he’d changed out of his costume into a more comfortable hoodie since they’d gotten back. 

“Oh - no sweetie-” Janus said softly, “‘m sorry if our advances were unwanted-”

“What advances??” 

“Virgil… we’ve been flirting with you for months…”

“Oh my god…” Virgil groans.

“If you don’t want to date us that is alright-” Logan piped up, “Apologies that we misinterpreted this relationship-”

“No no-” Virgil said quickly, “No- I mean- I do want to date you - fucking hell I’ve had a huge crush on all of you for like years - but I just-”

Janus offered his arm on the opposite side to Roman, and with a look at the other two, Virgil hesitantly walks over and sits, letting Janus pull him in until Virgil is more comfortably curled up to his side. 

“Since we never made ourselves clear enough before,” Logan says, walking around the sofa to stand before them, “Virgil, would you like to be part of this relationship?”

“I- Yes - yes I would,” Virgil nodded. Roman grinned and took one of his hands, bringing it up to his lips and kissing his knuckles. 

“Then we are incredibly happy to have you, darling stormcloud.”

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmealdaydreams @littlerat2 @goldnskyart (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

[pokimoko]

haunting the narrative -> haunted by the narrative -> haunting the narrative -> haunted by

[nonuggetshere]

CRAWLS OUT OF THE TRENCHES COVERED IN BLOOD

IT'S DONE

Somehow they took longer than PK's reference did. Here's to hoping I don't change their design again so I don't have make a 4th reference sheet for them 🥂

I forgot to add the fact that they start growing leaves and flowers in their fur after they recover and aren't stressed 24/7 onto the ref, AH WELL- I might just make a version for when they are older and not a complete wreck

Some notes;

They now have pernament wings that are usually tucked under an elytra, identical to Pale King's (monarch) wings but black and white instead. My friends also voted the pubic fur out ✌️😔 probably for the better, I couldn't come up with a way to NOT make it look awkward as hell.

Their adolescent stage is around 13-14 years of age and around Pale King's height, outgrowing him ever so slightly.

The hatchling stage is EXTRA potato shaped and EXTRA fluffy now, instead of the fur being mostly on the back of their neck and lower back they have a full mane that runs down their back, much like their dad. The hatchling and child stages also have much dimmer light, it gets brighter with age.

But most important addition; they have ✨️HEELS✨️

Not sure if the white bits behind the ridges on their feet and forearms wi stay but they are here for now, I'll see how I feel about them as I draw them

They mostly take after their father in all but height but they do have some traits from their mother, which will be more obvious once I will make a proper reference for her