#but if this fic flops then I NEVER POSTED IT AND IT NEVER EXISTED

[shellshocklove]

does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This new temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.  

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”  

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

next part -> here! i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[solxamber]

Hiiii so I really liked your unhinged reader x Leona fic and I just saw your post about mal and vil

If you have the time, could you do the same thing for mal and/or vil?

Vil and Malleus with an Unhinged reader

thanks for the request <3 it's always fun writing for mal and vil!

Vil Schoenheit

Vil Schoenheit prided himself on his poise. He prided himself on his grace, his refinement, his ability to maintain control in any situation.

And then there was you.

A walking, talking whirlwind of chaos with absolutely no regard for personal safety or the consequences of your actions. You had this thing—this habit—of showing up wherever Vil was, just appearing out of thin air like a feral cat who found a way into the palace.

“Vil!” you called, striding confidently into the Pomefiore lounge one afternoon, without a care for the looks you were getting from the perfectly groomed students. “Guess what I did today?”

Vil didn’t look up from his tea. “Do I even want to know?”

You, with the biggest grin on your face, flopped into the chair across from him like it was a casual meeting and not the sanctum of beauty and refinement. “Okay, so. Hear me out.”

“No.”

Ignoring him completely, you launched into your story. “So I was in the botanical gardens, right? And I saw this big, fancy plant, and I thought, ‘What if I just… take it?’ You know, for science or something.”

Vil lowered his tea slowly, eyeing you like you’d just declared you were going to break into a highly secured vault for fun. “You what?”

“I took it! It’s in my bag!” You looked so proud of yourself as you patted your bag. “I was thinking it’d look great in your room.”

Vil blinked at you, mouth slightly open, as his brain struggled to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. “You stole a plant? From the botanical gardens? For me?”

“Yup! Because you like pretty things, right?”

A strangled sound came from Rook, who had been quietly observing the conversation. Vil shot him a glare to silence him before returning his attention to you. “Let me get this straight,” Vil said slowly, carefully, as though speaking too quickly would cause his head to explode. “You, with absolutely no regard for rules or consequences, took a rare and likely highly poisonous plant, stuffed it into your bag, and brought it to me?”

You blinked innocently. “It’s poisonous? Huh. Well, that explains the rash.”

Vil’s hands went to his temples as he let out a long, pained sigh. “You have a death wish, don’t you?”

“Pfft, nah. I just get bored.”

There it was. The sentence that encapsulated everything about you—no self-preservation, questionable morals, and an insatiable hunger for something, anything, to entertain you.

Vil leaned back in his chair, staring at you as though trying to comprehend how someone like you even existed. “Do you realize how dangerous that is? How reckless? How utterly insane?”

You shrugged. “Danger is subjective, really. And anyway, you’ve faced worse in your overblot, right? At least I didn’t curse anyone.”

“That’s not the point!” Vil snapped, standing abruptly and fixing you with a glare so intense it could wilt your newly acquired plant. “You’re acting like an absolute menace!”

“And yet,” you said, leaning forward with a grin that could only be described as unhinged, “you still keep letting me hang around.”

Vil opened his mouth to retort but stopped. He couldn’t deny it. No matter how infuriating you were, no matter how many ridiculous situations you threw yourself into, he never really tried to distance himself. Sure, he scolded you, lectured you about proper behavior and responsibility, but at the end of the day, you were still there, waltzing into his life like you owned it.

“And,” you added, leaning even closer, “you can’t deny that you like it. Admit it. You’d be bored without me.”

Vil scoffed, turning his nose up. “As if. I have plenty of things to occupy my time.”

You tilted your head, that same manic gleam in your eye. “Oh really? Then why haven’t you kicked me out yet?”

Vil’s eye twitched. You had him there. He could list a dozen reasons why you were the worst—your lack of decorum, your disregard for rules, your baffling ability to be where you weren’t supposed to be—but at the same time, you were… fun. Infuriating, yes, but you always kept him on his toes. You were different from the people who usually fawned over him, who tried to impress him. You didn’t care about any of that. You just did whatever you wanted.

He took a deep breath and turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Fine. I’ll admit it. You’re… amusing, in a way.”

You grinned wider. “See? I knew you liked me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Vil said quickly, trying to maintain his composure. “You’re a menace to society and a walking disaster waiting to happen. But…” His voice dropped to a soft murmur, “you’re not entirely unbearable.”

“Wow, that’s practically a love confession coming from you,” you teased, still beaming like you’d won some sort of grand prize.

Vil turned away to hide the faint blush creeping up his neck. “Don’t get any ideas. I simply tolerate your existence.”

“Tolerate it all you want,” you said with a wink. “But I’m still going to hang around and cause chaos.”

Vil rubbed his temples again, as though trying to stave off the headache you were undoubtedly giving him. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Liar,” you sing-songed.

He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it. “One day, you’re going to get yourself killed. Or worse—ruin my skincare routine.”

You laughed, pulling the now-wilting plant out of your bag. “Wanna help me plant this in the dorm garden?”

Vil stared at you in disbelief. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You say that now, but I’ll grow on you. Just like this plant.”

“I am going to bury you and that plant together.”

You winked. “As long as I’m with you, Vil.”

Vil groaned, but he didn’t kick you out, didn’t storm off in disgust. And somehow, that was all the confirmation you needed.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia, prince of Briar Valley, feared and revered by many, could handle just about anything. He’d faced fierce enemies, commanded respect with just a glance, and maintained an air of elegance befitting his royal status.

And then there was you.

You, with your complete and utter lack of self-preservation. You, who seemed to treat life like an ongoing game of “how can I make the Grim Reaper quit?” You, who treated Malleus Draconia like just another guy in your chaotic orbit.

“Tsunotarou!” You barreled toward him one evening, skidding to a halt at the last second, as if barely remembering that you shouldn’t throw yourself headfirst into the chest of a centuries-old fae prince. “You’ll never guess what I did!”

Malleus blinked, tilting his head in curiosity. “What have you done this time, Child of Man?”

You grinned like a cat who’d eaten the canary. “I may or may not have… accidentally started a small fire in the potionology lab.”

Malleus’s eyes widened slightly, though he remained composed. “A fire? Are you unharmed?”

“Oh yeah, I’m totally fine! But Crewel’s coat definitely wasn’t. That thing went up in flames like it was soaked in gasoline.” You waved your hand dismissively, like setting your teacher’s coat on fire was a normal Monday activity.

Malleus stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a soft chuckle. “You are truly fearless, aren’t you?”

“I like to think of it as ‘enthusiastically living life without regrets,’” you replied, crossing your arms proudly. “Besides, if something goes wrong, I have you to bail me out.”

“Do you intend to make a habit of relying on me to prevent your untimely demise?” Malleus asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You shrugged. “I mean, if the shoe fits. You’re like my own personal dragon-shaped safety net.”

Malleus blinked. “I am not a net, Child of Man.”

“No, no,” you waved off his literal interpretation. “You’re like the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. Like, if I almost die doing something dumb, you’ll just bring me back, right?”

Malleus paused, tilting his head again, as if genuinely pondering your question. “I could… but do you not fear death?”

“Nah. It’s not that big of a deal.” You grinned, clearly thrilled by the look of confusion that passed over his normally composed face. “Besides, it’s boring to worry about things like that.”

Malleus stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if trying to comprehend how you could be so nonchalant about life-threatening situations. He was used to dealing with those who were cautious around him, who feared his power or treated him with excessive reverence. And then there was you—just casually asking him if he could resurrect you after you threw yourself into danger like it was a sport.

“What am I to do with you?” Malleus mused, more to himself than to you.

You perked up. “Take me on a super dangerous adventure?”

Malleus blinked. “I was thinking more along the lines of keeping you out of danger.”

“But that’s boring!” You leaned forward, poking his chest with a mischievous grin. “C’mon, big guy, don’t you ever just wanna go wild? Let loose? Maybe blow up a tower or two for funsies?”

Malleus raised an eyebrow. “Blow up a tower?”

“Yeah! Like a good ol’ fashioned castle demolition!” You threw your hands up in the air like you were some kind of crazed architect.

Malleus let out a soft sigh, but there was an undeniable hint of fondness in his gaze. “I believe we have different definitions of fun.”

“And that’s exactly why you need me,” you said with a grin. “You need some excitement in your life! Can’t just sit around being all broody and regal all the time.”

Malleus looked at you, something unreadable flickering in his emerald eyes. “You are… quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

You beamed. “That’s because I’m awesome.”

“That is certainly one word for it,” Malleus said, suppressing a smile.

“And you like that about me,” you teased, leaning even closer with zero respect for the concept of personal space. “Admit it. You enjoy the chaos I bring into your life.”

Malleus chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “It is… refreshing.”

“Ha! I knew it!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You love my reckless, devil-may-care attitude!”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it love…” Malleus started, but you were already on a roll.

“Face it, Tsunotarou! You’re absolutely smitten with my chaotic energy.”

Malleus watched you with that same fond amusement, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “You are certainly… something,” he said, his voice soft, yet filled with warmth.

“And don’t you forget it!” You twirled dramatically, like you’d just won some invisible competition. “Now, let’s go scare some people in the hallways. We’ll use your glowing eyes and spooky fae vibes to freak everyone out.”

Malleus sighed again but stood up, towering over you with a resigned yet playful expression. “If I agree to this madness, will you at least promise not to throw yourself into any more dangerous situations today?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. No promises, but I’ll try.”

“That is the best I can hope for, it seems,” Malleus murmured, shaking his head with an affectionate smile.

As you grabbed his hand and began to drag him toward your latest scheme, Malleus couldn’t help but think that, for all your recklessness and lack of self-preservation, you brought a kind of chaos into his life that he hadn’t realized he was missing.

And strangely enough, he didn’t mind it.

Masterlist

[gaywarcriminals]

Qijiu Findom is Canon

So we've all seen this scene, right?

This scene is a fundamental piece of YQY characterization to me. There's a lot to be said about how this ties into YQY's desire to protect, provide for, and spoil SJ, but today I am here to talk about how this man would be really into financial domination. I truly can't believe that only one such qijiu fic exists (thank you to kat8cha I owe you my life). 

The core tenants of my qijiu findom manifesto are as follows: 

YQY doesn’t like spending money on himself 

YQY belongs to SJ

YQY loves providing for SJ 

SJ would rather take than receive

(Most of this post is more headcanon than directly evidenced, but I think it’s a logical jump from canon!)

YQY doesn’t spend money on himself 

This was the starting point of my thinking when I started spinning qijiu findom in my brain back in 2022. Yue Qingyuan, in my opinion, doesn’t like taking care of himself. I think he’s better about taking care of his physical needs to some degree because he’s aware that the consequences of him passing out or qi deviating would affect more than just himself, but his motivation is a.) to be a well functioning machine capable of fulfilling his role as sect leader, and b.) to Not Fuck Up. (One of adult YQY’s core traits is that he lives in perpetual fear of fucking up. More on that another day). Aside from the risk of heart demons damaging his cultivation, YQY doesn’t see any possible consequences to neglecting his mental health. 

And so, does YQY really deserve a comfortable bed? Does he really need any nice wall hangings in the parts of his home that guests will never see? The only seemingly indulgent purchases YQY makes are those needed to uphold his image as sect leader, like fine clothes and hair oils. Those are functionally business expenses, because YQY is aware that how he presents himself reflects on the entire sect. (SJ surely doesn’t see it that way— he only sees YQY putting on the affects of nobles and spending money like water, as bad as any of the natal lords in this sect). In the modern era, YQY would come home, take off his perfectly tailored suit, and flop face first onto his bare mattress on the floor.

YQY’s everything belong to SJ

I think that if SJ had asked, YQY would be willing to give him basically anything he owned. Fundamentally, YQY puts SJ’s life before his own. He would not have walked into near-certain death long after SJ became irredeemable to the rest of the cultivation world if that was not the case. Yue Qingyuan literally offers SJ his life. 

YQY would die if he thought it would make SJ happy. If YQY’s life and the sword that is his life can be forfeited to SJ, what’s a bit of money, or the material possessions that YQY cares little for? What’s his is SJ’s, and if it would make SJ happy, YQY would not hesitate to hand over whatever SJ asked for. 

YQY likes taking care of people.

Although the fanon of YQY being overly solicitous and constantly pushing gifts on SJ contracts canon (as far as I can tell, there's not a single instance in the novel of specfically Yue Qingyuan giving SQQ a gift-- at most, there's references to all the peak lords doing so), I think there’s a little truth to it— if YQY thought SJ would allow him to, he would absolutely give SJ whatever he thought the man might like or need. I would go as far as to say that he probably longs to do so. He is a service dog, after all.

Yue Qingyuan most often expresses his affection as protecting, taking care of, or expressing concern for others. Most of his 'wet puppy in the rain' moments in canon are not due to his own misery, but because he is concerned for SJ or SQQ. Yue Qingyuan is bad at existing for his own sake; he is constantly shown to be putting others and the sect above himself, and none more so than SJ. Personally. I don’t think this is just due to YQY’s strength of character. I think he gains a sense of purpose and identity from being the one to protect and take care of others. There is a reason I say YQY had eldest daughter syndrome: he needs someone to take care of For His Health.

Being allowed to give or buy things for SJ, or have SJ use YQY's assets to buy things himself, would fulfill YQY's needs. It would give him vital enrichment. After their long estrangement where SJ constantly ignores YQY, someone as simple as being able to express affection by providing for SJ would literally be a privilege to YQY. 

That's all well and good, but doesn't that just mean YQY's wants to be SJ's sugar daddy? Why do I specify findom instead? Well that's where we get to SJ.

SJ would be suspicious of gifts

SJ is a paranoid person, and many gifts come with some expectation of reciprocity. I think SJ’s ability to appreciate gifts would be hampered by his immediate unasked question: “what do you want from me?”. While gifts for Peak Lord Shen may pose less of an issue, as he’s able to quickly identify the motives from deference to bribery, gifts to Shen Jiu The Person may pose more of an issue, as the lack of a clear motive besides expressing affection leaves room for SJ’s mind to invent one. Honestly, SJ reacts similarly to most kindness— he himself is so rarely kind without a motive, so it’s hard for him to imagine that others might not be the same. (Any kindness Xiao Jiu showed his Qi-ge doesn’t count— SJ was only protecting what belonged to him 😤).

Because of this twisty brain maze he’s made for himself, SJ is far more comfortable taking something than receiving it. SJ learned as a child that he will be given nothing, and that taking things is necessary for survival, and he had no compunctions about it. Taking is an act of initiative and aggression: taking is winning. I actually think this is how he framed begging in his mind— by thinking of it as tricking people, he gets to feel like he’s won or stolen something, rather having to linger in the pity. 

Gifts, affection, and love can all be given this treatment. If SJ tricked YQY into loving him and must now cling to his rightfully earned possession, SJ needn’t address his own feelings. If YQY’s money is something SJ takes, he gets to feel like he’s taking advantage of YQY instead of having to feel like he’s reliant on YQY or like he's YQY's charity case.

SJ is a massive control freak, and he is always most comfortable in a relationship when he can tell himself he’s in control of the  dynamic, even if that makes the relationship appear unhealthy to an outside observer. Once YQY catches on to this, he would do absolutely everything he could to accommodate SJ (without SJ realizing he’s being accommodated ofc).

In short, YQY leaves his wallet on the nightstand, SJ takes or “steals” it and buys some overpriced designer good he doesn’t need, silently daring YQY to challenge him on it, and they both feel fulfilled by this. 

This is what peak performance looks like.

(Side note: there are a couple other ways to execute a findom for dynamic for qijiu! The main two I can think of are "Stupid Qi-ge’s money is so easy to steal: obviously I must steal it First, and use it Better, to Protect Him." and "Stupid Qi-ge is languishing/never takes care of himself. I must take his money and use it to force him to do self care." My tastes run angstier tho 😂)

[bachibae]

yandere!manager!alexis ness × idol!reader

long oneshot, edited from my wattpad 'cupid' fic because idk what to post here nor how to use this app #lol

You were a sucker for adoration.

That's why you shimmered under the spotlight, your (h/l) (h/c) hair cascading down, bouncing along with your movements, as you sang the final note of your latest hit. Your big, dolly shaped eyes with the help of the complex eye makeup, and red lips formed an image of perfection that your adoring fans couldn’t get enough of. Just like that, you commanded the stage with an allure not easily found on ‘commoners’. And the ending finally arrived; the applause was deafening as you bowed, smiling sweetly and waving to the crowd. How could you not, when your name was cheered from start to end?

Backstage, your manager Alexis Ness watched with a mixture of pride and longing. His perpetually calm, almost sweet demeanor. To the public, he was the perfect manager: efficient, kind, and always composed. But beneath that exterior lay a twisted devotion to you that you had no idea existed.

As you entered your dressing room, your smile vanished. You picked up a cigarette from the table and lit it, exhaling a plume of smoke as you flopped onto a plush chair. The sweet idol your fans adored was nowhere to be seen.

Ness followed you in, carrying a stack of papers. "Your schedule for tomorrow, [name]," he said, placing the folder on your vanity.

You glanced at him, your expression hardening. "Just leave it there," you muttered, “And you're late.”

Ness bowed his head slightly. "I apologize. It won't happen again."

"It better not," you snapped, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke directly at him. Ness didn't flinch; he simply stood there, enduring your disdain with a quiet, almost disturbing acceptance. You didn’t know it, but Ness’s heart ached with a twisted love for you. He adored you, every cruel word, every dismissive glance. It only fueled his obsession.

“Do you need anything else?” His voice came out gentle, despite your harsh attitude towards him.

You scoffed. "What I need is some peace and quiet. You're always hovering, Ness. It's annoying."

"Of course, [name]. I'll give you some space," Ness replied, stepping back but not leaving the room. He watched you with a mixture of pain and adoration, his love for you hidden behind his unwavering professionalism. You had no idea how deeply he cared, how much he yearned for your affection despite your constant mistreatment.

Long red nails adorned your fingers as you boredly opened the folder, reading the plans for the following month.

A hum escaped your tinted lips in satisfaction upon seeing your schedule; a collaboration between two of the most important Japanese agencies to engage in a photoshoot. And, obviously, you were chosen for it. just as expected.

Or maybe Ness was just that hardworking, working his ass off to be able to get you all these opportunities. But you weren't one to think about these possibilities, anyways.

+

The next day, the studio buzzed with activity. Your agency had arranged a high-profile collaboration with one of the world's most famous football stars, Itoshi Sae. Both would be modeling together for around two whole months for an exclusive fashion campaign, a fusion of sports and entertainment designed to captivate a broad audience.

Ness coordinated the logistics, ensuring everything was perfect- as always. He had always known about your secret admiration for Sae, so he seriously didn't understand why he helped you get that collaboration. I mean, it's not like you had never told anyone, but Ness had pieced it together from the way you watched his interviews, the way your eyes lit up when his name was mentioned.

When Sae arrived, his presence was commanding. At 180 cm, he matched Ness in height, his demeanor cool and unbothered. His piercing gaze swept the room, and you felt your stoicism falter. You approached him, your usual sweet mask firmly in place.

"Itoshi Sae," you said, extending your hand with a charming smile. "It's an honor to work with you."

Sae shook your hand briefly, his expression unreadable. "Likewise," he replied, his tone polite but detached.

+

Ness stood on the sidelines, his gaze fixed on the unfolding scene before him. A mixture of envy and bitterness churned within him as he watched you interact effortlessly with Sae, someone you had long admired. Each smile you shared with Sae felt like a stab to Ness's heart, a reminder of the growing distance between you two.

Despite his best efforts to maintain a professional demeanor, Ness struggled to conceal the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. He plastered on a practiced smile, but inside, his emotions threatened to spill over like a dam about to burst.

Two months. That's all it would take for this agonizing collaboration to come to an end. Two months until he could finally put this chapter behind him and reclaim your undivided attention. Or so he had hoped.

+

But as the days turned into weeks, Ness found himself increasingly consumed by jealousy. The chemistry between you and Sae was undeniable, their connection drawing the attention of everyone around them. With each passing moment, Ness's envy grew, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth.

The collaboration between the renowned idol and the star athlete quickly became a hot topic on social media, further fueling Ness's insecurities. He found himself obsessively scrolling through comments and mentions, seeking validation while simultaneously torturing himself with the praise lavished upon you and Sae.

Ness's hands clenched into fists as he read the countless messages extolling the pair's compatibility. It was as if the world had conspired to rub salt in his wounds, to remind him of his own inadequacies in the face of your admiration for Sae.

With each passing day, Ness's facade of professionalism began to crack, revealing the seething resentment bubbling beneath the surface. By the seventh session, his composure was hanging by a thread, his every glance at you and Sae filled with simmering anger.

It was in one of those sessions, where you and Sae were busy modeling for the last photoshoots, that Ness's professionalism finally grew from slowly cracking to threatening to burst anytime, every glance you gave to Sae, every laugh you shared, (‘what the fuck? Sae laughing?! He didn't even smile at [name] the first few days!’ Ness thought furiously), each touch on the arm or shoulder during the shoot sent him plummeting into the dark depths of his obsession.

He could feel the jealousy gnawing at his heart, whispering that he alone should be the one by your side, the one making you smile, the one you should love. Once the photoshoot finally ended, Ness was quick to find you and congratulate you for it, bubbling praising words begging to leave his throat to be directed towards you.

“[Nam—]!” He called,

But he was forced to stop right in his tracks when you ignored him completely, not even sparing a glance in his direction, darting instead towards Sae.

"Itoshi," you called, voice purring with a honey-like sweetness.

"Yes, [name]?" he calmly responded, turning his back around to hold eye contact with you.

"Today's photoshoot was nice, I really enjoyed working with you today…So, let's meet again, alright? I know this French cuisine restaurant that just opened around, and apparently their food is exquisite."

Sae was somewhat surprised. He would lie if he didn't say he thought that you were just acting nicely to him because of your job. But seeing that you made your way towards him, daring to invite him... he didn't think that a popular singer would even invite him to dinner.

But Ness? Oh, sweet little Ness wasn't believing his eyes.

"Oh?” Sae responded, “Well... My schedule still has some free spots. So I guess I could... Next Friday, is it?"

Your grin widened. "Next Friday it is."

The sight of you and Sae talking, and worst, planning on meeting again, only fueled Ness's jealousy. He watched with clenched fists, his mind racing with dark thoughts. It was supposed to be him, not Sae. Why couldn't you see that? He had sacrificed so much for you, working behind the scenes, securing opportunities and navigating the treacherous waters of the music industry. And yet, you seemed to discard him like a mere puppet.

He couldn't contain himself any longer. Interrupting your conversation, Ness inserted himself between you two, his voice dripping with false enthusiasm.

"[name], my dear, I believe we have some last-minute paperwork to sign before wrapping up today's events," he began, his words laced with an artificial warmth, hoping to divert your attention.

You barely spared him a glance, your eyes still gleaming with longing towards Sae. "Can't it wait, Ness? I'm having a conversation here.”

"Ah, it's alright." Sae spoke. "I understand if you have some stuff to deal with your manager. I'll get going now.”

Ness seethed internally, watching as Sae excused himself from the conversation and your scowl deepened. It was a small victory, but he couldn't deny the bitterness coursing through his veins.

With Sae gone, Ness turned his attention back to you, masking his simmering anger with a polite smile. "Please, [name], let's discuss those papers now. It won't take long.”

Your face twisted, clearly displeased by the interruption and the thought of dealing with paperwork. "Ugh, fine. But could you at least try to make it quick? I need to get out of this wretched makeup and onto my skincare routine."

Ness nodded, his lips stretching into a tight smile, knowing full well that he had no intention of rushing anything. He gestured for you to follow him to a secluded area away from prying eyes, a random room reserved for only the workers. As you reached a quiet corner, Ness presented the folder to you

As you flipped through the pages, Ness could barely contain his impatience. "I also have a few personal matters to discuss with you," he finally managed to say, "Regarding your schedule and upcoming collaborations."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested in any personal matters that didn't involve yourself or your career. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?" you sighed, your gaze lingering on the documents rather than on him. "I really need to get out of here.”

Ness's facade slipped, a flicker of resentment crossing his face. "No, [name]. I think it's best if we address these matters right away." His voice grew firmer, refusing to let you brush him aside. "They concern your well-being and your future... our future," he added, a possessive edge tainting his otherwise sweet words.

"Ugh," you groaned, rolling your eyes. "Fine, what do you want to discuss so urgently?" You set the documents aside, clearly wanting to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.

Ness took a deep breath, attempting to steady his shaky voice. "I have concerns about the future collaborations we discussed," he began, his tone filled with a mixture of calculated concern and veiled possessiveness. "They may not be aligned with your true artistry or your unique talents. The one with Mr. Itoshi, for example—"

Your frustration seemed to reach its boiling point. "Oh, please," you scoffed, "Here we go again with your obsessive need to control every aspect of my career. It's suffocating.”

“E-eh? I'm not controlling you at all, [name].” Ness stammered, dangerously approaching the edge.

“Seriously,” you continued, uncaring, “Can't you just trust me to handle my own decisions? If I want to work with Sae, so be it. Do you really think I could care less about my career and how it's ‘aligned with my true artistry’?”

Ness's grip tightened on the folder he was holding, struggling to keep his cool in the face of your scathing remarks. That was it. He wasn't going to, but you mentioning Sae was the worst thing you could do at the moment. "Trust you?" he snapped, his voice rising in volume. "Trust you? How can I trust you when you're spending time with people like Sae, when you're neglecting the work I've put into building this career for you?”

“...?”

"I've worked sleepless nights, poured my blood, sweat, and tears into crafting your image and securing collaborations that would catapult you to the top," he continued, his voice getting louder as he gestured frantically. "And yet, here you are, fawning over someone as insignificant as him, wasting your precious time on a worthless athlete.”

You stood in stunned silence, your eyes widening as Ness's outburst continued. You had never seen him lose his composure so visibly before, especially not over something as trivial as a simple business collaboration. His words cut deeply, revealing layers of obsession and possessiveness that you never knew he harbored.

Ness continued, his voice wavering between frustration and desperation. "Don't you understand, [name]? I've given you everything. I've done everything to make your dreams come true. And this, this is how you repay me? By drooling over some footballer like a lovestruck teenager?!”

You remained speechless, your usual feisty demeanor replaced by a bewildered expression. Ness's possessive rant shattered the image of the reliable manager you thought you knew, revealing a dark, obsessive side that chilled you to the bone.

And with each sentence, Ness's voice grew strained, his words spilling out like a pent-up floodgate. "I do everything for you, [name]. I give you the world, and all I want in return is your love. And yet, you ignore me, push me aside, and throw yourself at the feet of someone like Sae!”

"What... what the fuck do you even think you're talking about...?” you stammered in bewilderment, not believing the words that left your hardworking manager's mouth. “Have you already lost it?!”

Ness's expression darkened, his eyes gleaming with a twisted intensity. "Lost it? I've lost myself in you, [name]! My heart, my soul, my entire existence is dedicated to you. You are my muse, my light, my everything. But sometimes it feels like you don't even notice me, like I'm just a shadow in your grand performance.”

As Ness spoke, his fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turning white with the force of his emotions. You took a hesitant step backwards, your eyes wide with surprise and concern. “Seriously, I can't understand you at all…”

"Do you have any idea how many times I've heard praises about you? How people talk about your beauty, your talent, your charisma? And they always ignore me, the one who made all of this possible. They forget that without me, you would still be just another girl singing in some run-down pub!”

With each accusation, Ness's voice rose in pitch, echoing off the walls of the room. Your hands fluttered nervously at your sides, unsure of how to respond to his outburst. It's not that you felt scared, you felt confused. Something you weren't used to feeling at all. But annoyance was boiling on your skin… along with an eerie feeling of surprise. You knew Ness was weird, but this facade was truly something unexpected.

"And now, you want to spend time with Sae, acting like some lovesick schoolgirl. What do you expect from a footballer? What does he have to offer you? Fame? Money? Power? I can give you all of that and more!”

Ness took a menacing step closer, his gaze piercing into your own. You could feel your heart racing, torn between emotions you didn't know how to describe.

"I've been the one by your side all this time, supporting you, guiding you. I've given you my heart and soul. And yet, you still choose to look elsewhere. It's… unbearable! The pain, the jealousy, the fear of losing you. That's why I can't stand it, can't bear the thought of you being with anyone else but me!”

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of your breathing. You were quiet. Too quiet.

Then, with a sharp crack, something inside Ness seemed to fracture. His shoulders slumped, and he took a shaky step forward, the last one, the weight of his emotions finally overwhelming him.

"Damn it, you drive me crazy, [name]," Ness finally snapped, his control slipping. Without warning, he forcefully pulled you close, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your body tensing at the unexpected display of passion. However, Ness's determination and possessiveness were relentless. He deepened the kiss, holding you tightly against him as if you were his most cherished possession. Time seemed to stand still as Ness poured his pent-up desires and frustrations into the kiss, desperately trying to claim what he believed belonged to him alone.

As Ness kissed you, his touch grew more urgent and possessive. His hands gripped your arms, his fingertips digging into your skin, as if he feared you'd slip away from his grasp if he let go for even a moment. Each breath, each movement, held a hint of desperation, a need to claim you, to make you his, to stake his claim upon your heart and soul.

The kiss continued, Ness pouring all his unrequited emotions into every brush of your lips. It was a hungry, desperate kiss, fueled by a mixture of love and obsession. He held onto you tightly, his body pressed against yours, as if trying to merge your very being together in that moment. In his mind, there was no room for logic or reason. All his actions were guided by the overwhelming need to claim you as his own, to possess you completely.

And as it deepened, Ness's hands moved possessively down your body, tracing every curve and contour. He claimed you with his touch, seeking to possess every inch of your being. However, his sudden display of passion caught you by surprise, and you found yourself torn between desire and apprehension.

Just as quick as it started, the kiss finally broke, leaving you both gasping for breath. Your eyes widened, a mix of shock, confusion, and... perhaps something else, swirling within your gaze.

“Ne—”

“[name], please-” He interrupted you before you could even start, hands trembling on your shoulders, “Just… just accept me at your side. I'll do anything you want, I- Literally anything!”

Ness's desperation sent chills down your spine. And a really, bad idea, formed in your mind.

You knew you shouldn't take this so lightly. You liked Sae, and that's without taking into account the so painfully obvious problems Ness suffers from. Seriously, you thought people that obsessive only existed in fiction.

But still, even if you knew you should have immediately fired him, some would even fill a restraining order, you took his words slowly. Too slowly.

As the moment stretched on and Ness's confession hung in the air, a twisted smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Leaning in, you whispered, your voice dripping with honeyed poison, "Anything for me, huh?"

Ness, his heart skipping a beat, immediately responded, "Anything. Please, consider me a toy if you want...! Just don't-... don't leave me alone.”

Ness's response, tinged with desperation, seemed to bring a perverse satisfaction to your twisted heart. You leaned in closer, savoring the power you now held over him. With a mockingly sweet smile, you whispered,

"Well then, I'll make sure never to leave you alone. Because if I did..." Your voice dropped to a dangerous tone, "What would be the point of having such a devoted plaything, mhm?"

After all, you were a sucker for adoration.

[0hmyg0th]

— 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

abby anderson x reader

★ summary ⸻ abby feels terrible, she don't want you to spend time with her knowing that you thrive on social interactions. She feels like she's holding you captive with her introverted ways. ★ sfw! ⸻ purely fluff! very lovey dovey 😩 including; i love u's, usage of nicknames, mention of marriage 🫣. and anything else i forgot to add. this is for ( @paqerings ) they requested " https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRcgu17H/ - this for abby" ★ taglist ⸻@paqerings @vvynia @slut4mascss tag-list is open :) ★ note ⸻i was planning on having this fic out wayyyy sooner but college work took to much of my time. also, after this and a couple more of tlou i will be posting aot content as well!! so stay tuned for that. i hope this doesn't flop ( first time doing anything other nfsw related ) okay bye. now read 💋

⸻ 4:30pm. evening. jacksonville florida. summertime

this is probably the most relaxing evening you ever had in your entire existence. you felt the most safe at home with abby. you had no problem dropping everything to be with abby at home, doing the most mundane things known to mankind. some of your friends would even say you and abby are in yall the "boring couple era" however, the way you would rephrase it would be, "quality time". you didn't mind doing things that might feel boring to others with abby like watching TV, reading together on the couch, or even doing a puzzle on a friday night rather than going out to a club. it didn't matter what. just along you were being touched by her presence. and you know, when the time comes she will be there to cater to your social needs. always.

"I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make- I feel bad 

you were feeling like a gooey pile of mush. it didn't matter how many times you re-watch 10 things i hate about you it seems like that movie had the undertone superpower to make you feel like your heart has been broken into a million pieces - and the craziest thing is that they are fictional characters. astonishing. you were so hypnotized by the movie that abby's words fell deafly onto your ears. with a small touch from abby, you peeled your eyes away from kat and patrick. looking at the sight of your beautiful girlfriend, the small colored freckles scattered all around the bridge of her nose. The best feature you loved was her nose and her watercolor eyes. the way her eyes would create this type of expression was only found in the imitation of the wild ocean water. you adored how blue they were under the shining light and how dark they would become in the shadows. "hm?" you blinked a couple of times, staying still upon her sight. 

the pads of her fingers slowly and lightly stroke the peak of your shoulder. you moved in closer, head tilting in the process. "you okay abs?" you spoke softly. the guilt-ridden expression painted on abby's face, her chest heaved . "I feel bad" Abby's hand immediately went to the back of her neck while lowering her head. "oh baby" you cooed. the palms of your hands reaching the warmth of her cheeks, lifting her face to make her look at you." why? My love" god. if y'all couldn't get any closer. you moved from the soft cushion onto abby's lap. you draped your arm around her neck while your fingers found the shell of her ear; playing with it to soothe her overwhelming nerves. 

"mmcht - I don't know. I feel like you shouldn't be doing this. you should be out - with your friends. I don't want you to be forced to be here just because- 

"imma stop you right there, abs" Your lips drew this amused smile, her warm plumped lips being covered by your hand. her eyes flickered down to your hand and quickly back up to your orbs whilst her eyebrow frowned a bit -- giving the impression she was gonna whimper a bit. however, the hand that played with the ruffles of your satin shorts never stopped. 

"When I first met you I knew we were the total opposite. I knew that I was more extroverted than you are. which is okay. I didn't let your social awkwardness or your introverted ways stop me from dating and loving you" you reassured. your eyes soften, you love abby with all your heart and when you love someone, you love them whole. 

Your hand vibrated against abby's moving lips for a mintue or two. "I agree" you let out a small laugh. you both forgot your hand was taking up space on her face. she removed your hand from her mouth and into her own and as if it was a daily routine between her and you, she intertwined her calloused finger in between yours. "I enjoy my solitude, but ever since I met you I enjoy it even more when you're in it" abby whispered the small confession, god. there are not enough words in the universe to express the amount of love you harbored in your heart for them. 

"I love you. I really do" You were lost for words, you love it when abby expressed these types of thoughts she had for you. abby heart swelled with pride at being your girlfriend because she never met someone capable of understanding her in a way she thought only she would. you are her soulmate. In a quick small vision, abby had imagined you in this most beautiful wedding dress known to man and with your ring finger decorated with the most expensive ring ever. 

you notice abby was deep into thought so you nudged her slightly, "penny for your thoughts?"

"you wanna get marry?" abby spoke nonchalantly. you were taken back, as one would in this situation. Your eyes practically popping out of your sockets. "what?" you exclaimed. 

abby shrugged her shoulders," I mean it" 

you dwelled about it for a minute. me? mrs. anderson. that does sound good. 

the enddd. 💋

[nerdieforpedro]

Angel in Disguise

Javier Peña x plus size female reader

This fic and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: a little over 1k

Summary: It's raining and it reminds you of your recent interactions with your best friend Javier Peña.

Warnings: unrequited love, angst, one person you work for should not drive, slight self-esteem issues?, possessiveness

Notes: I haven't posted anything for Javier Peña for a long time. I'm glad I was able to write something. This is one of two for @undercoverpena 's April Showers Challenge.

Main Masterlist/ Javier Peña Masterlist/ Writing Challenges Masterlist

Leaning against your desk, you’re looking out at another rainy day. Thankful that you keep a pair of rain boots in your office and at home. You’re thinking of last month and last week, how you’ve lied to Javier and yourself. It’s for the best though. 

Large drops remain on the window as the sound of the water falling intensifies. Last month you had finally worked up the, well with a shot or two of liquid courage to tell him. Tell Javier Peña that “yeah, we’re friends Javi but I want more from you. Have wanted more from you. I could make you happy, because I know you. We know each other. I can give you something simple, a life together.” One of your favorite dresses, your deep violet one that had the open shoulders you liked. Pretty and not too sexy you felt, just right.

Nothing was right that night. He walked in with a woman you were pretty sure was at least ten years younger than him or maybe she had excellent skincare and always used sunscreen. His hand looked perfect on her waist and so did hers on his. He introduced her to you as his girlfriend of the last six months. You’d heard him mention someone but didn’t think it was the same person. Was she the one that had large mood swings? Javier would never admit it but you know he craves a bit of drama. Something you rarely have any of. Dinner was nice at the bar. She seemed nice. Neither of them stopped smiling nearly the entire night. 

The only silver lining is that you live on a lower floor than Javier so you don’t hear that. You’d go insane if you heard them doing that. You’ve heard the rumors and have gotten the sense (though given your feelings you could be biased. Highly doubtful,) that most of them are true.

That night you went home by yourself, threw off your dress and flopped across the bed. You weren’t sure if the rain came down first or your tears but you do know that you cried yourself to sleep and woke up cold. 

That was last month. Now they’ve been together for seven months.

This week at work you were legitimately busy given that the ambassador you work for has decided to drive drunk and hit a lamppost, damn idiot. Of course he wants to use his diplomatic immunity and the policia would like to make an example out of him. Negotiations are led by you as you represent the embassy. Javier was able to catch you one day, say hello, how are you and ask what you thought of Camilla. Her name is even pretty, like her. She was polite and complimented your dress that night. Nothing bad to say about the woman except she exists or is doing so next to Javi.

You lied right to your friend’s face and told him that you like her, she seemed very sweet, that you three should go out for drinks and that she’s beautiful. The last one wasn’t a lie, she was stunning. The rest of it you’re still unsure how you made it all drop from your mouth so easily. His eyes light up and Javier says something that is as honeyed as it is a stab, “I’m glad you like her. I was worried you might not and then I’d have to wonder if she’s really right for me. You’re the best ángel.” You think you smiled and gave him a hug before going back to dealing with the ambassador issue. It’s a blur. Getting back to your office and stopping yourself from yelling took priority over before getting back on the phone about this drunkard’s problem which is yours.

Finally into the next week, you’ve settled the dispute between the policia and the ambassador. He’s required to pay for the damage and a substantial amount of money to the city of Bogata with a suitable donation to the policía as well. You should have left a few hours ago, but then you might have run into Javier on your way out. You need to steady yourself before seeing him. ‘Just act like I did two months ago. It will be fine.’ That’s what you tell yourself but you know your body will betray you when you see him. You feel the melancholy and longing again. 

The gray skies match your mood. Subdued. Drippy. Unsettled. Foreboding. Closing your eyes, you feel them fall against your cheek again, the tears rolling down. Twisting your body to reach for the tissue box you now keep on your desk, you pat your eyes to see Javier Peña in the middle of your office.

“Hey amiga, qué paso? (friend, what’s up?) You’re crying.” It’s kind that he asks, Javier is always kind. Before you can tell him you’re fine, he’s got an arm around you and kisses your forehead. “What’s wrong?” You won’t tell him why, he’s happy and you know he deserves it. Given the small pieces of how he came to be at the embassy. Broad strokes and rumors are what you know. Javier doesn’t talk about his time in Columbia or pursuing the Cali cartel. When it’s mentioned his face hardens, letting people know to change the subject.

“Just a tough day today, that's all Javi. Thanks.” Your head leans against his chest, breathing in his scent. Keeping your hands around the tissue you’d been dabbing your eyes with. A thought you immediately regret enters your mind:

Could she be an angel in disguise and leave him broken on a rainy day such as this? Maybe Javier would be standing out in the rain? Could you take him against your chest like he’s doing with you now?

No. It wouldn’t be the same. Javier is being a sincere friend to you right now. You would have an ulterior motive. 

A few more tears fall across your cheeks as a gust of wind blows the rain loudly against your window. Even the sky is scolding you:

Leave that man be, you’re the angel in disguise. 

Peeps who want a hug from Javier 😭:

@guelyury @yorksgirl @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @javierpena-inatacvest

@theywhowriteandknowthings @goodwithcheese @maggiemayhemnj @readingiskeepingmegoing @bitchwitch1981

@harriedandharassed @bishtrouille @schnarfer @katw474 @megamindsecretlair

@tinytinymenace @magpiepills @pedroshotwifey

[crocodilenjoyer]

op fic recs 3

personal favorites bolded!!

G

what's another night on mars? by genesis_frog | post-canon | | gen, straw hats-centric | 5.1k | complete

“Marriage, to many, is a sacred, romantic vow. A promise between lovers to live together and die together. Whoever said that that love had to be romantic? There are so many kinds of love that exist, and surely, can’t the bond between friends be celebrated eternally?”

Luffy has An Idea, or: Five Times the Straw Hats Discussed Getting Married and the One Time They Actually Did

In the Belly of the Junkyard by alpha_hydra | pre-canon | gen, kid & killer | 2.5k | complete

Kid isn't very good at making friends. He's been told by adults and children alike that he's rude, or else that he's too hot-headed, or that if he keeps holding grudges like he does, no one is going to stick around for long. Until one day, he meets a boy with a mean right hook, and everything changes.

Somewhere I Have (Never) Travelled by alpha_hydra | marineford | gen, ace-centric | 7.2k | complete

Now: the sun rises, and Ace lives.

AKA, Ace lives, but it takes a while to get us there.

and yet we keep walking by freckledshoulderblades | post-marineford, some information from luffy's flashback | gen, deuce-centric | 4.2k | complete

Three years after Marineford, Deuce arrives on Dawn Island to ask after Dadan and learn more about the man Ace was.

Like Ink Through Her Veins by grainjew | during timeskip | vivi-centric, background namivivi | 5.6k | complete

Vivi manages, away from her crew. Usually, managing means ruling a country, reading the newspaper, and checking up on her father.

Sometimes, though, it means sneaking out of the palace at midnight and getting drunk with passing pirates.

across ocean tides and snow-covered hills by nevermordor | post-canon | gen, ace & luffy | 3.6k | complete

After two whole years, after everything that’s happened, he wants Luffy to look different. But he still has the same scrawny arms and narrow shoulders, still wears the same ratty old flip flops and hat. The only real change is the scar across his chest, to match Ace’s own.

“Everyone’s been saying you beat me here by like a whole day or something,” Ace remarks. Luffy starts in surprise, his head swiveling around, eyes wide. “I say, so what. Try beating me at something that actually matters, like wrestling, see if I don’t still win.”

--

Ace and Luffy come home for the winter.

all's fair in love and war by guiltylights | ambiguous setting, post-timeskip | gen, hancock-centric | 3.7k | complete

This far from the lights and sounds of the party the only thing Hancock can hear is the crashing of the waves, close to their feet—and the calming sound of Luffy, snoring loudly and contently, his chest rising and receding with each breath, just slightly out of sync with the sea. There’s just a little light, reflecting from the moon over the silvery dark waters, to see by, but enough to see clearly. And maybe it’s the combination of all these factors at once, of both safety and ambiguity, that makes Hancock even deign to consider answering the sniper seriously.

‘You love him,’ she says, staring out to the sea. She has one long leg crossed elegantly over the other, is reclining back with one arm draped over a knee, ‘and thus, I will compete with you for his affections.’

The sniper frowns. ‘When I said I loved him, I meant that as a friend, or a crew-member does. Like—a brother?’

For the first time in her life, Hancock confronts what it all really means—to love, and be loved, with her beauty.

nothing to do (with you) by guiltylights | post-wano | gen, zeff-centric | 4.3k | complete

The man who just entered moves, slowly and purposefully, as though demanding everybody’s attention be on him, until he stops right in the middle of the restaurant, in front of where Zeff is.

Zeff eyes him over his food. ‘To what do I owe this visit,’ Zeff says mildly, ‘Vinsmoke Judge?’

Across from him, the militant monarch of the Germa Kingdom takes a seat.

Judge thinks that Sanji is a failure of a son. Zeff doesn't think that much of Judge at all.

children of the damned by guiltylights | during alabasta | gen | 2k | complete

A finger traces almost carelessly around the rim of the wine glass, but Ace watches from the corner of his eye how that finger never wavers from its steady trajectory, the line of the glass always pressed exactly in the middle of that finger, and knows this woman is anything but relaxed. Confident, perhaps, but not relaxed; the bow of her spine is stiff and unyielding, taut like a too-tight string under the loose soft layers of her fur coat, and Ace wonders briefly whether that’s why she wears it in this fucking sauna-like desert country – to hide the stiffness of her back, her smile – before pushing the thought away to the recesses of his brain. It’s absolutely none of his goddamn business.

Devil child, Ace remembers.

T

how could oceans come between us by merikai | post-wano | gen, monster trio-centric | 4.2k | complete

Zoro really has no idea how they ended up here in the first place.

or: monster trio in a marine base what will they do

all summer on bloody knees by ghostwit | pre-canon | kidkiller | 3.1k | complete

"Kiss me, asshole," he says.

(Partially based on SBS87. They're maybe mid-late teens here.)

Gold-Tinted Days by needchocolatenow | ambiguous setting, post-timeskip | zolu | 4.3k | complete

Luffy had Zoro—always.

there is thunder in our hearts by taizi | marineford, information from dressrosa | gen, asl brothers | 6.7k | complete

He’s not close enough. He’s not going to make it. Even if he managed to shake off the soldiers in front of him and just threw his whole body at full-speed between Luffy and Akainu to take the blow, he wouldn’t get there fast enough. He doesn’t have enough time. He’s going to lose another brother, only this time it’s going to happen right in front of his eyes, from seven—five—three feet away.

He’s ten years old again and learning what grief is. He’s ten years old and all that’s left of Sabo is the letter in his hand and a shared dream and the promise that Ace will look after their silly baby brother while he’s gone. 

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Ace screams. It’s pure desperation. It’s the last human thing he’ll ever say if Luffy dies here. 

A Different Father by LPSunnyBunny | marineford | gen, buggy-centric | 1.2k | complete

Before they get to Marineford, Buggy finds out about Ace's parentage- and fuck, he can't just let his captain's son die. Time to improvise.

toragara by Origamidragons | pre-canon, information from luffy's flashback | gen, zoro & luffy | 5.1k | complete

There's a tiger on Mount Colubo.

(Luffy makes a friend.)

it burns a hole through everyone by taizi | post-dressrosa | gen, luffy & sabo | 3.4k | complete

“I bet that some people, who fought in that war for Ace, who loved him and didn’t even know me, wish that it had happened differently.” Luffy still doesn’t look up, expression unreadable when he adds, “Sabo loves us both, but he loved Ace longer.”

If Sabo had been stabbed with sea stone, it would have hurt less. If he had burned with the Grey Terminal, or drowned at sea in front of the Celestial Dragons, it would have hurt less than this.

He’s on his feet before he’s aware of moving, seat tipping over and rolling away behind him. He can feel the steam start to lift off his super-heated skin as Ace’s fire inside him reacts to the way his heart is racing.

“Don’t say that,” he says, too loud, almost a shout.

to cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades | shells town through post-timeskip | zolu | 10.6k | complete

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his.

waters of the wild by LadyCrimsonAndBlack | post-whiskey peak through post-punk hazard | gen, straw hats-centric | 4k | complete

Even to his nakama, Luffy sometimes appears just a little bit too odd.

(Or: Five times a Straw Hat notices something strange about Luffy, and the one time someone knows what's going on.)

Singing, When You Don't Know How to Pray by ghostwriterofthemachine | pre-canon through post-timeskip | gen, straw hats-centric | 12.7k | complete

So why was Luffy so determined to get a musician for his crew?

Or: Song, singing, and shanties on the high seas.

Before the Storm by orphan account | post-timeskip, pre-wano | kidkiller | 2.3k | complete

"Under the light of the sun, so similar to that of the South Blue, and the silhouettes of dying men, they dig a big fire pit into the sand and gather around it. The only order Kid gives that day is to celebrate their victory over the Marine vessels now littering the ocean floor. It had been an easy fight, looking back, but it keeps the crew happy and Kid isn’t one to dismiss a chance for drinking."

triskelion by razbliuto | pre-canon | boa sisters-centric | 5k | complete

Sink your fangs in, sister, and don't let go. — The Boa Sisters, still breathing despite all odds.

M

Squash and Stretch by LPSunnyBunny | marineford, information from wano | gen, ace & luffy | 3.3k | complete | TEMPORARY MCD

In one world, Ace takes the blow for Luffy and dies in his arms.

In this one, Luffy reacts just fast enough to push Ace aside and save him, taking the blow himself.

and its companion,

Kiki and Boba by LPSunnyBunny | marineford, information from wano | gen, ace & luffy | 5.3k | complete | TEMPORARY MCD

Ace's perspective of Squash and Stretch in which he is terrified for his little brother because what the FUCK IS THAT.

life's yard full of rakes by ghostwit | pre-canon | gen, crocodile-centric | 3k | complete

It's crude work, cudgel and bolt and human flesh; Crocodile can feel the bone splintering, the little shards embedding in the tissue around the shattering when they drive the great, rusted stake through his hand.

day 24: self induced injuries to escape

E

Axiomatic by KBstories | post-wano | kidkiller | 5.3k | complete

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.) Self-evident; unquestionable.

*

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

[stillbeatingheart]

thought about burning the past

Also on Ao3

Harringroveson AU: Billy is a cat, Eddie is a bat, and Steve is just trying to keep everyone alive now that they're back to being that way.

Fic under the cut (I don't see any warnings that would apply, but this would be established poly relationship, post Upside Down)

A big orange cat paw stretches out and pins the chirping bat to the carpet.  

“Knock it off,” Steve warns as he kicks off his shoes.  When he walked up to the door it had sounded like a herd of buffalo in here.  He’s been amazed more than once at how much noise these idiots can make, even in forms that should be quiet and agile.  

The bat squeaks and the cat reaches out with his right paw to whack the bat before he releases him.  The orange cat sprawls out on his belly in the strip of sun on the floor, licking his paw and running it across his head before laying both paws out in front of him, kneading the carpet and kicking out his back legs.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Steve wonders towards the cat.  The cat flips his tail in response, rests his chin on his paws and closes his big blue eyes.

“Of course you are,” he mutters and he stoops down to offer the bat his open palm.  The bat looks disgruntled but unwounded as he hops up into Steve’s hand. “Don’t act innocent in all this either,” he warns the bat, “I know you most likely started it.”

The bat squeaks in response, shakes like he’s flicking the dirt of the afternoon off his coat, and then tucks his wings in close to his body.  

“You won’t dignify that with a response, then?” Steve sighs, brings his hand up to his shoulder to let the bat climb on.  

“I’m out there all day earning money to pay the bills, working my fingers to the bone, and here you two are just playing a game of tag.  It’s like you don’t even care if you ever go back to your human form.” 

The bat squeaks, nudges against the side of Steve’s throat with his face.  The cat opens one eye, his ear twitches and then he closes it.  

“What if I kicked you out?  Would that change your drive to figure this shit out?”

Eddie squeaks again, Billy flops over to his side and flips his tail.

“I suppose no one cooked dinner either,” Steve says as he makes his way towards the kitchen. “What’ll it be tonight? Insect soup with a mouse chaser?”

Eddie makes a coughing noise right next to Steve’s ear and Steve snorts.  He reaches for a can of soup and dumps it into a pot, firing up the stove, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter.  Eddie’s body weight is shifting from foot to foot on Steve’s shoulder and he knows he wants to tell him something but they’ve yet to figure out a way to communicate.  

Sure, this whole thing seems a little like Steve’s fault but he doesn’t regret it.  He’d been asking the world in general for his boyfriends to return from the Upside Down and reiterating plenty of times in his most distressed states that he didn’t care how they came back or how they’d changed, just that they came back.  He tried witchcraft in his more desperate hour, and well, it worked he supposes because now they’re back.  And not really human.  It’s not like some Pet Cemetery thing or whatever, they aren’t zombie animals, they aren’t blood thirsty or taking any opportunity to bite Steve and eat his flesh.  They’re actually kind of really fucking adorable, but he’s not going to say that to either of them.  At least not yet, not until they figure out if his foray into spell casting fucked them over for life or if it’s something they can control and shift like a werewolf.  Fictionally speaking.  Steve’s never met a werewolf and used to doubt their existence but in the last couple years he’s decided to just never doubt anything.  If he never doubts anything then he can’t be surprised anymore.  

He hasn't told anyone about this just yet, it seems way too complicated to explain to anyone, including Robin.  Though he feels guilty every time he’s around her and his mind wanders back to home, back to wondering what Eddie and Billy are up to, if they’ve killed each other yet being cooped up inside all day without anyone else for entertainment around. Then again, they did just spend months in the Upside Down with nothing but each other, so they’re probably pretty used to it.  

He also knows the first thing anyone is going to ask is how exactly he knows it’s them.  It’s just some random cat and some random bat that have come into his home and he’s crazy enough to believe it’s Billy and Eddie, like the truth is he’s fallen into some kind of delusional state and he’s truly just building his life around a feline and a mammal.  He can’t really take the chance that he end up in a mental facility and Eddie is put down, Billy put in a shelter.  

Steve’s gaze flicks over to Billy, he’s flipped over to lie on his back.  Showing his belly.  Steve never had pets, so he did a little research at the library.  He knows they aren’t actually animals, so it’s not like he can follow pet owning as a golden rule, but he figures it doesn’t hurt to know about dietary restrictions and body language as much as he can.  So he knows that Billy showing his belly doesn’t mean he wants to be pet there, it just means he’s in a place where he feels safe and he trusts the people he’s around.  Yeah, there’s no way he can allow this cat to end up in a shelter.  Billy would end up getting put down after he bit every single hand that reached for him.

And Eddie, well, he’d either be set free to go live amongst his own.  Or they’d deem him incapable of survival in the wild after being domesticated.  Steve reaches a hand up, scratches Eddie’s tiny furry head.  Eddie leans into it and when Steve drops his hand to get the soup off the stove, he drops from his shoulder.  It’s not enough height for Eddie to actually fly, but he can use his wings to slow himself down and cushion his landing on the counter.  This was something that took some trial and error and a whole lot of Steve catching Eddie in his palm before he could hit the ground and hurt himself.  

Steve pours the warmed soup into a bowl, spoons some of the veggies and chicken out onto a plate.  He calls out towards the sleeping cat, “Billy, food’s ready.”

For Eddie, he cuts a few chunks off an apple and lays them out on the counter beside him.  He squeaks what sounds like thanks, so Steve responds, “You’re welcome.”

Billy’s ear twitched, so he knows the asshole heard him.  But he hasn’t bothered to get up yet. “Well, I’m not bringing it to you, so if you’re hungry eat before it gets cold.  Or eat it cold later, I don’t care.”

Billy stays still, like he hasn’t listened to a word.  Until Steve pulls the stool out at the counter and sits down to eat his own bowl of soup.  Then he’s getting up, stretching long, yawning and sauntering over to rub against Steve’s ankle.  He stands on his back legs, reaching up with his front paws to Steve’s knee.

“Yeah, except that I know you come up here all the time and lick the plates in the sink.  So…” Steve reaches down anyway.  If Billy is seeking touch, then he’s not going to deny him.  He just needs to make it clear that he’s onto him without so many words.  He lifts Billy from under his belly and sets him on his leg, pushes his little china plate over close to the edge so Billy can eat without getting up on the counter.  There's a bat already on the counter, so it’s not like Steve is trying to impress anyone, but it’s kinda nice to have Billy keeping his thigh warm under his fluffy vibrating weight.  

Steve talks them through his day, gives them any theories he has about how to get them back to their human states, while they eat.  Eddie is making it clear he’s listening by giving Steve eye contact and doing this cute little nod thing every so often, squeaking softly like a hum when there’s moments between Steve’s words.  Billy is not offering anything, he’s chowed down his soup and curled up on Steve’s lap.  His tail flipping in a steady rhythm against Steve’s hip the only thing proving he’s even awake anymore.   

When Eddie is done eating, he hops across the counter, climbs his way up Steve’s arm and settles in on his shoulder.  As much as he loves cuddle time, it’d be a lot easier if they’d wait until he was done eating and sitting on something more comfortable than a kitchen stool.  He tells them as much, Eddie nudges his neck and Billy flicks an ear.  Neither of them bother to get up.  

“Isn’t this what you two do all day already?” Steve wonders when he’s done eating and Billy is allowing a head scratching.  Billy sighs and Eddie chirps.  

“Alright,” Steve says after a few moments.  He lifts Billy off his lap and instead of being still and trusting Steve to deliver him to the couch, he jumps down, digging his back claws into Steve’s thigh on the way. It startles Eddie when Steve stiffens under the pinpricks of pain, he dives off Steve’s shoulder and hits the counter with a thump.  Billy hit the ground, went off like a shot and Steve is pretty sure he’s going to hide under the couch all evening.

“You alright?” He asks Eddie, laying his palm out for him to step into.  

Eddie does so, and eagerly accepts the lift to his perch.  The tips of his wings tickle against Steve’s neck when Eddie lays on his belly, using his wings to balance his weight.  

“If this lasts much longer, I’ll have to clue Robin in on it so she can help me mend my wardrobe appropriately.  Little pads on my shoulders for you.  A sling to carry Billy in.”

Eddie squeaks his approval as Steve starts working on the dishes.  

^~^

Steve is already in bed, with Eddie hanging off the curtain rod, by the time Billy makes his way back out from under the couch.  He’s silent on his way into the room, the dim light from the hall slanting across the floor when he pushed the door open.  Steve hears it when he jumps up to the foot of the bed, feels his weight on the mattress.  He’s careful when he puts one paw out to test the waters.  Laying it on Steve’s ankle like an apology for clawing him earlier.  

Steve pats his chest, the place that’s become Billy’s favorite place to spend the night.  Which is equal parts comforting and uncomfortable for Steve, but his warmth and purring outweigh the pressure of his body on Steve’s sternum.  Billy carefully walks the length of Steve’s leg like a balance beam, keeping his claws in and making every footfall light.  It’s impressive even with the careful stepping just how much weight is on each paw.  It’s not like cats are heavy, Billy is kind of a brick of a cat, but he’s still a cat.  

When he walks across Steve’s belly, Steve tightens his muscles to protect himself and to give Billy solid footing.  Also, he can just imagine Billy’s voice saying, “Getting a little soft in the middle Harrington,” if Steve didn’t pull his abs taut for his crossing.  

With all four paws on Steve’s chest, Billy headbutts Steve’s chin.

Steve lifts his hand and strokes Billy’s head, then follows the curve of his spine to his tail before he starts over at his head again.  Billy arches into it, purrs so loud it might as well be the only sound in the room.  It’s always been easier for Billy to offer affection in the cover of darkness, Steve’s not surprised it’d be any different in this form.  

It’s really not hard to fall asleep with Billy’s soft warmth under his hand and against his chin, with that weight on his chest chasing the nightmares away.  By morning Eddie has made himself comfortable tucked into the juncture of Steve’s shoulder and neck.  His tiny puffs of breath tickling Steve’s ear and the undeniable feeling of being stared at are the things that wake him.  Opening his eyes, he’s met with Billy’s big blue ones giving him the unblinking stare that only a creepy ass cat can dole out.  As soon as Steve blinks at him, he’s launching himself off the bed and scampering out the door like his mission has been accomplished just by startling someone out of a deep sleep with only his eyes.  

“Asshole,” Steve mutters, reaching out to slap his alarm before it can go off.  The motion wakes Eddie, who immediately clambers up into Steve’s hair. “Not the hair, man, c’mon,” he grumbles as he pulls himself to seated on the bed to scrub at his face, “Why do I even put up with this?  I gotta get you changed back before you both drive me insane.”

Chapter two

[george-weasleys-girl]

The Matchmaker Pt. 2

Part 1:

Warnings: a few curse words

~•~

Fun fact: I never intended this to be a multi-chapter fic, but when I went to save the first part, I accidentally posted it instead. Tumblr was being glitchy at the time, and I couldn't change it to a private post. So, I just did a quick proofread and hoped for the best.

Well, now, it appears I've gotten a little carried away, and there will be a Part 3. 😆

~•~

Fred chewed on his lip to keep from frowning. His plan was going far worse than he expected.

~•~

"George, you should probably talk to Y/N," Fred suggested, his smooth, steady voice hiding the anxiety threatening to boil over. "It's been three weeks. I'd really hate to see your friendship fall apart over some mysterious lover who may never reveal themselves."

"If she wants to talk to me, she knows where to find me."

"You've not exactly been very encouraging," Fred accused. "You won't even look at her, for Merlin's sake."

"Why should I bother? She's got her precious little secret admirer now. What does she need me for?" George stood and stalked out of their room, slamming the door behind him.

"Fuck." Fred flopped across his bed trying to figure out how his perfect plan failed and how he could fix it.

~•~

Y/N lay in the grass, watching the clouds roll by. She used to do this with George all the time. They could spend hours just lying there, pointing out shapes, and chatting about anything and everything.

All that was over now. With every letter she received, he slipped further and further away from her.

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memories. How did everything get so messed up? Over the last several days, she'd endlessly replayed everything that had happened, trying to figure it all out. In the very beginning, she'd hoped George was her secret admirer. But, he'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't write any of the letters.

However, that wasn't what bothered her the most. Not anymore, anyway. It was his anger. She just couldn't understand it. If he only ever saw her as a friend, why should it matter if she had a secret admirer or a boyfriend. It made no sense.

Unless...

No, that couldn't be possible. Certainly, George would've said something to her by now. Wouldn't he?

Or would he?

She'd been silently in love with him for ages, waiting for him to make the first move. But what if he'd been waiting for her to do the same?

Y/N jumped up and sprinted inside, heading straight for Gryffindor Tower.

Not surprisingly, no one answered when she knocked on the twins' door. It was a beautiful day. They were probably outside stirring up mischief somewhere. That's ok, she thought. They all lived in the same place, and the boys would be back eventually. So, she'd just grab a book to read and wait for them in the common room.

Unfortunately, her plan was derailed by the discovery of a new letter. With a sigh, she opened it up and began to read.

Oh. Shit.

Dropping the letter on her bed, Y/N raced back outside to find George. It was now or never. She had to know where she stood with him.

~•~

Fred whistled as he strolled across the school grounds. This was going to work. He could feel it in his bones. Y/N would receive one last letter inviting her to the Three Broomsticks tomorrow at noon where her secret admirer would reveal themselves.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen because her admirer didn't exist. Y/N would think she'd been stood up and be understandably upset. But no matter. Fred would make sure George was there as well so he could swoop in and sweep her off her feet, and this whole mess would be over. His plan was foolproof.

~•~

Y/N was certain her heart might beat right out of her chest. She'd checked all the usual spots. No George or Fred. Wracking her brain as to where they could be, she approached a circle of Hufflepuff girls to ask if they'd seen the elusive twins.

She was only a few feet away, when she stopped dead in her tracks.

"I can't believe George Weasley asked you out to Hogsmede tomorrow," one girl said.

"Like, on a date?" Another asked.

"I think so," said a third. "We didn't really discuss details. He just asked me if I wanted to go with him and I said yes."

Y/N couldn't make out who said what, but it didn't matter. In one fell swoop, her whole world had just titled. Taking a couple of stumbling steps backward, she fell back against the wall, her head spinning.

"Hey, Y/N? You ok?" Y/N felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Hermione with Harry and Ron standing behind her.

"Yeah, yeah. Just got a little dizzy." Y/N smiled, pushing herself away from the wall. "Think I'll go lie down for a bit."

"Want us to walk with you?" Harry asked.

Y/N shook her head. "I'll be fine, thanks though."

"I could go get George," Ron offered.

"No! I mean, no, really. I'm ok." Y/N gave them one last smile before turning and disappearing around the corner.

~•~

George hated himself for letting his jealousy and pride get the better of him. He might've been able to salvage their friendship, maybe even confess his feelings if he hadn't been such a stupid git. Now, it was too late. It was only a matter of time before Y/N's secret admirer made themselves known, and then she'd would be well and truly lost to him. Just the thought of it made it difficult for him to breathe, as if his lungs were closing up.

It was that painful desperation that pushed him to do what he did next. The moment he saw Misty Davies, the cute Hufflepuff girl who'd had a crush on him since their second year, walking toward him on the path, he strode up to her and asked her out before he could second guess himself. Maybe if he had someone, anyone to cling to, it would soften the blow that was barreling toward him.

For a brief moment, a burst of exhilaration shot through him when she gleefully agreed to go with him to Hogsmede. But, the high was gone as quickly as it came. Misty was very pretty and very sweet, but she was not Y/N. Whenever George thought about his future, it was Y/N who he'd always envisioned by his side. No one else even came close.

~•~

"So, Georgie," Fred began. "I was thinking that tomorrow, we could hit Zonko's and Honeydukes, and then instead of gorging ourselves on candy, we could have a proper lunch at The Three Broomsticks."

"Can't," George replied as he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. "I have a date."

"A what?" Fred nearly fell out of his chair. Why was he just now hearing about this?

"A date," George continued, his voice dry and flat. "You know, two people going out together with romantic intentions."

"With who?!"

"Misty Davies. That Hufflepuff girl who has a crush on me."

"M-Misty? Why in Godric's name would you be going out with her?"

"Why not?" George shrugged. "It's not like I have any other options."

It was like the floor had given way underneath Fred, and he was in free fall.

"I--I just remembered I gotta do something," Fred stuttered.

"Yeah, ok. Whatever." George said and rolled onto his side, turning away from his twin.

~•~

Ginny was sound asleep when she and her roommates were startled awake by a frantic knocking at their door.

Ginny glanced at the clock. It was almost one in the morning. Expecting the worst, she jumped out of bed and flung open the door to find a pale and out-of-breath Fred on the other side.

"What's wrong? Is it Harry?"

Fred shook his head. "I need your help, Ginny. I've fucked up. Like fucked up, fucked up."

@princess-paramour @milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

[starker1975]

I’ve seen a post about it before but I wanted to say it myself. Don’t undermine your work by captioning it “in my flop era” or “I hate how this turned out” or “I suck at summaries” or “I’m not sure if this is good…”

Even if you think it’s true, it doesn’t help you to say these things. It’s the strategy of rejecting yourself before others can. Like if you say you don’t like it first then it won’t hurt as much if someone else ends up disliking it. You can just write it off as “I didn’t care about it anyways.” It will still hurt though and it will make a lot of people click away because of the mentality “if they don’t believe in their own work, why should I?” if you tell them your edit or story or art or whatever sucks, then they’ll believe you. Which is the opposite of what you want. If you say it hoping for compliments and validation like “it’s awesome what are you talking about??”you fall into the trap of looking like you’re being fake modest and fishing for compliments. Also not a good outcome.

And again, even if you mean it, if you really doubt your work and don’t think it’s good, then I’m flat out telling you to be proud of your work anyway. Maybe it’s not the best or it could be improved but you still tried and you still posted it. You already won! Fandom wouldn’t exist without creators taking a chance and hitting the publish button.

And I know from a lot of personal experience that it’s easier said than done to stop caring about what people think and to stop relying on comments and kudos to make you feel proud. But you seriously have to stop worrying about it. The only thing you have control over is how hard you work and how much fun you have. If you truly enjoy creating things then just create them. Who cares if you have bad grammar or it’s too self indulgent or you used CapCut or you didn’t know how to end it so you just cut it off where you were or it’s ooc… whatever it is. It’s still valuable and worth your time! When you’re chronically unhappy with your work it doesn’t matter if it gets 5 likes or 10k likes, you’ll still feel that pit of “it’s still not good enough” and the only way to get around that is to slowly teach yourself that at the end of the day you’re creating for yourself and sharing it as a bonus. This is a hobby! And it is not a rule that you have to be good at hobbies. They can just be fun and something you like to do.

And as a bonus exercise if you have creations that don’t get a lot of attention, think of some of your favourite actors and musicians, think of some of their most unpopular songs or roles, but the ones that you love anyway. Should they feel ashamed of themselves bc they’re not Oscar winners??? Should they give up creating bc they’re not selling out arenas? Hell no!!!!! Think of some of your fave fics from the depths of the tag that have zero comments and 1 bookmark, but that you love anyway and constantly reread even if you’ve never said it to the author. There are always fans and people who care even if you don’t know it. And if you validate yourself then you always have one fan. 🥹🖤

🖤🖤🖤

[magicalrocketships]

Hello!! I'm really excited about reading more Max/Daniel dick chicken fic (how did the last ask put it?? escalating horny/feral gay chicken sexting maxiel fic? 🤲) Do you have a snippet you could share?? Thank you!!

I DO have another snippet I can share!!

This is from a fic known subtly as Daniel and Max play Dick Chicken. The snippet I've posted already is here, and there are another couple of bits and pieces in my dick chicken tag, but I swear I can never actually make those tag links work any more, so sorry if that comes up with literally nothing. Yay, Tumblr! I promise they do exist even Tumblr insists that's a broken link.

Anyway, have some Max/Daniel rimming. (E, 1700 words. Ever so slightly edited to remove a couple of bits of context-required spoilers but it should still make sense). The entire fic should be subtitled the one where they're feral for each other. This bit is the first time they've actually got naked together and not through a phone screen.

"You are late."

"I had to shower." Daniel feels like he should protest because they never specified a time, and anyway, only one of them has travelled half the fucking globe today, and he's done most of his sleeping recently in very uncomfortable airplane seats and it is not his fault that he's completely fucking insane over Max fucking Verstappen, who— who is just pushing down his shorts. He is just getting naked in his entrance hall and looking at Daniel like Daniel is the one making strange choices. Which he is, but at least he's still fucking clothed like a fucking normal person.

"You did not need to shower to come here, Daniel," Max says. "Take your clothes off."

Daniel toes off his flip-flops and leaves his phone and keys on the hall table. "I was gross, I needed to shower."

"No," Max says, holding his hands palm up and doing a little lifting motion with them, a take your t-shirt off, please request that Daniel obeys because it's either that or… not taking his t-shirt off. "It was fine. But now you are here, and you are not naked."

This is the most they've talked since Daniel left Red Bull. This is fine. There is probably nothing to say, anyway. They both know why they're here. He tugs his koala t-shirt over his head and lets it pool on the floor, tangling with Max's discarded clothes as Daniel shoves down his shorts. He's half-hard in Max's apartment, shorts hanging off one foot, and Max has his hand cupped around his dick like he could be posing for any one of those expressionless selfies he's sent Daniel over the past few weeks.

Daniel is playing the same little song on a loop in his head and it goes what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—

Max tilts his chin up. "I am going to lick you out and make you come, Daniel."

Cool, Daniel thinks nonsensically, as any remaining brain power he still has takes a nosedive off the nearest balcony. His dick gives up too, and just gets as hard as it's ever got before. It even gives Max a jaunty little wave. Cool. Not embarrassing.

"If you still want it, of course."

"I want it," Daniel says, and something in his brain must still be processing information because he doesn't remember deciding to say yes. It just happened while he was still trying to take in the fact that Max Verstappen is naked in front of him, with his dick out, and the world still appears to be turning on its axis like everything is fine.

Fuck, Daniel remembers when he used to be straight.

"Good," Max says, and sets off for the bedroom like Daniel is just going to follow.

Daniel follows. Max doesn't take him to the bed, though, but to the dressing table over the other side of the bedroom. There's Max's stuff on it, discarded boarding passes and stuff from his pockets and detritus from travelling. Knocked over deodorant bottles, sponsor shit he's never even bothered opening. A watch getting dusty somewhere in among the still packaged Red Bull t-shirts. There's a mirror.

Max nods towards it. "You can watch yourself," he says, like that's a normal thing to say, and he drops to his fucking knees.

Daniel looks at him for the longest moment, at Max Verstappen hard and naked and on his knees for him, weirdly expressionless but clearly waiting for Daniel to get on with it.

So: Daniel leans over the dressing table, palms flat against the surface. He spreads his legs and looks back over his shoulder at Max kneeling behind him.

Max looks up at him then. His eyes are bright. "I am going to make you come, Daniel."

"Yeah," Daniel says. His voice is hoarse. "Please."

Max adjusts his position. On his knees, directly behind him, his dick just there. Hard. Glistening wet at the tip. Daniel's mouth is dry. He licks his lips. Then Max cups Daniel's ass in his hands. Palms to his skin. "I have thought about this a lot, Daniel," he says, spreading Daniel's ass cheeks like this is a normal way to touch someone intimately for pretty much the first time. Daniel's skin already feels like touch paper. One spark and he'll be decimated. "I have come already thinking about this."

Daniel stares at himself in the mirror. He is pink. Unshaven. Eyes wide. His throat works. "Yeah?"

"Yes, very much," Max says, and then he strokes over Daniel's hole with the pad of his thumb. Daniel's hips skitter forwards, thighs hitting the dressing table. His dick bumps up against the torn plastic packaging of a new Red Bull shirt. Daniel shoves the plastic away until it's just the t-shirt. He drags his tip across the shirt. It leaves a little snail trail already. Max's thumb strokes his hole. It is disconcerting, because Max has never demonstrated a second of warming up in any of his pictures or videos. His is a hot lap approach to orgasms, fast and furious, and right now it is just his thumb. Daniel is watching himself in the mirror and it is already too much and literally nothing has happened yet. He is watching his own destruction and it is too late to stop it. He is already destroyed.

But then— Max spits on him. He spits and it runs down Daniel's ass crack and over his hole and Max gathers it up and strokes him wet. He spits again.

Daniel blurts pre come onto Max's shirt. He swallows down a groan. He is watching Rome burn but he is Rome and he's the one who lit the fucking match.

"You can make noises, Daniel," Max says. He has switched to the pads of his fingers, more than one. Daniel can feel his hole fucking flutter and it is humiliating, but it is more humiliating when he presses back against Max's fingers. But then Max leans in and Daniel feels the warmth of Max's breath on his skin and then Max presses his tongue to Daniel's hole and Daniel fucking expires.

Max is all business. He is data driven, at speed, the track a learning experience beneath his tongue. He drags his tongue up Daniel's crack, sweeps of attention that have Daniel whimpering. He laps at Daniel's hole, kitten licks, only moving away to spit on him, dirty and so, so fucking hot. He cups Daniel's balls through his legs, not gentle, never gentle, like touch is function and the only outcome is Daniel's eventual orgasm.

Daniel drowns. He drowns in the mirror, helpless to stay quiet, skin flushing pink. He presses his ass back into Max's face, and Max digs his fingers into Daniel's thigh and licks at him like it's a fucking race. Daniel melts like ice cream. When Max's thumb presses inside of him, his tongue lapping around it, Daniel cries out. He holds himself up on the flats of his palms, leaning forward until his forehead is pressed against the mirror. His breath clouds, wet and warm, steaming up the mirror.

Max's thumb is replaced by his tongue. He is inside of him. He eats Daniel out like he's starving. It is filthy hot. Spit drips down his crack. His dick leaks pre come across Max's shirt, and for a moment, Daniel longs for him to wear it afterwards. Daniel marking him up like he's his. He gasps it out into the mirror.

Max sits back, his breathing ragged. His tongue is replaced by a finger, two fingers, then he's back and there is spit and his tongue and he covers Daniel's hole with his mouth and alternately sucks and blows like it's a fucking practice session and he's trying to find the best fucking line to take a corner.

Daniel shudders through it. He shivers. He is disintegrating, Max re-arranging his molecules with his tongue, but the mirror shows him whole. A fucking mess, but whole. He reaches down to grab his dick, but he's barely got his fist wrapped around it when Max is nudging his hand away.

"I am going to make you come, Daniel," Max tells him, circling Daniel's wrist with his free hand. "Not you."

Daniel drops his chin to his chest. "You're going to," he manages. "God, Max, you're going to."

"Good," Max says, sounding satisfied, sounding breathless, and then he's spitting on Daniel's hole again and it's so fucking gross and so fucking perfect that Daniel just forgets everything but the points of connection; fingertips circling his wrist, a thumb to his pulse point, Max's nose and his lips and his fucking tongue. His other hand splayed across the top of his thigh, his thumb to Daniel's ass. The dressing table is leaving lines across the tops of his thighs. Daniel hopes they bruise, hopes he can go back home and press his hands to the marks and know that they are there because he went looking for knives and he found Max.

He found Max. God, he's going to come. He's going to fucking come, and it's going to be with his dick untouched because Max is still holding his wrist. Max's mouth circles his hole again, lips pressed to his skin. Max blows. Max's tongue tickles him, laps at his rim, slips inside again.

Daniel shudders, shivers, trembles. He tips over into orgasm almost without permission, pulsing come over Max's new Red Bull shirt, his dusty watch, a discarded bottle of Right Guard. A single condom, still in its wrapper. He presses his forehead to the mirror and watches come seep into Max's shirt.

Max licks him through it, until Daniel's pretty much pushing him away, over-sensitive and out of it. He drops to his elbows on the dressing table, hands to his face. He breathes. Behind him, Max gets to his feet. His hand goes to Daniel's hip. To the small of his back. Down over his ass, spreading his cheeks again. He's jerking off. Daniel knows without looking, he knows those sounds.

He shifts so he can watch in the mirror. He meets Max's gaze. He's flushed, his face a mess, his hair everywhere. Pre come drips onto Daniel's ass. His hand blurs.

"Come on me," Daniel tells him. "Please, Max. Please."

[mandos-mind-trick]

BobaDin A/B/O Teaser

Read part 1 of the full fic here!!!

Summary: Boba and Din met before his fall into the Sarlacc pit, after Din was stranded during his heat with no suppressants. They parted ways after, both of them content to pretend it never happened, except that's not possible for Din. Boba tracks Din down, only to find he's in for a surprise when he meets the omega Mandalorian once more.

Pairing: Alpha Boba Fett x omega Din Djarin

Warnings: A/B/O universe, implied mpreg, Boba's kind of a softie in this part at least, very AU post Mando season 2, fluff and cuteness but also kind of sad, named child character cause plot.

A/N: I posted this a few months ago but took it down after it kinda flopped. There's been some renewed interest in it today so I've decided to repost it. There's a post on my page regarding the universe this exists in and some background. I was in a mindset when I wrote this and I am very sorry. Also kind of cuts off awkwardly at the end cause I just...stopped writing at that point.

@rosechi and those anons from earlier made me do it.

He holds her close, closer than he ever has. All the times he had left her, all the times he had been forced to leave on hunts was nothing compared to the last few days. She had been taken from him by someone who wouldn’t think twice about hurting her. He had been careless leaving two children alone like that. He had been thankful at first that she hadn’t just been killed. Perhaps Gideon had thought it would only hurt him more if he took both of them. 

He had done what he promised he’d do. He had rescued both of them, and he had gotten Grogu back to his kind. Still, there is an ache in his chest, a hole forming as Grogu gets further and further away. As much as he wants to curl into himself, let his instincts take over, he has a pup to support. A distressed pup who had just lost a member of her aliit. 

He sinks into one of the seats, holding her tight against his chest. He lets his helmet drop to the floor, uncaring if the other two in the ship come down and see him. He’s projecting his scent a bit, trying to calm his pup. It’s a bit dangerous with an alpha close by, but he can’t care. His pup needs him. 

“Shh.” He shushes her, pressing her face against his neck. 

“I m-miss him.” She cries, clinging to his cloak. 

“I know.” He says. “Remember what we talked about? Grogu had to go back to his kind. To his own aliit.” 

“But he’s our aliit.” 

“Only for a little while, remember? Until we found where he belonged.” 

She continues to cry and he can do nothing but let her. It pains him to scent her distress, but she needs to let it out. The best he could do is offer her comfort. 

She cries herself to sleep, still clinging to him. He leans his head back, trying to process the last couple days. It felt like a fever dream. He had been so scared, so desperate to get them back, to make sure they were safe. He’s exhausted. 

Boba climbs down the ladder a while later. Din had put his helmet back on, needing to feel secure. Needing to feel safe. The alpha sinks into the seat next to him, removing his helmet with a sigh. 

“How is she?” He asks, glancing sideways at the pair. 

“Upset.” Din answers. 

Boba hums. “Losing a family member is never easy.” He looks at Din. “How are you?” 

“I’ll manage.” He answers shortly. 

Boba stares at him for a long moment. “What will you do now?” 

Din sighs. He had been trying not to think about that. What is going to happen now? He’d finished what he had been tasked with. Did he go back to hunting? It would be hard with Vira. He didn’t want to start leaving her for long periods again. Not after spending so much time with her. His instincts screamed at the idea of being parted with her again. Did he try to track down a covert? Take his place among Mandalorians once more? “I don’t know.” He finally answers honestly. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.” 

“Join us.” Boba says. “We’re going back to Tatooine. I’m going to take over Jabba’s palace, become Daimyo. Come with us. Let me spend some time with the pup I didn’t know existed.” 

Right. This was his pup as well. He’s not sure how he could forget. She looked just like him. Perhaps because it was a bit unreal still.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Boba asks after a moment of silence.

“I tried looking for you after she was born. Everyone I found said you were dead.” 

Boba leans back in his seat once again. “I almost was. I never thought...” He shakes his head. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have-” 

“It’s alright. I’m not sure I would have made it had you not been there.” Din adjusts his hold on Vira, easing her into a more comfortable position. “I wouldn’t trade her for anything.” 

Boba stares at her, able to see her face from the new position. A small smirk forms on his face, a quiet chuckle leaving him. “Those Fett genes are strong.” 

Din can’t help but smile under his helmet. “There’s no doubting it.” 

Boba smiles. “I’m serious.” He lets his eyes flit to Din’s helmet. “Come with us. Let me take care of you. Both of you.” 

Din leans his head back against the seat. Boba’s words strike something deep in him, all his repressed instincts flooding to the surface. He had been on his own for so long. Forcing himself on suppressants, holding every alpha he came across at arm’s length. He did it for himself, and he did it for Vira. 

Was this his chance to take a load off his shoulders? To share in carrying that weight of his instincts and his pup? Fett had proven himself loyal and trustworthy over and over again. Vira was his pup. He could take her if he wanted, and force them apart. Din knows he won’t. Boba knows how much family means to Mandalorians. Boba was offering them a place of belonging, a home. He would care for his pup, and Din as the bearer of his pup. 

Din doesn’t realize he’s crying, quiet gasps crackling through his modulator. Boba is crouched beside him, hand on the back of his neck. It’s not a cruel touch, it’s not a scruff like some alphas would do to control an omega. It’s comforting. Grounding. 

“Let me help you.” He says softly, thumb stroking the column of his throat. The touch is jarring, after so long without any touch at all. 

“I owe you so much already.” Din gasps out, the tears not stopping. 

“You don’t owe me anything.” Boba says. “I would have helped you even if she wasn’t my pup. If you think you need to repay me, do it by coming with us.” 

Din closes his eyes, letting himself just feel. He hadn’t been this close to an alpha in six years. He never thought he’d see Boba again, much less be working with him. He knows the restraint it must have taken for Boba not to march onto the cruiser and take out Moff Gideon himself to get his pup back. The pup he hadn’t known existed until just a couple days ago. He knew Din was the one who had to do it, was the one who had to protect his aliit. 

Boba could be aliit too. 

It would be so easy to let him in, to give over to instinct. He had been carrying the weight for so long. How nice it would be to let go for once. 

*****

He wakes in a bunk. For a moment he forgets where he is, what had happened. He’s back on the Crest, tucked into his bunk, the place that had been his home for years. But the Crest was destroyed. He had been on Boba’s ship, heading wherever after he had rescued his ade. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, or even moving to the bunk. Boba’s scent floats around him, muted a bit by his helmet. He resists the urge to take off his helmet, bury himself in the scent. Instead he turns on his side, the blanket that had been tossed over him falling to the floor. Something feels off as he lays there in the silence. 

Vira. 

He sits up so fast his helmet hits the top bunk, but he ignores the vibrations rattling his head. He hits the button on the wall, light flooding the small space as he steps out, eyes searching the ship for his pup. 

He doesn’t have to look long, finding Fennec standing in front of one of the viewports holding her. She’s staring out at the blue of hyperspace, eyes open wide and mouth agape. Din breathes a quiet sigh of relief, approaching the beta and his pup. 

Vira turns to him, a big smile on her face. “Look, buir!” She points out the viewport. 

He turns to look, eyes trailing over the giant creatures. “Purgil.” He says. 

She stares at them in awe, Fennec eyeing him. “Don’t work yourself up.” She says. “She was getting squirmy. You need the rest.” 

“I didn’t take you for the nurturing type.” He says. 

The beta gives him a look. “I’m not.” But the way she looks down at Vira says otherwise. 

“Will you be okay for a few more minutes?” He asks. 

“I suppose.” Fennec says, motioning for him to go ahead. 

Din climbs up the ladder to the cockpit, quietly sinking into the passenger seat. He stares out at the blue of hyperspace for a moment, watching it flash by. 

“We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace near Tatooine shortly.” Boba says, his gaze facing forward as well. 

“If I come with you, what exactly do you expect?” Din asks, trying to put his thoughts into words. He feels vulnerable in the presence of the alpha, even though Fett was nothing but relaxed. 

“I’ll need your help.” Boba says honestly. “Taking Jabba’s seat will be easy. Getting Mos Espa to agree will be the hardest. There will be a lot of pushback, I expect, not just from the families. The Hutts will have their own opinions. I need muscle, someone to back me up.” 

“It sounds dangerous.” Din muses. 

“It will be, at least at first.” Boba agrees. “I wouldn’t blame you for saying no.” 

“And Vira? I can’t afford to put her in more danger.” 

Boba turns to face him, and though Din can’t see the look on his face, he can feel the change in the alpha. “I may not know her, but I promise I will give my life to protect her.” 

“And me?” Din says quietly, his brain starting to buzz under the intensity of the alpha. “What do you expect from me?” 

“Nothing.” Boba says, turning back around. “It would be your decision. If you want suppressants, I’ll be sure we have extra. You’re always welcome at my side, even if it’s nothing more than as an ally.” 

******

Fett had been right. Taking Jabba’s palace had been easy. Despite Din’s insistence, Boba had forced him to stay on the ship with Vira as he and Fennec went in and cleaned house. Din is quietly grateful for the moment of rest. He feels weary, a type of weary he hasn’t felt in a long time. He could have forced himself to do it, but he can feel the exhaustion deep in his bones as he sits on the floor of the ship. 

It’s the same weary he had felt when he had been stuck without his suppressants. The same weary he’d felt after he’d had Vira. The same weary he’d struggled with after he decided to leave her in the care of the covert and returned to bounty hunting. 

He needs an alpha. 

His omega yearns for an alpha. 

He has an alpha. 

Boba had been forward in his implications. He would take that position, if Din wanted it. It wasn’t that Din didn’t trust Boba. He owed a lot to the alpha. Boba had been the one that found him stranded without suppressants, half dead after being thrown into his first heat in years. Boba had cared for him, fought against every instinct telling him to sink his teeth into Din’s shoulder, and got him on a ship back to civilization. 

He had also, inadvertently, given Din a pup. 

Vira had been born not long after the fall of the Empire. Din had waited a year and a half before he began his search, traveling all the places the bounty hunter frequented. He heard the same thing over and over, that Boba was dead. Fell into a sarlacc pit on the very planet they were on currently. Din had given up his search not long after he started. 

He knew he’d likely raise Vira by himself. If he had found Boba, he’s not sure what the bounty hunter’s reaction would have been. He could have taken Vira for himself, raised his pup as he had the right to do. Din had wrestled with that idea, but had ultimately decided to seek out the alpha, if nothing more than to just tell him he has a pup. He deserved to know. It was why he didn’t hide the truth from him on Tython. 

He could have lied. He could have easily claimed Vira as someone else’s. 

No, he couldn’t have, he thinks as he stares at the pup seated on the floor between his legs, pushing Grogu’s ball back and forth. He runs a hand over the unruly, thick curls that were messily pulled back into a bun. She looks up at him with those deep, dark eyes. She’s practically a carbon copy of Boba. 

A clone. 

She grins up at him, cheeks dimpling. That was his, or at least he thinks so. He’s never actually seen Boba smile. 

Despite the grin, she looks tired. He knows she has to be, just looking at her. Fennec had been right, calling her squirmy. She’d always been wild, always been on the move. He’d constantly heard it when he returned to the covert. She’s smart, but she can’t sit still. 

Normally she would have been all over the ship, exploring, getting into things. A chord of fear runs through him for a moment, something he hadn’t thought of in the whirlwind since they’d been taken. He knew the Empire needed Grogu for some sort of experiment they were doing. 

What if they did something to her? 

There wasn’t anything they could possibly need from her. Unless they tested something on her? He wouldn’t put it past Gideon to try and make him pay for taking Grogu not once, but twice. 

He can’t fight it, the building anxiety deep in his stomach. He feels like he’s spiraling out of control, like a ship about to crash. Vira’s smile falls as she senses the distress welling in her bearer. 

Din jumps as a hand lands on his shoulder. His fists close around the fabric of his pants, trying to steady himself. Boba is kneeling next to him, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Easy.” Boba soothes him, gently squeezing his shoulder. “What’s got you all worked up?” 

“What...what if Gideon did something to her?” He asks, looking down at Vira who is watching them cautiously. 

“We can’t know for sure that he didn’t.” Boba says, turning to look at Vira. “How do you feel, ad’ika?” 

She shrugs. “Okay. Sleepy.” She rubs her eyes. 

“See,” Boba says, helping him stand. “She’s fine. You need rest. Both of you do.” 

Din leans down, lifting Vira into his arms. Boba was probably right. They couldn’t know if Gideon did something to her. If it was anything of consequence, they’d have to wait and see if anything happens. He doesn’t want anything to happen. The thought of something happening to her because of his own recklessness has his stomach churning. He feels like he could be sick. 

“Come on.” Boba leads him forward with a hand on his back. “We’ve cleared out the upper rooms. Most of it was empty. Seems like most of them fled when Jabba died. Fortuna managed to keep a skeleton crew. We’ve cleared out most of them.” 

“I should be helping.” Din says, trying to distract himself from the panic building within him. 

“You can help by resting.” Boba says, leading him up the steps. “Like I said, this is the easy part. I need you at your best when the real fight begins.” 

**********

Despite his exhaustion, Din lays awake in bed. The sheets are clean, having been brought up by a droid, along with a clean change of clothes for Vira. She had fussed through a bath and dinner before Din let her sleep. The new clothes were a bit big, but they worked. He’d need to pick up some supplies soon. Everything he’d owned had been destroyed. 

Din had taken a bath himself after Vira finally fell asleep. He was used to going long periods without being properly cleaned, but it felt nice to wash off the last few days. The worry still lingered, but in a way he felt like he could force it all down, forget the horrors that had gone through his mind. 

His helmet sits on the ground behind him. He hadn’t been able to relax enough to take all his armor off. What if they had missed something? He can’t take that risk. Not right now. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to put the helmet back on. Not yet. 

He scoots closer to Vira, letting the soft scent of pup invade his senses. He hadn’t done it often, not since he left her with the covert. He presses his nose into her hair, letting the gentle scent flow through him. It’s the best scent in the world, or at least he thinks so. The scent of a pup before they begin developing traits, before they present. So soothing it could loosen even the most steeled beta. 

The scent calms the raging storm inside him. There’s nothing off about it, no change to it. It’s purely her, just as he remembered it being.

[makiruz]

Know what? Fuck it, I'm posting this here.

So as I mentioned before I found a couple of old Bionicle Fanfics on my computer, they're from the old BZPower forum, which died twice, so there's a good chance my copies are the only ones left in existence, and because I really like this one I'm posting it here.

I don't know what's the etiquette for posting fics no longer online, so if people considers it inappropriate please let me know and I'll delete it; also if you know the author let me know so I can contact them. Anyway here it is:

I'm Still Here by Raia Svit-kona

http://www.bzpower.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=292937 (original link, now dead)

I am a question to the world, Not an answer to be heard. All a moment that's held in your arms. And what do you think you'd ever say? I won't listen anyway… You don't know me, And I'll never be what you want me to be.

Takanuva paused and took a deep breath. He immediately regretted it, as the swamp air was damp and heavy and left the musty scent of mud in his olfactory sensors.

Yuck, he grumbled to himself.

The last few days had been a complete blur. Never before had life been so eager to pass in front of his eyes. It seemed that only yesterday he had transformed from a mere Matoran to the sole Toa of Light. Then, in the blink of an eye, he went from being the seventh Toa to the only guardian of Metru Nui, and then he was sent to bring this vital message to the Toa Nuva in Karda Nui. It was mind-boggling.

And what do you think you'd understand? I'm a boy, no, I'm a man. You can take me and throw me away. And how can you learn what's never shown? Yeah, you stand here on your own. They don't know me 'cause I'm not here.

He looked down at his armor, once red and blue, then white and gold, and now a deep, thundercloud gray instead of gold. So many faces, so many identities, so many masks to bear, Kanohi or otherwise.

On the outside, he was Takanuva, mighty Toa of Light, traveler of dimensions.

But deep down…he was afraid. He was inexperienced.

Tahu and the others were never Matoran, he thought. They've never done anything besides fighting for us. For Mata Nui. Would they ever feel like this? As if they've given up everything they ever were, ever could have been? What about Takua? Is he still in there?

Nothing felt real anymore. It was if some other, heroic, strong being had taken over his body. Every action felt almost fake, as if he was just a puppet on a stage, and if the strings were cut, he would flop to the ground, useless and weak.

One mistake. That's all it would take to doom Mata Nui forever, he knew.

And I want a moment to be real, Wanna touch things I don't feel, Wanna hold on and feel I belong. And how can the world want me to change, They're the ones that stay the same. They don't know me, 'Cause I'm not here.

The old Takua, alive in the recesses of his heart, wouldn't have let anything bother him for long. Takanuva pushed his despairing thoughts away. He had a job to do, after all.

The thick vegetation, looping and twisting between the thick pillar-like trees, reminded him of Le-Wahi, and the time Jaller had 'bear-fought' an ash bear, narrowly escaping the encounter only after Toa Lewa had arrived. It seemed so long ago…

And you see the things they never see All you wanted, I could be Now you know me, and I'm not afraid And I wanna tell you who I am Can you help me be a man? They can't break me As long as I know who I am

If only he had the courageous, loyal Toa of Fire by his side. They could have worked well together. I wonder what he's doing now, he thought. Then he realized that his mind was drifting again, like a boat left untied, and he shook his head.

Ahead, the swamp, or bog, or whatever you chose to call the smelly, mucky pit, dropped down sharply. The gnarled roots of the trees erupted from the squishy earth, bare and dry like rahi bones. Without pausing to think, Takanuva leaped down amongst the tangle and used the roots like a bridge to the next dry spot.

Technically, he could fly, but he hadn't been in the mood for it. Flying made him think of the birds yammering above his head, too far up to see, and birds made him think of Gukko, and of home.

Maybe I should fly up there and see if I can spot the Toa, he decided. Holding out his new power lance for balance, Takanuva braced himself. Remember when you used to do stuff like this for fun?

And I want a moment to be real, Wanna touch things I don't feel, Wanna hold on and feel I belong. And how can the world want me to change, They're the ones that stay the same. They can't see me, But I'm still here.

The next thing he knew, he was swooping through the sky. The dank mud and moss sped along underneath him in streaks. Adrenaline flooded his limbs. In a fit of spirits, Takanuva dived, hurtling through the gaps in the drooping vines. A second away from impact he swooped upward and hovered in place.

Cheered, he took a good look around. Mist hugged the trees here, but in the distance, Takanuva could just make out the blurred shapes of two grappling figures; one blue, and one ghostly white. Unless he was sorely mistaken, the blue figure looked distinctly like a Toa of Water. The other unknown was wiry, with luminous red eyes and rows of spines erupting from its armor.

They can't tell me who to be, 'Cause I'm not what they see. And the world is still sleepin', While I keep on dreamin' for me. And their words are just whispers And lies that I'll never believe.

Without hesitation, Takanuva summoned a bright flare. The creature whirled, eyes narrowed. It made no sound, only giving the Toa of Twilight a penetrating glance before sinking into the quagmire.

And I want a moment to be real, Wanna touch things I don't feel, Wanna hold on and feel I belong. And how can they say I never change They're the ones that stay the same. I'm the one now, 'Cause I'm still here.

He didn't have much thought to spare for the strange, spindly being. The Toa of Water, recovered, had stepped through the curtain of mist. Altered and silver-armored, her mask adorned with two wing-like projections, she was Gali Nuva, and one of the Toa he sought.

"Takanuva? Is that really you?" Her voice was shadowed by the countless questions she wanted to ask. Her bright yellow eyes, as open and easy to read as he had always remembered them, showed her shock.

"Yes. Are you okay?" "Of course. But…what happened to you?"

Takanuva sighed. "It's a tale worthy of the Wall of History, but there's no time for that now."

"You've changed," Gali murmured. "So have you," he replied. But under all this armor, I'm still here.

I'm the one, 'Cause I'm still here. I'm still here. I'm still here. I'm still here.

[evilwickedme]

I would like to see the Jewish headcanons please

Hi yes thank you so much I wasn't fishing for this at all

We've already covered this in that post that gained me 150 followers in a week, but obviously Peter Parker is Jewish. My personal headcanon is that he's Ashkenazi and somewhere between Reform and Conservative. Like he flip flops on keeping Kosher and observes the high holidays as best as he can assuming there's no world saving he needs to get done, but overall being Jewish to him is about community and culture over the religious part of it

For Bucky Barnes, however, being observant was a way to reclaim his identity after... Well, you know. He's vaguely conservadox? He doesn't really define it beyond being Sephardic. He keeps Kosher (which was difficult during WWII unfortunately) and wears tzitzit and goes to shul whenever he can. He'd love to keep Shabbat but it's just not practical most of the time - essentially it's like being an on call doctor, where your job is essential to saving lives and therefore he can't keep Shabbat properly, but he likes to have Friday night dinners with his friends (and Natasha, whether they're together at the time or not) whenever he can. He doesn't know if God exists, but during the High Holidays is when he comes the closest to believing it

Bruce Wayne is canonically Jewish but like, by accident? I feel like he less defines himself as Jewish and more defines himself as Not-Christian™. His mother used to take him to Synagogue but the memories are vague now, but he always enjoyed lighting the candles on Hanukkah, especially with Jason. He stops celebrating the holiday after Jason dies, because he loved it so much. It's a shame because I KNOW Cass would love Hanukkah and Steph would be so into the Maccabees' story

Tim is also Jewish but he's entirely non practicing; his parents were never around to celebrate any holidays or impart any Jewish traditions on him and Bruce had stopped doing the one Jewish thing of lighting the hanukkiah/menorah (whichever you wanna call it) by the time he became Robin. The main Jewish thing in his life is antisemitic garbage being published about both Bruce and himself, especially once he becomes CEO of WE

Damian was raised Muslim and doesn't really know how to feel about being half Jewish. When he grows up he might try to find a way to reconcile those two parts of his identity, but the only Jewish person who actually practices that he sees even irregularly is Batwoman, who's his cousin once removed and he's not exactly close to, so he just doesn't feel the need to deal with it yet

The Thing and Batwoman are canonically Jewish this doesn't count as a hc I just love them

Same for moon knight minus loving him cause I have a bunch of his comics but just haven't gotten around to reading them

Actually can we talk about Mayday Parker? Because I feel like Peter would absolutely raise his daughter to be Jewish. He wants her to feel that connection to the Jewish people even though he's always been so wishy-washy about it and she grows up to be way more observant than him

I actually don't want canon!Clark to be Jewish, but I think exploring his Jewish subtext in fic can be so interesting? Cause, you know, he's Moses and shit. I feel like an Modern Orthodox Clark would have the exact same values as current Clark but also I'd love to hear his thoughts on certain Mishnahs, you know? Also having read the Death of Superman arc earlier this month I can confirm all Jesus metaphors in adaptations are such bullshit oh my God did you even read the comic

Anyway I think that's it for now? Unfortunately I have not read Every Comic Ever yet so there might end up being even more HCs later on (especially since I plan to read Greg Rucka's Lois Lane series soon and I'm hoping for some Jewish subtext in that)

Thank you so much for asking this was so much fun!!

[saintsenara]

Your ships opinions are at the same time so funny and so interesting I'm like rolling on the floor howling in laughter and nodding my head in appreciation at the same time xD

I'm wondering now, since you posted ur opinions of snegulus based on Scylla and Charybdis (great fic btw! It's been a while since I got that invested in a fanfiction!), what are your opinions on: James/Severus, James/Lily and Tobias/Eileen?

Also, for the sake of crack, what do you think of Severus/Peter, Marvolo/Albefort and Umbridge/Fudge/Scrimgeour?

thank you very much, anon, both for the very kind shoutout to scylla and charybdis and for the selection of ships.

james potter/severus snape

snames isn’t really a pairing i vibe with, because - in my view - they don’t have any particularly interesting points of narrative convergence or divergence. snack - snape and sirius - is a hot ship because they’re narrative mirrors: they have identical experiences of and attitudes towards grief, duty, atonement and so on, caused by the fact that they are both indirectly responsible for killing the person they love the most; they both have complicated relationships with their families; they are both outsiders among their peer groups; their differences are polar opposites - sirius is rich, snape is poor, sirius is an outsider within gryffindor, snape is an outsider within slytherin, sirius is attractive, snape is ugly; and so on.

but snames doesn’t have that spark. their differences don’t exist on a scale, like snape’s do with sirius, they just exist as separate categories of experience. james is beloved by his family, snape is not. james is an inherent insider, whose whole family have been in gryffindor, snape is an inherent outsider. james is rich, but his wealth doesn’t come with strings attached, whereas sirius’ is obviously only something he’s permitted to access if he conforms to his parents’ restrictive social views and snape has none at all. james is a physical everyman - neither as ugly as snape nor as good-looking as sirius - and, therefore, someone who has no idea how it feels to stand out because of your looks (or name, or choices).

that said, james’ obvious sexual jealousy of snape could definitely be because he wants to bang him. i think we can all see him trying to get to lily by befriending her bestie, only to end up in love. good for him.

lily evans/james potter

i don’t really care about jily, beyond saying that james deserves our respect for bagging a baddie.

i don’t subscribe to the common anti-jily position that if they’d lived they wouldn’t have stayed together - nor that they weren’t sincerely compatible - i’m just not particularly interested in them because i think that there are far more engaging first-war characters, and that fics in which both of them live always kind of flop. harry is just much less interesting if he’s just from a happy home.

what i do like about jily is thinking about the other marauders’ reactions to it. the fact that sirius and lupin never mention lily is - of course - a narrative necessity, since the harry potter series needs to keep the fact of her centrality to the mystery hidden until the very last minute, but i am committed to ignoring that and being sincerely convinced that neither of them liked her. in sirius’ case, because she took the man he obviously loves from him. in lupin’s, idk, who cares about him.

eileen prince/tobias snape

my view on this is informed by the fact that i simply do not accept the fanon that eileen is from an elite pureblood family - she can’t be! her marriage to a muggle man is announced in the daily prophet! what purebloods are doing that?

the only person who ever suggests she might be is harry, who does so on the basis of no evidence, in order to force a comparison between snape and voldemort as a way of soothing his furious grief over dumbledore’s death. but one of the central jokes in voldemort’s background is that he is - by far - the most aristocratic character in the entire series, in both the magical and muggle worlds, but he is denied access to the social cachet this brings in the muggle world because he’s raised in an orphanage and never acknowledged by tom riddle sr. and in the wizarding world because he has a muggle name which means he’s denied access to the lineage-based hierarchy of wizarding society, even though he’s descended from slytherin. it doesn’t make sense, then, for snape to be in the same position - the uniqueness of voldemort’s parentage is the point.

i think of eileen, then, as a half-blood. i also think of her, regardless of her blood-status, as being from a working-class background herself, rather than raised in ancestral majesty. [after all, we have andromeda for that.]

i also think of her and tobias as childhood friends - from the same class background and the same area - with magic the only difference between them. i love this as a trope, because the canonical series does far too little interrogation of the fact that - for all dumbledore and the order’s grandstanding over the inherent goodness of the muggle world - all but one of the mixed muggle-magical relationships we see in canon fail*, all muggleborn children extract themselves totally from the world of their birth, and the two worlds are as completely segregated by the good guys as they are by the death eaters. eileen discovering that magic - which looked so unlikely to cause an issue when she fell in love with toby aged ten - causes the man she adores to despise her, the son she loves to resent her, and the poverty in which she lives to continue unabated is something i think is really valuable to explore.

plus, the idea that eileen - in her son’s eyes - threw away her prestigious magical education to return to a cotton-town slum and marry a poor man provides the perfect explanation for why severus snape makes the choices he makes in his adult life.

[*we hear of four muggle-magical relationships in canon - jkr has added several more in her post-series writing, undoubtedly because she realised how this looks: tom riddle sr. and merope gaunt, tobias and eileen, dean’s parents, and seamus’ parents. we all know what happened to tom and merope, tobias and eileen are canonically a violent, unhappy marriage, dean’s dad leaves his mum when he’s a baby, and seamus’ parents may or may not still be together.]

peter pettigrew/severus snape

so, can we all agree that making snape and wormtail live together for a summer is a god-tier petty move from lord voldemort? imagining him rocking up at spinner’s end with wormtail in tow and saying ‘he’s doing my head in, so he’s your problem now’ sends me every time.

i think they fuck once or twice - what else is there to do in cokeworth? - but neither of them enjoy it.

aberforth dumbledore/marvolo gaunt

i’m sorry, but i can’t stand the disrespect being shown by this question towards one of my favourite canon couples… aberforth/goat.

cornelius fudge/rufus scrimgeour/dolores umbridge

hot!

after all, scrimgeour is gassing her up to harry when he visits him in half-blood prince, and you only do that if the sex is good.

my theory, though? fudge isn’t on board with it - his vibe in canon is that he appreciates umbridge’s bureaucratic loyalty to him but he’d love to stop getting raunchy letters from her, and when rufus suggested that they add a third to their bedroom activities it never occurred to him that she’d be in contention. he wishes he’d known. he’d have vetoed.

[bbcphile]

More Ask Memes Answered!

Thanks, @fealiniel, for asking for #29 from this list:

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic.

I sadly don't have any other deleted scenes I can share for MLC stuff, but maybe you'll accept the opening of my abandoned modern AU (summer music camp edition) for The Untamed?

Cw/tw: allusions to physical abuse

**

“Wei Ying, I swear to God, if you play one more note on that fucking thing, I’m chucking it out the window,” Jiang Cheng growled, gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to wring its non-existent neck.

“You’d have to catch it first,” Wei Ying laughed, flinging himself as far from his brother as the seatbelt of the front passenger seat would allow, and clutching his bright red slide whistle to his chest.

“A-Ying, no antagonizing the driver,” Jiang Yanli laughed from the backseat.

“But A-Cheng’s being mean, jiejie! He’s not appreciating my skills!” Wei Ying whined.

“You can’t be skilled at slide whistle, idiot,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “It’s not a real instrument.”

“Don’t listen to the cruel man, babe,” Wei Ying cooed at the slide whistle while stroking it gently, barely avoiding calling it ‘my precious.’ “He’s just jealous of what you and I can do together.”

“No one could be jealous of that racket. It makes me want to claw my eardrums out. What are you trying to do, raise the dead?”

“It’s not a racket! It’s “Flight of the Bumblebee!”” A piece Wei Ying happened to have one or two pretty fucking fantastic memories of from a summer orchestra camp not too unlike the summer festival they were headed to, as it happened. “And anyway, I’d like to see you try to play it.”

“Hand it over and I’ll show you what I can do--”

“--by tossing it out the window? Yeah, no thanks.”

“Boys,” Jiang Yanli said, laughing and leaning forward from the backseat to put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Enough. A-Ying, it’s very impressive but also very loud and probably distracting for A-Cheng. If you want to play, why don’t you get out your flute and go through the fingering for your audition pieces?”

“Jiejieeee,” Wei Ying whined, then flipped the reclining switch for the seat and flopped back until he was practically lying down and staring up at his sister where she was sitting behind their brother. “I’ve already practiced the fingering for each piece twice AND listened to them each on my headphones. I can’t do it again. I will literally die of boredom. And then fucking Su She will get all my solos—

“—They’re not your solos, jackass! You haven’t done your seating audition yet.”

“—No, but they will be, because I’m better than he is.”

“Ugh. You are so full of yourself!” 

“I am not! I’m just being realistic. Anyway, as I was saying: if I die of boredom, then Su She will get my—yes, MY—solos, and that can just never happen. It would be so wrong it would destroy the universe.”

Jiang Yanli smiled and shook her head. “So the fate of the universe depends on your playing slide whistle, then?”

“Exactly. Jiejie’s so smart. Why can’t you be more like her, A-Cheng?” He reached out and lightly bopped Jiang Cheng’s leg with his knee. 

“No hitting the driver!” his brother yelled.

Wei Ying stifled a giggle. It wasn’t very successful. “Now, see, that’s louder than my slide whistle playing. I really think there’s an unfair double standard here, and--”

“--Will you shut the fuck up?” Jiang Cheng bellowed. “I’m trying to pay attention to the goddamn road”

“Ok, ok! Man, someone’s grouchy. Why—Oh!“ Wei Ying’s mind ran ahead of his mouth for a change, supplying him the answer to the question before he could even ask it. He popped his seat back to an upright position and whipped around to look at his brother. “Is it because you’re nervous about doing the conductor program this summer?”

“Of course I’m not nervous,” Jiang Cheng snapped, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“Good. You shouldn’t be. I saw you practicing in front of the mirror last night--”

His brother turned red and glowered at the road. “--I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t --”

“--Yeah you did. It was around three this morning. You were standing there, in your purple pjs in front of the mirror on the bathroom door, practicing--I’m guessing 4th movement of Dvorak’s “New World Symphony,” given the opening syncopation--”

“--why the hell were you spying on me?”

“It’s not like I meant to! I just started packing late and then I heard movement so I went to check it out, and you’d left your door open! But anyway, it was awesome. Totally professional and confident.” The energy that had been coursing through him all night until he gave up on sleep and had him bouncing his leg against the footwell of the car flared with a potential outlet. “Ooh, I’ve got an idea! Did you want to try conducting with one hand while driving and I’ll play along and try to follow your cues?”

“No, because I’m DRIVING, and because you’d be BLASTING YOUR GODDAMN FLUTE IN MY EAR. Do you have a single fucking brain cell, or did they get fried by playing too many high notes on the piccolo?”

“A-Cheng, be nice,” Jiang Yanli said. “You know how he gets before auditions.”

“Yeah, A-Cheng, be nice,” Wei Ying pouted at his brother. “You -- wait, what do you mean, ‘how I get before auditions’?”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “Like you don’t know.”

“I literally just asked. Why would I ask if I already knew?”

“To hear the sound of your own voice? Why else do you normally talk?”

“Ok, you two. That’s enough,” Jiang Yanli said. “A-Ying, I just meant that you tend to  . . . have more energy before auditions. Or concerts.”

“It’s like you revert back to you at age ten. Pre-Ritalin. You’re impossible to be around. No wonder Wen Qing isn’t coming to the summer orchestra festival this year. Probably couldn’t wait to be rid of you.”

“Very funny. You were on the text thread when she said she was doing the MGH research internship instead. It has nothing to do with her being my stand partner.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Come on, she thinks I’m great!”

“She insults you in every other sentence.”

“Exactly! It’s how she shows affection.”

“That’s not a thing.”

Wei Ying laughed. “Ok, didi. If that’s how you want to play it. Anyway, if Wen Qing hated me, then why would she ask me to look after her younger brother, huh?”

Jiang Cheng jerked his head to look at Wei Ying, before scowling back at the road. “She did what?”

“It’s his first year at Tanglewood. I guess he’s kind of shy. So she asked me to introduce him to people and make sure he made friends, didn’t have too hard a time, that sort of thing.”

“Why the hell would she ask you? You’re the least responsible person there.”

“Come on, I’m a GREAT big brother,” Wei Ying said, leaning over into his brother’s space so the dyed red steak in his ink black hair flopped onto Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “I’m gonna mentor him so hard he won’t know what hit him.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t sprain anything. “Yeah, right.”

Something about his tone sounded off. It wasn’t the normal type of grouchiness. He was genuinely pissed at something. “What does that mean?”

“What, you don’t remember how well you mentored me, my first summer at orchestra camp?”

Wei Ying scrabbled around in his memory banks, but there was a huge blank spot where the data should be. He huffed out a nervous laugh to hide a sinking feeling worse than when Ms. Yu brought her palm back to strike with all her considerable force. Wei Ying hid a wince behind a chuckle and twirled his slide whistle between his fingers. “Um. Did it involve my pointing out the best waffle iron at the buffet and which shower runs out of hot water first?”

Jiang Cheng glared at the road so hard Wei Ying was surprised it didn’t cower in fear. “You got fucking expelled, asshole. Ringing any bells now?”

Wei Ying winced and looked out the window. Apart for some soup-related memories and a few vignettes with an uptight violinist, most of the year he’d turned 14 and the eight years before that were shut behind a door in his mind labeled “Do Not Enter” with several padlocks, deadbolts, and a retina and fingerprint scanner for good measure. Thank fuck for containment strategies and good trauma therapists. Not that he’d found a way to tell his family about the reason for the gaping holes in his threadbare memory. Well, maybe one day. Just . . . . not this one.

He peeked in the peephole of the forbidden door and reached for a memory. There was a faded one, almost in black and white, of him music dueling a kid his own age who seemed determined to win ‘stick in the mud of the year,” some snatches of him getting bored and improvising flute parts instead of observing a 50 measure-long rest, and— “Ah. Right. That was the summer conductor Lan Qiren threw a baton at me, wasn’t it?”

“Of course that’s what you remember. I still can’t believe how fucking proud of it you were. As though that were anything to be proud of. You better not try that shit here, ok? You know what Mom said.”

Wei Ying forced himself not to grip the slide whistle too tightly. Ms. Yu had said that if he made a nuisance of himself, then she and Mr. Jiang wouldn’t pay the room and board for the Berklee School of Music next year. He’d gotten full tuition covered with his music scholarship, but even the two jobs he had lined up wouldn’t cover his share of the apartment he was sharing with his brother or all of the scores he needed to buy. “Oh come on. I haven't done stuff like that in years,” he insisted.

His brother gave him a doubtful look.

“Aiya, everyone’s so suspicious. Fine, fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. Scouts honor.” He lifted three fingers up to his forehead in a mock salute.

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “You were kicked out of the boy scouts.”

“Because they didn’t like that I protested their exclusionary practices!” Wei Ying said, waving his slide whistle at his brother to punctuate each word.

“It’s not like you’re trans! Why do you have to fight other people’s battles? Can’t you just not make a mess, for once? Fuck, it’ll be a nice change to not room with you.”

Here, at least, they were on solid, familiar ground. Wei Ying had memorized the notes to this piece within a year of being taken in as a foster kid. He started twirling the slide whistle between his fingers and gave his brother his most charming expression. “Aww, Jiang Cheng, don’t be like that. Come on, admit it, you’ll miss me.”

“Bullshit. How could I miss you? Or your piles of sheet music with illegible scribbles you scatter on the floor instead of keeping them in a notebook like a reasonable person? Or practicing at 3 in the morning?”

“What else am I supposed to do? Not write down or try out the melodies when they come to me? Now who’s ridiculous.”

“Well, they better give your roommate a refund. Or at least cover his therapy bills. God knows he’ll need it after he’s done with you.”

The only evidence of Wei Ying’s wince was the sixteenth-note hesitation that interrupted the otherwise rhythmic twirling of the slide whistle. “What are you talking about? I’m a fucking delight,” he said, pasting on a bright grin.