#i made it seem like more accomplishments than it is

[forthegothicheroine]

I've made a post about great lesser-known noirs, but it occurs to me that some of you might not be familiar with the classics, and might want to know where to start. This is a ridiculously short list- I have a million more to talk about- but here are some of the big stars of the genre.

The Maltese Falcon: Sam Spade, a clever but callous private detective, gets wrapped up in intrigue relating to an artifact that is functionally cursed. If he's an unscrupulous character, just wait until you meet everyone else. The whole damn cast is electrifying, lending charm and cruelty in equal measure.

The Big Sleep: Philip Marlowe, a kinder and more poetic detective for Humphrey Bogart to play than Spade, is called upon to deal with a wealthy, dysfunctional family, and it keeps on getting weirder from there. Is the sharp-tongued Vivian Sternwood the femme fatale she seems, or is she just another person trying to find the right thing to do in desperate circumstances? And will she and Marlowe keep their hands off each other until the plot has had its last twist?

Double Indemnity: Rich housewife Phyllis Dietrichson and sleazy insurance agent Walter Neff are, by their own admission, rotten people. It's only natural that they should plot a murder together, and that they should turn on each other the very second things go wrong. Every single domestic murder movie since 1944 has ripped this off.

Kiss Me Deadly: This is nominally an adaptation of a Mike Hammer story. Screenwriter Bezzerides hated Mike Hammer. As depicted here, he is one of the worst people in the world. Depending on the cut of the film you see, he may inadvertently cause the nuclear apocalypse. (For once, the theatrical cut is darker.)

Sweet Smell of Success: Cruel, all-powerful columnist JJ Hunsecker wants his sister's boyfriend out of the way (for reasons that are, um, ambiguous.) To accomplish this, he enlists the biggest weasel in New York, Sidney Falco, and the two completely deserve each other as they spend the rest of the movie trading elaborate insults. Popular on tumblr for its dialogue and chemistry between the leads.

Sunset Boulevard: Broke screenwriter Joe Gillis thinks he can con a has-been into hiring him as a script doctor, and that's the last free decision he ever gets to make. From then on, his life is in the hands of Norma Desmond, silent film starlet turned crazed recluse, terrifying yet intensely pitiable. This is as much gothic horror as noir.

Ace in the Hole: The story of a man trapped in a cave is turning out to be a big hit in the newspaper, and if the publicity will make a reporter's career, then what's the harm in delaying rescue just for a little while? This is as vicious as noir gets, but damn it, you've just got to see what happens next. (Watch Jacob Geller's video Fear of the Depths after this.)

Sorry Wrong Number: Of all the films on this list, this is the one that really scared me. In the days of switchboards, a rich hypocondriac woman is connected to the wrong phone line and overhears a murder being planned. It doesn't take her long to figure out she's the intended victim, and each call she makes or recieves makes the situation darker. But how can she escape her fate if she can't- or won't leave her bed?

The Asphalt Jungle: The heist movie. Maybe the only heist movie ever made. Every line is quotable. Every member of the team is an unforgettable personality. When things go wrong, they go horribly wrong. One minute you're laughing, and the next minute you think you'll never laugh again.

Gun Crazy: Laurie and Bart, two practiced sharpshooters, are perhaps the most perfect match in all of noir- and that's a bad thing. When one half of the duo gets a criminal idea in their head, the other can't say no. When the opportunity to ditch her man like a sap comes up, the femme fatale throws it away to be doomed at his side. He fell in love with her when she first aimed a gun at him. Quentin Tarantino kissed star Peggy Cummins's feet at a showing of the film, and I hope she kicked him in the head.

Laura: Everyone was in love with Laura Hunt, and somebody killed her- or did they? Did they get the right person? Is the cop on the case in love with a dead woman? Was her columnist mentor just her gay best friend, or was there something darker beneath that facade? And what would Laura think of all this? A big inspiration on Twin Peaks.

In a Lonely Place: Bogart isn't at all heroic here, as a screenwriter with a drinking habit and a violent temper. He's obviously a bad idea to date, but just how bad an idea? He's not the type of guy who'd kill a woman, is he? Bogart and Gloria Holden give perhaps their best performances here, and they'll wound your soul.

Touch of Evil: A Mexican cop (played, unfortunately, by Charlton Heston) finds out a nasty secret about the big hero cop Hank Quinlan: he's framed the culprit in most of his cases. Not because he's crooked, but because his intuition tells him they're guilty. Director Orson Welles as Quinlan is frightening, grotesque, and a little bit tragic in what some consider the last classic noir.

The Killers: The first twenty minutes or so are an adaptation of a Hemingway story, where out of town hitmen gun down a man so depressed he won't even bother to run from them. The rest of the film is an investigation into how he got that way. It had something to do with a radiant gangster's girl, and something to do with a few botched crimes. Sometimes a man can die before the bullets even touch him.

The Third Man: Everybody is lying about the whereabouts of an American expatriate named Harry when his friend comes looking. Did they do something to him? Or, more frightening still, is he the one who's been doing things to other people? Orson Welles is a more charming monster than he was in Touch of Evil; the light and shadows on his face cast him as a vampire, while his fingers sticking up through the sewer grate look like something terrifying emerging from the earth.

[gunclemarkrb]

I have always enjoyed my very, very good boys, my favorites, when they would visit often. Especially this BOY, or young man.

MY BOYS and I, their DOC, always felt completely comfortable being nude together.

I'm a NUDIST in my private residence, my home, and on its very private property.

So, for me and every guest, especially my boys, to be comfortable in my home,

My only mandatory rule is that every guest MUST ALSO BE COMPLETELY NAKED.

NO EXCEPTIONS

Which made me appreciate them even more. They also had no issue with STEVE (and his enormous dangling flaccid 🍆)

as he walked thru the house, although they did take notice of his monster,

BC, I saw their 👀, they would quite literally stare with their eyes "bugging" out, whenever they saw him.

AS DID I, even though I'VE SEEN IT A THOUSAND TIMES and have had the pleasure of orally massaging STEVE'S ("BIG DADDY" to me),

big extra, extra thick 🍄🍆🍒. I ALWAYS ENJOYED how his thick flaccid 🍆 and huge 🍒 were always dangling and bounced around as he walked.

It always made me rock hard and OOZING PRECUMM more than usual ...

... another reason why leather furniture was the best choice to furnish my home with.

The boys were almost always swimming in the heated pool, out back. Even tho they had access to the college's pool (when not in use by the swim and dive teams)

When they would come inside, they would usually lay on the carpeted floor, as it was quite plush and sometimes on their towels too.

They often walked around the house sporting rock-hard, erections, but we, STEVE and I, did sometimes as well.

And to every boy (student), it was just as natural as could be. After all, DOC and STEVE showered with the boys.

Besides, boys (18+), guys, and men were always naked in every male locker room on earth.

There never seemed to be any sexual tension. However, after they got up to get themselves a beverage, later in the evening,

instead of laying back on the floor, MY BOYS, they would always cuddle up to ME and STEVE while we laid on 2 of the 3 leather sofas. ...

It was very natural and never sexual for us to cuddle with our boys, those who visited us in my private home till late, and spent the night ...

STEVE, enjoyed cuddles, as did I, especially with the boys.

I've Trusted STEVE WITH MY LIFE, for about 8 years, as well with all my boys's lives.

(and my husband's life, (RIP), as he was my husband's caretaker as well as chief of security, and a licensed massage professional), as I ran the resort, and everything that encompassed.

I understand that certain individuals in society would immediately believe this wasn't normal.

But if ur intelligent and it doesn't take much,

(common sense definitely doesn't grow in everyone's garden)

and not a bigot nor racist nor judgemental as it pertains to certain lifestyles and the LGBTQ+ community - one would realize it is completely normal and natural.

Being a nudist has nothing to do with sex or anything sexual and 💯% legal.

and I've lived that lifestyle for a few decades. It's completely the norm for us and our boys, as they are all GAY too.

This boy, MATTY, now a sophemore (and 20 yrs. old), has a deep connection to me. I've known him since he was a freshman. He's now in his 2nd year.

He's had a "demented and disturbing" home life with his family, especially his Dad and oldest brother.

I believe he looks up to me as a "father figure" (not like his dad).

I'm apparently the closest thing "to a normal father" he's ever had, to being a father, or rather a father figure, like his childhood friends and their dads.

His Mom and Uncle have been his strength, thru copious amounts of therapy for many years growing up thru his teen years.

His doctors, Mom and her brother, Matty's uncle, believe he can accomplish 4 years at college. At least the academics.

However, he may need to be at the college longer than 4 years.

The board, myself, and Matty's entire support team agreed to discuss that when the time comes, 4 years from now.

He did not come to our college for atheletics. A first for our college. He is here because (as i was told, he needed therapy, advice, and a nurturing life while being at a more controlled location).

His situation was brought to my attention by several personal associates (one in particular).

Saying they had a unique situation with a particular boy who suffered from child abuse beginning a decade ago,

at the hands of his own Dad and older brother, 6 years Matty's senior. (as it lasted half his life). see ***

So I brought it up with the DEAN and the entire BOARD, which I was one of the BOARD.

I was honored that my fellow professional medical circle, all personal friends as well,

also mostly GAY men + women, with some str8 doctors)

said I was not only the most qualified, but I was the only person who could help this boy, in their professional and personal opinions.

*** as he was tortured by his Dad and eldest brother. As the abuse started bc Matty, at age 8, told his family that he was Gay.

During the video conference, the BOARD mentioned they had previously been notified of the situation,

by Matty's doctors and his Mom and his uncle.

They also said they agreed 💯, that if anyone could successfully mentor Matty, that they too believed it was ME.

Also, telling Matty's support circle of doctors, his Mom, and his uncle that they fully supported me to do this task, but I, DOC, had to make my own decision on the matter.

I made it abundantly clear, how honored I was at (all involved), and everyone's professional and personal decisions, for me to be "Matty's Miracle Mentor," as one doctor put it .

He would attend the college without any atheletic training as it was more about Matty's well-being.

I immediately accepted this challenge and said Thank you to allow me to help save this boy's life" In any and every way possible.

I asked if the family had the financial resources to send him here.

The BOARD and the DEAN, also a board member, said the college waived ALL tuition costs. Every penny.

It was about saving a boy's life, so he could live "as a normal a life as possible,"

and it took literally seconds for a UNANIMOUS decision by the BOARD, pending your answer to accomplish this task.

DOC, you need to know one more thing ... We spoke with every student enrolled at the college, without you being aware, and they all agreed that you were Matty's only hope.

We are extremely proud of everything you have accomplished as well as everything re: ALL YOU DO, to mentor our students, since ur short employment with us

Morale at this school is at an all-time high that we never imagined.

We also need you to know you have more support from every student as well, and they will help Matty in any way they can, without mentioning anything to Matty.

Every student LOVES and RESPECTS you more than you could ever have imagined, and they are all out in the QUAD awaiting ur decision.

So when u leave the office, you may need to make a speech.

continued... see Matty part 2

[gxr25256]

More Mini Friends Appear - Miniformers (6)

🌵 I'm a little busy these days.

------------------------------

The days were beginning to blend together in a routine, one that you had come to enjoy more than you thought possible. Every morning, Bumblebee would leave a note or greet you with his quiet beeps and small gestures, and every evening, the two of you would share stories, communicate through body language and simple notes, and settle into a comfortable silence. But nothing could have prepared you for what happened next.

One quiet evening, as you returned home from work, you were greeted by the usual hum of Bumblebee’s soft, mechanical whirs as he worked on some tiny gadget on the coffee table. You gave him a wave and a quick hello, then went into the kitchen. As you made yourself dinner, you still glance at the coffee table every now and then. Bumblebee was nearby, per usual, working on a new pile of parts—his small frame a bright yellow blur as he moved quickly from one thing to another. You smiled at his diligence, still amazed at how much he managed to accomplish, despite his size.

Then, as you finished up and started to carry your dishes to the sink, a flash of red caught your eye from the corner of the room. You froze, wondering if it was Bumblebee, but that was quickly proven wrong when you glanced over at the coffee table and saw the little yellow bot was still there. This wasn’t the friendly yellow of Bumblebee; this figure was bright red with hints of orange, his frame sleeker and, if possible, even more agile-looking.

With the smallest clink of his joints, he zipped behind a stack of books on the coffee table and jump on the sofa in your living room. You blinked, startled, and set down your plate, heart pounding.

Slowly, you approached the table and peered over it, hoping to catch another glimpse. For a moment, there was nothing, just the dim glow of the room. But as your gaze settled, perched on the arm of your couch was another tiny figure—one you’d never seen before. He was red, yellow, and orange, with a bold flame decal on his chest and piercing blue optics that seemed to glint with excitement. This new mini bot looked up and gave you a mischievous grin, his optics flashing as he let out a confident beep, clearly pleased to be noticed.

You blinked, wondering if you were seeing things. “Uh… Bumblebee? ” you whispered, turning to look at the tiny bot, whose head snapped up at the sound of your voice. His optics flickered, the faintest hint of curiosity in his gaze as he tilted his head.

"Do you have… a friend?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Bumblebee glanced up, then turned to see who you were looking at. He tilted his head, his optics brightening with what you could only describe as amusement. He gave an affirmative beep and waved the new bot over.

With a sudden hop, he jumped down from the couch, landing on the coffee table in a smooth, almost exaggerated flourish, like a performer taking center stage. He seemed eager to make a grand entrance, and you had to hold back a chuckle at his theatrical display. The little guy stood confidently, hands on his hips, his vibrant colors making him look like a miniature superhero.

You knelt down to get a closer look at him. “Well, hello there,” you said cautiously. “I… I didn’t know Bumblebee had friends.”

The little red bot’s optics sparkled, and he gave a proud salute, clearly pleased with your attention. He let out a series of confident beeps, his tone much bolder than Bumblebee’s.

Bumblebee pointed to his friend and tapped a little note he’d prepared: Hot Rod.

You blinked, reading the note. “Hot Rod, huh? Well, it’s nice to meet you, Hot Rod.” You smiled, feeling an odd mix of excitement and curiosity. Just when you thought you’d gotten used to Bumblebee, here was another little robot, one with an entirely different energy.

Hot Rod tilted his head and, with a mischievous glint in his optics, darted across the room, slipping past the other bots and making a beeline toward the kitchen. His tiny feet clicked against the floor.

As soon as the confusion passed, you rushed after him, unsure of whether to scold him or simply let him explore. But as you caught up with him, you saw something unexpected. Hot Rod was standing on a countertop, gazing up at the cabinet where you kept your snacks. His optics were wide with wonder as he reached up, tapping at the door, trying to figure out how to open it.

Bumblebee—appeared behind you, with little voice beeped a gentle warning, as if to say, Don’t disturb the human’s stuff.

But Hot Rod was persistent. He jumped up and down, trying to climb the cabinet. At one point, he slipped, landing softly on the counter, letting out a tiny huff of frustration.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in. This is a funny guy. You thought to yourself as you watched the interaction between the two tiny bots on the floor.

It wasn’t long after Hot Rod’s grand debut that another unexpected encounter awaited you. One rainy afternoon, you are sitting lazily on the couch while scrolling through your phone, when you heard a faint clatter from the direction of the kitchen. Leaned up slightly to look into the kitchen, your first thought was Bumblebee, perhaps checking out the kitchen for more of the little battery packs you’d started leaving out for him. But as you tiptoed closer, you saw a new figure under the counter—a small, white and red bot, his back to you as he rummaged through your collection of tiny kitchen tools.

You blinked slowly, slightly confused by what you were witnessing. One more? This one didn’t have the playful, dramatic presence of Hot Rod, nor Bumblebee’s cheerful hum. His movements were careful, methodical, as he selected a small screwdriver you’d left lying nearby and examined it critically. The colors on his frame—white with red accents—made him look like some sort of mechanical medic.

You cleared your throat softly, not wanting to startle him but curious to see how he’d respond. The bot immediately froze, slowly turning to face you. His optics narrowed slightly, taking in your presence with a look of slight disapproval. This little guy looked at you with a mixture of suspicion and exasperation, like a parent reluctantly humoring a curious child.

"Um… hi there," you said carefully, offering a small wave. "I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m just… trying to figure out what you’re all doing here." A slight hesitation crossed your face but then you softly asked. “And… who might you be?”

The bot didn’t move at first. He just stood there, crossing his arms and giving you a steady, almost scrutinizing look. Then, with what seemed like a resigned sigh, he produced a tiny notepad and, with quick, precise movements, wrote something down. He held it up for you to read: Ratchet.

"Ratchet, huh?" you murmured, noting the serious look on his face. "Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ratchet."

He gave a single nod, as if reluctantly accepting your greeting, and then glanced at the tools on the floor. With a huff, he gathered them up, muttering to himself in beeps and tones that sounded like a quiet grumble. You couldn’t help but smile at his attitude—he reminded you of someone in charge of keeping everything running smoothly.

"So… I’m guessing you’re here to help too?" you asked, trying to meet his optics with an encouraging smile.

Ratchet’s optics softened just a fraction. With a resigned beep, he nodded, though he seemed a bit wary, as if preparing himself for the task of dealing with the unintentional chaos humans could cause. He moved closer, holding up the small screwdriver with a hint of irritation, clearly unimpressed by the state of your tools.

"I guess I don’t have everything as organized as you’d like, huh?" you teased gently.

Ratchet let out a snort of electronic sounds, waving his hand dismissively as if to say, You don’t even know the half of it. He gave you one last, pointed look, as if silently reminding you to take better care of your tools, before tucking the screwdriver under his arm and turning back to his work.

As you watched Ratchet’s back, you couldn’t help but tilt your head, a foolish smile creeping onto your face. You felt oddly like a naughty child, caught in the act and now being quietly lectured by the stern yet dependable figure before you. His grumbles and occasional sharp glances your way only added to the feeling, and though you tried to stifle a laugh, you couldn’t shake the warmth that filled you.

With Hot Rod and Ratchet now revealed, you couldn’t help but feel curious about how many other mini bots might be hiding in your home. Every creak and shadow seemed like it might be another one of Bumblebee’s friends. And soon enough, you met another.

You’d been busy all morning, typing away at your laptop when a strange sound broke your concentration—a soft, rhythmic hum, almost like... a song? You followed the sound to your bedroom, where you found a deep blue bot with silver accents and a visor over his optics, standing near your record player. He seemed mesmerized by the music, his posture relaxed as he tilted his head, listening intently.

You watched him for a moment, his posture surprisingly relaxed as he listened, his frame vibrating slightly with the low hum coming from his chest. There was a kind of tranquility in the way he stood there, absorbed in something so simple yet captivating.

Finally, you stepped into the room, careful not to make any sudden movements. “You... like music?” you asked softly, keeping your voice low to avoid breaking the spell.

The little bot stopped in its tracks, tilting its head slightly in response.Your eyes met his visor—a striking red, unreadable and perfectly expressionless. Then, his visor flickered in acknowledgment, though he didn’t look away from the record player. Instead, he raised one hand with careful precision, adjusting the volume ever so slightly, his motions delicate and precise.

Stepping closer, you found yourself smiling. “I had no idea anyone else here appreciated my old record player.” You glanced from the device to him. “Or my collection,” you added with a soft laugh, feeling a little sheepish.

He turned, his visor glowing as it finally met your gaze, and he tilted his head, his stare unreadable but undeniably intent. Slowly, he pointed to the record spinning on the player, and a low series of beeps escaped him, almost a mechanical harmony to the melody filling the room. You had the distinct impression he was... complimenting your choice.

You chuckled, feeling a strange thrill at the silent exchange. “Thank you. I’m glad someone here has good taste.”

He merely nodded, his gaze lingering on the record player as if he was storing each note, every rhythm, in some hidden part of his mind.

Sensing that this was his moment, you offered him a soft smile and slipped back out of the room, leaving him to his quiet world of sound.

It happened entirely by accident, as most things with these little bots seemed to go. You had just come home from a long day, and all you wanted was a snack before settling down. But when you walked into the kitchen, the last thing you expected was to find a tiny white and red figure struggling with a half-opened bag of chips on your counter.

At first, you didn’t even realize he was one of Bumblebee’s friends. All you saw were two small legs sticking out from inside the bag as it rustled around, the little intruder completely oblivious to your presence. You could hear a muffled series of frustrated beeps and grumbles—whoever this was, he clearly wasn’t happy about his snack-related struggles.

Biting back a laugh, you leaned on the counter, just watching as he battled the chips. Eventually, the small figure yanked himself free, wings tilted up in what looked like pure annoyance. He had a white and silver body with bold red and blue details, and as he emerged, brushing crumbs off himself with exaggerated dignity, he froze, optics widening as he finally noticed you standing there.

Caught red-handed—or maybe chip-handed?—he gave a quick, startled glance at the bag, then at you, as if trying to decide which was more important: continuing his snack or explaining himself.

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, and the little bot immediately straightened up, puffing out his tiny chest. It was obvious he was trying to look dignified, but with crumbs dusting his wings and the faint hint of a blush in his optics, he just looked ridiculous. He folded his arms, attempting a stern glare, but it was about as effective as a kitten trying to look fierce.

“Well, who do we have here?” you asked, wiping a tear of laughter from your eye.

He seemed to hesitate, glancing at Bumblebee—who had peeked around the corner, clearly amused—before giving you what you could only assume was his best impression of a noble introduction. He put a hand to his chest, wings flaring as he let out a haughty-sounding beep. The whole performance was so over-the-top that it only made you laugh harder.

“Starscream?” you repeated after Bumblebee flashed you a note with his name on it. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Starscream. I didn’t realize I had such a… distinguished guest in my kitchen.”

Starscream seemed to perk up at that, and his haughty stance returned in full force. He nodded, giving you a look that said he’d allow you to appreciate his presence—despite the circumstances. For a moment, he seemed almost regal, but that impression was quickly ruined as he tried to reach for another chip, only to slip on a stray crumb and nearly tumble over.

“Careful there,” you said, stifling a grin as he quickly recovered, looking offended, as if the floor itself had somehow insulted him. He turned his back on you, wings angled dramatically, clearly pretending he didn’t care—but you could still see him casting occasional glances back, as if checking to see if you were still watching his every move.

In that moment, any intimidation he might have tried to project melted away, replaced by a charm you hadn’t expected. Starscream was clearly full of himself, but he was also clumsy, absurdly so. And as he finally managed to snatch another chip and march off with all the pomp he could muster, you had to admit—you were a little charmed by the whole silly display.

Days turned into weeks, and gradually, you got to know each of Bumblebee’s friends. Each one had a distinct personality, and it became almost a game, learning to read their little gestures and beeps.

Hot Rod was bold and daring, often trying to show off by performing tiny stunts around the house, much to Ratchet’s exasperation. Ratchet, in contrast, was the responsible one, always on hand to fix any mishaps caused by Hot Rod’s antics. You couldn’t help but smile at the way he’d cross his tiny arms and give a disapproving shake of his head whenever Hot Rod did something reckless.

Uhm......... and that music bot—Soundwave, quiet and enigmatic, often disappearing for hours, only to reappear next to your speakers or record player. He had a fondness for music, and you often found him listening intently to your playlists, his head tilting to the rhythm. You sometimes wondered what he thought of the human songs, but he was too reserved to share much about his thoughts.

Starscream, on the other hand, was an endless source of drama. He had a sarcastic, almost theatrical way of expressing himself, often rolling hisoptics or sighing dramatically when things didn’t go his way. Still, there was a part of him that couldn’t help but enjoy the chaos he stirred up, especially when it involved teasing you or Bumblebee.

And through it all, Bumblebee remained by your side, his cheerful beeps and endearing notes a constant presence in your life. Though you had never expected to share your home with a tiny army of robots, you found yourself enjoying their company more than you ever thought possible.

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[rist-ix]

This might be weird but bare with me: i saw some fanart of valtor and his mamma bears (I'm sorry), he was freshly made and a child still for some reason (idk if it's canon at this point that he was made in adult form or not buuuut) and so it's shown how they don't like him but at the next panel he wants their makeup so tharma and lysliss give him a makeover and at the end belladonna says i think we'll find a use for that pretty face. What i started thinking was if it's possible they used him as a pr0stitute at some point besides all the torture they put him through. My brain today is fixated on how much trauma or ptsd he could possibly have. Now that i write it i sense how weird this is but what do you think?

My friend my dude my brother in fandom, I am but a humble bacteria and u have given me the juiciest slimiest tastiest agar plate imaginable. Let’s get INTO THIS!

(For the record, this is purely fanon. I think I’ve alluded to this headcanon of mine in fics but I am well aware that I have little to no evidence from canon for these assumptions.)

ABSOLUTELY I think that Valtor was used for getting into royal's beds. Though I do think it would have been more complicated than simply “his moms are whoring him out cause they hate him and they want stuff from people” — and I think there are some FASCINATING implications that has for both Valtor's personality as a whole, and his relationship to sexuality and his own body.

First of all, the reason why I think you are correct is simple: he seems to be universally regarded as attractive in-universe, to the point of having even the Trix fawning over him, and he is consistently seen using charm and flattery to get others to do what he wants. If you wanted to expand on this in a darker and more mature setting, the logical conclusion would be that he'd use his body the same way. And I do think he would do that entirely of his own will by the way, no coercion necessary! Though there most certainly was coercion.

That ties a little bit into my view on the Ancient Coven's relationship to each other in general. While we do see Valtor and the Ancestresses at odds with each other in the finale (culminating in the Witches ‘disinheriting’ him and reverting him to his monster form), the fact that they seem to have worked successfully together for AT LEAST a good few decades implies they could be cordial when necessary. Plus, Valtor somewhat wistfully recalls working under them with Griffin, smirking and content in the flashback, makes me personally believe they were genuinely GOOD at cooperating too, instead of the Witches relying solely on tyranny. Don’t get me wrong: there is no way they were a happy family. I'm thinking more along the lines of them playacting as a very harmonious coven, doting creators and loyal creation, like a game that every one of them is in on — a performance, just for funsies, and because none of them want the outside world to see them as anything but perfectly aligned and ruthlessly efficient. All that while also having a sort of spiteful, vengeful arms race going on internally, with Valtor not-so-secretly trying to find ways to overthrow them, and them waiting for him to lean out of cover too far so they can gleefully, brutally remind him who's in charge.

There's a deep, deep, deeply rooted resentment Valtor seems to have for them, but they are also objectively the same: They both want power, they both want to control the Dimension, they both would do anything to accomplish that goal. So if there was a situation in which having someone charming on the inside would help them, I think both Valtor and the Witches would come to the conclusion that Valtor could do whatever necessary to accomplish that. Be it charm someone, poison someone, or sleep with someone in the hopes they might spill some secrets. I consider all four of them to be pretty pragmatic, I don’t think there would be any conflict or hesitation here — not at first.

Because while Valtor would certainly agree that that’s the best approach, and probably be more than willing to get out of their sight for a while and live it up in some palace or another, I do think it would chafe at him eventually. Whether he's using his body to fight people or seduce them is not all that different, both happens at their behest. He's always painfully aware that he is their tool — but I imagine it does get more pronounced with the latter. Especially over time. Your taste in people or attraction does not matter in combat, but certainly plays a role in sex. While Valtor certainly seems to enjoy putting on a show in combat, that is a power play, whereas having to play a long con, with himself so heavily involved no less, can start to feel humiliating, tiring, more like a loss of agency than a game of wits. I don’t think it’s the seduction itself that would bother him, but the clear knowledge that he's just following his creator's plans here, puppeteered even in this aspect of his life.

The result of that in the present day of the s3 era wouldn’t be sexual trauma per se, I would headcanon. Not in the ptsd sense at least. (Though I bet a good fic could convince me otherwise :D) I remain a firm believer that his trauma is purely about his lack of control over his physical form, and a revulsion towards his original body that borders on dysphoria. The sexual aspect of his utility to them would ADD to that, don’t get me wrong, but it wouldn’t be the main source.

It DOES influence him though.

I'm thinking mainly about Valtor's interactions with the Trix here. On multiple occasions he secretly witnesses how they argue or straight up brawl over who gets to have him. None of them even thinks about who he might have shown the most interest in, they treat this solely as a contest of strength, winner takes all. (I don’t think that’s them being rapey btw just to be clear. I see it speaks more to them being juvenile and deeply unserious about romantic relationships, like dogs chasing cars. They don’t care enough about people beyond the three of them to have any actual experience with romance: Darcy's fling with Riven was discarded INSTANTLY once the three had something better to entertain them — like world domination. If one of them had “won” only to get ignored or rejected, the other two would have laughed her out of the room and then they would have done it all over again the next day.) im getting distracted. What I meant to get to is that Valtor sees them acting like he's a prize to be won… and he does not react at all. The first time he finds it mildly entertaining, the next few times the bit seems to get old for him already. That’s it. He encourages their possessiveness of course! He clearly enjoys being feared, admired, or simply the center of attention, but being treated without regard for his own desires doesn’t really register as an insult to him. AND he's shown to be pretty unperturbed with Darcy getting into his space, and flirting rather aggressively with him.

And while that may seem anticlimactic after all that, I find that FASCINATING. (Not just because Winx Club consistently writes men — powerful men! — the way female characters would be treated in another show. An essay of its own!) A non-reaction is still a reaction, and Valtor's lack of irritation says a lot in my opinion. I think he has little to no real boundaries, at least outside of combat or with people that are allies/useful to him. By that I don’t mean he would reject someone's advances if he didn’t welcome them, but that he wouldn’t really remember that this is a point where people usually DECIDE whether they welcome the advances or not, u know what I mean? I think his entire sense of self is pretty nebulous to himself, and that his own body seems to him more like a commodity than, well, him. Which makes sense, doesn’t it? He is created as one thing, for one purpose, and then given another body, for another purpose. He prefers to be human, reviles the monstrous form, but has no control over which one he is at any given moment — the people who do could change their minds on a whim. It would make sense for him to feel somewhat alienated from his physical form, and therefore have little care for what happens to it. It would take him far longer to know his own reactions, and to realize whether he enjoys something or not.

I feel like I’ve only managed to put like, half of what's in my head into words here. The dysphoria thing alone feels like something that should be dissected on its own, but I’m dead tired and this post is already pretty long. I will say that I’m not 100% consistent in this headcanon, and depending on the fic I use some of this and some of that, but I do think it’s one of my most favorite reads on Valtor as a character. Thank you so much for this ask!!! I hope the answer is close to what you hoped for lol

[dreamwreaver]

I was curious about the playbill and checked out a few pages people posted about it and... Wow. They had barely made any efforts to make Vaggie actually interesting. Yet again. Like, her bio is just about her job and her duty to Charlie and... That's pretty much it. No hobbies, no interests, not even a favorite food. It might as well be blank because the bio didn't give me anything I didn't already know about her. Charlie had also referred Vaggie as her girlfriend, making it twice now that she calls her that (once in the show and another in the playbill) which is just what Vaggie is reduced to and it's not even obvious to like most of the viewers. Even as much as the bio likes to say she's proud of her job, where's her direct involvement of it? The poster Charlie and Alastor made didn't even include her at all and it's so goddamn sad she's a third wheel at her own workplace when it comes to those two. The playbill just confirmed my suspicions that she's mostly left out in handling the hotel. She's in a higher position than Alastor and that man is shown doing more than what his job description entails and he's also out doodling with her girlfriend. And in those doodles, Alastor and Charlie had more chemistry than Vaggie and Charlie ever did in the entire course of their relationship in the show and that's depressing.

Not sure if this is my rambley or not but you're preaching to the choir either way Nonnie. While I don't think she would do this legit because the entire internet would cancel her for it (again) it would be the absolute funniest thing if Viv planned to make Charlastor endgame and part of how they set out to narratively accomplish their destined fate was to make the current relationship kind of lackluster by comparison.

I mean, we do know in an attempt to showcase Charlie's bisexuality she was going to have crushes on men AND women before ultimately ending up with a woman. And given the rampant biphobia not just in Hazbin but fandom overall she could want to establish a queer ship that does pass for straight. I'll say this once and I'll say it a million times. Charlastor invalidates neither Charlie's bisexuality, nor Alastor's asexuality. And given how much chemistry the two already have, it's kind of... irritating? I guess, how little Charlie and Vaggie's relationship seems to matter to the narrative. Especially when it feels like Charlie and Alastor's does, more so than the "they're the main main characters of course their dynamic is important" element.

Of slightly more importance to me, however, is the fact that the playbill confirms Lucifer is STILL hung up on Lilith. He misses his wife, and I am just petty enough to take major satisfaction from it

[rex-meshla]

Steel Meets Silk

PAIRING | ARC Commander Colt x F!OC (Anastasia Husk) SUMMARY | Heiress to one of the galaxy's most powerful corporations, Anastasia "Stassie" Husk has lived a life of privilege, always in control-or so she thought. But as the shadows of war creep closer, her sheltered world begins to crack, revealing betrayals and secrets that could destroy everything WORD COUNT | 1.7k

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Prologue: The Weight of Perfection

The glass in my hand was as delicate as the conversations around me—smooth, effortless, as if it had all been carefully orchestrated. I smiled, barely listening to the conversation I'd heard a hundred times before: the same praise, the same hollow compliments, the same empty promises. They didn't know me; they only knew Alaric and Vivienne Husk's daughter, the perfect heir, polished and brilliant.

My life had been arranged, as precisely as a blueprint. Every piece of it sewn into place, like a suit that fit just a little too tight. Did anyone even see me, the girl behind the name, behind the forced smile? In moments like these, I wasn't sure I even saw myself. This world of polished surfaces, where a single misstep could crack the facade, and the pressure to be flawless felt less like a privilege and more like a trap.

Tonight, though, it all felt so... ordinary. The gala had all the usual ingredients—flickering chandeliers, hundreds of glasses of champagne clinking, the soft murmur of high society, their voices a soundtrack to the elegance of the room. Everything was perfectly arranged, and I was, as always, a part of it. The perfect daughter. The perfect heir to the Husk legacy. The perfect everything.

Talk of the war swirled in the background, muffled voices in a world that felt so far removed from me. It was almost amusing how such distant concerns could dominate the galaxy when, here in my world, all I had to worry about was making sure my dress didn't snag on the edge of the table. The Republic's fight for peace was a story I'd read in the news, a conflict I rarely thought about. It wasn't my fight.

"Stassie, darling, you look radiant tonight," a voice cut through my thoughts. I turned to see Padmé standing there, her eyes softer than I'd expected. Unlike most people here, she looked at me as though she saw past the sparkles and smiles, to someone else underneath.

I turned, my smile widening as I spotted Padmé. Even in a room full of accomplished individuals, she always stood out. Not just because of her beauty, but because of the quiet strength she exuded. There was something in the way she carried herself that made you feel like the world was a little more manageable when she was around.

"Thank you," I replied with a smile. "And you, as always, have that 'I'm about to save the galaxy' glow about you."

Padmé's voice, smooth and calm, was a stark contrast to the buzzing energy of the gala around us. She wasn't just a senator; she was a woman who carried the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, and it showed in the quiet intensity with which she spoke.

"You know, Stassie," she began, her gaze drifting past the sparkling chandeliers to the horizon outside, "there are days when I wish the war had never reached us here, this far from the front lines. I'm sure it all seems so distant from where you stand, but I've seen firsthand what it does. People think it's just the battles. But it's the ripple effect, the way it shifts everything. The market. The people. Even those we thought we could trust." Her voice softened for a moment, a shadow crossing her face. "I was at a memorial service for a friend last week. A fellow senator. Just... gone. The war's touch is far-reaching, and you never know when it will come knocking."

I glanced at her, startled by the hint of vulnerability in her tone. Padmé, the epitome of composure, was rarely so open, but the weight of her words struck me in a way I hadn't anticipated. My mind spun, trying to reconcile the serene world I knew with the dark reality she was painting.

I forced a smile, though it felt thin. "I suppose I'm lucky. It all feels so far away from here."

Padmé's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer. "Lucky, yes. But don't let that shield you from what's coming. It doesn't take much for the world to change. Sometimes, it's just one unexpected moment. Your family's business, your father's influence... It all becomes part of the bigger picture. Don't wait until it's too late to realize how much it matters."

Her words hung in the air, and for a second, I couldn't decide if I should be worried or grateful for her warning. There was a tension in her eyes, a silent plea for me to understand something more than the glittering world I was so comfortable in. But I didn't know how to move beyond that distance yet.

As the evening wore on, the conversation around me started to die down, and the glow of the gala seemed to flicker out in slow motion. The guests began to thin out, the glittering crowd dispersing like a fading dream. But there was one person who had remained, even as the others left.

Father always lingered just a little longer, as if savoring every moment, like a man who knew the value of time.

I spotted him across the room, standing by a tall window with a perfect view of the stars. He was surveying the crowd, his sharp blue eyes never missing a detail. But when they landed on me, something shifted in his expression, more than just pride. There was something else. Something I couldn't quite place.

I excused myself from the conversation I'd been caught in, moving toward him with a purposeful stride. As I approached, he looked me up and down with that familiar calculating gaze, but this time, there was a warmth in his eyes that made my chest tighten.

"Stassie," he said, his voice low and steady. "Come here for a moment."

I stopped in front of him, offering a small, questioning smile. "What's on your mind, Father?"

He studied me for a long moment, as though seeing me not just as his daughter, but as the young woman I was becoming. "You're growing up," he said softly, almost to himself. "And it's time you understood just how serious that is."

I frowned slightly, unsure of where this was headed. "What do you mean?"

"You're not just the heir to this business, Anastasia. You're the future of it. And I've worked too hard to let anything—or anyone—stand in your way."

His grip on my shoulder was firm, but I kept my gaze steady, resisting the urge to pull away. "Of course," I replied smoothly, the word tasting bitter. Did he ever wonder what I wanted, what my future could look like if I weren't shaped to fit his plans? But I knew better than to ask. In our world, even the tiniest crack in the mask could cause everything to come crashing down.

"I know that," I replied, trying to keep the unease out of my voice. "But things have always been... well, they've always been good."

My father's smile was soft, but his eyes grew more serious. "Good is never enough. Good doesn't get you through the next challenge, the next hurdle. It's time for you to prepare for the real work ahead."

I blinked, processing his words. "The real work?"

"Yes," he said, his voice low and resolute. "You're about to step into a new chapter, Stassie. The one where the stakes are higher, the pressure greater. And you'll face challenges that will test everything you've learned so far."

A sudden weight settled over me, the kind that only came when my father spoke in that tone—the tone that signified no turning back. I wasn't just his daughter anymore. I was becoming a part of something far bigger than myself. And whether I liked it or not, I was about to see just how serious it all was.

"You're ready for this," he added, his voice full of quiet confidence. "I know it."

His words were measured, like everything else he did. I wanted to believe I was ready. But the tightness in my chest told me something else. I wasn't sure I was ready for whatever was coming. Or for him to see me the way he did.

As the night stretched on and the last of the guests began to file out, I stood with my father, surrounded by a soft hum of distant chatter. His words, though, echoed in my mind, a slow drip of reality that I couldn't quite shake. The real work ahead. The pressure. The stakes.

I glanced at him, noticing how the years had worn away at the sharpness of his features, leaving only the resolute, steady presence I had come to rely on. His gaze softened when it met mine again, and the pride in his eyes made something inside me tighten. But it wasn't just pride. It was expectation. And that was what made it heavy.

"We've got a few more days of this before I get back to the grind," I said lightly, trying to steer the conversation into something I could control, something that didn't carry that weight.

Father chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You think this is just another meeting? Another gala?"

I swallowed, feeling the edge of my smile falter for a moment. "No, but I'm used to everything running smoothly. I'll be fine, Father."

His gaze remained steady, and for a brief moment, I saw the quiet storm that sometimes hid behind the polished exterior. "You don't get to be fine anymore, Anastasia. Not in this world. Things are about to change, and you need to be ready for that."

I stood there in silence, feeling the weight of his words press against my chest. The room had emptied, the glittering crowd gone, but it felt like the real event had just begun. My father's gaze never wavered, as if he were preparing me for something I wasn't yet ready to see.

"Remember this moment, Stassie," he said, his voice low. "The world doesn't care about your comfort, your plans, or your expectations. It doesn't wait. It only takes."

As the last of the guests filtered out, I lingered there, caught between my father's quiet certainty and the distant echo of Padmé's warning. The noise of the evening seemed to dissolve, and I was left with my thoughts only. The path ahead was already laid out before me, and it wasn't as simple as I had imagined.

I glanced once more at my father, his figure standing resolute in the dimming light, and something within me shifted. The weight of expectation, the world beyond these walls, and the challenges I had yet to face—all of it settled into place. I wasn't just playing a part anymore. I was about to step into something far bigger.

And I wasn't sure if I was ready for it.

But I knew, in that moment, that I didn't have a choice.

_____________________________________________________________

I'm so happy that this Commander Colt fic is finally coming to life 🥹

You can find the next chapter here and my masterlist here x

[metaphorically-saltire]

so far in my newsies fandom journey, I have:

-watched newsies (1992) -watched newsies: the broadway edition -watched all the extras / backstage videos available on disney plus -scoured tumblr, twitter, pinterest and deviantart for all (and any) newsies-related things -reblogged wayyyy too many newsies posts -started a SCHOOL PROJECT on pulitzer -borrowed newboys' strikes books from the library -listened to the songs at least 3 times (full musical) -drawn fanart of newsies cast -ranted abt newsies with a mutual -sung newsies songs at school (both out loud and internally) for 2 days straight -annoyed the heck out of my friends w/ newsies

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[wild-at-mind]

I feel like tags like these were inevitable on the post about people traumatising themselves for the greater good or w/e... There is SO much emphasis on posting on tumblr and other social media being so important and so useful and we must never stop. But I would like to counterargue with the idea that posting on social media (especially tumblr) constantly does very little/nothing. If that was true then the point here becomes meaningless.

[emometalhead]

.

[thecontainerstoreofficial]

URGH i just went on the most boring hinge date of my entire life made worse by the fact that when i asked him if he’s seen any good movies lately he goes “well i was on a woody allen kick a couple months ago” and look im not going to debate the ethics of “being on a woody allen kick” but to ADMIT THAT ON A FIRST DATE is sooooo wild so i was like “haha thats so controversial” and he was like “why did woody allen do something” ....so then i was sitting there on a first date trying to explain the woody allen sex pest thing and then he was like “oh. thats really sad” and then it was really awkward

[neofelis----nebulosa]

Ugh I accepted a job and I’m starting to have second thoughts

[entitled-fangirl]

Fatherhood.

Single father!Cregan Stark x reader

Summary: the reader comes across a young boy. It seems the boy's worried father becomes quite taken with her.

A/n: He's got cheekbones sharp enough to kill a man 👀

Part 2

Masterlist

..........................................

She gasped when something grabbed her leg. 

The lady looked down to see a small boy, no older than two, holding her leg tightly. "Oh."

She ran a hand over the boy's hair as she looked around for someone, anyone in the crowd—his parents or her guard. Neither were in sight, it seemed. 

So she managed to pry him away enough to bend down to his level. 

"Where are your parents?" She whispered to him. 

When he didn't answer, she brushed his hair back from his forehead. "That's alright. We'll find them, yeah? They must be missing you fearsomely. What is your name?"

The boy stared with watery eyes. 

"Well," the lady continued, "Will you let me help you?"

The boy managed a nod and accepted the hug she offered him. 

She thanked the merchant that she had been speaking to and picked up the boy, now focusing her attention on the people rather than the goods they were selling. 

Darkish hair, she assumed from the boy's looks. Someone with blue eyes. Surely he was precious to someone.

"Hey," she lightly reprimanded when he tucked his face into her neck. "I need you to look for them. I don't know what…" Her voice trailed off. The boy was tired and scared and she could hardly blame him.

She roamed the long street once over, just looking for someone that lost their child. A worrisome mother or a stern father. But nothing. 

She sighed, rubbing the boy's back, "Father won't like this."

She continued on as before, shopping lightly with the boy in her arms. Her heart was warmed by the soft snores that came from his small body.

She walked down the cobble road, noticing a guard whose eyes lit up at the sight of her. It sent her on edge. She turned the other way. 

Another guard was coming from that direction. She froze. 

Trying another way, she tried to use the crowd to manage around them, but was met with another guard, quite literally running into him. She backed up in fear, her free hand over the boy's head as if she could protect him. 

"Hand over the boy, my lady."

They looked so angry. "N-No." She tried to display confidence but that's hardly what she accomplished. "Whatever the boy did, I can pay for-"

"My lady!" Her guard's voice came through. 

Her guard, Ser Marten, pushed through the guards and the crowd that seemed to not even notice the chaos that was happening. 

He pulled an arm around her. "Are you alright, my lady?"

She nodded and looked at the other guards. Her eyes flitted down to the sigil that laid on their cloaks. 

Stark. 

She feared Lord Stark was more cruel than she made him out to be, having three grown men chase down a small boy. 

"I won't ask again. Hand over the boy," one of the guards tried again.

"Ser," Ser Marten tried to ease. "Whatever the boy has done can be paid-"

The guard behind her reached out and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. 

Ser Marten's eyes widened, and he pulled his sword from its sheath. "Unhand her."

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" A loud voice echoed through the street. 

The crowd practically split in two as the great Lord Cregan Stark ran to them. "Where-" He paused. "You've found him, my lady?"

Her brow furrowed. "W-What?"

"Unhand her and go," Cregan barked at the guards. "And you," he ordered Ser Marten, "Do sheath your sword. I'll not have violence on my streets."

Ser Marten blinked and did as he said. 

"You may go as well."

Marten looked between the two, only stepping back at the sight of his lady's nod. 

With him gone, she felt vulnerable. 

Cregan held his arms out, expecting her to hand him the boy. 

She turned away from him out of instinct, shielding the boy. "I-"

He frowned. "My lady." He extended his arms further. 

"Whatever he's done, my lord, I can pay for. I am not the richest and I hardly know what House Stark would want, but I can try. Please, don't hurt him."

Cregan's mouth opened in a reaction of shock. He tilted his head. She was more than meets the eye. "My lady, I am only a worried father. Please."

A feeling of embarrassment filled her stomach. "Oh." She pulled the boy out in her arms, seeing that, indeed, the Sigil of house Stark laid on the boy's chest. "Oh, forgive me!"

Cregan took his son with caring hands, careful not to wake him. "Oh, my boy," he sighed as he held him close to his chest. "Gods, I've never felt fear like this." He closed his eyes, not caring if he seemed weak for a moment. He was a terrified father and he wasn't afraid to seem it.

"Do forgive me, my lord. I-I didn't not realize-"

"-You did not realize that you held my future, the future of the North, in your arms?" He let out a breath of a laugh. "I owe you greatly." He looked down at the sigil on her cloak. "Lady Bolton? Are you Lord Bolton's new wife?"

She flushed. "No. NO. I am his daughter." She smoothed down her skirt in embarrassment. 

"Ah, forgive me. I thought his second wife was young. Perhaps I was mistaken."

"You weren't," she assured. "She's not much my elder. An honest mistake."

"But you are still of House Bolton? Unmarried, I mean?" He asked.

"Yes, as of the current time, yes."

He nodded with the information. "Strange to see a childless woman with such motherly instincts. He seemed quite content with you."

"He was quite frightened to be alone."

Cregan hummed. "Let me reward you. You've protected my boy and returned him to me."

"No, I couldn't-"

"-Nonsense. It's the very least I could do."

She watched the boy stir in the large man's arms. His tiny hand gripped Cregan's fur cloak tightly, as if finally feeling the full comfort of his home again. "Knowing I've done you a service is gratitude enough for me."

"Please." He looked around. "Are you alone, my lady? Surely I would have heard of Lord Bolton's arrival before this."

She nodded. "I come to the market every few months. This is the only place I've found dried lavender. Father says I have an obsession," she laughs. "Perhaps so. But I'm old enough now of course to journey alone. With my guard."

"And have you found it this time?" 

"Hmm?"

"The lavender?"

"Oh. Um," she looks around. "No, I haven't."

Cregan sighs. "That's a shame. Are you sure you won't accept a reward?"

She smiles. "Truly. I am sure." She reached out to brush the boy's hair, but stops herself when she realizes how inappropriate that is now that she knows it's Stark's son. "G'day, Lord Stark."

He stops her before she can turn to leave. "Lady Bolton. Do I get a first name?"

"Y/n."

He repeats it, as if committing it to memory. "Good day, my lady. I won't forget your kindness."

…

Cregan was honest about that. He didn't forget her kindness.

…

"My lady."

Her handmaiden interrupts her quiet time. 

"There's a gift for you, my lady."

Her eyes lit up. "What? From who?"

"I'm not sure. Shall I bring it in?"

She nodded and watched the woman disappear for a moment before reappearing with a small cloth sack.

She took the bag with nimble fingers, pulling it open. 

Dried Lavender. 

A small letter laid inside, sealed with wax, but no sigil.

A small gift to represent my gratitude.  - A relieved father

She let out a breath. How thoughtful of him to scour the market for this, even after she was unable to find it. 

"Who is it from, my lady?"

"Just a man I helped back in Winterfell."

"Well, how thoughtful."

Yes, she thought, Cregan Stark was quite the thoughtful man.

…

Cregan sat at his council meeting, his boy, Rickon, sitting in his lap, tapping his wooden horse against the table as he played with it. The northern lord hardly noticed the sound at this point, the boy's antics becoming second nature to him. 

"I agree, my lord," one of his councilmen spoke, "perhaps that would be best for the North."

A servant interrupted. "Forgive me, my lord. But it's a letter."

Cregan's mind snapped as he looked up. "Is it? Hand it here."

The servant walked it over to him and dismissed himself.

Cregan's fingers brushed over the wax. 

The Bolton sigil. 

He could practically feel his hands shake as he opened it.

My heart is lightened at the news of your relief.  I thank you for your gift. It was more gracious than I fear I deserved. I'll remain in awe of how you managed to find exactly what I had failed to.  My house, my father, and I as well, remain loyal to you.  - Y/n Bolton

"My lord?" One of the men asked lightly.

Cregan looked up from the letter.  "Write urgently to Lord Bolton. I have an offer."

Cregan tutted lightly when Rickon reached out for the letter. "Easy, son. This is your father's keepsake."

…

My dear lady,  I fear writing yet another letter to you may be deemed inappropriate to some, but they do not understand the kinship we share.  My son grows by the day, and still, I remember the day you and I met so starkly.  Take this gift, and dare I ask that you think of me when you wear it. - A content father

The bottom of the letter was all scribbles and scratches from the quill, no doubt something that his son had added. It made her heart warm, like perhaps maybe the babe was trying to say something to her as well.

Her eyes wandered to the dress that he had gifted. A Stark blue. She thought it perhaps a bit too bold for the man, but she wouldn't deny his wishes. 

Her father may question it, but he couldn't refuse such a thing. 

She took out a quill.

…

I am starting to believe that you have overdone your gratitude. I fear as a young lady, I have not much to give, but perhaps it is true that the thought of a gift is greater than the price or amount of the object itself. I find that this specific type of fabric strips make for wonderful ties for the hair. I mean no harm, but I did notice the way you grew annoyed at the hair in your eyesight when we met.  I'm going to send this now before I realize the intent of my actions and grow embarrassed.  Do tell your son I enjoyed his drawings per your last letter. - Y/n Bolton

Cregan held the fabric strips in his hand, rubbing the soft material. 

How ink on a page could make his heart feel alive, he wasn't sure.

…

Cregan spent the next two days in contemplation. 

While he wanted to immediately write her back, he knew that he should wait. The letter to her father surely arrived at that point, and he didn't wish to seem overly hasty.

But when another letter from her arrived, he almost ripped it in earnest to view its contents.

I fear our letters must come to an end.  My father had spoken of a marriage proposal and it seems quite unladylike to be writing such letters. Though we two know of our kinship, I fear it is unfair to my future betrothed.  Please forgive me, and know that this was not of my choosing.  - Y/n

He paused at her lack of a last name. 

She wrote as if she had no idea. Her father hadn't told her the entire truth. 

He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands over his eyes. He wanted to ease her worries, tell her the truth, but it was not yet his place, and he was to wait for her father's response. 

But it ate at him. What if Bolton was truly marrying her to another? It made him sick. 

There was a sound in the doorway. 

Cregan looked up to see Rickon standing with his toy on ground, obviously fallen from his hand. He smiled at him, "Hello, son."

Rickon took his time leaning down to get his horse, then took steps around the long table until he got to his father. 

Cregan waited patiently, not wanting to rush or correct his boy, but once Rickon was close enough, he reached out and held him up in the air. The little son's squeals filled him with joy. He brought him down to kiss the boy's cheek then set him on his lap to face him. "What have you been doing, my boy?"

Rickon set his horse on Cregan's chest, his attention enamored on it. 

The lord brushed his son's hair from his face with a longing look. "Think I'll get to hear that voice anytime soon?"

Rickon hit his horse against the man's chest, causing a sigh to come from his father. 

"Well, maybe eventually, hm?"

Everything sat in such uncertainty. He only hoped that it all worked out as he had planned it.

........................................

A/n: part 2

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom, @dozcan123, @wangjiangelangel, @kamitargaryen, @aegonswife, @lv7867, @helpmedecideaname

[kalims]

⭒ㅤwith a disney princess

premise. surely there's been a mistake, cause there's no way someone out of place like you ended up at nrc, right? (spoiler alert: months later and they will fight whoever might drag you to rsa)

featuring. dorm leaders (from diasomnia to heartslabyul)

content. at best this might imply a female reader, given they're based of a 'princess' but I tried to take the gender vague and focused mainly on the qualities of them! mc has hair in the rapunzel part lol

note. no beta we die lol. I worked on this by group so i honestly don't remember if I accidentally gendered mc. I absolutely love idias part lmaoooo

malleus (aurora)

ooh intimidating x soft couple.

you look way out of place in somewhere like nrc of all places, given your mother is the infamous sleeping beauty (infamous, in the college’s standards that is.) your kindness is easily taken advantage of, even if you do realize it there is always forgiveness spared for the undeserving.

said kindness was extended to the quiet malleus.

surprise no surprise. he’s impeccably drawn to the sparkling aura you seem to exclude. malleus feels as though there are traces of familiar magic always hovering around you, like its embowed into your very being. a blessing would be a better word for it.

well, he’s just curious but if he were to ever ask he’d be met with the confirmation that you were, indeed blessed by the same three fairies your mother was blessed by (minus the curse… ironically he’s quite similar to the same lady that your mother loved and looked up to.)

he’s just fascinated. something as glittery as you, shiny like gold would’ve been whisked away to his nice tower, homey. he’d tell you. almost as if making its image seem heavenly. (lowkey highkey getting your consent for kidnapping)

animals always seem to flock around you everywhere you go, they sneak around to reach you. in your dorm, during lunch, even in class. there’s either a bird on your shoulder or a squirrel making itself comfortable atop your head. its a curious sight, critters don’t really like him much.

in short they run away, humans or animals alike are both afraid of his presence it seems.

so he’s incredibly still when you nudge an adorably round bird in his palm, peering at it with cautious eyes. tense as a statue lest it flies away.

cue staring contest.

he felt incredibly accomplished that day, and immersed him in the role of making this creature like him. leaving seeds, offering it the most sought off food from the valley, literally conjuring a small home for it. everything.

HE’S SO HAPPY.

malleus often asks of you to sing, perhaps its the blessing talking but its the most unique form of sound he’d ever heard in his life, the more he sings the more he wants to imbue his very being with the loveliness of your song.

always following you around like a lost puppy (lizard?) any evil that actually wants to take advantage of your unfortunate naive desire for peace and kindness is scared away. although malleus would never want your interactions to be reduced entirely because of him, he only starts looking like a demon one he figures out their motive is less than fitting for you.

“yeah, the ingredients were to complicated for me to remember—”

“oh! perhaps i can help you?”

spots the demon behind you (just your lovely giant staring them to their grave.)

“you know what i actually got it— sorry for wasting your time.” you watch them, confused as they dip.

you look to him, as though to ask what just happened but he merely casts you an oblivious glance and shrugs.

favorite past time → coddling you in his dragon form.

he was doubtful whether he should pull through in actually showing it to you, since you were already such an angel towards him. would it be a stretch if he let a selfish desire get in the way? perhaps you’d get scared if you see how large he is there—or if he’s—

idia (rapunzel)

okay that amazed smile on you was totally worth it.

wow your hair is fire.

he should have never made a comment about it in the first place because now you’re completely confused about his reference, were you living in like… in isolation? a cave? you’re a little less worse than the scarabia’s dorm leader when it comes to being oblivious.

just two idiots miscommunicating, he atleast is trying to make an effort to explain that he doesn’t mean it literally but his wording is so bad that you get absolutely nothing from what he is trying to infer.

okay your hair though.

“why is that person stuck in that square!?”

good thing ortho was near cause you almost charged towards a television and judging by the, pan!? in your grip you definitely would have smashed the screen trying to be righteous and rescue the character.

okay then. 1. don’t let you near electronics, specifically when its playing something.

you are a literal danger to his society. shivers

you’re always asking something like “what are those glowing balls on the ceiling?” those are lights… “why is that thing speaking?!” that’s a speaker… “why is it on fire?” oh that’s his hair, he doesn’t really know either it was just like that.

it does feel a little nice to get asked like that and he’d know the answer (its literally the most common knowledge ever but whtv)

EPIC! idia is now trying to figure out how resistant your hair is. its literally like, the most OP shield there is!

at first he had some reservations. like, used a knife once and was flabbergasted when it came back in half. your hair didn’t even move an inch. then he got motivated and tried a sharper sword, longer, and larger of course. he let ortho handle it cause he probably would have stabbed himself.

“wtf.”

flinches cause the half of the sharp end came completely off and stabbed right beside his head onto the wall.

what are the limits of it?! had some doubts before using one of the tech he came up with, it could literally cut through a diamond and he isn’t sure if its entirely safe but you’re all for it cause you were always curious whether your hair could even get cut in the first place.

anyway you’re way too happy to be near a lazer that could obliterate you and its kinda infecting him. yikes.

less than happy cause the lazer literally got reflected by your hair and hit itself so it’s just gone.

on the bright side he can use you as a scapegoat (in a good way)

alright. 2. don’t enrage you unless he wants to experience getting hit by a pan really hard.

wow. he felt that for days.

maybe its the hit or he’s just feeling a little woozy whenever you’re around.

definitely the pan.

vil (mulan)

bold x shy couple

pretty x pretty defender

he’s used to people heeding his suggestions but damn, are you a stubborn one.

not only have you not listened to his propositions for becoming a more refined person (cause the way you held yourself was too.. much for him to ignore, and it bothered him for a long time until he decided to help you.) but he can respect you, he supposes. not a lot of people can stay true to themselves.

it seems like epel, the boy himself has taking a liking to you. no wonder he’s been becoming more rebellious lately.

vil would never stoop so low to purposely direct someone advice that would change their entire self, decimate their unique traits. but all he told you was out of the goodness of his heart, if you’d be less clumsy of your ways your reputation would be better for the long run.

not being respected amongst nrc is never a good thing.

still, you’re still headstrong. never too overconfident, nor cocky. just a humble soul, that’s rare so he tends to stick by you if he ever wanted an honest opinion cause people just tell him what he wants to nowadays. vil never enjoyed the biased remarks.

more often than not he enjoys making your already pretty face, prettier than it is.

finds out you’re no bark and all bite, he never even knew you could take down someone who has an advantage over you in physical terms. come on, its savanaclaw. apparently the guy had spared him an unsavory comment and (apparently, in your defense. only told him a few words, got attacked so it was self defense.)

it came a surprise to him. seeing as you’re generally relaxed in nature, your military prowess a mystery to most since you seemed content with resorting matters with peace. though you seem to lack more restraint when it comes to your close relationships.

vil scolding you in the infirmary (you don’t have a scratch, and the guy whose pride you handed back to is in some corner lamenting cause he can hear you guys.) and you just taking it.

contrary to how you first treated to each other. you seem to be more prone to his opinions, or suggestions the more you progress with each other. he admits maybe he was too outright in his manner of speaking the first time, but it only highlights the change you’d gone through with each other.

you’re the perfect doll, in a way. not in a demeaning way or anything but its so satisfying to him to use products on your face just for the sole reason that you sit so still. his absolute favorite past time is skin care together even if you mostly just follow his lead.

you and epel must be kindred spirits, once he was on his way to retire to the indoors of pomefiore. seeing as it started raining, heavy so it meant it would stay for a while. and then paused when he spotted you both sharing words.

and planting apple seeds in the rain? both of you are stained with the rain, some dirt and mud alike. and vil had never looked so mortified. so just cause you don’t protest when he cares for you doesn’t mean you’re bothered by getting dirty he guesses.

“you both… clean yourselves up, i’ll brew medicine lest you fall under the weather.” ← disappointed sigh.

kalim (jasmine)

ended up waiting for you both to finish under the covers and ushered you both to baths.

you have a tiger!

just living char x their absolute biggest stan

wow you have a tiger.

did he mention you have a tiger?

majority of nrc knows not to mess with you haha, if it’s not obvious already with the seemingly lax tiger that behaves like some sort of overgrown cat following you around and growls at someone when you aren’t looking.

then you always raise a brow at the people who tell you otherwise. “bab doesn’t bite.”

kalim is lowkey highkey their biggest fan, i mean. jamil is having the worst year of his life dragging kalim away wherever you seem to be because the first apparent instinct of the boy is to try to pet the tiger cause it’s ‘cute’.

at some point jamil had to investigate your routine throughout the day, what you do, where you go at specific times like after classes conclude to make sure kalim doesn’t cross path with you.

well, not necessarily you but rather your… tiger. which is hard, honestly. you seem to visit scarabia a lot for a reason unknown. jamil would be suspicious you’d be planning something but all you really do is stay out on the balcony with your companion.

but alas, fate would have it otherwise.

“hi,” kalim blurts before he could remember his friend’s warning. you turn, along with your… also friend who watches him closely. you blurt out a greeting back, seeing as it’s courtesy, you seem to be amused at his fascinated eyes staring at your tiger.

“want a pet?” you offer, bab making sounds of protest.

jamil almost had a heart attack seeing the two of you attached by the hip, only calming down a few weeks later. seeing as your companion wouldn’t pose as much danger as he assumed, seeing as the tiger’s protectiveness started extending to the ray of sunshine.

rich couple ig. everyone overhears your conversations and doubles over. “i had a small statue of gold made for bab, for you.” and then a; “oh, thanks. but we already have a lot at home. hmm…”

actually it’s not really the manner of being attached, more like two following you. kalim, and then your cutie pie tiger.

your reserved nature in particular greatly contrasts kalim, yapper x listener i guess. although the object of his interest was initially because of bab, he might as well be another overgrown cat of yours cause he seems to love touch.

its concerning cause bab themselves felt challenged for your affection and when they spotted kalim’s head nestled on your lap they ‘accidentally’ kick him off.

in a way you seemed untouchable, pet included. you don’t seem to mind kalim much, people might even go as far as to say you enjoy his company. occasionally the vice of his dorm as well, the three of you have this sort of aura that screams ‘don’t approach’

said aura is in the form of a very big cat.

azul (ariel)

one time you admitted to having not much friends and three heads turned towards you. face twisted incredulously.

he doesn’t know why but you looked like you went through ten stages of grief (3 more cause the 7 definitely wasn’t enough.) when you took a glance at him, during the time you were looking around, you almost went past him, actually. but then doubled back immediately.

that’s concerning.

morally suspicious (devil in disguise) x angel

azul often asks your opinions out of habit, he himself isn’t even sure when it started but he considers you a factor in decisions. though he does prefer to keep you out certain… endeavors of his away entirely, no need to concern your innocence in his doings.

as such he often uses the twins to steer you away from trouble cause you seem to have no sense for it whatsoever, whenever there’s a fight brewing instead of walking off you stride closer. curious to whatever was happening.

and, you believe too easily apparently.

jade had held you by your shoulders and directed you away from the fight before the dispute reached you and inevitably dragged you in. “why are they fighting?”

he replied. “ah, well. they inhaled an unpleasant shroom and got affected.” your mortified face spoke you believed him. human culture! you thought.

your brain should be inspected honestly. floyd told him all about the pile of stuff you had “found” in your dorm, ranging from innocent collectibles to items that brought the question of whether or not they were really yours but you didn’t really claim otherwise, just that you found em’ so no more questioning.

azul doesn’t even wanna know why you started staring at mushrooms like they were a mortal enemy of all living forms. speaking of, the three of them didn’t even consider that you could be from the sea as well. seeing as, well. you have two feet, even if they have the same.

besides the fact you’re too clumsy for your own good you sure had no fear when you leapt overboard during a field trip cause a trinket that caught your eye fell and gave the entirety of the attendants a heart attack. floyd had patted him on the back and wishes him condolences.

also the shock of the century when you emerged, pretty tail and all. holding it the trinket up like you just found it the most fascinating thing on the globe.

since then underwater dates were a thing. which took a lot of prompting honestly, you didn’t know he was a merman either, curiously asking him what kind he was. in nature, you were persistent. like a need to sate your questions so he eventually relented.

even then, it took a while before he let you see the form. ← to his fluster you seemed engrossed in this form of his. swimming around him and asking questions.

now azul also have a small pile of items hidden in a box beneath his bed, all from you. which, upon being opened would be mistaken for unused items since its literally random stuff, and a concerning favor towards forks.

oh yeah. sometimes the tweels crash your date.

you could be in his office, going about your business. chilling on his couch and playing with one of your treasures and be completely unaware of the ominous discussion ongoing within the three about anemones? contracts?

“what are you guys talking about?”

“hairstyles for azul.”

“what—”

“ooh. i can brush his hair so you can style it!” pulls out a fork.

leona (belle)

“oh my sevens, WAIT—”

i was having a crisis trying to think of a dynamic so why not just, beauty x beast.

leona is less than pleased to admit he doesn’t like you much. or atleast, he used to. it was clear his feelings of you was reciprocated, based on the uninterested side glances you cast him. your type, well liked, pristine, proper, and informed reminds him all to well of what mold he was forced into. though it never really fit.

you on the other hand, just dislike him in general. more pointedly as to how he acted, too self righteous in your opinion. he sure spends a lot of time moping about how he could have been king when he’s acting like he’d be a terrible one. you’d say it to his face but even you aren’t too crude.

if you’re both looking at the bright side though, you’d probably prefer each other’s company above others. you’re quiet, perfect for napping around. he’s surprisingly true to himself, his morals aren’t too bad either.

as such, to your disdain he now naps in the library. which you had titled your own space, but he didn’t really just care.

relatively you’re a lot more cool headed than he is, you told him concerns about his laziness which he weaved through. after opening up with each other… well you know how it goes.

okay, fine. you no longer berate leona for napping at the public space, quickly shut up when he threatened you. “i’m gonna tell you the real reason ‘m here nowadays if you don’t calm down. and it ain’t the peace i’m here for.” he eyes you, and you shut up after that.

leona doesn’t know if he should be amused or annoyed at the fact that you stand up to whatever he says. ‘that’s rude,’ this. ‘are you out of your mind?’ that. at some point where he doesn’t wanna admit, leona had disliked seeing you upset (particularly towards him) that he started listening.

at others is a different story though. he will gladly watch you shut down someone else.

sometimes he makes weird remarks, like. “throw an egg at them, who knows might hatch into a chick and give them the company they’ve been lacking.” ← just bullies random people while you defend them. “what? don’t be stupid, eggs that are sold don’t hatch into chicks.”

you often lament in his arms, regretting ever coming near his sleeping frame cause next thing you know you’re subjected to prison, and you had accidentally dropped the book you were reading so even if you try to reach for it he’s pulling you back.

will reach for it if you ask tho lol.

just one look from you has him suddenly behaved tbh.

bothers your productive time by crashing it with his opposite word of productive idk im to lazy to check. more often than not tramples over your things, but always looks dead to life when you end up scolding him heavily.

also kicks out the animals that gravitate towards you for some reason, got jealous of a bird nestled in your hair once cause apparently you paid too much attention to it.

apparently told ruggie to fetch books for you when you’re running out, at that point you might actually milk the nrc library with how fast you burn through them.

“you’re not even from here, what do—”

“actually. originally from times before, they—”

riddle (cinderella)

got lectured about history, eugh.

easy to fluster x enthusiastic and sweet

how are you so nice.

you’ve got most of the population of nrc enamored with your natural charm alone, though some do tend to mock you. unfortunately they aren’t wrong, you really do fit in more at a different school like rsa with your personality.

i mean you fit the bill, kind, pretty, talks to animals.

good for you though. cause riddle would prefer a behaved student than a troublesome one anyway so he would definitely dig you lmao.

speaking of. he definitely goes to you whenever the hedgehogs are lost in the maze, or the flamingos just don't wanna step out the farther spot from the pond, somehow they love you in whatever you do.

as in, you spoke to the hedgehogs with a lower tone. almost like a coo, and he almost tells you to stop because that's the universal worse tone to talk to hedgehogs until... it nuzzles into you?!

flabbergasted, he can only watch.

sevens... you're just so pleasant to be around he could die.

at some point it felt like you were the epitome of being kind. riddle understand that the virtue was just embedded into you, letting others berate you for whatever... he even thought you were too kind for a place like nrc where the complete opposite traits are admired.

you are, but only to those who deserve it. riddle had the pleasure to spot you nitpicking a crude student and they looked like they were gonna burst into tears.

so... you knew what to say almost always. when troubled, he'd learn that it's best to talk to you cause you'd know what to say to ease his worries, when you're treated wrongly? sevens.. you also know what to say.

but, in a putting whoever in their place way?

(idk man I'm just rambling at this point lmao idk how to write a cinderella reader.)

riddle has grown accustomed to random critters breaking in the door. well, he was used to animals in the first place. or atleast thought he was when he opened a door in the dorm and almost yelled at the sight of a group of mice looking like they were having conspiracies.

a few weeks after that he knocked on doors before opening them.

was also very disturbed when you announced they were your friends.

I don't know. I feel like he'd lowkey be the type to write your name in a heart on the back of his notebook and straighten his face like: 'what in the world am I doing' but not erasing it anyways.

over time, your little 'friends' got used to him, and vice versa. at the very least he isn't screaming at their sudden visits, be it flying through the window or just popping out of something they climbed on.

who's screaming though are his dorm members, and he's found humors in the encounters.

"ah, thank you, myrcella." he nods gingerly, toward the very tiny white mice who seems to twirl around, touched by the thanks. the little thing was nice enough to carry the pen he'd been using to scribble down the main definitions he'd been copying from the textbook.

in the middle of reaching for a glass of water the door opens, riddle watches one of his residents striding in rambling. probably about to be exposed to the sight of a group of mice sleeping on top of each other atop a cushion he'd personally placed for them.

and maybe the birds. whom seemed comfortable by his small collection of plants.

"dorm leader, octavinelle stude—GAHHHH—"

[recycledraccoon]

Minor thoughts on Oisin and how he seems primed to fuck over Adaine specifically. The flustered ping-pong balls that were a plan all along. The quoting her own words on the previous Elven Oracle back at her in regards to the storm.

I mean...imagine you're a skinny little dragonborn wizard, in a class with a cute elven girl. You don't talk to her, but one of your adventuring party members is pissing thinking that party is getting preferential treatment, so you KNOW about her. You watch from the corner of your eye or from a spot on the back of the class whenever she's actually there. Partway through the year she goes to jail, and when she comes back she and her adventuring party save the world from a dragon. (A dragon of whom your Grandmother had been fond. ((Also, coincidentally, the Vice Principal.))) One of them created a god.

(Your entire party is being groomed into rage by two of your teachers.)

You're in her class again. She is the Elven Oracle, already an accomplished adventurer. She and her friends are popular. She's very pretty. She does not know your name. She does not know who you are, just a skinny dragonborn a few seats back.

You go on your Sophomores Year Spring Break Adventure and don't bother to think about her party at all.

(You and your party are going to kill a god. Your teacher is going to ascend to godhood in their place and you and your party will have Made That Happen. You are angry and determined with each final blow you deal.)

You return from Spring Break angry and with a sore chest.

You find out the elven girl's party has resurrected a dead god and the live streamed the entire fight. They must think they're so much better than you and your party. You'll show them.

(Your friend refuses to change her faith. She cancels the paperwork. The rest of you kill her, confident she will make the right choice and join you again as a proper Champion for your new god. You help kill her. She does not get back up. You hide the body and none of you can say anything. You're so so angry.)

The world descended into darkness and you can do nothing. The sun finally breaks across the sky again right before Junior year. You and your party have made plans and are on the cusp of greatness. You've gained muscles to spare and ink on your scales in carefully selected runes, no longer just a skinny little dragonborn.

(You have a new cleric. He's not your friend. He's a haystack hick from that cult-church from Freshman year, and he's here because the god you're going to kill needs a Champion and he fits the bill, nothing more.)

The first day of school the plan starts to be put in motion. Immediately that party of kids is interfering, in your way. It rackles. You push on anyway, seething inside even as you act the part of being reasonable.

You go to a party at the houses of one of her friends. You've been practicing making spell runes on the inside of ping-pong balls. You're ready.

The pretty Elven girl in your class finally looks at you. She approaches you, gives you a drink, and chills it in your hand. She has to ask your name. You have shared certain wizarding classes with her since Freshman year, tho she was barely there. You have to tell her that.

You chat. She clearly gets flustered, calls you great, and flees back into the house. Your friend teases you for others to overhear. It's a convenient excuse to use your geometry and apply physics to miss every single shot and lay your trap. The drink isn't so perfectly chilled in your hand anymore.

(You talk to her. Play nice. She isn't smooth, but she smiled at you and maybe a part of you is vindictive in seeing her flustered. It's a shame she turned down the diamonds, as dragon madness would have been so poetic. You steal her summons to steal something from the house. She didn't know your name. Didn't remember you. You feel justified. Your anger burns cold like frostbite, like static in the air. You purposely don't wonder if that first miss was intentional or genuine.)

You see each other in class sometimes.

You plot and kill monsters the woods. You will win the battle. You will win the war.

Your parties have a standoff in the cafeteria. You play your part to diffuse the situation, your teacher has been harping on your friends to stop antagonizing the other party. You feel her mind touch yours gentle probing of intentions, her friends all around her as you lock eyes.

(The devil's honey your group gets from that bee girl all goes to your teacher. He is preparing himself to ascend to godhood, and he needs it for his prayers.)

She is searching for your intentions and feelings. You tell her only 'Sorry'. She believes you. You are not entirely sure why. She and her party will hopefully die during their Last Stand exam, and have no way to revive themselves in time, be trapped there until after elections.

Maybe she just wasn't perceptive enough to see the deception.

(You hate her and all her friends. You have had no devil's honey. She believes you. Briefly, you wonder if it was a lie at all.)

They catch you. They know. Your team goes to ground and waits out the remaining days 'til elections and the culmination of everything you've been working for.

It rains at the party, and you have no more masks. You are angry. She must never have been that good of an Oracle at all, and you take joy in mocking her with her own words from long ago.

She's nothing more than an elven girl in your class who was full of herself to remember your name.

(There is nothing left now to stop you from being as openly angry as you like.)

[joelmillerisapunk]

How quickly can you take your clothes off, pop quiz

Joel Miller x reader

Masterlist

Wordcount

Summary: The enemies to lovers/one bed/forced close proximity/light grumpy x sunshine/patrol partner fic no one asked for.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, grumpy joel, reader is called "the new kid", reader has breasts but no physical description. It's more tension filled fluffy bickering than smut, but I couldn't help adding a little drop of it in.

Notes: I've been so sick this weekend and was strictly supposed to read fic, but this idea came to me anyway, so I queued it up. I hope you like them as much as I loved writing this. Ty @saradika-graphics , what would we all do without you?

Evening, Day 1

As you fasten the straps of your worn-out boots, the reality of your first patrol with Joel Miller, the cornerstone of Jackson's defence, settles in. You've heard stories about his exploits, and you're determined to prove your worth, that you're more than just another mouth to feed.

The morning air is crisp as you meet Joel by the gate. He grunts a greeting, his eyes scanning the perimeter with practiced vigilance. You fall into step beside him, the weight of your rifle a comfort against your shoulder.

"So, where are we headed?" you ask, trying to break the ice.

Joel's response is terse as he nods in front of himself. "Out there."

You nod, swallowing your disappointment and try again. "So, Joel, I've been studying the maps, and I think if we—"

"Save your breath. We'll check the traps, clear any infected, and get back before dark. That's the plan."

You nod, a little deflated but still hopeful. "Got it.” You press your lips together, taking his words to heart. 

The rest of the patrol is silent, save for the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional direction from Joel. You're vigilant, alert, and when you spot a tripwire, you quickly signal to him, earning a curt nod of approval. But upon returning to Jackson, you go to sign out in the patrol book, and your brows furrow at the entry Joel has already made. 

Patrol Log - Jackson Settlement

Date: Indeterminate, Outbreak

Pair: Joel Miller/The New Kid

Entry Signout: All clear minus the constant chatterbox that seems to think their voice is a homing beacon for every clicker in a ten-mile radius. - J

You didn't even talk that much. You roll your eyes and close the book a little too hard.

Evening, Day 2

You meet Joel at the gate once more, you notice a flicker of surprise in his eyes when you simply nod in greeting, foregoing the usual stream of words. He grunts in response. You're determined to show him you're not just the “constant chatterbox" he'd written about. You've spent the day replaying his words in your head, using them as fuel to prove your mettle.

—

"Up ahead, there's a blind spot by that old truck. Cover me while I check it out." 

You nod, taking up position without hesitation. 

As he disappears behind the rusted vehicle, your heart pounds in your chest. Every sound is amplified in the stillness of the evening—the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves in the wind, and then a low growl that sends a chill down your spine. An infected emerges from the underbrush, its eyes locked onto Joel's last known location. Without missing a beat, you take aim and fire—a clean shot that drops it instantly. 

Joel reappears just as quickly as he vanished, his expression one of mild surprise at your swift action. "Nice shot," he grunts begrudgingly before moving on as if nothing happened.  A small victory for you; perhaps he's not entirely immune to your efforts after all. 

The adrenaline from the encounter with the infected is still coursing through your veins as you and Joel continue your patrol. His rare compliment echoes in your mind, fueling your determination to prove yourself further. 

As you make your way back to Jackson, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. You've not only held your own but also protected Joel's back when it counted. 

Back at the settlement, you hurry to the patrol book before Joel can beat you to it.

Patrol with Grumpy McGrumpface complete. All infected cleared. Check back in a few days. And for the record, this chatterbox saved our asses tonight. Maybe next time, you'll  remember to check your blind spots—and your attitude.

You add a little smiley face next to your entry, a playful jab at his perpetual grumpiness.

As you walk away from the book, you glance back to see Joel reading your entry, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It's a small crack in his tough exterior, and it gives you hope that there's more to Joel Miller than he lets on.

Evening, Day 3

The air is tense as you approach the gate, the familiar silhouette of Joel Miller waiting for you. There's a certain expectation hanging between you two, a silent challenge that has been building since your last patrol. You greet him with a nod, the same flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly replaced by his usual stoic expression.

As you set out, the landscape feels different, almost as if it's holding its breath. You're more attuned to the subtle shifts in the wind, the way the light filters through the trees, and the distant sounds that could signal danger. You move with a newfound confidence, your steps sure and quiet, your senses heightened.

We're going to sweep the old high school today," Joel says, breaking the silence. It's the most he's volunteered about the day's plan, and you take it as a sign of trust, however small.

You acknowledge his words with a simple, "Understood," and follow him towards the dilapidated building that looms in the distance. The structure has seen better days, its windows shattered, the playground overtaken by nature, a haunting reminder of a world that once was.

As you approach, you signal for Joel to hold position while you scout ahead. You move with caution, your eyes scanning for any signs of movement. The silence is broken only by the creaking of a swing, swaying gently in the breeze.

You clear the perimeter, finding no immediate threats, and signal Joel to advance. Together, you methodically clear the classrooms, the gymnasium, and the cafeteria. 

As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the desolate high school, you and Joel finish securing the premises. The tension between you has simmered down to a low hum. It's eerie how the remnants of childhood laughter still linger among the abandoned desks and faded educational posters. You can't help but wonder what became of the students and teachers who once filled these halls with life.

"All clear," you report, as you finish sweeping the last room, your voice echoing through the empty halls.

Joel grunts in agreement, his eyes lingering on the swing set outside, its melancholic creaking a stark contrast to the silence that now fills the school. "Let's head back. It's getting dark."

You nod, but as you turn to leave, a sudden storm rolls in, the sky turning an ominous shade of grey. The wind howls through the broken windows, whipping up leaves and debris in a frenzied dance. Within moments, the heavens open up, unleashing a torrential downpour that shows no signs of letting up.

"Damn it," Joel mutters under his breath, his gaze fixed on the rapidly deteriorating weather outside. "We ain't makin it back to Jackson in this."

Your heart sinks at his words. The high school isn't equipped for an overnight stay—at least not comfortably—and sharing close quarters with Joel Miller is an entirely different kind of danger than what you've faced so far today. But there's no other choice; safety comes first. You follow him to the least damaged classroom and start gathering materials to make it through the night: some old mats from the gym for bedding; whatever dry wood helps you start a small fire, and some canned food from what remains of the cafeteria's supplies. 

As night falls and darkness envelops your makeshift shelter, you can feel Joel's unease mirroring your own—two predators forced into an uneasy truce by circumstance. You both know that despite your differences and his gruff exterior, survival often requires uncomfortable compromises... like sharing body heat when temperatures plummet during stormy nights like these... like sharing a “bed” when there's only one dry spot left in an abandoned high school turned refuge from infected monsters lurking outside.

—

The storm outside rages on, its fury unabated, as the match from your hand hisses out against the wet concrete floor. The darkness inside seems to thicken and you can feel the cold creeping in, the dampness seeping through the layers of your clothing, chilling you to the bone.

Joel's silhouette is barely visible across the room, his frustration palpable in the heavy silence that follows the failed attempt to reignite the fire. The tension that had momentarily subsided now returns with a vengeance, amplified by the primal need for warmth and the instinctual fear of the unknown dangers lurking in the darkness.

Joel rummages through his bag, the sound of items being shuffled around punctuating the silence. He pulls out a small waterproof match case, flipping it open to reveal just three matches left inside. His fingers, roughened by years of survival and hardship, gingerly pick up the first match. The strike against the side of the box is sharp and swift, but the wind howling through the broken windows extinguishes it before it can catch. A second attempt meets with the same fate, and Joel's jaw clenches in frustration. "Damn it," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the storm. He looks at the final match with a mix of resignation and determination. "You know, if you were more careful, we'd have more to work with," Joel grumbles.

"Oh, so now you're worried about being more careful?" you retort, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. "A little too late for that now ain't it Miller?” 

Joel glares at you, his eyes narrowing in the dim light. "I've been careful," he growls. He strikes the last match, shielding it from the wind with his hand. But again it fails, leaving you with no heat. 

You can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at seeing Joel struggle. "Yeah, well, maybe you should've thought about that before we ended up in this situation," you say.

Joel shakes his head. "You think this is fun for me?" he asks. "Stuck in this godforsaken place with someone who can't stop talkin?”

You glare at Joel, his silhouette a dark shadow in the dim light. "You think I wanted this?" you snap back, frustration seeping into your words. "I'm here because I have to be, just like you."

Joel grunts in response, his gaze fixed on the remnants of the failed fire. "We don't have time for this," he says gruffly, standing up and brushing off his pants. "We need to conserve body heat."

Reluctantly, you both make your way to the makeshift bed, nothing more than a pile of old gym mats and whatever dry fabric you could scavenge and a small emergency blanket meant for one person. The thought of sharing such close quarters with Joel is unsettling, but survival trumps discomfort every time.

You lie down first, turning your back to him as he settles in behind you. The awkwardness of the situation is not lost on either of you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body despite the layers between you. As minutes pass in silence, save for the howling wind and rain lashing out, Joel shifts slightly behind you. His arm drapes over your side as he tries to find a comfortable position—and then his hand accidentally brushes against your breast. You stiffen instantly; it's an intimate contact that neither of you expected nor wanted under these circumstances. 

"Whoa! Watch it!" you exclaim indignantly, trying to wriggle away from his touch while still maintaining contact for warmth's sake—a delicate balance indeed under these cramped conditions.

Joel recoils as if he's been stung by a wasp. The tension in the room spikes, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Joel's breath hitches, and you can feel his body tense up behind you. The accidental touch has set off a chain reaction of awkwardness, and you're both acutely aware of the other's presence. "Sorry," Joel mumbles, his voice rough with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..." His sentence trails off, lost in the sound of the rain pounding against the roof.

You nod, acknowledging his apology, but the damage is done. The line between survival and intimacy has been blurred, and the close proximity is playing tricks on your mind. You can't ignore the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, or the fact that you're both very much alone in this abandoned high school.

Minutes tick by, and despite your best efforts to keep a respectful distance, the reality of your situation becomes increasingly apparent. The cold is seeping in, and the need for warmth can't be denied. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you find yourself leaning back into Joel, seeking the heat that his body is so eager to provide. He stiffens at the contact, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he cautiously wraps his arm back around you, pulling you closer. 

It's been a long time since either of you has felt the touch of another person, the comfort of human contact that goes beyond mere companionship.

Joel's breath is warm against your neck, and you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you. It's a startling realization, but it's met with an unexpected surge of desire that you can't quite suppress. The knowledge that he's affected by your closeness is thrilling, and you can't help but wonder if he can sense the effect he's having on you as well.

The line between necessity and want is blurred, and in the end, it's the human need for connection that wins out. With the storm as your only witness, you turn to face Joel, your eyes meeting in the dim light. There's a silent question hanging between you, one that's answered with a soft, almost hesitant kiss. The kiss is an exploration, a rediscovery of a basic human need that has been long neglected. It's a slow burn, fueled by days of tension and the shared experiences that have brought you closer than either of you could have anticipated. Joel's hands find their way to your face, cradling it gently as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the contours of your lips before slipping inside to meet yours in a dance that is both familiar and new.

The cold is forgotten as warmth spreads through your body, ignited by the friction between you. You find yourself pressing against him, seeking more contact, more heat. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, and a soft moan escapes your lips as Joel's fingers deftly undo the buttons of your shirt, revealing skin that is hungry for his touch.

There's an urgency building between you now—a primal need that cannot be ignored or denied any longer. Clothes are shed hastily; each piece removed reveals another patch of warm skin eager for exploration and connection

As the last of your clothes fall away, the cool air of the high school classroom is a stark contrast to the heat that radiates between you and Joel. His hands trace a path down your sides, exploring the curves of your body. The rough pads of his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and you can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more.

Joel's gaze meets yours, and there's a vulnerability in his eyes that you've never seen before. It's as if the walls he's built around himself are crumbling down, brick by brick, revealing the man beneath the hardened survivor. You reach up to cup his face, feeling the stubble scratch against your palms, grounding you in this moment—a moment that feels both surreal and more real than anything you've experienced in a long time.

With a tenderness that surprises you both, Joel lowers his lips to yours once more, kissing you deeply as he positions himself between your legs. The anticipation is palpable; every nerve in your body is attuned to his presence. As he enters you, there's a brief moment of discomfort followed by an overwhelming sense of fullness—a completion that transcends physicality. You move together in rhythm; each thrust is punctuated by gasps and moans that echo off the walls of the abandoned classroom. The world outside has ceased to exist; all that matters is this connection—this desperate need for closeness in a world gone mad.

Joel's pace quickens; his breath comes in ragged gasps against your neck as he drives into you with an urgency born of months—if not years—of pent-up desire and longing. You meet him thrust for thrust, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back as waves of pleasure crash over you both.

The tension builds within you like a storm gathering strength—a tempest that threatens to sweep away everything in its path until there's nothing left but raw sensation and pure ecstasy coursing through every fiber of your being until finally - release washes over you both in a rush of heat and sensation that leaves you gasping for air. The world around you fades away, replaced by the pulsating rhythm of your shared climax. It's a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

As the aftershocks subside, you find yourselves entwined in each other's arms, your head resting on his chest and the steady beat of Joel's heart is a comforting sound against the backdrop of the relentless storm outside. The cold is kept at bay by the warmth generated by your bodies, and for the first time since this ordeal began, you feel truly at peace. 

Eventually Joel's breath evens out as he falls into a deep sleep, his body relaxed and sated in a way you've never seen before. You take a moment to study his face—the lines etched by years of hardship softened in slumber, revealing a hint of the man he might have been under different circumstances. With gentle care, you extricate yourself from his embrace and pull on your clothes, intending to keep watch over the sleeping giant beside you.

The hours pass slowly; dawn is still a distant promise when you hear it—the unmistakable sound of movement outside your refuge. Your senses immediately go on high alert; adrenaline courses through your veins as you cautiously approach one of the broken windows, rifle at the ready. The storm has lessened but not enough to obscure the shapes moving in the pre-dawn gloom. Infected? Or something worse?

You glance back at Joel, still lost in sleep, and make a split-second decision. You won't let whatever danger lurks outside reach him while he's vulnerable. Steeling yourself, you slip out into the storm-ravaged landscape. The rain pelts against your skin, a relentless barrage that does little to dampen your resolve. You move with purpose, your eyes scanning the darkness for any signs of movement.

The high school grounds are eerily quiet, save for the occasional clap of thunder echoing in the distance. You keep low, using the remnants of the playground equipment as cover as you make your way towards the source of the disturbance. The last thing you want is to lead any potential threats back to Joel.

As you approach the perimeter of the school, you catch sight of a small group of infected, their grotesque forms illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. They seem disoriented, their movements erratic as they struggle against the wind and rain. It's clear they're not here for you; they're simply passing through, driven by some primal instinct to seek shelter from the storm.

You take a deep breath, steadying your aim as you prepare to engage. The first shot rings out, echoing through the deserted schoolyard. One of the infected drops to the ground, its body convulsing before falling still. The others turn towards the sound, their milky eyes searching for the source of the threat.

You fire again, and then again, each shot carefully placed to conserve ammunition. The infected fall one by one, their bodies piling up in the mud as you advance, keeping the upper hand through sheer determination and skill. But as the last one drops, you hear a new sound—a low growl that sends a chill down your spine.

You turn just in time to see another infected emerging from the shadows, its jaws snapping hungrily as it charges towards you. You raise your rifle, but the mud beneath your feet gives way, sending you sprawling to the ground. The infected is on you in an instant, its weight pinning you down as it tries to bite through your rain-soaked jacket.

With a surge of adrenaline, you manage to free one arm and reach for the knife strapped to your belt. You drive the blade upwards, aiming for the infected's exposed throat. The creature gurgles in pain, its grip loosening just enough for you to wriggle free and deliver the killing blow.

Panting heavily, you push the infected's lifeless body off of you and take a moment to assess the situation. The immediate threat has been neutralized, but you're acutely aware that more could be drawn by the sound of the struggle. With no time to lose, you make your way back to the school, your heart pounding in your chest.

You slip back inside and secure the door as best you can. You turn around and see Joel is already awake, his eyes scanning the room as he reaches for his weapon. The sight of you, unharmed, brings a look of relief to his face, quickly replaced by a scowl. "Where the hell were you?" he demands, his voice rough with sleep and worry.

"I heard something outside," you explain, keeping your tone even. "I went to check it out."

Joel's expression darkens. "You should've woken me up, you could have gotten killed out there," he grumbles, his concern for your safety masked by his usual gruff demeanor.

"I didn't and you needed the rest," you reply, meeting his gaze. "Besides, I can handle myself.”

Joel's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he's going to argue. But then he just nods, acknowledging your capability even as his protective instincts chafe at the thought of you facing danger alone. "Next time, wake me," he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You can't help but smirk at the gruff concern in Joel's voice. There's a part of you that enjoys getting under his skin, challenging the walls he's built around himself. "You know, Joel," you say, your voice light but your eyes serious, "I think you might actually care about what happens to me."

Joel's scowl deepens, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something that looks a lot like vulnerability. "Don't get the wrong idea," he grumbles, looking away. "I just can't afford to break in a new partner."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. "Sure, Miller. Keep telling yourself that." You walk over to where he's now sitting and nudge him playfully with your foot. "Admit it. You like having me around.”

Joel rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a reluctant smile. "You're alright," he concedes, his voice gruff. "But don't let it go to your head.”

You can't resist the urge to tease Joel a little more. "I think you protest too much, Joel Miller," you say with a playful grin. "I mean, first you can't stop complaining about my chatter, and now you're almost starting to sound... affectionate."

Joel's eyes narrow, but the ghost of a smile still lingers on his lips. "Don't push your luckp," he warns, his voice carrying a note of fondness that he's unable to fully conceal.

You lean in closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, for someone who pretends not to care, you sure were... attentive last night," you say with a sly grin, your eyes dancing with mischief.

A flush creeps up Joel's neck, and for a moment, you think you might have pushed him too far. But then he chuckles—a low, rumbling sound that you feel more than hear. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" he says, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

You beam at him, feeling a sense of triumph. "Maybe," you admit, "but you like me anyway.”

—

As the first light breaks through the retreating storm, you and Joel prepare to leave the high school behind. You gather your belongings, exchanging quiet glances with Joel as you both acknowledge the shift in your relationship.

The journey back to Jackson is uneventful, the aftermath of the storm leaving the world outside quiet. You walk side by side, your boots crunching on the wet gravel. Joel seems more at ease, his usual stoic demeanor softened.

Upon your return to the settlement, the familiar sight of the gates brings a sense of relief. The guards nod in recognition as you pass.

You make your way to the patrol book, your fingers brushing against the worn pages as you prepare to document the latest entry. Joel watches you, his expression unreadable, as you pick up the pen and begin to write.

Patrol Log - Jackson Settlement

Date: Indeterminate, Post-Outbreak

Pair: Joel Miller/The New Kid

Entry Signout: Patrol complete. High school secured. Infected cleared. Storm provided unexpected overnight stay. No serious injuries to report. 

You pause for a moment, considering your next words carefully. With a small smile, you add a final note

Casualties: Zero. Zilch. Nada. Unless you count the ego of a certain grumpy individual who may or may not have been out-shot by yours truly.

You cap the pen and step back, allowing Joel to read your entry. His eyes scan the page, and you see the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he reads your postscript. He doesn't say anything, but the look he gives you speaks volumes. 

As you turn to leave, Joel's hand catches yours, his grip firm yet gentle. 

Hey," Joel says as he pulls you closer. "I, uh... I don't know how to do this," he admits, his gaze dropping to where your hands are joined.

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, offering him a small, encouraging smile. "Do what, Joel?" 

He takes a deep breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. "This," he repeats, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "The... talking about feelings stuff." 

You can't help but chuckle at his attempt to articulate his feelings, the corners of your mouth curling up into a smile. "Is this the part where you tell me that despite your better judgement, you've grown fond of me?" you tease, squeezing his hand in return.

Joel rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of amusement in his expression. "Somethin like that," he admits gruffly, releasing your hand to run a hand through his disheveled hair. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. And maybe... maybe I don't mind the chatter as much as I let on.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the gruff admission meaning more to you than any grand declaration of love ever could "Well then," you say, stepping closer to him, "I guess this means we're stuck with each other."

Joel's response is a low chuckle. "Yeah," he agrees, his hand finding its way to the small of your back in a gesture that feels both new and familiar all at once. "I suppose it does.”