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mv1simp · 23 days

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inspired by my fav @piastrification thank you for being in my walls 🫶🫶 hope you enjoy!!

Streets ♥️

Max Verstappen x PR Manager!Reader

we play our fantasies out in real life ways, and no final fantasy, can we end these games, though?

6 months ago, F1 champion Max Verstappen traded in his status as "serious cat dad with road rage issues" for "Genius. Playboy. Millionaire. Philanthropist". Since then you've been fighting absolute demons as his PR manager to keep his reputation clean in the media. After you tell him you've had enough, he proposes a very interactive solution to your problem.

Content includes: Humour, crackfic, fluff, so much sexual tension, 18+ MDNI, smut, playboy!max, exasperated manager! reader, a very well rounded fic for once?! 4.7k WC

If someone asked you where it’d all gone downhill, you’d have to say it started because of that greedy paparrazi rat Henri - photographer at the MonacoDaily, otherwise known as every PR manager’s sleep paralysis demon. Because this particular paparazzo had a nasty knack for capturing celebrities just as they made the most atrocious decisions known to mankind. And he had an even nastier knack for threatening to sell said photos to the highest bidder. Truly, it was a dark day for any media team when they were forced to bargain with such a foul demon, who’d be able to go toe to toe with the likes of Satan himself.

So when your phone dinged at 5am on a peaceful Sunday morning, only to reveal the 7th (7th!!) message this month from the very same greedy little rat, you threw it across the room. Only to then remember you devastatingly had not been born into a Dubai oil family and you needed this job to pay Monaco rent. The text turns out to be a photo of your aggravating client - Max Verstappen, F1 champion driver, loving father to two cats, and more recently, certified manwhoreTM. He’s living upto your nickname for him, pictured in some nightclub with a half naked blonde sitting on his lap. Alright, alright, not as bad as you were expecting, you could even photoshop the girl’s hair colour to match his current girlfriend’s one maybe? Well, except the brunette woman glaring behind him is his current model girlfriend of the month. You hear a ding, another text from Henri - this time with just a 😈 and 💸👀. You throw the phone back against wall.

Three hours later you’ve cleaned up the PR nightmare and are banging on Max’s apartment door. He blearily lets you in, shirtless and still looking half drunk, but you don’t hesitate to yank him by his beltloops and drag him to the dining table (after quickly checking out that broad chest of his, though, cause goddamn. You’re just a girl.)

Ow, ow, what the hell, Max groans as he’s shoved into a chair. Please. As if you could do any real damage in your 5 foot frame to the 6 foot driver. Slamming your hands on the table for some dramatic flourish (you’re never beating the theatre kid allegations) you give the Dutchman a piece of your mind, demanding to know what his problem is, does he know how many people you’ve had to bribe this month to stop #SluttyMaxEra trending on twitter?? And yes, you know he broke up with Kelly 10 months ago but can’t he just process this healthily and go to therapy instead of having a hoe phase and hooking up with every third woman in Monaco?

Max looks insulted at this slight to his honor. He retaliates by accusing you of buying into the patriarchy and slut shaming him (-That’s not how that works but pop off king, is your deadpan response), and telling you he’s very much over Kelly, okay, it was an amicable breakup (-Sure, Verstappen, that’s why you’d only played Lana Del Ray for a whole month afterwards, huh?) and well, what’s the issue, he’s a hot and rich guy in Monaco, it’s not his fault women just want him? Would it not be #misogynistic of him to deny women the opportunity to explore their sexuality?! He smirks, pleased with his defence.

You groan, slumping down on a chair and burying your face in your hands, muffling your groan of wholesome cat dad Max comeback whennn. Max rolls his eyes at your theatrics, asking if you’d finally lost the plot.

You try cleaning up the PR messes you’ve been making, Max Emilian, you hiss furiously, remember Ibiza? Santorini? The goddamn yacht party over summer break when he got with the captain and her deputy?! (Even now, thinking of that leaking online gives you heartburn.)

Which yacht, Max says cockily, the one where he got with them one after another or at the same time?

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t even known about the threesome, so you suppose you should be grateful that wasn’t another mess to clean up. But a deeper, insecure part of you can’t help but wonder why the only woman Max doesn’t seem to want is you.

And sometimes you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be one of his girls, under his strong body for once instead of on the other side of his hotel wall, having to drown out the very satisfied female moans and headboard bangs with noise cancelling headphones. Like always, you push that thought down quickly.

You, good sir, are for the streets, you announce, standing up and deciding it was time to leave before your delulu, jealous thoughts decided to resurface. Seriously, you mutter under your breath, you didn’t care if his current side quest was to fuck 10 times a week, but could he at least stick to one person for a bit and not make more work for you-

Max’s hand slams the front door back closed as you started to open it. You freeze, turning back to look at him smirking down at you. You hadn’t expected him to follow you down the hallway and you gulp nervously for the safety of your job - you might have taken the roasting a bit too far.

Instead, you get a sly, Oh, so I can do whatever I want, wherever I want, just with one person?

At your awkward nod, because yes, that would significantly ease your workload, he continues, enjoying teasing his uptight, pretty manager - then were you gonna offer yourself up? After all, there’s no PR messes to find out about if it’s you, right?

You blink at Max, completely stunned by the 180 this conversation has taken. Your expression is so adorable that he couldn’t resist a you’re so cute when you’re acting all jealous, you could’ve just asked if you wanted him to fuck you, ya know?

That promptly reminds you you’re dealing with an an absolute manwhore. RIP celibacy era Max, you’ll always be famous.

Um, absolutely fucking not, keep your STDs to yourself, you hiss, flushing head to toe, and furious at the desire in you to give into the devilish proposal. He encourages you to think about it, still smirking, relaxing his grip so you can mercifully flee far away from his intense gaze. Jesus, when did he learn to rizz a girl up like that?!

You don’t take his proposal seriously at all, ignoring his cocky looks at you over meetings all week (also, he’d texted you his clean STD result to assure you he was a #SafeSexKing.) But that weekend, your refusal comes back to haunt you when you’re on a well deserved night out with your girlfriends and your PR manager senses start going off. You narrow your eyes as you spot Max in the dark corner of the nightclub, hands all over a mystery redhead. She’s not going to be a mystery much longer though - if you’d spotted them it was a matter of time before fan’s phones did and then you’d wake up to another goddamn text from your sleep paralysis demon, Henri.

You don’t even have to think about it twice. Saying goodbye to your friends, you’re at Max’s side at a very impressive speed given your 6 inch stilettos and tight sparkly minidress, and once again dragging him off by the beltloops and into an open bathroom.

He lets you yank him away, smirking when he sees you lock the door for good measure. Sweetheart, he greets. So good to see you. Finally realised you couldn’t resist me?

You practically climb him like a tree while telling him to shut the fuck up and pay attention at media training day next time, because what kind of PR crisis did he have unfolding out there? And just this once you’ll help him out, you say breathlessly in between deep kisses, but this isn’t a regular thing -

There’s not much more talking from you because he has you moaning up against the wall next, fingers buried inside your tight little pussy as he talks you through an orgasm, and then another when he splits you in half on his cock. (Once again, manwhore, who carries a condom in their jean pockets?!)

Unfortunately for your self control but very fortunately for your sex life, it is not in fact, a “one time thing”. Your trusty rose vibrator is glad for the break as you’d been taking your year long frustrations at your dry spell out on her. Especially when coming home after staying in hotels where you’d had to book out rooms neighbouring Max’s, so no one else overheard the raunchy vocals of different women every night.

Like Max said, with you, there were no more illicit PR messes to find out about in the middle of the night. You’d redirect him everytime he gave you bedroom eyes (At the pre race debrief. Post race debrief. Weekly team plan meeting. Over zoom calls? Seriously?) - gently taking his large hand and guiding him to a much more hidden, PR crisis-friendly area. To your surprise, Max actually sticks to his word and only hooks up with you - admittedly, multiple times a week (Not that you’re complaining. Turns out he was just as good in bed as he was on the track. Except this time he was definitely not finishing first...)

And for a while, everything is going well. There are no more weekly scandals scattered across trashy celeb magazines about Max. Your boss is gushing with praise, so impressed that you’ve finally managed to talk some sense into Redbull’s problem child (ah, if only she knew, but she never would, because the goddamn CIA couldn’t torture this info out of you) and best of all, you haven’t gotten a text from papparazzi rat Henri in weeks!

So of course, Max Verstappen decides that things are getting just a little bit too quiet for his liking, you had to earn your generous PR manager salary, that he paid for, right? His new, numerous tactics to stir the pot had included:

Going to clubs with no private bathrooms so you’d had to sit on his lap in the VIP lounge as he pulled your panties to the side to slide into you, barely hidden under your flimsy dress. You’d held back your moans and prayed the bass was too loud for anyone to hear

Sitting right next to you at every team dinner or business meeting so that he could sneak a large hand up your thigh and tease your pussy for fucking hours, often just as you were about to speak. And when you’re clenching the table so hard your fingers were white, he’s bending under the table to pick up a pen or something but instead left teasing licks and kisses on your aching core. You'd learnt very quickly not to wear a skirt.

Picking you up in his 2 seater Aston Martin instead of the much more appropriate discreet, spacious, 5 seater Audi he owned - so when he was too pent up after a bad practise session to wait till he got home, he'd get you to go down on him right there in the car, sometimes even as he drove, instead of parking in some hidden backstreet. It was so dirty, that he needed you so desperately that he didn't care about being caught by anyone peeking in through the half tinted windows. Because if they did look, they’d find his head thrown back in pleasure as he moans, his fingers tangled in your curls as he moved your drooling, pink lips up and down his wide cock-

Anyways, you get the picture. And he’d escalated this all the way to the paddock, which was insane because there were always multiple cameras trained on the current F1 champion. It’s the one place you two couldn’t sneak off without a very high risk of being caught, as evidenced by the one and only time he'd managed to get under your skin in the garage. He'd had you pinned up against the wall in some narrow side hallway as he whispered how fucking sexy you’d looked today, wearing his hoodie to cover up the hickies you hadn’t realized you’d woken up with and paired with some tiny denim shorts. Having the 6 foot champion huskily groan that he couldn’t focus on his free practise everytime you bent over to pet a passing dog, or when you innocently sucked on the Redbull flavoured lollipops and then the goddamn ice cream from the truck they’d brought in - was quite the power trip, you admit. So you guided his lips from your neck as he tries to add to the growing bruises on your neck and redirected him to your waiting lips instead, steamily making out as his large hands squeezed your thick ass like he’d been thinking about all day-

Max?!?

You instantly pull back from the driver and turned to see a flabbergasted looking GP - Max’s race engineer. His jaw is wide open as he looked at you two with round eyes. You’re fumbling to explain, trying and failing to push Max back - who looks rather annoyed at the intrusion and semi-glares at GP with narrow eyes. You hiss at the younger man to stop being rude and slip underneath his arms, going over to guiltily apologise to GP only to be met with You too?! How did he get you in his bed, you hated how much of a slut he was! Seriously, does he have a magical dick? Now you stare at GP in shock, unsure of how to respond to his question while Max starts laughing behind you. You make him join you as you promise to GP that he will never have to witness this again, because there will be no unprofessional behaviour of any sort on the paddock after "BootyShorts Gate" as you thereafter dub the incident. Regardless, GP still shoots you both wary glances and begins the habit of announcing his arrival and waiting 10 seconds before turning a corner in the garage, earning him many an odd look. Dramatic, really, was this where Max gets it from?

Max, of course, was very displeased with this new “professionalism” rule you'd set down - on the paddock was when he'd get the most tense, the most horny and desperate to have you underneath him, after all - and he made sure you knew it. You deliberately ignored his heated gaze on you as you interviewed him, or his lingering touches when he helped you hold your microphone up to his much taller frame, large hand wrapped around your small ones clutching the mic. Or his recent favourite, which involved standing next to you to help pick out the insta pics post-race (something he'd notoriously always hated to do) - except now, he conveniently happened to be shirtless, his toned abs and broad shoulders on display, running a hand through his sweaty tousled hair.

This last seduction tactic had sent you fleeing to Checo's garage to seek out the other Redbull driver's PR manager and beg on your knees for a client swap, surely, the sponsor benefits are legendary for whoever Max's PR manager is -

Nope. Nuh uh, no way, Checo is the breeziest driver ever to look after. The other manager pauses. Well, except for the occasional political military coup scandal in Mexico. But still, I'd take that any day over El Manwhore.

You wailed at whatever Gods had decided to curse you and took matters into your own hands, furiously plotting up social media campaign idea after idea that were exactly the kind of thing Max hated with a burning passion - hoping it would get him to back off on his tactics and wave a white flag. From viral TikTok challenges, to making him read all his cringe 2008 tweets, and even making him play fuck, marry, kill with the drivers of the grid. You'd admit, that last one had been rather funny to watch, making you chuckle as you scrolled through the comments, liking "Can't believe we got Max Verstappen saying he would fuck Lewis, kill Pierre and marry Charles before GTA 6" and "does Redbull admin know she posted this on main?!"

But despite your best efforts, it didn't seem to deter Max. If anything, he'd begrudgingly do the task and end up laughing excitedly at you - who was holding the camera - about some joke or the other and make your stupid heart flutter. You knew you definitely should not be catching feelings for your client - who'd made it very clear his interest in you was only physical. But no one needed to know that sometimes you’d log into your fake account to like the "Who got max giggling and kickin his feet and shii?" comments.

Meanwhile, Max had caught wind of your desperation for an escape attempt with Checo’s manager and had upped the ante. He slyly mentioning to Christian Horner than you were doing such a great job as his PR manager, could he pretty please have you promoted to his general manager for his non racing publicity too?

And that's how you found yourself at a Dior Sauvage photoshoot, despite your adamant protests to Horner. You were putting your Masters of Business Adminstration, first class honours, to fantastic use by babysitting a 26 year old child who liked fast cars that went vroom vroom. The only redeeming factor is that you can leave the unflattering Redbull shirt at home since this wasn't for F1 publicity and instead wear a nice outfit for once. Still, you thought it was odd that Max had so easily accepted this campaign, as he wasn't normally one to enjoy doing PR.

A few minutes later you've figured out exactly why your favourite manwhore had agreed to this campaign, because he's grinning at you while posed shirtless, toned abs and broad shoulders all on display as some pretty, busty model is draped over him. The photographer is making this even more painful for you by dragging out the shoot, making Max and the model reposition herself multiple times. You roll your eyes at the scene, because obviously they're two very attractive people who will look good together no matter what, did the photographer really need to be so extra? You stalk off at some point to make yourself a hot chocolate in the hopes it'll sooth the flames of jealousy that are threatening to consume you right now. Max approaches you when a break is called, running a teasing hand along your waist from the back and whispering you looked so fucking hot in this tight maxi dress, making you nervously look around to see if anyone noticed. Luckily, all the staff appeared busy and didn’t look in the dim corner you'd settled into to do paperwork. You hiss at him to keep your hands to yourself, Verstappen making him grin and inform you that's not what you’d said last night, in fact, you were practically begging for him to do the exact opposite-

You're glaring up at him, seriously contemplating if it’s worth breaking your contract clause to "act in the client's best interests" and mauling him with your laptop when the photographer comes up to you both with narrowed eyes. You guiltily step back, thinking he overhead Max's suggestive comments, but instead he just looks back and forth between you two contemplatively. Then, just as you were about to ask him what the issue was, he announces that you'd be replacing the model as the female for the shoot. No questions asked! he announces as you try to protest and snaps his fingers at the makeup and wardrobe artists to demand they sort you out (he gestures rather dramatically to your whole figure when he says this, making you scowl).

So that's how you find yourself dressed in a silky gold minidress with a sultry eye look, pressed up against Max's broad chest and trying not to focus on the intimate position you two are in. Max, however, has no such qualms about the position, using it to tease you further. You've been looking extra tense lately, sweetheart, he breathes, those devilish lips brushing past your ear. I know a great way to make you relax? You growl at him to shut the fuck up because oh my god, did he know how many cameras are pointed at you both right now? Besides, you mutter under your breath, it seemed like he was very interested in relaxing with that blonde model earlier.

Fighting to keep the smug look of his face, Max whispers back that there was No need to be jealous, schatje, you were the only one getting access to his magical dick. So caught up in the game you two are playing, you don't even register the photographer excitedly snapping up pictures, proclaiming that he knew it, the chemistry between these two is unbelievable!

Afterwards, as you're walking off the photoshoot, feeling all hot and bothered from Max's hands running across your exposed skin, shamelessly looking you up and down, the blonde Dutchman catches up to you. He teases you that you were going to get wrinkles at 25 if you didn't stop scowling all the time. I'm older than you, you scoff back, by a whole 6 months, in fact, so maybe you should actually listen to me for once instead of pissing me off? No problem, Max agrees, after all, he's always had a thing for MILFs. You can't help snort at his retort and then start laughing when he tries to maintain an innocent look. At least you were away from the cameras in case someone heard this, you mused.

Unfortunately, you both don't notice MonacoDaily's ratbag paparrazo, Henri, hiding in nearby shrubbery with his camera. It had been far too long without a Verstappen news scandal, he thought with a satisfied smirk as he clicked away.

And later than night, after you'd eaten the chicken stir fry he'd cooked and rewatched Cars 2 (a surpassingly more regular occurrence, these days, to unwind with him at the end of the day instead of immediately being mauled the second you stepped foot in his apartment) you made sure he followed your orders for once. Sitting him back, telling him just how bad he'd been today with all his teasing (-well, it worked, didn't it, sweetheart?) you showed him just how good you were at playing the game, too. And soon, he was breathlessly moaning underneath you as you rode him for the first time, gripping his cock like you were going to milk every last drop, teasing him with just enough pace to get him worked up but not enough to send him over the edge. And you only let him cum inside you when he begged you sweetly, making you go fuzzy at the sight of the infamous Redbull playboy being so desperate for you, and only you.

Afterwards, once you've shampooed each other's hair in the shower while gossiping about how catty that makeup artist had been, really, to imply that your pretty curls had been the problem and not her shitty styling? and Max has got you spooned against him, warm in an old hoodie of his, pressing a goodnight kiss to your forehead, you can't control the warmth blossoming in your chest any longer. And as a content sleep takes a hold of you, you can't help but wonder if Max's affections went beyond physical attraction, just like yours’ were now doing.

It turned out the opportunity to find out this answer would come the very next day, when the ding of your phone wakes you up in the early hours of the morning. It’s a very specific sound that you've set for a certain ratbag - and you get war flashbacks, hearing it now after so long. Scrambling off the bed, ignoring Max's muffled groans as you shove his heavy arm of you, you unlock your phone and gasp in horror as your suspicions are confirmed. Henri has arisen from the ashes and this time it's to deliver his sauciest scandal yet. Because a picture tells a 1000 words, sure, but he has the two of you on a goddamn video, flirting and giggling at each other as you exited the studio yesterday. There's no chance of you talking your way out of this one, as Max's large palm wanders to give your thick ass a firm squeeze as he guides you into his passenger seat. Goddamn, you knew you shouldn't have worn that tempting skims maxi dress - Max was an ass (and tits) man who couldn't be trusted to control himself in public. BTW already sold this 🥸 Henri texts. Just a courtesy FYI cuz I brought a boat with the bag from this one ✌️

You contemplate if it would be better to disappear off the face of the planet, or get plastic surgery to become unrecognisable as you chug your morning Redbull while moodily looking over the Monaco sunrise. Max joins you after a few minutes, looking extremely cute as he rubs the sleep out of his baby blue eyes and asks you what's wrong, schatje.

Taking a deep sigh (like you said, #DramaKid), you break the news. I’m going to hold your hand while I say this (- that’s really not necessary, Max interrupts) - but you know celibacy exists, right? As does having sex in a private location without the risk of being arrested for public indecency?

True, Max agrees, but what was the fun in that? Besides, you were just too hot to resist. Ignoring the butterflies at his cheesy flirting, you hold up the incriminating video on your phone as proof that it was not all fun and games, as Henri had already sold this to multiple news outlets this morning, you inform glumly. Max is strangely silent, looking intently at the video and even replaying it a few times, his eyes crinkling as a soft smile appears on his face when he hears the sound of you two laughing. Then - in a truly unbelievable redemption arc plotline from the Monaco playboy - he asks if it would be so terrible, to have this made public, to let the world know that you were together?

Well, I - you stumble over your words, - I dunno, I thought you liked that? Keeping it secret cause you just wanted a convenient hook up?

Max is silent again. Then, looking uncharacteristically nervous, he says that's not what he wants, not really, not anymore - not since he'd fallen in love with you, somewhere along the 3 months of the friends with benefits/PR manager and her problematic client situationship you’d had. And like at the very start, you don’t even need to think about it twice. This time when you shyly smile and kiss him, you make sure he can feel your love through it and know that you wanted more, too.

So you walk into work that morning, holding hands in open defiance, ready for the world to see. You’re rather confused when no one seems to be paying much attention, instead frantically trying to get the set up ready for the pre race testing. Maybe you two had not been as indiscreet as you thought and people already suspected? Or maybe you both had a penchant for drama and thought you were the main characters when you clearly were not?

You look at each other, shrug, and you give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him you’ll see him for lunch at the kebab shop on the corner, before he wanders off to the garage. Maybe Henri had a change of heart and decided not to exploit innocents for fame and money, you ponder hopefully. Maybe there truly was good in the world, after all.

And then you hear your name being called and turn to see your boss standing behind you menacingly, hands on hips. Care to explain why #MaxLovesMILFS is trending right now?

Somewhere along the Monaco waterfront, a paparazzi rat skulking in the bushes sneezes.

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A/N: again thank you so much to @piastrification for inspiring this piece!! So sorry for the delay and I hope you enjoy my attempt at branching out to other fics xx tysm to you all for the requests, I am working them into my upcoming fics!! 💖

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x you #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 x reader #crack fic #manager!reader #f1 fic

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capitalstreetforex · 2 years

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youtube

#Weekly Analysis!Gold Price Litecoin!SilverUSD Ethereum USD!Gold Price Technical Analysis!#The latest Financial update of the Cryptocurrency #Forex #and Commodities Prices. Technical analysis is the art of understanding market moves. In this video #you get crypto market Buy & Sell Trading Signals for Free.#Website Link - https://www.capitalstreetfx.com/en/#Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/CapitalStreetFX/#Telegram - https://www.t.me/CapitalStreetFx/#Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/capitalstreet_fx/#oil price forecast #weekly market review #weekly market recap #weekly market update #technical analysis for beginners #technical analysis #technical analysis of stocks #technical analysis course #market news live #market news #gold market news #gold price #gold price today #gold #gold news #gold forecast #silver price #silver price forecast #silver price analysis #coni #commodities news

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padawansuggest · 4 months

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Do you think the clones know about espresso? Do you think they know caf comes in a condensed and bitter form?

CODY’S SPACEBUCKS ORDER THAT ONE 17 SHOT ESPRESSO AND FIVE PUMPS OF BLUEBERRY SYRUP THAT THE BARISTAS WILL REMEMBER IN HORROR FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES

Fox just replaces his water with espresso and ends up in medical within a week for the resulting rage he unleashed on the senate and probably a single lightsaber ouchie (the doctors will kiss it better) when Palpatine thought Fox was trying to murder him.

Anyways. Cody bats his pretty eyelashes at Obi-Wan who in turn bats his pretty eyelashes at Bail who in turn buys them a ten thousand credit espresso machine and Cody never has to deal with the SpaceBucks workers looking at him Like That again. Also his orders were all like 50 credits each and that was really cutting into his stolen credit card money.

Anyways. Obi-Wan becomes used to dirty chai lattes because it’s the only tea that Cody consistently gets right for him out of some sort of horrible spite. He loves his adorable caffeinated monster so much. He’s gonna bat his pretty eyelashes at Bail and convince him to send them on a fancy vacation. Bail is a fan of anything that gets these menaces to his chastity out of his office.

Anakin once mixed up his caf mug and a can of grease while working on a new droid in Padme’s space garage while less than half awake because him and Padme are trading off who’s watching the twins to keep them from getting out of their cribs with the force, and trust me, he didn’t notice till a couple gulps in, and yes, he made this everyone else’s problem. Rex had to hold his hair back while he puked. Ahsoka is the one that switched his mug and the can of oil.

Fox drinks herbal tea now.

Fives once made coffee but replaced the water with monster and Echo still thinks of it and weeps sometimes. Why did he do that??? The smell was radioactive.

Omega pouts at Hunter whenever he drinks caf around her because ewwwww but he’s too dad shaped to stop that is his fuel, come on kid, let’s go fishing. Horrible. She would like to be unadopted plz (if you stop cuddling her she WILL tantrum thanks.)

Bail Organa for Chancellor, this is all. Elect him for the title because he’s the hardest working man in the galaxy. (Plz don’t fucking elect him he would like to go home to his wife next week he’s exhausted.)

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #bail organa #the clones #clone wars #commander cody #anakin skywalker #codywan #commander fox

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loliwrites · 4 months

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I. Tenacity | Edelweiss

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early 30s], joel lives forever fight me, canon compliant violence, no infected here just terrible humans, mention of death, blood, and murder, mentions of hunger, diva cup appearance, talk of irregular menstrual cycles [trauma-induced menopause][epigenetics], DUBCON/NONCON [tagging ‘cause reader allows it but true enthusiastic consent is absent], brief SMUT, unprotected p in v sex, female reader, no physical description other than a height difference, slow burn-ish, protective!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 5.6k series masterlist a/n: my first go at writing something tlou-related. be gentle pls.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The steady rhythm. You could count the number of times your hip would be shoved into the wooden table with a high degree of certainty of when it would be over. Michael never lasted too long. Somewhere between thirty-four and thirty-seven thrusts. He was never particularly rough, and though he was never chasing to make you feel good, he was at least better than George and James – both of whom would probably be lining up after Michael was done. George seemed to last forever. Some old fart who’d gained his stamina before the world came to a screeching halt. He usually landed somewhere between sixty-two and sixty-six thrusts. The bruises he left behind always lasted the longest because of the sheer amount of times he slammed your body into whatever you were up against. A table, a railing, an old pool table with torn, dirty felt. And the worst of all was James. He may not last the longest, but he had the uncanny ability of making you feel like some depraved wild animal he was trying to break. He never took his time to make sure it wouldn’t be absolutely painful like Michael did. Nor did he have a pencil dick to make it somewhat manageable like George. He took it how he wanted it – fast, unceremonious, and always left you in a mess you’d have to clean up.

Part of you wondered if this was worth it. If the wolf was only as strong as the pack, then having a pack was supremely necessary. And though, these guys… and the group they led… weren’t the people you would’ve gone with by choice. A pack was a pack. Alone, you were an easy target for almost anything and anyone. Being together afforded you safety in numbers. Relative safety in numbers. Safe enough to have stayed alive with them for the past six years. Years that you likely wouldn’t have gotten if you’d fought them tooth and nail and went off on your own. Solitude could only get you so far. No matter how proficient you were with your rifle.

The one that lay in front of you on the table. Clean, well-oiled, with a scope affixed to the top. As Michael started to moan recklessly behind you, you thought about the meals you’d forfeited in trade for the supplies needed to keep the weapon in the best of shape. Times were tough – had been tough for a couple decades now – and a gun was a gun. It didn’t need to be clean, it just had to work. But this was no ordinary gun.

Michael came inside you with a strangled grunt and pulled out a second later. That was a relatively new twist in the routine. For years the men were careful to never finish inside you… or any of the other women in the group. Food and resources were scarce enough as it was, let alone adding little mouths to feed and take care of. But a few months back, you’d confided in some of the women that your period hadn’t been coming when you expected it to. And when time had passed and neither a baby nor your period came, you came to the conclusion you were suffering from the same fate as some of the other women. A hard life compounded. Trauma induced menopause. You weren’t sure which of the women had ratted you out. But soon enough the men had become aware of your new biological situation, and they stopped the frantic pulling out as they came. Perhaps that was for the best. Who’d want to bring a child into a world like this?

“Was that alright?” Michael asked, buckling his belt back up. His back was turned toward you as he reached for his own rifle, which he’d propped up against the wall.

You glanced over at him and pulled your pants back up your legs. Over the lofted railing, you could hear George and James mumbling to each other. “Fine,”

“Did you…?”

He finally met your eyes. Anxiety-ridden. None of the other men ever asked, but you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. At some point maybe it’d sink in that he should stop partaking in the act just to fit in with the boys. “No,”

His gaze averted to the floor sheepishly and he shouldered his rifle. “Guess we should get back downstairs,”

“I’ll be down in a couple minutes,”

Now you were the one to turn your back on him. Though you hoped he’d come to his senses and start to become a better man. You knew he wouldn’t. He was initiated into the system. The one George and James, and all the other men in the settlement formed. The one that meant they brought girls along on patrols so they could get their kicks and save face with the others that they were doing their due diligence in protecting the group. And you joining the group… well you turned out to be the little guardian angel for the women in the pack. Good with a gun, able to pick off infected and humans alike from a mile out. It only seemed natural that the men going out on patrols would take you with them. For that you inadvertently protected the other women from your fate.

Michael cleared his throat and started down the stairs from the loft. You bit the inside of your cheek to show yourself you could still feel something, and – BANG!

Your head flicked around toward the noise. What was left of Michael was splattered against the wall leading up the stairs. You grabbed your gun and held it poised. Looked over the lofted banister and down at the room below. George had backed up into the far corner; his arms raised in non-threatening compliance. Someone must’ve been pointing a weapon at him, but you couldn’t tell from the angle. And James, well… if it didn’t warm your heart a little bit to see him being restrained in a chokehold with a handgun to his temple. The man you could see, holding James, was tall, muscular… he had black, curly, jaw-length hair. A thick mustache. He was in all denim. And it was clean, which was the thing that caught you the most off-guard.

You lifted your gun, disregarding the scope, and looked down the barrel. James may’ve been part of your pack, but you’d thought about putting a bullet in him on a daily basis for the last eight years. And while these guys might kill you afterward, at least you’d have the brief satisfaction of knowing that you’d taken one terrible human off the face of the planet.

So there was no hesitancy when you squeezed the trigger. The round flew by the denim-clad man’s head and went straight into James’. He crumpled to the floor and the man who’d been holding him looked up in your direction, though you’d backed away enough to ensure you weren’t seen.

Your pulse was pounding in your ears. Despite two thirds of your life having been in a post-Cordyceps world, the sound and reverberation of your rifle going off right by your ear didn’t keep it from ringing. An almost concussion-like haziness emphasized by the adrenaline coursing in your veins. From down below, you could just barely hear George pleading for his life. Something about how he had a woman he loved and wanted to go home to. Strange considering he had his dick in you on most days out.

The ringing in your ears started to quiet, just in time for you to hear a footstep behind you. A heavy one. Definitely belonged to a man. But not in time for you to spin around with your rifle before finding the man already pointing his rifle at you.

“Drop it,” he commanded gruffly. A deep, gravelly voice. He was sure of himself. Confident. His tattered jacket bunched up around his shoulders. He wasn’t as clean-looking as his partner currently detaining George. Graying, brown hair, a prominent scar over his nose, a scruffiness… and yet, he still looked too put together to have been living off the land for any amount of time. You should know. God knows what you looked like had you ever taken any time in front of a mirror. If the dirtiness of your hands were any indication, you were a little worse for wear. “I said, drop it,”

Your eyes flicked back up to his face and you slowly bent over and placed your rifle on the floor. No sooner than you’d completed the action, he had another order for you. Kick it here and get on your knees. So you did. Nudged your most prized possession away with your foot when another BANG! rang through the old hunting lodge. Your eyes flinched shut; the nanosecond of thought that this was it. You’re dead. But then… you still felt alive. And you squinted your eyes open to evaluate. Yep, definitely still alive. No bleeding holes coming from your body, and the man still in front of you waiting for you to comply with his last order. Which you did… awkwardly. A grimace stretched over your face when you knelt down and felt your pants sticking to your thighs; Michael’s spend dripping out of you.

The muzzle of the man’s rifle never left you, “got anything else on you?”

“Knife in my front pocket,”

“Slide it over,”

You did. Quickly. Hoping that your quickness and willingness to obey him would mean he’d let you go with your tail tucked between your legs.

“You infected?”

You glared at him, “do I look infected?”

He cocked his gun and held it up in line with your head. You trained your eyes on his index finger around the trigger. Just one twitch. That’s all it’d take.

“Joel,” both you and the man… Joel… looked away from each other, and fixed your eyes on the stairs where the second one – the one you’d disregarded in order to kill James – entered the loft. “Look at her gun,” both men looked at your rifle. “I don’t think she misses very often. If she was gonna kill us, we’d already be dead.”

He went to approach you, and this time Joel spoke up. A cautious step forward, “Tommy.”

But this Tommy… he took another couple steps in your direction and handed off his rifle to Joel when he went to stand in front of you. You kept your eyes on his face, tilting your head back to keep him in your line of vision. Even if he tried something, you weren’t sure what you’d do to stop him, but at least you’d see it coming.

“I don’t think you missed me. I don’t even think you were aiming at me,”

“I wasn’t,”

A victorious smile spread across his face and he twisted around to look back at Joel, “see.” Tommy looked back down at you and set his hands on his hips. “What’s your name?”

You flicked your eyes at Joel quickly before returning them to Tommy to answer his question.

“You’re with the other settlement?”

“I wouldn’t call them a settlement,” your eyes flicked over to Joel when he clicked his tongue on his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Nomads, at best,”

“And at worst?” Joel barked.

Your eyebrows lifted quickly in contemplation before… “a bunch’a assholes,”

Another wide grin broke out over Tommy’s face. “You got a family or a partner in that bunch of assholes?” He waited for a verbal response but you only shook your head. “We’ll take her back with us. She might be able to give us some answers about our friends we’ve been seeing on patrol.”

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They made you walk while they sat easily atop their horses. Some kind of cruel twist of fate that your own gun was turned on you the whole time. Joel made sure of that. Based on the way the sun fell toward the horizon, you figured you’d all been an hour and a half walk south of their settlement. Which as you neared the large wooden gates, seemed to be more like a QZ than some random encampment. And judging by the way the two men bickered, you assumed they were brothers. Only siblings could piss each other off like that and not take it personally. How lucky, you thought, that after all this time, they still had each other.

When you did near the enormous gates, Tommy left you behind with Joel. A precarious position. His face remained stoic the entire time, muzzle of the gun pointed at you… didn’t even answer when you asked if his horse had a name. You thought about goading him into an argument for the fun of it. Maybe he named his horse Princess. Or Spike. But Tommy interrupted again, riding up with a handful of others and even a dog. It growled and snarled in your direction, and you weren’t sure why, but you glanced back up at Joel to see if his expression had changed. Maybe you wouldn’t be so scared if he didn’t look like there was something you should be nervous about.

To your surprise, he was already staring at you. Upon meeting your gaze, he nodded once and jut his chin in the direction of the dog. “S’gonna sniff you. See if you’re infected. If not, like you say, nothin’ll happen.”

“If I am?” You cocked your head back toward the snarling animal.

“It’ll probably just take your leg off or somethin’,”

“Any chance this dog fucks up?”

“Probably not,”

And it didn’t. Thankfully. Hopefully this meant they’d trust explicitly that you indeed weren’t infected. They seemed to trust their trained animal enough to let you inside their settlement. Jackson, they called it. You’d never heard of it. Never heard of any rumblings of a massive commune. And yet…. It was gorgeous. Nice buildings, string lights, stables, a bar, dining hall, and in the distance, what seemed to look like a large, sweeping neighborhood.

Tommy had joined up with a woman: Maria. They kissed and spoke fondly to each other, so you assumed they were partners. Both walked ahead of you, while Joel remained at your rear. You figured with your rifle still pointed at you. Everyone stopped what they were doing when you passed by. All staring to get a glimpse of the newcomer. Would you be joining them permanently? Would they kill you? You asked yourself the same questions.

Your feet had stopped moving but you didn’t notice until you felt the muzzle of your rifle press against your upper back. Joel jabbed the metal against your back again, growing antsier with the fact that your gaze had settled on a teenager in the distance. She was staring at you, too. A fact that seemed to make Joel even more aggravated. He mumbled his annoyance to you and you got moving again, walking up the boarded steps into the dining hall.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They treated you better than you expected. Hell, better than your group would’ve treated someone they didn’t know. They set a big glass of water in front of you with a heaping plate of vegetables, chicken, and fresh bread. The water was one of the biggest surprises. You couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t have to boil water before drinking it. Maybe when you were still with your parents. That felt like a lifetime ago.

Tommy and Maria shared glances like they weren’t sure what you were going to tell them. Considering no one else joined you, you figured these three (or a combination) held a great deal of power in the settlement. Joel, however, looked pissed that this was even happening at all. That he hadn’t just shot you on sight back at the hunting lodge. It was pretty easy to ignore him. You’d spent the better half of your time on earth ignoring men just like him. But then the questions started coming and you figured all this kindness came at a price. They wanted to know everything. So you didn’t hold back. Maybe if you were open and frank with them, they’d let you stay here. They wouldn’t make you go back to those awful people.

Told them that you’d been with that group for the last eight years. And in those eight years, they hadn’t really expanded their numbers by any considerable amount. That they hovered somewhere between forty-four and sixty-two people -- including the three that had been killed today – and that about two thirds of them were men. You even told them about how you’d become a sort of fun novelty for the men. That they brought you along on their scouts because you were better than anyone with a rifle. Once they got their rocks off by watching you down game a mile off, they got their rocks off again, fucking you up against anything sturdy enough to withstand the weight and pressure.

Joel looked down at his lap at that. Avoided your eyes. You took it to mean that he knew what that was like. Maybe he did the same.

You shrugged and pushed the remnants of food around on your plate. Eight years was a long time to endure that type of treatment. You told them as much.

“You don’t have loyalty to anyone in the other group?” Maria asked, probing.

“She shot one of her own guys today. Doesn’t have loyalty to anyone,”

Everyone’s heads turned to Joel. He’d since leaned back in his chair, almost nonchalantly. The gun that had been pointed at you now lay on the opposite end of the table. You thought you saw indignance in his eyes. Disdain for you and the plight he perceived you to be on. Scorched earth. Loyal to no one but yourself. Maybe that was true. Maybe you’d evolved to become highly selective in where to lay your loyalty.

“He wasn’t my guy,” you spat in Joel’s direction. It might as well have been just the two of you in the room. “He was the guy that killed my parents. So fuck him,”

It was hard to tell what they thought of you. Tommy was the only one who smiled freely. Maria saved hers for Tommy. And Joel didn’t smile at all. There was no talk of a plan or a future. No conversation about what was to become of you. All they told you as you wandered from the main street and down one cul-de-sac road lined with houses was that they didn’t allow anyone to have weapons in town. All firearms stayed at the armory.

That conversation ended as they stopped in front of a small one story cottage. It was dark and rickety, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fathom who you were to be put into the arms of. If the house was any indication, probably some horribly untidy mess of a man. Maybe it’d be the type of man you’d wished you’d have your gun around for.

Maria, Tommy, and Joel led you inside that dark, rickety cottage. Unlocked the door and flicked the lights on as they entered the living room. You kept your eyes and ears alert. Your awareness might be the only upperhand you had in sensing danger here. But you heard nothing. You saw nothing. There wasn’t another soul in this house waiting to attack. It was just you and the three who’d brought you here. They didn’t offer an explanation. Joel just stood back and eyed your every move carefully while Maria handed you a little stack of clean clothes, a toothbrush and a tube toothpaste, and a small cardboard box that held something you’d never heard of before: a diva cup.

You looked up to give her an apprehensive glance but found that she was already giving you one. It was a look you’d seen before. When you’d talked yourself into joining that other group all those years ago. It was the look the women had given you before they realized you were about to become their saving grace. She turned away from you and gave Tommy a peck on her way out; not even bothering to acknowledge Joel.

There was a part of you that admired her. For the amount of power she clearly wielded over not only these two men, but seemingly the entire commune. And the other part of you was scared of her. She reminded you of your mother. A strong, domineering type who knew how to control the men around her. You figured if the outbreak hadn’t happened and humans didn’t devolve before your very eyes, you might’ve become the same type of woman. The type who could keep her men in line with a look. The type whose men would’ve quivered at the look you’d shot them.

The front door shut behind Maria in the same moment Tommy was handing you a key. You took it in your hand and ran your thumb over the cold, smooth metal. It had been decades since you held one like it. Surely even before the outbreak, people just didn’t hand over keys to houses for nothing.

“You can stay in Jackson for a month on a little trial run–”

“Probation,” Joel interrupted.

Both you and Tommy flicked your eyes at him. While Tommy looked annoyed, you actually smiled. Somehow Joel’s bluntness was growing to be comforting.

“Jesus, Joel,”

He shrugged, “S’call it what it is. Probation to see if she’s a problem and we gotta send ‘er packin’,”

“Appreciate you both not shootin’ me,” you said, you voice sounding hoarse. You cleared your throat and shook your head absently; a small smile passing over your lips, “would’ve put a damper on my day.”

Tommy grinned though his brother looked unamused at your effort of levity. “Someone’ll come ‘round tomorrow morning around seven-thirty to bring you to the greenhouse. Teach you the workflow down there.” Then off your confused look, he smiled again, heading for the door, “if you’re gonna live in the community, you gotta help out.”

Joel turned his back on you to follow his brother, and you were quick on their heels, “what about my gun? I mean, does everyone have their own gun at the armory, or…”

“It’s a commune. We share,” Tommy said over his shoulder as he tugged the front door back open. He and Joel stepped through the threshold, but your voice stopped them.

“It’s just that… I’d rather not be here and have my gun, than be here and have someone else usin’ it. I appreciate what you’re doin’, and your helping me out, but… to me, staying in Jackson isn’t worth havin’ someone else use my weapon,”

“It’ll be safe,”

Tommy’s voice rang clear and sure, trying to reassure you of something. What, you weren’t certain. But he continued on his way, and only once he stepped off the small porch, did you realize that Joel had momentarily kept himself frozen in place. By your front door, staring you down. You started to shrink back beneath his gaze, unable to discern what it was trying to convey to you. Anger. Resentment. Disappointment. The door nearly concealed you entirely before Joel got his bearings again and descended the porch steps and jogged to keep pace with Tommy again.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

The whole thing was weird. All of it. Jackson was an anomaly and the more you tried to make yourself at home, the weirder it got. The house they’d just given you was definitely a pre-outbreak build. It was obvious. Some of the other houses on the block looked new. You imagined they’d smell new. Not your cottage. Scuffed up wood floors. Cracks in the paint and drywall. Even the wood-burning stove. And when you looked out the front window, out at the street, you saw children. Walking by themselves. Joking around. Not nearly on edge or high alert. In fact, you dared to say that they looked like they were having fun.

You’d only been ten when the world came crashing down around you. Fun ripped out from right under your feet. The homestead you’d grown up on – climbing trees, playing hide and seek, shooting down Coke cans – once a safe place to be a kid, had quickly become something to be defended. As you found out many moons later, to the death.

At ten, there wasn’t anything to rebuild in the new world. You hadn’t had any worldly possessions to hang onto. When money became obsolete, it didn’t matter because you’d never had any. Perhaps in a bank somewhere, stuffed away in a savings account that no longer held any weight. Nor did you need the money to get by in life these days. You’d heard tales of the QZ’s from people who’d come from them. Escaped from them. They had a new type of currency. Not the kind you used to have. The green paper money with a bunch of old dudes on the front. The kind your family burned sometime in the winter of 2006 when the first freeze took over and you were sure you’d never get back to the old normal.

And that was what made Jackson the weirdest. It was the closest to ‘old normal’ you’d seen in over two decades. A whole town. Village. Commune, they’d called it. A formal education had stopped young, so the only awareness of anything commune related came from a book your father had about the Bolshevik’s October Revolution. And if you were being honest, it didn’t sound too good. But on top of that, how were you supposed to rebuild now? Maria had been kind enough to give you a few things, but there wasn’t wood for the wood-burning stove. And the electricity might’ve been working, but there wasn’t any food in the fridge. No sides of deer cut up and stored in a chest freezer. How were you supposed to get that in a commune? Did they have money? Did they barter? And either way, you had no money to give and nothing to barter. So how exactly were you supposed to get on in life?

Face up, staring at the ceiling, you laid in bed willing yourself to go to sleep. You’d gone to bed hungry before. More times than you could count. But usually those nights were accompanied by a dirt floor, extreme cold, the threat of being hunted. A million other things to keep your mind off of the fact that your stomach was growling. There wasn’t any of that in Jackson. Everything was quiet, almost eerily so. You were warm. And even though the mattress wasn’t the comfiest of things, it sure as hell beat the floor. With all these little luxuries, it was hard to ignore the hunger.

But even if you had been asleep, you’re sure you would’ve been woken by the footsteps on your old, rickety porch. None of the wood planks laid exactly right. All creaking with age and rot. Much like the world, you thought. Plus you couldn’t remember a night’s sleep that wasn’t disturbed by panic or anxiety, or just plain fear. Probably hadn’t had a peaceful night like that since before the outbreak. Now that creaking on your porch made you jump up and scurry into the corner of your bedroom. Into the shadows. Praying you’d had your rifle. Cursing the idea that you’d stay here without it.

The creaking came and went in a steady procession. Four footsteps. A pause. Another four footsteps. On and on for a few minutes. Long enough for you to have gained your courage again. Long enough for you to have crawled to the front room and peek through the window. Long enough for you to see Joel Miller ambling back and forth on the porch, stacking pieces of wood, conveniently chopped to fit the size of your wood burning stove. What a stark difference from the Joel Miller who’d been pointing a gun at your head this morning. You went to the door and unlatched it, slowly pulling it open so as to not startle him. He came to an abrupt stop. An armful of wood. Staring at you.

He blinked a couple times in quick procession, gaining the wherewithal to move again. “M’sorry if I woke ya’,”

You shook your head, “I don’t sleep much.”

Joel nodded and set the armful of wood on top of the rest. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans, almost sheepishly. “Winter comes up on us pretty quick here. Insulation in this place is for the birds. Figured you’d need some wood for the stove.”

“Oh,”

“I cleaned out the flue a couple months back so you shouldn’t smoke yourself out,”

Lips pursed together, you pondered the stack of wood nestled up against the cottage. “I don’t think I’m gonna stay. Doesn’t seem like this is the right place for me,”

Joel didn’t have a response for you, just looked down at his feet and kicked at a nonexistent something on the porch.

“That gun–my gun. My dad gave it to me in 2003. September 26th,”

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours. Pain riddled in his gaze as if he remembered that date all too well. And when it vanished, the coldness you’d first noticed in the hunting cabin returned.

“It’s all I have left. And as ridiculous as it sounds to be so attached to a rifle, I am. And I–”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” he interrupted. Just when you thought he’d continue on and show a little more softness, kindness… he kept speaking, “Look, I don’t care if you stay or go. Don’t need stragglers hangin’ ‘round. So I’d love to give you your gun back and dump ya’ out past the gate. But Tommy’s always been a little stupid. Takes chances on people,”

“What an idiot,” you smirked.

A smile flashed over Joel’s face. It was gone in a second. And he turned away from you, descending the porch steps. “He’ll bring you to the greenhouse. Teach’ya how things operate, and…” he took a deep breath. Something almost like fondness erupted in his tone, “you might not wanna stay, but don’t fuck things up there for the rest of us. We got families here. And we’ll need the resources to get through the winter.”

“You think I’d fuck things up on purpose?”

Joel looked over his shoulder and nodded, “yeah. ‘Cause I’ve been in your spot before and I did.”

He continued on and you stayed put on your porch, watching him until he was out of sight. Wondering where the house he was given was. If he was alone, or if he had some sort of partner living with him. But also figured you’d never get the chance to know.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

“We get most of our roughage and root vegetables in the colder months. There’s a constant harvest to keep up with the community’s needs, but some of these aren’t hearty enough to withstand the winter. Even inside the greenhouse,”

You nodded dutifully behind Wendy. At least you think that was the name Tommy mumbled as he was being dragged out of the greenhouse by Joel. Something about being late for patrol and not wanting to spend all day on some godforsaken cliffside. She’d just got done showing you the strawberry vines. The lifeless things that she assured you would spring to life when the warmer weather came back.

The work was easy enough. Boring. Nothing you hadn’t already done on your family’s land as a teenager. Only this was on a much smaller scale. Maybe most of these people had come from QZs. And maybe before that they came from big cities. Places where they never knew where their food came from. That it just somehow appeared in their groceries. Yet, by current standards… of canned things from yesteryear, the greenhouse was a bit of a spectacle. Something beautiful.

Wendy continued on her well-practiced lecture about potatoes as you got lost roaming the rows of plants. Up and down each long, leafed path. Fingers gliding over them, not taking the time to stop and acknowledge any plant in particular. Until, in the absence of your thought, your fingers brushed over something woolly. Pulling your hand back, you focused in. There, just beyond your fingertips, a tray of small white flowers. The petals, less like blossoms, but more like leaves. And woolly. Fuzzy. Unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“What’re these?” Eyes still locked onto your discovery, you hadn’t fully comprehended that you’d interrupted Wendy’s spiel.

And yet when she came upon you, there was no ill will or annoyance from her. Just her gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s edelweiss,” she smiled and shrugged her shoulders when her answer had you giving her a questioning glance. “It’s usually up in the Alps. In the middle of nowhere. Jesse came back from patrol one day ‘bout a year ago with a handful of these plucked up from the root. No idea how they ended up in Wyoming.” Wendy brushed her fingers over the fuzzy leaves.

“How’d you know what they were?”

“Call it coincidence or divine intervention, my grandfather had an oil painting of them above his fireplace in the eighties. When he was stationed in Germany during the war, he’d heard all these stories about this little star-shaped flower. Soldiers would climb high up into the mountains to find them. They grow in the harshest places, sometimes even right on rocks. The journey to get them was hard. A lot of guys didn’t finish the trip, but if they did, they got to pin one of these to their uniforms. A symbol of true bravery,”

You admired the flowers again. Now even a smile crossed your face.

Wendy let out an exasperated sigh, “and I figured, hell… if they can survive on the top of the Alps and in this nightmare of an apocalypse, Jesse finding ‘em wasn’t no mistake. Maybe we’re lucky here in Jackson.”

#joel miller x reader #jackson!joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #ppcu fanfiction #edelweiss fic

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satorusugurugurl · 5 months

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I Think He Knows

Summary: When your novel takes off and becomes a best seller, doors of opportunities open for you. You can work on the series you have dreamed about all your life. And you’re also given the chance to stay in a tiny cottage in Europe for two years to help with inspiration! Your best friend, Geto Suguru, shatters at the news. How could he possibly tell you how he feels when you’re leaving him? His opportunity appears right before him when you confess that your editor thinks a change of scenery will help with your not-so-steamy romance scenes. They’re lacking a particular spice because you’re a virgin. So, Suguru does what any best friend would do. He offers to teach you how things work. Will you cross that line as friends? Or will you both say goodbye?

Pairing: Geto Suguru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,505

Warning: Language, suggestiveness, mentions of sex, mentions of death, depression, insomina

A/N: BestFriend!Suguru series is now our Saturday special!! Let’s goooooo!!! 😈💚

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Tweleve

Fifteen years ago, you and your family moved to Tokyo from the countryside due to your father’s job. You were so nervous, walking into your kindergarten class and holding your bag as your homeroom teacher introduced you to your new classmates. Everyone stared at you as you were ushered towards a table with two boys. One stuck his tongue out at you while the other colored with crayons.

“Oooh.” You said in awe, looking at the picture the dark-haired boy was coloring. “That’s pretty! Did you draw that?”

The crayon stopped moving as the dark-haired boy looked up at you for the first time. His dark eyes widened as he looked you over, a rosy flush dusting his cheeks. “I uhm,” his eyes darted back towards the paper, “yeah, I drew it.” You leaned in, your eyes sparkling in awe, as your classmate sucked in a deep breath as you got closer.

“So pretty!”

Swallowing hard, the boy continued coloring. “I-If you want it, you can have it when I’m done.” His voice is so timid that you almost don’t hear it.

“Eh?! Really!?” You smile, revealing a missing tooth. “Thank you—uhm, what’s your name?”

“G-Geto.”

“Thank you, Geto!”

“You’re welcome.”

That day marked the beginning of your friendship with Geto Suguru! You two have been inseparable ever since that day. You were having play dates and attending the same middle school, high school, and college! You even lived in the same apartment complex, just two floors separating you.

Suguru never once gave up on his passion for drawing, trading his crayons and construction paper for oil paint and canvas. You didn’t have an artistic bone in your body. You did, however, have a way with words. You were constantly losing yourself in characters you'd create and worlds you built, and you never thought of sharing them with the world until Suguru pushed you to do so.

You took his advice and submitted your novel to several writing competitions, not expecting anything to come from it. Boy, were you shocked when you won first place and were allowed to publish your novel! The publishing company loved the story, your characters, and the premise of it, so much so that they signed you on for a whole saga.

That was great! Your characters would finally be given the chance to shine. Their stories would be told! There was just one issue that you kept running into while working on the sequel. Your high-end fantasy novel was a romance between the princess of your series and her knight. You ended the first book with a very intimate kiss and confession. The whole purpose was to have readers wanting more, and they wanted more.

Your reader wanted more Ilaus and Oaklynn, more kisses, sweet whispers of nothing, and steamy smut. The readers wanted to see the lovely, innocent princess and her hot knight getting freaky. Which you were all down for! You wanted them to get to that point as much as your readers! You wanted Oaklynn to be face down getting plowed by Ilaus more than anyone else! You had written their story and made them suffer; they deserved to be happy with each other.

So why was writing sex scenes your kryptonite?!

You anxiously watched Nanami Kento, your beta reader and editor, scroll through your phone and read the latest pages you had written. His face was stoic, unreadable as his eyes glimpsed over the screen. Your leg bounced as he put your phone down, his eyes focusing on his mug before he sighed.

“Oh my god, you hate it.” Anxiety settled in your gut. “It’s terrible! I knew it sucked.”

Nanami winced, his eyes not meeting yours, and he brought his mug to his mouth and took a sip. “Why did you call his penis ‘his raging meat stick’? Like it was a slab of salami?” Your friend watched you slam your head gently against the table. “And for her, you called it her fairy cave?” This time, your friend didn't wince; no, the bastard chuckled.

“This isn't funny, Nanami!”

“I know,” he took another sip, “look, it's not bad; I just think if you're going to write a sex scene, you need to refer to the genitals as genitals and not lunch meat and damp mystical caves.”

“L-Like use the word penis?”

“Or cock, dick, not meat stick.”

“Shh!!” you reached over the table, covering his mouth with your hands. “We're out in public!!”

Nanami pulled back away from your hands. “Oh please, we know Gojo and Sukuna. They are more foul than that.” He had a point; the two could make grandmothers cry with their colorful vocabulary.

The first half of your novel was easy to write—lots of action, passionate kisses, and dialogue. The middle had hit you with a brick of writer's block. This was your first time writing anything remotely spicy other than making out with tongue. The scene you were stuck on right now wasn’t even a full-on sex scene! That made it so much worse! They were pleasing each other in a tent with just their hands! It's a simple mutual masturbation scene.

But using a meat stick and a fairy cave would not cut it. And the next couple of chapters were due to your agent in a week. If Nanami pretty much flat-out told you these scenes sucked, there was no way in hell you would be turning this in to your agent.

“Fuck, Nanami, what am I going to do?”

“Scrape it and rewrite it.” Feeling your gaze on his, Nanami breathed out a breathy huff. “Look, it's not terrible, trust me; I know you're capable of more.” Your trusted friend chuckled as you puffed out your cheeks.

“Oh yeah, scrape it; maybe I'll use a hot dog instead of a meat stick this time.” What were you going to do?! There was a week to turn the poorly excused terrible smut you'd written into something that would please Nanami, your agent, and the publisher.

Nanami patted your shoulder as he collected his stuff. “You know, sometimes our own experiences can help.” Great, now you were frustrated and a blushing mess!

“I-I can't do that!”

“Well, then read some erotic novels for inspiration if you have any questions if you don't want to use your personal sexual experiences.”

“That’s not what I me—”

“Look, let's meet on Tuesday for lunch, and you can show me what you have then. I gotta run to class; I’ll see you then.”

With a heavy heart, you watched your friend rush out of the café and return to Campus. Nanami was full of good ideas. Using one's own experiences was a good muse. It was something you would do if you had any experience. The number one reason you had so many issues writing smut seems like this was because you were a complete and total virgin.

That was the sole reason why writing sex scenes was your kryptonite. Because you had zero experience, writing about something you had no experience in was hard. So Nanami’s advice, while appreciated, was utterly useless. You had no experience, and there was no way you were hooking up with some random person to inspire you.

Oh well, you had a lovely long week to try and fix the monstrosity you had created. It wasn't like your agent would call you out of the blue! Yeah, you had a week! A week! It was all good!

A bag slammed on the table as you packed your laptop and notepad. With a squeak and a jump, you turned to see your agent staring down at you—a look of dismay and stress plastered over her face.

“U-Utahime?” Her expression remained the same as she adjusted her baseball hat. “H-Hi, what's up?”

“Meat stick?”

“Fuuuck.” you cried out, throwing your head back.

“I come in to give you good news, and I hear that Nanami is saying you're struggling with the sex scenes?” She sips her coffee anxiously, her foot tapping against the tile floor. “You told me it was a romance? And you can't write sex scenes?!”

You hushed her, standing up and putting your index finger against your lips. “Shut up! Please! I'm working on it; I'm just struggling!” Utahime laughs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I'll fix it! I promise you’ll have a super spicy mutual touching session by next week!” she gives you a skeptical look, one you're pretty sure was on your face as well. “B-But what good news do you have?” Your agent and friend relaxes as she grins.

“You know that cottage that you saw online? The one in Europe that inspired your book?”

“The one that I can't find? Yeah, I know it.”

When you graduated high school, you and Suguru had stopped at a bookstore while shopping for supplies. You were grazing through pictures of European castles when you saw this darling little cottage. It looked similar to the cottage in Sleeping Beauty. It was made of stone in the woods beside a river where a water mill ran.

The cottage was gorgeous; it got your creative juices flowing. You imagined characters living there, and it was honestly the inspiration for your book. You desperately searched for it. Wanting to learn more about the cottage that had inspired your fantasy world, you couldn't find a lick of evidence. You had been under the assumption that it was either destroyed or didn't even exist. So you had given up on finding it two years ago.

“Well, your lovely agent made a few calls and sent out some photos, and she found it.”

“Shut up bitch.” Utahime just smirked, pulling out her phone. “Oh my god, oh god! Are you serious?!” Her phone slid across the table, the screen illuminated by the cottage that inspired your novel. “Ahh! Oh my god!”

“I also got in touch with the owners of the cottage. And when I told them a best-selling novelist was in love with their cottage, which they just so happen to rent out, they offered for you to stay there.”

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!”

“Maybe staying here will get your creativity flowing! Help you with the next few novels.”

Your body was vibrating in excitement. “Oh my god, yes! A week here would be great!” A low ‘uhm’ from across from you drew your attention from the phone to your agent. “Or a weekend?” she shook her head.

“They offered it to you for longer than that.”

“Seriously? How long are we talking?”

Utahime’s smile was wide and warm. “You’re gonna need a few bags.”

The second you left the coffee shop with a coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other, you bolted down the street. Your meeting with Utahime went so well! You couldn’t wait to tell Suguru all about it. By the time you reached the apartment complex and his door on the third floor, you were panting.

Glancing at the handle, you luckily didn’t find a tie on it, meaning he didn’t bring home some chick, so it was safe for you to come in if you wanted. He did that for you after you walked in on him eating some bimbo out on the kitchen counter. Knowing it was safe, you unlocked the door with your spare key and headed inside.

The smell of paint was strong, meaning Suguru was in the zone and probably had been for hours. Meaning he hadn’t eaten. He was so lucky to have you as his best friend in the whole world, or the man would have starved.

“Suguru~!” Stepping through the apartment, you followed the sound of alternative music toward the spare room, which he’d turned into his makeshift studio. Stepping inside, you didn't find him, but his easel had a new canvas.

Quickly rushing forward, you stared at it, and your heart sank. Suguru had sketched out an aquarium, the base colors down, and a girl stood in front of the tank. The colors hadn’t been placed on her, but you knew who she was from the ruffled sun dress she wore to the braid that cascaded down her back.

“Riko.” Her name tore at your heart as you reached out to touch the sketch of the girl who had been taken far too soon.

Before you could touch the canvas, a creaking floorboard had you pulling away, rushing far for the easel. Your best friend walked in, a fresh mug of water in his hand, while he scrolled through his phone in the other.

God, how he had changed in the fifteen years you’d been together. His hair was longer, pulled in a bun; his bangs hung in his face. Suguru’s left arm was inked with a dragon; it swirled around the head of it tattooed on his shoulder. His lip was pierced along with the cartridge of his ears, and he was wearing his black gauges. That boy you met in class was now a man who was shirtless and covered in paint.

Suguru finally looked up; seeing you standing there startled him, causing him to spill water on the floor. “Fuckin’ hell!” He yelled, putting the mug down to grab the edge of his tables covered with tubes of paint. “You little fuckin’ shit.” His words held no heat as you placed his food and coffee down.

“Oh please, you’d starve without me. I tried calling you when I came in.”

“I was in the kitchen.”

“No, you weren’t.” You sat on the table inches from where Suguru stood. “I walked through there; you sneaking a girl down the fire escape? Not wanting me to catch you doing something indecent again?”

There was always a playful, teasing tone between the two of you. Especially now that you were older and he was a man whore. His dark eyes narrowed as he grinned, slotting between your legs as he sipped coffee.

His eyes trailed over you. “Why would you be jealous if I was?” You shook your head as he pushed your hair back. “Damn, I was just talking to Satoru.” Suguru rolled his eyes as you whistled. “You would like.” He ruffled the top of your head.

“Nah~ I’ve seen you go down on a girl.” He opened his mouth again. “And no, I’m not jealous; I just don’t wanna see you going at it.”

“Yeah, he said we’re all going out tonight; something about that sushi train place.” He pulled out the sandwich you brought him, taking a bite. “Said we had to celebrate.”

“Oh, we do.” Suguru swallowed the mouthful of food. “Because I got some great news today.”

“Really? Did Nanami like your new pages?” He stepped away, grabbing the mug of clean water as he stepped back in front of the canvas.

“Well, no, but that’s a whole other situation.” The excitement buzzing in your chest could no longer be held in. “Utahime found the cottage!”

Suguru perked up, knowing exactly what you were talking about. “Shut the fuck up, she did, where?!” He’d helped you search for your inspiration for hours; he knew how badly you wanted to go there.

“It’s in a wooded area in England. Super pretty! The owners have read my book and offered to let me stay there!”

“Well, that’s gre—”

“For the next two years!!”

Glass shattered, leaving both you and Suguru in stunned silence. Your best friend was pale, the color leaving his cheeks. His eyes were distant as you looked down, seeing the water spreading over the floorboard, sliding under Suguru’s bare feet.

You were the first to move, not to pick up the glass but to grab Suguru’s face gently. He was as still as a rock; he only got like that when he had flashbacks to that night. Seeing that he was painting Riko must have meant he was stuck in that moment from your second year of high school.

He shut his eyes tight, leaning into your touch, cluing you in. It wasn’t a flashback. He took a deep breath before lifting you, putting you off to the side, away from the glass. Something wasn’t right with Suguru; you knew it from his lingering touch and the lack of light in his eyes.

“What time did you get up?” You asked as you bent down, helping him pick up shards of glass.

“Are you going to leave?”

“I asked you a question first. What time did you get up?”

“Three this morning. Are you leaving?”

Peering up, you found his eyes focused solely on you. “I’m uhm—I’m waiting for Utahime to contact the owners.” He gritted his teeth, his eyes returning to the glass on the floor. “It’s not set in stone yet, Suguru.” You gently nudged his hand with yours; those words had him relaxing a bit, like relief was washing over him. “Why were you up at three?” He stood up, tossing the broken glass in the trash.

“Nightmares.”

“About Riko?”

Riko Amanai was a person Suguru didn’t like talking about. He went to therapy for what happened, but her death left a mark on him that probably would never heal. He had his good months and his bad months. Between the canvas and the nightmares, you knew he was going to have a hard time this month.

You didn’t push him; you hated to pry that part of his life. That didn’t mean you weren’t there for him, though. If he wanted to talk to you, your door was always open. There had been many nights when he would show up and ask to stay in bed with you. Those were the nights when nightmares were too much to handle when he had too much on his mind. Those were the nights you both stayed up, talking about life, your novel, or his work. They were also the nights you both fell asleep in each other‘s arms and got some of the best sleep of your lives.

“Suguru—?”

“I’m going to grab the broom. Just stay here.” Suguru grabs a white sheet and covers his newest canvas up before heading out of his room towards the kitchen.

Great, you just had to go prying into his trauma. What the hell is wrong with you? He would’ve talked about it with you if he wanted to talk about it. It was wrong to dig into what was happening in his mind. You worried so much about him, and sometimes you forgot you had no right to question him.

Despite your prying and prodding questions, Suguru was still warm to you. He wrapped an arm around you and plopped down on the couch with you while he finished eating breakfast and drinking coffee. He showed you some of the paints he wanted to get the next time he dragged you to the art store. Suguru acted like everything was normal when you both knew it wasn’t.

He was masking; he often did when he didn’t want to talk about what was going on in his mind. Or when he didn’t want to worry you. You could easily see through his façade, but you weren’t about to ruin the rest of his day with your questions. You lay there on the couch with him, listening to him talk about his paints and the commissions that he had received.

The mundane conversations lasted until four o’clock. The two of you freshened up before heading downtown to meet your other friends for your not-so-celebratory dinner. Satoru had invited almost everyone you knew. Nanami, Shoko, Sukuna, Haibara, and Yuki cheered when you two entered.

You were pulled towards the bar by Shoko and Yuki, who squealed over how lucky you were to have found your cottage. Suguru snatched a beer from the bucket on the table, chugging it as he sat beside Satoru. The white-haired man hissed out a sigh, his arm wrapping over Suguru’s shoulder as the two watched you closely.

“I can’t believe they offered her to stay there for two years.” Satoru purred out. “Like fuck, it’ll be weird not having her here.”

“Please shut the fuck up.”

Satoru pulled his dark sunglasses off, glaring at his best friend. “Who pissed in your cereal?” He paused, pursing his lips together. “Oh right, the girl you love is leaving you. I have an idea; tell her how you feel!” A handful of gyoza is shoved into Satoru’s mouth.

“I can’t. You know I can’t.” Nanami glanced at the two before him, gulping down his beer. “If I tell her, it’ll be like I’m holding her back. I can’t do that.” As he steals another glance at you, confusion, doubt, and anxiety settle in Suguru’s stomach. “If she wants to go, she can go.”

Thankfully, after his little rant, the conversation drifted from you and focused on school. The whole night, no one brought up the cottage, nor you leaving yet. As you assure them, nothing is set in stone yet, but finding out where your inspiration was was enough to drink to.

The happiness that seemed to radiate off you made Suguru feel bittersweet over the whole situation. He was happy for you. He knew how much finding that cottage. He spent his free time looking into it for you. But he could never find anything. He desperately didn’t want to go either. You were his best friend. You had been for fifteen years, and he was utterly in love with you, but he didn’t want to cross that line.

Now that there was a possibility that you would be leaving, he regretted all the chances he had to cross that line, and he never took it. That’s why he slept with so many girls who shared attributes similar to yours. Some of them had your eyes, others had your hair color, and there were just some of them that looked similar to you. It was a way to cope with being unable to tell you how he felt. But at least he didn’t ruin your friendship.

Between the lack of sleep and the new fear of losing you, Suguru needed something more potent than beer. He shimmed over to the bar, ruffling your hair as he passed you. As he leaned over the bar, waiting for his drink, Nanami squeezed in next to him.

“I think I know why she might be leaving.”

“Huh?” Suguru’s pierced brow lifted in confusion. “Why would there be a reason for her to leave? She’s always wanted to go to that cottage.”

“She offered to stay there to help with her writing. I may have called Utahime and given her a heads up about the pages I read today.” Nanami sipped his drink. “We both agreed that change of scenery might help with her writing.”

“The fuck do you mean?” A twinge of anger flashed over Suguru’s face. “Her writing is the best. There’s nothing for her to work on. She got published, for God's sake.”

Nanami chuckled nervously. “There’s no doubt that she’s a talented writer. While her dialogue and kissing scenes and her world-building are superior to other authors, I’ve read for. Her romance scenes are atrocious.” When Nanami saw the look of bewilderment on Suguru’s face, he nodded. “By romance, I mean sex scenes.”

“Well, she’s never had a boyfriend; I don’t think she’s even kissed someone.” Nanami makes a humming sound of understanding as a revelation overcomes Suguru. “Do you think if her sex scenes get better, she might now want to leave for as long as she said?”

“Maybe. But it’ll take a miracle for her sex scenes to improve.”

A miracle that Suguru was willing to provide. If he could help you, maybe, just maybe, you might consider staying if you’re given a chance to leave. And if he’s lucky, perhaps he would finally find the strength to tell you how he felt. Downing his drink, he rushed back to the table, grabbing your hand.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

Your eyes glitter, making Suguru’s heart thunder. “Sure!” He drags you through the crowded restaurant, pulling you outside towards the alley. “What’s up?” God, you look so pretty with flushed cheeks.

“Nanami told me about the sex scenes”

“That traitor!” You pout, tilting your head back with a grumble. “Fine, go ahead and make fun of my usage of deli meat for describing genitalia.” The teasing never comes. Instead, Suguru's musky, earthy smell crowds you as he slams his hands on either side of your head. “S-Sugu?”

“I have a proposition.” His voice purrs out, making your heart race spike. “You’re struggling with the sex scenes. That’s why you’re thinking of leaving, right?”

“Y-yeah, and?”

“What if I help you? If your sex scenes get better, do you think you might not need to leave for two years?”

Heat begins to fill the tiny space between your bodies. You feel your exhaled air mingling with the others. Fuck was it the alcohol?

“I-I mean, maybe I wouldn’t need to leave for so long. Maybe just a week.” There’s a gleam in your best friend's eyes. “But how are you going to help me?” His mouth inches closer, and you can feel the heat as he leaves an inch away from your lips.

“I can teach you.”

(TBC)

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe

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reallyromealone · 1 month

Note

Sebastian michaelis x demon/vampire butler reader? Omegaverse perhaps?

Title: a bit bitey

Fandom:black butler

Characters: Ciel, Sebastian

Fic type: fluff, omegaverse, suggestive content

Pairings:

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, fluff, suggestive themes, vampire reader

Notes: IM BAAAAAACK >:)

Summary: Reader is a vampire who drinks the blood of alphas who fall for his charms and gets mistaken for Jack the Ripper and gets chased by Sebastian and offered a position be can't refuse

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was said that when a demon bedded a witch that it would create something truly unholy that would walk the earth craving human flesh, unable to touch the sun.

It's why (name) found his home in London, a lovely home with his centuries accumulated wealth and all his trinkets over the years scattered around, like a museum of his immortality.

"I was so hungry..." (Name) Sighed, the Omega watching as the man dropped to the ground, body drained of all blood and (name) licked his lips, a bit of blood on his top lip. A sense of euphoria washed over the Omega who let out a sigh before stepping over the dead alpha, seeing a wanted poster for Jack the Ripper, whoever that guy was sure made feedings easy...

It was the dead of night, no one really in the streets and the oil lamps lighting his path home, a pep in his step and soft humming could be heard.

He was always so happy after a good feeding.

"There he is! Sebastian, get him!" A child's voice could be heard and (name) turned to lock eyes with a deep red pair... A demon.

(Name) Immediately bolted, the young blue eyed boy going into his carriage to wait while his demon stalked down the street.

Running through alleyways and corners, (name) was thankful for his speed and lack of footsteps, slipping into his bedroom door and closing it with a sigh.

Safe.

"Fu--" (name) was pinned to the ground by the black haired alpha, arms pinned to his side "you know, people would typically take one on a romantic stroll or maybe a dinner before doing something like this" (name) snarled at the alpha who wasn't even remotely phased "you have been causing problems..." Sebastian said casually, eyeing the Omega who huffed "I'm simply having dinner" (name) didn't particularly care for the humans, really seeing them as food "you killed five prostitutes"

Huh?

"My apologies but I don't pursue other omegas" (name) said simply "I pursue alphas, they're easier" Sebastian stared him down, looking for any trade if a lie but when he found nothing he let go of his wrists but stayed on the vampires hips "is there anything else I can assist you with Sbeastian?" Remembering the name the boy called the demon "are you looking for employment?" Sebastian asked curiously, (name) raising an eyebrow at the question.

"What are you on about?"

"I can offer you something, an exchange"

"What could you possibly offer me?"

"Demon blood in exchange for employment" (name) didn't need money, he didn't need items or anything material as he lived for centuries and had an Elizabethan era outfit in a chest in the attic of his home. "You are willing to give me your blood?" (Name)s eyes were blown out while moving to touch the others cold neck, right around his jugular "no more attacking humans, work under me and you get demonic blood" demonic blood was like a fine wine to a vampire, addictive and delicious.

Sebastian could smell the omegas pharamones even when masked, biting his lips "do you know what you're asking of me, alpha?"

"I am well aware of what in asking, Omega" Sebastian whispered, getting closer to the other "I'm half human, do you think you can handle my mortal emotions? I am very high maintenance" (name) didn't flinch, the twos lips barely touching and eyes locking "I think I can manage, humans are needy creatures"

"Half human"

"Ah yes, like a mutt"

(Name) Glared "my my what a charmer, can you please kindly get your flat bottom off me alpha?" (Name) Batted his eyes "don't you have your child to tend to?"

"Do you accept my offer?"

"I suppose I will become your mate..." (Name) Huffed, looking at the alpha who was now his mate "my heat is in two weeks, I will be having it here and I will be keeping my residence for such matters or if you annoy me too much"

Sebastian silently chuckled at the Omega he chose, a snarky vampire who didn't care for silly human traditions on being an Omega.

This was going to be fun.

#black butler x male reader #black butler x reader #sebastian michaelis x male reader #sebastian x male reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian x reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #x male reader #male reader #anime x male reader #anime x reader

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determinate-negation · 7 months

Text

“This raises the question: if industrial production is necessary to meet decent-living standards today, then perhaps capitalism—notwithstanding its negative impact on social indicators over the past five hundred years—is necessary to develop the industrial capacity to meet these higher-order goals. This has been the dominant assumption in development economics for the past half century. But it does not withstand empirical scrutiny. For the majority of the world, capitalism has historically constrained, rather than enabled, technological development—and this dynamic remains a major problem today.

It has long been recognized by liberals and Marxists alike that the rise of capitalism in the core economies was associated with rapid industrial expansion, on a scale with no precedent under feudalism or other precapitalist class structures. What is less widely understood is that this very same system produced the opposite effect in the periphery and semi-periphery. Indeed, the forced integration of peripheral regions into the capitalist world-system during the period circa 1492 to 1914 was characterized by widespread deindustrialization and agrarianization, with countries compelled to specialize in agricultural and other primary commodities, often under “pre-modern” and ostensibly “feudal” conditions.

In Eastern Europe, for instance, the number of people living in cities declined by almost one-third during the seventeenth century, as the region became an agrarian serf-economy exporting cheap grain and timber to Western Europe. At the same time, Spanish and Portuguese colonizers were transforming the American continents into suppliers of precious metals and agricultural goods, with urban manufacturing suppressed by the state. When the capitalist world-system expanded into Africa in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, imports of British cloth and steel destroyed Indigenous textile production and iron smelting, while Africans were instead made to specialize in palm oil, peanuts, and other cheap cash crops produced with enslaved labor. India—once the great manufacturing hub of the world—suffered a similar fate after colonization by Britain in 1757. By 1840, British colonizers boasted that they had “succeeded in converting India from a manufacturing country into a country exporting raw produce.” Much the same story unfolded in China after it was forced to open its domestic economy to capitalist trade during the British invasion of 1839–42. According to historians, the influx of European textiles, soap, and other manufactured goods “destroyed rural handicraft industries in the villages, causing unemployment and hardship for the Chinese peasantry.”

The great deindustrialization of the periphery was achieved in part through policy interventions by the core states, such as through the imposition of colonial prohibitions on manufacturing and through “unequal treaties,” which were intended to destroy industrial competition from Southern producers, establish captive markets for Western industrial output, and position Southern economies as providers of cheap labor and resources. But these dynamics were also reinforced by structural features of profit-oriented markets. Capitalists only employ new technologies to the extent that it is profitable for them to do so. This can present an obstacle to economic development if there is little demand for domestic industrial production (due to low incomes, foreign competition, etc.), or if the costs of innovation are high.

Capitalists in the Global North overcame these problems because the state intervened extensively in the economy by setting high tariffs, providing public subsidies, assuming the costs of research and development, and ensuring adequate consumer demand through government spending. But in the Global South, where state support for industry was foreclosed by centuries of formal and informal colonialism, it has been more profitable for capitalists to export cheap agricultural goods than to invest in high-technology manufacturing. The profitability of new technologies also depends on the cost of labor. In the North, where wages are comparatively high, capitalists have historically found it profitable to employ labor-saving technologies. But in the peripheral economies, where wages have been heavily compressed, it has often been cheaper to use labor-intensive production techniques than to pay for expensive machinery.

Of course, the global division of labor has changed since the late nineteenth century. Many of the leading industries of that time, including textiles, steel, and assembly line processes, have now been outsourced to low-wage peripheral economies like India and China, while the core states have moved to innovation activities, high-technology aerospace and biotech engineering, information technology, and capital-intensive agriculture. Yet still the basic problem remains. Under neoliberal globalization (structural adjustment programs and WTO rules), governments in the periphery are generally precluded from using tariffs, subsidies, and other forms of industrial policy to achieve meaningful development and economic sovereignty, while labor market deregulation and global labor arbitrage have kept wages extremely low. In this context, the drive to maximize profit leads Southern capitalists and foreign investors to pour resources into relatively low-technology export sectors, at the expense of more modern lines of industry.

Moreover, for those parts of the periphery that occupy the lowest rungs in global commodity chains, production continues to be organized along so-called pre-modern lines, even under the new division of labor. In the Congo, for instance, workers are sent into dangerous mineshafts without any modern safety equipment, tunneling deep into the ground with nothing but shovels, often coerced at gunpoint by U.S.-backed militias, so that Microsoft and Apple can secure cheap coltan for their electronics devices. Pre-modern production processes predicated on the “technology” of labor coercion are also found in the cocoa plantations of Ghana and Côte d’Ivoire, where enslaved children labor in brutal conditions for corporations like Cadbury, or Colombia’s banana export sector, where a hyper-exploited peasantry is kept in line by a regime of rural terror and extrajudicial killings overseen by private death squads.

Uneven global development, including the endurance of ostensibly “feudal” relations of production, is not inevitable. It is an effect of capitalist dynamics. Capitalists in the periphery find it more profitable to employ cheap labor subject to conditions of slavery or other forms of coercion than they do to invest in modern industry.”

Capitalism, Global Poverty, and the Case for Democratic Socialism by Jason Hickle and Dylan Sullivan

#mine #imperialism #capitalism

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ferritins · 1 month

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THIS TORNADO LOVES YOU | S. RILEY

SUMMARY: Simon takes a step you never thought he would, in a way you’d never imagine.

NOTES: the endearment ‘pet’ is used once, in an “author grew up in The Midlands City God Forgot AKA Leicester” way, not the kink way. credit for the idea for this piece goes to @bleuu-moon, who’s post about Simon letting you take off the mask has been living in my head rent free bills and utilities included for ages.

disclaimer; whilst I’m down bad for fictional men who are taller than me, I also an anti-militarism pro disarmament pacifist. COD and other military games a recruitment tool for the armed forces, and PMCs are just a way for governments to outsource war crimes to avoid The Hague. do not enlist; big oil and genocidaires are not worth dying for and armed service will chew you up and shit you out to die as soon as you are physically or psychologically incapable of dying for the sake of capital.

You come home to Simon illuminated by your television, scant blood splotches blackish on his fatigue sleeves.

“Um. Is any of that yours?” You venture, dropping your keys in their designated dish, casting a careful eye over your lover. “I thought we had come to an agreement about you actively bleeding all over my sofa cushions after last time.”

Simon grunts.

You roll your eyes.

“Words, love.”

“Just got back from Santo Domingo.” You hiss a quiet breath through your teeth, wincing as you turn to hang your coat; the boys had been following an organisation of information brokers trading in NATO military intelligence, the kind of people with whom contact was both rare and in its eventuality, incredibly bloody.

Nevertheless, Simon has never been someone who is particularly receptive to sympathy; by the time you turn back around to face him, your face is carefully neutral.

“Did you achieve your mission objective? Wait, more importantly, you didn’t answer my question; are you bleeding?”

There’s a bitter little chuckle. “Affirmative to the first, negative to the second.”

The air sits heavy as you and Simon watch one another, flashes of colour and light bouncing off the skull of his mask like a nightmare in Technicolor.

Just when the tension reaches the point of being unbearable, Simon speaks.

“They knew your name.” He says, voice basso profundo with his gathering fury.

A frisson of fear runs down your spine — not at Simon, not after all this time, but at the information — before dissipating like cigarette smoke in a hurricane.

It’s a target on your back, sure, but it is one of dozens. Your career has made you many enemies.

“They trade in military intelligence, Simon, which is pretty much my entire area of specialty.”

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“Do you think I’m a shrinking violet? What, should I give up my Lance Corporal’s stripe and my job? You met me when I was working signal intercept radio intelligence on RAF Ascension Island, for God’s sake.”

“You’d be safer.” Simon’s voice has taken on as much of a pleading tone as he’s capable of.

“I’d be miserable.” You retort.

“Fuck.” Simon snarls, a savage sigh of breath leaving him. “You know I’m not gonna leave your side after today, pet? Gonna get sick of my face.”

“If this is supposed to irritate me into obscurity, it’s not going to work. I like the mask, and having six foot eight of perfectly built spec ops soldier at my back isn’t exactly a hardship.” You snarl.

“Simon’s head tilts, predatory.

I”I said my face, lovie.”

Your heart starts hammering.

“”Simon, you’ve not been barefaced in front of someone in nigh on a decade. Your personnel file doesn’t have a photograph of you, and the only one that exists of you is redacted so far only His Maj can see it. For fuck’s sake, you’ve torn men’s throats out for so much as touching your mask.”

“Simon hums an affirmative, a mocking note under the tone of it.

“So now you’re scared of what intelligence gathering can lead to? Scared I’ll tear your throat out, hm?”

“Fuck you.” You snarl. “I’m not scared of you. I’m not going to let you violate your own autonomy and boundaries to prove a point, you supercilious son of a—“

“You’re the one taking it off.” Simon interrupts.

“You’re insane.”

“If you’re not going underground to wait this out, I’m gonna be living in your fucking shadow, sweetheart, breathing in your every exhale, and I can’t do that when all they know me for is the mask. The next person to so much as look at you sideways is going to die, slow and bloody, and my face is going to be the last thing they see.”

Your next inhale is shaky. Simon, sensing blood in the water, goes for the kill.

“Either you can look me in the face, acknowledge what you’re dooming anyone who hurts you to, or you back down.”

Even as you’re swinging a leg over both of Simon’s to situate yourself in his lap, you’re aware of how hideously stupid what you’re doing is.

Bolstered my nothing but bravado and an inkling of curiosity, and with your pulse rabbiting, you slowly pull up his balaclava, revealing his face to you piecemeal; a strong jaw, a bottom-heavy mouth, a patrician nose broken thrice and healed right only twice, whispers of long blonde eyelashes, and brown eyes, dark as bitumen.

On anybody else, the features would be discordant, too much dissonance to be cohesive; on Simon, they work.

His face is arresting, more than handsome; you can’t help but look at him.

His top lip is pulled up into a perpetual snarl on the left by a long deep furrow of scar tissue that starts just under his eye.

There’s a silvery scar about a half-inch long from his hair line, and his cheeks are dotted with faint demarcations; nicks from shrapnel and knifepoint, you assume.

All flat eyes and scarring, this is perhaps this most dangerous Simon has looked to you in a while.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say, referring to both your job and Simon’s unmasking. “I’m not backing down.”

Simon is a big man, and has a surprising amount of heft to him, even when he's not trying.

His hands are large enough that even the love tap to your rump has you tipping into him. Your front is pressed to his, and you're looking up, up, up into his eyes, bearing witness to the way hunger floods them, a hungry kind of dark pouring into his gaze like an oil slick in the Mediterranean Sea.

“And I’m not backing off. Hell or high water, death or desertion; we’re in this together for good now, you and I.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this has been in the development hell folder of my Google docs for like two months so if it’s shite that’s no longer my problem I’m afraid 😭🙏🏽 thank you for reading! please do not recommend/repost on TikTok.

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfic #ghost x gender neutral reader #‘how many times did you listen to it will come back by hozier when writing this?’ yes.#i am not above masked ficktional men unfortunately 🙏🏽#marley.txt

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greenwitchcrafts · 2 months

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August 2024 Witch Guide

New Moon: August 4th

First Quarter: August 12th

Full moon: August 19th

Last Quarter: August 26th

Sabbats: Lughnasadh/Lammas- August 1st

August Sturgeon Moon

Also known as: Barely Moon, Black Cherries Moon, Corn moon, Dispute Moon, Harvest moon, Herb Moon, grain moon, Mountain Shadows Moon, Red moon, Ricing Moon, Weodmonath & Wyrt moon

Element: Fire

Zodiac: Leo & Virgo

Animal spirts: Dryads

Deities: Diana, Ganesha, Hathor, Hecate, Mars, Nemesis, Thot & Vulcan

Animals: Dragon, lion, phoenix & sphinx

Birds: Crane, eagle & falcon

Trees: Alder, cedar & hazel

Herbs: Basil, bay, fennel, orange, rosemary, rue & St.John's wort

Flowers: Angelica, chamomile, marigold & sunflower

Scents: Frankincense & heliotrope

Stones: Carnelian, cats/tiger's eye, emerald, fire agate, garnet, jade, moonstone, peridot, red jasper, red agate, sardonyx, topaz & tourmaline

Colors: Dark green, gold, orange, red & yellow

Energy: Abundance, appreciation, authority, courage, entertainment, finding your voice, friendship, gathering, harvesting energy, health, love, pleasures, power, prophecy, prosperity, vitality & wisdom

The name Sturgeon Moon comes from the giant lake sturgeon of the Great Lakes & Lake Champlain; this native freshwater fish was readily caught during this part of summer & an important food staple for Native Americans who lived in the region. At one time the lake sturgeon was quite abundant in late summer, though they are rarer today.

• August's full moon is the first Supermoon of the year, which means that it will appear bigger & brighter than the full Moons we have seen so far!

Lughnasadh

Known as: Lammas, August Eve & Feast of Bread

Season: Summer

Element: Fire

Symbols: corn, grain dollies & shafts of grain

Colors: Gold, golden yellow, green, light brown, orange, purple, red & yellow

Oils/Incense: Aloe, apple, corn, eucalyptus, safflower, rose & sandalwood

Animals: Cattle (bull & calf)

Birds: Chicken/Rooster

Stones: Aventurine, carnelian, citrine, peridot, sardonyx & yellow diamond

Food: Apples, barely cakes, berries, berry pies, breads, colcannon, cider, corn, grains, honey, lamb, nuts, potatoes, rice, sun-shaped cookies & wild berries

Herbs/Plants: Alfalfa, aloe, blackberry, bramble, corn, cornsilk, corn stalk, crab apple, fenugreek, frankincense, ginseng, goldenseal, gorse, grape, medowsweet, oak leaves, pear, rye, sloe & wheat

Flowers: Clyclamen, heather hollyhock & sunflower

Trees: Acacia, apple, myrtle,oak & rowan

Goddesses: Aine, Alphito, Bracacia, Carmen, Ceres, Damina, Danu, Demeter, Ereshkigal, Freya, Frigga, Gaia, Inanna Ishtar, Kait, Persephone, Sul, Taillte, Tea & Zaramama

Gods: Athar, Bes, Bran, Dagon, Dumuzi, Ebisu, Ghanan, Howtu, Liber, Lono, Lugh, Neper, Odin & Xochipilli

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Accomplishment, agriculture, challenges, darkness, death, endings, release & transformation

Spellwork: Abundance, bounty, fire magick, rituals of thanks & sun magick

Activities:

• Bake fresh bread

• Weave wheat

• Take walks in nature or along bodies of water

• Craft a corn doll

• Learn a new skill

• Watch the sunrise/sunset

• Leave grains and seeds in a place where birds, squirrels and other small animals can appreciate them

• Eat outside with family/friends/coven members

• Donate to your local foodbank

• Prepare a feast with your garden harvest

• Give thanks & offerings to the Earth

• Trade crafts of make deals

• Gather and/or dry herbs to use for the upcoming year

• Celebrate/honor the god Lugh by hosting a competition of games

• Participate in matchmaking or handfasting ceremonies

• Decorate your altar with symbols of the season

• Clean up a space in nature

• Plant saved seeds or save seeds to use in the future

Lughnasadh or Lammas is a Gaelic festival marking the beginning of the harvest season. Historically it was widely observed throughout Ireland, Scotland & the Isle of Man. Traditionally it is held on 1 August, or about halfway between the summer solstice & autumn equinox. In recent centuries some of the celebrations have shifted to the Sunday nearest this date.

Lughnasadh is mentioned in early Irish literature & has pagan origins. The festival is named after Lugh the god of craftsmanship. It was also founded by the god Lugh as a funeral feast & athletic competition/funeral games in memory of his foster-mother Tailtiu. She was said to have died of exhaustion after clearing the plains of Ireland for agriculture.

• Tailtiu may have been an earth goddess who represented the dying vegetation that fed mankind.

• Another tale says that Lugh founded the festival in memory of his two wives, the sisters Nás & Bói.

In the Middle Ages it involved great gatherings that included ceremonies, athletic contests (most notably the Tailteann Games which were extremely dangerous), horse racing, feasting, matchmaking & trading.

• With the coming of Christianity to the Celtic lands, the old festival of Lughnasadh took on Christian symbolism. Loaves of bread were baked from the first of the harvested grain & placed on the church altar on the first Sunday of August. The Christianized name for the feast of Lughnasadh is Lammas which means “loaf mass”.

Some believe this is the time where the God has weakened & is losing his strength as seen in the waning of the day's light. The Goddess is pregnant with the young God who will be born on Yule.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

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0hcicero · 4 months

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So I just started reading A Court of Thorns and Roses (audiobook), and am I the only one who is wondering if the author did any research into poor subsistence living or the lives of peasants? Because wow, I know Feyre’s family used to be rich, but if that was 8 years ago and y’all are poor as dirt now, somehow in the intervening period you might have learned:

- trap lines in the winter are far superior to active hunting. It burns less calories, you can use it with fish and land animals, and it will save you from frostbite bc instead of sitting in a blind for hours, you can go to your lines at certain times and head home, or drive animals toward your lines.

- buying flower seeds - or any garden seeds - is a suckers game when you’re poor. You only really need to buy seeds once!! Once you harvest, you let stuff ‘go to seed’ and then you collect it and store it for the winter, often trading seeds with your neighbours.

- they let things actively RUN OUT before doing anything about it. That’s absolutely buckwild if you’ve ever been poor — when you’re poor, you know how to make a meal stretch, and you DO IT.

- there is hunting, but no gathering?? This family has not stored any veg for winter, but neither do they go gather mushrooms, rosehips, roots, tubers, nuts, or even fucking bark?? What happened to their cottage garden?? Was it just flowers?! Were they that rich that they don’t understand that a garden produces food? Did they close their eyes as they walked past all their peasant neighbours and their gardens? Bc that’s maybe the wildest thing I’ve seen from both a historical and a ‘grew up so close to dirt poor you couldn’t tell the difference’ perspective!

- She left a whole ass Giant wolf carcass when her family is starving. Nah nah nah no that is the universe smiling on you when you’re subsistence! You will make a travois or somehow find a way to tie that to you and drag it along - that’s double the food, and possibly more money, because you could live off the wolf (which I assume does not taste great) and sell off some of the deer (which is delicious).

- she didn’t at least do a basic clean of her kill out in the woods?! She did not tan the hides?! Y’all, you do not want to be cleaning any kill on the kitchen table. Why? Because cleaning involves removing the intestines and stomach. That means shit and piss and food digestion in different stages, and the gases produced. You do that *outside*, typically at least close to where you made your kill, because you don’t want to have to have any…spills, and because it makes things a bit lighter to carry. Butchering? For sure do it on a table, but cleaning is an outdoor chore. Also, tanning a hide is not just skinning a creature! It’s scraping all the membranes off it, stretching and drying it, and curing the skin - sometimes with smoke, but often with a pretty gross solution (often including brain oil, and historically, I believe urine and/or feces, and other things with the right chemical components). It’s not a simple or quick task!

- soups, pottages, stews, with dried lentils, beans, or peas would have been the staple meals (depending on the climate and environment, but it feels fairly British thus far). Just having roasted venison (def not the best way to eat venison just from taste alone) would likely be a very very rare occurrence, because, as noted earlier, they’re so poor they would need to make it stretch. You would cure it or dry it or turn it into sausage. You would use it sparingly within a meal, not to serve as the whole meal.

- the market. If you were poor, you would likely be a stranger to spices, but not to salt. Salt is deeply necessary to survive in that period, as it’s one of the only ways of safely processing and storing meat with any longevity. And? If you got the money that they did while being as poor and as starving as they were? The first thing you would do — even if you were the most stupid rich person before then — is stock up your stores of dry goods! Flour, salt, honey, dried beans/peas/lentils, vegetables that store - onions, squashes, potatoes, root vegetables like carrots. It’s straight up Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs here - you will not give a shit about a new cloak before you give a shit about saying your hunger. They are said to be ‘starving’. Sorting out your survival comes before sorting out your fashion.

Anyways, this has been me for channel 4, reporting on anachronisms and misrepresentations in fantasy fiction. More news at 10.

#which is not to say I’m not enjoying the book #though I am glad I got past the poor people stuff #because tell me you’ve never been a peasant without telling me you’ve never been a peasant #I thought a lot of this was common sense but then a lot of people don’t need sense this common I guess #but it’s a fun book so far #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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chuckeroo777 · 2 months

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Laios got Eaten AU Chapters 1-52

So, I was pondering a lot (as I do), and was thinking about this AU. Here's my take on it. Sorry if my grasp on characterization isn't the best. Expect lots of Farcille.

This is mostly a plot point based summary, going chapter by chapter. If something isn't elaborated on, assume it's the same as canon.

Note: This first installment ends at the same point as the anime, but as a manga reader, there are spoilers for later in the canon story.

Edit: Wowzers, that ended up being over 4,000 words! Guess I had more to say than I thought.

This is pretty long, so I'll begin under the cut.

Chapter 1:

Unlike Laios' self deprecating take on this scenario, the rest of the team doesn't immediately give up on him. Marcille and Chilchuck are his friends, and if Falin thinks it's possible, then they're in.

Namari leaves of course, but Toshiro is more complex. He argues with Falin, trying to convince her not to embark on such a risky mission, and may accidentally frame it as Falin choosing between him and Laios. Falin, of course, picks Laios. Toshiro leaves, dejected. After feeling sorry for himself for a while, he gets his retainers and heads after her, hoping to offer backup.

Falin proposes the dungeon eating plan, having casually discussed the possibility with Laios in the past. Without the gourmet guide, she isn't as knowledgeable about monsters, but she is pretty good at identifying stuff from her days of eating weird stuff in the woods, so she can tell the walking mushroom isn't poisonous. She also manages to grab the scorpion, having messed with crayfish as a kid.

Unlike Laios, she doesn't try to eat the venom, but they still struggle, and Senshi comes in to help. Falin is very excited to have such an expert helping them out, and is happy to have him join the team.

In general, Marcille is just as squicked out by monster cuisine, but she tries to put on a brave face for Falin. In fact, her attempts to be more accepting results in her not yelling at Senshi, so the slime doesn't attack her.

Chapter 2:

They go after the man-eating plants, and things mostly go down the same. Without Laios, it takes a little longer for Falin and Senshi to figure out how to save Marcille, going for the root. Marcille gets seeds planted in her skin, but Falin is able to heal her and get them out.

Chapter 3:

Senshi takes them Basilisk hunting, and Marcille is dismayed to see Falin knows the trick for intimidating Basilisks, a sight she will not soon forget. While Senshi slices the snake, Falin caves the chicken's head in.

While Senshi prepares the Basilisk, Falin is able to use a detox spell on Doni. The two still stay to eat though.

Chapter 4:

Events mostly play out the same, though Falin is a bit more gentle in rejecting Marcille's help. Falin admits to having skipped class the day they learned about mandrake harvesting.

Chapter 5:

Chilchuck uses Falin's metal staff instead of the sword to find the passage. When they go to get the oil, Falin casts a fire-ward spell on Chilchuck, just in case. Senshi declines to take one too.

Chapter 6-7:

Without Laios' insights, they deem the living armor too dangerous after the first attempt, and take a slightly different route to the third level.

Much to Marcille's chagrin, they run into a nest of giant rats, and they end up having giant rat stir-fry instead.

Chapter 8:

Falin thinks Senshi's utilization of the golems is absolutely delightful.

Chapter 9:

Falin is rather uncomfortable with Chilchuck's suggestion to trade at the seedy bar, but doesn't argue.

Events with the orcs go more or less the same. Falin thinks Bahay is very cute.

Chapter 10:

No Kensuke, so they get ambushed by the bugs. Chilchuck gets bitten, but Falin is able to heal him.

Falin applies much better ghost wards than Marcille. In fact, she quickly realizes they are just paralyzed, and is able to heal them. Yeah, no. That would have way too big of a butterfly effect on the story. Maybe she's too distracted by the pretty bugs to notice.

Unlike Marcille, Falin thinks the centipedes are adorable. In fact, she secretly takes one and hides it in her pack to keep as a pet.

Chapter 11:

As one would expect, the ghosts are a complete non-issue. No ice cream for them.

Chapter 12-13:

No one in this party is crazy enough to bother with the living paintings. Without the delay, they are able to make camp at the level 4 entrance, bypassing the mimic.

Senshi catches some fish, and they have a very nice dinner.

Chapter 14:

Mostly the same, except instead of Laios, Senshi is saved by Falin. She has experience in such manners.

Chapter 15:

Sadly, Falin does not know the song, so they have to resort to earplugs. This leads to a silent but amusing argument where Chilchuck has to talk down Falin from eating fish-men without words. Falin does not pull the waterweed stunt.

Chapter 16:

The kraken battle is pretty much identical.

Unlike Laios, Falin has eaten calamari before, having gone to that restaurant with Marcille several times. She is very disappointed the kraken tastes bad.

Senshi cooks up the parasite, and Falin doesn't eat any raw.

Chapter 17:

No one is sick, so this chapter doesn't happen.

Chapter 18:

Marcille has a sponge bath and insists Falin take one too. Chilchuck is annoyed by their flirting, but Senshi thinks it's cute.

When the Undine attacks, Falin is able to waterwalk and help Marcille, but neither of them has particularly good magic for fighting an undine. Both are badly injured, but they manage to escape.

Falin is able to heal both of them, but they are both left very hungry, and relatively low on mana. They have a barbecue to help them recover.

Chapter 19-20:

The Tansu party arrives. Tensions aren't quite as high between Marcille and Namari, but it's still there.

After Tansu fails to pacify the Undine. the two parties agree to help each other out. First, they help get down to the tower. A well placed fireball saves Kiki from the tentacles. Sadly, without Laios' knowledge, they can't eat them, at least not as easily.

When coming up with a plan to stop the undine, the idea to trap it is brought up, and they basically use the same plan, except Namari is in on it from the start.

After killing it, Falin suggests eating it, and the two groups enjoy some kelpie stew before departing opposite ways.

Chapter 21:

More or less plays out the same. Chilchuck suggests making the suits, to which Falin enthusiastically agrees. Senshi makes froggy hash instead of pasta, since he doesn't know how to neutralize the stinging.

Marcille puts on the frog suit without complaint since Falin puts one on first.

She attempts to take it off to much complaint still.

Chapter 22:

Most identical chapter yet. Namari asks about Laios instead of Falin. That's it.

Chapter 23:

Plans are made to take down the red dragon. With Falin here, their warding spells are much better, but no Laios means Senshi is the only proper warrior. Falin is a decent fighter, and plans to join Senshi and Chilchuck on the frontline. They search the orc's storehouse and find some spears, which will hopefully be enough for the inverse scale.

They mostly come up with the same plan. Crush the dragon, then kill it.

Chapter 24-25:

The pot defenses fail, and they go ahead and crush the dragon. When the dragon emerges, Falin is able to execute the plan, stabbing the dragon as they play dead. However, she isn't able to stab deeply enough before the dragon recoils, the spear getting pulled away from her, landing some distance away.

Senshi tries to stab the dragon in the foot, but the spear breaks. Things go as they do in canon, with Senshi and Chilchuck managing to toss Falin the spear and blind the dragon in one eye.

Falin meets up with Marcille, and ends up pulling the same self-sacrificing gambit Laios did, stabbing the dragon in the throat while dangling from its mouth.

Chapter 26:

Falin falls unconscious, and has a dream about when Laios first left home, leaving her behind. And how he later promised to never leave her behind again.

Marcille still has to heal Chilchuck and Senshi herself, since Falin is in no state to do it herself. They retrieve her leg, and Falin is able to finish healing all four of them.

They begin carving into the dragon, with Senshi taking the lead. Laios' intrusive thought fun facts end up saving the day, reminding Falin about the flame sac.

Chapter 27:

Falin doesn't even bother mentioning the resurrection office, already knowing what must be done. Marcille doesn't hesitate to offer her ancient magic as the solution.

Falin is able to assuage Chilchuck's concerns a little better than Marcille did, clarifying that the ancient magic is just used to perform magic of a magnitude impossible with just natural mana. He still doesn't quite buy it, but doesn't protest further.

Putting Laios' skeleton together takes longer, since no one here is super knowledgeable about dog skeletons. They get it eventually though.

Marcille does the ritual. Falin thinks Marcille is hot when she lets her hair down like that.

Laios is revived successfully, and everyone is incredibly happy.

Chapter 28:

No bath scene. :(

Laios is incredibly curious about their journey, and is running his mouth asking questions. He is extremely excited that his monster eating idea worked, and is practically glued to Senshi for a while asking questions. Due to his presence, Senshi doesn't explode the dragon.

Marcille isn't surprised in the least by Laios' enthusiasm, and is just glad to have her friend back. They enjoy their little dragon feast, regaling Laios with their tales of monster eating.

Unlike Falin, Laios does not realize that forbidden magic was used to revive him, and apologizes profusely for abandoning Falin, even though she insists it wasn't his fault.

Chapter 29:

When Thistle summons Laios, a ghost wakes Falin up. She wakes the others, and they go looking for him.

Unlike Falin, Laios doesn't gain magical power from the dragon, instead getting an even bigger boost to his strength. Falin isn't just knocked unconscious, but is badly injured by his punch.

Not even being dominated by the mad mage can stop Laios from yapping. As he is transformed, he gives Thistle tips, causing his chimera form to be significantly more dangerous, featuring a bigger but more slender build and bigger wings, allowing him to actually fly. As well as a few other embellishments, such as tail spikes and small horns.

The ghosts save the party, and things proceed as normal.

Chapter 30:

Chilchuck's arc is mostly the same, except that it is easier to convince Falin once she wakes up. Healing the internal bleeding Laios caused took a lot out of her, and both her and Marcille are tapped of magic. They agree to return to the surface.

Chapter 31:

Literally Identical.

Chapter 32:

Kabru's deductions are mostly the same, only altered slightly due to being warded by Falin instead of Marcille.

Shuro isn't quite as haggard. Falin isn't actively dead, so he doesn't feel the need to run himself ragged. Funny enough, taking better care of himself ends up canceling things out, and he arrives at Kabru's group at about the same time.

Chapter 33:

Senshi and Chilchuck have to fight the Dryads by themselves. They use the axe instead of Kensuke. Not that Laios helped much, but the first dryad manages to attack Senshi, leaving him in much rougher shape by the end of the fight.

Thankfully, he makes a full recovery once Falin recovers some mana from the yummy pottage.

Once Falin is recovering, she suggests teleporting out of the dungeon, but Marcille flat out refuses to let Falin do that again. It's way too risky. Now that they have a source of food, mapping out the area should be simple.

Chilchuck does not escape the sex ed.

Chapter 34:

A dramatic reenactment of chapter 34:

They still need to spend several days making the map, but at least petrification isn't an issue.

Chapter 35:

The ghost warns Falin about the wyvern, and they hide in the wall, so business as usual.

When Marcille accidentally puts on the frog suit, Falin decides to put hers on too. This somehow makes Marcille more mortified, not less.

Recognizing Falin, the ninjas don't attack. Marcille is annoyed how happy Falin is to see Toshiro, considering the bad terms he split off on.

Chapter 36:

Since Falin has been enthusiastic, but not overbearing about monster food, Chilchuck chooses to go with Senshi even more easily.

Falin explains what happened to Toshiro, leaving out the ancient magic. Toshiro has no reason to think Falin wouldn't be able to revive Laios. He is happy to learn that she intends to return to the surface, and he plans to try and talk her out of returning once safe on the surface.

Kabru can tell Falin is lying about something, but remains quiet.

Chapter 37:

Even though harpies show up, everything seems to be going well, until Hien splatters on the ground. The Laigon quickly proves to be a ferocious foe, with razor sharp claws, a vicious thagomizer, and the ability to easily fly out of reach, or drop opponents from deadly heights.

Marcille didn't know that sufficient brute force could splatter an Undine to death, but apparently so.

Falin watches in horror as she can see an almost joyous look in his eyes. He would never do this of his own volition... but he clearly doesn't hate it.

When Rin grounds the Laigon with lightning, Falin steels her resolve and charges in to pummel his weak point, but he smiles and says her name.

Chapter 38:

After Kabru fails to kill him, the Laigon is too powerful, and kills Kabru before Falin can do anything. Seeing the Laigon about to attack Falin, Marcille hits it with an explosion.

Snarling, the Laigon looks like it's about to pounce at Marcille and company, causing Falin to fully freak out and unleash her strongest offensive spell, causing several massive rocky spires to erupt and impale the Laigon from below, and accidentally hitting Rin in the process.

Screaming and convulsing in pain, the Laigon takes for the sky, fleeing as fast as it can, leaving behind a thick trail of blood.

With both Falin and Holm alive, as well as Marcille not being barred from helping, the revivals go smoothly.

Toshiro ends up getting into a shouting match with Falin regarding her goal of saving Laios. Falin insists that if they defeat the mad mage, they can save him. He insists that trying to do so at this point is suicidal.

In the heat of the moment, Toshiro declares that Laios isn't even worth saving, and Falin slaps him. The conversation comes to an abrupt end, with both severely regretting their actions. Toshiro walks off to think, while Marcille comforts Falin, who seems on the verge of tears.

Toshiro ends up apologizing, saying he can't understand her decision, but he will respect it. He has Maizuru give them supplies so they can head down immediately, and gives Falin the bell.

Asebi overhears Marcille speculating with Chilchuck about the Laigon, and the possibility of the dragon's soul getting mixed in due to her revival magic.

Kabru leaves with a higher opinion of Falin than he did of Laios, because while she seemed fascinated by monsters, she wasn't as crazed about it as him. Plus she didn't offer him a harpy omelette, so that helps.

Chapter 39:

Without the living paintings, they aren't able to quite grasp the mad mage's motives, but are still hopeful that they can talk to him.

And then the shapeshifters happen.

Chilchuck's Falin is an airhead, reflecting her calm demeanor and lack of commanding presence, even though she is ostensibly the leader without Laios around.

Senshi's Falin looks just like his Laios, but with longer hair. They look identical to Senshi.

Falin's Chilchuck is colder and more even-tempered than the real Chilchuck. She appreciates his levelheadedness and maturity.

Falin's Senshi is always spouting fun facts about food and food prep, and is always smiling. Senshi reminds her a lot of her brother's passions.

At first, the group is confused. They seem to be short two fakes. But then they find Falin's Marcille and Marcille's Falin making out in one of the cells. Both are too shy to admit their feelings, but apparently their mental images aren't so shy about it.

Once obvious stuff is out of the way, and equipment has been checked, Marcille and Falin have been found, but Chilchuck's Senshi, Marcille's Chilchuck, and Falin's Chilchuck are still around.

Chapter 40:

Marcille and Falin manage to eliminate Chilchuck's Senshi, since they both get a weird feeling from it, and all three Chilchucks agree it's the right Senshi, practically confirming it to be Chilchuck's.

The Chilchucks prove much trickier, until Falin comes up with an idea. We skipped chapter 13, so Falin suggests the Chilchucks provide their age. Marcille's says 20. Falin's says 45. Chilchuck is able to explain those guesses are way off the mark, and as the only one able to give a proper explanation of half-foot age ranges, he is clearly the correct one.

With all the copies locked up, the shapeshifter gives up and goes to find other prey.

Asebi ambushes the party as normal afterwards.

Chapter 41:

There is a bit of confusion at Asebi's accusations, since Marcille never confessed to using ancient magic, but Asebi overheard her talking about how she may have blended Laios' soul with the dragon, and that is not something someone does on accident. Clearly she must have been using black magic to do something like that.

Nonetheless, Marcille agrees to break the collar's magic, and things proceed the same. Falin attacks the hag with her mace-staff, creating a messier cut, but functionally the same.

The explanation of their goals goes about the same, including Falin being rather happy to meet Izutsumi, though she's a little less weird about it, talking about how Laios was fine before the mage kidnapped him, and that hopefully he'll go back to that state of mind when saved.

Chapter 42:

In Falin's nightmare, the Laigon appears and tries to kill her, but Falin becomes lucid before it can strike.

Falin goes into Marcille's nightmare to help her. Being more experienced with this sort of thing, she is able to calm Marcille down, and cause her to become lucid, dispelling the nightmare without violating Marcille's private traumas.

They then spend the rest of the lucid dream having fun together. I'll let you decide how much those shapeshifter clones inspired their behavior.

Senshi cooks the nightmares, and much to the girls' dismay, the dream is shown for all to see. Everyone agrees not to bring it up again.

Chapter 43:

While searching the recovered packs, Falin is delighted to find the Dungeon Gourmet Guide. She was afraid it had been digested with Laios.

Note: Falin should be seeing the ghost by now, but I don't want to break up the chapter flow, so just assume the ghost got caught in ghost traffic.

Without Laios to block them, Marcille gets impaled by a few stalactites, and Falin has to tend to her. The fight goes as normal.

Izutsumi is able to undress without anyone being weird about it.

When doing the sauna thing, Chilchuck can't help but notice how closely Marcille and Falin are sitting. He tried to block the dream out of his mind, but it's clear that now that the feelings are out in the open, that's just how they're going to act from now on. He just hopes this doesn't cause any issues.

Chapter 44:

Falin finds the boiled mandrake quite tasty, and so doesn't question it when Izutsumi gives her a second.

When arguing over dinner, Falin is just as baffled as Izutsumi regarding the Barometz. As they run over, she flips through the guide, discovering the potential danger a few seconds too late.

Izutsumi and Marcille run off to do their thing. Falin panics and does something dumb. She starts barking. She isn't as good as Laios, but it's enough to scare off the wolves. Chilchuck isn't even surprised at this point.

Chapter 45:

Pretty much goes the same. Toshiro plans to report the Chimera, at least so people know to be wary, and Falin is just as careless with the bell as Laios.

As they eat their eggs, the ghost finally catches up and Falin is happy to chat.

Chapter 46:

Our party arrives in the golden country. Falin wants to check out the monster corrals, just like Laios, but while he was ecstatic about minotaur milking, Falin is much more charmed by the opportunity to pet the basilisk chicks.

Falin becomes extremely flustered at the sight of Marcille in a pretty dress. Unlike Laios, Izutsumi lets her pet her.

Since minotaur was not requested, they are served basilisk cordon bleu.

Sadly, the running joke of turning ghosts into ice cream is dead.

"One shall come who bears a staff of living wood." With Laios out of the picture, Marcille is the lion's next choice of champion.

Marcille really isn't sure what to think about this. Her? Become new queen of the land?

She ultimately gives no conclusive answer, but the possibility of gaining dominion over this land where no one ever dies is tempting.

Marcille and Falin share the double bed, while Chilchuck gets the single bed to himself. At least until Izutsumi curls up on him.

Chapter 47:

Breakfast goes smoothly, and they head back into the dungeon.

Things in the cistern go mostly the same, though Falin also thinks the griffon is Laios. Senshi doesn't panic until the griffon actually appears.

Chapter 48:

Marcille puts her plan into action, and Falin carries her.

With the second familiar, Falin suggests shaping it like a dragonfly, since they are very fast and agile. It isn't as fast as the wyvern, but it dodges a lot easier. The third familiar is still sky fish.

Once the griffon is defeated, Falin suggests eating the sky fish. Marcille objects, but she can't say no to Falin's smile.

And Senshi shares his story.

Chapter 49:

Unlike Laios, Falin doesn't push Senshi to try the griffon. She suggests cooking it, since they don't want to waste good food, but Senshi doesn't have to try it if he doesn't want to.

Senshi decides to go for it. You can decide if he's traumatized further, or if changelings follow logic, and meat without any spores on it (since it was cut from inside the griffon), and was then "washed" by turning it into soup turns back into hippogriff. Senshi tastes the "griffon" soup, and is immeasurably relieved.

Changlings are a lot of fun, but they sure open some plot holes. By all accounts, it should have reverted to hippogriff soup.

Look, this is my silly what-if AU, things don't have to be perfect.

Chapter 50:

Falin is a dwarf now. She sucks at magic, but now she can really smash some heads in.

Falin thinks half-foot Marcille is adorable. Marcille isn't sure what to think of dwarf Falin.

When they reach the door, Falin is surprised when her pet pearlipede crawls out unbidden and unlocks the door.

Despite the disadvantages, Falin's mace proves super-effective against the gargoyles, managing to defeat one, but tiring out while one is still left. They flee through the door.

Now that the party knows she has it (and that it's oddly useful), Falin starts wearing her pet as a bracelet.

While preparing dumplings, Falin ponders if maybe the griffon wasn't actually a griffon, but Chilchuck shuts her down before she can accidentally re-traumatize Senshi.

Chapter 51:

Falin notices Marcille's strong adverse reaction to the news that half-foots only live fifty years, but doesn't say anything.

Falin suggests the possibility of using the changelings on Laios, though unlike him, she doesn't consider that the two halves might change separately. She just imagines them turning the whole Laigon into a gnome or something.

When the last gargoyle arrives, Falin's staff gets knocked out of her grasp, and thrown by the gargoyle.

They use the knowledge from the transformed staff to defeat the last gargoyle. Sadly, Marcille does not get to fly.

Falin washes her staff.

Chapter 52:

Senshi grows curious and asks about Laios. Falin talks about how Laios always had trouble fitting in, and it wasn't until he started dungeon diving that he finally seemed able to make friends and be happy. Falin had dropped out of magic school because she didn't want Laios to be alone.

Marcille starts crying and clinging to Falin. She talks about how she used to hate Laios. But as they adventured together, he became like a brother to her. Falin starts crying too. Izutsumi sits by Chilchuck to avoid all the tears.

Senshi proposes his bacon and eggs plan. Falin can't find any issue with his reasoning, and thinks its a great idea, but Chilchuck points out how long it will take to eat that much meat. They start making plans for the foreseeable future.

Thistle tries to stop the Laigon from eating a walking mushroom, but is unsuccessful.

Chapters 53-85

Chapter 86-Finale

#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #manga spoilers #anime spoilers #spoilers #falin touden #laios touden #marcille donato #farcille #alternate universe #role swap au #Laios got Eaten #dungeon meshi fanfic #fanfic #chimera laios

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