#minor canon rewrite

[mercy-erts]

- handful of ice -

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Warnings: Major bodily injury(amputation type) Slight vomit mention (no actual vomit)

Words: 1.3k words

Summary: Lars was curious about everything, never showed feared towards what he studied. But soon when that orb comes into his life, his whole perspective changes.

An: This is a minor rewrite of my interpretation of this scene! Most the dialogue is from the original scene but I hope some of their inner thoughts are a bit in character.

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Lars wanted to know a lot of things, things about the supernatural and what it all meant. So when an orb is given to him, he may as well see what could possibly be in there.

Just had to get other experiments out of the way.

He and Lucky worked to extract ghosts from objects, working late again as in his eyes, science never slept. Their recent one was from a porcelain doll, nothing special and nothing new.

As he worked, he could hear the possesser, currently possesing a chair, knocking on the window. Lars sighed, glancing over at it in annoyance before rolling his eyes. "Cant play right now."

Even after that, more knocking.

If it wasn't a ghost, he would have found a way to strangle it.

"Im working!" He stated, looking more annoyed when it knocked again. "If you're good, I'll give a tennis ball." And that thankfully got it to shut up for now, making him relax a bit more without the constant headache of a noise.

His eyes got glance of Lucky picking up the orb, nodding as an approval to check it out. Lars' mind was set into motion, what could be in the orb? Could a normal ghost, or can be something much bigger than what they're used to. He was almost excited to see what can be extracted.

Lucky placed the orb within the machinery, despite the sense of dread she felt when doing so. Like a chill down her spine that was warning her about something.

Still, they went ahead anyway. Lars pressing a few buttons and soon the familiar sound of the machine starting up the process.

The duo stood back and watched the process, expecting it to go as planned. Lars' started to notice something quickly, sparks were coming out of it. He glanced at Lucky, assuming she was seeing the same thing. "Something..wrong?" He asked, as if he himself didn't know what was happening.

A sense of dread came over them when the sparks continued, something was terribly wrong. It felt like Lars' heart stopped when he heard the same knocking again, and the growl of that other ghost. He shouldn't be scared, he was an expert on this for god sake. The sound of the possesser banging on the window, the growls of the ghosts, it was starting to overwhelm him.

"It's..fighting extraction." Lucky noted, which really didn't make them feel better at all. Lars tried to take control of this situation, typing away in hopes of countering against this supernatural force. "Not for this long." It almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself that.

Despite looking calm, Lars was panicking on the inside. He couldn't let anything happen, to Lucky, to himself, and those around the area. As long as the power didn't-

The orb's cubes popped out suddenly, the power slowly turning off until everything was turned off. It went dead quiet, the only sound being the steady breaths coming from both of them. Lucky looked around her surroundings, the red light creating a dark and Eerie atmosphere in the lab.

"Okay." Lars interrupted the silence, continuing to type on his screen that by some miracle was still working. "Just..have for the generators to warm up again." He continued, his face laced with uncertainty and a bit of worry. Thats when it hit him, if the power was off, that meant-

"The proton fields are down."

The two could hear them start to shut off, a sound they never wanted to hear ever. Lucky looked around again, paranoia creeping into her mind, the ghosts could escape now, any moment now. Every noise startled her, one being seemingly from the hall of captive ghosts. "Do you hear that..?" She asked, as she started to walk towards the hallway.

Lars was on overdrive now, overstimulated yet there was no time to relax. If he didn't get those fields up again, the ghosts would escape. As he worked, he gazed around to see if any ghosts had escaped. To his surprise, none had left the fields yet, not even the possesser who he thought would be first to go.

Now one question remained on their minds.

"Why hasn't the ghosts escaped yet?" Lucky was the first to say it outloud, her gaze down the hallway of contained ghosts. Her heart raced faster to more she gazed down that hallway, as if something was gonna appear from the proton fields, to grab her and Lars without Mercy. She took a deep breath, maybe it was fine, maybe they were still contained...

A scream came out of her as her hopes were shattered, the sight of the possesser throwing itself against the window, managing to crack it. She turned to her left, her heart dropping seeing another slowly crawl out of its prison, its gaze lurking onto her. She was frozen with fear, watching helplessly as they began to make their escape. The slow crawl of the ghosts, the possesser nearly shattering the glass.

Lucky managed to stand back a little, unable to tear her eyes away from their impending doom, drawing closer and closer to them. She shut her eyes, bracing herself for her end. Nothing came to her, nothing possesing her nothing attacking her, maybe she was asleep or dead now, just a quick end.

But as she opened her eyes, she heard the sound of the generators kicking back on, the ghosts forced back into containment.

She looked behind her, seeing Lars standing up and hunched over his computer, she can see the fear in his eyes. Before Lucky could say anything, Lars spoke before her, panic and fear in his tone. "We need to shut that thing up!" He exclaimed, adrenaline running through his veins. It was overwhelming for him, they nearly were victims of high classed ghost attacks, just in the nick of time he got the generators working.

Glancing at the orb, he concluded immediately that this was the source, the source of many new problems to come their way.

Without even thinking, he grabbed onto the orb as he lifted up the cover, ready to throw it out of the machine. A sharp pain hit him as he touched the orb, his whole body shaking as if he was shivering. He tried to pull away, finding he couldn't no matter how much strengh he used. He hissed in pain, as it felt as if his hand was becoming numb and cold the longer he felt the orb. His fear became stronger, fearing the orb he held onto as he continued to pry at it.

Finally he managed to pull away, but his eyes widen seeing the orb was still on his hand, its weight pulling him down. He let out a pained scream that even startled Lucky, who was now watching in horror as his hand looked like it was solid ice now.

Lars continued to scream, as a cold feeling went up his arm, his hand feeling as if it was no longer apart of him. He moved his arm widely, shaking violently to get the orb off his hand. Panic and adrenaline clouding any rational thoughts, he slammed his hand against the machine a few times, creating a sickening sound of ice against metal.

After a strong hit against the machine, the orb finally dropped heavily against the floor. Along with frozen hand still holding it. Lars felt as if he needed to throw up, his hand broken off his limb, holding onto the orb and creating a sickening look to both him and Lucky. He raised his arm to his face, his body trembling at the mere sight of his missing hand.

"Hospital, now." Lucky declared, grabbing onto his shoulders to guide him out of the lab and into a more safer area.

Lars looked behind him, staring back at the orb that held his hand, it no longer looked like his own hand.

Oh god, why did he had to know everything.

[shittymihodaily]

its kind of crazy miho is in the dungeon dice monsters game but not any of the capsule monsters video games

The Miho in s0 is a different one than the Miho ddm but like, you're still right. They're not allowed to pretend they don't know who she is in s0, they had to have brought her up in the writing room at least once

[theweirdestroller]

Me: *staring at a wip that I've had open all year, meticulously working on it, editing, and smoothing out the wrinkles* Ah, yes, it should be done soon!

Also Me: I need to rewrite the entire plot of this chapter. It works better this way. I literally cannot leave the plot how it has been these past 11 months. *throws a year's worth of work into the digital void*

I am banging my head on a wall. WHY IS IT LIKE THIS

[narrators-journal]

Bow to your god (rewrite)

I was lowkey so insanely ashamed of my kinktober writing for this that I finally fucking rewrote it. It still isn’t the best, but I feel much better about this version, so for my beloved boyfriend who asked, here’s an improved take that I wrote when not between depressive breakdowns.

The scent of grass and alcohol filled Amos’ nose as he kissed a feather-light trail up the tall, platinum blonde man’s strong thigh. His dark brown eyes half-lidded and slightly unfocused while he worked his way up to the man’s erection. Only to abruptly stop right before he could properly wrap his lips around his cock when the glint of a silver blade caught the cathedral’s light a mere centimeter from the long-haired man’s nose. “Don’t you dare put your filth mouth on me, you filthy animal.” Millions Knives snarled down at the engineer. His pale blue-green eyes as cold as an icecube despite the clear arousal that stood proudly before Amos, who pursed his lips for a moment before he spoke. “No offense, sir. But, how else am I supposed to ‘relieve’ you then? Because you’ve already threatened to kill me if I actually fuck you.” His slightly dry voice laced with a bit of amusement at the very light, oddly-colored blush dusted across Knives’ cheeks. You can’t call him a dumbfuck, Amos. He can flay you. “Watch your fucking mouth, Amos.” The beautiful man growled while he kept the lethal tendril of metal trained on the silver-haired man’s well-trained, casual expression like a cobra. “Just because I’m allowing you to touch me in this manner, that doesn’t mean you can talk to me like a whore.” You’re ‘allowing’ me to? As if I was the one fuming around like a bitter brat? All I did was joke that you need to get laid, but okay, bastard. “Right, I am very sorry, Master Knives.” He offered in place of his thoughts, but Knives’ blades still struck at the engineer’s tanned cheek. Though, afterwards, he retracted the weapon expectantly.

And Amos was quick to notice the way that the blonde’s pale eyes locked onto the crimson blood that now trickled down the silver-haired engineer’s tanned cheek, the scent of grass strengthening in the air as the independent plant’s dick seemed to twitch ever so slightly. But, he decided against the comment that he felt on the tip of his tongue and instead said, “What if I just jerked you off? I’d still need to use my spit or something for lubricant, but it wouldn’t be as much as if I gave you a blowie.” as he watched the blonde’s pale eyes dance with anger, disgust, and a brief zip of embarrassment that was swiftly covered by a more acceptable annoyance as he puffed out a curt, “Fine.” with little else but a swift glance to the trickle of crimson that dripped down Amos’ cheek

And while Amos still felt a strong urge to taunt the independent plant for his apparent interest, he refrained once again to spare himself another slash to the face or throat. Instead, he spit into his hand and wrapped his fingers around Knives’ thick cock to begin to stroke and spread his saliva over his length with a slow, steady pace. The silver-haired engineer able to somewhat bask in the subtle ways Knives’ expression twitched with each stroke of the man’s calloused skin over the sensitive flesh of his cock.

And, while Millions Knives was an intimidating man, with a muscular physique that deserved to be carved in marble, almost no morals, platinum hair worn in a bit of a buzzcut, and captivatingly pale greenish-blue eyes, Amos found him equally as beautiful. So, even as the blonde seemed to only focus on the blood on his face, and was one step away from homicide, the silver-haired engineer began to kiss along his inner thigh again. Each twitch he felt against his lips or palm was a fresh zap of electricity through him. So, when those bladed tendrils manifested again to wrap around Amos’ throat like a lethal collar, he wasn’t terrified. “Just don’t forget who has the power here.” Knives growled while the cold silver metal of the blades slid over the tan skin of his throat. “You mean less to me than a rabbit would to a fox.” Sure, Nai. As if I’m not needed for your machine.The engineer thought, but only verbalized a simple, “Yes Master.” as he continued to pump his hand up and down the blonde’s length to make his head loll back slightly.

Which, Amos took as an opportunity to drink in the way his muscular chest rose and fell, his pristine, pale skin, and the way that his face was almost peaceful. Except, of course, for when the pleasure twisted his face, which turned the near peaceful expression into a more amusing, attractive one as the engineer’s hand moved faster and his grip tightened slightly.

Something that Knives let him do with little but a shudder and a small breath. Though, the silver-haired man wasn’t cruel enough to ignore the joy the blonde refused to acknowledge. “Am I doing any good at this, Master Knives?” “You’re passable, I suppose. Though I could do better on my own.” he snapped, his eyes still closed and his head still back as his next words came out breathless and less focused on Amos. “Just proves how much better than you I am…Better looking, stronger, less emotional...You’re utterly powerless against me…”

He continued to boast about his power and list the man’s short comings, the silver-haired engineer continued to stroke his cock and admire his physique while he twitched and throbbed in his grip. Even the metal tendril around his neck began to twist and dig into his neck for more of the crimson that Knives seemed to focus on so easily in a show of the pleasure he barely showed. Though, Amos mostly trusted the homicidal blonde to not kill him. At least, until the tendril of metal tightened around his throat while Knives’ expression twisted more into a snarl.

Granted, the expression was just a warning to the orgasm that made his thick cock throb, twitch a heartbeat before warm cream spewed onto his hand. The thick fluid even managed to splatter onto the engineer’s cheek to mix slightly with the blood that had already been there from the initial cut.

Which, was a sight that earned a more obvious, malicious grin from the blonde that stood over him and watched the silver-haired man pluck a rag from his pocket to wipe away the cum from his hand and face. “Alright. You can leave now.” He said simply, his voice flat and cold even though his breath was still quick and he still smelled of grass and rubbing alcohol. “Yes sir. Also, just so you know, Legato will probably be around soon to make a report.” Amos left it at that. He didn’t bother with a warning about the air still reeking of sex and pollen despite the handjob, he just left before he was stabbed.

[primamchorus]

Ever Beating Heart

Insecurities and frustrations arise as Ros stands before the grave of his departed mother. The burden of being the only true Heart left in service to the Crown weighs down upon his shoulders, threatening to crush him. For what is his purpose when he has no one to properly teach and nurture his ability into being a proper Heart of the King?

Warnings: Grief, Loss of Family, Minor Emetophobia (nothing graphic; goes more into the vivid depictions of the feeling of nausea)

Word Count: 1,930

FFXV: Reimagined Table of Contents

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Before a marble tombstone stood a boy no older than thirteen years. In his hands, he held a bouquet of dead and wilted flowers, limp and brown. He had already laid down a fresh bouquet consisting of white peonies, daffodils, and carnations. Upon the tombstone read the name Aurae Viridis.

The boy stared for a time at the tombstone. He pursed his lips, bringing his free hand up to move some loose strands of brown hair from his vision. It was not often he found himself in the royal cemetery on his own. The boy had originally been there to change the flowers on his own rather than leaving it to the groundskeepers. Though he lingered, staring hard into the white marble. More and more his feet felt reluctant to leave.

“Hey… Mom…” the boy finally spoke. His lips parted momentarily. Closing his mouth, he looked down at the wilted flowers in his hands, trying to think of anything to say, or get off his chest. His mind was filled with all kinds of things that could have been said to alleviate the weight he felt accumulate within.

A sigh left him.

“Dad's been well…” the boy finally started. “He's been helping me stay on track, you know? Just…sometimes it's hard. I feel really weak compared to everyone else.”

The boy had no initial intention of staying there, he really did not. Though the more words started to come out, he found himself crouching down and then sitting on his knees. He placed the wilted flowers aside, freeing his hands.

“I know I shouldn't compare myself to them. Dad and Uncle are always telling me that I shouldn't compare myself to them,” the boy said, scoffing as he looked down at the grass. “You'd probably say that healing magic is just as important or powerful. Or something…”

The boy hesitated.

“I don't know anymore…”

Looking down at his lap, the boy frowned.

“... I don't remember what you sound like anymore. But I see you…on the walls at home. I'm glad I can remember what you look like, I just…wish I could hear you, too.” Adjusting, the boy brought his legs out so that he was sitting cross legged on the grass. He then looked at one of his hands, opening and closing it a couple times.

“It's not like I can heal this kind of pain…” the boy continued. “I can't heal the ache in my chest when I think about you. I tried. It sucks that I can't. But…”

The boy shook his head, placing his hand back into his lap. Turning his gaze back toward the tombstone, he took in a breath and sighed.

“Maybe it's good I can't heal that pain?” His statement ended with a question. He was uncertain that it was a justified thing to say. Though he gathered himself and continued: “it kind of reminds me that I'm learning all of this and doing what I can to break the limitations of what we know is possible so that none of us have to lose anyone else… I don't want to lose anyone else.”

Silence soon blanketed the royal cemetery after the boy said that. Only the rustling of the trees as the gentle winds passed made any sound. He sat in it for a while, letting his words stew. All he could do was reflect upon them, thinking on what his own words meant to him -- how they shaped his resolve. Was there a better way to word how he felt and why he pushed himself?

Leaning back, the boy planted the palms of his hands behind him. He then turned his gaze skyward, his eyes trailing along the Wall’s shimmer before it looked past that into the cerulean expanse of the sky above. It was cloudless. A nice day by the common standard.

“... Sometimes I wonder…” the boy softly said. “If I was where I am now in my training back then… Could I have saved you?”

Silence again.

“... Probably not…” he concluded.

Huffing in annoyance, the boy pushed himself back up into a standing position, grabbing the wilted bouquet as he did. He lingered, still feeling rooted to the spot. For a brief moment, he wanted to crush the wilted bouquet out of frustration. At least it was already dead.

But he thought better of it. He frowned as he looked at the browned flowers. There was nothing about them that could have been salvaged. No amount of magic could have allowed him to raise them back and be lush and verdant.

Not that he knew of…

An amused scoff escaped him.

“... What the hell is the point of our family name being ‘Viridis,’ then?” the boy laughed wryly. He furrowed his brow, his smile just as wry as his laughter.

‘To hell with it…’ the boy thought to himself. His gaze was locked on the withered bouquet. Mana flowed through him, the hair on the back of his neck and arms raising as he felt the warm, soothing power wash over him. His hands tingled as he focused his abilities. It was a gentle feeling overall.

The stress of using so much mana, however, was felt. The boy felt his head grow light and hot, a sheen of sweat breaking out. A slow building nausea built up from the pits of his stomach to the base of his throat. Despite the warmth and soothing sensation within his hands, everything else about pushing himself to break boundaries was sickening.

He had to push himself. He had to.

He had to.

He had to.

He had to.

With the focus and stream of mana with his goal clear in his mind, the boy soon fell back to his knees. He gasped, his lungs feeling as if they had the wind stolen from them. His vision dimmed as his head swam through that dizzying feeling of swimming through noxious fumes. Falling forward, the boy dropped the wilted flowers as he caught himself by the palms of now clammy hands against the grass below.

The boy's stomach flipped and flopped, a gross and uncomfortable feeling turning over and over within him. He wanted to retch. His mouth watered as if he was about to.

Frustration took hold, and tears stung his eyes.

“... Goddammit…” the boy cursed, a sob leaving him before he swallowed to try and quell that nauseating feeling. It was futile. The sensation of feeling weak and nauseous remained.

Slowly, his vision cleared. The boy looked down at the wilted bouquet, desperately looking for something. Anything.

Brown. It was still brown.

“Shit!” the boy cried. He pounded a fist against the grass, tears flowing freely from his eyes. Succumbing to this weakness, he keeled over and curled up on the grass, bringing his hands to his eyes. Pitifully, he sobbed into his palms, breath stuttering as he breathed, “I-I hate being so goddamn weak…”

Hearing himself served to make the feeling worse. Hearing it…hearing himself solidified how absolutely pathetic he sounded. It made him feel unfit for serving at the Prince’s side. Made him unfit to even share the same blood as him as his cousin.

“Why do I have to be related to the Prince..?” The boy just allowed his frustrations to aerate. “How can I even compare to Noctis? He's destined to wield the magic of Kings. What does he even need me for!?”

For long, long minutes, the boy laid there. He wallowed in his pain -- both physical and mental. Tears dried on his face, their streaks feeling somewhat taut against his skin. When the nausea finally became tolerable, the boy pushed himself up into a sitting position. He was in a fugue as he collected himself.

The boy hardly registered the disturbance of the grass nearby until the sight of a skirt from a green dress came into view. Looking up, the boy saw another one of the girls who also lived on the royal grounds. She was someone from another one of the noble houses.

Green dress aside, the girl looked as if she had come back from an event. Her black, wavy bob hair had been pulled back with a hairband, and she had presentable jewelry around her neck and at her ears. The only thing that was out of place was how she was largely barefoot in the grass, her white hose bearing some fresh grass stains.

“... Lyra?” the boy managed, lifting a hand and rubbing his eyes. He tried not to sniffle, but it was hard to hide such an obvious sound.

“You okay, Ros? I heard something going on out here and decided to come out,” Lyra replied. There was concern in her expression. “You look awful.”

“Yeah, thanks… Tell me something I don't know,” Ros said, an irritated sigh soon leaving him. He then shook his head. “I'm…sorry, Ly. I'm not okay. But…I don't want to talk about it. Not now.”

‘Not when I've been bitching about it all for the last hour or so to my dead Mom's gravestone…’ Ros thought bitterly to himself.

“You know that as Ears, I'll get the information eventually, right?” Lyra said, her voice carrying a tease to it. It was clear she was attempting to lighten the mood in some capacity.

If only it worked.

Ros only managed a slight glare up at Lyra at that. As far as he knew, she already heard all of his complaining and self-deprecating remarks before she made her presence known. The Ears were known for their spying and reconnaissance efforts, after all. Hell, she could have been present for the entire duration of his visit.

Just another example of a new generation of the royal Houses excelling at their specialties.

Lyra, however, ignored the expression shot at her and smoothed her dress before sitting next to Ros. She looked at the marble tombstone, her expression falling only slightly. She looked more pensive than anything. She then reached forward and grabbed the browned bouquet in front of her.

“... I was going to take that with me to throw out,” Ros slowly said, bringing his knees up and resting his chin upon them. He still bore a look of frustration, his brow knitted and jaw set.

“... I've never seen flowers wilt like this…” Lyra commented.

Ros looked over, confused. How exactly were flowers supposed to wilt?

Holding the bouquet up, Lyra pointed out the petals. There was an interesting pattern of small white spots amidst the brown. These small spots were silky patches of reinvigorated plant life. Seeing that made Ros stare at it in dumbfounded wonder.

Though the spots were small, the fact that they existed at all made him look at the discovery, mouth agape.

“I wonder what made them wilt like this,” Lyra went on to say as she pulled the petal gently to get a better look. Her expression said more than enough to the fact that she was genuinely confused.

For a moment, a welling of pride rose within Ros’ chest. He was about to mention how his magic could perhaps be pushed into bringing back life into what was once dead. However, he stopped himself. Perhaps it would simply be better to keep that to himself. There was no telling what the others would think or say. Besides…it was not as if he was anywhere close to being able to actually provide the same, legendary power as something so much as a down feather of a fabled phoenix.

“... No idea,” Ros finally replied. “I don’t think I ever really took the time to notice.”

[aesadraws]

Seeing that thing I reblogged earlier telling me to go write and laughing at my own tags. "I could barely write 5 sentences but fiiiine I'll give it another go", then proceeds to write like almost 2k words.

[junemary]

Talking about character relationships in the internet is always a little difficult, especially when it comes to legitimacy of interpretation and all that. When it comes to dunmeshi, being a story that weighs so heavily on the topics of desire and pleasure in whatever form it may take, including love and connection, I think there will always be an intensity to the relationships between the characters that's so juicy. Like, for me when it comes to labru it's the way they complement each other by being so different in such a similar way. They could learn so much from each other that thinking about how that might happen is fun, it's so full of potential due to the nature of their relationship in canon being so rich despite not being romantic. When I say I don't think there's canon evidence for romance, I think I mean that this is something to be developed. It's a heavy potential instead of a logical conclusion, but that's why I think they're so good and so fun to think about. None of this needs to be written at all - their dynamic is, clearly, plenty rich and intense as it is.

Look. Do I think there are actual canon interactions that back up labru? No (Maybe one sided). Is their dynamic absolutely absurd and hilarious? YES.

[fragilefable]

nobody's son, nobody's daughter.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ minors DNI) Summary: When you and Joel get separated the night of the outbreak, you spend the next decade searching for him. Just when you've given up— a miracle occurs. Warnings: heavy angst, canon typical violence, character death (sarah), discussions of grief, very brief mention of suicidal ideation, alcohol used to cope, depression, suggestive language, lovers reunited, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Word Count: 6.6k Currently Playing: Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey ♪

A/N: This piece has been months in the making, hours of rereading and rewriting. This is my love child. I'm possibly (definitely) planning a part 2 with smut... ;) I am a full-time college student who unfortunately has other responsibilities, so please be patient with me. My first lengthy piece in a while, so please be kind & enjoy my doves!

Sleep was the most convenient temporary escape available in the post-cordyceps world. Oftentimes, if you were lucky enough, with sleep came dreams—glimpses of a divine, utopian life. One without spores or fungi of any kind. There was, however, always the chance that with it came nightmares—Polaroids of the past, the uprising of the infection. Mothers clutching bloodied children, decaying men ripping open flesh with their savage teeth, and, worst of all— losing Joel Miller. 

Joel was... everything—neighbor, friend, lover. Joel hated that word— laughed every time it managed to escape your lips in a hushed whisper, but that was what you were to each other. It transcended explanation. You'd moved to Austin after college in hopes of starting over, a clean slate. Instead, you'd stumbled upon a single father and his then 11-year-old daughter. You fit into their life like the missing puzzle piece— you completed them. Sarah needed a motherly presence in her life. There was only so much Joel could do for the blossoming young woman. 

And Joel— Joel never knew what he was missing until you came along. Someone to be able to rely on, to love unconditionally, a fixed constant. To say he fell head over heels was an understatement, but it became so much more than physical attraction. It became something far more profound and terrifying— love. The kind of love only poets write about. It was fierce, at times agonizing. That's what made losing him all the more heartbreaking. 

You were with Sarah the night of the outbreak— Joel's birthday. Lounging around in plaid pajamas, waiting for Joel to get home from work. Despite being exhausted, Sarah was beaming with pride over her birthday present for her dad— his broken wristwatch now repaired and refurbished. You smiled mischievously, "And just where did you get the money to fix this, young lady?" Sarah grinned slyly, "Just lyin' around, it's not like he noticed it was missin'!" Hours passed, you and Sarah slumped against the couch: Fast asleep, soft snores escaping mouths, drool dribbling down chins. 

The sight made Joel's heart quaver in his chest. Kicking off his muddied work boots, he carefully plopped down in between the two sleeping figures, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. "Hmm. You're home," you stirred awake, drowsy eyes met with a welcome sight: Weathered tan skin and dark chocolate curls. "Hey, Darlin'. You outta head up to bed. I'll be up soon." You nodded faintly, planting a chaste kiss on Sarah's forehead: "Goodnight, sweet girl." 

You fell fast asleep as soon as your body hit Joel's mattress, his scent engulfing you like a blanket of safety— a shield of sorts. The vague smell of sawdust and pine soap conquered your senses, a heavenly combination. An hour later, you felt the bed dip down, strong arms circling your waist.

Frantic hands shook you awake, calling your name weakly: "I can't find Dad. N' somethin' weird is goin' on outside." You sat up, Sarah's urgency pulling you from your hazy half-asleep state. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll call him. Go back to bed." Sarah ignored your suggestion and sat beside you as you reached for the landline. The call went to voicemail without hesitation: "Huh... That's weird." 

Sarah grew more anxious by the second, "I'm gonna go check the driveway for his truck." Sarah shot up from the bed, feet pattering down the stairs. "Sarah! Wait, I'll come with-" Throwing on your Converse, you hastily ran out after her. Your tired eyes scanned the pavement but found no signs of Sarah or Joel's truck. The Adler's door was wide open; you huffed: "Sarah?" 

The Adler's house was pitch black and eerily quiet, the family's dog nowhere to be seen: "Sarah? This is trespassing!" Tiptoeing through the living room, you halted at the sight of a ruby trail— blood. Grotesque, wet noises filled the previously silent house: "Sarah?" The teen bolted out of the kitchen, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the front door: "Run!" Mrs. Adler scrambled after Sarah, mouth dribbling crimson liquid, no longer bound to her wheelchair. 

"What the fuck–" Sarah's grip on your hand tightened as you passed through the door and stumbled onto the pavement. A pair of familiar brown eyes scanned Sarah's figure and then yours: "Sarah? Darlin'? Are ya'll ok-" Joel's words were cut off when Mrs. Adler dashed through the front door, her figure lunging for you. 

Joel struck the side of her head with a wrench as you made a feeble attempt to crawl away. His strikes were lethal, and yet the elder kept thrashing against the ground. "Joel, stop!" Only then did you notice Tommy, Joel's younger brother, behind you, coaxing Sarah into the truck. 

Joel exhausted Mrs. Adler with one final swing, dropping the bloodied wrench beside him and wiping his shaky hands on his jeans. His gaze softened when he saw your timid frame— shaking and unmoving. "Darlin'... Baby, are you okay?" His hands found your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles on a patch of exposed skin. You hesitated; Joel had just killed Mrs. Adler in cold blood— but she tried to kill you and Sarah first. 

Joel hurriedly hoisted you to your feet, "We gotta go, okay baby? It's not safe here." You clambered into the backseat beside Sarah, the girl's arms thrown around you tightly. Kissing the crown of her head, you reassured her: "It's okay, sweetheart, everything's okay." 

Neighbors began to exit their homes, baffled and disturbed by the sight of Mrs. Adler's bloody, lifeless body lying in the yard. Someone called out for Joel. He immediately instructed her to go back inside and lock the doors. Tommy beckoned Joel into the car, exiting the culdesac and taking off towards the highway. After a fleeting moment, you mustered up the courage to ask, "Joel, what's going on?" Tommy replied, "They're sayin' it's a virus- some kinda parasite." Sarah spoke up, tears forming, "Are we sick?" Joel shot the idea down immediately. 

Tommy and Joel continued bickering, your eyes glued to the road ahead: "Joel! Look- It's Jimmy's place." The two-story farmhouse was completely engulfed in flames, unrecognizable. Your hands clung to Sarah, burrowing her head into your neck: "It's okay, sweet girl." Police sirens rang out through the darkness, interrupted by soft pleas for help. A family was stranded on the side of the road, begging for aid. Tommy began to slow the car. "What're you doin'?" Joel firmly questioned. Tommy shot back, "Got a kid, Joel." 

"So do we. Keep drivin'," Joel spat. Tommy sped back up, eyes searching Joel's for an explanation: "Somebody else will come along." As Tommy approached the interstate, the sounds of disgruntled drivers grew louder: "Fuck! Everybody had the same fuckin' idea. I can't get through this." Joel gripped the dashboard, "All right, all right. Let's think it through," he paused for a moment, "All right, take the field! We cut across, and we pick up on the west side." Tommy steered right, the truck jerking on the uneven terrain. As he drove over the hill, helicopters and tanks came into view, "Shit. Fuckin' army." 

Sarah peered out from behind the seat, "Isn't that good?" Your voice was filled with hesitation, "That's the highway we need to get to." Joel and Tommy argued, eventually continuing toward a town just east of the highway. Sarah stilled, "Maybe it's everywhere. Maybe there's nowhere to go." A booming roar erupted, Tommy twisting his body to get a better look at the night sky: "What the fuck?!" Commercial airplanes flew overhead, merely hundreds of feet above the ground. You instinctively covered Sarah's ears with your hands, eyes wrenching shut at the deafening rumble of their engines. Tommy swerved to avoid a police blockade ahead, turning into a nearby alleyway. 

The streets were flooded with screaming civilians, running in every direction— no one sure who exactly they were running from. A hoard of people fled from inside a movie theater, causing Tommy to shift the truck's gear into reverse. "Dad?" Sarah called out, "Dad!" Joel turned; an airplane was rapidly descending— heading straight towards town, "Shit. Move!" As the plane made contact with the ground, a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke bloomed, causing Tommy to lose control of the truck. 

A strong hand shook your leg, "Darlin'? Stay right there, don't move." Your side ached, cool liquid flowing from your head. Beside you, Sarah quickly came to, her eyes shifting to the figure hunched outside of the flipped car, clawing at the corpse of an older man. "Sarah, baby, don't look. C'mere, put your arms around me." As Joel carefully unearthed Sarah from the mangled truck, you climbed out of the shattered window: Hissing as you shifted against your arm. Sarah tried to put weight on her leg, provoking muffled whimpers and cries at the attempt. Tommy, equipped with his shotgun, called out, "We gotta get off the street!" 

As you approached Joel and Sarah, a flaming police car crashed into the capsized truck, separating the three of you from Tommy. Tommy roared from the other side of the wreck: "Meet at the river! I'll find a way." Joel turned to Sarah, "Can you run?" She shook her head wearily. He scooped her into his arms, "Keep your eyes on me." Joel shifted towards you, "No matter what, you keep runnin'. Alright, darlin'? Promise me." You hesitated, desperate eyes meeting his, "I promise." 

The three of you stumbled through the alley until you came across a cluster of bodies scattered across the pavement, crouched figures grunting over the lifeless figures. The end of the passage was clear. The only problem was getting past the rotted creatures without being noticed. There was no way Joel could outrun them in his condition. One of the creatures shot up at the sound of a remote blast, eyes landing on Joel. His voice was firm, "Go." You grabbed his arm, "Joel!" He repeated his command, louder— frantic: "You can't carry Sarah w'that arm. Go find Tommy. We'll meet you there."  

You pressed a hurried kiss to Sarah's head, the deranged man scrambling to his feet before you could embrace Joel. You took off towards the other end of the alley, Joel and Sarah barricading themselves inside the vacant diner across from the pile of carcasses. Your body throbbed with every step, head burning with the fire of a thousand suns. Your feet carried you across town, weaving in and out of injured civilians and infected until you reached the river. The stream was pitch black, sounds of gunfire and cries rang out in the distance. 

Suddenly, a bright light blinded you: "Put your hands where I can see 'em!" You obeyed, raising them as high as your injured arm would allow. Your voice raw with distress, "M'not sick! Just trying to find my family!" The man stepped closer, seemingly inspecting your physical state. He was clad in military gear, "You hurt?" You shook your head eagerly: "Just a sprained arm." He nodded his head, "Alright. We've got buses that can take you to a decontamination zone." 

Your head scanned the vast field, eyes scouring for any sign of Joel or Tommy: "I- I can't. I'm supposed to meet someone here. At the river." The soldier looked dissatisfied and slowly lifted his gun, "The river goes on for miles. S'not safe out here." Your eyebrows threaded together in confusion, "What- are you- are you gonna shoot me?" The soldier's grasp on his automatic rifle tightened, "I'm sayin' you have two choices. You can either come with me or you can-" 

A guttural scream sounded from behind him. But before he could turn around, a pair of arms seized his neck and began ripping into his military garb. The soldier flailed wildly at his attacker. While he was busy fighting off the deranged beast, you took off into the darkness, wandering aimlessly and calling out for your family. That night was the last time you saw Joel Miller.

16 Years Later

The bitter winter air overwhelmed your senses until you were gasping for air, limbs numb and cold to the touch. You wouldn't make it much longer without shelter, without warmth. You'd spent the better part of the last 16 years searching for him— for Joel. Ever since that night, you'd scoured every independent civilization, every QZ, within mobs of infected. Each night, you silently prayed never to find him like that— skin pallid and overcome with fungus, head split wide open, cordyceps blooming from within. 

You'd trekked across the country with the sole intent of finding him alive and healthy. The journey was brutal— raiders and infected desperate for blood. But by far, the hardest battle was pushing away the nagging thought that, even if Joel and Sarah were somehow alive, you'd never find them. Now, after nearly two decades of searching, you were reaching the end of your journey. You'd officially trekked across the entire nation. If your estimations were correct, you were nearing Wyoming— hence the formidable cold front. 

You'd heard rumors about a small civilization located somewhere on the skirts of Jackson County— your last stop. You knew the chances were slim; that feeling only fortified with each city, each civilian who hadn't heard of or seen anyone by the name of "Joel Miller." But you kept searching— because the day that you stopped would be the day you lost everything, lost yourself. It was as though he held onto you with a leash. If you tugged hard enough, could you finally break free? What else did you have to live for? Maybe one day you'd have some sort of epiphany, something to make sense of all the death and suffering. For now, Joel kept your hope alive— the hope that there was happiness and safety beyond all of the pain. The very thought of him kept you alive. 

You stood in front of thick and rusted iron gates, your posture crooked due to exhaustion— Just one more stop. The sounds of cocking guns drew your attention to the top of the gates. A young man and woman stand there, rifles pointed at you: "Drop your weapon! Let us see your hands!" You obey. This is standard practice amongst civilizations— you'd done it a thousand times by now. Unsheathing and kicking away your pistol, you then throw your backpack towards the gate. Hands raised next to your head. Your voice wavers as you half-shout, "I'm not infected! Just looking for someone!" 

The woman searched your face for a bit, presumably looking for any signs of deceit. She nodded towards her companion, the corroded metal walls unfolding. Two men approached you and picked up your discarded belongings. The younger of the two roughly patted you down and checked for bite marks. When they were satisfied, they led you past the gates into the town square. The village was pleasant, a handful of people milling about in the slushy streets. 

A familiar voice erupts from behind you: "Please excuse the initial hostility. We need to be careful about who we let in... I'm Maria." She extends her hand. You accept it gingerly and introduce yourself. "Welcome to Jackson. You must be freezing. Come on, we'll talk inside." — Maria leads you inside a small building, the exterior reminding you of the Lincoln Logs you used to play with as a child. The inside is... quaint. A lone desk sits near the lit fireplace. Maria leans against the desk and motions for you to take a seat: "So... You're lookin' for someone. And you have reason to believe they're here?" 

You sigh, allowing your aching body to relax against the couch's plush cushions: "No... I am looking for someone, but... Well, this is my last stop." Maria nods sympathetically, tucking a lone braid behind her ear— "I get it. You've been looking for a long time. It's about time to stop. To rest." You can't help the tears that form on your waterline. Your gaze shifts to your lap. Maria continues, "Who are you lookin' for?" 

You swallow the fist-sized lump in your throat, "Joel. Joel Miller." Your attention snaps towards her as a wistful sigh escapes her lips. A tight frown dawns on Maria's face, "I'm sorry. There's no Joel Miller here." You nod; you knew it was a long shot, but hearing it aloud was something different entirely. You rise from the couch, "Thank you. I apologize for takin' up your time." Maria speaks up before you can reach the door: "Now what? You got a place to stay?" 

You honestly hadn't thought that far, about life beyond looking. For years, finding Joel was your only purpose— your rationale for remaining on this infested hellscape. You had no home, no roots. Maria's voice interrupts your thoughts, "There's room here. We've got food and water— shelter. Hell, we're even working on electricity." You turn to face her. Her words dripping with verity, "Jackson could be your home." 

Despite having just met her, Maria's words touched something buried deep within you— hope. Hopeful of a new life, of new beginnings. You forged a small smile, "Okay." Maria smiled, but it was much different from yours: It was toothy, genuine— "Alright. I'll give you the grand tour then." For the next hour or so, Maria marched you around town. She showed you the vast dining hall laden with maple furniture. The stables filled with mare and their young. 

Then she showed you the schoolhouse. It was a small brick building. The walls were filled with colorful crayon drawings. Tiny handprints were pressed onto the wall in various colors of acrylic paint. The dulcet sounds of innocent laughter erupted from every corner of the room. Children from the ages of 5-12 were scattered around: Some doing arts and crafts, some reading, and others playing with worn toys. A tear slipped down your cheek. You brushed it away quickly before Maria could notice. 

You couldn't help but think of Sarah. About the first time she knocked on your door— she was selling chocolate bars for some fundraiser at school. Her bronze complexion dappled with freckles, and her wide smile revealed a missing tooth. She was eleven at the time, eyes bright and full of wonder. Blind to the atrocities that loomed at every turn. Sometimes, you'd think about what she looked like now— did her curls still rest atop her shoulders? Did she still laugh until she was panting for air? She's thirty now... Has she fallen in love? That was considering she is still... 

You didn't entertain the thought. Sarah was fine, alive somewhere with her father to look after her. Maria's touch pulls you from your thoughts, "How about I show you where you'll be living? Get you settled in." As Maria exited the schoolhouse, you stole one last glance at the room. A little girl met your gaze. Her dark curls were pulled into two ponytails. Her burnt mahogany eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled, raising her tiny hand and waving it at you. You returned the sentiment, this time allowing the tear to fall down and onto the ground.  

Maria escorted you just outside of town, to a street lined with country-style two-story houses in relatively good condition. "This one here, the green one. It's already furnished. I'll have one of my guys come by later with some essentials from the pantry. Otherwise, you should be all set 'til tomorrow." Your eyes bore into the house. It was nice, but also... "It's big," you retort, "Don't know what I could possibly need all those rooms for." Maria lays the silver key in your hand, "You never know." 

You internally cringe at the connotation. Start over with some man? Have a big family and a white picket fence? You couldn't. It wouldn't be the same. You let out a shaky breath, "Thank you, Maria." She nods, "Come see me tomorrow, and we'll talk about where to go from here. Everyone in Jackson has a job, a role to play. Rest up... You deserve it." She departs, leaving just you and your great, big, empty house. 

3 Years Later

Jackson developed rapidly under Maria's supervision. The population rose from 50 to roughly 300 in just under three years. Jackson now had electricity, thanks to the Jackson County Hydroelectric Dam that Maria's team was able to get up and running. You'd become the head of patrol— in charge of organizing the schedules and determining the routes. You and Maria had become very close, practically family. She's the person who understood you, what you've been through. 

In an attempt to busy yourself and earn your keep, you'd thrown yourself into working alongside her. Not just with patrols but also with community relations and development. You'd completely reconstructed the greenhouse, built a jailhouse— that, luckily, wasn't used much— and helped fortify Jackson's defenses. Maria assigned you the title "community leader," but you much preferred what everyone else called you: "Maria's right hand." 

Your house was still too big, but now it felt homier— lived in. The walls were plastered with botanical paintings you'd found while out on patrol, vases of fresh cut flowers from the community garden placed upon every surface. Cable knit blankets were draped over the shabby leather furniture, the brick fireplace emanating warmth and bringing solace during the cold winter months. You'd even taken up baking in your spare time, frequently bringing baked goods to the schoolhouse. 

Nevertheless, when the sun set and the sounds of bustling downtown Jackson faded, your thoughts always returned to Joel. His bronze skin, tousled brown curls, and perfectly plump lips. Suddenly, it felt as though the house was mocking you, and the right side of the bed always grew colder. Perhaps it's why you worked yourself so hard; taking a day off was seldom. You couldn't escape the persistent feeling that Joel and Sarah weren't alive. That you'd failed to find them time and time again because somewhere, they were six feet under, buried in an unmarked grave. All it takes is one moment— one lapse between heartbeats— and suddenly, everything has changed.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

The spring air was crisp with morning dew. A gentle breeze slipped through the cracked bay window. Three heavy thuds woke you— the sharp knocks cutting through serene silence. Your voice was raspy with sleep, "Coming!" You quickly pulled on the worn terrycloth robe that hung from the bedpost and stumbled downstairs. You swung the door open to reveal Stanley, a young man who worked in construction: "I'm so sorry to wake you, but Maria sent me to get you. She said it's urgent."  

You sighed deeply, rubbing the remaining exhaustion from your face: "Urgent like, 'don't get dressed' urgent?" Stanley's eyes roamed across the dark fabric of your robe before snapping back to your face. His cheeks bright pink, "Oh, um... no! Just meet her in her office ASAP." Sending him off with a nod, you traipsed upstairs and threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before making your way downtown. It was early morning, the streets empty save the early risers milling about, getting ready for work. As you passed a group of older women sipping hot beverages, you overheard whispers of "an outsider." As Maria's righthand, you were expected to greet all incoming arrivals. How on earth that could constitute a crisis, you did not know. 

As you approached Maria's office, the woman in question exited swiftly, shutting the door behind her. You grew closer, taking note of her fidgeting hands. She was... nervous? "Good morning, Mar. What's the emergency?" Maria's face was sullen. You'd never seen her like this, not in the three years you'd known her. Your hands clenched at your sides, "Maria? What is it?"

She took a deep breath, "This may be a false alarm, but... This guy's last name is Miller. Says he's originally from Texas." Her words stole the air from your lungs, a pit forming in the bottom of your stomach. She said something else, but all you could hear was buzzing. Your vision blurred, the dark-skinned woman's features coming in and out of focus. Could it be him—had Joel finally found you? 

Maria called your name, pulling you from your trance. As your vision focused, you pushed past her. Your grip on the doorknob was bone-crushing, your knuckles turning white from the tension. You inhaled— don't get your hopes up. It might not be him. You exhaled, pushing the door open with a startling amount of force. You analyzed the man's figure, you recognized him— only it wasn't Joel. It wasn't the Miller whose calloused hands once traveled the expanse of your body, making note of each hidden crevice as though it may hold treasure. Whose lips once seared white hot kisses in the places he knew were the most sensitive— "Tommy?"

He looked dumbstruck, his lips parted in shock. Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around his neck. It took him a moment to reciprocate your embrace, but once he did, his arms anchored you in place. He spoke your name quietly against the crown of your head: "I can't... I can't believe it." You pulled away, "I hardly can either." His hands rested atop your shoulders as his eyes searched your face in disbelief. His resemblance to his older brother felt like a gut punch. You were afraid to ask— fearful of the truth: "Joel? Is he..."

Tommy's hand squeezed your shoulder in reassurance, "He's alive. Last I checked, holed up somewhere in the Boston QZ." A warm tear slipped down your face, the salty liquid resting just below your chin. You'd checked Boston QZ, but recent "terrorist" attacks had made it impossible to stay longer than an hour without drawing the attention of every FEDRA soldier in that godforsaken city. Your hands trembled as you clutched your chest, "And Sarah? How's my sweet girl?" 

Tommy's face went cold— No. No. She can't— "She's gone." The taste of bile rose in your throat, "Wh-when?" Tommy removed his hands from your shoulders, "That night. Shot by some military fucker. She..." He hesitated, "Joel held her. It happened s'fast." Your kneels buckled, threatening to send you towards the ground. You fucked up— you let yourself get accustomed to the idea of her being alive. Repeated it over and over again until you believed it to be true. This was all your fault. 

Your shoulders shook silently, as if you were crying— but no tears emerged, "I have to… I have to find Joel." Turning toward the door, Tommy caught you by your wrist: "I can't let you do that, hon. It's a damn death sentence." You tugged at your arm, desperate to break free from the restraint: "Let go of me, Tommy. I'm doin' this." Maria stepped forward, her hand resting at the base of your neck— "No, you're not. Jackson needs you here. I need you here."

Your breathing became labored. Deep down, you knew they were right— you were in no shape to travel across the country again. You'd barely survived it the first time. Chest heaving, your free hand found purchase on your throat, tightly grasping and constricting the airway. Tommy wearily let go of your wrist, his eyes wide and filled with fear. You ran for the door; you could hear Tommy call out for you as you fled homeward. Sarah was gone. Joel was alone.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

Days passed, and despite everything, the sun rose in the morning and the moon at night. You weren't quite sure how long it had been. You'd stopped counting daybreak after the first five came and went. Maria checked in after the first couple of days, worried that you hadn't been seen around town— or leaving your house, for that matter. Your grief was debilitating, all-consuming. You couldn't eat, could barely sleep, only finding relief at the bottom of a liquor bottle. You were tired… The kind of tired that sleep didn't fix.

Tommy came once. Sat and talked while you stared straight ahead at the empty wall. He could sense your anger, your resentment. How could he not? You silently judged him for leaving Joel, leaving his brother after his only daughter died in his arms. Tommy told you that Joel had changed. He wasn't the Joel you fell in love with; he'd done terrible things— But so had you. You'd killed innocent people, people who were just trying to protect themselves. And you did it in the name of finding Joel and Sarah, of surviving for them. You'd convinced yourself it was kill or be killed, and you had to live with that. Come judgment day, you'd pay greatly for your sins. You accepted that, too.

You only dared to look at Tommy's face once. You saw Joel in his eyes— you saw Sarah. Maybe if you hadn't left Joel in that alleyway, she'd still be alive. You could've protected her, taken the bullet for her. You would have, without hesitation. You'd cross the fiery pits of hell for her, reside in Caina, and be tortured for eternity. You may not have given birth to her, but Sarah was your daughter.

If you closed your eyes hard enough, you could faintly picture her smile. The dimples that formed just below her bottom lip. You could smell the faint aroma of her strawberry shampoo. Hear the broken remnants of her grandiose laughter. You swore to keep those memories someplace safe. Take them out and remember when you needed to, as if they were photographs.

A part of you wanted to be happy that she didn't suffer. She was too innocent for this new, heartless world. She was everything good in life. She was sunshine, sugary syrup, and pure, unadulterated love. But you could not accept this bright side. Not when it meant a life without her in it. Innocence is beautiful, but life is for living.

Tommy stood up, slipping a piece of paper on the nightstand. You cautiously turned it over to reveal a creased photo: You, Joel, and Sarah posing after winning one of her soccer games. You stole one last glance at Tommy. This time, he did not see blinding hatred in your gaze. Instead, he saw gratitude. As your glassy eyes bore into him, he nodded knowingly and left.

Maria came a couple of hours later with leftovers from the dining hall. Setting them on the counter next to the empty whiskey bottles displayed like pathetic trophies. You were in the same position as when Tommy left. You held the photo in your hands, thumbs stroking its frayed edges. Maria quietly dragged a chair closer to the bed, sitting just within arm's reach: "I went to a really dark place after I lost Kevin."

Tearing your gaze from the picture, one of her hands finds yours: "He made life worth living… It took me a long time to start to feel human again. To feel something other than pain and sorrow. The grief never goes away. But slowly, it starts to feel less like loss, and more like love." She inhaled shakily, "I know what you're feeling right now. I know why you're drowning your sorrows in that shit, trying to drink yourself to death." A tear slips down your face, her hand squeezing yours gently: "But you have to understand… What you're feeling right now, that's love. You're not a bad person for how you try to kill your sadness. But it's not gonna work."

You're unable to contain the choked sob that escapes your throat. The tears come harshly, scorching saline against your skin. Maria shifts her weight from the chair onto the bed, holding your shaking frame: "It's okay… Let it out." Her hands cradle your head, smoothing over your disheveled hair. "It's all my fault," you gasp between sobs, "I never should've left them. It's all my fault." Maria shushes you, "No, honey. You don't really believe that. You want someone to blame, but you're not that person."

Eventually, the tears cease. Your breathing evened out as Maria held you, "I miss Joel, so fucking much." You could feel Maria nod tenderly, "I know Honey." A lone tear slipped down your cheek, "Do you think— do you think he'll find me?" Maria pulled away, her chestnut eyes meeting yours, "Truthfully, I don't know." With a deep sigh, she squeezed your hand— "But I know he wouldn't want you to live like this. Isolating yourself from everyone else. You're allowed to grieve, but please don't shut me out. You're my person." You clutch her hands, squeezing firmly: "Even at my worst?" Her arms curled around your torso once again, "Even at your worst."

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

The warmer seasons passed with haste. A wintertide blanket of white gradually covered Jackson. Day by day, Maria and Tommy were able to pull you out of your depressive stupor. You had to admit, they made quite the team. Maria was ultimately right, Joel wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life a bedridden drunkard. But still, life without him was arduous. There wasn't a day that passed that you didn't think of Joel Miller. About where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, and whether he missed you as terribly as you did him. 

As much as you wished to focus on these melancholic thoughts, new developments began to bloom in Jackson. Tommy and Maria's blossoming love was hard to ignore and impossible to disapprove of. Watching two people whom you adored fall in love, it felt as though nothing had changed: No cordyceps, no raiders, just Jackson and all of its inhabitants. Perhaps you could find peace in that. When Maria told you that they were expecting, you were over the moon. Maria and Tommy deserved it, Jackson deserved it. Proof that the world is not over— that no matter the circumstances, mankind will prevail. 

You threw together a small wedding ceremony with the help of the florist and local bakery, the couple wanting to tie the knot before the baby's arrival. Joking about how "shotgun weddings" withstood the test of time. Something arose in you, a pang of jealousy— Envious that you and Joel never got the perfect white wedding. It disgusted you, so you buried it deep within the recesses of your heart. 

The winter was hard, the Wyoming chill threatening every crop that dared to sprout from the Earth. This resulted in you spending extra time in the greenhouse. You found gardening to be a rather soothing task, being able to nurture new life in a world marked by death and decay. It also provided plenty of time to think: Something that you did not relish. No matter how many times you pushed the thought of Joel away, it always returned. Whether it was at dawn or late at night plaguing your dreams. 

When you weren't at Tommy and Maria's house or at the Tipsy Bison, you were in the greenhouse. The small shack sat right on the outskirts of town, situated with the perfect view of downtown Jackson. The glass panes shut out the cold, trapping any warmth inside. You bathed in the basking glow of the sun, gravitating towards it as a Sunflower would. You weren't sure when thoughts of Sarah became joyous, memories no longer met with choked cries but instead with soft chuckles. Nonetheless, you welcomed the growth. It's how she would want you to remember her. 

You watched the clock that hung just above the door, a mere estimation of the time: 12:15 p.m. You carefully removed your dirt-caked gloves, setting them on the wooden bench beside you. Your stomach growled impatiently as you began the journey downtown. The air was frigid despite the sun's rays, the cold slowly numbing your fingers. As you ambled towards town, Stanley came jogging towards you: "Hey! Just got word from the gates that Maria's back. Brought some stragglers, two, I think." 

You nodded in his direction, "Alright. Thanks, Stan." The soft crunch of snow beneath your feet accompanied you as you approached downtown Jackson, an air of excitement and uncertainty radiating off of the townsfolk. It wasn't every day that Jackson came across people who weren't just blood-thirsty raiders looking for valuables. As you rounded a corner, you overheard a commotion, the sound of yelling. Strangely, it didn't sound angry or fearful. It sounded... happy. 

Midtown came into view; the construction that was being worked on was now abandoned. Immediately, your gaze fixed on two figures in the middle of the street embracing. That was... not typical. You could make one man out to be Tommy; his black curls contrasted starkly against his warm taupe skin. The other was taller and broader, his hair disheveled and graying. Behind them you could make out Maria on horseback, next to her was a young girl, who couldn't be older than thirteen. 

Maria's expression was borderline unreadable, a mixture of trepidation and relief. Until her eyes met yours, then her face softened. A look of tenderness emerged. Everything about this situation puzzled you— Until the two figures broke apart. The man stood inches from Tommy, his hands gripping Tommy's shoulders firmly. His face was sunken with exhaustion and hunger; a vast smile overtook his face. A smile you would recognize anywhere. 

He looked just as he had twenty years ago, only now his hair was significantly longer and his beard gray. His face was now littered with wrinkles, just as yours was. A telltale sign that time had, in fact, passed, that the world fell apart right in front of your eyes. Your fingers dug into your thigh. You surely would've drawn blood if not for the layer of denim protecting your skin. You knew you were grieving, but hallucinations seemed extreme. You took a hesitant step forward, still on the opposite end of the street. 

Maria beckoned for you. Your name seemingly catching Tommy's attention as he turned towards you. As the men stood side-by-side, it was impossible to deny. Their likeness evoked something in you— realization. You weren't dreaming, you weren't hallucinating. He was there, just a yard away: Joel Miller. His gaze found yours, eyes searching your face in disbelief. Your name left his mouth like a question, but it sounded like a prayer. 

He stepped forward as if he was testing the waters. You repeated his action, "Joel?" A smile broke across his face once again, causing you to break into a sprint. He jogged forward, careful not to slip on the icy gravel. Tears began streaming down your face, their warmth countering the icy chill. Before you could slow down, your body collided with his. His arms were tense, his hold fastening around you. You'd only dreamt of this moment for two decades. 

You weren't sure how long you stood like that. Head nestled firmly against his chest, tears staining his leather coat. His gloved fingers gently grasped your chin, pulling your face from its sanctuary: "Baby... Fuck, I can't believe it." His eyes searched your face for any sign of unease. He could find nothing but pure joy: "You found me. I searched for you, Joel Miller, for 16 years. And you found me." 

Joel let out a breathy chuckle, cut off as you captured his lips in a velvety kiss. At first, it was chaste.— A silent admission of consolation, twenty years in the making. You ran your tongue across his bottom lip, prompting him to groan as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. After a moment, a loud cough erupted from behind you. You reluctantly pull away, your forehead resting against his. Your hands cupped his cheeks, eyes glassy with relief and adoration: "After all this time?" Joel leans forward to place a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth, "Would wait forever f'you, Darlin'." 

© 2023 fragilefable do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

divider by @saradika

[liyliths]

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౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 a stranger things rewrite

❝ you were an asshole, steve harrington. ❞

after hating steve harrington, the king of hawkins high, you somehow find yourself falling in love with him.

pairings: steve harrington x reader

contains: fem!reader, minor enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst and comfort, violence, cursing, canon character death, suggestive content though sfw, and any other warnings that may come with stranger things lol

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𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗫 ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

season one season two season three season four

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Heart | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, SMUT 18+ MDNI, elements of dom/sub, oral (m and f receiving), orgasm denial (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid. wrap it up.), face riding (f receiving), begging, cockwarming

Word Count: 6046

A/N: Giving the people what they want. AGAIN. MINORS! GO AWAY!!! SHOO! TAKE A JUICE BOX AND A STICKER ON THE WAY OUT!!

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“Here he is, Detective,” the young mortician said to Sam as she pulled the body of a man out of a cold locker. The man had stitches running along his chest, stomach, shoulders, and throat; some reminiscent of deep bite marks.

“That’s a pretty nasty bite,” Sam commented. “You know what bit him?”

The young woman averted her eyes. “I haven’t quite determined that just yet.”

“C’mon, Doc,” you pleaded. “Off the record.” You left Dean back in the motel room once he promised you he’d stay put.

“Okay,” the mortician began, “way, way off the record—”

“Sure,” Sam nodded.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the guy was attacked by a wolf. But unless I know that the zoo is missing one of their lobos, I’m going with pit bull.” She eyed Sam cautiously. “I like my job.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Sam chuckled.

“One more thing. This guy, was his heart missing?” you asked.

She seemed surprised. “Yeah, how did you know that? I haven’t even finished my report.”

“Lucky guess,” you shrugged.

You and Sam left the morgue and began the drive back to Dean. 

“How’ve your nightmares been?” you asked Sam while he drove out of the morgue’s parking lot.

He turned to you quizzically.

“What? I hear you up at three in the morning,” you smirked.

“I get up early anyway. How do you know I still have ‘em?”

“You don’t have a great poker face, Sammy. When something’s bothering you, I can literally see the wheels in your head turning,” you replied.

He sighed. “I’ll get over it.”

You shot him a look.

“It’s just— It’s not just Jessica anymore,” he explained. “It’s my dad, it’s what Meg did while she took me for a joy ride—”

“That sounds dirty, man,” you cut in.

He gave you a playful glare. “It’s like I told you. I’m scared as hell.”

You stayed silent for a moment. “Hey, you’re still you. And that’s all that matters.” You turned to face him in your seat, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t gone all ‘sith lord’ on us yet. And I honestly don’t think you will. You just… you don’t have that in you.”

His lips curled into a sad smile once more. “Thanks, (Y/N/N).”

“Any time.”

“Any update on you and Dean?”

“Oh, would you look at that, we’re here,” you smirked as Sam pulled into the motel parking lot.

He glared at you. “(Y/N)—”

“I know, I know, we’ll talk later,” you giggled. You headed into the brothers’ motel room. Dean was cleaning his guns on his bed, and you explained what you’d seen and found out from the mortician to him. The lawyer you’d examined wasn’t the first heart-free corpse, but he was the first man. Over the last year, several women had gone missing; their bodies washed up on shore, but were too deteriorated to make out anything besides the fact that their hearts were missing. The lunar cycle was exactly right for a werewolf killing as well.

“Awesome,” Dean grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, could you be a bigger geek about this?”

“I’m sorry, man, but what about ‘a human by day, a freak animal killing machine by moonlight’ don’t you understand? I mean, werewolves are badass. We haven’t seen one since we were kids,” the older brother protested.

“Okay, Sparky. And you know what? After we kill it, we can go to Disneyland,” Sam snarked, making you giggle.

“You know what the best part about it is? We already know how to bring these suckers down.” He held up a silver bullet. “One of these bad boys right to the heart. So, what’s our next move?”

“Talk to the girl who found the body,” replied Sam. 

***

The girl who found the body had sharp, angular features and beautiful dark hair. You could tell Sam was slightly enamored by her from the second she let you into her apartment. The woman introduced herself as Madison. She showed an older man who’d come to check on her out of the apartment and motioned for you to take a seat at her kitchen table. 

“You must be pretty shaken up,” started Sam. “You were Nate Mulligan’s assistant, right?”

“For two years, yeah,” she nodded.

“So, you knew all about him?” Dean questioned.

“Probably knew more about him than he did. Nate was…” she trailed off, smiling uncomfortably, “he was nice.”

“But?”

“Nothing, really. I— He had a few scotches in him, and he'd started hitting on anyone in a five-mile radius. You know the type.”

You looked over at Dean, given that was the one thing about him you disliked. “Yeah, I do, actually.”

Dean noticed your look, and he shrank a little at your apparent disappointment. “Did, uh, did he have any enemies?”

“What do you mean? It sure looked like an animal attack,” she said, shifting uncomfortably.

“No, yeah, we’re just covering all the bases. Anyone that might have had a beef with him – a former client, an ex?”

You noticed her discomfort and pressed further. “What is it?”

“Well, this is embarrassing, but my ex-boyfriend, Kurt—”

“Kurt have a last name?” Dean cut her off.

“Mueller,” she answered. After we broke up, he went kind of nuts. He’s… well, he’s kind of been stalking me. He got it in his head that something was going on between Nate and I. He showed up at my office.”

“What happened?” you asked.

“Kurt got into it with Nate; threw a punch before security grabbed him. I was lucky to keep my job,” she explained.

“When was the last time you saw Kurt?” Dean asked.

“A few nights ago. Actually, the night Nate died. We were all grabbing drinks at this bar, and Kurt showed up,” Madison replied.

“And?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It was like he was watching me. Then he was gone. To tell you the truth, he scares me.”

“I can understand that,” you told her.

She gave you a smile. 

Madison led you out of her apartment, and Sam wrote his number down for her to call you if she needed anything. 

***

As night fell, Dean suggested you head to the ex-boyfriend’s house to investigate if he lived in a creature’s lair. Upon arrival, you discovered Kurt wasn’t home. However, you felt uneasy. You chalked it up to the fact that you were breaking and entering, but you’d never felt anxiety in a situation such as this previously. It almost felt like something was watching you.

“(Y/N/N), you okay?” Sam asked you upon noticing your discomfort.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just… hurry this up. I got a bad feeling about this.”

“Okay, Skywalker,” Dean quipped. 

“Anything?” you asked, ignoring his comment.

“No, nothing but leftovers and a six-pack. No human hearts behind the Haagen-Dazs either,” he replied. You suddenly heard a door open and close followed by a crashing sound coming from outside. You shared a brief look with Sam before running out to the balcony. Down the wall of the building, there were claw marks in the concrete wall, sliding all the way down to the ground.

You cringed at the sight. “That’s just great.”

Seconds later, you heard a gunshot. You ran down the fire escape and out of the apartment, heading toward where you thought you’d heard the gun fire off. When you arrived at a dark alley, you saw the boot of a person sticking out from the shadows. Cautiously, you approached, only to find the body of an incredibly mauled policeman.

“I’ll call 911,” Sam told you and his brother.

Dean bent down to the corpse. “I’d say Kurt’s looking more and more like our Cujo.”

“I don’t know, man, his apartment didn’t scream ‘creature’s lair’ to me. Aside from the fact that it’s a standard bachelor pad,” you remarked.

Dean eyed you unamusedly. “I’m gonna ignore the implication there that all men are animals.”

You grinned. “I’m glad you caught my drift.”

“Guys, if he’s out here, we better check on Madison,” Sam said, interrupting you.

***

When you arrived at her apartment early in the morning, the older man you’d first seen in Madison’s apartment when you initially visited him peeked his head out of his door. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Police business, Glen,” Dean responded.

Madison opened the door, her face drooping slightly when she saw you. “What is it?”

You shot a look over at Glen.

“Well, maybe we should talk privately,” Sam suggested.

She nodded, still confused, and led you into her apartment. “Coffee?” she asked.

Sam accepted happily, as did Dean. You still felt uneasy, and thought you might vomit if you had something to drink.

“Has Kurt been here?” Sam asked her as she poured a cup for each of the brothers. 

“Not exactly,” she replied.

“What’s that mean?” you asked.

“Well, he was outside last night. Just… looking. Just looking at me. Has he done something?”

“We’re not really sure,” Sam answered honestly.

“It’s probably nothing, but… we just don’t wanna take any chances. In fact, one of us should probably stay here with you?” Dean suggested. “Just in case he stops by. Where does he work?”

“He owns a body shop,” she replied.

“You mind grabbing that address for us?” 

She nodded and started out of the room.

“Thanks,” Dean called after her.

“Alright, you go. I’ll stay,” said Sam once she was out of ear shot.

“C’mon, (Y/N),’ Dean said.

“What?” Sam questioned. “No pushback? You always wanna hangout with the hot girl.”

“Yeah, well…” the older Winchester trailed off, “Not this time, I guess.”

“You guess?” Sam scoffed. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Dean just rolled his eyes, and a smile tugged at your lips. You thought you may have something to do with Dean’s change of heart. 

“Bundle up out there, alright?” Sam said to you and Dean, shooting y0u a knowing look when his brother had turned away. You grinned back at him and followed Dean out of the apartment when Madison returned with the body shop’s address. 

Dean started the drive to Kurt’s place of work, and you eyed him thoughtfully.

“What?” he asked without even turning to look at you.

“I wouldn’t have anything to do with your change of heart about staying with the cute girls, huh?” you asked, already knowing the answer. However, a large part of you just wanted him to say it out loud.

He flickered his eyes over to yours, never turning his head from the road. “No, ‘course not,” he replied. 

You deflated slightly, although you knew vulnerability was difficult for him. You really and truly just wanted to hear how much you meant to him.

“Alright, fine,” he grumbled after a moment of silence. “It’s got everything to do with you.”

A smile spread across your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Good. I’m glad.”

*** Later that day, you discovered Kurt hadn’t been to work in a week. But because Dean was “really good,” if he did say so himself, he found out he was probably frequenting his favorite strip club.

You didn’t mind going; you enjoyed hyping the girls up. If you were a stripper, you’d much rather a girl stuffing ones in your bra than a creepy fifty-year-old man. Although, you were slightly concerned about the way Dean’s eyes were glued to the ass of the woman dancing in front of you. You couldn’t lie, though, she was hot. As long as he looked and didn’t touch, you were content.

The pretty girl in front of you bent down to take a ten dollar bill from your hand, wiggling her hips seductively as she did so. You held her gaze as she stuffed the bill in her bra with a few other ones she already earned. 

Dean suddenly seemed slightly possessive. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“Jealous much?” you asked. 

He used the arm around your shoulders to push your face towards his, kissing you wantonly. You hummed against him just before he pulled away. You nudged his nose with yours, sighing happily. You turned back to the girl dancing only to see the man you knew to be Kurt taking a seat at the opposite side of the stage from you and Dean. You gave Dean a look, and he immediately took out his phone to call Sam.

“I found him,” Dean said, eyes on the girl dancing in front of the two of you. “Oh, yeah, my eyes are glued. Look, Sammy, I gotta let you go. I, uh, I don’t wanna... don't wanna miss anything.” He handed a dollar bill to the stripper and smiled widely when he hung up the phone. 

After about an hour of generously tipping the strippers and having a few drinks, Kurt got up from the chair across from you and Dean. When he’d gotten a significant distance away, you and Dean wordlessly got up from your chairs to follow him. However, not before you turned and said, “Bye, girls!” to the dancers. The one that had been predominantly dancing in front of you and Dean waved and blew you a kiss. You blew one back, grinning. 

You followed Kurt back to his apartment and sat outside, waiting for him to make a wrong move. You readied your gun, jerking to attention when you heard glass shattering. You looked back up to see the lights in Kurt’s apartment were off.

Dean breathed out, “What the—?” and you motioned for him to follow you up the fire escape. You hurried into Kurt’s apartment through the shattered window only to find Madison over the top of Kurt’s mauled body. She turned her electric blue eyes toward you and growled, bearing sharp, bloody fangs. She lunged at you, throwing you to the ground. Dean shot at her and missed, and you used her distraction to get a knick in at her arm just above her elbow with a knife you had stored in your sleeve. She howled in pain and ran out the open window. 

“Motherfucker,” you cursed, uncocking your gun. “Dean, start wipin’ down your prints, we gotta get outta here,” you told him. He tossed you a handkerchief and you took care of the floor where you’d been knocked down by Madison, the fridge from when you’d first gone to investigate Kurt’s house, the countertops; everything. When you were done, Dean helped you climb out of the window without touching the sill or knicking your legs on a piece of broken glass. 

As the morning sun rose, you called Sam. 

Sam’s immediate response to your call was, “You guys okay?” 

“Yeah. It’s Madison, Sam,” you said, cutting straight to the chase.

“What?” he asked.

“Yeah. How’d she get out without you noticing?” you questioned.

“(Y/N), I’ve been here the whole time. She’s in bed, asleep.”

“Well, she wasn’t an hour ago. Check her right arm below her elbow. I nicked her with a silver knife,” you told him.

Sam hung up the phone immediately after. You instructed Dean to go to Madison’s apartment, and he did so. You knocked on the door of her apartment, and the door opened to reveal an upset Sam and Madison tied to a chair by her wrists.

“How you doin’?” Dean smirked bitterly, strolling into the apartment.

“We’ve gotta talk,” Sam told the both of you firmly. You eyed him questioningly as he led you and his brother into another room. “She says she has no idea what I’m talking about.”

“She’s lying,” Dean responded simply.

“Or maybe she really doesn’t know she’s changing, you know? Maybe— maybe when the creature takes over, she blacks out,” Sam argued.

Dean deadpanned, “Like a really hot Incredible Hulk. Come on, dude, she ganked her boss and her ex-boyfriend. That doesn’t sound rash and unconscious.”

“Yeah, but what if it was, Dean? I mean, what if some animal part of her brain saw both those guys as threats? Hell, the cop, too.”

The older brother scoffed. “What are you, the Dog Whisperer now?”

“Look, man, I just… I don’t know, there, there, there was something in her eyes.”

“Sam, don’t let your attraction to her cloud your judgment,” you stated.

He scoffed. “You know I don’t do that.”

“Do you? This isn’t seeming like a completely rational argument, dude,” you argued calmly.

“(Y/N), I just think it may be something she has no control over. You can believe me or not—”

Dean cut Sam off. “Even if she’s telling the truth, it’s not gonna change anything. She can’t control it. That’s bad news.”

“I’m not putting a bullet through some girl’s chest who has no idea what’s happening,” Sam argued, voice rising slightly.

“Sam, she’s a monster, and you’re feeling sorry for her?” questioned Dean.

“Maybe I understand her.” Sam paused, and his voice quieted down. “Look, there might be another way we can get the job done without having to waste her.”

“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” Dean asked.

Sam seemed to understand and took his dad’s journal out of his jacket. “Dad’s theory – ‘lycanthropy might have a cure if you kill the werewolf who bit you, severing the bloodline’.”

“Might have a cure,” Dean emphasized. “Meaning ‘who the hell knows’?”

“I’m not sure about this one, guys—” you sighed, scratching your neck.

Sam shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

“We don’t even know where to start looking, all right? I mean, the puppy that bit her could be anyone, anywhere. It could’ve been years ago,” Dean replied.

Sam seemed to realize something. “No. I don’t think so.” He led you back into the room where Madison was still tied up. “Madison, when were you mugged?”

She seemed not to want to answer. Either she really had no clue what was going on, or she was a damn good actress.

“Please. It’s important, all right? Just answer the question,” Sam begged.

Reluctantly, she said, “About a month ago.”

“Did you see the guy?” the younger brother pressed further.

“No. He grabbed me from behind.”

“Did he bite you?”

Madison seemed taken aback. “How did you know that?”

“Where?” Sam continued, ignoring her question. 

She still looked scared, but was honest anyway. “On- on the back of my neck.” 

Sam showed her he was setting his gun down and slowly moved behind her. He gently brushed her hair away and exposed a scarred lump on the back of her neck.

“Oh, that’s just a love bite,” Dean snarked. “Believe me, that could have been a lot worse. Where were you at the time?”

“Walking home from a friend’s loft,” she said.

“Let me guess. Not too far from Hunter’s Point?” Sam questioned.

Madison nodded, eyes bleary in confusion. You could tell some of this was beginning to make sense to her, and agreed to sit with her while the boys went into another room to talk.

“So… you really have no idea, do you?” you asked, sitting in a chair across from her.

She didn’t answer you.

Your tone immediately shifted. “Look, lovebug, I don’t think you get what’s going on here. I’m gonna need you to answer my questions, okay?” 

She scoffed. “What, about the fact that you guys think I’m a fucking werewolf? You realize you sound insane, right?”

“You’re a pretty good actress, I’ll give you that,” you said. “And… if you are telling the truth, I’m sorry. I’m sure you didn’t ask for this.”

She was silent for another moment.

“But you have to understand how this all looks, okay?” you continued. “People that are connected to you— Kurt, the lawyer that was creepin’ on you— they wind up dead. Then, you attack me after you kill Kurt, and things are just supposed to be all hunky-dory now? Just because you say you can’t remember?”

You seemed to have grabbed her attention. “Kurt’s dead? Oh, my god.” She began to cry softly.

You were conflicted. She seemed to be genuinely reacting to what you were saying, and you wanted to believe her. However, every instinct within screamed at you to put a silver bullet through her chest. “Madison… can you at least understand how this looks to me? Whether you think I’m crazy or not, do you at least see where I’m coming from?”

She laughed humorlessly through her tears. “You mean, if I was a deluded psycho who pretends to be a cop hunting for monsters? Yeah, I’d understand where you’re coming from.”

The boys emerged from the room. “Alright, (Y/N), you’re with me,” Dean asserted. 

*** You and Dean went to Hunter’s Point, the werewolf that had “mugged” Madison’s assumed hunting grounds, and searched for the monster. You heard a woman scream, and the two of you ran in the sound’s direction. The woman, presumably a hooker, was being dragged across the pavement by her ankles toward the werewolf.

“Hey!” Dean called. 

When the creature looked up, you and Dean shot at it multiple times; each hit landing in the center of the creature’s chest. The hooker immediately scrambled away, not even sparing a glance to you and Dean.

“Hey, don’t mention it!” Dean called after her.

“Take it easy,” you scolded. “She’s scared.”

The two of you turned back to the dying creature on the ground, and you discovered it was Glen, Madison’s neighbor.

“It happened... again,” Glen coughed. 

You knelt beside him.

“Where am I?” He asked you. “H–help me. Oh, god. Oh my god.” He choked again, coughing up blood. 

“Alright, easy, Glen. Just take it easy,” Dean told the man.

You and Dean watched as the older man’s eyes glazed over and his shuddering subsided. Your heart almost broke for him; he truly seemed to not understand what was happening to him.

***

The morning after laying Glen to rest, you and the brothers sat outside Madison’s apartment in the Impala. You planned to wait out there till the next morning to see if Madison transformed, or if you really had cured her. 

Dean was explaining Glen’s death to Sam. “It was sort of sad, actually. Glen had no clue what was going on. Hey, why do you think he turned Madison instead of just killing her in the first place?”

“I don’t know. I mean, he kind of seemed to have a thing for her,” Sam suggested.

“Maybe his primal instinct did, too. Maybe he was looking for a little, uh, hot breeding action.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“So?” you questioned, leaning over the back of the seat.

Sam eyed you quizzically. “So what?”

“Madison…?” you urged.

“Oh, whatever.”

You lightly shoved his shoulder. “Don’t ‘whatever’ me, kid, you liked her.”

“(Y/N/N), she thought I was a stark-raving lunatic,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, a stark-raving lunatic that saved her life,” you challenged.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that.”

Madison suddenly appeared at Sam’s rolled-down window. “You know, for a stake-out, your car’s a bit conspicuous. What are you still doing here?”

“Honestly? Uh, we’re pretty sure you’re not gonna turn tonight, but we’ve gotta be a hundred percent, so… you know, we’re… lurking,” explained Dean.

“I know this sounds crazy—” Sam began.

Madison cut him off. “Sure does. Well, if we’re gonna wait it out… we might as well do it together.”

She led you and the brothers back up to her apartment. Madison seemed to hesitate before she spoke once inside. “You were telling the truth, weren’t you? About everything. What you did— it was to help me.”

Sam nodded.

“I did all of those horrible things,” she said remorsefully, “when I turned.”

“You didn’t know,” coaxed Sam.

“So, when will we know for sure? Moonrise?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” the brunet answered. “You turned middle of the night last night. I think we’ve gotta hang in until sun-up.”

You watched Sam carefully, and Dean gave a tiny nod. “Well,” the older brother began, “it looks like we’ve got ourselves a few hours to kill. Poker, anyone?”

“Always,” you said. 

***

Several games later, the sun sank, and the moon rose. Dean laid his gun on the table, and Madison and Sam watched him with unease.

“Oh, no, you guys talk,” Dean chuckled awkwardly.

***

Hours later, the sun came up.

“Does— Does this mean it worked?” Madison asked hopefully.

Sam sighed in relief. “Yeah. I think so.”

Madison threw her arms around Sam. “Oh, God, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Dean cleared his throat, and you jabbed him with your elbow at his interruption of their moment. 

Madison laughed. “You, too, Dean. Thank you. Same to you, (Y/N).”

You nodded. “Well, Dean and I have some, uh… stuff to go do.” You pulled on the older brother’s jacket, lugging him out of the room. “Bye, Sam, bye, Madison.”

“Smooth,” Dean commented once you were out of the door.

“Look, I didn’t wanna be in there any longer than necessary. Room stunk of sexual tension,” you chided.

“Between me and you, or Sam and Madison?” he smirked.

You scoffed, “Smooth,” mocking his earlier statement. 

***

As soon as the door to the motel room was shut, Dean’s lips were on yours. You shoved his back against the door, pushing his jacket down his shoulders. You bit his bottom lip eagerly, and he moaned into your mouth.

“(Y/N), what are you doing to me,” he groaned.

“Shut up,” you ordered, tugging his hair harshly. You shoved him down onto the bed and teasingly ghosted your lips over his clothed chest all the way up his neck and stopped just before his lips. He tried to lean up to kiss you, but you wouldn’t let him. 

“Stop teasing,” he growled, almost sounding pitiful.

You tsked. “You didn’t ask very nicely.” You rolled your hips over the hardening bulge in his jeans, and he groaned again. 

“(Y/N), please,” he whined.

“There’s my boy,” you grinned, leaning forward to kiss him. His hands were all over you in an instant, and you kissed down his neck. You got his shirt off before taking his pants off and palmed him through his boxers.

“(Y/N), stop it,” he begged.

“Stop what?” You took your hand off, worried you’d done something wrong. 

“Teasing,” he whined. “Just touch me, please.”

You’d never seen him so spaced out before. The shit-eating grin returned to your face, and you went back to dragging your fingers along the underside of his shaft through his underwear. “I am touching you,” you playfully said.

He thrusted up into your hand. “Oh, god, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually,” you cooed. 

“(Y/N), please suck my dick. Please, sweetheart. I need you,” he begged.

“Atta boy,” you said, happily taking his boxers down his hips. You began teasing the tip of his penis with your tongue before taking the whole thing into your mouth. You sucked on him earnestly, and his hips stuttered, trying to thrust up into you. You held his hips down firmly, but couldn’t keep his hand from winding in your hair. You felt he was close to ejaculation and quickly took your mouth off him. 

“What the fuck?” he questioned, chest heaving.

You gripped the base of his cock harshly. “Watch your mouth,” you said lowly. 

“Oh, god, sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

You grinned at the thought of having such a tough and strong man turning to absolute putty in your hands. 

“I-I wanna touch you. Please,” Dean heaved, clawing at your shoulders.

You slinked up his body, sitting gently on his stomach. Dean pushed your shirt up, running his hands underneath it to get to your breasts. He groaned as he squeezed one in each hand, and you threw your head back at the feeling of him tweaking your nipples.

“Sweetheart,” he started, “Ride my face. Please.”

Heat flooded between your thighs at the thought. “Okay,” you said, suddenly feeling nervous. You pushed your jeans off and hovered over his face. You were afraid to settle onto him completely, but that trepidation was quickly subdued by Dean grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto his lips, his large hands firmly keeping you there. You moaned instantly when his tongue immediately found your clit, sucking harshly. 

You eagerly rolled your hips against him, half trying to escape the immense pleasure and half trying to move toward it. Your orgasm approached quickly, and you screamed his name as you came.

When he finally released you, you moved off him to reveal a shit-eating grin spread across his glistening face. You gathered up the slick that had collected on his mouth with two of your fingers and shoved them into his mouth, and he sucked them harshly. You got back on top of him, settling right over his hardened dick.

“You ready for me, baby?” you asked.

He responded by thrusting against you, catching you off-guard. You gasped and lined up with his cock before slamming down onto him. You rolled your hips in time with his, and he pulled you down to his lips to kiss you. Dean’s erratic thrusts were making you dizzy, and he soon rolled over on top of you to finish getting the both of you off. You dug your nails into his shoulders, and he buried his face in your neck as the two of you came together.

Gasps and moans filled the room around you as you both rode out your highs. Dean stayed fully inside you, even after he came, and adjusted the two of you to where you were lying on his chest with his dick still inside you. Completely content, you fell asleep on top of Dean. 

*** The next morning, you woke up before Dean as usual. His cock had softened, but was still nestled firmly inside you. You gingerly slid off him and moved to go get showered and dressed, only to have him grab your hand as you tried to step away to get a fresh set of clothes. 

He hummed, “Morning,” and pulled you back down to him.

You giggled and yelped as you came crashing down back to the bed next to him and pecked his lips. “Hi, handsome.”

He kissed you again. “Y’know,” Dean started, kissing you once more. “I’ve never—” kiss, “—let anyone—” kiss, “—besides you—” kiss, “—do that to me.” 

“Well, good. I’m happy to be the one and only,” you smiled against his lips, standing once more.

Just as you and Dean had finished getting dressed and were going to head for some breakfast, there was a pounding on the door. You opened it to reveal a completely breathless Sam.

“ She— she turned,” he said.

“What?” you asked, shocked.

“I couldn’t grab her in time,” he continued sadly.

Dean came up behind you and put a hand on your waist to let you know he was there. “We’ll find her, Sammy.”

Sam continued to panic as you headed down to the Impala. He told you Bobby knew severing the bloodline wouldn’t work, and any other hunter he’d called said there was no way to cure a werewolf.

“How come she didn’t turn when we were with her?” Dean asked. 

“Dean—” Sam began.

Dean cut him off. “So, what, you put her to bed and then she wolfed out? Maybe she’s gotta be asleep to turn.”

“What the hell does it matter, Dean? Look, we’ve gotta find some way to help her, some legend we missed or something.”

“Sam, I don’t think so, man,” you chimed in. “Somebody would’ve known about it.”

“Well, then we have to look harder! Until we find something,” he protested, welling up with tears.

“Sammy, I don’t think we’ve got a choice here anymore,” Dean sighed. “I hate to say it. She’s a sweet girl, but part of her is—”

Sam cut him off. “Evil? Yeah, that’s what they say about me, Dean! So me you won’t kill, but her, you’re just gonna blow away?”

Before Dean could argue, Sam’s phone rang. “Madison, where are you?”

Upon hearing that, you and the brothers quickly got to and into the car without needing to say a word to each other. “Alright, hold on, Maddie. We’re coming to get you, just stay where you are,” Sam told her before hanging up the phone.

*** Back in Madison’s apartment, she sat clad in a shirt Sam had been wearing the day before at her kitchen table. Dean’s favorite gun sat before her, and she eyed it, emotionless. “I don’t remember anything. I probably killed someone last night. Didn’t I?” she asked hesitantly.

“We don’t know that yet,” you reminded her.

The brunette looked up to Sam. “Is there something else we can try to make it go away?”

“We’ll find something. I mean, there’s gotta be some answer, somewhere,” Sam tried.

Dean’s voice rumbled through the air. “That’s not entirely true. Madison, you deserve to know. We’ve scoured every source. There’s just no cure.”

Madison turned back to Sam and then looked over to you. “Is— Is he right?”

The younger Winchester stood and turned away, choked up.

“We thought about tying you up, but one day, you’re gonna bust out,” you told her. “And then… someone else dies.” You paused thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. I am.”

“Me too,” Dean added.

Shakily exhaling through her tears, Madison resigned herself. “So, I guess that’s all there is to it, then.”

Sam turned back to her. “Stop it. Don’t talk like that.”

Your heart broke at the sight of Madison picking up the gun and walking it over to Sam. “Sam, I don’t wanna hurt anyone else. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Put that down,” he begged.

“I can’t do it myself. I need you to help me.”

A tear slipped down Sam’s cheek. “Madison, no.”

“Sam… I’m a monster.”

“You don’t have to be. We could find a way, alright? I can. I’m gonna save you,” he said, although you know he didn’t believe what he was saying.

“You tried,” she sighed, crying harder. “I know you tried. But this is all there is left. Help me, Sam. I want you to do it. I want it to be you.” 

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“I don’t wanna die. I don’t,” she continued. “But I can’t live like this. This is the way you can save me. Please. I’m asking you to save me.”

Sam shook his head again, and Madison watched him intently. Cautiously, Dean walked up behind Madison and gently took the gun from her. Sam immediately stormed off to another room.

You exchanged a look with Dean before following his younger brother. 

“Sam,” Dean said, holding up the gun. “ I’m sorry.”

The brunet shook his head, still crying. “No, you’re right. She’s right.”

“Sammy, I got this one. I’ll do it,” Dean replied bravely.

“She asked me to.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. Please.” He held out his hand for the gun, tears flowing steadily now. Dean couldn’t seem to manage handing it to him, and you carefully took it from his hand. Sliding a hand up Dean’s back to comfort him, you held the gun out to Sam. 

Standing with Dean, rubbing circles over the middle of his back with your thumb and tucked into his side, you watched Sam walk out of the room.

“Just wait here,” he told you. His whole body tremored, and his face shone with tears. He hesitated a moment before moving toward the other room. 

Now that it was just the two of you, Dean clutched your hip harder and allowed a tear to roll down his cheek. You stood by him silently, allowing him to allow himself to feel for a brief moment. And then, you flinched at the horrible sound of a single gunshot coming from the next room. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[pinkaditty]

He Knows

(Subaru Kagami x MC X Haku Kusanagi; Tokyo Debunker)

omg guess who's back!!!!! im posting porn as per usual. 2day's porn is about tokyo debunkers!! recently started playing that game and WOW haku kusanagi has stolen my heart holy shit man. i picked him and then proceeded 2 watch him jump off a burning ledge it was really something!!! anyways the more of him i saw the more of him i just ended up liking. like when i found out he's left handed i jus melted on impact bro wtf's wrong with me. anyways here have the result of my 72 hour long haku kusanagi brainrot: porn.

summary: haku's been avoiding you. it's because you're with subaru all the damn time. it's only at a party where you're in close proximity that things get... interesting.

a/n: note that the tokyo debunkers characters have no confirmed ages. i am running on the assumption that, since they refer to themselves as adults in the game, drink, smoke, and gamble that they are at least in the college student age range. also, i have never heard of a high school with a chancellor. typically it's universities that have those. i am running on the assumption that all characters are at least 18 years of age. if canon ages come out and turn out to be lower, i will delete this! thank you <3

cw: MINORS DNI, suggestive, no real smut happening but u get kinda close, mostly buildup tbh, self-indulgent (pls like this i spent hours writing it), gn!mc bc mc isn't described physically at all, strongly implied sexual relations, semi-public?, slight cucking if u wanna call it that?, subaru x reader x haku yea

MINORS DNI!!!!! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY. THANK YOU.

Casino parties in Sinostra were a lot different from Frostheim parties. 

Where Frostheim parties were the peak of elegance; blue and white and silver, the mood just as frosty as the scenery, the dress code limited to the finest silks and satins, the food limited to the neatest hors d'oeuvres, and the conversation limited to humble whispers; Sinostra parties were the peak of gaucheness; all colors gaudy and neon, the mood joyful and jubilant and raunchy, the dress code ranging from evening dresses to last week’s uniform, the food being whatever was served at the nearest table, and the conversation loud and constantly overlapping. If you asked Haku, he didn’t have a preference. Parties were parties. It didn’t matter what kind.

He was here to have a good time. That was somewhat dampened when he realized he’d have no choice but to hang around you. He���d been avoiding you for a reason, after all.

It had been recently when he realized why his heart thrummed like a drum when you were nearby, the beat loud and monotonous in his ears. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one he’d scarcely felt, and when he realized what it was, he almost didn’t believe it was genuine. Sure, you were attractive, but all his flirting was, at best, to get your attention and to mess with someone cute. Who doesn’t like attention from an attractive person? He blew it off for the longest time, chalking it up to nerves at how you would respond to his brazen flirting, or perhaps surprise when you would talk to him with a sincere glint in your eye. It was crazy, falling for someone who might be doomed to die, but it was like he couldn’t help himself. Something about how you kept going, even despite that, accepting your potential fate but seeking a way to rewrite it all the same—it impressed him. You had the resilience of a ghoul, a will strong enough to devour a curse. So be it. He promised to himself from the moment he saw Taiga attempt to throw you out of the train window that he wouldn’t let you succumb to such horrors just yet. He had thought that, with the mesmer matches, his promise would be fulfilled. But when your eyes shined with recognition upon meeting his gaze again on that train, he knew he’d bitten off far more than he could chew. So be it. His fate was sealed, as it always had been. 

And, of course, like any romance story, you’d gotten quite close with another guy, Subaru. The odd pangs in his heart rang quite clear through his head when he saw the two of you walking together on campus yet again, or sitting together at mealtimes yet again, or when you’d come by Hotarubi to visit him yet again. He felt childish, feeling an odd jealousy bubbling up in him that he immediately tried to tamp down. He didn’t like feeling that way, not at all. He figured he’d have to rid himself of this somehow, so he distanced himself. Yet, the pull towards you was still strong and hard to ignore.

And then he started falling for you, harder, even after he’d implemented distance, completely unplanned. So, yeah, being here with you after weeks of attempting to avoid your presence after such a revelation was something of a downer. And, super awkward. But whatever, he could take it. He didn’t want to walk aimlessly around this party and see something he shouldn’t, so he was stuck with his dormmates, particularly Subaru, who was stuck—albeit, happily—with you. 

The party was going alright so far. The alcohol had given him a light buzz, enough to at least alleviate his nerves, and relax just slightly. He sank into the couch he sat on, adjacent to the bar. Next to him was Subaru, next to Subaru was Zenji, and next to Zenji was you. At least there was some distance, but his eyes met yours in fleeting glances quite often. It was minimally frustrating, but the buzz helped him ignore it. You were engaged in friendly, flamboyant conversation with Zenji, Subaru seemed a little shifty, though that could be chalked up to being in a loud environment, and Haku was leaning back, swirling his drink in his hands. The endless noise of loud voices and gambling wins and losses echoed in his ears as he did all he could to refrain from indulging much more. But your presence wasn’t exactly helping. 

He turned back to you, to give you another fleeting glance, but his eyes landed on Subaru instead. He seemed a little out of it, his skin shining in the low light with a thin layer of sweat, his breathing heavy and laboured, his face flushed a bright pink. Haku stared at him curiously, concern creasing his eyebrows and quirking his lips downwards. He reached a hand out to gently pat Subaru on the shoulder, who flinched suddenly. Haku looked at him quizzically, his eyebrows furrowing further. “You good?” He examined Subaru’s condition further, noticing his bangs beginning to stick to his forehead from the sweat. “Do we need to leave?”

Haku’s mumbled queries gained the attention of Zenji, who glanced over his shoulder. Upon seeing Subaru’s state, he frets, turning towards him and grabbing his chin, tilting his head back and forth. Haku wished he wouldn’t do that, and hoped onlookers assumed Subaru was just shaking his head. Not that anyone would be looking in this direction, anyway. He notices you curiously peering over Zenji’s shoulder. You showed no signs of concern, rather interest.

“Oh my! Are you alright? You’re quite flushed!” Zenji’s voice was pitched with worry, as he further examined Subaru’s face. “Did you perhaps—ah, but you’re not holding anything…” Zenji tapped his fingers to his lips, his eyebrows furrowing with concern. Subaru shook his head at both Zenji and Haku, and waved his hand.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Haku heard a slight tremor in Subaru’s voice.

“Are you sure?” Zenji pressed, leaning towards Subaru, his eyes searching his face for any signs of further ailment.

“I’m fine! Please, enjoy yourselves.” To his credit, Subaru hid the tremor this time, but Haku could still sense something was wrong. However, he decided to let it go, assuming that they wouldn’t be here much longer. 

He took note of your lack of concern. He found it odd, but didn’t think on it much. You were close with Subaru, but maybe not as close as he thought. He hated how the thought of the two of you not being as close planted a seed of hope in his heart. Still, wasn’t concern a normal reaction to a friend being ill?

Haku let it go. They’d be out of here soon, anyway. 

Time seems to crawl by and speed up at the same time, the chaotic haze of the party warping his perception of time. Before he knows it, he’s on his second drink, even after internally swearing he wouldn’t overindulge. And before he knows it, he’s lost count of how many times he’s glanced your way, each time holding your gaze longer than the last. His pining was ridiculous. He felt like a teenager. And the drink in his hand was only a reminder of his low self-control, further shaming him. He sighs and places it down on the table in front of the couch, promptly leaning back in his seat. Once he falsely settles in, his finds his eyes drifting to you again. He quickly snaps his gaze away, but not before he spots Subaru’s quivering figure out of the corner of his eye. He turns to him again, concern once again etching itself into his expression. 

Subaru was trembling now, slouching just slightly, which was unlike him. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe normally, and he was sweating more now, more of his bangs stuck to his forehead. Instead of the modest blush pink his face had been before, he was now a bright red, color spreading from his cheeks to his ears and even to his neck. Alright, this was too much. Even Haku knew Subaru was pushing himself too far. He sat upright and gently placed a hand on Subaru’s back, to which he flinched again. Haku’s concern quickly turned to worry, and his hand moved to Subaru’s shoulder instead, leaning closer to him. He could feel the heat radiating off of him. “Hey, Subaru.” Subaru turned to him, still heaving and blinking at him blearily. “...We should go.” Subaru promptly shook his head, despite his body still trembling. The movement alerted Zenji yet again, who turned to Subaru, noticing his trembling form.

“My goodness, look at you!” Zenji grabbed Subaru’s face, squishing his cheeks. “Are you well? Do we need to take you to Montkranken?” Haku sighed as Subaru shook his head again, stubborn as a mule on this.

“N-No, I swear I’m fine, truly.” His voice shook audibly. Haku had half a mind to take him to Montkranken by force, but knew that no good would come of making Subaru any more uncomfortable. 

Zenji hesitantly let go of Subaru’s face, staring at him dubiously. He carefully inspected him, checking his complexion and forehead. As Zenji flitted back and forth around Subaru, Haku found his gaze once again slipping towards you. This time he didn’t stop it, deciding to let it go so he could hold your gaze at least once more before he shifted his full focus to Subaru. However, he notices you aren’t looking at Subaru, or Zenji, or him. You’re staring off to the left, as though watching the people of the party. He’s confused. Why are you so nonchalant about this? Even before, no concern was on your face, mere interest. And now, it’s like you couldn’t care less. It didn’t seem quite like you not to care about one of your friends. It was quite confusing and frustrating, watching you act so nonchalantly, hardly noticing Subaru’s ailment. But, whatever. Maybe you were just distracted. As he turns his gaze back to Subaru, about to gently encourage him to stand so they could leave, he notices your hand moving out of the corner of his eye. Your hand disappears into your pocket and shifts a bit more. Simultaneously, Subaru lurches forward, grunting. His whole body was trembling now, and his fingers dug into his arms as he desperately tried to keep it together. Zenji immediately leans over, placing a hand on Subaru’s back. Haku feels a rush of panic and leans towards him. “Subaru! What’s—”

Haku stops in his tracks. On the side of Subaru’s neck, facing Haku, there were small red and purple bruises. For a moment, Haku’s confused. What are those markings on the side of his neck? And what’s got him so—

Out of nowhere, something clicks. 

As Zenji continues fussing over Subaru, Haku slowly lifts his gaze to you. He finds your gaze boring straight into him. A shock runs down his spine. 

No. No way.

Haku watches as you smirk at him and you pull something out of your pocket, purposely angling the object so only he could see it. It is something very closely resembling a remote. His eyes flick between the remote and your face, your eyes still holding him captive. He tears his gaze away from you and the remote, and turns to Subaru’s trembling form, Zenji fussing over him. He turns back to you, observing the wicked smile on your face. This can’t be real, right?

He watches as your smirk widens, and you press a button on the remote, slipping it back into your pocket. 

Subaru groans, crumpling further forward, immediately pressing a hand to his mouth to muffle his voice. Haku studies him carefully, watching his expression. Subaru’s eyes roll back just once and the corner of his lips turn upwards in a smile, peeking behind his palm pressed tight against his mouth. 

Oh. Oh god.

Something akin to heat pools in Haku’s lower abdomen. He finds himself gripping the cushion of the sofa he’s sitting on so hard his knuckles turn white. Haku swallows thickly, and jerks his gaze back up to you, finding your gaze boring straight into him once again. Subaru’s muffled grunts grow louder, and now that he knows it’s out of pleasure and not pain, Haku feels the urge to squirm. He feels warm all of a sudden, his own body beginning to tremble with nerves and heat. His lips part as he breathes heavily, his gaze flickering from you, to your pocket, to Subaru, and back to you. Maybe it was a bad idea to have so much alcohol. Your gaze, the knowledge of what was really going on, and Subaru’s grunts—which were quickly evolving into moans, further confusing Zenji—all made quite a potent concoction, and with the alcohol running through his system, it really only served to shame him further yet again. 

Shame is all he can think about… Even as a tent forms in his pants.

a/n: YIPPEE!!!!!!! i finished at long last

also here have this fuckass meme i made thinkging abt all the fics im writing atm:

i guess i have a niche. my roommate literally asked me as i was telling her abt this fic "is it gonna be cuckold" and i was like "WHATEKSLSJK?!?!?!??!" and then i realized. i write a lot of these fics and call them all self-indulgent. is something wrong with me?

anyways wrapping this up!!!!!!! note that i appreciate likes, reblogs, and comments!!! please, tell me all about how much you enjoyed my work, if you did!!!! i really like when people tell me they loved it bc it encourages me 2 keep going ahhhh!!! until next time, readers!!!!!

[frostironfudge]

I Need You To Listen - Steve Rogers

Summary: For @the-slumberparty 's Week 3 Something New Challenge, I went with the medium mode - sex pollen but with exes to lovers. This took alot of work I ended up rewriting it entirely, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 7.4k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, angst, smut, fluff, sex pollen, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, love bites, steve rogers dirty talking (this man), swearing, nipple play, past is in italics, sort of a post civil war rewrite so we're going completely off canon

Main Masterlist || AO3

Fate works in the most hilarious of ways, a stubbed toe over here and a broken heart still being nursed over there. 

Tony Stark stands in front of your cell, staring at you through the glass. You don’t hold back your tears from him. Disappointment colours his features. 

Broken pieces of trust lay scattered on the floor. The damage by him was done. Leaving you to bear the brunt. Leaving you to walk on the jagged edges of the broken family. 

A family that shared jokes, laughed, drank and protected each other. 

Won together. 

Lost together. 

In the past few days died together. 

“How are you holding up?” His arc reactor gleams as he takes a seat on the stool. Unzipping the jacket he wears his arm in a sling. You close your eyes, more tears fall at the memory of the fight. An involuntary shiver as the chiling bite of the cold manifests itself from your memory. 

The cell isn’t uncomfortable. There is a cot in the corner, the bathroom has a door. The sterile scent of the cleaning agent stopped giving you a headache hours ago. 

“Why are you asking me?” You look at him, he should be mad, he should yell, call you a traitor. 

“Contrary to what you all think and did to me, I trust you.” He shrugs, left eye twitching, he rolls his shoulder. 

“How is the arm?” Your gaze falls to it. 

“Seen better days. You know, heart troubles.” He looks at Wanda’s cell, “Kid, Vis is asking about you.” 

She looks up at him, “Is Rhodes alright?” 

Tony presses his lips into a thin line, shaking his head. 

Wanda looks down at her hands. 

“He tore us apart. That Baron Zemo. I know you have a lot to learn, alot to grieve. The accords may be dissolved. I’m working on it. At SI we’re  preparing the bail documents.” He informs you all. 

Sam scoffs, “What about Cap and Barnes?” 

“James is in recovery as per my last conversation with T’Challa. Where Cap and Nat are I do not know nor does he.” Tony gazes back at you. 

“I trusted him.” Is all you can say to him. You stare at your palms, you couldn’t get the blood off. 

“I know, I did too.” 

“Tony.” Your lips quiver another sob at the heartbreak Steve left you with to deal. All alone. 

Bucky fights Tony, you don’t want to see your best friend hurt. The man who took you under his wing when you joined in, your steps halted by the blonde haired man who harbours your heart. 

“Sign the accords.” Steve orders, you gape at him. 

“Steve, do you fucking realise? We’re here because I didn’t sign them because I am siding with you?” You almost yell. The tempreture drops as the snow cascades into the facility from the now broken windows. 

Bucky lands on the floor, a pained groan, his arm blasted off. He kneels, eyes widened at the implication. At the man he hurt irreparablely being the one to take away one of the curses HYDRA bestowed upon him. 

“Shit!” Your eyes move to Tony, slowly he rises from the floor. The suit broken in several places. 

“Y/N, you need to listen. You cannot go rogue with me.” 

“Steve,” You push his arm away you had to intervene. 

“It was good while it lasted.” He says and everything turns to static. 

“Wh-what?” 

“Look, I, we had a good run but I know your stance on the accords you’re just with me for the sole reason we’re together.” Steve says to you. 

“Are you serious right now?” Anger courses through you, your grip on your pistol tightens. 

“It's not even the accords. I, I didn’t think we would make it beyond this month. Look, I have to think about Bucky. Its all of this, it doesn’t, priorities.” He lunges over to defend Bucky leaving you defenceless. Your ears ringing, you watch as they fight, you can’t hear any of the clangs the groans. 

You stand there dumbfounded. 

As Steve throws Tony down the beam reflects off of his shield and hits you on the shoulder you’re thrown against the wall. Bucky meets your eyes, at least he seems apologetic.  

Tony tries to get up to help you, “Rogers, she’s hurt—,” The shield slams against the arc reactor. 

“I don’t care.” He says so easily.

You pant as the pain increases, both the burn and sting of his words as well as the physical injuries manifesting across you. 

Steve helps Bucky up, you try to push yourself to your knees, crawling to Tony while keeping your arm close to your body. 

Bucky looks back at you, his eyes convey his remorse. Tony breathes hard, you blink back tears at the glance Steve doesn’t spare towards you. 

Eight months down the drain.

The morning kisses, cuddles, the random sketches of you he left as gifts all lose their importance. Remembrance only causes pain. 

“Mr. Stark, you need to leave.” 

Tony sighs, “I’ll visit, or I’ll have you guys out before that. Work some arrangement.” 

“I’m so sorry, Tony.” You look at his arm and back at his face. 

He gives you one of those sad smiles of his, the one where he pretends it's just another day, another common thing. 

“Aren’t you foolish to trust us again?” Sam questions him as Tony passes by his cell. 

“I just have to do my job. It’s the people who have to trust us.” Tony turns to face Sam. 

“So the people trust the missile maker millionaire Stark?” Sam knows the jab is stinging, Tony hated 

that about the company’s past. 

The rift was ever present, your friend looks towards you. 

“Y/N, let him know not to insult me, I’m a billionaire.” He grabs his glasses and moves away. 

You resist the urge to laugh, everyone would resort to their coping mechanisms. You’d have to bide your time here. Usually getting black out drunk was how you solved your own problems. 

True to his word Tony has you all released on various conditions. You, Scott and Wanda are released together. 

When you reach the tower it isn’t surprising that there was a break in, you’d scoff that Steve didn’t come to break you out but he made his decision in Siberia. 

The faint scent of his cologne lingers in your room. Hints of Patchouli and Bergamot. You stare at the box on your bed. 

Opening it reveals a burner phone. 

“I got a burner too, one number loaded upon it.” Tony stands at the door holding a glass of scotch for himself and your favourite Vodka in a bottle. 

“Surprised he bothered.” You open the phone and it chimes an unread text upon it. 

“I didn’t get that.” He observes, you take the bottle from him. 

Opening the text. 

SGR: I want to talk to you. Please let me explain. 

You laugh bitterly, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip. At least you can blame these tears on the alcohol. 

“Are you going to? Call him I mean.” Tony settles on your desk chair. 

“Nope.” You set your bottle down after three more sips, grabbing the edges of the opened flip phone you press. The phone snaps from its hinges and you place it back down in the box, “Did you track it?” 

“Fake return address.” He twirls the ice in his drink. 

The two of you bask in the silence. Drinking in tandem and out of sync. 

“Were you going to sign the Accords?” You ask after a while staring at the setting sun. 

“Nope,” He reaches for your bottle, pouring himself a peg, “I was having them redrafted. Steve only had to agree for them to shut up. My draft would have gotten approved.” 

“So confident.” You raise your brows. 

“Comes with the job title.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Do you think anyone will trust anyone?” You tap the bottle neck. 

Steve’s laughter reverberates against your chest. He reaches up to cup your face. 

“Why is it so amusing?” You ask, not meeting his eyes. 

“Because it is, Poppet. I wouldn’t break your heart.” He assures yet again. 

You gnaw at your bottom lip trust was difficult to come by for you. 

“You want to know why?” He whispers, making you meet his gaze. His nose brushing against your own. 

“Because I have your heart and it's what is keeping me alive.” 

You lean closer, pressing your lips to his, Steve kisses you back. Hands pulling you closer. You feel his smile between the kisses and you begin to retract knowing what he was upto but it’s too late. 

Steve tickles your sides and laughter blubbers from your chest. He grins, cheeks flushed as you press against him. The thin sheet hides nothing from the way you feel. 

“I love you.” He says, you stroke his cheek with your thumb.

“I loved him with everything in me.” You blubber out, tears falling down. 

Tony sits next to you, your head rests on his good shoulder, “I know you did. It's a hard road ahead, kid. Not an undoable one.” 

“I hate him.” You declare, “I hate him, he just, how could he be so selfish?” 

“Sometimes we all are, he is in the wrong. He didn’t exactly reciprocate the trust.” Tony sighs, you look up at him. 

“I’m sorry about your parents.” You watch him give you those sad smiles, he flexes and extends the fingers of his left hand. 

“He could have told me, I trusted him enough that he could.” He whispers then shakes his head. 

“Steve Rogers is an asshole.” You declare raising your bottle to his assholery. Then you giggle. 

“You just thought of the word assholery didn’t you?” Tony giggles as well. 

Both of you burst out laughing. 

“Hey Tone?” You ask mid laughter. 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being here, also can I get a box?”

“Sure.” He stands, FRIDAY has the box led by one of his tinkered bots to the room. 

“I need to check on Rhodey.” He says, “I’m a call away okay?” 

You nod, he leaves. The box stays on your bed and then you stare at the sketches hung around your room. With a delicateness that Steve didn’t spare towards you, you pack up the papers. Sealing the box with plastic wrap and head down to the safety deposit lockers. 

Your steps are misjudged and you drop your box of trinkets several times. The stupid ceramic mug from that couples pottery class probably shattered. 

You giggle thinking how it resembles your heart. 

Locking the box leaves you in silence. Your room is void of all things Steve except the one shirt he gave you on your first mission together where the two of you fell into the muddled waters that left the two of you in need to change out of clothes. 

The shirt smells like him, you curl up with it on your pillow. 

“This is the last time you gave your heart away.” You tell yourself. 

“This is the last time you cry over him.” You promise yourself. 

Eight months pass and you all sit in the conference room. The accords are abolished. They reinstate Natasha, Sharon, James, Sam and him. Tony holds his flip phone. Resorting to texting rather than speaking to him. 

A reply comes when you all are back at the tower. They’d be there tomorrow. Rooms are prepared with favourite foods stocked up. You had requested your room be shifted away to another level. 

Heart ache didn’t manifest beyond those few nights. 

Your walls that Steve Rogers broke down were built back stronger. Impenetrable. His shirt was placed in his room by you a month into getting over him. 

You don’t pass by the floor, you’re a level above. Thankfully the elevators divide the levels they service and you won’t ever be on the same floor as him. 

The night is restless despite your indifference to all of them. They were the family you chose and yet you were abandoned by them. 

Dreams are but a loop of memories you have buried. 

After your morning laps you head to Tony’s lab. 

“They will be dropping in at SHIELD first. Fury wants to discuss some things and then they come back here.” He stifles a yawn. 

“You need caffeine my friend.” You hold up the coffees, “Luckily I come bearing gifts.”

“I love you.” He whispers gingerly while taking the cup. 

“Are you talking to the coffee or me?” You ask, taking a sip of your own. 

“I can love both.” He defends, whispering to the coffee he loves it more. 

You throw one of his discarded paper balls on him. It doesn’t phase him. 

“Are you sure you want to come along?” He asks for the umpteenth time on the drive to SHIELD. 

“Tony, I will leave you behind if you ask me again.” You glare at him. 

“I think you will be fine.” Vision assures a gentle smile on his face and he laces his fingers with Wanda. She smiles at him, her own mind filled with thoughts. 

“See we’ll be okay.” You declare. 

Minutes later you’re seated on one side of the conference room. Tony on the first seat, you on the second. Vision opts to stand behind Wanda as she sits. 

Fury sits at the head of the table. The door opens and Natasha, Sam and Steve step into the room. A thick silence settles over. You look at each of them and then back at Fury. 

Natasha’s hair is shorter and blond, Sam seems to have gotten leaner. Steve was sporting a beard and longer hair. 

You wondered if the post break up look was something you should have gone for, maybe dyed your hair blue.

“Well, as you know you all have been reinstated. The Avengers operate without any Accords binding them but they must be mindful of their poweress and the possible damage they may cause. A country has full discretion to forbid the Avengers from subduing threats that may lead them there and you must honour that no matter the cost.” Fury gazes at you all. 

“What if they need help?” Steve questions, you scoff. 

Cold blues flash to you. You roll your eyes. 

“The dissolution of the Accords was done keeping this one rule in mind. I suggest you make peace with it. You will not be able to save everyone from damage and hurt, it is better than causing it.” Tony adds. 

Steve’s jaw tightens. He nods. 

“Now since this is done and dusted. Official missions may resume.” Fury places down a manila folder. 

“Official?” Sam questions, raising a brow. 

“Agent Y/L/N here was liasoning with us for recon purposes. Kept under wraps. We have identified HYRA bases. Once the plans are sanctioned you all will be back on duty.” Nick sighs, “I suggest you all train together to get a sense of your skill sets and moves again.” 

No one nods. 

Nick shakes his head leaving the room. 

“Your old rooms have been cleaned at the tower. Access is via FRIDAY, food is stocked. Layout’s almost the same. Few changes here and there. Oh and there are new succulents in the living room.” Tony fiddles with the folder. 

“We can conduct a meeting about these missions tonight or tomorrow. You all settle in, there is a car outside and your vehicles are in pristine condition at the garage.” He informs them further. 

“No welcome back party?” Nat muses, you laugh. 

“I drank all the liquor so unfortunately no parties.” You deadpan. 

Nat and Sam stare at you. 

“It has been a difficult few months. I understand everyone will take time to return to a semblance of previous normalcy.” Vision’s words are both reassuring but also farfetched. 

Wanda grasps his hand and gives it a squeeze. 

Steve’s brows furrow in worry. He observes you trying to find any hints but you give him none. You learned to school yourself. An agent well versed in hiding her intent, emotions and aim. Your skillset is what brought you to the team and it is what you have. It's what you could trust. 

Sam nods, “Well best we head back.” 

“Yes we could use some sleep.” Natasha says, you flash her a smile. 

“Yep, well I have a few things to discuss with Fury.” You push away from the table first. Tony follows your lead. 

“Should you not include us in the conversation?” Steve says in his authoritative baritone. 

“Unfortunately, Captain, it isn’t an Avengers matter but a personal one. Which you aren’t entitled to know.” You spit back. 

His mouth opens again to speak. 

Tony beats him to it, “Where’s our Manchurian candidate?” 

“Bucky’s in the UK for a bit, after Wakanda we were there for a while. He stayed back for personal reasons.” Steve explains and you slip out. 

Steve stares at your room door, knocking on it yet again. Two weeks since his return and you had avoided him in every capacity.

He had worked up the courage to knock on your door today. But there was no response as it was over the past fifteen minutes. He requests FRIDAY to check in and all the AI says is that you’re fine.

You had gotten back from a mission yesterday morning. You had to have been resting. 

“Why won’t she open her door then?” He mutters, pressing his forehead to your door, “Poppet, I just want to speak to you. Please.”

“Captain.” Vision greets floating out of Wanda’s room.

“Vision.” He acknowledges.

“Why are you knocking on an empty room’s door?” Vision tilts his head. 

Steve blinks at him, “This is Y/N’s room.” he states as if obvious.

“It isn’t, she switched rooms about three months ago.” Vision says

Before Steve can ask anything further, Wanda opens her door, “Vis.” She gestures with her hand for him to return.

“Wanda.” He walks to her this time.

“FRIDAY, where is Y/N’s new room?” Steve questions walking to the elevators. 

“She’s on the twenty-fifth floor.” The AI responds, he switches to the other elevator. 

“Captain, you will have to go to the ground floor to switch elevators.” FRIDAY informs him. 

Steve sighs moving back in front of the original elevator. It stops at every single floor; he almost misses the elevator as you’re getting on, luckily a Stark Industries employee holds the door for him. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. Looking away. 

“I want to talk.” He says over the all too silent but crowded elevator. 

Everyone looks at him except you. They follow his gaze to you. 

“I don’t.” You answer while staring at the numbers. 

“Poppet.” He says and you shoot him a glare before looking away again. 

People trickle in and out. 

Steve’s gaze is trained upon you. He nods politely at those greeting him but his gaze nerver strays from you. 

You look into your phone pulling up a forgotten game loaded into the device. Anything. Any stupid thing to avoid him. 

Finally it's just the two of you. 

The automated air freshener hisses filling the space with the scent of lavender. 

“Poppet I just want to explain—,” Steve steps closer, his hand outstretched. 

“No. I don’t fucking want to hear a word.” You seethe, you move forward pressing the button to your floor if it makes you reach quicker. 

“Poppet.” He grabs your hand, turning you towards him. 

“Y/N. Use my damn name.” You spit out, finally meeting his eyes. 

There is a tick in his jaw, he nods, “Y/N. Just five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it—,”

“You don’t deserve to even ask for a minute of my time. You never saw us work beyond that month correct? Well guess what? We don’t.” You push at his chest, he doesn’t budge. 

“I lied. I said those things so you wouldn’t follow. I could not have you living rogue with me.” Steve admits, you stare at him. 

“You lied?” You repeat. 

“I didn’t want to break things off but that was the only way I could ensure you wouldn’t follow behind me. It was dangerous. Poppet—Y/N,” he corrects, “I told you your heart kept me alive, I love you—,” 

Steve’s head snaps to the side, cheek turning red at the impact of your slap. You breathe hard, eyes tearing up. 

“That was not for you to fucking decide, you do not get to come back here and make your sorry excuses for being a horrible human being. Betraying my trust. Leaving me and your friend injured. You picked Bucky over us. You picked Bucky over me and I understand I would pick him too if I were you. But I would not fucking lie or leave my girlfriend and best friend behind injured horribly. You’re welcome back to the compound Steve. Even back to your glorious Captain America title. However,” 

The doors open to your floor, you step out. 

“I don’t know how you say you’re alive because I took my fucking heart back from your undeserving self. I don’t care if you lied, I don’t care if it was all fun and games. I don't care about you. I don’t want to care about you. You are a teammate because I am forced to consider you one. I don’t need to listen to you to provide you closure or a second chance. You fucking liar!” 

“Poppet,” Steve reaches for you again, you take off running to your door. 

“FRIDAY, deny access. Override only with Tony.” You order, the locks on your doors bolt and Steve keeps knocking and pleading. 

He sinks to his knees outside your door apologising over and over. 

Natasha is pinned to the floor by Wanda as the latter grins triumphantly. Natasha praises her and they break apart. You take Wanda’s place and Sam takes Natasha’s place. 

Mixed training was now mandatory. 

You had almost burned Nick Fury with your glare. Steve hadn’t shown up to any, in fact he hardly was in the same room as you. 

Sam goes full offence, you block the blows. Defending yourself you had worked hard over the time away from official duties. 

Minutes pass by, neither of you yields. Panting you stare at Sam waiting for an opening to take him down. 

“Come on, that's all you got, little spy?” Sam teases, you laugh. 

“You wish birdy.” You stick your tongue out childishly. Wanda and Nat laugh. 

“Come on Wilson.” Nat prompts, “We’re bored here.” 

“Alright,” Sam moves, pulling a fake. You catch it a moment too late, as he’s about to tackle you to the ground you turn. Tugging on his arm as Sam’s eyes widen. 

The momentum thrown off both of you land on your sides, recovering swiftly he’s pinned to the ground by you. 

You grin at him. 

“How's that birdy?” You laugh at his irritation. Sam rolls his eyes. 

“Y/N.” 

Everyone’s heads snap to the door, Steve and Tony stand there. 

You help Sam up. Sam keeps an arm around your shoulder. Steve’s eyes linger and his fists clench. 

Sam takes his arm away. 

You roll your eyes, they land on Tony as he bites his cheek, oh this can’t be good you deem. 

“Wheels up in an hour for Rogers and you.” He delivers the news. 

“Sam, Nat, Vis and Wanda are needed to take on a bigger base with Tony.” Steve looks at you, “Fury’s orders before you try to whine your way out if it.” 

You glare at him, “Alright.” 

An hour later you’re on the jet with Steve. He doesn’t talk. The last conversation between the two of you was enough. 

“We won’t be splitting up.” Steve informs you. You nod, studying the layout. 

You frown in recognition. 

“I was here on recon. This is supposed to be a dead base.” You look up at him. 

“Fury said they detected activity.” He looks back ahead. 

“Hopefully it's just random people looking for shelter.” You look back at the plans. 

Steve hums, observing you again. Wishing it would be like before where the two of you would be holding hands. 

Cobwebs litter the walls, plaster cracked. The scent of something decaying permeates through the space. 

Walking into the HYDRA base is carefully crafted, Steve leads with his shield. You keep a double check on the back trail. Something was not sitting right with you. 

The hallway diverges, you stand next to Steve, “Left side first then we can go right.” You whisper. 

He nods, “Stay close, I don’t know why something feels wrong.”

You don’t verbalise your own feelings, following in his footsteps. 

The hallway leads to an abandoned lab, the computers torn down and broken apart. Steve relaxes his defensive stance looking around the area. 

You move carefully through the edge of the room, “Something should be of value here.” 

“I don’t think there is anything.” Steve declares, “Let's clear the other pathway.”

You give another once over and then follow him back down the path. 

Your boot catches on the uneven flooring, “Shit!” You whisper yell as you fall forward. 

Steve turns, breaking your fall. You land against his chest and his arm encircles your waist. For a moment that echoes a broken promise of eternity he holds you close to him. 

Steve sneaks a moment he lost over a stupid decision. He takes what crumbs he’s given by fate. 

Your palm is against his chest, your head tucked against the crook of his neck. 

Why can't you move away?

Why do you want more of him? 

Why do you miss him? 

He hurt you. 

He lied. 

He hurt you. 

You break the eternity Steve was living as you pull away, silence stretches between the two of you as you head down the other hallway. 

It's empty yet again, you shake your head at the waste of time. Steve steps closer to the vials on the shelf. The liquid in them gleams a certain way. 

You hear a pneumatic hiss from your left. You turn quietly making your way to the wall. 

Steve studies the shelf again. There was no dust on it. No pattern on it. These were fresh vials. Then his eyes widened, “Y/N don’t!” 

You turn to face him when the hiss is louder and the slits of the vent open. A dust like substance pours over floating around you. 

A coughing fit grips you, you place your hand against the wall to steady yourself the gun falls as you clutch your chest wheezing. 

Steve pads over to you, trying to rub your back to ease the coughing fit. He asks FRIDAY to scan the micro dust to see if it is anything dangerous. 

The coughing fit subsides over a few minutes, your breathing shallow. You look up at Steve blinking away the tears. He cups your cheek.

“Are you okay? Do you feel anything?” He questions, gaze running over every aspect of you. Glove clad large palms moving over your form. You nod, but then your stomach cramps. 

“What is it?” Steve takes not of your discomfort. 

“I, it's my stomach—,” Your words are cut off by a whimper as the cramp gains severity. You lean more against the wall as the cramp travels across. 

Steve rummages through his mind to know what this substance could be, he had been to HYDRA bases before. He spoke to Bucky all about them, their experiments which he knew. 

He watches as your skin flushes, you squirm in his grasp. He steps closer to support you. 

“Poppet?” Steve makes you look up at him, your eyes have a dazed look almost glazed over. You feel his warmth through your tactical suit. His thigh between your legs and the ache the needy ache is all you know and you need to get rid of it. 

“Please,” You plead to him gazing at his slightly blurred blue eyes, your hips moving out of their own accord against his thigh you moan as your core makes contact with him. 

Steve pushes your hips away, “Poppet what—,” 

“Steve, it hurts so badly. Please,” You cry out wiggling against his hold. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you in place. 

Your palms cover his, you look up at him. 

You lean up, he shifts back. You use the distraction to guide his palm to grind down on it. Your choked moan has his cock harden further. He can’t help but watch as you use him. 

Logic hits him then when he feels just how wet you’ve gotten, before he can pull away there is a prick in the side of his neck. You begin to blur from his view. 

“Poppet, something is wrong.” 

You look up at him, why did his words sound garbled? 

Why was he falling to his knees? 

You look behind him, people standing and watching. 

The need clouding your mind clears in the slightest, “Steve,” you kneel next to him. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you, reaching for the shield. 

The cramp hits you again harder; you cry out in pain, doubling over and sinking against the wall to curl up. 

“FRIDAY, dis-distress signal.” Steve orders as his vision begins to blacken, he reaches for you with the last of his strength covering your curled up form with his body. 

Steve keeps his eyes closed. 

Enhanced hearing picking up the dripping pipes from the left. To his right he hears your pained whimpers. 

How long was he out?

Chains bind his arms above him, the uneven concrete digs into his knees and shins. He would search for the shield in the aftermath. 

He counts four people by their rhythmic footfall. They were in the same facility. It couldn’t have been easy to move them. 

Lolling his head to right he watches you through hooded eyes, chained like him kept on your knees but you’re struggling. Squirming on the ground trying to find respite and crying out of frustration. 

“Sex pollen.” Bucky spoke, with a shake of his head in disgust.

“Sex pollen?” Steve repeated as if to confirm. 

Bucky gives him a look, Steve’s eyebrows shot up higher. 

“What does that do? Did they use it on you?” Steve questioned his best friend. 

Bucky shook his head, “It basically sets the libido up to the maximum, forces the person in contact to orgasm but basically they need to have sex, self pleasure seldom works. The intensity is higher to combat the inevitable effect.” 

A dark expression crossed Bucky’s features, he sighed sadly. Looking out at the view from his home in Wakanda. The house, though borrowed, was Bucky’s own. 

Steve had placed a few sketches of Brooklyn around. The place he used to consider home now changed. Steve stares at the more recent sketch of his home city. 

Two men out of time in a place decades ahead of the world outside. 

“How long?” Steve clutches his charcoal tighter as he forms the curve of soft lips on the paper. A stray tendril of hair. 

Bucky looks down at the half done sketch of your face. His heart aches for Steve and you. 

“Two hours, it gets progressively maddening. At first one can try to speak or answer what is asked. After that it is variable how long it takes for the need to become the sole focus. If nothing is done in two hours then its too far gone and well...” 

He had limited time, he could not gamble any further. Steve opens his eyes, tugging at the restraints to catch the attention of the captors. 

You hear the rattling, you look up at Steve another pang through your core. 

“Steve—,” 

“Ah, Captain. Welcome to the land of the waking, you were out for just under an hour. Now who is this sweet little needy thing with you?” The man asks, stepping closer to you. 

Steve growls, “Stay away from her.” he warns. 

The man raises his hands in defence, “She’s a little needy Captain,” he walks back toward Steve away from you, “Why so possessive?” 

Steve bites his tongue, “She’s mine.” he grits out. 

“I see and why is she yours?” 

He can’t tell them, they would exploit you but his will is crumbling swiftly and his mind is compelling him to speak, “I love her.” 

“Hm, it seems she needs you, Captain.” The man grins, walking back to you. His palm touches your scalp as he pulls your hair back. You want to recoil but the touch is soothing some of the ache. You look at Steve, pleading.  

“I could fill in.” He says suggestively.

You try to shuffle away but the grip on your hair tightens. 

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” Steve bellows as his thumb approaches your lips, “What the fuck do you want?” He pulls against the restraints, almost snarling. 

“I want to know where my Soldat is, tell me.” The man demands, leaving you. The words register as does the scent of cigarettes you recoil. You feel your mind working again, clearing the need to be fucked. 

“Steve don’t,” you warn him, he couldn’t sell out Bucky whatever this was, it wasn't worth ruining his life again, “I’ll deal with this…” you bite back the pained whimper. 

Steve stares at you, eyes wide and with an emotion you can’t place. 

“Oh but you know what is wrong with her don’t you Captain?” The man demands and you look to Steve, “Tell her the truth that burns your veins, Captain.” 

Steve wants to lie, wants to cushion you, “Truth serum?” He looks at the man who nods.

“Brilliant isn’t it? You’re compelled to tell me whether or not she chooses to be saved. You’re on a time limit.” The man taps his watch. 

“It’s a sex pollen.” Steve informs you, you stare at him. 

“That, that's why I need?” Your insides churn and your clit pulses as you watch Steve lick his dry lips before he continues to speak. The small insignificant action has your body wanting to be devoured. 

“Yes, and if you don’t get release, it’s fatal.” 

Silence stretches on the footfall of the three others has stopped, they watch the show play out. The consequences and the outcomes weighed. 

“Fight it, don’t tell them. It's not worth it.” You whisper. 

“Poppet you cannot say that. I am not risking your life!” Steve yells, pulling at the restraints again. 

“You can’t have him at risk again!” 

“I won’t let you die!” 

“You already left me for the dead once! You chose him once. Just fucking do it again!” You seethe, your skin clammy and you just want this suit gone. The material irritates you. 

Steve gapes at you, “I, I didn’t—,”

“Save it.” 

“As much as I enjoy a lover’s quarrel. Where is Soldat?” The man interrupts. 

“Gone.” Steve answers, “Poppet, please,” 

“Don’t fucking tell them!” You demand, “Consider it my last wish! Fight the damn truth serum.” 

“You are not dying.” Steve grits out. 

“Where is he, where is Bucky Barnes?” The man lands a punch to Steve’s face. His hair falls forward, slowly Steve looks up at the man. Rage colouring all his features. 

“I will let you help her. Just tell me where Bucky is, Captain.” The man promises. Steve considers, you begin to yell no at him. 

“He’s in the United Kingdom.” 

“Are you insane?!” You slump to the ground, “Do you have any fucking idea what have you done?” 

The man walks over and slaps you, “Shut the fuck up! You want a cock so fucking bad you fucking bitch in heat, I’ll give you one!” 

Steve snarls, wrapping the chain around his own palm and tugging hard until it breaks away from the wall. The man turns, gun cocked and ready, it's grabbed out of his hand by Steve. He looks at the man dead in his eyes before delivering the fatal shot.

You look up at Steve, as the man drops to the floor between the two of you. 

Steve watches the other three scramble about, he quickly fires the shots, he keeps one person alive. 

He grabs the other chain, yanking it with all his strength. It gives way. 

“Where is the shield?” He walks over to the man on the ground, pleading in pain. 

A shaking hand rises, pointing to the vault. 

“Access code?” Steve picks him up and takes him to the keypad. 

The man enters it crying when Steve presses on the open wound, “Don’t fucking pull any stunts.” 

You watch as the doors part and the shield stays there as a momento. 

You blink when everything goes out of focus. You blink again. Heat spreads over your body goosebumps raise across. 

Your thighs clench and you squirm trying to get some friction to release the ache. Tugging at the restraints is maddening. They don’t relent when you try to manoeuvre but no position provides any respite and you sob out as the frustration grows. 

“Poppet.” A warm voice calls out, you whimper. The hold on your right arm loosens and your hand reaches for the tactical suit. You had to get it off. You needed to get it off. 

You blink and watch as Steve’s hand stops yours, you push at him. 

“Please,” you whimper as another cramp takes over. 

“You smell so sweet baby.” He groans, the sound urges you on, you guide his hand to where you need him. 

His warm palm cups you the fabric of your suit soaked Steve hears your sigh of relief. 

“Going to take care of you Poppet, but you need to hold on for me okay?” Steve assures, breaking out your left arm as well. 

“Steve please,” you beg again, your mind screaming at your body, your hips move making you grind onto his palm. Your smaller palm wrapped around his wrist not letting him pull away. 

“Fuck,” He groans, pushing you against the corner and undoing your suit’s zipper, you don’t face him palms braced against the wall. Steve’s warm calloused palm is as though cold respite to your heated skin. 

He doesn’t waste time, fingers running over your folds, palm pressing against your clit. Your head tilts back resting against his shoulder, mouth parted moans leaving you. 

Steve presses his fingers into you, two thick digits and your walls clench around him he almost wishes he’d fuck you right there. 

“Fuck this pussy remembers who she belongs to doesn’t she?” Fingers curve finding the spot he very well could have placed. Stars line your vision as he hits the spot over and over, fingers curving.

“Right there Steve!” You cry out your ass rocking against him, pressing onto his cock. He keeps his thrusts hard and fast, palm rubbing your clit in the most delicious of ways. His grunts fill your senses.

Pleasure thrums from his touch to your body, your back arching as his fingers drive deeper and deeper into you. Your walls are gripping them back in not wanting him to stop. 

“I know sweet Poppet. I know what makes her weep for me. I’m going to taste you. But first you’re going to make a mess on my hand alright?” He instructs filthy words offset by the sweet kisses placed against your forehead and cheek. 

His other hand cups your breast playing with your nipple. Your hands fall from the wall, gripping onto his nails leaving indents on his skin. Steve watches your chest constrict, your voice choke off, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you. 

His fingers keep moving, riding your orgasm out, your walls quivering around him the sensitivity of your clit as it pulses. Some of the haze clears but the need just returns tenfold.

“Steve, please, I can’t, can’t wait—,” 

His lips are on yours, cutting you off, your suit pushed down further without breaking away from the kiss.

The shield clatters to the floor, his suit haphazardly discarded. Steve’s hands explore your body, remembering the planes he explored before. The love he whispered across your skin. Marking you with his touch, his lips, his seed.

“Wanna see you,” You want to turn, he grabs your hands pinning them to the wall. 

“No one gets to see you this way but me.” He growls, you feel his hard cock move between your thighs. His larger body covers yours, shielding you, watching over you. 

When your thighs clench around him,  Steve hisses, “Going to fill you up, sweet girl.” he coos. 

Inch by inch Steve’s length stretches you, your back arches. The relief the stretch of his cock brings is unlike anything else you’ve felt before. 

“You can take it, made for my cock aren't you?” He stills inside you, throbbing as your walls clench around him. He moans biting down on your shoulder the feel of you decadent, unable to be given justice by his mind.

“Heaven. Pussy feels so good, baby. Missed you so much.” He grunts, you push back against him needing him to move, “hands around my neck.” He orders, leaving your hands.

You wrap them around him, holding onto his now longer hair, soft between your fingers. Your mind remains you of the soft moments when he laid in your lap and your fingers combed through these locks.

Steve pulls you out of your thoughts with the snap of his hips. His palms gripping your waist anchoring you to him. Skin slapping against skin, his cock feels so good you could sob, the need turns into embers, your thirst being quenched. 

Each delicious, deep stroke moves you towards sweet bliss. You hear your name in an echo of his name. Steve watches the wall you mould against him, as countless times before. Your heart may have put up walls but your body left no space.

The way he sees the telltale signs of your orgasm he brings his right hand towards your apex, timing his rough circles on your clit to his thrusts. The sensations blooming become too much, your body alit with flames of pleasure, Steve moans as your walls begin to milk him just as your orgasm shatters through you.

He keeps his thrusts going, pumping into you. The arousal that spills onto your thighs, the mix of you and him. 

“One more.” He demands, fingers coated with the mix of the two of you, his marked fingers brought back to your clit, you cry out in ecstasy. 

The blissful haze clears, everything returning to you. The mission, the power, you can’t, you can’t, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve–,

“Right here my sweet poppet, you will give me one more. You know I'm greedy.” He reasons, only increasing his pace, you thrash in his hold. Lips find the sweet spot of your neck.

It’s your undoing, you cum around him yet again. Crying out his name, tugging on his hair. Aftershocks moving through you. He holds you up, pressing kisses to your forehead, temple, cheek, jaw and shoulders. 

Grounding you, palms moving over you after he brings his coated fingers to taste them. Your head lols against his shoulder, you reach for his jaw, placing a soft kiss. Steve smiles at the familiar gesture. 

Helping you get dressed he follows as well. You’re lifted into his arms and carried to the quinjet.

As it had turned out Bucky wasn’t in UK it was a precautionary measure they came up with to secure Bucky from any life threatening attempts. The guilt you had harboured lessened.

Steve had stayed away from you, once Tony and Bruce cleared you of any remnant pollen he took his leave. Avoiding you as he had after the elevator confrontation. It left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

As much as you felt as if you were an emotional fool for considering the thought of wanting to approach him, you missed him. Terribly. 

You knew your walls were useless against the one man who you had given your jagged heart to, the blue eyes you had drowned yourself in multiple times. Whether it was when he found your gaze across the room or when you were pressed against him.

Your feet carried you after three days to his door. Your hand shook when you knocked. Thoughts swirling through your mind insecurities gaining fleet. 

The door opens, Steve’s eyes widen then his brows furrowed with worry, then fall to the still fading love bite that  he placed on your collarbone. You shift your weight to either side. Hands fiddling with the hem of your top.

You look down at your feet, Steve’s palm cups your cheek. 

Your eyes meet their old home of blue.

“I want to listen.” You manage to say, his pink lips stretch into a familiar smile.

He steps to the side inviting you further into his room.

-x-x-x-x-

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Aug 16th

~*~

1. i hope it's okay to resend an ask from 3 years ago? 😅

(it's #2 on the first 'fics still missing'. there's a rec however i think that fic/the relevant scene was posted AFTER i sent the ask on may 2021 so it's probably not it, and i do not think it's 300k 😲 long!)

the only thing i still remember is that wen qing does a surgery to bring back wei wuxian's core, and the new core is from a wen prisoner who is set to be executed. the prisoner turns out to be wen yuan's bio dad, and he's willing.

i think there's another core surgery but as punishment? i may be mixing up fics since it's been a long time.

many thanks!!! @danmeireader

FOUND? Until The End by abCEE (M, 365k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, war changes people, resulting to OOC, no pinning, Established Relationship, Mpreg, Good Uncle LQR, a little grey LWJ, a bit of JC bashing from LWJ, BAMF JYL, 16 years of yearning, mainly CQL verse but has scenes from the novel as well, LSZ is WangXian’s Child, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Canon Rewrite, Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts) except that in that, Yuan is WWX and LWJ bio son but there is another child whose father gives WWX his core. Might be worth checking it out as even if it's not the right one it's a good story

~*~

2. Hello! I am searching for one fic i read it was WIP i guess, in one particular scene there was sparing practice in cloud recesses school days, where someone tries to stab WWX but Jin Zixuan takes the blow near heart.. when Wen Qing with other healers arrive they find WWX's blood is compatible with Jin Zixuan that's how they become sworn brother with Nei Huisang too. idk but there was some other invention to secure swon brotherhood shared with JZX in front of JGS

FOUND? sounds exactly like a scene from 🔒 The Second Hand Unwinds by trulywicked (E, 64k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Not Yunmeng Jiang Sect Friendly, Not Jiāng Family Friendly, Not YZY Friendly, Time Travelling LWJ, Protective LWJ, Fluff, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, JGS is his own warning, Wooing, LWJ is romantic af, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Gusu Lan Sect, Supportive LXC, Good Uncle LQR, WWX Protection Squad)

~*~

3. Hello!

I'm looking for a fic where wwx became jyl's personal healer and where he meets lwj at her wedding with lan xichen, when lwj accidently gets an approdisiac meant for the groom (to cause an incident???), so wwx has to help him out in his professional role and of course to save his shijie's wedding.

Thsnk you in advance! @janiquebeingcreative

FOUND! trust your fingertips by plonk (Not Rated, 15k, WangXian, Aphrodisiacs, Medical Kink, Canon Era, Different First Meeting)

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4. hi! i hope you're doing well. im trying to find an ongoing fic where wwx leaves lotus pier way before the wen decides to act up. he lives with the wen sibs far away from the cultivation world but comes back eventually to help the sects to defeat the wen. the last time I saw it it had been months from the last update.

FOUND! the sea meets the moon-blanched land by rkivees (G, 44k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Childhood Trauma, Sect Leader WWX, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WQ, Good Parent LQR, First Love, Love Confessions, minor jiang sibs appearance, Mentioned LXC, Past Child Abuse, Drunken Shenanigans, Past Violence, No Golden Core Transfer, Non-Linear Narrative) I think 4 on the fic finder post is the sea meets the moon-blanched land by rkivees but not sure since it was updated recently.

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5. I am looking for a fic it is wangxian a

Arranged marriage this what a remember for the plot that wei Ying is Outcasted by the lan elders because madam yu did give the gift tha the send a copy of the rules and the jaed token @androgynousbelievergarden

FOUND! Finding a Home by Duochanfan (T, 8k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Light Angst)

NOT FOUND! Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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6. Hello! For fic finder, please! I am looking for a fic where instead of giving JC his own core, WWX knocks out a random Wen soldier and they use that guy’s core for the transfer. I think that the core was weak and throughout the remainder of the story JC was angry that his new core from “Baoshan Sanren” was so weak and puny. Does this sound familiar? Thank you!

FOUND? Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WWX & WN & WQ, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn’t have a happy ending) It has them taking Wen Chao's core over a random soldier's but the rest fits

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7. Hi, thank you so much for all your hard work!!

I'm looking for two fics:

A) I think this one might have appeared in your blog and that's how I learned about it the first time. Modern AU Wangxian where they're retired/considering retiring figure skaters, and the fic is a series of them trying to have sex but something going wrong. At the end LWJ breaks/hurts his ankle really badly on the way to a cabin to have sex in Olympics gear, and then they get married.

B) WWX comes back in a random cultivator's body while LWJ is recovering from the discipline whip, and he sneaks into the Cloud Recesses to learn about A-Yuan. I think the cultivator gave his body up to WWX to punish him, and the curse mark on his arm becomes activated when he's happy, and it activates so badly it nearly cuts his arm off.

Thank you!

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8. Hello! For the next Fic Finder, I'm looking for a modern AU, rated either Mature or Explicit, where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan end up stranded in a ski resort. It's just them, no one else. They end up getting together by the end of the story. I cannot recall if one person was injured, I think the answer is no but I could be wrong! Thank you!

FOUND! Certain Obscure Things by hkafterdark (E, 32k, wangxian, Snowed In, Modern AU, First Time, and there was only one bed, Cabin Fic, Drinking, canon typical kink)

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9. hii please could anyone help me find this fic where wwx and lwj are both genderbent and theyre both authors at a writers conference thats kinda all i remember

FOUND? Happy for Now by ScarlettStorm (E, 80k, WangXian, Modern, Rule 63, Cisswap, wlw wangxian, There Was Only One Bed, but that's not actually where the tension lies, romance author au, Adhd WWX, service top LWJ, two gay disasters, Pining, Smut, Comedy, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, whoops your hotel booking was a scam?, That's A Shame, guess we better share, there are no other options, horny yearning, furtive masturbation, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Sex Toys, Chekhov's sex bag, everybody's parents live, except for QHJ but we don't care about him, mama lan had cancer but she's okay now)

~*~

10. Fic finder, could you help me find the delightfully sexy A/B/O roleplay fic? Our guys are in the irl present day, and LZ finds out WY has been reading A/B/O stuff, and they roleplay it. In the finale, they have drunk sex, and WY cums so hard he passes out, and LZ is a weepy mess about it.

FOUND? eating sugar out of your hand by azuresummer (E, 20k, wangxian, Modern, ABO roleplay, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Dom/sub, Dominant LWJ, Submissive WWX, Established Relationship, Roleplay, Consensual Non-Consent, Under-negotiated Kink, degradation kink, Praise Kink, Light Bondage, Size Kink, Size Difference, Spit Kink, Hair-pulling, Daddy Kink, Slight Crossdressing, Lingerie, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Feminizing Language, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Prostate Milking, slight breathplay, Facials, Snowballing, Finger Sucking, Panty Kink, Spanking, Crying, Mentions of Face-Slapping, Drunk Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, LWJ & WWX Have a Breeding Kink, PWP, roleplay as a love language)

~*~

11. Heyyyy do you guys remember that one fic where jc kept wy in a basement kinda situation? Uk he held him captive while the world thought wwx is dead and I'm pretty very sure there was a forced crossdressing situation with abuse too? This fic has been mentioned many times in itmf posts or fic finders too.. I don't remember it's name, does my description ring a bell? @constellationdks

FOUND! on restitution by glitteringmoonlight (M, 98k, LSZ & WWX, WWX & JL, wangxian, dark JC, not JC friendly, captivity, non-graphic torture, angst w/ happy ending)

~*~

12. Hello,

I'm looking for a fic that I read ages ago, but don't remember what website it was on. It had both wangxian and xicheng in it. So Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen reached immortality and now they are living in present time where everyone has reincarnated. Lan Wangji has custody of Lan Sizhui and I think Lan Jingyi as well but not sure about the latter part. Both of them attend high school where Wei Wuxian is a teacher (I think he just transferred to the school but am not sure). Jin Ling also attends school with them. Jiang Cheng takes care of him and he is a policeman. He does not talk to Wei Wuxian as he blames him for their sister death/bad medical state. I don't remember exactly which one it was. I also remember that Nie Mingjue is Jiang Cheng boss, Nie Huisang and Jing Guangyao are in the actor/entertainment business and Wen Ruohan is a villain in there @kyjrd

FOUND? monotone by seredemia which the author put on drive instead of ao3

~*~

13. Hello! I'm looking for match-making fic where Jin Zixuan (tired of wwx constantly interrupting family time with his wife and newly born son) decides the best way to get him out of the way is to matchmake him with someone. I think he tries Nie Mingjue mainly, because they have similar interests, etc.

Jiang Cheng also gets roped in, but he thinks Jin Zixuan is nuts the whole time. NMJ thinks Wei wuxian is definitely flirting with him at some point because his muscles get complimented? Lan Xichen has to reassure him that "no, he is just like that".

It's a comedy of errors mainly, because LWJ and WWX definitely have something going on between them, and it ends with them running off with horses to elope into the sunset or smth. Jiang Yanli doesn't know her husband's matchmaking scheme, but she does know about wwx and lwj and helps them elope at the end.

Pretty sure it was a short fic, ignores canon and occurs in a what-if scenario where the whole burial mounds situation didn't happen.

I'd be very grateful of you could help me find this! Thank you 😊 @indelibleme

FOUND! Marital Prospects by Vamillepudding (G, 18k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Romantic Comedy, Misunderstandings, LWJ Needs a Hug)

~*~

14. I was reading a fic but I lost it. It was where wwx was frozen for I don't know how many years and they think. I think it was the lans? I think lwj was a doctor or archaeologist? A-yuan was his son there they were. There was a scene from wwx taking apart a mechanical pencil/pen and putting it back together and lwj is surprised by it. Lqr? He thinks wwx is not human lwj thinks otherwise and they locked him in a room @quwieiidkd

FOUND? 🧡 The Shade of Old Trees by Kryal (T, 363k, WangXian, Ridiculously Long Notes, History, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Slow Life, Action/Adventure, Magic Returns, BAMF WWX)

~*~

15. I'm looking for a fic that canon era WWX had ended up accidentally raising up a bunch of dinosaurs. The main thing I remember is that JC was talking with him about it and they were considering them different kinds of mythical creatures(I remember qilin and Fenghuang especially.) Though anything dinosaur and untamed is awesome. @bcaugust

FOUND? Fenghuan and Qilin by Ibijau (T, 544, JC & WWX, Dinosaurs, Demonic cultivation, undead dinosaurs, mdzs with dinosaurs)

~*~

16. Hiya, I'm wracking my brains trying tonfind a fic. The only part I really remember is that to rebuild their library's collection, Gusu Lan reached out to other sects, asking for texts to copy. I think the Jiang weren't originally for it (whether it was Jiang Cheng or Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian vetoing it I can't remember), but Wei Wuxian tried to help. I think maybe Lan Wangji paid a visit to Lotus Pier, but again, I'm not sure.

~*~

17. Hello! I am looking for a specific fic that I have lost. It was a canon-divergent fic. In it Wei Wuxian ties decorative knots as something to keep his hands occupied while his mind runs. I think it was set primarily during the Yiling settlement days, because I remember he had a room/small house/workspace which had knots hung all over the walls. Although, my brain is also saying that this could have been a “WWX grows up on Baoshan Sanren’s mountain” au and his room could have been there. The knots are the unique detail I remember. Any clue? Thank you!

FOUND? inevitable everything by isabilightwood (E, 193k, WangXian, WQ/MM, JYL/JZX, BSSR/LY, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, but WWX is BSSR's disciple/adoptive grandson too, the cultivation sects think this is a, War Prize AU, it's actually self-arranged marriage, Arranged Marriage, yin iron shenanigans, LWJ Has Friends, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, LWJ Has a YLLZ Kink, Switch WangXian, BDSM, Submissive LWJ, Dominant WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, magical illness of a side character (who will get better), Rope Bondage, Impact Play, Rimming, Bottom LWJ, Temperature Play, Face-Fucking, Breathplay, (talisman-based breathplay to be specific), Cock Warming, Public Scene, no one gets naked in public this is the sense of WWX invents the, Remote Controlled Vibrator, Semi-Public Sex, Outdoor Sex, Blindfolds, one qingmian smut scene with oral and fingering, Minor Character Death, All Sex Scenes Are Skippable!) It is a Baoshan Sanren raises WWX and the knotwork is highlighted several times in the story, starting in chapter 2.

~*~

18. ff request! can't remember much, other than the fact that wwx creates a justice array, which they use to question lan elders, some jins, & other sect leaders to successfully reveal their crimes of colluding w the jins. wonder if this rings a bell? thanks! @potatokunst

FOUND! IF by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 94k, WangXian, QingJue, Aftermath of Violence, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, BAMF LWJ, Golden Core Reveal)

~*~

19. Good morning! I am looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian was captured by the Jin and given a false trial and he was punished by being hunted. He was set loose into the land surrounding Koi Tower and all the Jin disciples hunted him, but he managed to survive, decimate all the Jin disciples, and escape. I think it was a very short fic, but was possibly one piece in a longer series. Would love to read this again, thank you!

FOUND? the wild hunt series by antebunny (G, 18k, WangXian, JYL & JL, WWX & JL, WWX & JC, LXC & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Canon-Typical Violence, JL and his many many uncles, JGY is morally ambiguous but okay, BAMF WWX, WWX is innocent of literally everything for plot purposes, JYL Lives, Not Everyone Dies, Hopeful Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, what is fanfiction but 10k of reunions, Found Family, Fluff, they're soft your honor, Domestic Fluff, Happy Ending)

FOUND? foliage by antebunny (G, 7k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Canon-Typical Violence, JL and his many many uncles, jgy is morally ambiguous but okay, BAMF WWX, wwx is innocent of literally everything, for plot purposes, JYL Lives, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Hopeful Ending)

~*~

20. Hi! This is fic finder. I dont remember much. It set in sunshot campaign. When they want to storm Nightless city, Wen Ning volunter to open the underground passage. It need the wen blood. I think the door has a family tree on it? Thats all i can remember @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! ❤️ Gentians in bloom by teawater (M, 251k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, AU after cold spring, Political Marriage, Dysfunctional Family, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, LQR bashing (not really), POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Eventual Happy Ending, BAMF WWX, JC is actually a lot better than canon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, YZY bashing (again not completely))

~*~

21. Hey! I saw this prompt on AO3 searching for the ff. "Everyone is arriving to Gusu Lan to study and while they were introducing themselves and their clan. The Wen clan interrupt the Jiang clan (as usual) and Wei Ying spoke out and all of sudden bunnies were entering the class when Wei Ying said something all the bunnies transformed into human yelling, “yes, madam Lan”. Everyone is shock." @vbhardwaj-reads

~*~

[drakorn]

Rewriting Veilguard Part 1 - The World State

Disclaimer: I don't hate the game, I actually think it's quite great given the development hell Bioware went through in those 10 years. This is more of a hypothetical universe where there was less of that behind the scenes drama. Just a fun writing exercise.

Expanding Veilguard's World State Editor

Like many of us, I was disappointed with the total amount of choices carrying over from past games being only three, one of which dealt with romance, two with decisions made in the Trespasser DLC, and all of them being from Inquisition. This already set the precedent that we shouldn’t really be expecting the game to be as connected to our unique Thedas as we have come to be used to from previous titles—no more uniquely flavoured codex entries, no more small but sweet cameos here and there that make the world itself feel like a larger place that we had helped shape.

Given The Veilguard’s very troubled production history of multiple delays, staff layoffs, and all-around restarts of the entire project, it is honestly a surprise that we even got three choices, so credit where credit is due. They made with what they had. But what if The Veilguard had this vision from the start? What if there wasn’t any of this meddling? What if Bioware simply had more time and control? What if they could truly let us import the World State this game deserved?

Now, for this hypothetical rewritten playthrough, I’m going off from the fact that the Dragon Age Keep will not be used; I actually found it a neat idea to tick my three choices in the character creator, and it would have probably been better had Inquisition done something similar. Why do I think that? Because it means we are not running into any dangers of servers potentially shutting down, leaving us trapped in the canon we happened to have imported last. Converting the Keep into an offline editor was a good idea, but unfortunately not executed nearly enough as, let’s face it, we all expected. So we’re gonna have some fun for Veilguard.

Disclaimer: I’m going to refer to the game’s title as Veilguard from now on, not “the” Veilguard. I really don’t like the change of having a “the” in a series of otherwise one-word, or one-number, titles.

Of course, we have to be realistic about this. It is virtually impossible to implement every single decision from across all three games, and those that can be implanted can’t alter the main plot too much. Certainly, we like to imagine and picture things, but let’s approach this from an actually doable point of view.

Right, so imagine you just finalised your Rook, and then get a screen titled “Past Adventures”. Not just “The Inquisition”. And it would take up the entire screen instead of being shoved somewhere in the corner of the final CC page, which many people missed. I could have missed it too, had I not known beforehand that it was going to be there!

It would say something akin to “You can customise the protagonists and several events from the games Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age II, and Dragon Age: Inquisition. These choices will have both major and minor effects on the plot of Veilguard. If this is your first Dragon Age title, you would be advised to skip this section for now, as you may otherwise risk getting overwhelmed. A default World State has been pre-generated for the game.”

Why did I add this disclaimer? Because it would show us, right from the get-go, that we respect both new and old players. If you’re a new player, feel free to skip this part as it won’t matter to you anyway and, quite frankly, you wouldn’t want to spend an eternity in the character creator doing things you might not even be familiar with. But if you’re a returning player or someone who has read up on recaps and watched countless lore videos, come on right in, we’ve got you covered, don’t worry! We know how much time you spent meticulously crafting your World State for Inquisition, so join us and customise to your heart’s content.

If you choose to not skip ahead (honestly the only time I would click “skip” on that shit is if I was a new player), you will be presented with three tarot cards, one shows the griffon, the Grey Warden symbol, one shows Kirkwall’s heraldry, and one shows the Inquisition’s banner. Here’s your previous three games. And now we get to customise them a little. The little gremlin in me would be quite gleefully rubbing his hands at this prospect.

Past Adventures: The Blight

We open the first slide and are immediately hit with a crimson screen and an ambient reprise of several of Inon Zur’s themes from DAO. I loved this part in the game, when you click to customise your Inquisitor and are immediately hit with “Calling the Inquisition”. Really great stuff for early emotions. Now let’s actually customise things.

The Hero of Ferelden

I do not expect us to actually be able to recreate the Warden in the flesh, but I believe they should be at least brought up in conversation or mentioned in codex entries and letters. Here are the things we get to customise about them specifically:

The Hero: Here, we get to tick the race, gender, class, and background for our Warden. Again, no character creator, just fancy tarot cards. But guess what? That would already be more than enough for what we can do. At least we know the game acknowledges their continued existence.

The Warden’s fate: Did the Hero of Ferelden perform the ultimate sacrifice?

Romance: Who did your Warden romance, if at all?

The Companions

Now that our Warden is set, we jump over to DAO’s companions. Each companion has their own little mini-section. The first few questions will always be “Did you even recruit them? And if so, did they survive? If so, were you on good terms or not?” These questions, depending on the answers, will immediately lock or open the more specific ones. Which are, as follows:

Did the Warden have Morrigan perform the Dark Ritual?

What is Alistair’s ultimate fate?

Was Sten reunited with his sword?

What happened to Loghain?

What happened to Marjorlaine?

The Battle of Ostagar

What happened to the prisoner at Ostagar?

The Arl of Redcliffe

What is Connor’s fate?

Is Isolde alive?

Did you help Bevin and return his sword?

The Urn of Sacred Ashes

What happened to the Urn?

The Nature of the Beast

How was the situation between the Dalish and the werewolves resolved?

A Paragon of Her Kind

What happened to the Anvil of the Void?

Who rules Orzammar?

Did the Warden help Brother Burkel create a Chantry in Orzammar?

Did the Warden prove the Legion of the Dead was connected to a noble house?

Did Orta join the Assembly?

Warden’s Keep

What happened to Sophia and Avernus?

Denerim

Did the Warden complete Slim Couldry’s crime wave?

Who rules Ferelden?

Who killed Urthemiel?

Awakening

What happened to Nathaniel?

What happened to the Architect?

What happened to Vigil’s Keep and Amaranthine?

As you can see, I have not included all the choices, just the ones I think can be carried over in both realistic and interesting manners. Not all of them will heavily feature in the game; in fact, many of them are for flavour and codex entries only, but there is still merit in those. We know there is a whole lot of stuff happening in the South thanks to the letters the Inquisitor regales us with. So let’s put some world-state uniqueness to those letters. But in this rewrite, some of these choices will, in fact, feature in a more substantial manner.

And that’s Dragon Age: Origins done! Moving on to the next one!

Past Adventures: The Tale of the Champion

When we enter this screen, the CC assumes Kirkwall’s orangey-yellow tone and we get a reprisal of the key DA2 themes by Inon Zur, the most prominent one being, of course, Hawke’s family theme. This one is not going to be as big as DAO, but there are a few important factors nevertheless, especially concerning possible deaths and survivals.

The Champion of Kirkwall

Unlike the Hero of Ferelden, Hawke will actually be customisable in this one. Because no matter whether or not they were sent to the Fade or Weisshaupt, there is always the potential for them to still be alive. So, here are the choices regarding Hawke:

The Champion: Here you can customise Hawke’s gender, class, and personality.

Who did Hawke romance, if at all?

The Party

Pretty much every companion’s card, aside from a few, will have the questions “Did you recruit them?”, “Are they still alive?”, and “Were they friend or rival to Hawke?” at the forefront. Most of it is gonna be flavour, but it’s still my flavour, dammit!

What happened to Bethany or Carver?

What happened to Isabela and the Tome of Koslun?

What happened to Fenris and Danarius?

What happened to Merrill, her eluvian, and Clan Sabrae?

What happened to Bartrand?

What happened to Anders when the Chantry exploded?

Did Hawke approve of Anders' actions?

Did Aveline marry Donnic?

The Tale of the Champion

Did Hawke protect the Bone Pit from all its dangers?

What happened to Feynriel?

Did Hawke let Zevran go?

Did Nathaniel survive?

Did Hawke side with the mages or the templars?

Fewer choices are carrying over here compared to DAO, but many of the events that occurred in DA2 are only relevant to Kirkwall’s immediate fate, which is already resolved by the time of DAI. Many of these will be flavour again, but some of them, I’m not going to say which, will definitely have a bigger impact.

Right, we’re done with DA2, let’s move on to the last one!

Past Adventures: The Inquisition

And here we get to the big one, the game that most directly impacts much of DAV’s story. We click on the last page and get the green shades and DAI’s ambience themes, a beautiful reprisal of Trevor Morris’ great hits. I would like to once again reiterate how emotional the CC music made me feel here when I was playing the game. Let us now customise our choices.

The Inquisitor

While the Hero of Ferelden will be a background figure in letters and codex entries, and Hawke more of a minor character with a significant role, the Inquisitor will have a much larger presence. Just how large, you’ll find out soon. But for now, let’s customise them:

The Inquisitor: Here you can customise your Inquisitor’s race, gender, class, and specialisation. Their personality as well, for while it wasn’t as apparent as with Hawke, the Inquisitor does still have a distinct range of dialogue choices. You can still be diplomatic, lighthearted, or even rough.

Who did the Inquisitor romance, if at all?

The Inner Circle

As with the other companion sections, pretty much all slides here will feature the “Did you actually recruit them?”, “Are they still around?”, and “Are you friends or not?” questions. Alongside a few specific ones that will definitely have more of an impact here.

Did Dorian resolve the issue with his father?

What happened to Blackwall?

Did the Iron Bull remain loyal to the Qun?

Did Cassandra rebuild the Seekers of Truth?

Did Cassandra discover the book of secrets and what did she do with it?

What happened to Harmond?

Which path did Cole choose?

What happened to Solas’ friend?

Did Varric track down the red lyrium source?

Did the Inquisitor give Vivienne the heart of a snow wyvern?

How was Cullen’s lyrium dilemma resolved?

How did the Inquisitor help Josephine resolve her family’s fortunes?

Was Leliana hardened or softened?

The Path of the Inquisitor

Did the Inquisitor embrace or denounce their title of Herald of Andraste?

Did the Inquisition side with the mages or the templars?

What was the general principle upon which the Inquisition was founded?

Who rules Orlais?

Who stayed behind in the Fade?

What happened to the Grey Wardens after Adamant Fortress?

What happened to Samson or Calpernia?

Who drank from the Well of Sorrows?

Did the Inquisitor respect the rituals at the Temple of Mythal?

Who became Divine Victoria?

The Inquisition’s Influence

Did the Inquisitor ally with the Hinterland cultists?

Was the rift in Crestwood closed?

Was Caer Bronach captured?

Did the Inquisitor make a deal with Imshael?

Was Suledin Keep captured?

Was Griffon Wing Keep captured?

Was Sutherland’s company formed?

What tone did the Inquisitor’s judgments take?

Jaws of Hakkon

Did the Inquisitor learn Ameridan’s fate?

Was Hakkon slain?

Did the Inquisitor share the truth about Ameridan?

The Descent

Did the Inquisitor stop the earthquakes from destroying the Deep Roads?

Trespasser

What is the ultimate fate of the Inquisition?

What is the Inquisitor’s final goal regarding Solas?

Again, this looks like a lot, and it is, but bear in mind that a lot of these will only have minor impacts on the story in the form of cameos and codex entries. However, there are several major DAI choices that will have significant impact.

For our hypothetical rewrite, I shall not list every single choice I made for my imaginary playthrough. Instead, I shall reveal them as we go along so as not to clutter the space too much. And it’s a bit more fun this way.

And that’s the World State editor finally done! I believe all of these choices are able to feature in some capacity, be it big or small. But no matter if it’s a big world-changing consequence or simple flavour texts and cameos, it will still be our Thedas, our own unique version of it that we helped shape.

Now that the past is dealt with, let’s look at the present. Next time we’ll talk about Rook, the six factions, and why a DAO-style origin story selection would have not only been beneficial but very doable.

Rewriting Veilguard Part 2 - The Shadow Dragons

[applepie2523]

" HOTD's Issues Writing Women Part 2: The Whitewashing of Rhaenyra

**This is part 2 of my analysis on the issues with the writing of the two main female characters. If you haven’t already please read my part 1 post where I analyze Alicent’s character assassination which you can find on my profile.** I think many fans on the Blacks and Greens and in between regarding HOTD have been concerned and disappointed with the way the two main female characters: Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower have been written in HOTD seasons 1-2. This is very understandable. Female characters in general in HOTD and I think a lot of Hollywood films nowadays are not being written as well as they used to be and could be. Go on Youtube or Google and you'll find many film reviews/tv show reviews that critique the Mary Sue and Girlbossification or just poorly written in general female characters that are taking up a chunk of characters in Hollywood. Rhaenyra and Alicent to me were such great characters in F&B. They were two different kinds of medieval women in a fantasy setting. One, the medieval queen who gains power/influence through her relationship with men and advocating for her son. Two, the medieval queen who sought power in her name and defied some norms that make her compelling but also immoral in their eyes. They are two deeply flawed and complex characters fighting on opposite sides of a dynastic civil war.

This post is here to address the main issues of whitewashing when it comes to writing Rhaenyra Targaryen.

\***Some disclaimers: This is no issue with the actor themself. Emma D'Arcy while I may disagree with their opinions from time to time, they are a wonderful actor who is doing the best they can with the scripts they're given, so this is by no means a critique of them. I am going off of the show canon although the book will be mentioned.**

**So firstly... What is whitewashing?**

The modern definition of white washing is to cast in a show/movie or rewrite a character of a minority and make them white. For example, if someone decides to do a movie about Rosa Parks and they cast Emma Stone. However, white washing has another definition. It means to essentially remove or hide negative unpleasant facts or traits of a person or thing. I think Rhaenyra Targaryen suffers from this problem as many of her written negative traits or deeds so far are either not shown, projected onto another character close to her (Daemon Targaryen mostly), or severely downplayed. This results in a character that is almost too virtuous and bland for the setting she is in and a far cry from who she should be. A character whom doesn't seem to fit in the ruthless at times immoral world of Westeros. A character whom is almost a close to a Mary Sue. As I am very much on the belief that flaws versus virtues are what make a character compelling and human.

**I will say not every change made to Rhaenyra story arc and personality are necessarily all bad. Some are good ideas just poorly executed (ex - exploring more of Rhaenyra's hinted bisexuality, as there are hints in F&B that her close relationship with Laena may or may not have been more than platonic) and others are just good changes in general.**

*1. Victims vs. Villains - Biases in Writing Female Characters*

In the words of the iconic Grey's Anatomy actress Ellen Pompeo, “Women are one of two roles. You’re either the victim or the villain. But the victims are only victims because they don’t have what it takes to be the villain.” I think she states the major issue with writing female characters nowadays that HOTD has an issue with. Women must either be victims or villains. The character assassination of Alicent and white washing of Rhaenyra to me stems from this: Alicent is the villain in Rhaenyra's story to Rhaenyra's victimhood.

*2. Rhaenyra's Negative Traits: Arrogance, Hot Temper, Frivolity, and Bad Decisions to Peace-Loving and Plainness*

Rhaenyra had many great qualities in the book but it is only when coupled with major character flaws are we truly compelled. She was a loving mother, passionate, intelligent to a degree, etc. However, she was also very ambitious and power-hungry, arrogant at times, quick to anger, slow to forgive, and frivolous at times. **As a writer myself, I firmly believe that characters are truly humanized and compelling when they have major character flaws coupled with their virtues. Flaws they either have to overcome or use to their advantage. Flaws that make them who they are. Flaws create layers of complexity in a character. Or Flaws that help foster the characters downfall.**

I'm not saying the Rhaenyra in the show isn't flawed. She is! For example, I think what's great is that a flaw they gave Rhaenyra is something show Viserys also had: the ability to ignore or downplay potential conflicts or hard truths versus facing them head on. Viserys refused to see the potential conflicts in naming Rhaenyra heir or pretending her elder three children are trueborn. Rhaenyra in the show refused to listen to Jace whose concerns regarding his parentage as her successor and the dragonseeds were ignored or dismissed. The issue is thought, Rhaenyra is not given the flaws that she most certainly had, **flaws that helped lead to her downfall**. She's not flawed the way she's supposed to be.

Similar to many other Targaryens including her half-brother Aegon II, Rhaenyra was quick to anger and slow to forgive. We have some brief moments where we see Rhaenyra's temper and quick witt, but we don't see the major moments where her major character flaws are shown. Alicent provokes Rhaenyra for example in season 1, having her take Joffrey to her moments after he is born. We never see Rhaenyra provoke Alicent back. Any times where we should have seen Rhaenyra's sharp temper at the slightest of remarks are not shown.

Rhaenyra's actions herself were also very whitewashed with how they were portrayed. We either see their negative consequences downplayed, not shown, or the actions were projected onto another male character. In the books due to how similar Laenor and Rhaenyra were in looks (I mean they were both white) there was still a tad more ambiguity as to whether or not Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were bastards. Race changing the Velaryons made it even more obvious her elder three boys were bastards. I took issue with the writing of Rhaenyra's dialogue and that of the characters around her, not truly showcasing why having bastards, especially as a woman, is a truly egregious thing. The potential chaos Rhaenyra could cause was completely downplayed.

A few actions for example that were incredibly violent and evil were butchered. First example being the murder of Vaemond Velaryon. I was disappointed with this scene. Firstly, we only see Vaemond protest Luke inheriting Driftmark which sets it up as more so an ambitious second son seeking power versus a man who doesn't want his house to be run by someone not of his blood. We don't see other Velaryons protesting with him. After Vaemond made his little speech, Rhaenyra orders him dead and Daemon kills him on **her orders**. She then viciously has his corpse fed to her dragon Syrax. I think this scene was crucial as it foreshadows the danger Rhaenyra would be in the future to House Velaryon and sow more seeds of discontent that are crucial to the house's eventual turn to the Green side. Not only is Vaemond killed more viciously, Viserys orders the tongue removal of even more Velaryons who sided with Vaemond with Rhaenyra's consent! Instead, the show projects this entirely onto Daemon. Daemon goes Rogue (see what I did there) and kills Vaemond on his own accord. Rhaenyra stands there shocked and doesn't even order the body fed to her dragon. Rhaenyra is absolved from all blame to Vaemond's unjust execution without trial.

The thing about B&C is Rhaenyra was paralyzed with grief for her son, Luke. The moment her child died was the moment where her descent into madness and powerful wrath began to truly manifest and she would stop at nothing. I was very disappointed in the fact that she has one episode of grieving and then continues to be so level-headed. I couldn't feel her grief, rage, and resentment towards the Greens for her son's death that makes the war even worse. Daemon tells Rhaenyra that he would avenge her son. I loved the acting of Matt and Emma during their argument about the aftermath. However, I felt like Rhaenyra wasn't acting on character with the book. I don't think book Rhaenyra was 100% okay with a child dying as her vengeance, but I do feel with how angered and filled with grief and hatred Rhaenyra should be, Rhaenyra should be a bit more hardened. She should have not been so sorry about the child's death.

I also think that one of Rhaenyra's most controversial and evil decisions in the future are going to either not be included, blamed on someone else, or downplayed. It's very clear at the end of season 2 episode 8 that my favorite dragonseed Nettles is being cut and given to Rhaena who had her own plot and dragon hatchling. After Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer betray her, Rhaenyra's paranoia goes overload and declares that all the dragonseeds are traitors. Corlys advocates for Addam Velaryon and Nettles and Rhaenyra responds by having him arrested. He warns Addam, and is then bound, beaten, and thrown into the black cells. One of her most powerful allies is now thrown in the black cells. This causes the fleet of House Velaryon to turn against her. Later, she attempts to violate guest right, which is sacred in Westeros (which is why the Red Wedding was so horrific to Westeros even more so), by plotting to have Nettles murdered. As Nettles is being cut, I doubt they'd show this truly negative action as Rhaena can't have Nettles's complete plot. Rhaenyra's unjust arrest of Corlys and House Velaryon turning from her from what they're doing so far might just be blamed on someone else, have a different excuse that is not the one that the book gave, or not shown whatsoever.

I also think they might just be setting her up to be innocent of the torture of Tyland Lannister. After the Greens flee with most of the treasury leaving Rhaenyra in Kingslanding pretty broke, he refused to tell her where the gold was sent. Under Rhaenyra's orders he was tortured and castrated and blinded and disfigured to point of being disgusting. They might just have him be tortured by Mysaria or Daemon on their own accord without Rhaenyra's orders, leaving her innocent, or they will have him tortured by the Triarchy or something. Maybe after Mysaria and/or Daemon torture him, they'll frame it as vengeance for Jace and then Rhaenyra might let him go to appear merciful to an audience. As they cut Maelor whose murder was the breaking point that caused Helaena's suicide, we might not see how another child under the war was murdered by her faction. I worry that they won't show how how her cruelties that she did on her own accord caused her to be hated just as much if not more than her half brothers Aegon II and Aemond. They might not truly set the tone and show actions that lead to her being "Rhaenyra the Cruel" and "Maegor with Teats" they might not show the actions, or blame them on someone else or something else. They might not have her tax into oblivion the smallfolk or send her knight inquisitors to execute dozens upon dozens of supposed or proven Green traitors. I was also confused by the characterization of the smallfolk as these naive little lambs who will follow whatever. There is no famine or riot against the Greens at the point the show showed it. I was pleased with the fact that we saw the book-accurate support the smallfolk gave to Helaena after her son was murdered and how angered they were at Rhaenyra and the Blacks. However, days later they are singing her praises. It makes no sense to me that they would forget something so easily. Of course, I argue in another post on my profile why the riot and famine made no sense. So they might continue to get rid of her all of her negative actions.

**These evil actions make her even more compelling and even more realistic in a violent medieval world. It shows how both sides commit great evils as both Rhaenyra and Aegon II were not remembered fondly by their own descendants, smallfolk, and nobles alike.**

I also hate how they hardly showed just how feminine almost girly Rhaenyra was. Rhaenyra notably loved fashion and wearing beautiful intricate gowns that always showed off her beauty and figure. She dressed very richly as befitting her station, wearing gowns of purple with maroon velvet and Myrish lace. Her bodices often had pearls and diamonds. She always wore rings on her finger that she'd play with and turn when anxious. I honestly found these traits very endearing and relatable as someone who is a girly girl. Finally, a "strong female character" who is a leader who is also very feminine and girly. She doesn't need to be a tomboy and wield a sword to be a badass. But no... we don't see that. Yes the costumes Emma D'Arcy wore were nice I guess on the show but they didn't feel like something book Rhaenyra would wear. I get they had budgets but still... you couldn't have made something else? Like where is the purple and maroon? She's mostly wearing just red and black. No rings. No nothing!

*3. Unequal Screen Time and Too "Modernized": Rhaenyra is the Main Modern Girl*

I feel like HOTD has a problem with perspective. GOT had it perfectly done! The original ASOIAF were written from the perspective of multiple characters so we got a perfect ensemble cast with writing that highlighted the stories and perspectives of many different characters. Jon Snow's narrative didn't overtake Daenerys's screen time and vice versa which is just how it should be. However, I feel HOTD makes a mistake especially in season 1 with framing. Rhaenyra as the main with secondary-main perspectives of Alicent and Daemon. We get most of season 1 from Rhaenyra's perspective and to a lesser extent Daemon and Alicent when the show should have been formatted like GOT as multiple perspectives were given in F&B. We should have gotten an ensemble cast with equal development and perspective from multiple characters, especially an equal development of both Aegon II and Rhaenyra. We get both of Rhaenyra's weddings, two births, her raising her children, many scenes with her dragon, her perspective, and her interactions. Our first intro to her sets her up in a more heroic light as she's a beautiful princess riding her dragon. We don't get Aegon II's wedding or Alicent's. No birth scenes for Alicent or Helaena. We hardly get their perspectives compared to Rhaenyra. We should have seen more of Aegon II's childhood and perspective versus just him being a bully and later a rapist. While they improved perspective a bit more in season 2, it's not enough to take away from what was done in season 1. Rhaenyra is the protagonist and **THE main character versus A main character.**

What I think they should have done is showcase the real dynamic of Alicent and Rhaenyra more. They can start off with their friendship but then transition it to the dynamic that both women had at court: competition. Both women wanted to be First Lady of the Realm and first priority to King Viserys. The Queen vs the Princess and named heir.

Rhaenyra does at times come off as more modern than she should be. I think her and even her aunt Rhaenys. For example, in the book Rhaenyra is at times very homophobic by our standards to Laenor. When she discovers she's to marry Laenor Velaryon in the show, we see her initially not too excited about it, but not fully antagonistic. She in fact has a very decent and friendship like conversation where she uses the metaphor of preferring roast duck to insinuate she understands and accepts Laenor for being gay, deciding to do their duty and support one another, while pursuing their own pleasure with each other's consent with whomever that may be. They appear to be very supportive of one another times, at least on Rhaenyra's end. She compliments him deeply when he says he wishes he were different.

While I'm sure on some level Rhaenyra wishes Laenor was bisexual at the very least so they can have more than a friendship and have trueborn kids together, Rhaenyra is almost too accepting for her medieval context. In the medieval world, same sex relationships were a HUGE no-no. In fact being gay was considered a mental illness and sickness up until the 20th century! Rhaenyra appears too accepting of Laenor, appearing too modern in just how accepting she is. In reality, while I'm sure Book Rhaenyra cared for Laenor on some level and had some kind of respect for him and affection, it wasn't this deep and this accepting. Laenor did mean something to her on some level, after all he is still the man she married, and very important to her storyline---however Rhaenyra in the book as a much more medieval reaction and medieval view on his sexuality. She was notably very unhappy about her betrothal to him. It took serious threats from King Viserys to remove her from the line of succession in order to get her on board and she did so reluctantly. She notably even said that "My half brothers would be more to his taste." This is a very cutting and almost homophobic statement. I mean her half-brothers were still toddlers. However, we never get any true antagonism, frustration, or even subtle or outward homophobia on Rhaenyra's end. While this statement is mean and homophobic, that is a more medieval response. It's sad, but it's true. Rhaenyra is a medieval woman in a medieval setting. She is a product of what her society raised her to be, which is being gay isn't something one should accept.

The same issue occurs with Rhaenys having an almost too modern point of view or opinion that doesn't fit with her medieval setting. When she discovers her husband Corlys Velaryon has bastard children, Addam and Alyn of Hull, she is neither furious nor disappointed or horrified. In fact, Rhaenys advocates that they deserve to be "raised up and honored not hidden in the tides." This is an incredibly unrealistic and unfitting reaction on Rhaenys's end. In our modern day society, even, if a woman finds out her husband cheated on her and sired kids off his side chick, she'd be furious. Of course, I think a moral modern woman wouldn't take her anger out on the children, but still. Rhaenys's reaction is almost too modern and too gracious. Characters are products of their circumstances. Despite Westeros being a fantasy world, we feel how medieval the characters are through their beliefs and behaviors. Catelyn Stark or Cersei Lannister's reactions to their husband's bastards is far more realistic---specifically how Catelyn and Cersei hated what their husbands had done and felt it was an affront to them personally. Corlys in the books was terrified of Rhaenys finding out as it would dishonor him, her, and their dead children together which is why he tried to pass them off as Laenor's no matter how ridiculous is sounded. Rhaenys should have been more realistically horrified at Corlys and angry. She shouldn't be advocating for them to be anywhere near her house or imply they should have been raised amongst their own trueborn children.

I think this does two things: 1) Makes it though Rhaenys is fully on Rhaenyra's side when raising her bastard children of Harwin as if they are her trueborn grandsons and 2) Modernizes her too much. That is a main issue. The show attempts to modernize her and make her appeal to a more modern audience. However, there is a way to do that without modernizing her so much that she doesn't seem to fit with her medieval context.

was very disappointed when I heard that the directors told Olivia Cooke to portray Alicent as "woman for Trump" and Rhaenyra is this "punk-rock Hillary Clinton." Modern day politics and movements and ideologies have little to no place in the way Westeros should be written as its a **realistic medieval setting with realistic medieval characters in a fantasy world**. Rhaenyra is too modern in her interactions and beliefs that she doesn't seem to fit well in Westeros. Rhaenyra as well is also presented as this more feminist character.

*4. Two Things Can Be True At Once: Women Can Be Victims of Sexism AND Still Do Terrible Things, Be Self-Serving, and Wield Significant Amounts of Power*

**What I ultimately believe that Condal and the HOTD production seem to get wrong is that in a medieval setting like Westeros, women are ALWAYS overlooked and dismissed and cannot take so much significant power. I feel like they believe that women can't do terrible things in the patriarchal system of Westeros while being victims of sexism.**

Women in the real middle ages and Westeros in Martin's story are not feminists by our definition. At times we see women take advantage of and gain power from the sexist patriarchal society they live in. We see it with Cersei Lannister, Margaery Tyrell, Daenerys Targareyen, Catelyn Stark, Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, Lysa Arryn, Melisandre, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, every woman in the original GOT series were victims of sexism and an oppressive patriarchal system of Westeros just like real women of the Middle Ages AND YET they still were able to wield some power and do terrible or morally gray things. We can view them as victims of a horrible system but still see how they take advantage of it, gain power and agency as they have no choice to use the system versus fight it, do horrible things, but still view them as victims.

Rhaenyra is one example! I will say that this is partly more so the interpretation of the modern casual audience versus a writing issue, but it is still a writing issue that there are people who believe her to be a feminist. She's not! Of course just because she isn't one doesn't mean you can't root for her, but don't root for her if you think she's a feminist. We might never see the moments where Rhaenyra herself is denying women rights of inheritance from Lady Stokeworth to Lady Rosby. We should have been emphasized that Rhaenyra is not the closest thing to a modern day feminist. She is not advocating for women's rights or to make the world better for women, but to be an exception to the rule. Like most medieval woman in power, she takes advantage of the patriarchal system and gets power from it. Laena Velaryon is older than Laenor. She takes advantage of patriachal rulings to install her (bastard) "son of Laenor" as future Lord of Driftmark versus advocating that the eldest child, Baela Targaryen, daughter of Laena Velaryon, the elder sibling, to inherit Driftmark.

Victims can be villainous too! Soft power. Rarely in the Medieval world do we see women wield a hard power in their own name. Of course we have outliers, but in the end most medieval women wielded a soft power---gaining influence and power through manipulating their relationships with men (their husbands, fathers, brothers, sons, etc.). Did real Medieval women know they were oppressed? Perhaps they did, and perhaps they accepted it. Did real Medieval women make efforts to change it? I wouldn't say so. Many women upheld the status quo of men being dominant.

For example, in keeping with British history that Martin is so inspired by, going off of blood-ties alone, Lady Margaret Beaufort had a stronger claim to the English throne via her Lancastrian blood than her own son Henry VII, and yet she advocated for her son not herself to be the next ruler of England. Queen Elizabeth Woodville had three daughters (Elizabeth, Cecily, and Mary) before she had her son Edward V. Like any medieval woman with three daughters alone there was growing pressure to secure her husband's line and her own position by producing a male heir. She never tried to name any of her elder daughters over her son once she had him nor did she ever try to advocate to her husband King Edward IV that he didn't need a male heir, he had his eldest daughter Elizabeth of York.

Rhaenyra Targaryen as well is presented almost like she's pursuing power to make Westeros better and that she has more altruistic and kind intentions behind her actions. I mean this weird "Aegon Prophecy" contributes to it. I think we should have seen a more realistic medieval and Westerosi character by having Rhaenyra, just like Alicent or Aegon II, pursue power because she can! Pursue power and queenship for the sake of having it and because she believes herself entitled to it versus these more "virtuous reasons." I mean in the book she never considered accepting the peace terms despite how generous they were because she refused to renounce her claim and back down! She wanted power because felt entitled to it and because every character in Westeros wants power to some degree. Ambition is a theme and characteristic that unites every character in Martin's world.

**My Takeaway? The Writers are Biased and Fail to Understand the Medieval Context of Westeros and Martin's Female Characters. Don't implement modern politics and biases into a medieval show**

I love that Martin tries to write his women the way he writes his men. He has explicitly stated that he writes his women the way he writes his men. He states that women are people too. They can be driven by the same things men are in Westeros and/or the real world: love, anger, hatred, a desire for power, vengeance, grief, guilt, bringing glory to their name and themselves, a desire to protect their family, etc.

Most of all: **Westeros is a realistic medieval world with realistic medieval characters in an unrealistic fantasy setting.** So you have to look at it from primarily a medieval lens in order to fully understand it and its character. While its okay to analyze using some modern concepts and lenses (ex - analyze how Daemon is a pedophile) you have to couple it with a lot of grace and understanding of their medieval context and morals that impacts the way the characters behave as we are products of our own historical context (ex - remembering that pedophilia and child grooming isn't much of a concept in the medieval world. The moment a girl has her first period, they are a consenting woman in his context).

So I find it disingenuous to write off all of Rhaenyra Targaryen's negative traits as just nothing but maester propaganda and due to sexism. I disliked how they downplayed her ambition, arrogance, rage, and cruelties to make her appear more modern and peaceful and the most virtuous character on the show. Yes, perhaps sexism could have had some tie into how Rhaenyra was viewed in Westeros. However, historians in the real world can't just dismiss reports about what a medieval woman was like simply because of the sexist world they were living in. By that standard, perhaps a woman like Queen Anne of Brittany wasn't all that bad or Margaret of Anjou. By that standard anything that was negative about the personalities of any medieval woman in power is all just rubbish and not true.

I felt we should have seen more of the kind of women that Martin writes. The kind of women that fit with his medieval-fantasy narrative that showcases how pursuing power at all costs leads to nothing but ruin. We should have seen layered women. We should have seen a more book-accurate Rhaenyra. We shouldn't have to settle for a lackluster story where Rhaenyra is nowhere close to her book counterpart.

**And most of all, the HOTD team shouldn't subtly or outwardly bash the original source material as nothing but sexist propaganda to excuse the lackluster writing of the female characters being nothing like their book counterparts or subtly or outwardly write off critics and fans like myself as toxic for pointing it out.**

**If you like this analysis, read on my profile my part 1 when I delve into the issues with HOTD’s Alicent.** "

[bonefall]

Opinion on WhistleFrost: do you see it as platonic or is there something more there in your eyes? If seen as romantic, how high are the odds that they’ll be a canon couple in the rewrite in some way? I know you say no changes done until the arc is done but I gotta know what your brain is thinking about them in the moment because they are my favoritist thing ever rn

I definitely see them as not entirely platonic. They're giving me big Mothwing/Leafpool vibes.

It's the way that whenever they're at their lowest, the only person that could come through to them was the other. Throat slashed and losing blood fast, her mother's command to trust no cat swirling in her fading mind, Frostpaw's heart still guided her towards Whistlepaw. The whole world crashing down, her Clan having punished and mocked her for how she'd helped her friend, the only one who could pull Whistlepaw out of her self-destructive desperation to save her sister was Frostpaw.

Like they remain the one stable thing in the chaos. I'm reminded of the way Leafpool was afraid Mothwing wouldn't belive a vision she had, especially knowing she was faithless, and she simply responded, "I believe in you, Leafpool."

So when it comes to BB, I know that there needs to be one or two significant moments where Frostpaw's love of Whistlepaw makes her realize things about herself. One of them I'm pretty deadset on.

Instead of it being Smoky that goes against Frostpaw's wishes while she's injured, violating her trust in him, and this somehow NOT causing a massive backslide in Frostpaw's tentative ability to trust people (thanks i hate it), Frostpaw realizes that she's forcing Whistlepaw to watch her die.

Whistlepaw is too inexperienced to deal with these injuries, but she's doing everything Frostpaw asks. She didn't grab her mentor. She isn't going to the humans. She's desperately trying to treat her best friend and feeling her slip away below her paws.

How can Frostpaw let this happen? Whistlepaw loves her so much, she'll lose her. It's then that she lurches up from her deathbed, drags herself out onto the moor, and calls the humans.

In BB, they're a team of researchers who study the Clan cats. It's why they were able to field dress her so easily, as opposed to this... random horse farmer who happens to carry a syringe of cat tranquilizer in their pocket. Minor detail that bugs me more than it should lmao.

BUT that aside... I need to know how ASC ends before considering if they can be a canon couple or not. As much as they love one another, I feel like it's unlikely Whistlepaw would leave WindClan, and she is a Cleric subject to the Vow.