#or do they play along for the moment? hoping to take over the farm or steal their non-meat food to survive?

[terrak0]

Random What If idea: the motel group is already well aware of the St. John’s and what they do when Andy and Danny approach them for a deal for gas in exchange for food.

They had recently run into Jolene after she snuck too close to the motel while trying to spy on them and steal Clementines hat. In the midst of her crazy ramblings, they get the gist of the situation from her— there’s bandits and dairy farmers living in the woods nearby, and the dairy farmers are cannibals who pick off survivors to trade as meat... and both groups have been aware of the motor inn for a while now.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 1

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: non-sexual nudity, swearing, some sexual-ish thoughts

series masterlist │my masterlist

you had been baking a pie, rolling out the homemade dough for the crust, humming along with the soft music playing through the house, when through the open window you’d seen him. a large man, as naked as the day he was born, running towards your farm. you could only watch in numb shock as he went into your barn, now hidden from view.

what the fuck.

you haven’t been inside that barn in over a year. the farm belonged to your grandparents, and you’d inherited the property after they died. while you love the peace and quiet that came from living in the middle of nowhere, you aren’t a farm girl, so the barn went largely unused.

you think about just leaving the man alone, hoping that he’ll leave eventually.

you keep rolling out the dough, soothing repetitive motions, while you stare at the barn, expecting something else to happen. but nothing does. you almost think you made the man up in a moment of insanity.

it’s this that gets you to finally exit the house, anxiously heading towards the old barn with its creaking wood and chipped paint. you take a deep breath to prepare yourself before stepping inside, every nerve in your body screaming at you that this is a very bad idea. 

you’re both relieved and not when you see the man curled up in a corner. relieved, because you weren’t going insane, and not because, well, now you’re going to have to deal with this strange situation.

you take a step closer when he doesn’t lunge at you to attack, then immediately jump back at the gleaming metal claws that appear from between his knuckles. one second he seems mostly harmless - or at least as harmless as a buff, six foot tall man could be - and the next he’s growling at you, face twisted into a snarl, body tense and ready to pounce at the slightest wrong move.

“hi,” you say, softly, the way you were taught to speak to distressed animals. the man cocks his head to the side but doesn’t lunge at you, which you take as a good sign. “i won’t hurt you, promise. but i am curious to know what led you here.”

by here, you mean both the physical location of your house in the middle of nowhere but also whatever reason he has for running through said middle of nowhere naked. there’s some kind of story there, likely not a good one judging by the way he watches you distrustfully. you have a feeling he hasn’t had a good or easy life.

the man doesn’t answer, not that you really expected him to, but slowly his claws retreat back into his skin. he’s marginally less threatening like this, though you know the smallest thing could bring the sharp blades back out.

despite this, you don’t believe he’s a danger to you. he just seems scared and confused.

“are you hungry?” you ask him. again, he doesn’t answer, and you wonder if he’s able to speak. “okay, how about this, i’ll bring you food and you don’t have to eat it but you can. i’ll be right back.”

you don’t turn your back on the barn, on him, as you jog back into your house. it’s much warmer inside than it is in the barn - you were so distracted that you hadn’t been feeling the full effect of the early winter cold. you think of the man, he must be freezing, but you hadn’t seen any sign of it, no shivering, not even goosebumps raising on his skin.

one thing at a time, you tell yourself.

your half-finished pie is sitting discarded on the kitchen counter and you look at it mournfully. you’ll finish it later, and maybe you’ll actually have someone to enjoy it with you.

(it gets lonely sometimes, so far from any cities or towns. usually, you don’t mind it, but apparently there’s some small part of you that still desperately craves human contact and interaction, since you’re jumping at the chance to take care of a random stranger.)

you have leftovers in the fridge that you suppose will have to do, since making him a fresh, home-cooked meal would take time, and you’d promised to return hastily. you heat it up quickly, the warmth emanating from the food another reminder of the frigid temperature outside as you bring the plate into the barn. 

he looks up when you enter, sniffing the air like a dog. it’s cute, and you smile as you put the plate down, careful not to get too close to him, letting him make the first move.

whether he trusts you or he’s just starving you don’t know, but he rushes to your side and starts eating like he hasn’t had food in a month. with him distracted and closer to you, you can get a better look at him. 

he doesn’t look malnourished. he’s buff, muscular and hairy, and you have to stop your eyes from going lower as you stare at his chest.

you look away despite the man being too distracted to notice your shameless ogling. he might be the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life - or you’ve just been away from men for too long and have become pathetic.

he eats quickly, and looks up expectantly at you when he finishes, like a dog at their owner. you giggle at the comparison you’ve made in your head - it’s quite accurate, you find, with the way he immediately seems to trust you now that you’ve fed him.

“do you wanna go inside? it’s pretty cold out here, and inside i have more food.” you say, and when you go to stand up so does he. you explicitly do not look down.

he follows you into your house, and you’re so glad you live alone so there’s no one to question whatever is happening.

it’s easy to find extra clothes in the guest room, less easy to find any that you think will fit him. eventually, you give up, hoping the sweatpants you found will do for now, and grab one of your own shirts, thankful for your habit of buying oversized men’s t-shirts. it goes down to your thighs, surely it’ll fit him.

you turn to head back into the living room where you left him, and your soul nearly leaves your body when you spot him standing at the door. you yelp, your hand flying to your chest and the clothes falling to the ground.

he startles at the noise, tensing and looking around like he expects danger. 

“shit,” you swear, “how are you so quiet?”

he frowns, and you could swear that he seems apologetic, though you aren’t sure how accurate your interpretations of his facial expressions are given that you’ve only known him for about an hour. it makes you feel a little guilty, though really you shouldn’t be since he snuck up on you.

you’re about to offer him the clothes when you pause, gaze locked on his chest. “you should shower.”

he follows you when you lead him to the bathroom, which you take as agreement on his part. he’s dirty, covered everywhere by a thin layer of dirt. a shower will feel good. it would also give you time to process this without him watching you. his eyes are quite intense, and he keeps them directed at you. you need the privacy to freak out.

it’s only after you place the clothes down on the countertop and show him how the knobs in your shower work that you realise he’s not making any moves to enter the shower. you start to leave the bathroom and he takes a step to follow you.

you stop, thinking about how he doesn’t seem to know how to speak, how he looked so scared and confused when you’d found him, and you sigh when you realise it’s likely he doesn’t know how to use a shower either.

what is your story? you think to yourself.

“do you want help?” is what you ask instead.

he nods slowly, which is the closest you’ve gotten to a response from him so far. you look up at the ceiling, inhaling deeply and bracing yourself when you realise this means you’re going to have to touch the hot, naked man.

you turn on the shower, waiting for it to warm up before you motion for the man to get in. you are absolutely not willing to get naked in the shower with a stranger whose name you don’t even know, so you step in fully clothed, already regretting it when you feel the fabric growing wet and sticking to your skin.

it’s as you’re helping rinse the dirt off him that you spot the writing on his dog tags. you’d noticed them previously but hadn’t been able to get a good look. 

you take the metal chain in your hand, turning it to read the name stamped into the metal.

“logan,” you read, and the man in front of you purrs, a low rumble in his throat. you smile. “i’m going to guess that’s your name. logan.”

this seems to relax the last dredges of tension that he holds. he practically melts into you, and the feeling of being trusted so fully by someone who seems so broken warms your heart in a way that you haven’t felt in years.

you finish washing him up in silence, only interrupted by occasional soft purrs and hums from logan. he quite enjoys it when you wash his hair, hands reaching up to scrub shampoo into the strands, nails scratching at his scalp. you switch your earlier comparison from a dog to a cat, the purring reminding you of the kitten you had growing up.

he shakes his head when he gets out of the shower, water flying everywhere, and you laugh as you hand him a towel. you once again have to help him when he just stares at it like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

he gets dressed on his own, thankfully, since you already feel like you might implode from being in such close quarters with an extremely attractive, wet, nude man for so long. 

you leave him for a minute to dry yourself off and change into dry clothes. it’s nice to have a moment of reprieve, where you can simply breathe and process and question what the fuck you just got yourself into. you finally allow yourself to freak out a tiny bit, muttering to yourself in the mirror, tugging at your hair.

you just manage to pull a shirt over your head when you hear quiet whimpering at the door and the sound of loud banging against it.

your heart breaks at the sound, reminded of the wounded animals your grandparents would nurse back to health, and you rush to pull some pants on so you can open the door. logan looks at you with the most devastated eyes and then falls into you, face nudging into your neck, inhaling deeply. you stumble back, thankful for the wall that catches you. he’s heavier than he looks, which is saying something, given his size.

you’re shocked for a moment, frozen, but quickly come back to yourself and place your hands on his firm back.

“i’m sorry,” you say, “i didn’t mean to scare you. i wasn’t going to leave you, i just needed privacy for a moment.”

you don’t know if he understands anything you’re saying but it makes you feel better to explain yourself. you’re shocked that this is the same man who was snarling at you, claws out and ready to rip your throat out not so long ago, shocked at how quickly he’s grown attached to you.

shocked at how quickly you’ve grown attached to him, too. then again, you’ve always been this way. you like to help people, and logan seems like a man who needs a lot of help.

“i was baking a pie, when i saw you,” you tell him, “how about we go finish that? you don’t have to leave my side. you can watch me and i’ll teach you all my secrets.”

and as you expected, he follows you into the kitchen, trailing after you like a lost puppy. normally, you hate having anyone else in the kitchen with you, getting in your way when you’re in the zone, but his presence is nice. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t distract you or get in your way, just stands and watches you intently.

you’re already used to having him here with you, comfortable enough to turn your back to him. it’s crazy, and a (big) part of you knows that this isn’t exactly a smart thing to do, but you’re already planning on letting him stay for as long as he needs, maybe even forever.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams

[eff4freddie]

For the Glory of Rome

General Acacius x F!Reader x M!OFC Words: 6k

Explicit. Minors DNI

Inspired by that slutty little knee in that tunic, and also general Acacius brainrot Leaving your farming village behind, you have managed to secure a position as the lady's maid for a Senator's wife, and while it's better than where you started, you can't help but feel you haven't quite found your home. Good thing you have your friend Antonius, the Senator's guard, and his ability to sniff out a rumour or two about the famed and revered General of Rome.

Warnings: Here be smut, MMF, oral (M receiving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, losing virginity, age gap (reader is 23, Acacius is...however old Acacius is), Roman orgies woop woooop, group sex, Lucilla being her Queenly self, the inner thigh omg, lifting tunics in a generally slutty manor, historical inaccuracy

Tagging @baronessvonglitter hope it was worth the wait!

You’d heard things. Not entirely on purpose. But as a lady in waiting for the wife of a Senator it was almost impossible not to overhear the occasional gossip over tea, whispers behind open palms. You knew of the proclivities of the emperors, learning words you’d never heard before back in your village. Having left at the age of 18, you realised quickly how much you still had to learn about the world the moment you stepped one gentle foot into it. Now several years later, you still felt in awe of the grandeur, of the marble and gold, of the magnitude of a city even if you were yet to feel you had fully earned your place in it.  

You didn’t mind the work. It was better than the fields, and on days when the sun beat down on the marble beneath your feet you remembered the unbearable heat of the swaying wheat, the burn of the dirt between your toes.

Still. Sometimes your robes itched, and you felt the ache in your shoulders carrying the urns of water up from the well to the lady’s bath. You often slumped into your quarters at sundown, bone tired and too weary to venture out of the statehouse. You had made it all the way to the Capital, you mused, only to teeter on the edges of it.

Only once a month were you able to take an afternoon to yourself, and on these occasions you wondered down to the markets, to the souks snaking along the inside of the walls, listening for your own accent, for your own words. You drank peppermint tea on woven rugs laid clean over dust, swapped tales with the other ladies’ maids, and as much as you could steered clear of the barracks, of the curious eyes of the soldiers as they trained, caked in grime and sweat, even in the heat of high noon.

It was through these expeditions that you heard news of the war, of the glory of Rome spreading its wings across the Empire. You heard rumours, snatches of victories brought about by the great General Acacius, a man you assumed to be as feral as he was cunning. No one you met talked ill of him, a whisper of awe passing over their faces as they swapped tales of having passed him in the street, of standing on the sidelines upon his return, upon his departure. You were aware of his famed good looks. You hoped, one day, to steal a glance at him, from him.  

--

Antonius, the Senator’s guard and one of your only friends at the statehouse, seemed to enjoy shocking you with stories of the palace, grinning at the way your cheeks grew hot.

He stood, slumped against the perimeter wall as he sought the shade, tugging at the collar of his leather cuirass, unadorned.

‘That can’t possibly be correct,’ you whispered, a load of linens bundled in your arms for washing.

‘I do not play,’ he defended, holding his hands aloft. You scoffed.

‘But how would they…fit?’ you asked, intensely aware of your innocence as the smile spread across Antonius’ face.

‘Well, one must be slow, one must be careful. But the hole in the centre…well, that is surprisingly pliant. The one at the rear, that can take some negotiation.’

You considered this, turning it over in your mind to try and make sense of it.  

‘But where do the…limbs go?’ you asked, watching as Antonius tried not to laugh. You swatted at him. ‘You know what I mean…’ you said.

‘All I know is that it’s Emperor Gata’s favourite method,’ he said, shrugging. You shook your head.

‘Such things…the Gods would never endorse,’ you stated, with considerable conviction.

‘My sweet dove, they do it with their sanction. They are the emperors, after all.’

You shrugged this thought away.

‘I have to attend to the linens,’ you said, ready to dismiss both the images in your mind and Antonius along with them.

‘I’ve heard of other, less…salacious affairs,’ he said. ‘The emperors tend to act with impunity. Not everyone has the same privilege. Not even the higher ranks.’

‘The higher ranks?’ you asked, your ears perking up.  

‘The military ranks, the Senators.’

You swivelled your head to the statehouse, your mind uncomprehending.

‘Not my…’

‘Oh Gods, no, not them,’ Antonius laughed. ‘They’d be more likely to break a hip than make a man come.’ You felt the heat furiously cross your cheeks at this crassness. ‘No, but the General…’

He trailed away, watching you closely as you felt your spine straighten.

‘But he has Lucilla, and everyone knows he is devoted…’

‘Just what I’ve heard,’ Antonius shrugged. My cousin is in the military, and he has heard…’

‘He’s heard stories, tall tales,’ you interrupted, a puff of indignation escaping you along with it. You weren’t sure why, but the idea of the General doing…those things…made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t entirely sure about.

‘I can ask him for more details,’ Antonius offered, and you rolled your eyes at him, heaving the linens over your shoulder and making for the riverbed.

--

You knew Antonius well enough to know that he spent more time with you than the other servants and lady’s maids, that he waited for you at the end of a long day to walk you back the 50 yards to your quarters. You were flattered, and you were aware that he was handsome, but he was also young, and impressionable, and thoughtless in his approach to the world. Just once he had attempted a kiss as he stood, a respectable distance from your room, his hat clasped tight to his chest. You had let him, because you were curious if nothing else, and had felt little when his dry lips brushed yours. You had wondered what all the fuss was about. He hadn’t attempted it again.

You also knew Antonius well enough to know he was unsatisfied as a simple guard of a Senator, that he too had ambitions of military life, of travels to foreign lands, of conquer. You knew that in these moments of quiet at the statehouse he drew his sword only to dance with his own shadow, the glint of the metal sometimes blinding in the afternoon sun. You knew he was often at the barracks, that his cousin often fed him news of the war, tales that he breathlessly retold to you and that you were sure he had embellished on the journey back.

So it was that the night he appeared at the door of your quarters, cheeks rosy from the gentle warmth of the night and of his own excitement, that you took several moments to believe him.

‘He’s returned, the army has returned.’

‘Who has?’ you asked, gathering your robe around you, not having ever had a man appear in your door.

‘The General…the troops return in a week. He has returned early. There will be a procession in the morning.’

‘Are you going?’ you asked, and you watched Antonius’s smile broaden on his ruddy cheeks.

‘The Senator will be on hand to welcome him, as will the emperors.’

You felt your pulse quicken at your breast.

‘Can I…’ you started to ask, and then faltered. You had already seen the way his face was falling.

‘The senator’s wives aren’t usually…in attendance,’ he finished, quietly, and you felt your stomach fall.

‘Of course,’ you said.

‘Are you not scheduled for an afternoon away?’ he asked, and you shook your head. ‘Could you not ask for…’

‘Good night, Antonius,’ you said, pushing him back so that you could close your door. You couldn’t stand the pity on his face as he gazed at you. Couldn’t stomach the idea of missing out, again, so near to the city and yet far enough to be as though still just a silly girl amongst the wheat.

--

You could hear the cheers of the crowds drifting up on the breeze as you stood, jug poised, in the courtyard of the statehouse. Beside you, the senator’s wife gazed idly at the sky.

‘Do you thirst for blood in the same way as the emperors?’ she asked you, coming out of her reverie.

‘No, my lady,’ you said, quietly. You watched as the breeze tickled the purple flowers of the vine crawling over your heads.

‘Do you thirst for anything?’ she asked.

You thought, a longing in your chest that surprised you, of the General. Of the crowds braying for him, of victory and of petals falling from the sky. You thought of being just that close to greatness, to what felt so much like real, actual life.

‘No, my lady,’ you repeated, setting the jug down beside your elbow.

‘I thirst for the lives of our soldiers, returned safe. And I long for peace, I think,’ she said, idly. You found yourself nodding.

‘I long for a thoughtful Rome,’ you said, quietly, and she regarded you, then. You watched as her painted brow arched.

‘Indeed,’ she said, after more than a handful of breaths. You found yourself exhaling as she stood.

‘I also long for a nap,’ she said, her little laugh tinkering along the stones as you walked with her to her room.

Later, when the evening sun was dipping low over the coast, and the Senator had returned cheerily wine-drunk and returned to his quarters to presumably inconvenience his wife, you stood with your shawl wrapped tight over your shoulders letting Antonius regale you of his exploits.

‘He is just as handsome as they said,’ he reported, breathless. ‘Broad, and…I don’t know how to explain it, just…an authority. He is poised. He is calm. He…observes.’

You felt a little shiver of something tight in your belly, and you swallowed it down.

‘What of the emperors?’ you asked, unsure why you felt the need to change the subject.

‘Mad, both of them,’ he dismissed, and you hissed for him to be quiet, glancing around to make sure no-one heard. He grinned at you, your concern for him evidently delighting you.

‘Gather your things,’ he whispered, trailing a hand over your forearm and watching the goosebumps appear. You looked up at him, questioning. ‘The Senator snores, your lady has eaten, there is no call for you now. Soon it will be dark, and I have solved a mystery.’

Even in the dying light you could see something dark, mischievous, glinting out from behind his eyes. You shivered, an involuntary little thing, as his fingertip dropped to trace along your side.

‘I don’t…’ you started but he shushed you.

‘You will need to trust me,’ he said. ‘But we’re not likely to ever have the chance for this again. Please, take it. With me.’

You found yourself nodding, a war of elephants in your chest. His grin only widened, his entire face now subsumed by it, it seemed.

‘Bring a cloak, and…your best tunic’, he finished, politely. ‘Perfume your skin and your hair. Don’t ask questions, and meet me in the courtyard as soon as you can.’

--

You were relieved that he led you away from the barracks, out to the east wall trailing down towards the docks. Here, there were fewer guards, but you were still careful, walking a step behind Antonius as he guided you, his hand trailing behind him to hold yours.

I have solved a mystery, you thought, turning his words over and over in your head. Beneath you your tunic shifted, light, over your softened skin and you felt the coil of something hot and tight in your belly. You were very sure this was a bad idea, and also that you were finally feeling something other than that of the observer.

At last, he pulled up beside a gate, bracketed by two short shrubs and a portly looking guard. Antonius pressed a coper token to the guard’s palm and he shuffled aside, nodding to you both, his eyes travelling over your body in a way that made you quite uneasy.

Antonius led you through the gate to reveal a simple courtyard, the smell of salt in the air lingering from the nearby shore.

‘These are the General’s quarters,’ he explained in a hushed tone as you felt your body go rigid. ‘The General and his lady Lucilla have a residence, of course, as befitting a man of his stature, everyone knows that. But he keeps this place also, close to the water in the event of naval attack.’

Over the rush of blood in your ears you heard laughter,  the gentle melody of a lyre, drifting from a room to your side.

‘Come…’ Antonius whispered, tucking you to his side and ushering you into the main doors in front of you. ‘It’s all true,’ he said, his voice dripping in awe.

For a moment, you struggled to understand what you were seeing. As you stepped into the low light you saw only a writhing mass beneath you, a constant movement accompanied by guttural gasps, by groans. As your eyes adjusted to the flickering torches you started to make out shapes, cloth laid over skin, fingers adorned with rings and wine stretching into the open air in the centre of the room. You took a step away, your hand flying to your mouth, Antonius holding you steady with a warm hand on the small of your back.

‘Antonius, those are…’

‘Lovers,’ he finished for you, ‘tens of them, coupling and recoupling.’ You looked back at him, the flickering light casting unfamiliar shadows over his features as he watched. A woman let out a high-pitched squeal, another laughing as she convulsed beneath the back of an unknown man.

‘But where is the…’ and you trailed away, then, your eyes further adjusting as you scanned the room. There, to your right and tucked away in the corner, two ornate chairs holding the General and his lady, their gazes trained on the writhing mass. You realised they were raised on a kind of dais, the General holding his lady’s hand as she sipped, simply, on wine. Their stillness, their stern observation, somehow more thrilling than the pleasure unfolding at their feet.

‘They just watch,’ Antonius whispered in your ear, pushing you from the doorway and over to the side wall where you could re-orient. ‘It’s said that Acacius only ever watches, but sometimes Lucilla…’

‘Sometimes Lucilla what?’ you asked, unable to take your eyes from the couple. Acacius, stripped of his ceremonial armour from the afternoon, sat wrapped in a simple tunic, gold stitching of laurels adorning his shoulders and his red cape. Lucilla, easily the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, sat beside him, cowl of fine silk over her head, legs crossed at the ankle as her husband occasionally let go her hand to stroke idly at her knee.

‘Sometimes she beckons for a pretty young thing to rub her feet, to sit across her lap and let her draw her fingers along their spine. She is apparently quite unbothered as to their sex.’

Your eyes drifted back to the General, the skin of his strong thighs, his scarred knees, peeking out from beneath his tunic.

‘Does he ever…?’ you asked, and Antonius shook his head.

‘Apparently, he could, if he chose to. Lucilla wouldn’t mind it, it’s said. But he refrains, on the basis that he has never found another to tempt him away from his wife.’

You nodded, tearing your eyes from him to stare hard at the stone beneath your feet. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs, the blush of your cheeks, your shawl suddenly heavy across your shoulders, across your chest. In front of you a woman sucked gloriously at the nipple of another as she poured wine down her chest, the red liquid pulling in the mouth of her lover as they both gasped in delight.

‘This is how they celebrate his return from war,’ Antonius informed you, glee lacing his words.

‘The heat…’ you said, sweat gathering. ‘Antonius, will you help me…’ you said, reaching for the fastening at your neck. He nodded, fingers light and reverent on your skin as he pulled it from you, your simple tunic falling free from underneath it and letting the air, finally, to you. You almost moaned, the relief of it so acute.

‘Oh…’ Antonius gasped, lowly, and for a moment you thought he had spotted some fault in your dress before you looked at his eyes and saw he was looking over your head. You turned your gaze to where his was looking, to the chairs in the corner of the room.

The General’s gaze had turned to you, the flip of your shawl enough to draw his attention even in the half-light, and you watched, transfixed, as he stared, unwavering. You felt the roaring fire of want sear up through your belly, unmatched only by the flames licking at your face.

You weren’t an experienced girl, although you had some dealings with one of the farm boys in the village before you’d turned 16, your father’s disapproval only driving you closer towards him, such that you had let him fumble under your tunic for a few minutes until he squirmed and gasped in release without you ever having touched him, his resulting shame keeping you from him far more effectively than your father’s words ever did.

But you knew what it looked like when a man was desirous. When he had landed his gaze upon an object and set upon wanting it, and you saw it now, in the hungering look of the General as his eyes travelled over your frame.

‘He’s seen us,’ Antonius whispered, and you nodded, letting him lead you by the elbow towards the throng in the centre of the room. You kept your eyes on the General’s, his own stare almost unblinking, as he watched your gentle progression.

‘Gods…’ Antonius muttered beside you, finding an empty seat on the end of a long couch and pulling you down onto him, your back to his so that you remained, front on, in the General’s eyeline. ‘The intensity of his study.’

You shuddered, turning to ash as the General’s eyes roamed over you, leaving a scorching path across your skin. You saw his eyes linger at your chest, your pulse thick and fast and your breathing near panting as Antonius shifted beneath you, allowing your knees to part either side.

‘If I can show him what I can do,’ Antonius whispered into your ear, your skin aflame where the General’s eyes touched it, ‘maybe he will have me for his army, his private army.’

‘What you can do?’ you asked, not comprehending, until Antonius grasped your breast in his paw and tugged, earning him a gasp from your pretty mouth.

‘How vigorously I can fuck,’ Antonius said, pausing to chew on the lobe of your ear, watching as your eyes listed close, a shiver running along your spine. ‘I think he would like to watch me fuck you, don’t you?’ he asked.

You weren’t sure you were hearing Antonius. The General’s eyes had not strayed from you, even in the half-light, even with the masses of bodies surrounding you both. From across the room, he watched you, his jaw set hard and his hand gripping tight at the arm of his chair.

‘Reveal me,’ you whispered, lifting your hands to tug at your tunic.

‘Yes, my lady,’ Antonius grunted, sliding his hands under the fabric and shifting you in his lap so that it slid smooth over your body. You felt your hair fall as it came away, your tresses tumbling over your shoulders as you bore yourself to the General of Rome.

You watched as his eyes slid over your skin, his deep gulp as they settled between your only slightly parted thighs. Hooking your knees over Antonius’, you settled back against him, leaning your head to his chin to nibble at his jaw while you kept your eyes locked to the General’s. Antonius’ hands came first to cup your breasts, tweaking and twisting your nipples hard enough to make you writhe on his lap, then travelled lower, tracing over your belly and towards your sex, your core open and exposed to the night air, to the darkness, to the heat of the General’s gaze.

‘Gods, you are soaking,’ Antonius groaned in your ear, his fingers sliding over your folds to stroke, slow and languid, at your bud. You let out a high little whimper, a ghost of a groan carried to the rafters, as your hips jerked all of their own. You felt him shift again, spreading his thighs wider, your sex unfolding like a water lily in the first light of dawn.

Behind you, beside you, the chorus of libidinous excess churned, a sea of cunts and breasts and aching, heavy cocks. You felt entirely outside your own body, for a moment watching from the rafters as you squirmed in Antonius’ lap, your sex open and drooling for the General as he watched from the other side of the room. You could feel the weight of his glare on you, your eyes drawn again to him as he leant ever so slowly forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he took you in.

‘Such a pretty little cunt, look at him staring at it,’ Antonius grinned. ‘He’ll think I’m the emperor when I spread it with my cock.’

You groaned, Antonius switching his hands so that his right continued to strum at your clit while his left parted you, pulled your folds apart to slip a finger to your core. You stuttered, your hips rolling as you took him in, hissing at the stretch of even his single finger.

‘Gods, have you ever had another here before?’ he asked, and you shook your head.

‘Not properly,’ you said. ‘Not with his…thing.’

‘Such a sweet girl,’ he said, biting a little at your earlobe. ‘Can’t even say “cock” without pink atop your cheeks.’

You could feel that he was hard, his thing, his cock, grinding into your bottom as you squirmed in his lap.

‘Put your heels up on my knees,’ he said, leaning you back further into his chest to allow it. ‘Show him all of you, let him see me open up this pretty little cunt.’

You flopped, boneless, against him, gasping to the ceiling as he slid another finger to join the first. The sting of it soon abating, leaving only a pulsing need in its wake. Is this what everyone had been going on about all this time? Suddenly, you understood it.

‘Oh, Gods,’ you gasped, as he rubbed tight circles into your pulsing bud. ‘Oh!’ you shuddered again, something shimmering and hot in your belly starting to wind its way around your core.

Then, suddenly, stillness. You groaned in frustration, your eyes snapping open to turn to Antonius. You only paused when you saw shock, jaw hanging open and eyebrows arched high on his forehead.

‘Antonius!’ you gasped, his hands still inside you but unmoving.

‘He has beckoned for us,’ he whispered, and you turned, rising your head off Antonius’ shoulder to stare down the valley between your thighs. You watched as Acacius, his eyes now fixed on your spread sex, lifted his hand to the air, waving for you.

--

You had only been a girl when you mother took you aside and explained the unfolding paths your life could take. If you were to stay on the farm you were to marry, to bear children, to raise them up in the same fields she had raised you. To maybe have boys and watch them carry the glory of the Empire on their shoulders into battle, to maybe have girls and watch them birth the next generation of Rome. If you were to leave you would work, and it would be toil and largely thankless, servitude at the steps of a bigger life not likely to ever be within your grasp. The proximity of it maybe enough to carry you, maybe not.

You were to make your decision quickly. Soon, you would bleed.

And you knew that you were lucky, in a sense, to have a mother that afforded you a choice, to have a father that allowed you to pack your meagre belongings into a satchel of his design. But in the nights when you waited in your quarters for sleep to come, in the nights when your back ached from beating linens against rocks by the river, from pressing powder to the folds on your lady’s skin just to watch her leave to revel without you, you wondered whether you had made the right one.

The General only became more striking as you closed the distance between you, crawling on your hands and knees to get to him over the writhing bodies of your compatriots. You felt Antonius behind you, his shuffle to keep up as you waded, your eyes still locked to Acacius’ even now. As you neared him, as you felt the ambient heat of his body start to press into your own, as you met his hungered gaze with one full of longing, of desire, in your own, you felt for the first time at the core of your own life, at the pulsing centre of it. At the place you had been destined to arrive all this time, ambling towards it without knowing your heading.

You glanced to the General’s side, to Lucilla who watched you with a gentle smile adorning her lips. You saw she held her husband’s hand in hers as his other gripped the edge of the chair, his body leaning towards yours as you crawled to him.

‘Pretty little thing,’ you heard her murmur to him, and you again felt pink again adorn your cheeks. Acacius only nodded, his jaw set tight as he reached his hand to you. You reared up on your knees, stumbling towards him, letting him pull you forward until your arms rested atop his thighs. You could see, now, the tremble of the tunic as it covered his pulsing cock, could smell the sweet smell of orange and cedar that he had bathed himself in. Drunk on his gaze you let your hands slide, feeling the heat of his thighs as his muscles twitched beneath your touch, the man almost jumping out of his chair when you took the hem of his skirt in your fingers and folded it, lifting it gently to lie atop his lap.

Your eyes fell to it, his aching, leaking cock standing proud from the thicket of hair between his thighs. You watched, marvelled, at the way it pulsed in time with his heart.

‘I don’t know that she has ever seen one before,’ Lucilla commented, and you glanced at her, suddenly shy. ‘So precious,’ she continued. ‘So lucky that her first is that of the General of Rome.’

Acacius grunted, his fingers starting to tremble as your stare returned to his member. Behind you, Antonius approached, unnoticed, sinking down to his knees to lean over you, his hands steadying himself on your hips.

‘It’s beautiful, General,’ he said, as he trailed his fingers up your spine, idly. ‘Mouthwatering.’

You nodded, agreeing, flexing your fingers to try and push the shake out.

‘Reach out and take it in your hand,’ Antonius instructed, and you heard the General gasp, looking up at him to watch his eyes darken.

‘Gods, has she never…?’

‘She’s fresh as a new bud,’ Antonius reported, proudly, easing his fingers over your bottom and letting them slip again, to your dripping sex. ‘She tastes as a dew formed by the first dawn,’ he went on, collecting your slick at his fingers and then raising them, an offering, to the man seated above you. ‘Taste?’ he said.

Acacius leant forward, sucking Antonius’ fingertips into his mouth, his eyes closing in awe as he muffled out a groan. ‘Gods, like early Spring,’ he said.

You watched as his cock twitched again, your nose full of the smell of his hot skin, of something hard and masculine, something dangerous and deadly. You licked your lips, your mouth descending to his tip almost without thought, your tongue reaching to lick at the little ridge of skin on the underside of his glorious, throbbing shaft.

‘Oh, she’s fresh like a bud but filthy like a whore,’ Lucilla observed, smiling indulgently at her husband. Acacius turned to her, his brows saddled.

‘My lady, I…’

‘Hush,’ she said, raising a hand to her husband’s cheek as he shuddered, your tongue sliding to tease at the slit where he leaked. ‘Enjoy, my love. For all you’ve done, for the glory of Rome.’

You closed your eyes, hollowing your cheeks to prepare yourself to take him into your mouth, your jaw already aching at his girth. You heard him groan, his hands falling to your hair, tangling himself in your tresses as you worked.

Behind you, Antonius crouched, freeing himself from his tunic so that he could notch himself at your entrance, his cock prodding at your gentle, silken folds.

‘General,’ he gasped, as Acacius whimpered under your tongue. ‘She’s gripping me, pulling me into her untouched cunt.’

‘Go gentle,’ he grunted. ‘A precious one as this…’ he trailed off as you reached up to grasp him by the base, saliva and the General’s leaking come starting to collect and run over your chin. He found himself unable to speak as you opened your eyes to gaze up at him, the desire in his eyes bathing you in heat.

‘Gods…’ Antonius groaned as you felt him push into you, a gasp catching in your chest as you swallowed around the General’s cock. You felt the grip in your hair tighten, saw the way Acacius started to rock his hips, squirming on the seat beneath him as you took him further down, into your throat.

You felt the sting, the stretch as Antonius slid into you, his first thrust knocking you further into Acacius’ chest, his cock slipping from your mouth as you steadied yourself. You gasped, lungs burning for air. Your brows saddled, a whimper escaping you.

‘Does it hurt, my sweet little dolly?’ Acacius asked and you nodded, permitting a wince as Antonius again bucked his hips. Acacius breathed, his eyes roaming your face as a tear gathered at your waterline.

‘Want it to be you,’ you whispered, Antonius’ cock fucking the truth right out of you as you rocked backwards and forwards on your knees, leaning on the naked lap of the most desired man in Rome. He came forward, then, lifting his hand to cup the side of your head, fingers stretching over the back of your skull as he cradled your jaw. He allowed the fingertips of his other hand to travel the plains of your body, pausing only momentarily to paw at the swell of your breast before gliding them further, his muscled and sun-kissed arm extending to allow him to travel to your folds, to your straining, quivering clit.

You jolted, the pad of his finger rubbing gentle circles, the squeeze of Antonius immediately lessening, the pinch giving way, finally, to a sense of fullness, of completeness, of finally being entire.

You whimpered, the General holding your head in his hand to lock his eyes to yours, your body rolling and jerking beneath you as he held you fast to him. Behind you Antonius worked, his cock soaring into you, his fingertips digging hard into your hips.

The General watched you, studied the way your face twisted, contorted in pleasure. With his fingers at your sex, he spread your slick and you felt it collecting at the apex of your thighs, spreading over your skin. Your groans went unheeded, lost to the debauched sounds of the room, as you felt pressure build low in your belly, a coiling of something essential, tight in your core.

Still, he watched you, kept you trapped beneath him, his gaze warm, almost loving, as he held you through it. You realised, as the ache in your core set to burning, as the wildfire caught on dry grass and sparked an inferno racing from your cunt to your chest to your throat, that he was giving this to you, this first time, that he held you entirely in his orbit and in his grip, that you were his to play with, his to stroke and pleasure and consume, that you would let him for as long as he would have you, that more than anything in this moment you were cherished, that you were desired, that you were prized.

‘I want it to be me, too,’ he murmured low, a secret between two lovers, as you started to lose control of your breath.

‘General..!’ you gasped, the feeling so strong you were terrified it would wash you away with it, his gaze unwavering in the face of such peril.

‘Let it take you, little dolly,’ he said, his fingers continuing to push you further, your pulsing little clit aching for him, from him.

Behind you, Antonius grunted, his thrusts becoming fast and unruly as he started to lose his form.

‘I can’t hold it,’ he said over your head, almost apologetic.

‘Give her everything,’ Acacius ordered, his eyes still on you as your brows saddled.

‘Good girl,’ he murmured, your eyes slamming shut as you gave yourself in to it, as you let it breach your walls, flood the arena, made you breathe in not air but the whispers of the Gods above you, your shuddering form bowed in pleasure for their reverence.

--

Dawn threatened, and as the muddy light streamed in over the piles of bodies you counted fifteen separate sets of arms and legs. Perched on the end of the couch, wrapped in your shawl and your tunic again with no memory of having put them back over your skin, you roused Antonius and assembled yourselves before sneaking back to the Senator’s statehouse. His wife will be seeking breakfast and for you to wash her hair this morning. You will see if you can sneak some hot water for yourself as you pour hers.

On shaky legs, you stood with Antonius in the courtyard, seeking your bearings. You shuddered, the morning cold biting harder than you expected, an ache between your thighs a not-unwelcome reminder of the night before.

Above your heads, the General and his lady’s open window revealed the sound of gentle slumber.

You escaped through the back alleys, a giggle forming in your chest both at your memories of the night before and at your now complete inability to look Antonius in the eye. You found yourself mooning over him suddenly, as though your time with the General and his lady had forged something new between you, a bond you’re curious to explore. As you made your way back to the statehouse, contemplating this development, the dawn finally properly broke, the pink and purple light staining the marble around you. In front of you, the palace glowed, ethereal, the city only beginning to wake.

You looked down at your feet, stationed steady on the stones. You considered, for the first time, that you were home.

[elliezlils11utt]

“you cant heal a bullet hole with a band aid”

summary: after Seattle you move to the farm to help ellie heal, yet she cant seem to let go.

pairings: mentally unstable!ellie x over caring!reader

contents: sfw? tlou au, no baby au, ellie isnt in a good place, ellie is an asshole, reader has no self respect, angst with some comfort. non sexual intimacy!

a/n: i had such high hopes for this and honestly its a bit shitty. i dont write angst. 🤷‍♀️

“Hey baby. How was hunting? Anything good?” The crease in your back straightens on impulse as you stand from the table. She stumbles through the door and kicks off her boots. Her eyes look down towards her feet. She ignores your first question and replies bluntly to the second.

“the usual.” good, this is good. some words are better than none.You help her out of her coat and hang it on the wrack. Her eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks, a cold no where behind them. The green looking into you. Her eyes flutter down your body and don’t leave, it’s almost judgmental look.

“Right. Uh- I made us dinner! You hungry?”

“You made dinner? You didn’t have to.” She sounds tired. So fucking tired. She plops down In the seat with a heavy sigh. She watched as you follow her to the table. “why’d you dress up?” She asks in her low voice.

you set her dish in front of her. “I dunno, wanted to look pretty. Is it too much?” You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric and flash her a cute toothy grin.

“yah, It’s not really ‘dinner-table-wear’, js wish you would’ve told me you were doing all this.” she sounds almost annoyed. Her voice laced with exhaustion. your smile slowly drops. ‘You can’t fix a bullet wound with a band aid’ you tell yourself again. Those words ring through your mind as you slide into the chair across from her. You just hum in response. Your girlfriend leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over one another. Her eyes fixed on you for a split moment before returning her gaze on the table. Another heavy sigh.

“look, im sorry. js tired i guess”

“yeah i know, i get it!! don’t be sorry..” you pick at your food mindlessly. Now it’s your turn to sigh. You grab her hand from across the table. Ellies eyes trace over your face, taking in all of you like she hasn’t in weeks. Her eyes trail down your eyebrows, to your nose, to your lips and back up again. Your grip on her hand tightens for a minute. She just looked at you for the first time again. For a brief moment everything’s okay. The sun shining through the sheer of the curtains, Joel in the next room playing guitar, your Ellie’s there giggling along with you, and the god forbidden name “Abby” doesn’t exist in your world. But of course that’s only for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be like this, I’m just exhausted…”

“I know, I know baby. you still hungry? Or want me to run you a warm bath?” Her hand tightens in your own.

“A bath sounds nice.” She leans back in her chair again, your fingers searching for hers as soon as they’re gone.

“ok els, of course. Go change and I’ll run the bath.”

Ellie disappears into the bedroom, and you let the bath run as you clean up the forgotten dinner. Ellie’s finally speaking to you. Maybe a dinner wasn’t what she needed but just talking to you. You don’t even care about the dinner anymore, just happy your girl was looking at you again. Really looking at you. The dishes clank in the sink, & your humming the tune to a song stuck in your head.

“Bath ready?” Ellie’s deep voice spooks you. As you turn around Ellie’s in her sports bra and boxers. scars lace her body, enveloping the entirety of her. Her abs littered with battle wounds and bruises. A green and purple patch apparent on her lower abdomen. her body has been through so much. it pains you to see her like this. these scars aren’t something that go away. god these remind you too much of what happened in seattle. how serious her injuries were then. you told her they would leave scars. you knew they would leave scars, but i guess a part of you wished they wouldn’t. ellie didn’t deserve them. A frown tugs and your lips. She catches you staring and pulls the towel in her hands over her stomach.

“Yeah, should be. Tell me if it’s too hot okay?” without words she stalks to the bathroom.

you lean on the doorframe as you watch her undress. “Do u want me to join you? Or do you want to be alone right now my love?” Your tone is so soft, you speak to her as if she could break at any moment. because she could.

“Please don’t leave me alone.” She whispers.

“Ok baby. Of course. I’m here.” You slip off your clothes and slide into the tub & motion for Ellie to follow. She steps in and lays her back to your chest, sitting within your legs. The two of you lay in silence just enjoying each other’s presence. She speaks up after a moment.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole. I hate when I get like this.” there she is.

“I know, your going through a lot right now. It’s okay, I get it. Don’t apologize.” You wrap your arms around her. You can tell she doesn’t know what to say. How to explain herself. She feels bad for treating you unfairly but can’t seem to shake the words that describe how truly sorry she is.

“I guess I just feel guilty…” she trails off. “Y’know, for taking it out on you.” Her head tilts up so she’s half looking at you, her fingers tracing circles in the water. Responding to Ellie’s words is hard. Ellie lost her father, but you were there in Seattle. You were with her. You were the one who almost died for her. And you are the one here with her now. Whatever she’s dealing with you’re right there with her. You may not have known Joel as well, but the pain of seeing Ellie like this is like loosing her. Anything to help your girl.

“I can take it. I know you don’t mean it. so for you, I’ll endure it.”

silence.

she cant say anything to you. she feels she doesn’t deserve to. your too good to her. way too good. “you cant heal a bullet wound with a bandaid” you speak softly into her hair. “you dont have to say anything. i know. im sorry”

[saphronethaleph]

Sibling Comparisons

Leia rose from her bed, confused, as the door hissed open.

Something seemed off about the situation, she could feel it. But she didn’t want to tip her hand – and a moment’s thought turned up an answer.

“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” she asked, thinking about minimum-height requirements that had been instituted in the days of transition from the clone army and never been rescinded.

“What?” the ‘trooper replied. “Oh, the uniform.”

He took off his helmet. “My name’s Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you.”

Leia did a double-take.

“What is Kenobi thinking?” she asked. “He brought my brother here?”

Luke practically fell over.

“Brother!?” he asked. “But – you’re a princess-”

“Yes, yes, excellent cover identity, sheer audacity,” Leia replied. “Nobody would suspect the Senator for Alderaan, and if you’re going by Skywalker then the same idea must be in play for you. Where’s Kenobi? Is he going by Ben or Obi-Wan these days?”

“We were coming to Alderaan,” Luke said. “Ben’s off shutting down the tractor beam so we can leave – look, what do you mean, brother?”

“We can talk about that later,” Leia replied, striding past her brother to the door of the cell. “What’s your exfiltration plan?”

“My what?” Luke asked. “...we’ve got your R2 unit?”

“Hey, farmboy!” a voice called from up the detention block corridor, accompanied by the sound of blasters firing. “We’ve got company!”

Leia sighed. “Where’s R2-D2?” she asked. “He should be able to get us out of this.”

“About… what, ten floors above us?” Luke guessed, then a wookiee joined them along with someone else in stormtrooper armour.

“We’re not getting out that way,” the man said.

“I don’t suppose you brought a spare blaster for me?” Leia asked. “Is there another way out?”

“Let me check with Threepio,” Luke said, reaching for his comlink. “Seriously? You’re my sister?”

“Right now I’m mostly hoping I’m better at planning than you,” Leia shot back, as blaster bolts flashed down the corridor.

“...well, that worked, eventually,” Leia muttered, brushing herself off as they exited the trash compactor. “Which is a marked improvement on your way of getting us out of here, I have to point out.”

“I’m still waiting on an explanation,” Luke protested. “How can you be my sister?”

“What, you want me to draw a diagram?” Han asked.

Chewbacca roared something.

“Hey, he’s from Tatooine, it’s not an animal farm,” Han protested. “He might just not know.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Luke objected, flushing.

“We’re twins,” Leia replied. “Both of us were put into hiding because being known descendants of Anakin Skywalker is a serious health hazard, beyond just being Skywalkers which is separate… how much training did Ben give you?”

“A few hours,” Luke replied. “On the flight to Alderaan.”

“What was he doing with his time?” Leia asked. “My tutor is literally a state secret without any hands-”

She stopped, swallowing.

“Was, now,” she said, before shaking herself. “Anyway, I could only learn from him while on break on Alderaan and I still got a lot more training than that…”

Han made a curious noise.

“What are you talking about, exactly?” he said. “More of this force nonsense?”

“Where did you dig him up?” Leia asked her brother, with a sardonic eyebrow. “He looks old enough to remember the Clone Wars.”

Chewbacca sniggered.

“Laugh it up,” Han countered. “The Clone Wars weren’t that long ago.”

“That’s my point,” Leia replied, sharply. “The Clone Wars had the Jedi literally leading armies-”

She shook herself. “Okay, we need to focus. How exactly did you plan to get off this thing?”

“Once the tractor beam is down, we’ll be able to just fly right out of here,” Luke volunteered. “Han’s ship is more than it looks – which isn’t hard.”

“Hey!” Han protested.

“Well, if you’ve got Chewbacca with you, that’s a good sign at least,” Leia said, then held up her hand. “Wait – not this way, that way.”

“Based on what?” Han asked.

“That thing you don’t believe in,” Leia replied. “Master Windu couldn’t teach me to fight but he could teach me to avoid trouble…”

[anvznl]

S E C O N D • B E S T ☆

"To be loved is to be recognized as existing." However, what happens when the person you harbor feelings for reciprocates those feelings towards someone else? If you had known this would happened, would you have still loved them?

kind of inspired by: Second best — Laufey ♡

warning: may contain grammatical errors bc english is not my first language. ^^

ALSO, this has seb x abigail shit bc yk ahha unrequited love boombayah. this short fic is for my friend (yk who u are :3)

Settling in 'Pelican Town' was never in your bucket list, but since you wanted an escape from the good ol' Modern Life, you decided to live in this small town within the house and farm that your grandfather had left as a gift for you. All was well. Meeting everyone was definitely a joyous activity and something you will never regret doing.

Not until you met him—Sebastian. At first, you never expected much from him. He was constantly caught up in work which had led him to the point were he only leaves his house occasionally. Initially, you didn't mind it, considering you were also busy tending to your own set of duties.

Sam would sometimes ask you to hang out at the Saloon, along with Sebastian and Abigail. These get-togethers brought you all closer, and soon enough, the four of you became great friends.

But you just had to ruin it.

There is truth in the common saying: Friendships have the potential to evolve into something deeper, particularly when you have a friend who is consistently there for you.

And of course, your heart just had to choose Sebastian.

Perhaps it was due to his endearing moments, like his fondness for frogs and his desire to take a break from the town with his motorcycle. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you, the way his gaze instantly made you flushed.

Or maybe it was because of how he looked at ... Abigail.

During the time you've spent here, you couldn't help but notice how Sebastian shows a special kind of gentleness towards Abigail. Sometimes, he actively seeks her out, and other times, you catch him lost in his own thoughts, only to quickly come back to reality as soon as she enters the room.

You couldn't lie to yourself. Abigail was gorgeous. Maybe if it wasnt for her love of consuming rocks, she could've had anyone swooning for her.

A gamer girl. A drummer. The life of every party.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. The way Sebastian tended to her, the way his cheeks flushed in her presence, it was all so noticeable. You couldn't do anything about it, though. If only he knew that you noticed every little detail, every subtle interaction between them.

If only he knew you like him.

"Do you like Abigail?" You asked abruptly.

You and Sebastian were currently at the beach, looking at the clouds looming over the sea. The moment felt so intimate, but you knew this feeling was one-sided.

Sebastian's cheeks turned a shade of red, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire to be the reason behind his blush. "Maybe," he simply replied.

As he uttered that single word, it felt like a blow to your heart, but you held back any tears that threatened to escape. Perhaps it was because he was standing right beside you, or maybe it was because you were so used to bottling your feelings up.

You knew deep down that Sebastian's answer meant a resounding "yes," and it took all your strength to force a smile. "I hope she likes you back," you said, noticing how he nervously played with the hem of his hoodie as if he had been caught. His heart was clearly racing, and you could tell he was feeling all kinds of jittery.

"Yeah, I hope so," he responded.

It felt like your heart shattered right then and there. He liked Abigail. Probably more than that. Why can't he notice the pain in your eyes? Why can't he notice you at all?

But then again, who were you to ask for such an impossible thing?

[mysticmikalla]

I don't know if you take any kind of requests but if you feel like it could you maybe write about how you think the bachelors would react to you asking them to marry you? 🥹

I am always honored to take requests!! Thank you for being my first, I hope I do it justice!

**

The Stardew Valley bachelors’ reactions to being proposed to

**

Harvey

Harvey did not know what to do with himself at first. Did he gently accept the deep blue, shiny pendant from your hands and hang it around his neck? Or should he pull you in for a kiss instead, breaking apart only so he could attempt to express how much he loved you? ... Or perhaps just a simple yes, with excited promises about the future? Or maybe all of the above, in that order?

He didn’t do any of those. Instead, he stepped closer to you until he was close enough to engulf you in a hug, a little tighter than normal, hiding a silent tear that he could not help but shed while softly murmuring his answer against your hair.

Shane

He would’ve never guessed that the farmer that took up that old farm would be lying in bed next to him, gazing up at him with such a look in your eyes that made him feel like he was the only person in the world who mattered. And as unfamiliar as that feeling was, Shane felt it. He mattered, and it you had just made it clear wasn't temporary. He did feel a little afraid, however, of what came after - the moving in together, the possibility of kids, of sickness and health, and he did not want to disappoint you. But that, he decided, was a worry for the future. So for now, he wasn’t going to let you down. He took your face in his hands and smashed your lips together, taking advantage of the fact that you were already in bed and barely clothed to show you how much he meant his yes.

Sam

He already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. Sam just... took things one day at a time. He was never one to look too far into the future. So when he was playing with your fingers, absentmindedly while he went on one of his tangents instead of finishing a story he was telling you, you pulled the pendant out and set it on his lap, waiting to see how long it would take for him to notice it. And it look a while - so long that you couldn’t contain yourself, and nodding down to his lap, you said, “Sam, look.”

He stopped talking to follow your gaze, and resting on his lap was your promise to spend the rest of your life with him, if he'd have you. He stood up, pendant in hand, prompting you to do the same, “Is this…? Actually?!” Then he would pepper your face with kisses, “Do I even have to say it? Yes, yes, yes.”

Sebastian

He had never kissed you quite as passionately as he did then. When you were straddling him, a make out session well underway under the cover of the dim lights in his room, his hands on your back, under your shirt, and your hands tangled in his hair, out of breath… The feeling had consumed you then, and as good as kissing him felt, you pulled away for a moment, and as easy as if you had already said it, you murmured, “Marry me?”

Sebastian never thought he cared much for marriage, but he longed for this. To be your only one, to be the one someone finally chose. And that’s when he kissed you again. He nodded wordlessly, pulling your head back in to meet him again, intensely, deeper than before, as if he wanted you to taste his answer on his lips.

Elliot

At that point in your relationship, Elliot had already purchased the pendant. He had been sure of this for a while now, only waiting for the right time to ask you the most important and yet the easiest question of his life. He never imagined that you dreamed the same - as when he took you for your usual walks along the shores, admiring the golden glaze of the setting sun over the sand, you also had an item most precious in your pocket.

At first, when he looked at you, he thought it was a reflection of his own feelings in your eyes. And then his own fell to your hands, where they stretched out a beautiful blue pendant. Elliot never thought he’d be rendered speechless at a moment like this. All he could do was reach for his own pendant and place it on top of yours, and then finally he would say, “In any and all lifetimes, I’ll say yes.”

Alex

Because he was raised a certain way, Alex always expected he was going to be the one to propose. The excitement of buying a pendant and hiding it from you, the planning out a date that was romantic but not-so-romantic that you’d suspect it, the getting down on one knee and asking you to make him the luckiest man alive… It was corny, he knew, but that’s how he saw it happening.

And maybe you two were too alike, because you were the one to buy the pendant, the one who planned the date and the one who got down on one knee. He was genuinely shocked when he saw you, “Are you serious?” Was the first thing he managed to say before joining you on his knees to look you in the eye, “Are you actually… are you serious? I was going to… I mean, yes, but that was my line!”

[inkykeiji]

character: fyodor x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, bratty reader, toxic relationship, impact play: caning, blood, physical abuse (fyodor breaks one of reader’s bones), jealousy (feat. nikolai), princess used as a pet name, reader does not know russian or ukrainian, size difference (fyodor is bigger than reader), one instance of Sir

words: 2.7k

You’re getting restless, he can tell; can see it in the way you’re running your index finger along the spines of the old, crumbling books as you listlessly pace around the library, collecting dust on your fingertip; can hear it in the way you sigh, soft and delicate, wistful and weary, shoulders deflating a little with the exhale. 

Bratty and bored, that’s what you are, casting longing side glances at your Daddy from the corners of your eyes, desperate and hopeful for him to take notice of you, of your current state, and relieve you of it. Bratty and bored, but brats don’t get Daddy’s attention, especially not when they know he’s busy. 

He wonders how long you’ll hold out before you succumb, how long you can reign in your inherent selfish and spoiled nature before the restraints finally snap beneath your yearning for attention.

Not very long, he wagers. 

“Nikki,” you whine a mere moment after the thought passes through Fyodor’s mind, the nickname stringy and drawn out.

“Yes, princess?” Nikolai responds without tearing his gaze from the pages of his book. 

“I’m bored,” you grumble with a pout, sauntering over to the plush armchair Nikolai is snuggled in and perching on the edge, ass and thigh pressed up against his resting forearm. 

The action surprises him slightly and he looks up at you, a question lingering in his mismatched eyes. 

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “So I came to see what you were reading,” you continue as a way of explanation, leaning forward under the guise of getting a better view of the book between his palms, swelling breasts—perky and practically spilling out from that slutty milkmaid dress Fyodor loves so much—pressing into Nikolai’s cheek as you do so. 

The curiosity on his face develops into something wicked, eyes darkening and smile furling in on itself as he casts you another glance.

Oh, he knows exactly what you’re doing. 

Holding out the book further, he leans into your chest, nuzzling your bosom ever-so-slightly. 

“It’s called Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka,” he says. “You can read it with me, if you’d like.”

“I can’t read Russian, though,” you frown, sounding as if you’re genuinely disappointed.

With a shake of his head, Nikolai laughs gently, the melody both fond and condescending.

“It’s not Russian,” he says. “It’s Ukrainian.”

At your lost look—eyes widened, brows wrinkled, head tilted, so precious, so pathetic, like a stupid little puppy—he laughs again, releasing a corner of the book and holding his arm out, welcoming you into his lap. “Here,” he beckons, nodding his head a little in indication. “I’ll read it to you, then.”

Holding his stare, you hesitate for a moment, as if you’re weighing your options, carefully considering your choices and determining which packs the most heft, the most hurt. 

Then you’re settling onto his lap a moment later, a little palm planted high on his thigh as you lean forward, scanning the page. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, resting the hinges of his jaw on your body, his back pressed flush to yours. When he speaks again, you can feel his voice vibrate against his ribs. 

At the commotion, Fyodor looks up from his rosewood desk across the room, pen hovering above his papers as he observes, dripping splotches of ink across the page.

Nikolai’s murmuring to you, slowly, softly, lips grazing the cartilage of your ear as he reads, too low for Fyodor to make out the words flowing from his mouth. 

But he doubts Nikolai is actually reading to you, your sweet little giggles and bashful fluttering lashes telling him as much, Nikolai nosing along your jaw as his lips continue to move, the ghost of a smirk playing with the corners of his mouth. 

And, for a little while, Fyodor allows it to continue, jaw flexing infinitesimally with every hushed sound you emit, nostrils twitching, on the verge of flaring with each calculated exhale. 

For a little while, he’s alright; for a while, he can handle it. 

But you all knew it wouldn’t last long. 

A little squeal breaks in your throat in response to something Nikolai’s done or said, chest hunching in on itself only stopped by Nikolai’s large hands on your waist, fingers splayed wide and keeping you upright, so long they’re overlaying your ribs, thumbs just beneath your breasts.

And that’s all it takes, really.  

The sound of wood scraping wood has your body snapping into action, a switch flipped—automatic, inherent—and you slip from Nikolai’s grasp easily, flitting out the door with the grace of a single dove feather. 

Echos of your bare feet slapping against marble fill the wide hallways, tangled with breathless bubbles of laughter and the muted stomp of his rubber soles against the pristine floor. He’s panting behind you, pushing his body to the limit as he shoves himself forward, lungs aching, outstretched hand missing the hem of your dress by the width of a hair, again, fingers curling into a fist of nothing. 

The muscles in your legs are burning—his own legs are longer than yours, his strides more adept as they cover a larger area of ground, but you won’t give in; not until he catches you. 

And he’s close. 

Giggles are barreling up your throat and past your lips, an endless stream of amusement only slightly stuttered by your gentle, uneven huffs of exertion. The soles of your feet skid audibly on the marble as you sharply round a corner, skin squealing, but you don’t stop, not until you round the next curve in the knotted hallways, not until you realize that he’s no longer following you; that you are, suddenly and abruptly, all alone. 

Your feet scuttle to a stop, heaving chest adorned with dewdrops of sweat, glistening prettily in the warm lamplight of the manor. The silence is dense, ears ringing with the pressure, your own breathing muffled by it. The silence is heavy, crushing, almost, burdened by the immense scale and size of the manor, the whole structure so monstrous, so massive it feels nearly suffocating, like it could swallow you whole in a single gulp.

“Daddy?” you call out, voice small and hesitant, eyes darting around the empty space. The lamps on the walls waver for a moment, as if a breeze had somehow passed through the bulbs, but the air is stagnant and still. 

You turn slowly, balls of your feet sticking to the polished floor, gaze careful and cautious as it searches for any signs of life. 

“Daddy, where’d you—”

A large hand claps over your mouth and smothers your words, long fingers wreathing around your jaw, jagged nails digging into your cheek, and yanks you back against thin muscle and hard bone, engulfing you in darkness a second later. 

It all happens so quickly, so unexpectedly that you hardly have any time to meditate on the instance before you’re being whirled around, spine slamming against drywall, your body caged between the surface and the steady rise and fall of your Daddy’s chest. 

You had forgotten that this place contains many secret passageways and hidden rooms. 

You had also forgotten that Daddy knows all of them, and you know none. 

He’s got a large hand cuffed around either of your wrists, pinning them to the weathered wallpaper, warped and peeling, just above your head. 

You struggle a little, wriggling in his grip, and his fingers tighten in warning, palms pressing your limbs further against the wall, the bones of your wrist ground together in each of his hands, your features tweaking in a suppressed wince.

“Why are you on such bad behaviour today?”

“I’m not.” 

An eyebrow raises. “You’re not?”

“No. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He laughs, nothing more than a gentle huff, and it sends chills skittering up your spine.

“You know how many lashes lying to Daddy gets you, don’t you?”

“Fifteen,” you answer dutifully.

“Yes. And how many lashes does flirting with someone else get you?”

“Twenty five.”

“Exactly. And how many lashes is that total?”

“Forty.”

“Forty,” he repeats slowly, as if he’s tasting each letter, molding it with his tongue. “Can you handle that? Do you think it was wise to act out in such a manner while Daddy was working?”

“You weren’t paying attention to me,” you say in simple explanation, though your voice is solemn, words filtered through a petulant pout.

“You have my full attention now.”

“Good.” 

Blinking twice, both eyebrows quirk. “Would you like to add to your current sentence of forty lashes?” 

“Depends. What else do you got?”

His tongue runs along the front of his teeth, curling over the edges, bulging beneath his top lip as he considers. “How about an extra ten for generally pissing me off?”

“Fifty.” you say plainly. “I’ll take them.” 

“Yeah? You won’t be able to sit properly for about a month or so.”

“I don’t care. Give them to me, I want them.”

Fifty it is.

He smiles at you then, and it’s sharp, it’s sinister, curling up at the corners and nearly furling in on itself, his eyes glowing. 

He says nothing as he latches a large hand around your bicep, grip just hard enough to be uncomfortable, just hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have a pretty cuff of all four fingers and his thumb, seared into your skin in brilliant blues, by the following morning. 

But then he tugs, and a yelp cracks in your throat despite your best efforts to keep it from happening. His fingers twitch, tighten, and you grind your teeth together, an attempt to keep from making another sound. 

Because you didn’t miss the telltale flutter of the edges of his mouth when you cried out, the way his chest puffed out just a little further, raising him to his full height. 

Because as well as he knows you, you know him, too, and the last thing you want to do is give him any further satisfaction; not after he ignored you all day, acted as if you didn’t exist, nothing more than a slightly irksome ghost lingering around the edges of his consciousness, gaze only occasionally flicking up from his thick books and crumpled papers and ink-stained fingers to trail you for a moment—to make sure you were still there—before returning to his work.

“I will not be restraining you,” he tells you, as nonchalantly as if discussing the snow outside, soles of his boots echoing against the marble as he stalks towards the wardrobe. “You move so much as an inch and I will add an additional five lashes. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

And you can’t suppress the smug little grin that slithers across your face as you assume the position—hips bent at a ninety-degree angle, chest pressed into the mattress, cheek nuzzled against the silk comforter—feeling exceptionally proud of yourself for remembering the Sir, for not giving him another reason to lengthen your punishment. 

“Good,” he says, and oh, you can hear it, that minuscule barely there tremor of fury, wavering in the word like a maggot under his skin. 

He decides on his favourite cane, black ebony wood with the silver handle, made of pure platinum and topped with a sphere. This is a uncommon occurrence; he rarely uses this cane, for fear of breaking it on you, as he’s done to so many other so many times before. 

He’s unrestrained today: which is to say, he has decided to be unrestrained today, a conscious choice to be harsh, cruel, messy with it all. 

You know not to mistake this with true lack of control; he could be constrained and neat with all of his lines if he wanted to be, but he doesn’t want to be. 

Not today.

You don’t deserve it.  

Every smack of the cane against your ass leaves raised, swiftly swelling welts in its wake, first materializing in thin lines, then in thick, before the skin finally begins to tear, spanked raw and rubbed down from the constant friction. 

They crisscross over your backside, crooked slashes and streaks embellishing your bum and the very tops of your thighs. Each stroke of the wood leaves a sharp sting searing across your flesh, followed by a dull, deep ache, the pain so dense you fear it may never fully leave you, throbbing as it burrows into your skin.

He doesn’t demand you count aloud, nor does he order you to keep quiet, and for this you are thankful, little whimpers and soft cries building as the punishment proceeds, evolving into full on shouts and sobs, fingers sore and stiff from clenching the edges of the mattress, desperate not to move. 

Only five left, you’re thinking to yourself in an effort to self-soothe, when the end is finally in sight. Only five more, and then it’s over; and then I’ve taken it all.

The next hit comes not with the heel but with the handle of the cane; a sphere of dense platinum, heavy and hard as it thwacks your tailbone, higher than any of the other strikes have been thus far.

A scream splinters in your throat, and you shove your face in the mattress, a feeble attempt to smother it, whole body recoiling from the impact.

You can feel the bone fissure, sending bolts of jagged pain shooting through your backside, sharper than the blunt ache the wood commands. Your fingers curl in the sheets, teeth sinking into the plush flesh of the bed, quivering muscles gone rigid as you try not to move around too much, lest Fyodor add another five lashes to your nearly completed punishment. 

He makes a masterpiece of your backside, a landscape of dark violet and navy blue, glittering scarlet pooling in the grooves of fields, fragile skin split from the constant whack of the cane. 

“Beautiful,” he breathes, fingertips skimming over his work, catching on the rapidly expanding bumps and ridges, bulging and thickening as blood rushes to cushion the injuries.

He digs a jagged nail into the wound, drags it through the hollowed gouges and collects blood beneath the sawtoothed edge.  

In a week or so, after the final bruise has fully developed and the blood has seeped through several layers of tissue to the surface, your shattered tailbone will serve as a massive moon, hanging low and heavy over the landscape. 

It will be one of the most stunning pieces of art he’s ever created, he’s sure of it.

It will be one of the most painful, extensive punishments you’ve ever endured; he’s sure of that, too.

It was fucking foolish to have challenged him, you knew it was right from the start, but—as expected—you just couldn’t help yourself. The whorish need for attention was too potent, too strong to resist, to ignore, to shove away into a corner of your mind and let it fester. 

But technically, ultimately, you got exactly what you wanted.  

Because when it’s all over, when you’ve taken your fifty lashes like the good little girl you are and you’re sobbing into the mattress, smearing spit and salt across the silk sheets, he collects you in his arms easily, scoops you up against his chest with a bicep cradling your neck and an elbow hooked beneath your knees and begins carrying you towards the small in-house infirmary.

You wail into his neck, little fingers curling in the collar of his sweater and yanking, desperate to pull yourself close, closer, as close as possible, finding comfort in your very own monster, your personal hell; delicious, decadent, devious. 

“Daddy, Daddy, Da-Daddy!”

Tender hushes fall from his lips, soaking into the crown of your head as he scatters placating kisses across your hair. And he’s so gentle, he’s so careful, minding your fractured bone as he hugs you to his ribs, rocking your shuddering body in his embrace ever-so-slightly, grip tightening as another one of those rough sobs rips through your chest.

Most of his anger has calmed now, beaten from his chest with the whip of the cane against your supple skin, but a few cinders of fury remain, simmering low and hot and quiet in his words. 

“Maybe next time,” he begins, softly seething, accent thicker than normal, “you’ll think twice before pressing your tits into Nikolai’s cheek, yes?”

[incomingalbatross]

Thoughts on Ghost Days by Jim Butcher (and possibly the earlier books, if they spill over into this post)

All of this is, as Harry observes, absolutely typical of his existence. Of course he can't just die, he gets sent back as a special unknown type of ghost to solve his own murder. And of course he shoulders like three different new obligations, makes a new friend, and adopts a criminal teenager within his first 24 hours of unlife.

Kinda love how quickly and understatedly he's incorporated the very latest familial revelation into his narration. He says something like "I'd lost the scar on my arm that I got while skinning a fish on my grandfather's farm" and it's so casual it almost slips by.

(Side note: I need to see his grandfather and his brother find out about each other now. I realize there has been no opportunity and these aren't exactly Harry's secrets to tell anyway, but please.)

Mort going "all cats can see ghosts, they just don't usually care" checked out completely, of course, but it was also perfect setup for Mister's "HELLO YOU'RE BACK MY HUMAN HI." Which. Oof.

Ways you can tell it's really Harry Dresden: 1) Mister hits him in the invisible shins, 2) he opens the conversation with a Star Wars quote, 3) he's talking a teenager into turning his life around.

Love all the Bob content in this one. Harry got to see how the other half lived and everything. (Though his amorality credentials are slightly tarnished by that heroic last stand of his. Which he'd better have survived.)

Everyone here seems like they're an inch from cracking, and I'm concerned for all of them, but they're DOING THEIR BEST. (Butters isn't an inch from cracking. He seems to be doing great, I'm very proud of him.)

Very glad and also a little amused that the Super Secret Safe Witness Protection Home for Maggie is... the Carpenters. I mean it absolutely should be, but it's also funny.

Of course Mouse exists equally in the physical and spirit world. I'd be more surprised if he didn't.

I DID have several moments where I went what about Thomas. why isn't your narration even mentioning Thomas, but the payoff of "I couldn't stand to face even the thought of what I'd done to him" made it make sense.

More general/Thematic thoughts:

Uriel and/or the narrative really said "You're going to take a good, hard look at the unintended consequences of your actions. And you're going to do it disembodied so you can process a little better."

There was something that really struck me at some points in the Lasciel period, and it's back again now: I love that when Harry crosses lines, not only is he capable of seeing it, but the reaction of the people around him is, "yeah you sure did cross a line! you did wrong. so stop doing it and get better, because you can. this isn't a slippery slope unless you decide it is."

He has! Free will! Contrition is always meaningful! Change is always possible! Harry is never allowed to write himself off. He is always told that he's capable of picking himself up and doing better - because he is. He's alive and human and that means he has as much hope as he chooses to hold onto.

That said, I also really appreciated the weight his choices in the last book are given here. It's so easy to just go along with "it was for Maggie, it was his JOB" (and it was his job), but this book made Harry and us stop and linger on both the lines he crossed and the unintended harm he caused.

(Though he is taking too much weight on himself. Martin maneuvered a lot of this into play, not to mention the ACTUAL Red Court. And there is something to be said for the SG-1 approach of "stop worrying about ramifications and just kill the ancient evil first.")

(Oh, now I remember! I was also thinking of Hunger Games re: this. Katniss and Peeta's defiance of evil was personally motivated and sparked a lot of unintended harm to others - but it was also the only spark that could have destroyed the machinery of evil. Not quite the same but made me think of it.)

ANYWAY. Speaking of crossed lines and harm caused: I was NOT prepared for the murder reveal.

It DOES explain so much about this whole book, especially in combination with the (not as shocking :P) reveal that he's only mostly dead. He NEEDED to know this. He needed to know and understand all the choices he made, and their results - and the lie that influenced him - if he was going to be allowed back to his body.

First, he needed to know there was no outside killer to worry about. He also needed to know that HE did this. All of it. Part of accepting culpability and facing his choices meant facing that there was a third murder on his account - because that is how he frames it - what he did to Molly and what he did to himself and everyone who loved him.

He also, most crucially, needed his free will reasserted, both by the manipulation being revealed to him and by Uriel balancing the scales.

Because a Harry Dresden who had given up on himself as the Winter Knight is a nightmare the world's not ready for.

Instead he's ready to give Mab new problems. :) She gets what she paid for.

Closing thought: If, when he finally gets back to the world of the living, he does not make at least one "mostly dead" and/or "really most sincerely dead" joke, I will be very disappointed in him.

[hailtothepumpkinqueen]

(Wanted to write something based on Shane's 2 heart event, hence the cheesy ass title lmao

So warnings for alcohol, talks about depression, brief mention of a suicidal thought by Farmer.

EDIT: Now with Shane's POV)

Heart 2 Heart(s)❤❤

Her first summer in Pelican Town had been...rough, to put it lightly.

Whole fields of crops that had been growing just fine withering seemingly overnight. Weeds overtaking huge swaths of land to a mindboggling degree. And, in her haste to clear out dead plants, the chicks she had bought from Marnie (lovingly named Camilla and Henrietta) had accidentally gone neglected to the point of near starvation in their coop. They recovered of course, but she still hadn't forgiven herself for it. Not to mention how many requests going unanswered because she still couldn't get the hang of fishing, no matter how hard she tried. No doubt disappointing everyone along with herself.

Spring had been so full of promise, full of hope that she could do this whole farming thing and thrive on her own terms for once. But all these stupid mistakes, these failures, compounded with near constant exhaustion and pain for what felt like very little gain was proving to be almost too much to bear.

One warm night, when she couldn't stand to look at the farm because even the old house seemed disappointed in her, she went for a walk. Ending up at the lake in the woods not too far from Marnie's place. It was quiet, fireflies lazily dancing across the water and unseen crickets chirping adding to the sense of calm. The perfect place to have a little cry in peace before collapsing in bed for the night.

Empty beer cans scattered along the dock indicated that Shane had had a similar idea some time earlier, but, thankfully, he wasn't anywhere to be seen now. It was pretty late, and the house behind her looked dark. Hopefully that meant everyone inside was asleep and wouldn't catch her there. She didn't think she had the energy to fake a smile right now, and Yoba knows she couldn't handle Shane's seemingly permanent scowl boring holes into her forehead.

She sat her tired, sore body down with a groan, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. Tears almost immediately welling up as all the negative thoughts she had tried to bury washed over her in waves. Quickly turning into sobs she tried to muffle by burying her face in her arms.

What the hell was she even doing? Did she really think she would be good at this, at anything? Idiot. Leaving a perfectly good job for uncertainty just because she couldn't handle a little stress? Weak. She could barely take care of herself, it was stupid to think she could take care of anyone or anything else. Silly little girl playing pretend and throwing a tantrum when it doesn't go her way. Maybe her mother was right...

"Miller?" A voice cut through the quiet and practically made her jump out of her skin. Knocking cans into the water as she scrambled to her feet to face the owner of the voice. Fuck. Of course it was him.

"Shane!" She gasped, quickly wiping at her eyes and trying to force a smile. He was standing just a foot behind her, scowl surprisingly absent and a six pack of what she assumed was beer in one hand. He looked almost...concerned? But she could be imagining it.

"H-hey! Sorry, were you still sitting here? I can...I can go. Sorry."

"You're already here, might as well stay." He sighed, waving a dismissive hand to her anxious apologies. "Sit. Relax."

She stood there for a few seconds longer, waiting for him to change his mind, before slowly sitting down again. Occupying herself by picking up the cans she had knocked into the lake while he sat next to her. It was a small dock, so his shoulder was almost touching hers, but neither of them flinched away from the other.

"You're out late." He said casually after a moment, holding out a beer to her, much to her surprise. She took it gratefully, the chill of the metal strangely comforting. As was his choice to not comment on the fact she clearly had been crying before. "Can't sleep either, huh?"

"Yeah...contemplating life and all that, y'know?" She gave a humorless chuckle an shrug, staring out into the darkness beyond the lake.

"Buh...life." His voice filled with contempt for the very idea of it, taking a huge swig from his beer. That trademarked frown of his returning in full force and his nose scrunched up in disdain. A long beat of silence passing between them before he spoke again. "...You ever feel like...no matter what you do, you're gonna fail? Like you're stuck in some miserable abyss, and you're so deep you can't even see the light of day?"

She turned to look at him in startled bewilderment, afraid he had somehow read her mind or she had spoken her thoughts out loud without realizing. Meeting his eyes for a brief moment--oh wow he was a little taller than her when they were sitting down--before looking away again.

"Yeah, actually..." she admitted, tapping on the now lukewarm beer can in her hands nervously. Feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes again. "I thought I was doing better, getting closer to the surface, only to get dragged back down into the void again. It was stupid to get my hopes up, I'm so out of my depth here I feel like I'm drowning.."

It was a shock to hear the words leaving her own mouth, she normally wasn't so candid about her inner turmoil with, well, anyone. But something about Shane's demeanor and his own willingness to talk about dark things made it easy to be open.

"Me too..." He nodded, a softness in his voice she'd never heard from him before. At least not directed at her. Almost like vulnerability. "I just feel like no matter how hard I try...I'm not strong enough to climb out of that hole.."

"Me too..." she echoed back in a whisper, afraid her voice would crack if she spoke any louder. "Maybe it was a mistake to come here.." He gave a small hum in response.

"What possessed you to even try farming in the first place? You don't seem the outdoorsy type. No offense." She cringed at his question, valid as it was. It was just not one she really wanted to answer. But he was being honest with her, she at least owed him something.

"Burnout. Work was draining the soul out of me, I had no life outside work and my mental health was really suffering because of it. Needed a way out, so it was either this or..."

"Or throw myself off the top of the Joja Co™ building" was the rest of that sentence, but that's not something you say in polite company. Not right off the bat, at least.

"...something more drastic." Was how she actually finished the sentence, and even that earned an eyebrow raise from Shane. But, again, if he was concerned he didn't directly comment on it.

"Here's to not doing anything drastic then." He said, holding his beer up to her in a mock toast. The barest hint of a smile on his face.

She chuckled softly, finally cracking open her own can and holding it up to him in return.

"To not doing anything drastic."

Downing the entire can in one go, gulping it back so fast she barely even tasted it and had to gasp for air afterwards. Shuddering at the head rush the alcohol immediately brought on. Shotgunning a beer on a near empty stomach probably wasn't the best idea she had today, but the buzz was better than the anxiety chewing on her brain.

To her surprise, she heard Shane laugh. An actual laugh, not simply blowing air out of his nose or a sarcastic sound. A nice laugh.

"Fast drinker, huh? Woman after my own heart." He smirked, bumping his shoulder against hers and giving a wink. She felt her cheeks immediately flush bright red, hoping it was too dark for him to notice even with the close proximity. Her heart beating just a little faster than before.

Was...was that flirting? Was he flirting with her?? Or just being friendly and she was reading too much into it? Surely he was just joking around. But that smirk...

Before she could even say anything, though, he was rising to his feet again with a grimace and rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. Looking a little embarrassed now, like he had said something he shouldn't have.

"Just don't make it a habit... you got a future ahead of you still." He mumbled sheepishly, making her giggle at how different this was from his normal gruff demeanor.

"So do you." She answered softly and with complete sincerity.

"Doubt that." He scoffed and shifted weight from one foot to the other, deep frown returning.

"Shane..."

"Welp! My liver's beggin' me to stop. Better call it a night." Clearly not wanting to talk about this any further. Emotional walls going back up and vulnerable moment over. "I'll, uh, I'll see you around, yeah? G'night, Katherine."

Her expression faltered a little, shoulders slumping. He still wouldn't call her "Kat", even after this little heart to heart of theirs. But maybe things could be friendlier between them now, so that was something...right?

"Y-yeah... Good night, Shane." She lifted her hand in a small wave, watching him walk away until he disappeared into the dark. Sitting on the dock alone for a little while longer before picking up all the cans she could see and starting the treck back to her own farm. A small sense of hope blooming in her chest as she passed a few healthy looking hot pepper plants she'd been growing.

Shane liked hot peppers, Marnie had told her so before. Maybe she would bring him some tomorrow. Repay him for the beer and the chat.

Maybe the summer would be okay.

[saxifrage-wreath]

Trespass Against Us

(Inklings Challenge 2024, Team Lewis, Space Travel, c.2580 words, Complete)

posting this here now that I've finished it! :D Enjoy. Hope it doesn't read as too preachy.

--

Alexei sat at the cafe table nursing his black tea and staring out at the rain. The view outside looked as grey and drear as he felt. If there were rainier places in habitable space than Innisfallen, he had yet to see them.

He glanced over as the door opened and a woman entered, placing her dripping umbrella with the stack of others by the entrance. She wore her brown hair ponytailed and had on an old military jacket over drab work pants and a bright blue t-shirt. The sight of her jacket made him think that perhaps rejoining the Fleet might not be the worst way out of his current predicament. Then recognition dawned upon him.

“Arcus?” he said. She turned his way.

“Hey, Alexei!” she said, breaking into a smile. “How are you doing?” she asked as she sat down across from him.

“Still alive and kicking, you?”

“Not drowned yet,” she replied. She caught the eye of the waitress and ordered coffee and something to eat. “So I heard about your ship. A bad business that. I’m sorry it happened to you.”

“Thanks, amiga. Yeah, I’ll get by but it’s set me right back. If that cussed sneak Gershow hadn’t stolen my salvage, I would have been fine and dandy.” He exhaled hard, “No good dwelling on it though.”

“Hurts,” Arcus said. Alexei nodded. They sat without speaking while her food arrived and she began eating. He’d known Arcus Briar for years, since they’d both been demobilised after the war and decided to go flying for themselves, seeing as the Commonwealth Navy had no further need of their services. She was a hard worker, a good pilot, and a good friend.

“Hey, do you need a job?” she asked, breaking the silence as she pushed back her empty plate.

“Yeah, I do. You know of any going?” “I’d give you one for sure. I’m a couple crew down on the Hawkins: Jochi’s getting married and Bob’s off to Arcadia to help out his daughter and her family for a while.

“Count me in. It’ll be good to be about something and it’ll take my mind off things.”

“Glad to hear it. You can join us whenever you like. The Hawkins is docked down in Bay 15.”

“I’ll be there tonight,” Alexei promised. He had little enough to pack and put in order.

** ** **

Alexei hoisted himself off the top of the ladder and secured the hatch to the cargo hold.

Four days since he joined her, the Jim Hawkins was well underway, bound for a port far across the void of space. Arcus had secured them a contract to ship produce off world, and the hold was packed with the tea, coffee, cocoa, and sugar that grew so well on Innisfallen. It wasn’t glamorous work, but there was real money in it, as she’d told her crew.

“And we’d starve if we held out for only the glamorous jobs,” Alexei had thought. Now he made his way along the Hawkins’ main corridor to the galley. His boots thumping dully on the metal of the deck. Strains of Arcus’ music drifted down from the cockpit. Their captain almost always had something playing off a cassette, and the sound of the moment was Cap Kennedy’s Red Planet Potato Farm, not his favourite, but okay to have on in the background.

The galley was a snug space, decorated mostly in warm orange and yellow besides the clean, polished metal. As he stepped inside, Alexei thought he might have to do décor somewhat like it when he had his own vessel again, in his own favoured colours.

“Hey Phil,” he greeted the aproned man working at the counter.

“Hey Alexei,” the other replied cheerfully. Philip Asiimwe had been flying with Arcus for very near as long as Alexei had known her, and could turn his hand to most every task aboard, from the care and feeding of the Hawkins’ powerplant to the preparation of remarkably good meals from the ship’s provisions. “Coffee’s hot if you want some.”

“So, how are you going man?” he asked as Alexei helped himself to coffee and powdered milk.

“Better for being out here with you folk, and working,” Alexei told him, leaning back against the counter out of Philip’s way. “Keeps me from stewing over things so much, y’know.”

“I hear you. A thing like that eats at a man if he lets it.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it just,” Alexei agreed. He stayed there, drinking his coffee, keeping Philip company, and lending a hand here and there until Arcus came down from the cockpit.

“All done?” she enquired of Alexei.

“Yep. Everything’s shipshape below, Captain.”

“Excellent. Hey, I’m going for a nap. I’ve given Meg the helm, but she asked if you could back her up, supervise like.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Alexei pushed off from the bench he’d been leaning on.

“Thank you,” Arcus smiled and departed for her cabin. Alexei thanked Philip for the coffee and conversation and headed for the cockpit. Meg Langdon, Arcus’ protege, was a good kid with the makings of a fine pilot, and he was quite happy to help her along that journey.

** ** **

Floorboards creaked as Alexei strode along the upstairs passage of the boarding house near Wintergreen’s main spaceport. Their business on world was going to take a while longer than originally anticipated – there was apparently some holdup with part of their contracted cargo. Arcus had decided to sleep out of ship and so had shouted everyone rooms for the few nights they would be there.

“We could all use the space and the change of scene, I’m sure,” she’d said, and Alexei was not about to argue. The berths aboard the Hawkins were more comfortable than some he’d occupied over his years in space, but were still not the roomiest of accommodations.

The room he was sharing with Philip was near the end of the hall; Alexei opened the door and was about to step inside but halted at what he saw and heard.

Philip was sitting across his bunk with his back against the wall, praying the Our Father. Alexei stood silent in the doorway, not wanting to disturb his friend.

“...and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…” Philip said, words that Alexei had heard a thousand times, and said more than once himself, but which just this time gave him an odd feeling.

Philip finished praying with a quiet but definite ‘amen’. Alexei cleared his throat and stepped inside. They traded greetings and small talk about the day while Alexei collected his towel and a fresh set of clothing, and arranged to go for dinner once he got back from taking a shower, which promised to be a rather luxuriant one compared with what was available aboard ship.

“The perks of being planetside,” Alexei thought, smiling, as he left their room once more.

** ** **

From Wintergreen they took ship for Mortain with a mixed cargo and a passenger, a young scholar on their way to visit a religious house on the latter planet. Another hold full of produce took them from Mortain to bustling Wilder City on Independence. They flew agricultural equipment to New Cyrenaica, a shipment of textiles to Obokan, building materials to a new settlement on Zapata, and resupplied a scientific research base on lonely Vostok 5. The Hawkins’ crew throve on the steady work and enjoyed their visits to the various ports, settlements, and worlds. Alexei found his own optimism and good cheer returning. He could not, however, get the words Philip had prayed out of his head. He’d always been taught to forgive others, and thought of himself as someone who did so pretty easily and didn’t hold grudges, and yet…

“Does that mean I have to forgive Gershow?” he wondered once in the quiet of a lone night watch at the helm. “I don’t think there’s much doubt that he ‘trespassed’ against me. It’s a milder word than I might use for what he did, to be sure, but it covers it.”

“He doesn’t deserve it, that’s another thing for darned sure,” he thought a little later, settling back again after confirming their course on the nav-computer, “If I know Gershow, and I do, well enough, then he’s not losing sleep over it or feeling any pangs of conscience. No. Far as he’s concerned, this universe is split between winners and losers; and he’s the former and Alexei Mondragon Sokolov is the latter,” he scowled.

He sat there silent for quite some time, gazing out at the silver spangling of the starfield against the black in a reverie broken only by occasional glances at the Hawkins’ sensor readouts, which showed green across the board.

“And yet. Gershow mightn’t care about right and wrong but I do. And what’s right about holding it against him as long as I live? It won’t change anything, make him say sorry. Heck, it won’t even make me feel any better, ‘cause it hasn’t up to now. Maybe… Maybe the best thing is to forgive him. I’m moving on already, and it’s not like it’d cost me anything. Wouldn’t that make me the better man?”

“I need to talk to Phil about this,” he said aloud.

When Arcus came and relieved him at the end of his watch, Alexei went straight way down to the galley and found Philip. Thankfully Meg was not up and about yet; he wanted to have this conversation as soon as he could, and without anyone else present.

“You look like you’ve something big on your mind,” Philip told him after a brief good morning.

“I have,” Alexei admitted, “And I wanna talk to you about it, if I may.”

“Fire away,” Philip said as he settled back in his seat, sipping his coffee.

“I got to thinking earlier,” Alexei began, deciding to launch straight into it, “about how me holding a grudge is never going to do me any good, or anyone else for that matter. And I know it’s not right to. Which is to say, I think I want to forgive Gershow and I thought you could advise me about it.”

“Well, if you want to, it’s simple enough. Just say it, and mean it, and then act like you meant it. If you want a witness, I’ll volunteer. Maybe it’d seem more real. Up to you.”

“I’d like that,” Alexei nodded. He clenched a fist, held it just above the tabletop, and then brought it down on the surface, gently but with all the solemnity of a magistrate’s gavel.

“I forgive Mark Gershow,” he said, “I forgive him for stealing from me and benefiting while I suffered from the loss he caused. I forgive him everything,” and then he added, feeling it the right thing to do, “may God have mercy on his soul.” He flicked open his hand, as though the grudge were a tangible thing he could let go thus.

“You did well, my friend,” Philip said, reaching over to clap a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks. You know, it was you helped me get to this point.” Alexei went on and told him about the incident with the prayer and how it had affected him. Philip grinned from ear to ear.

“Oh Alex, the encouragement it is to hear you say that, you’ve no idea brother!”

“You’re welcome. Hey, would you say a prayer for me, man? So that I can stick at it and not fall back?”

“Every day,” Philip promised.

Alexei sighed and smiled. It felt good to have done it, like he’d dropped some hefty weight he’d been carrying around, and better still it felt right.

** ** **

Weeks passed, and months, and at length the crew of the Hawkins paid a visit to Galata Station, the great man-made hub that anchored the routes to planets all across the Doria Sector. There Arcus called a halt.

“I think we’ve all earned a couple of days R and R,” she declared to her assembled crew, “And I want to see over Galata; I’ve heard about it, but never got the chance to visit. Until now. So, go and have fun but be wise.”

“Yeah!” an excited Meg exclaimed, “I wanna try Revelli’s gelato. It’s the best in the sector, they say.”

Alexei smiled, his young friend’s enthusiasm was both delightful and infectious. He had been to Galata once or twice, but never for longer than it took to refuel or offload cargo, and like Arcus he was interested to see more of it.

With the Hawkins safely docked in one of Galata’s hangers, they gathered up what they needed and prepared to leave the ship.

As they started down thegangway, Alexei’s eye was caught by the vessel berthed just beside their own. A somehow familiar hauler of about the Hawkins’ tonnage, with a series of winged figures painted in black and white across the grey hull.

“What ship’s that?” he wondered aloud.

“That’s the Six for Gold,” Arcus told him, following his gaze, then she gasped in sudden realisation, “Wait, isn’t that Gershow’s ship?!” Of course it was.

“Gershow’s here?” Alexei sprang off the ramp and set off across the hanger bay at a brisk clip.

“Wait, Alexei! Don’t do anything you’ll regret!” Arcus called, pleading, from behind him.

“Don’t worry A.,” he heard Philip say, “I think everything’s going to be alright.

Alexei found Mark Gershow sitting alone in an eatery booth three levels up from the hanger.

“I want a word,” Alexei said, sliding into the seat across from him. Gershow froze, wide-eyed, a forkful of noodles hovering above his plate. “And it’s just a word so don’t sweat it. Keep eating. I’m sure it’s good or you wouldn’t’ve come in here.”

Warily, Gershow resumed his meal, never taking his eyes off the man opposite him.

“Right. This’ll just take a minute and then I’ll be out your hair. Here’re the facts: you stole what was mine by rights, you flogged the salvage from the Campbelltown Loch.” He tapped the table with a finger at each statement. “You did me a bad turn and you knew it. And times have been since when such an anger was on me I’d’ve laced you full of lead soon as look at you.”

Gershow swallowed, taking more effort than he should’ve. His face had lost a lot of its colour and he sat stiff and tense as a steel spring.

“But I’m not going to. Not now. Not ever. You wronged me, Mark,” Alexei repeated, “but I don’t have to do the same back. Me keeping a grudge isn’t going fix anything. So I’m forgiving you and moving on, got it?” He held out his hand.

“Yeah,” Gershow spoke softly as he reached out and shook it.

Alexei slapped his palms on the tabletop and stood up. “Good. So don’t go looking over your shoulder because I won’t be there. Enjoy your dinner,” he finished with a smile, then turned and strode out onto the station concourse. There he stopped and took a deep breath of the station’s recycled air, redolent of metal, and chemicals, and food aromas and humanity. There, that was it done and completely so, and he felt the lighter for it. Now, time to find his friends and enjoy some downtime. Gelato sampling with Meg seemed like a fine idea to start with.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hii, could I have another Mafia Restaurant snippet? Have a great week <3

WIP Wednesday (1/15) | Mafia Front Restaurant AU (Part 262)

NEIL

The next morning Neil wakes to the sun in his eyes. It's confusing since his room has no windows, then he remembers crawling into Jean's bed the night before and feels foolish. As carefully as possible, he removes himself from Jean's hold and slinks out of the bedroom back to his own. He gets ready for work in silence and leaves before Jean has a chance to wake up and try to come with him.

Because Neil doesn't have control over most of his life, but he'll be damned before he let his freshly-shot partner waltz into Stuart's as if it were a bee sting. Which, knowing Jean, is exactly what he'd have done. So Neil leaves the ibuprofen and a glass of water on Jean's bedside table along with a note saying where he was going. He also texts Kevin to keep an eye on Jean. To call Neil if he shows any sign of infection.

Going to the hospital definitely isn't something Neil wants to do, but if necessary... They will.

-

Neil is sitting at Stuart's, playing solitaire, when comes a knock at the door. His head jerks up towards the sound and he stares at the door as if he'll suddenly develop x-ray vision. But he doesn't. Instead he's forced to stand and go to the door and peep through the blinds, catching sight of blond hair.

"Andrew?" he says aloud, for some reason surprised. In the midst of all the bullshit yesterday he'd forgotten about Andrew entirely. Neil unlocks the door and, as soon as it's open, Andrew is shouldering his way inside.

ANDREW

"I came by for lunch yesterday and there was nobody home, how disappointing." Andrew says once he's safely inside the restaurant. He goes to take his place at his and Neil's usual table and turns in his seat to watch as Neil shuts and re-locks the door. Neil remains quiet as he comes to stand close to the table and Andrew gives him a once over before continuing. "I ended up ordering off the room service menu at the hotel. It was dreadful. Evidently I've grown accustomed to Moreau's cooking."

At last Neil reacts, a tiny twitch. "We had... business yesterday."

"Catering job?"

"Yeah, something like that." Neil answers, then he picks a piece of lint off his suit and says, "Jean got shot."

"Everyone's a critic." Andrew jokes. Then he notices that Neil looks a bit sick. He watches Neil's face for a moment then glances down to see Neil is wearing two different shoes. One black, one brown. He raises his gaze to meet Neil's eyes. "Did he make it?"

Neil's eyes flash and he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, he's... He's going to be fine. He's resting at home. So there'll be no semi-authentic French cuisine here today, I'm afraid."

"Too bad." Andrew hums. "What about semi-terrible British cuisine?"

"My cooking's not that bad."

"Not yours. There's a real, non-mafia front restaurant a couple blocks down." Andrew nods his head towards the place. "I know you can't leave your post, but I could go get us something."

Neil blinks down at him. "You don't have to do that."

"What are you supposed to do, sit here all day and starve?" Andrew asks. When Neil merely shrugs, he stands up and pokes him in the chest. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes, don't go anywhere."

NEIL

Neil does not go anywhere.

He sits at the table and counts down the minutes. It takes twenty-five before Andrew is coming back through the doors with a large paper bag in his hand. Strangely, it is not from the pub Andrew mentioned but from a Chinese restaurant instead. He holds it up victoriously and sits it down on the table with a thunk.

"I walked into that pub and it smelled like a pig farm, so I walked out and got this instead." He says as he starts unpacking the bag. "I got... an assortment. Hope you have drinks here, because I did not feel like carrying them."

"Yeah, I'll be right back," Neil says. He grabs them each a glass of water and when he's putting the pitcher away, he notices the groceries Jean bought yesterday morning and his chest twinges. He pulls out his phone and taps out a message to Kevin, which is answered instantly.

Jean is fine, he says. Just helped him shower.

Neil puts his phone away and takes the glasses back out the to table that Andrew has covered with takeout boxes. Neil slides the drinks onto the table and gives Andrew a look. "There's just two of us here, you know."

"I couldn't make up my mind. Besides, I'll take whatever's left back to my hotel." Andrew shrugs. "Anything is better than the food I had yesterday. How my hotel's 'chef' managed to fuck up macaroni and cheese I'll never know."

Neil allows himself a laugh and pops open one of the takeout boxes.

-

They're almost through with the food when Andrew asks for Neil's cell phone number. It's such a random ask that Neil's brain almost shuts off. He freezes up.

"What? Why?"

"So I can check when you're open without dragging myself down here." Andrew says as he fishes out the last egg roll from the carton. Neil watches him pull it into two halves and squeeze the filling out before popping the crispy outer layer into his mouth. He considers the ask and really, he shouldn't. Of course he shouldn't.

But he's Neil and this is Andrew Minyard and he really wouldn't want Andrew Minyard to ever get caught up in the crossfire by showing up at the wrong time. The world isn't ready to lose the best goalie its ever had, after all. Neil makes up his mind and pulls his phone out.

"Give me yours." He says. And when Andrew rattles off a number with a Denver area code, Neil keys it into his phone. A new contact marked as 'A'. He doesn't need to be more specific. He has a grand total of four contacts now, all marked with initials. It's better that way, Stuart had told him once. In the event the police end up with his phone, they won't be able to connect him to anyone else. Not easily anyway.

"Not going to share yours with the class?" Andrew asks. And no, Neil wasn't planning to. He was planning to save Andrew's number for emergency situations. He sighs and creates a new message, signing with N. He looks at the message for a moment then back at Andrew.

"Never refer to me by name in messages." Neil says. "Never use any names in messages. Jean is J, Kevin is K, I'm N."

Andrew  seems to find Neil's system amusing. "I suppose that makes me A?"

"Exactly." Neil sends the message and flips his phone shut.

"What's your uncle?"

"S." Neil answers without thinking, then he sighs heavily. "Don't ask me that."

"You're the one who told me."

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Does Elliot ever get to feel like he is the reason for a child’s smile again, and a spark that ignites hopes and dreams? One thing’s for sure, he and the others certainly owe everything to Angel!

I love it when you guys ask about Elliot/Prototype or things like "do any of the toys ever feel truly and sincerely happy over something again" because I always look at these asks and (with tears in my eyes) go "yes, yes they do, they do get better (things can and will get better for everyone. even to whoever is reading this)".

Anyways I legit wanted to cry a bit over this because. Yes. Yes he does, things do get better for him (things can and will get better for everyone, even to you who is reading this).

It's around the second year post-rescue. Prototype is watching the toys play outside, finally comfortable enough to be seen like that instead of covered in shadows, when Mommy Long Legs approaches him, holding Bunzo. He asks Prototype if he can try climbing him. Elliot let's him (of course he does), and it doesn't take much time until Bunzo, the mini critters and other small toys are all trying to climb him. And he lets them be (of course), even chuckling in amusement as Bunzo proclaims himself king of the "mountain" that's Proto's body. He plays along (of course), and, when the playtime is over, Angel makes him realize the kids were all having fun because of him.

Elliot has to take a moment to recover. He never thought any of this could happen, ever, but the situation does inspire him to try to make something. He was a toymaker, he still remembers a thing or two. He puts some things together to make a funny-looking car made of scraps, even finds a way to make it light up, and shows it to the younger toys. They LOVE that thing, esp because Prototype made it big enough that most of them can ride on it. They spent hours playing with it around the farm, and that's when Elliot believes that the kids playing with him wasn't something that would only happen once and then never again.

He truly is doing better. He can never thank Angel enough for freeing him from Playtime Co.

[ya-bug-boy]

Hello! Could you do a self aware!Submas au

But its like swapped?

Where the reader becomes the self aware fictional character that falls in love with the player aka Ingo and Emmet. (It can be seperate or the twins liking the same person).

While the twins are big fans of reader for their memorable moments in the game. They even develop a crush on said reader, so much so, they have merch of reader.

Bonus: they also read x reader fanfics of reader

Ohhh this is so cute!!! Ok ok ok lemme try my best. Reader insert character uses He/they pronouns.

Self aware Reader x Submas

You were an ordinary npc in a cute farming gaming that the twins enjoyed playing together: Moondrop Hollow. This game featured not only farming, but fishing, monster hunting, friendships and romance. The twins liked the game and focused on certain tasks specific to them, Ingo particularly loved to fish and Emmet liked to farm, but they both enjoyed monster hunting because you were there. What made you stand out to the twins was that you were the train conductor of the region and a famous hero as well. Your title given to you by the Monster Hunter Guild was: Golden Eye; on account of your incredible archery skills, precision, and accuracy. You are the only train conductor brave enough to venture out into the farthest lands away from the safe borders of Moondrop Hollow, who is undoubtedly safe from harm due to your talents.

But unfortunately, you were never made to be a romantic interest. It's simply not written into the script of the game for you to be able to develop a relationship with the main characters who play as the farmer character. Emmet and Ingo have scoured the internet online in the hopes of finding a mod that would allow you to be a romantic character, but then the two would go into debates over who gets to marry you first.

Naturally, you don't have a lot of dialogue because you aren't meant to even accumulate friendship points. The only times you typically talk are when the twins purchase a train ticket and you lead them to where their destination takes them. They know about your lore after hearing dialogue from the other monster hunters talk about your heroic deeds and the game's initial development online, which went into more detail about your history. Aside from your current talents of keeping Moondrop Hollow safe from monster invaders, you have the most interesting backstory. You weren't always an archer, but a long time ago you were actually an magic botanist, making herbal potions that had the power to heal people. You were called to a divine duty in order to protect the world in sealing away a great evil and became part of a legendary group of heroes. But in the last moments of the fight against the great evil, you and your companions were outmatched. That is when your great leader ordered you to use the dark tome you found sometime during your quest. This ancient book of evil carried the worst of all curses in a language only you could read due to your knowledge in the kingdom's ancient history. Seeing there was no other option, you began to talk in an ancient tongue and sealed away the evil, but in doing so you also cursed your friends and everyone turned into stone. It wasn't until many years later you realized the effects of the curse: you stole the lives of everyone who was within the vicinity, which meant their lifespan was now yours, including the evil you sealed away. Moondrop Hollow takes place in a whole generation after your quest, which meant you were the oldest npc. The few times you did speak, you would simply warn the twins of the danger they were about to face, depending on which area of the world you were dropping them off at. And congratulating them when they made it back alive. One day, the twins were playing on their day off, enjoying their time as usual. Though they had each other, they had no romantic partner of their own but bonded over their adoration of you. They had merchandise from the official store along with some fan-made items sold online. While the twins were playing, you were simply waiting in your train office, mindlessly staring at your dark tome when it whispered to you. A dark swelling force of energy surges from the book and attacks your mannequin body; you suddenly lurch and gasp as you become sentient.

Naturally, you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? You came to the stark realization you weren't alive or real and never were. You were simply the fabrication someone made to appeal to others. You ran from your train office and tried to interact with the villagers down in the valley but they don't talk to you, their expressions all stay the same no matter how hard you try to make them talk. Then Emmet notices you, away from your train office and in town square? You turn your head to see that the farmer character, one of the twins who eagerly rides your trains is standing across from you. They start to move and you freeze in a slight shock before you see them running in a circle around you? Then you hear it, the voice of a man who eagerly yells at another to come down to the village square. You do not know where this voice comes from, it doesn't sound familiar. Then the other farmer, the twin brother, comes running from the beach to see you. He too runs in circles around you but you stand there in a slight shock. Who were these voices? Why were they happy to see you? What did this mean?

[thevaudevilledemon]

A Trick and a Treat - An unfinished mediocre Stardew Ship Fic!

I have been becoming a fan of @fkapple 's Stardew Valley comics, and they recently posted one about other pairings they ship for Shane... Ship for Shane, sounds like an indie band. Anyway, that post reminded me that I did write a fanfic regarding one of the pairings, Shane and Jodi.

It's not in a state I can really call "Finished", nor can I really call it "good", my fanfiction writing abilities are... underdeveloped considering I haven't really written much since I all but dropped off of FanFiction.NET. All of this to say, criticize it all you want, I'm gonna try my best not to care.

Anyway, when did I start shipping this? Well, I am total shipping trash, so whenever I see a moment of two characters interacting in some way, I immediately start asking how I think they would work as a couple, as some people may have already guessed. So, I was playing Stardew Valley and I went to Ginger Island and noticed that Shane and Jodi were the only two people at the resort, and I basically thought, well this would be a great opportunity for them to get to know each other, considering their kids are best friends and all.

Of course, I kind of view this ship as "Forbidden Love", considering Kent is probably my favourite of the husbands in the game (Sorry George but you are a bit too much of a slow burn) but I do feel like this is one of the better Shane Ships, as Jodi is one of the people who is concerned about Shane after this Cliffs Scene.

I think with this fic, I wanted to explore Shane more than anything else, what was his background like, what was going on when Jas' parents died, why exactly did he move to Pelican Town?

Well, I think I've yapped enough, you're here for the unfinished mediocre fanfiction, sorry, I like to talk.

I Hope You're Okay

A Stardew Valley ship fic

It was a pretty rainy day back in Pelican Town, so it did surprise Shane and Jodi that they were the only two who decided to visit the Ginger Island Resort today.

“Kent took Sam and Vincent to a movie” Jodi said when Shane asked about her family.

“I think Vincent wanted Jas to tag-along, I bumped into them on my way here.”

Jodi wanted to keep talking, she knew Jas was Vincent’s best friend, but she knew next to nothing about Shane, save for the incident at the cliffs. Shane mostly kept to himself, and made it clear he was not in the mood to talk, Jodi kept staring at the sea instead. She kept on thinking to herself, “I’ve seen him come out of his shell with the Farmer, why won’t he with anyone else?”

Even Willy could sense this tension, so he kept his offerings of fish jerky to himself, and desperately wished that the Farmer didn’t build that big obelisk on their farm, he missed having his Skipper on the boat with the other passengers.

The island was warm and sunny, the breeze was calm and inviting, the sound of the ocean and the parrots was as welcoming as it was the first time they visited the island. They were surprised when Willy stepped off the boat as well.

“The Farmer wanted to show me something, so I may be gone for the whole day.”

“You’re still gonna take us back home, right?”

Willy laughed, “Aye, I have to. Farmer doesn’t have enough beds to keep people here overnight.” He chuckled more as he walked towards the Ginger Island Farm, Jodi and Shane were left wondering about what Willy was going to see, and why he made that comment about the beds.

They walked into the changerooms, stepping out ready to enjoy a quiet relaxing day, but something was nagging at the back of Jodi’s mind. She tried to push it out, tried to enjoy the sun and sea, but every time she glanced over at Shane, the feeling came back.

“Well,’ she thought, ‘it’s just the two of us now, I better try.”

She walked over the Shane, he either didn’t notice her coming, or didn’t care. He barely looked over at her, didn’t acknowledge her when she stood beside him. Didn’t even respond when she started to converse.

“Hey… the weather’s nice here, isn’t it?”

“Mm”

“You don’t really like to talk to people do you?”

“No.”

“I thought we could get to know each other.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know, you’re Jas’ godfather, she’s friends with my youngest son, I thought-“

“That we should be friends for the sake of the kids?”

“Well I mean… you could also do with more friends.”

Shane grimaced and looked away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“No, you did. You meant to say that I don’t have friends.”

“No, I meant to say you have very few friends.” Jodi cursed to herself, she was not making this situation any better. “I mean…”

“Please, stop trying to make this better.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Jodi and Shane went back to silence, ultimately, Jodi was more upset with herself than with Shane. So it shocked her a little when Shane began the conversation next.

“I’m sorry”, he sighed.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have taken it personally, it’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Shane please.”

Shane made a noise of disgust, something about that combination of words was upsetting to him. “I don’t want to, why do you even care what I feel?”

“I care about Jas!”

“Then you were probably thrilled to hear I almost died.”

“That’s not true, I was concerned for you then.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Jas needs you.”

Shane made another face, one of pain, Jodi almost saw tears well up in his eyes. After a couple sniffles and some blinking, Shane managed to return to his more stoic expression, and responded.

“Jas needs a better guardian.”

“Then why wouldn’t you try to be one for her?”

Shane was silent. The one thing he hated the most about himself was returning to him, how when his friends died, when they trusted him with their daughter, when there was someone who needed him the most…

“I gave up. They trusted me, and I gave up. I’m horrible.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am, they were two of my closest friends, and they trusted me with their daughter, and what did I do? I jut gave up.”

“But you’re still here! You didn’t give up, you did everything you could to provide for Jas.”

“Everything I could, except give her back the family that was stolen from her.”

Jodi’s heart shattered here, if there was anyone who knew what kind of sacrifices anyone would make for children, what kind of mountains one would carve through, the oceans they would swim across, Jodi knew of those all too well, and she knew the pain and worry of what it would mean to leave Sam and Vincent behind when she died.

“How,’ Jodi cleared her throat, ‘How did Jas handle it? Her parents dying?”

“She was really young, I don’t think she fully remembers, but she is definitely traumatized by it, you ever see her Jack-in-the-Box?”

“No, no I haven’t.”

“Well, untraumatized children don’t break their toys that way. At least, I don’t think so.”

“And, how did their death effect you?”

“What?”

“How did you feel when they died? What was your grieving process?”

Shane looked at Jodi for the first time in the entire conversation, his face loosened from his stoic expression and forming a more pained expression.

“I… I don’t think I really had the time to grieve.”

“Oh…”

“Everyone was doting on Jas, because her parents died, but everyone kept telling me I had to be strong, I had to step up, I had to care for her. These were my friends, but all they saw was the godparent.”

“That must have hurt.”

“You know why I moved in with my Aunt Marnie?”

“I thought it was because she’d let you stay for free.”

“Yeah, partially that, but also because I just couldn’t take everyone else. People kept telling me I wasn’t holding Jas right, or I wasn’t playing with her enough, or I couldn’t just leave her at daycare while I ran errands. People saying I wasn’t good enough… you know how much that kind of thing digs at your self-conscious?”

“Did it… remind you of…”

“Someone in my family? My father? My Mother? They were more absent from my life than anything. I never had much of a family growing up.”

“I see…”

Jodi looked over at Shane, he returned to staring at the sea. She looked down at the sand, the tide flowing back and forth across the sand, coming to her and retreating, it felt poetic to her.

“Jodi… Were you… actually concerned about me? That night?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. It was awful to hear that you… almost went there. You don’t know how much I thanked Yoba, and Harvey, for saving you.”

“For Jas’ sake, right?”

Shane felt Jodi grip onto his chin and pull his face towards hers, she had a look of frustration on her face.

“Shane, don’t you get it? You’re a part of this community too. We do care about you. Yes, I was concerned for Jas, but she wasn’t the one who almost drank herself to death. She wasn’t the one who laid out in the rain contemplating tossing themselves over a cliff. She wasn’t the one who had to be taken to Harvey’s in the middle of the night. Shane!...”

She paused, she could see behind his sunglasses that Shane was crying, he wasn’t bothering to hide it.

“Shane… why won’t you let us close to you?”

“Because the last time I let someone get close, they left me, and they can’t ever come back.”

Shane wrapped his arms around Jodi and began crying into her shoulder, he couldn’t help himself.

“Jodi… You’re the first person to ask me about my friends.”

“I shouldn’t have been Shane, and I shouldn’t be the only person you talk to either.”

“I should talk to my therapist about it.”

“Yes, but also,’ Jodi pulled Shane off her shoulder, looked directly into his face, ‘You should tell Marnie, and Jas, and the Farmer, anyone you feel comfortable talking about this too.”

“Yeah.”

“Shane…” she felt the words she wanted to say completely drift away from her mind, she felt horrible for what she wanted to do, she was married, and Shane was emotionally vulnerable, but she couldn’t help it. Shane has been through so much, he needed someone, he needed someone to care. He was used to caring for others, now she thought it was time someone cared for him. She leaned in, her eyes closing, and before she knew it, her lips met with Shane’s.

[kariachi]

More pokemon au! This time we have a Rook leaving home for the first time!

~~

“-and remember, the way is marked on your map.”

“I still say you should go with him.”

“He will be fine, Salah. It is not so far, and on a well-travelled road.”

His mother did not look convinced, even as she went through his supplies to ensure everything was in place.

“You should hope he is,” she said, normally even voice just tight with worry as she turned to her eldest. “The pokemon centers along the way have been marked on the map, you will stay the night at them, and call us each night before bed and each morning before you leave, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Blonko had had a proper name- not the secret one, for his mother, for him, for their gods, but a true name for the world to hear- for a week now. The young tauros waiting outside had hatched into his arms a year ago. A year before that he had gotten his license, at his father and aunt’s insistence. Because he was going to leave.

It was as exciting as it was scary.

He smiled, as honest as it was a lie, as his mother handed him his bag. As they had taught him, he gave the contents a quick check himself. Pretended not to hear her sigh.

“I will only be a few weeks,” he reassured, ever the dutiful son. A trait that got his father’s nod of approval as often as his mother nudging him out the door to play. This time though, his mother was giving him the same look as when the babies had taken their first steps outside, as if all she wanted was to usher him deeper into the house. Hand him as many chores as it took to keep him safe inside. In contrast, a small smile graced his father’s face as he drew the bag over his shoulders.

“He is right,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “My parents are only a week away, and Latta has already promised to meet him on the road when he arrives. This will be good for him, shake off any wanderlust.” His mother huffed a small laugh, fond despite herself.

“Like it did for you and Pri?” Something roiled alongside Blonko’s amusement to see the way his father averted his gaze and coughed. A sorrowful thought that he would not see such a thing again for weeks. With a deep breath he let himself be pulled into his mother’s arms, let her squeeze him until he felt he might pop. If either of them noticed that he held on just as hard, they were polite enough not to mention it.

“Come along, you do not want to lose the light.”

Pulling away was one of the hardest things he’d done in his young life, still smiling as his mother smoothed his fur in the moments before the three of them slipped outside.

Tauros lowed and stamped his feet at the sight of him. Somehow the pokemon had managed to leave the ribbon Blonko’s second sister had insisted on tying around his neck mud stained and tattered after a single night. Still, he could not bring himself to do more than straighten it as tauros shoved his great head into his arms, resting his cheek lovingly against a growing horn. That idle roiling doubled at the memory of leaving his younger siblings behind at their grandparents’ home the night before.

It had been a very nice dinner, a celebration and a farewell rolled into one. Blonko was not going to see them for the next few weeks either. It would just be his parents taking care of them. Taking care of the farm. Because he would be on the road.

He did not know if they would manage without him.

He did not know what he would do if they did.

He was Rook Blonko, elder brother, dutiful son, they had to need him. They could not need him, because he would be gone.

But the leaving itself… He had never left the valley. Had spent his life hanging on his aunt and uncle’s stories of travel from before he had given up the life of a trainer. Excitement at the idea of walking roads alone, seeing new places, new people, new pokemon, fought with the responsibility that had eaten at him since his first sister was born.

Wanderlust. A few weeks of travel and he would never feel the need to leave again. At most he, like his father, would travel a short trek away- stay close as a good son should. Auntie Pri had laughed at the idea.

Auntie Pri said he took after her.

Until that day he had thought it was the one thing she and his mother agreed on.

The whine of his mother’s lycanroc pulled him out of his own mixed thoughts. With another stamp tauros pulled away to brandish his horns possessively, prompting a chuckle as Blonko threw a steadying arm around his thick neck.

“Relax,” he murmured to him, “you will have me all to yourself soon.” Tauros just snorted, eyeing lycanroc as Blonko’s father stepped forward to place a hand on his shoulder.

“These are your first steps towards becoming a grown man,” he said, Blonko’s heart swelling in his chest despite the warring emotions in his gut. “I am proud of you.” Despite his best efforts, Blonko couldn’t help but grin and nod heartily at the words. His father was his hero, not a distant man by the standards of their culture but still not one to give out such compliments and approval without reason. If he was proud of him, then he was accomplishing something.

The idea alone was enough to lift a fair chunk of the weight in his legs.

“Thank you,” he said, squaring his shoulders as he did his best to meet both his parents’ eyes at once. “I will be safe, and home soon.”

“I should hope,” his mother said, smiling softly, sadly, burying her fingers in lycanroc’s mane as it returned to her side. “Be careful, remember to call, and-” She sighed. “-try to enjoy the journey.”

“I will, I promise.” Hopefully not fidgeting enough to draw attention, fingers buried in tauros’s mane, Blonko nodded again. “Goodbye.”

“Until we meet again,” his father countered, giving a gentle, dismissing wave of his hand even as he smiled at him. “Now go, your grandparents are expecting you.”

He didn’t run to the road, like the kids in stories did, like his aunt once had when she was young. The fight against the muscle memory of chores, childminding, the weight of responsibility kept his steps slow. But a building sense of pride, of adventure, the weight of tauros following protectively behind him, kept them steady. He would go to his grandparents’, get their blessing on his name, and return. As added incentive, he pictured their smiles in his mind, picking up the pace at the idea of his grandmother’s baking, grandfather’s gruff approval.

They always did like seeing how he had grown.