#rings of power fan fic writing

[niennawept]

Hey - weird question because I'm planning another Modern AU of TRoP [no one is shocked] but have we all settled on a modern surname for Sauron?

[jweekgoji]

can u write some Yandere TFO Darkwing x Cybertronian femme reader, who is a miner but Darkwing ends up getting her pregnant and forces her to be his conjux

Yandere!Darkwing/Femme!Reader [TFO]

tw: dubcon, yandere/dark themes, unplanned pregnancy, toxic relationship, supervisor/subordinate, power imbalance, size difference, mentions of past abuse, sickness, description of trauma, hurt no comfort, no happy ending. word count: ~1780 a/n: I wanted to keep it short, but somehow it leads to this. I guess this is for 5 Darkwing fans? imo, he has good himbo potential. also writing for Elita was fun...now i wanna write some Optimus and Elita/Reader fics once i'm done with requests.

How could you let this happen?

The same question runs in your head over and over again. It seems that no matter how hard you try to forget about it, you always see that familiar face right next to yours. Dwarfing you, making you feel so small and fragile. It probably wouldn't be too far from the truth. With your smaller, weaker body, nobody would even notice if you were gone.

You should be used to it by now. Countless cycles of mining, the same routine seems somehow calming despite having no signs of progress in any near future.

Energon, sleep, energon, sleep. What kind of life is that? Was that really all you're good for? Your endless purpose until you break one day?

Primus, why did he make you suffer?

“Hey!” you hear a rough, commanding tone from your captain right behind you. “No slacking off until we finish our job! Come on, keep up!”

You blink once, then another few times, optics quickly concentrating on the wall in front of you. How long were you staring at this wall…? Doesn't matter.

Elita-One gives you a glare; she is too preoccupied with leading her group safe; of course, the mines are too dangerous, and every single wrong move could lead to a series of disasters. You usually have no problems with following her orders, but everything now is just too much. Too much stress, too many orders. You're so exhausted.

Reluctantly, you continue working on collecting energon once again. The heavy equipment makes your frame tremble from the weight; you never once struggled with it, despite the drilling machine being almost the same weight as yours. Now, every single minute feels like a challenge. Focus, focus, focus— you can't just pass out during your work! If it didn't kill you first, then Elita-One certainly would after you screwed her chances of promotion.

You shook your head, as if somehow all the thoughts about the pain—the non-stop aching shooting down your back. It makes you want to bend down and wrap your arms around yourself; maybe, just maybe, it will all go away, and you'll be back to normal.

The soft whirr of your cooling systems gets louder. The poor mechanism overworking itself to cool down your frame. You barely notice how the buzzing sound of the drills seems quieter now, changing into the ringing in your head.

The loud clank of the metal against the ground quickly catches Elita's attention. A frown etched on her faceplate, the immediate ‘...by the name of Solus Prime, what's next?’ she quietly grumbled under her breath, turning her attention to the source of that sound.

Your boss was ready to scold you again, another lecture about the importance of teamwork and how it affects the whole squad—but all the annoyance quickly changes into panic the moment she sees you. Close to falling on your own knees and forehead pressed against the wall as you lean against it.

She quickly approaches you, placing her servo on your shoulder to turn you over so you can face her. Your frame is so warm, no, too warm it's almost burning hot. Your spark beats so hard she can practically feel it under her palm. The signs of sickness are obvious, and she cursed her luck yet again that now she has to explain the situation to the supervisors.

Elita helps you to lean your frame against her own instead, holding her arm around your waist, asking countless questions about what the pit you were thinking, and starting your shift without telling her about your well-being. She's the leader of your group! She has to know everything! It doesn't help with her concerns that you barely say anything, too weak to even open your mouth.

She is so annoyed with you, at everything right now. Great, just great, now she has to— a pause. Her optics widened for a mere second. Elita-One looks down at you with a mixture of confusion and a growing shock. The beating of your spark. Twice as fast, too unusual for any cybertronian even if put under the stress. Her servo reaches to your chassis, hovering over the spot where the spark chamber is. You're sparked up.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Quiet, too quiet, perhaps. The first thing you notice before finally opening your optics. The soft light of the room makes you want to go back to recharging again. Another innocent dream will be a good place to escape the harsh reality, until the slow realization creeps into your mind.

“It wasn't my fault, how could I—” the distant sound of Elita's voice is heard outside the room you were in.

“It was your job to lead the group and make sure everything goes according to the protocols. Just like ensuring that every bot in your squad is in the right shape for work,” you don't have to check twice to understand who it would be. Darkwing.

You can hear Elita trying to defend herself again. After all, it wasn't really her fault. You never wanted to tell anyone about it. But what choices did you have? How can you explain being sparked up? By who?

Now you feel guilty. Shame. She got into trouble because of you, and knowing how hard she worked to reach her position...You're so, so sorry.

You slowly move to sit up on the berth in the...what was this place exactly? It reminds of the infirmary, but surprisingly, any medic is absent today. Ratchet? Lifeline? First Aid? Completely gone.

As the door opens, your optics meet Darkwing's own. It was always hard to understand what exactly he was thinking about when he looked at you. The visor, the battle mask, it seems like every single thing in him has a purpose to make you self-conscious. Nervous and scared. Unlike him, you never had the chance of hiding.

Once you two were alone, he's fuming. He breathes heavily, trying to suppress the anger burning inside his chassis. If you were any other miner, another speck of dirt under his pedes, he would have disciplined you without thinking twice.

But you're no ordinary miner now, are you?

“You hid this from me, on purpose,” Darkwing looks down at you, servos clenching into tight fists. “And this is how I find out about it. Do you have any idea what you just got yourself into?”

The mere idea of him being together with  some nameless miner? Ridiculous. He never planned it to develop into something more. Just a one-night stand, nothing more. He would have forgotten about it by the next day if it wasn't for something, making him think about you since then.

The perfect size, fitting in his servos just right. A tiny toy to play with and use however he wants. A cute one too; isn't this a great deal? The curves, the shape of your frame...if you had a cog, what kind of alt mode would you have? A jet like him? Maybe a car? A boat?

Any other of his fellow supervisors would have left you immediately once they found out. If any bot gets to know about it, he's screwed. Darkwing, who claims to despise every single cogless bot? And now he's having second thoughts about whether he should let you be on your own or...participate?

You lowered your head, as if in shame. There's no fight in you left, not after Darkwing personally stripped you of your dignity. Now the only thing left is a sense of responsibility over that sparkling inside you. You're not even sure if your body can take it. The slowly growing little thing takes up a good half of your energy, and with the energon portions you receive, it is hardly enough for the two. You might die from starvation if this keeps up.

Just standing next to Darkwing is a struggle. You wonder, if he even understands what he costantly puts you through, or maybe he finds some sick pleasure in it. Watching you suffer. Is that what he wants? While you live with the responsibility that he put on your shoulders, nothing ever changes for him. This is so unfair.

You will be no surprised if he drags you to the mines to continue working just to please Sentinel Prime right now.

“Can't even look at me. You miners are only good at one thing,” another taunt. His servo reaches to cup your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

The touch is gentler, not the usual roughness you started getting used to. You learned that whenever he is near you, the pain should be expected the next. That's why it's hard not to flinch every time he gets a little too close. This time, it's something different. Your optics closed, as if expecting a punch, a slap, or another bunch of degrading words?

Nothing.

Trembling in his grasp like some sort of wounded animal next to their predator. Obedient, quiet and timid, the cycles he spent to shape you into a perfect doll to play with. But you're carrying his sparkling, the part of him is soon to be born in this world. It is too late to get rid of it, even though some time ago the sound of it seemed tempting. No, even a useless doll like you deserves a second chance to prove yourself. From some faceless miner, you can grow into something more. Better. A carrier.

He can't let you go back to that place; it would be too cruel even for someone like him to let the carrier of his sparkling to continue this. The best thing is, no one would even suspect you were gone. A tragic event, one of the miner bots neglected their health until it was too late.

Sad, sobbing story, but don't worry, being stuck with your ex-supervisor is not too bad. By the all old rules, it's a shame not to claim a carrier of your sparklings as your conjunx.

“You should be grateful that I have better plans to use you, cogless,” Darkwing's hold on you tightened just for a fraction. To make sure you listen and understand his intentions. No other options but to obey. His words echo in the back of your mind.

The act of profference.

Gifting you a freedom, something you wished for and craved so deeply supposed to make you happy. If only it wasn't the same day you lose it.

[sydnikov]

the ink on your skin || N. Hischier

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Nico Hischier / gn!Reader

Word Count: 10.5k

Summary: You’re a successful tattoo artist right in the middle of Newark, New Jersey. One of your many clients just so happens to be a teammate of Nico Hischier, and he and his girlfriend, Natalie, play a game of matchmaker to get you talking. While you’ve never been a huge fan of hockey, getting to know Nico gets you instantly addicted to the sport as well as him. Friendship quickly turns into holding hands, kissing, acting like a couple but holding off on a label… And then, finally, right as you’re drifting apart, Nico swoops in and turns it into something more.

Warnings: Cursing, some angst, lots of anxiety talk, Tw*tter mentions, mostly fluff, poorly proofread

A/N: This is for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten for @wyattjohnston ‘s Winter Fic Exchange 2024 😁 I’ve been wanting to write for Nico for a while anyways so this gave me the perfect opportunity, and I really enjoyed having a bit of a personalized reader insert to play around with. I hope y’all enjoy! Loosely based on the lyrics of “Tribulation” by Matt Maeson

“Fuck, man, that hurts,”

You chuckle, lifting the needle of your tattoo gun for a few seconds before continuing your work. “I’m almost done, I swear,” you reassure, hiding your smirk as you take a napkin to dab away at the excess ink surrounding your linework.

The very man you’re tattooing, Jonas Siegenthaler, or ‘Siegs’ as you affectionately call him, is someone you’ve known for years. He is also a regular of your tattoo parlor, and right now is getting a lion on his right wrist shaded in.

Playing professional hockey, he doesn’t have much time to spend keeping up with a healing tattoo, but Jonas scheduled an appointment with you a week ago after his team, the New Jersey Devils, were eliminated in the playoffs. With three months to himself, he told you that now is the perfect time to get started on shading his wrist again.

Jonas curses again as the needle goes over the underside of his wrist, and once again you can’t hide back your laughter. You’ve been a tattoo artist for quite a few years now and are fairly used to the varying reactions your customers have, but expletives always manage to get you to break character. With any other client you’d at least attempt to be stoic, but you’ve been friends for long enough to know he doesn’t mind.

Finally, you finish your work, wiping away the remaining ink and powering off your tattoo gun. “Alright, Siegs, that’s it for today.” you say, wrapping his wrist with the proper coverings. Once you’re done sanitizing your own hands, you admire the art on his skin for a moment.

Jonas does the same, sitting up with a giant grin on his face. “It looks amazing, as always,” he looks like he wants to touch his newly-inked skin, but refrains when seeing the warning on your face.

“Okay,” you say as you lead him to the front of the store to ring up his aftercare supplies. Jonas is no amateur when it comes to tattoos by any means, but you feel the need to remind him anyway because athletes in particular always tend to lax out on tattoo aftercare. “You know the drill, but I’m still telling you anyways,”

Jonas just raises an eyebrow, listening to you list off all aftercare instructions as if he hasn’t been coming to you for years. Strangely enough, he couldn’t actually think of a time you’d hung out with each other outside of your working hours. He��ll have to change that, he hums to himself, especially after seeing the small New Jersey Devils flag you have hung on the wall.

“Have you ever been to a Devils game?” he asks as you’re handing him his aftercare supplies.

“I don’t think so, no. You know I don’t pay attention to hockey that much.”

“You should,” Jonas pushes, following you as you shuffle around the entrance of your parlor, likely looking for some supply he wouldn’t know the name of. “We’re a blast. And playoff hopeful again next season,”

You shoot him a wry smile, the both of you knowing it would take a lot more convincing to get you to leave the comforts of your shop to watch a sport you’ve never kept up with before. “Yeah? I’ll consider it,” you deadpan.

The defenseman takes no offense to your words, instead finding them to be a challenge. Mischievously, he grins. “Your consideration will turn into a yes, just you wait,”

“Sure,” you laugh, changing the subject. “You get an uber yet?” It’s relatively early in the day, so competition for booking one shouldn’t be too difficult.

Jonas shakes his head, unlocking his phone at the reminder of needing to leave. “Nah, my teammate is picking me up. He’s our captain, maybe you’ve heard of him—Nico Hischier?”

You think back to news articles you’ve seen online from late April when the Devils made the playoffs for the first time in years and you think you may have heard something about the team’s captain, but otherwise you don’t know much.

“I thought everyone would have gone home by now,” you say instead. It had been a week since their season ended, after all. Maybe this Nico guy had captain duties to attend to? You figure it’s nice of him to pick his teammate up from getting a tattoo either way, though.

The hockey player hears the curiosity in your voice, wondering how you would react to meeting his captain. “We’re both from Switzerland, so we both agreed to fly home together once we were all finished up here in Jersey. Getting my wrist shaded was the last thing on the list, thankfully,”

You make a noncommittal noise of understanding, your curiosity officially peeked by this ‘Nico’ guy. If you’ve learned anything about how the Swiss act from Jonas, you’re definitely looking forward to seeing if this captain was anything like his teammate.

Soon enough, the bell above your door is ringing as a man enters the parlor. You assume it’s Nico Hischier because of the Devils beanie he’s wearing, and because he looks out of place standing in your little parlor on the opposite side of town where his team plays. You wouldn’t know he has several tattoos himself.

You meet his eyes for a moment, and it almost looks like he’s caught off guard by the sight of you before he spots Jonas. He’s tall, you note to yourself, his shy smile endearing as he greets his teammate with a pat on the back.

“Nico!” Jonas greets happily, engaging in a short conversation before he turns his arm up to show his newly-shaded ink. “This one hurt like a bitch, but it’s looking beautiful now, isn’t it?”

“It is,” the man who you now know to be Nico confirms, admiring your work on his friend’s skin. “You did this?” he suddenly asks, the deep timber of his voice catching you off guard.

“Yeah,” you say, a little breathless. He’s beautiful. You think to yourself, confused about why you suddenly feel so hot when you purposefully keep the temperature in your shop cool. “Jonas is one of my regulars.”

Nico hums in response, eyes flitting back and forth from the lion on Jonas’s wrist and back to you, undoubtedly curious about how long his teammate has known you, and why he feels disappointed that he can’t see the rest of the ink decorating your own arms.

He himself is no stranger to tattoos, but he doesn’t have many nor do his look so intricate on his body like they do on yours. I need a new tattoo artist, he thinks, then mentally slaps himself because what?

With your cheeks feeling like they’re on fire, you turn away from the two hockey players in front of you to try and hide the embarrassment you feel. Unbeknownst to you, your movements make the light catch the dainty jewelry decorating your ears and nose, and Nico now undoubtedly finds himself in awe at your retreating form.

Who are you? He thinks. Siegs is a shit for not introducing you sooner. And then he rolls his eyes at himself again. What the fuck is the matter with him, anyways? He must have gotten a concussion during the playoffs, or something.

“You’re a regular?” He looks to his friend, subtly asking how long you’ve known each other. “You must like them, then,”

Jonas never prided himself on being intuitive; Nico’s prying went right over his head. He says your name with a fond smile, briefly looking to you as you mess around your desk again. “Oh, yeah, they’re the best. They’re fucking amazing with a tattoo gun, not to mention a huge Devils fan, too,”

You just so happen to overhear their conversation. “No, I’m not,” you scowl, but quickly retract your statement because Nico is looking at you like you just kicked his puppy. “Well, I mean, I’m a fan but not, like, a huge fan. I’ve never even been to a game,”

“Siegs, you should’ve brought ‘em around sooner, what the fuck!”

“I tried,”

Nico continues on like he didn’t hear him. “You’re coming to opening night. On me—on us, yeah?”

You’re much too in shock to comment on his slip of tongue, instead staring wide-eyed as he looks at you with determination. Nico just met you, but feels this compelling need to know you beyond the fact that you’re his friend’s reserved tattoo artist.

“You might as well just say yes,” Jonas speaks up, having caught on to your hesitation. “He won’t stop until you do,”

“Damn right.” The captain agrees, crossing his arms to further cement his point.

You’re drawn to the muscles that flex under the material of his shirt, and okay. Wow. With the way your body is heating up you would think that you’ve never been attracted to another human being in your life.

Quickly, your eyes dart back up to Nico’s, and you flush when you see he’s already caught onto your admiration of his body. He raises an eyebrow, teasing, and then you finally blurt out your response lest he call you out. “Well,” you start, clearing your throat when your voice comes out hoarse. “I guess that could be fun, yeah?”

Nico’s infectious grin at your agreement has you returning one of your own, flushed at the way you already knew your life would be a much happier one if you got to see him smile like that at you forever.

The two Devils’ players left soon after that, but not before you exchanged numbers with Nico Hischier himself while a smug Jonas watched from the background. “So I can send you the tickets when the time comes,” he’d said.

It was a perfectly believable excuse to you, but Jonas clapping his teammate on the back as if it were some kind of accomplishment had you questioning if Nico planned on texting you before their opening night.

You forced yourself to forget about it, though, in the meanwhile. You still had two more clients after they left, and you couldn’t exactly do your best work if Nico’s chiseled face and soft eyes wouldn’t leave your head.

And then a sharp pang struck your heart as you figure you’re just being delusional again. Reading too much into a situation that had no call for it, and imagining the way he looked at you like there was something behind your guarded eyes he wanted to explore.

No, you quickly put an end to your thoughts, steeling your resolve as you march back into the shelter of your shop. You aren’t putting yourself through this. Not again.

In a world of meaningless hookups and disappointing endings, you were a damaged romantic who would have once given the world if asked. But that hope for the future you envision with rose colored glasses is long gone, destroyed along with the pieces of your heart that shattered the last time you let yourself get too close to someone.

You decide then and there, with the image of Nico Hischier and his look of awe the moment he first saw you, that you weren’t going to ever grant him the ability to break you like the last person who did so years ago.

Despite the politeness he exudes, you half expect him to start making a move the moment he lands in Switzerland. You think he’ll start with a text that says, ‘Hey, how are you?’ and once you respond (because you will) he’ll send you pictures of him in his homeland, ones that require a compliment or an inquiry about what he’s doing.

You think you have him figured out. Men are predictable, you would know—their brains all work the same, and that includes how they hit on people they’re interested in.

However, you’re surprised to find that a text from him never comes. There’s no message awaiting you in between tattoo sessions, no ‘how are you’ or a picture of a ski lift or whatever it is people do in Switzerland. It irritates you because you don’t have Nico all figured out like you thought.

If you couldn’t place him into the typical group of uncommitted assholes you’d come to learn, then just who is he?

The answer escapes you for many months after. You certainly don’t text him, but you do find his Instagram after drinking one too many glasses of wine and scroll through his pictures. Nico isn’t very active online is what you gather, for his last post was back in May after they got eliminated from the playoffs.

It makes him endearing, much to your displeasure. People glued to their phones and still use Snapchat as their main form of communication irritate you to no end.

Not Nico, though…

He stays on your mind for the entirety of summer, because you just couldn’t get the memory of his eyes out of your head. It panics you a little because it feels like you’re forming a crush, and your last one didn’t exactly bode well for you.

Whatever. It’s just a small, meaningless feeling that just so happens to have stuck. Nico probably wasn’t even going to send you a ticket for opening night.

This is what you tell yourself as September rolls around, the NHL preseason starts, and your stomach sinks deeper and deeper the closer the Devils’ opening night comes.

You’re thinking about him again right now, much to your displeasure, as you finish wiping down one of your stations after your last client of the day left. It was a busy one, and you’re grumpy because your neck hurts from leaning over for so long.

You accidentally knock over your cleaning spray in the midst of your aggressive cleaning, and just as you pick up the bottle there’s a quiet knock on your shop’s door.

“I thought I flipped the closed sign,” you mutter, exiting the room you were just in and walking to the lobby. You’re unable to make out who it is outside, the only striking feature being that they’re tall.

You open the door warily, speaking before they get the chance to. “Sorry, we’re closed for the night. You can come back tomorrow morning or call to book an appointment—”

“I’m not here for a tattoo.” He interrupts you with what sounds like amusement, and you freeze because you would recognize that voice anywhere.

You look up to meet his eyes, and are struck with the same dark brown that’s been haunting your mind for months.

“Nico,” you say, shock written all over your face. You lick your lips, trying to find something to say. “You’re… What are you doing here?”

“I still have the address saved from when Siegs sent it to me,” he admits, aware that’s not what you’re really asking. Facing you now, he finds himself nervous. You hadn’t changed much, except for maybe the addition of another piercing in your right ear, he thinks.

But you were so unlike other strangers he’s met in the past; they know who he is, all about his life, whereas you look at him like you’re not sure what to think.

Nico finds it refreshing. You’re intriguing, someone to figure out—not to mention he really likes your tattoos. And piercings. He fights the urge to trail his fingers up your sleeves to reveal the art decorating your skin.

You’re raising an eyebrow at him, and then he realizes he’s been silent for a good minute while he’s been staring at you. He releases a quick breath, “You still want to come to opening night, right?”

“I do,” you say, foregoing acting coy. Fuck it, you actually did really want to go. “Why? Is there an issue?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he reassures, giving you a quick smile. “I’d just rather explain the ticket situation in person than on text,”

His reasoning sounds understandable to you, but you fail to pick up on why he still seems so nervous. It’s just a ticket to a game, right?

“So since it’s just you,” he starts, hesitantly. “You’ll be sitting with, um. You’ll be in the wives and girlfriends section.”

Truthfully, Nico wouldn’t be shocked if you decline after hearing where you’ll be sitting. He himself probably would have, because who, as a stranger, wants to sit with the players’ significant others?

He watches your reaction, holding his breath. But all you do is laugh a little, shrug nonchalantly even though internally you’re shitting your pants.

“Okay, but you do know I’m neither a wife nor a girlfriend,” of you, you want to add, but keep that last part to yourself. Even though over the course of these last few months your mind definitely imagined it.

Your expression is teasing, the corner of your lips quirked up into a small smirk that has the tension falling from Nico’s shoulders. You aren’t mad. This is a start.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking rather sheepish. “I didn’t know if you’d be okay with that,” he mumbles lowly, meeting your eyes. If you look closely you think you can see a rosy hue covering his cheeks.

“It’s just one game, yeah?” You muse, secretly pleased at the fact that he’s the nervous one this time, not you. “Nothing wrong with that,”

Nico lets out a breathless laugh, relieved knowing you won’t be caught off guard when you come to the opening game in October.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Nothing wrong with that all.”

He stays for a few more minutes after that, your conversation surprisingly pleasant with little awkwardness as you shyly ask about his stay back home, and he gladly expresses his joy at being back in Switzerland for a few months.

His unabashed enthusiasm to share his life with you catches you off guard, but you find that you like learning these little things about him. It defeats your whole purpose of not letting yourself get close to him, but you push that worry to the back of your mind for later.

Nico does eventually leave, but not before giving you a hug that leaves your heart racing. One of his hands came to rest respectfully at the small of your back, and you could have sworn you felt his lips brush your cheek before he pulled away.

“See you soon,” he had grinned, his eyes dark and enthused.

Feeling corny and rather irritated with yourself, your fingers brush the spot on your cheek, swearing you could still feel the heat of his lips.

You still don’t hear from Nico even after his visit, and you’re once again struck by the fact that you still can't tell what his intentions are. You find yourself checking your phone anyway, going so far as to stalk his Instagram. Again.

This is most definitely becoming a bad habit. A very bad one. You think to yourself as, one day, you find yourself staring at your screen once more, weeks having gone by with the brown eyed boy still on your mind.

With another client in just over two hours, you find yourself using the break to get some work done on your laptop at the desk in the lobby of your shop. You aren’t very productive, but it makes you feel better about your wandering imagination being so distracting.

Just having happened to save a finished spreadsheet of your recent clients and their pricing, a man is pushing open the door to your shop. You quickly determine that it’s some type of delivery based on the package he carries before he drops it onto your counter.

He reads out your name from a paper, glancing up at you for confirmation of your identity. “Yes, that’s me,” you say, eyeing the unknown sender label. “Do you know who sent this?” You haven’t placed any orders recently, so it isn’t something from you.

The mailman shakes his head, giving you a polite smile before wishing you a good rest of your day. You wave to him offhandedly as he exits the shop, and then find a pair of scissors to carefully cut through the tape holding the box shut.

As if you’re opening Pandora’s box, you’re wary as you unfold the cardboard, your fingers brushing against thick fabric before carefully taking it out.

Unfolded and spread out across your desk, you freeze. You’re lucky no one else is here in the front to see you because your face is a deep shade of tomato red, and you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

Before you lay a jersey for the New Jersey Devils, and you know even before turning it over that it has Nico Hischier’s surname and number printed on the back.

As you’re staring at the jersey in awe, your fingers trailing over the brand new and surely expensive fabric, your phone pings with a new message.

It’s from a number you’d memorized months ago even though you’d never once used it to communicate. A text from Nico Hischier greets you as you unlock your phone.

UPS sent me a notification that the package I sent you arrived. I hope you like it. Looking forward to seeing you next month :)

“Oh, he’s good,” you say out loud, your smile growing even wider if that were possible. Your heart’s tempo picks up, and your fingers fly across the keyboard to respond.

You’re still not sure what he’s about—what are his plans here? Does he like you? Is he flirting for fun or does he have intentions to go forward?

You try not to overthink it as you finalize your response, pressing send soon after.

I just got it. I have to say, you’re bold. I guess I have no choice but to wear it now considering how much it probably cost you.

As if he were waiting for a response, a new message appears almost instantly.

It’s no big deal. Really. Just want to make your first game a memorable one. I’ll sign the jersey for you, too.

Careful, hot shot, I might start thinking you have other intentions here.

You wouldn’t be wrong.

September passes quickly, and before you know it October 12 is here and you’re nervously walking through Prudential Center to the section your seat is in.

You don’t stick out as much as you think you do, which is relieving because everyone around you is too focused on getting to their own seats and discussing the game.

You know you don’t fit the typical bill of someone coming to support a professional hockey player, considering what you think you are to Nico is… Complicated.

Your arms are covered in small but meaningful tattoos, and your ears are decorated with piercings along with the lone stud on your nose. You wouldn’t think someone like Nico would find it all attractive about you, but he’s said so numerous times over call and text.

You think about said communication as you finally sit down, a good thirty minutes before the game starts because nobody else is around you yet.

After Nico sent you his jersey, it’s like the floodgates opened from whatever was holding the two of you back from talking. Despite your reservations, he enraptured you from the get-go and you just couldn’t stop yourself from falling.

Nico is a really good texter, surprisingly. None of the lower case bullshit or long response times you’d expect from a sports player, but instead the exact opposite.

He doesn’t give you the feeling of talking to a child, an immature man who doesn’t know what he wants; in the time spent between him first using your number and going to the game, you’ve noticed how his responses are thought out and intentional. He responds quickly, but not too quickly to make you think he doesn’t have a career to focus on, and he makes you smile when he adds those cute smiley faces after the end of his texts.

You think you’re enjoying Nico Hischier a little too much to be normal, but you choose not to focus on that as you’re greeted by an unknown woman tapping your shoulder.

“Hi!” She says, giving you a welcoming smile that instantly puts you at ease. “Nico said he invited someone to come tonight. And Jonas,” she adds the last part like it was an afterthought, then gives you a slightly apologetic look. “He didn’t have time to tell us your name, so he just said to look for piercings and tattoos. I’m assuming that’s you?”

You’re not offended by others using your slightly unconventional looks to point you out; you’re proud of all of your piercings and the ink decorating your skin. You wouldn’t be you without them.

Slightly overwhelmed at the amount of words that just spewed from her mouth, though, you hide it well as you damper your nerves to respond. “Hi. Yeah, um, that’s me. They both - Nico and Jonas - really wanted me to come tonight.” You don’t include the fact that it was all Nico who sent you the ticket, showed up at your shop, and had been texting you nonstop for the past month.

The woman grins, seemingly relieved she had the right person. “Nico never brings anyone around so we were all pretty excited to meet you. I’m Natalie, Jonas’ girlfriend, by the way.”

Natalie is the exact type of girl you’d be expecting to date a professional hockey player. She’s blonde with a lithe figure, bright blue eyes and a face that could be on the front page of a magazine. She fits in with this crowd, not you, but you try not to let that bother you as you focus on her being the woman who makes one of your good clients happy.

Jonas has mentioned his girlfriend numerous times before, singing nothing but praises, and he’s even shown you a picture. Now that she’s in front of you, you instantly recognize her.

“I thought I recognized you,” you say. “I’m Jonas’ tattoo artist, he talks about you all the time,” maybe you were exaggerating a bit, but. Siegs wouldn’t mind. You were buttering him up to the ‘love of his life’, after all.

“He’s mentioned you too, oh my gosh, now it’s all clicking!” Natalie instantly gasps, sliding into the seat next to you. “You’re crazy talented. All of his tattoos are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you grin, a little bashful. “He’s a great guy. I enjoy working with him.”

Natalie smiles back, and soon the two of you are joined by the rest of the WAG’s as the puck drop grows closer. Just as you’re about to pull out your phone, Natalie has seemingly managed to break free from whoever she was talking to.

“So, how do you know Nico? Jonas didn’t mention much about you coming, it was mostly Neeks who asked us to greet you,”

Neeks? You file that nickname away for later, and then your face grows red because you’re not sure how to answer her question.

“We actually met because of Jonas, funny enough. He was getting his wrist shaded, right after they got eliminated from the playoffs, and he asked Nico to come pick him up from my shop when it was done.”

“I remember,” Natalie says. “We were flying to Switzerland right after he was done. Sorry, you can continue,”

“You’re good,” you chuckle. “But yeah, then Jonas mentioned how I’d never been to a game, and Nico is who managed to convince me to come tonight.” You keep it simple, vague. No need to provide a complicated answer, mostly because you didn’t know how to reply without making it seem like you and Nico hadn’t been flirting for weeks now.

She looks like she’s about to say something, but suddenly the lights are dimming and an announcer is speaking, his loud voice booming throughout the arena. The next thing you know the lights are coming back on full blast, the puck is dropped, and ten hockey players are whipping across the ice at lightning speed.

Holy shit, you want to say, the sounds of screaming fans and players slamming against the boards rather overwhelming to you but in a good way. It has your blood pumping, and while you don’t understand much of anything - like why the refs blow the whistle randomly or what certain penalties mean - you find that you’re having a good time with Natalie keeping you company, explaining things as they occur.

“That Red Wings player is going into the box which means they’re down a player, and—oh, look, there’s Nico!” She’s pointing to the ice, and you have to squint to follow her line of sight, but you quickly recognize the Swiss captain’s profile and fight the muscles in your face from breaking into a smile.

Alas, you end up losing that battle as a grin manages to fight its way onto your face anyway. You know he can’t see you from so far up, but you like to think he tries as the Jumbotron focuses on him and catches his eyes peering up into the general direction of where you’re seated.

To downplay your excitement at spotting him, you ask, “What’s Jonas’ number?”

“Seventy-one,” Natalie answers, about to say something else, but interrupts herself as she along with almost every other fan in the arena jumps up out of their seats to shout obscenities at the referees.

Yeah, you think to yourself, comically scared of the aggression these hockey fans show for their team. This will take some getting used to.

Almost three hours later, the Devils manage to secure the win for their first game of the season. They almost blew it, or that’s what you hear from others around you, but you’re just glad to have something to congratulate Nico for when you go to meet him outside the locker room.

Speaking of, you along with the other WAG’s are walking down there right now, and your nerves from before the game are coming back full-force, stomach-twisting, vomit-inducing and all.

You’re standing next to Natalie as she talks with two other girls, and you’re content to just listen because your nerves aren’t allowing you to do anything else.

Then, as if the universe were tuned into your thoughts, the locker room doors open and multiple Devils players come streaming out. They’re freshly showered, back in the suits they arrived at the arena in, and you don’t even bother to hide your eagerness as you look for Nico in the crowd.

You spot Jonas first, though, as he catches sight of Natalie and bounds over to her with open arms. “Good game,” you think she says, then says something even quieter and that’s when Jonas sees you standing next to them.

He says your name in shock before a broad smile stretches over his face. “You came!” And then he’s also bringing you into a hug, looking all too happy to have some of his favorite people surrounding him.

“I did,” you laugh, pulling back after a moment. “It was really fun to watch. I’m glad you guys won,” you kind of wince at the end, knowing their win was shaky at best, but he looks like he appreciates the humor all the same.

“Yeah, we are too,” he says, then looks as if he just remembered something. “Nico was coming out right behind me, and—oh, there he is! Neeks!” He calls his captain’s name abruptly, and you swivel around to see Nico Hischier in the flesh heading towards you.

“There you are with the nickname again,” Nico chuckles as he approaches, then embraces his friend as if they didn’t just see each other a minute ago.

When he pulls back, his eyes quickly find yours, and unlike the first time you met there’s no awkwardness as Nico gives you a wide grin before wrapping his arms around you.

“You came,” he says into the top of your hair, and you can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn’t give you time to speak before he’s pulling back only slightly, enough to see your face from below peering up at him.

You take in the sight of him above you, rendered speechless as this image of him smiling so happily will likely replay in your memory forever. Nico is pure ecstasy, delight incarnate as those dark brown eyes likely have you painted in a way you could never see yourself in.

Finally finding your words, you duck your head for a moment, embarrassed at the blush you know is on your cheeks. “I wouldn’t miss it,” you say, referring to the game. “You played great, Neeks,”

Nico playfully leans back, lightly groaning at hearing you tease his nickname. “I should’ve known they’d say that in front of you,” he sighs, but you can tell it’s in nothing but jest as his smile remains. “Thank you, though,”

And now it was his turn to be bashful, as the blood rushes to his cheeks. What a picture you’re sure the two of you were; both pairs of hands still holding the other and equally flustered expressions on your faces. You find that you don’t mind the contact, though, despite having a slight aversion to touch. Nico’s warmth is comforting, and you rather like being close to him.

It’s not until Jonas coughs loudly from behind you that you and Nico finally release your hold on one another, and you turn to see he and Natalie looking at the two of you with barely contained excitement.

You meet Nico’s eyes, both of you struggling to hide your laughs at Jonas and Natalie’s failed poker faces. “Nice assist, Siegs,” you say to break the lingering tension, and the four of you come together like you’d all been close friends for years.

As you’re all leaving the arena through the exit the players use, Jonas and Nico walk ahead of you, exchanging teasing words and lighthearted insults, while you and Natalie watch from behind.

“So,” Natalie chirps, looking at you expectantly. “What do you think?”

You’re not dumb. You know she’s asking about Nico, thinking this is the first time you’ve talked to him since you first met him at your tattoo shop.

“Hockey? Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” you say, snickering when she sighs at your avoidance. “I’ll have to go to more games.”

“Not about hockey, about Nico,” Natalie says, whispering his name as if it’s taboo. “We aren’t blind. That was a long hug, and Nico literally never brings anyone here. Ever.”

“Technically, Jonas offered to bring me to a game first,”

The spunky blonde ignores you, offhandedly waving her arm. “Semantics. He also keeps turning around to look at you. Like right now.”

What? You instantly look ahead and see she’s right, your eyes meeting Nico’s. His face turns red as he sends you a shy smile, and then he turns back to Jonas who is still talking beside him.

Natalie observes the interaction, a small grin on her face. “You’ve both been talking long before now, haven’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?” you chuckle bashfully, slightly embarrassed your interactions allow her to pick up on your chemistry so quick. She shrugs, increasing her stride to stand in front of you as you reach their cars. “A little. But I’ve known Nico for a bit now, he’s a good guy. He likes you, too, I think.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before Jonas is wrapping an arm around Natalie’s waist, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “We gotta get going, yeah? Early morning tomorrow,”

Nico’s hand is brushing against your arm as he moves to your side, unable to tell if the resulting shiver from his touch is from the slight chill in the air or just him. “We have a game in Arizona, a back-to-back,” he clarifies, answering your unspoken question.

“Ah,” you say. “That sucks.”

“Not this time. I’ll have plenty of good things to think about on the flight.” He winks at you, perfectly implying what those ‘good things’ are.

Your face turns red just as Jonas pretends to gag. “That would be our sign to leave. Right, babe?” He attempts to lead his girlfriend away, but Natalie suddenly gasps and runs back to you.

“I forgot to get your number,” she says, thrusting her phone into your hands. “We’re definitely hanging out again.” And, well, okay then. Who are you to deny her?

Jonas and Natalie drive away in his fancy sports car, which leaves you to walk Nico to his own. It’s quiet between the two of you, comforting because you’re both content to revel in each other’s company. Your hands occasionally brush - purely Nico’s fault - until he gathers the bravery to lace your fingers together just as you approach his car.

He doesn’t drop your hand, not even as he turns to face you once you come to a stop. “You have a ride home?”

You shrug sheepishly. No, you hadn’t really thought that far. “I was just planning on ubering…”

Nico scoffs, as if the very thought offends him. “Yeah, no. I’ll drive you home.” At the apprehensive look on your face, his confidence wavers slightly, and he mindlessly rubs his thumb over your hand to calm his own nerves. “If you’re okay with it, of course,”

Why does he have to be so cute? You give in instantly, the tension melting from your bones as, boldly, you use his grip on your hand to tug him closer. “That would be great, Nico, thank you.”

While his car, like Jonas’, is also expensive, you feel comfortable surrounded by the dark material and the scent of Nico’s cologne. The radio is playing softly, and he’s humming along quietly while strumming the fingers of his hand on the steering wheel. His other is resting on the gear shift, but you can tell by the way his hand keeps twitching that he wants to move it closer to you.

If you’ve learned anything about Nico within the weeks that you’ve been talking to him, it’s that he is huge on physical touch. He said it over text, but in person it’s even more obvious because his hands are rarely to himself when he’s next to you.

As the minutes go by, you finally give in to his body’s desire with a laugh as you reach over to tangle your hands together, now resting in your lap. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you liked touching, were you?”

Even with the darkness surrounding him, you can easily spot the maroon flush blooming across his cheeks. He briefly looks to you, unable to hide his grin before turning his attention back to the road. “No,” he laughs, gripping your hand reflexively like he’s testing out the contact. “I wasn’t.”

You’re both significantly more loose after you give in to your want for the other, and the rest of the ride is silent save for the occasional song lyrics mumbled by Nico. Almost too quickly he’s pulling into the parking lot of your apartment complex, and you’re disappointed when your hands release as you climb out of the car.

“Can I walk you to your door?”

“Sure.”

Like the car ride, the walk to your apartment is comfortably silent, and this time Nico doesn’t hesitate when taking your hand. He smiles when you shiver, but doesn’t say anything which you appreciate.

The elevator is stopping at your floor almost too soon, and you find yourself not wanting the night to end. You’re enjoying his company far too much, and you really like holding his hand. Imagining yourself doing this on a regular basis is overwhelming and definitely freaks you out a little once you come to a stop at your door.

“Here I am,” you chuckle, a little awkwardly. So… What do you do now? Thank him? Hug him? Kiss him?

You go to say something, anything… But Nico beats you to it. “Thank you for coming tonight,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I couldn’t see you from the ice, but I liked trying to pretend I could see you watching me.” He winks, then, and you don’t bother denying that yes, you were watching him the entire time.

You still try to be humble, though. “Thank you for getting me a ticket,” you say, trying to decide how forward you should be. His eyes sparkle, though, as you talk, like he can’t get enough of your voice… “All the girls were nice. Welcoming. It was fun pretending I was one of them.”

“I want you to be,” Nico blurts, almost breathless. “‘One of them’, that is. I think I like you,” he laughs like he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

You’re unable to take your eyes off him, those dark brown of his bearing into you. The color is warm, just like Nico because he reminds you of a summer day and if he's the sun, then you’re a mere leaf desperately searching for his light.

“I think I like you too,” you admit, a little quieter, a little shy. You still don’t like being touched, but as his hands come to cup your cheeks you decide that you do like the feel of his calloused skin against yours, and then he’s dipping his head to capture your lips in a kiss you don’t know you’ve been waiting for.

You melt instantly, sighing into his mouth with relief. Nico’s kisses are long and smooth, and you’re happy to let him lead before he’s pulling back all too soon, his beard scruff leaving the skin around your lips burning pleasantly.

Fluttering eyes open, leaving you with the distinct feeling of coming up from underwater. Nico looks just as elated as you feel, gazing at you from dark brown eyes filled with adoration. His thumb runs across your bottom lip, and then he’s stepping back respectfully.

“I’ll call you when I get back to my place, yeah?” He says, and you’re glad he seems just as eager to continue talking as you are.

“Yeah, that… That works,” English has left your head, and you stumble over what to say next. Nico has left you speechless, literally. “Drive safe.”

He flashes you a blinding smile, and then disappears back into the elevator.

“Oh fuck,” you say to the emptiness of the corridor. “Fuck. I’m so fucked.”

Nico calls you when he gets home, just like he said he would. He also calls you the day after that and the day after that, and when he can’t call because of a game or practice or whatever, he’s texting you.

You’re swept up in the world of Nico Hischier; his friends have become your (albeit, surface) friends, Natalie has taken you under her wing, and as the weeks go by you’re regularly attending games in the WAG section.

There’s no label on your relationship, and while you like that you’re taking this slow, there's still this desire to kiss him in front of everyone after a game won, to show the hockey world that this man, this man right here is yours.

You don’t act on it, though, as much as you may want to. You have this fear that because your appearance isn’t so conventional, that Nico would get hate for being seen with you. Everyone around you subtly hints that this fear of yours is irrational, but you know better.

As the new year comes and goes - it’s the best way you’ve spent new years in forever because Nico kisses you right as the clock strikes twelve, under the flashing lights and his cheering teammates around you - the Devils’ season continues to dominate. They’re projected to make the playoffs again, and you’re going to just about every game now to show your support.

What you don’t realize is that the fans’ scrutiny of the players only grows the closer the end of the regular season comes, and their attention also shifts to the significant others. WAG playoff jackets are apparently a thing, and you hear from Natalie how the designs for this year are already in the works.

Nico hinted one night that he wanted you to wear one by mentioning he can’t wait to see you when they’re in the playoffs. You gave him a slight look of suspicion because he said it in a way like he’s anticipating something, but he only shrugged cheekily when you tried prying.

Everything comes to an ugly head, though, when you discover hockey Twitter. You’ve obviously known of the app, but you only download it when you hear how the hockey coverage is extensive and you decide you want to keep up with all NHL news more easily.

That’s when you stumble across a term called ‘puck bunnies’, and how there are accounts dedicated to the players’ dating lives with information as trivial as who they’re being spotted with.

Anxiety takes control one night when you’re scrolling through a gossip page, and you succumb to the urge to search Nico’s name. To your horror, there are posts mentioning how a new person (you) has joined the WAG’s at games, and fans have spotted him leaving with this new person consistently.

You can’t find anything mentioning your identity, but you do find criticisms of your appearance. A lot of them. And, really, you knew this was going to happen, it was just a matter of when. The thought doesn’t comfort you, though, as your stomach drops when past girlfriends of Nico are brought up.

They’re all blondes, the occasional brunette, too. Of course they are. You figure anyways that part of the reason you were so intriguing to him to begin with is because you’re so unlike anyone he’s ever dated before. It still doesn’t make you feel better.

You have unconventional piercings, tattoos and quite a lot of them, and you don’t have the money to splurge on expensive clothing like these models do. A word a lot of these hateful posts use is ‘downgrade’, and your insecurities start to agree.

Why does Nico even like you? What do you have that these other girls don’t? From the looks of it, you’re the first of, well, you that he’s ever dated.

You hate it. You hate all of it. Twitter, stupid puck bunnies (how demeaning, too?), your incredibly strong feelings for Nico, and the thought that you aren’t good enough for him.

Now, what you should be doing is calling him. Hell, even Natalie. You know you need to talk to someone about what you’ve found, get some reassurance that the online gossip is purely just that: gossip.

But, well, you’ve never been reasonable. Anxiety and overthinking has ruled your life since you could talk. Instead, you stay silent, stew in your self-loathing and scroll through more of the disgusting Twitter thread.

You let these strangers’ words get to you, their biting insults swimming around in the back of your mind over the next few days all while everyone else is none the wiser.

Especially Nico, who thinks everything is fine until it isn’t. He’s busy with the team, leading with a grace only a captain could possess, and playing his heart out every game to ensure their spot in the postseason. He thinks your distance is because you know how busy he is and simply just don’t want to bother him.

Which, he appreciates you respecting his career, but your shortened responses, curt replies, and frequent denials to come to his games start to signal warning sirens in his head. You aren’t an open book by any means, but this… Nico finds it startling. He knows something is wrong.

So he pries. He texts you more than normal, during video reviews where he’s supposed to be paying attention to replays and right after practices, too. One could say he’s being overbearing, and in the midst of all your self-loathing and depressive overthinking, you snap.

Nico had kept texting you, over and over again, asking for your schedule over the next few days along with continuously asking about when you could see him next. Your fingers moved faster than you could think, and then you pressed send on a message you keep telling yourself you don’t regret.

I just don’t have time, Nico, jesus. Let it go.

The read receipt had appeared under the message less than a minute later, and not another text came through. You’d most definitely had a slight mental breakdown, wanted to call him and apologize and kiss away the frown you’re sure is marring his beautiful lips, but you try convincing yourself it’s for the best.

You don’t deserve all the good that Nico Hischier brings into your life. He’s far too good for you—everyone else seems to think so, too.

And so, that’s that. Nico doesn’t text you anymore and you certainly don’t text him. You’d burned that bridge with no hesitation, and any sparks that were growing between you are certainly extinguished now. This is what you tell yourself, anyways, even as you still can’t stop yourself from tuning into the Devils games over the next few days.

You throw yourself into your work, even more than before. You switch around scheduling for different clients, place multiple sessions right after the other so the buzz of your tattoo gun is too loud for you to think of anything else.

It works, for a time. But you can only do it for so long, and it doesn’t stop you from watching recaps of Nico nor does it keep you from noticing how off-kilter he seems. You’ve come to realize that whenever the captain is off, so is the rest of the team, and the Devils go on a losing streak over the next two weeks that kills you almost as much as you’re sure it’s killing them.

You still don’t contact him, though. You keep your distance, avoid the bars you know they frequent and dodge Natalie’s attempts at meeting up, too. You’re sure she knows you and Nico aren’t talking, either because of how badly he’s playing or because Jonas told her, and you don’t want to give her an opportunity to pry.

And Nico, well. He’s very obviously a mess. He’s snappy, overwhelmed, angry at the littlest things; he broke his stick against the wall during one practice because Jack had passed him a puck, but Nico botched the play just like everything else in his life, apparently.

A perk about being the captain is that none of his teammates have the guts to come up to him to bluntly ask him what’s wrong. On the other hand, his teammates follow his lead to a T, which means that as a result of his foul mood and horrible playing, their spot in the standings has noticeably suffered.

You don’t leave his head, not when he’s in the middle of a game or lying wide awake in his bed until the early hours of the morning. Many times he contemplates breaking the barrier you’d put between the two of you, to ask what he did and if there’s anything he can do to fix it. Nico thinks it’s his fault, that maybe he came off as too clingy…

He knows of your past, knows you’re so wary to jump into relationships for a reason, and figures he just did something to scare you back into seclusion.

The abrupt silence between the two of you builds, and Nico is so frustrated with himself and with you that when they play a division rival, the Philadelphia Flyers, his pent-up aggravation is released and he plays the best hockey he’s probably ever played before in his life.

Nico has never done drugs, but he’s positive the adrenaline pumping through his veins is similar to the rush of dopamine one would feel right after. He’s high off the elation of winning, and it gives him the courage to finally do something about the mounting irritation from his lack of contact with you.

He leaves the rock as soon as he’s able, breaks a few traffic laws in his haste to get to your shop as quickly as possible. It’s a long shot, showing up this late at night on a Friday, but he knows your habits and he knows you.

As he swerves into a parking spot, his gut tells him he’s right. You’re here. You have to be.

Unfortunately for you, Nico is right. You are, in fact, holed up alone in your shop, postponing the lonely ride to your lonely apartment in place of searching for something to do.

You watched the Devils game in the midst of distracting yourself, because of course you did. You saw how the players’ growing frustration led to pure determination that ultimately secured them the win.

You’re proud of them. Proud of Nico. You want to text him, do something, but… then there’s rapid knocking on the doors, and you’re peeking around the corner to catch a glimpse of the likely drunkard trying to break in.

You’re about to just wave them off, gesture towards the sign hanging on the window you know is switched to close, but the man outside speaks and you’re frozen.

“Please, baby, let me in,” the voice is laced with pure desperation, and oh, now you can see him as clear as day. He mouths your name through the glass, and you don’t have the strength to send him away.

You reluctantly unlock the door, shying away from his touch when he tentatively puts a hand on your arm. Nico is having none of it, though, and quickly grabs your hand to tug you back towards him. He’s had enough of your silence, isn’t going to let you walk away so easily this time.

When you don’t meet his eyes, he lets out a heavy breath, squeezes your hand once, then, “What the fuck is going on?” and you’re still silent, still avoidant, refusing to look up at his face. He says your name, voice anguished as he begs again, “Talk to me, please?”

You dodge his questions. “Why are you here, Nico?”

Nico reads your body language, watches as you refuse to meet his eyes and finally break away from his touch. He realizes he still affects you, and that you pushing him away is purely because you’re in your own head and don’t know how to get out of it

“Did you see my game?” Nico eventually asks, realizing he has to approach this gently, like you’re a wounded animal and in a sense, you are.

You did, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. (He knows, anyway). So you just shrug, pretending to fiddle with the random shit on your desk.

“So that’s a yes,” Nico mutters to himself. Then, he speaks up, louder, so he knows you hear him. “I scored a goal tonight.” he pauses, waits for your reaction.

You look up then, only for a moment, squinting your eyes in what looks to be a glare. “Congratulations.”

The way you look at him screams paranoid, insecure, and suddenly Nico is hit with the memory of a conversation he had with a fan a few days ago. She was young, in her early teens and certainly not out of highschool so he didn’t take her gossip too seriously, but…

“You guys are so cute!” he remembers her squealing, shoving her phone in his face. It was a blurry picture of the two of you holding hands walking out of the arena, that much he remembers. “Everyone’s hating on them online but they’re all just jealous you’re taken now.”

Nico had been signing her jersey when she said that. He raised an eyebrow, was tuning her out slightly. “Hating? On Twitter? Shocking,” he had laughed. “Does anyone take them seriously?”

The girl - whose name he now doesn’t remember - had shrugged. “A few obsessed people, yeah. Don’t go on Twitter if you want to keep your sanity. I’d tell your… friend that, too.”

Except he didn’t. Her words went through one ear and right out the other, and it’s like a halo of light just lit up his head because oh, Nico understands now, and he feels his stomach dropping over the thought that you’ve been living with this for weeks now.

Nico scoffs at your sass but it sounds more like a laugh. He knows what to do, now. “Signed a few fans’ jerseys after the game, and then I remembered an interesting conversation with this one girl a few games back. It was really enlightening. Wanna know what she said?”

You know what’s coming. You’ve already seen what people say about your rumored relationship with Nico, and you think he’s just telling you this to definitively end whatever you started with each other.

Words escape you, but what does manage to come out is a choked up, “Not really”, under your breath.

“She said people talked about us online. Were saying a bunch of bullshit about how you ‘aren’t my type’ and that I’m too good for you. Can you believe that?”

Nico takes a few cautious steps towards you, leans over your desk to gauge your reaction. He sees the light sheen in your eyes, the way your hands tremble as you attempt to look like you aren’t hanging on to his every word.

But Nico sees right through you. He understands immediately, in that moment, why you’re pushing him away, and it breaks his heart into a million pieces.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, softly. “You didn’t think I agreed with them, did you?”

You try to respond, but you cut yourself off by letting out a sob as the overwhelming emotions catch up to you.

Nico immediately rounds the desk, his own eyes tearing up as he wraps his muscular arms around your body in a protective hug. You’re shaking as you bury your head into his neck, spurting apology after apology.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”

“I know,” he shushes, one hand running through your hair while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. “I know. It’s okay,”

“Why don’t you hate me? You should hate me,”

“I could never hate you.”

You don’t let go of Nico, not even as he slides down the wall with you in his arms. It’s behind your desk, so you’re hidden from view. The thought that he did this on purpose so you can break down in peace only makes you cry harder, and yet he doesn’t falter in his comfort.

“Is this why you went silent on me?” He eventually asks, gently, so as to not startle you. “Because of… Twitter?”

You nod imperceptibly, feeling rather embarrassed now that it’s said out loud how much online gossip has bothered you. It wasn’t just because of that, though. “It’s stupid, I know—”

“No, no it’s not. Your feelings aren’t stupid.” He says immediately. “I’m sorry you found those things online. I wish you would’ve told me, or something, that way I could’ve reassured you,”

“I should have,” you say. You almost lost him, this person you care about so deeply. “You scare me so much, though, you know?”

Nico jerks, aghast. “No, no, not like that,” You reassure, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I mean… What I feel for you scares me. Like it’s too good to be true,”

You’re nervous to continue, but then his fingers begin tracing the tattoos on your arms and you shiver because of an entirely new reason, other nerves forgotten.

“And, I don’t know. I guess I was looking for reasons to doubt… Us. Which is wrong, I know. And then I found the Twitter thread, and I let their words confirm what I was already thinking.”

One of his hands trails up the back of your neck, gently massages the skin there for a moment, and is then carefully smoothing over some of your older piercings, admiring how the jewelry looks against your skin. He’s working to calm you down, and it’s working because you then realize you've forgotten how to speak.

“Um,” you swallow, throat dry. “You’re here, though,” you finish lamely, finally meeting his eyes in awe.

“I am.” He affirms. The hand on your arm joins the other to cup your face, and then your eyes flutter shut as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “And I’m not going anywhere, yeah? Not unless you tell me to fuck off. ”

“Okay,” you whisper, assured and now content as his arms go back to curling you into his chest. “Okay. Sounds good.” And then a thought strikes you, like the deprivation of his life you’ve been forcing yourself to deal with has had enough. “When’s your next game?”

Nico’s face breaks out into a beautiful smile, one that takes your breath away. “There’s one at home next Thursday,” he says. “I think Natalie might hurt me if I tell her that you’re still too busy, so does this mean you’ll come?”

“Can’t have that now, can we?” you murmur, matching his grin. “But yeah, yeah, I’ll go,” and back to cool nonchalance you go, unable to take the love rushing through you.

Finally, you find the strength to lift yourself off the floor. He immediately grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together. As you stand in the middle of your shop, smiling goofily at each other, he looks nervous again, and his thumb smooths over the back of your hand reflexively.

“I’ve missed you,” Nico admits, looking down at you shyly. “Didn’t realize how much I liked having you in my life.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, genuinely upset with yourself for shutting him out. “I missed you too. A lot.”

“So we’re good now, then?” he looks anxious, like he thinks he still did something wrong. “You’ll talk to me next time?”

“We’re good. I’ll talk to you,” you swear. And you’re serious this time. It hurt you just as much as it hurt him to fall out of contact for weeks. Terrifyingly enough, you’re sure it’s because you’re falling in love with him.

You’ll hold back from saying those three words for a little while longer, though.

“So,” you say after a moment. “Catch me up? On everything I missed?”

He grins again, and you think it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. “Can we recap back at my place?” At the suggestive look on your face his face quickly turns red. “I just miss having you in my bed,” he mumbles, and at your laugh just starts dragging you to the door.

“Wait, wait, I need to lock up!” Nico playfully groans, squeezes your hips with a mocking “hurry up” and then you’re running out onto the busy streets of New Jersey like two reckless teenagers looking to elope.

It’s healing, freeing, and dangerous all at once because you can’t stop giggling and Nico can’t stop kissing you, and as you look at his face outlined by the red of a stoplight you think, I could fall in love with him.

You’re sure he’ll catch you when you hit the bottom, too.

A/N: I was planning on including smut but since I wrote this with a gender neutral reader not even I could make that work LMAO regardless, I hope you still enjoyed! I haven’t written a 10k+ fic in a while so I had a lot of fun with this one. As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3

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[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

HOTD with book ages vs show casting

It's interesting to think about how fans perceptions of characters would be radically different if we had book accurate casting.

Emily Carey (aged 18-19 here) is perfectly age-accurate to play an 18-year-old Alicent.

Meanwhile Paddy Considine, at 48, was pushing it a fair bit to play a 29-year-old Viserys.

For reference, Tom Glynn-Carney was 28 while filming Season 2.

So not that he's my fancast for young Paddy or anything, but let's be real. You would all be writing self-insertxVizzy fics. Alicent would have no more agency in the marriage if Viserys was his book age than his show age, but fan perceptions of Viserys would definitely be different if he was played by a young and attractive actor (no offense of course to Paddy, he is serving Targaryen realness etc.)

Or look at Fabian Frankel. He would have been around 27/28 while filming season 1. You were shipping Alicole back when Emily Carey was still in the role, after all.

And then there's Rhaenyra, who was 8 during the events of the first episode, and 9 when Viserys married Alicent.

Milly Alcock, roughly 21 here, is just a tad older than 8-year-old Rhaenyra.

Amelie Child-Villiers would have been 12-13 while filming Rings of Power, so older than Rhaenyra at the very beginning but can pass for younger.

To anyone who thinks a child Rhaenyra wouldn't have been interesting to follow, er... have you read ASOIAF? There are quite a few prominent child POV characters, you may have noticed. And Alicent doesn't automatically become uninteresting if she's 18 rather than 15... or 40.

I mean I get it, Rhaenycent shippers, you prefer the sapphic dynamic in HOTD... and it is absolutely fine to prefer something! But it isn't inherently deeper or more interesting. It isn't objectively better. BFFesbians can be just as one-note as you claim step-mother/daughter relationships are with the wrong writing, and step-mother/daughter relationships can be richly complicated.

Now, I've already gone through the absolute horror that is book Rhaenyra and book Criston

Criston Cole was 22 when he met a 7-year-old Rhaenyra, 23 during the events of the first episode. So Fabian at 27 (pictured here) is a a few years older, but his age gap with Amelie is the same as Criston and Rhaenyra. And yikes. This is why 'Criston the Dad who Stepped Up' posts make me throw up in my mouth. (Also it is so weird that Criston is never recast after the time jump even though the actor is younger than Emma D'Arcy - Criston is 47 during the Dance).

And yes, Daemon has a similar age gap with Rhaenyra

Daemon was 24 during the events of the first episode. Though I would add that Daemon wasn't, contrary to popular opinion by greens, grooming Rhaenyra when she was a young child. There isn't really any indication that he paid particular attention to his 8-year-old niece - he was mostly sulking on Dragonstone in a relationship with an adult Mysaria for starters, and then he was off in the Stepstones till Viserys and Alicent's 5th wedding anniversary tourney.

From then, no I'm not in favour of a 30-year-old Daemon and a 15-year-old Rhaenyra... I am not in favour of childbrideros. But considering he'd been absent from her life between the ages of 8-15, and there is no indication he ever paid any attention to her before then... it is less creepy than Criston Cole being Rhaenyra's shadow from the age of 7, with rumours of a sexual relationship beginning at a point when she would have been 12-14.

By Westeros standards Daemon unfortunately falls into the 'culturally normalised and could have a whole lot worse' category (and tbf, considering the popularity of ships like SanSan...). This isn't a pro-daemyra or anti-daemyra post, I'm not really going to go into their relationship or whether or not it's healthy here, just clarifying that Daemon isn't the Humbert Humbert of this story - that would be Criston (not being Humbert Humbert of course is a very low bar).

And when it comes to the casting and how that impacts audience perceptions... Matt Smith at 39 was too old for both 24 and 30 year-old Daemon (though exquisite in the role of course).

Considering how his haters condemn Daemon for his actions in episode 1 while excusing Aegon for rape and Aemond for murdering Luke (and burning alive many many other children)... Let's have a look at an age-appropriate actor for 24-year-old Daemon and see if that changes anything.

Ooh would you look at that, Ewan Mitchell at 24 while filming S1.

Or Tom at 28 during S2, just two years younger than 30-year-old Daemon. With a face that wins hearts over rape. You telling me if Daemon was his book age you wouldn't be excusing his actions? You wouldn't be taking all the rape apology arguments Aegon stans use and applying them to Daemon's seduction of a 15-year-old Rhaenyra?

Especially if you still had him acting alongside 21-year-old Milly, who was supposed to pass for a 14 to 18-year-old Rhaenyra.

Hopefully though no one would be excusing a younger Daemon played by Tom Glynn-Carney if he had been put against an actual 14/15 year-old like Evie Allen. Who would have been a more age-accurate (and disturbing) casting for Rhaenyra...

Oh wait, how old was Maddie Evans (Dyana) while filming S1 again? 15? Never mind.

Casting teenagers in such scenarios is of course a difficult business - above all the first priority is to protect underage actors. Milly was well-suited to convincingly play Rhaenyra from early teens to late teens, and it's impossible to constantly re-cast for absolute age-accuracy across the time jumps. But it does impact perception - while the first priority is to protect underage actors, the casting of older actors to play teenagers does contribute to society's perceptions of teenage girls in particular as mature adults, rather than children.

Meanwhile the attractiveness of adult male actors - and the younger they are - does indeed shape what some audiences are willing to forgive or excuse. Reactions to Daemon and Viserys by fans (especially green fans) would be radically different if they were cast with their book ages - sorry to say it greens, but your objections to their characters is in large part due to the fact that you are not attracted to DILFS (or leprosy!). And even if we still aged up Rhaenyra like the show does when she first met Criston Cole, reactions to him during the Dance would be vastly different if he was played by a book-accurate 47-year-old. Again, Fabian Frankel is younger than Emma D'arcy.

Of course, the bar for age accurate casting is clear in the way we were supposed to accept Olivia Cooke playing Tom Glynn Carney's mother (they are two years apart).

Because again if Alicent had been 18 at the start of the show and 41 at the start of the dance she would have ceased to be an interesting character or something I guess. Because no one wants an older woman (ew gross!) as the series co-lead alongside a non-binary lead. And because mother/stepdaughter relationships are inherently one-note while BFFesbians are inherently rich, deep and complex... apparently. It has nothing to do with, you know, the writing quality.

Final Round!!! Aegon and Aemond picking fights with kids

Harvey Sadler here is 8/9 years old when he played young Lucerys. Which makes this baby face 2-3 years older than... a six-year-old Book Jacaerys when 10-year-old Aemond was 'pummelling him savagely'.

So yeah, "3 against 1" - the oldest of those 3 being younger than Harvey Sadler. And honestly, 6-year-old Jace has my undying respect for the sheer balls on him to go up against a bigger kid twice his age and size. Does he care that Aemond has just claimed the largest dragon in the world? No, he pushed over his baby brother!

"But it's more interesting if Aemond and Jace are peers" Maybe. If HOTD gave Jace equal screentime and character development perhaps. But they didn't. Any value added by making the antagonist interesting and sympathetic is cancelled out if the cost is ignoring the protagonist or making the protagonist boring (especially in a family civil war drama!).

"But sympathetic Aemond is much more interesting" I am not arguing against making him sympathetic. He is still a kid here, and he still has Aegon to bully him and earn him pity points and trigger a cycle of bullying as he takes out his grievances on others who don't deserve it etc. You don't need to age up his victims or remove sympathy or screentime from them. Sympathy doesn't have to be zero-sum.

Leo Hart was 13 at the time of filming, so the perfect age to play a 12-year-old Jace during the dinner scene where a grown-ass Aegon picks a fight with him over asking Helaena for a dance. Also an accurate age to play a 13-year-old Luke when Aemond murders him.

Elliot Grihault who played teenaged Luke was meanwhile actually closer in age to Book Jace during the dance than Harry Collett (no offence Harry, you still made a more believable teenager than 24-year-old Jon Snow did).

And lest we forget Aegon's true nemesis... 13 year old girls on tiny dragons 'no bigger than a horse'. No offence to a 24-year-old Bethany Antonia, but Shani Smethurst at 12 was perfectly cast to play Baela during the Dance and absolutely would have been the next Arya if this show didn't hate black girls.

But hey, at least we got adult Baela saying "I am blood and fire" while the script struggles (*cough doesn't bother) to find her anything to really do. That sure is an improvement over book Baela acting out, causing chaos, kissing kitchen boys and crying to save them from punishment, grieving alone on dragonstone after the gullet, trying desperately to get the adults around her to believe her suspicions about Grey Ghost, wrecking Aegon on her tiny dragon, being forced to grow up quickly under captivity and fiercely defending her rescuers from execution.

[creativewritersposts]

not true - Luke Hughes

summary; Luke Hughes x f!reader. You're daydreaming and writing fanfiction about your favorite player until he reads one.

warning(s); maybe grammar errors, angst, fluff

author's note; it's a mix from my old blurbs/imagines in a new one. Part 2 ?

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

Does anyone know the moment, having a crush on an unknown, famous person? Like saving pictures on your phone and using as wallpaper and thinking about how is it to know this person?

You have this moment. It's no secret you're daydreaming much but you're crushing on Luke Hughes for a weeks now. His curls, his smile, his whole attitude looks perfect. You're in your own world thinking how your life would look like- three perfect Luke baby's, a big house and a cute dog. Yeah, you're daydreaming too much.

"I wrote a new Luke fic, wanna read it?", you speak to your internet friend.

It's not like you don't have friends in real life- but talking with them about cute hockey players you don't feel comfortable with. It's your little secret.

"Sure", she replies and excitement swings in her voice. You send this short story with a proud grin, it took you hours to finish it.

"You have to post this! I love it!", screams Jess through the phone speaker.

"I'll do", copy it in your blog and posting it. You're reading nice comments, when a new notification comes on your screen.

'I'm definitely not the worst cook'. That's it, no profile picture, no caption who this person is. It could be fake. Luke Hughes would never read fanfiction about himself.

You're typing fast, 'who are you?'

An reply comes fast.

'Luke Hughes'

You laugh hysterical, someone wants to fail you. Without an answer you go to bed. It's too much information for you and it's late.

A phone call is waking you up, it's vibrating nonstop next to your bed, tired you grab after your phone, "hello?". Your raspy voice is not powerful.

"WHY IS LUKE HUGHES FOLLOWING YOU", Jess talks without friendly manners.

"No he's not, maybe fake", you rub your eyes. It's too early.

"No it's Luke himself! I'm not blind", she talks nonstop like a waterfall.

You check your Instagram - hundreds of new followers and she's right- Luke Hughes started following you.

"I have no clue", you get in shock. You're still dreaming, there's no other explanation for this.

"You better find out why", Jess laughs happy for you. "I'm not living in New Jersey so I don't think there are chances".

You dressed up, went to work and forgot the time like always - until something rings on the phone again.

The phone rings the last hours more than in your entire life.

"I'm not a bad cook", notification from Luke Hughes himself.

The curly man with incredible hockey skills and two hockey brothers and a legend as mom. This Luke Hughes who's your wallpaper like everywhere you use.

You dance with the phone in your hands before you reply. Breath in, breath out; let's go.

"Ok". Not that bad. Unimpressed.

"I can prove you. I'll cook dinner for you".

Dude, there is some space between you two. You don't think he has a private jet.

"I don't live in New Jersey", you smirk whilst sending him. You're a fangirl but not a puck bunny.

"I have a car", with an winking emoji. How can he dare to be such a tease?

Before you could react he calls per chat, his face comes on the screen, his cap on his head, tired looking face. "Hey", he smirks chill and pets his curls.

"Hello", you wave awkwardly. You're in work clothes so you don't look stylish. "Can you give me your adress?", he asks with a voice crack. "I'm not for one night, Hughes", you warn him. You're disappointed, you always thought he's a gentleman.

"Oh no not this way!", his face gets closer to the screen, "you know I love all my fans but I'm really interested to meet you. Not as what you think", he shyly says. He bites on his lip, waiting for your answer. Honestly you don't know how to react. "I'm not a supermodel. And I like to eat, not just salad", you tell him. "Why are you guys always thinking we just like supermodels?", he's frightened. "Because you follow 45 blonde models on Instagram", the answer comes out your mouth like a pistol.

"Instagram is not real life. Do you like meat?", he's still interested in this conversation.

"Yeah", "ok my navigation says I'm there in 3 hours so better be prepared for the best meal you ever ate!", "wait you know my address?", you get worried. "Your friend Jess told me", he laughs shy.

"Oh my God I'm gonna kill her for that",you mumble to yourself. "Do you want to meet me? Your friend told me you're interested, too", he bites in his nails. "yes!!", you scream louder than you should.

"See you later!", he laughs friendly and closes the video chat.

Your poor heart.

[saetoshis]

can we please have more toxic!ex muzan? i’m sooo thirsty for him (but also i feel self conscious because people like kyōjurō and tanjiro and i’m here like “yo, where the muzan fics at?”)

omfg immediatwly yes IMMEDIATELY YES !1!1!1 i miss writing for the slutty old man SO BAD

cw; fem!reader, possessive muzan, marking [hickeys, bites], some toxicity, dumbification, dacryphilia, creampie, mdni.

muzan has a bad habit of being possessive over everything he touches. he calls all the shots, whether he wants to throw something away or keep it around forever - that power is all within the palm of his hand.

so of course, something as meaningless as a breakup does not stop him.

block as many numbers as you want, there’s just no way to get rid of him. it’s like he lives hovering over you, carefully observing your every step as if he had never left in the first place.

it’s a natural occurrence at this point to come home after a long day, only to find him impatiently seated on your couch twiddling his thumbs with a sneer on his face.

“welcome home,” muzan sighs out casually as if he were still your boyfriend, clearly making himself comfortable on your couch as he shoots a glance over your body. he notices your scowl and feigns a little frown, opening his arms as he walks over to you. “didn’t you miss me? hm?”

“no,” you deadpan, shrugging him off and ignoring his attempt at embracing you as you set down your things on the countertop. you’re obviously annoyed, avoiding his gaze since you know how easily you can be drawn into it. “i don’t even wanna know how you got inside, just leave.”

“oh, so soon?” muzan leers out the words against your ear lowly as he slips your jacket off, his hitched breaths making you shudder slightly. you want to fight it; push him back or kick him out - but something about his looming presence and familiar cologne just makes you feel dazed. muzan sneers, “are you sure about that? you wouldn’t mind if i stayed a bit, right? be a good host, won’t you?”

“just- leave…” your voice is tense, but there’s a sense of desperation and unwillingness to kick him out that muzan easily picks up on. it’s the way his hands slip around your waist that has you keening for him, and it gets harder and harder to fight the alarm bells ringing in your head to get rid of him. “i know what you’re doing… just stop, please.”

“hm? stop? that’s not what your body’s telling me…” muzan rasps out against your ear, turning you around in his arms and slipping his thigh between your legs with just the slightest pressure. his eyes have a sharp lust in them, as if he’s craving you in an unspeakable way. he presses his knee forwards, “see? you’re shuddering, aren’t you? i can tell you’ve been neglected for a while.”

“i’m not… neglected,” you murmur in an unconvincing tone, trying to back up until you realized you’re cornered right against the edge of the counter. his arms brace around you, his breath fanning along your neck and you know you’re already too far gone. “i’m fine…”

“oh? then why do i feel you throbbing down there?” muzan sneers with a rasped hum, pressing his thigh further against your cunt until you’re letting out a little instinctive mewl from the pressure. he chuckles, as if that sound alone proved him right. his lips press against your neck so tantalizingly slow, hands sliding along your waist just to feel you shudder. “just admit it. admit you need me… we both know you do, hm? so just say it, and i’m all yours.”

“not- mm, gonna say it,” you mumble meekly between stifled sighs of pleasure, feeling tingles slither up your spine from the way his knee presses forwards and drags fervently against your panties under your skirt. it’s almost hard to breathe with how much you’re trying to resist the pleasure, hands gripping the countertop strenuously. “promise, i don’t n-need you…”

“shh… stop fighting it and just give in, hm? nobody can please you like i do, so just let me have my way,” muzan sighs out lowly against your ear, pressing open-mouth kisses against your neck and leaving little drags of his tongue. he knows how to push your buttons, and it’s clear in the way a little wet spot begins to form against his dress slacks. “oh, look at you. getting this wet from my thigh, that’s just… so desperate, isn’t it? you look like you want to rub yourself on it, am i wrong?”

you can’t muster up words, especially with how hard you’re trying to hold back the little moaned noises begging to leave your lips. your eyes screw shut as you try to fight back, but the way his hard muscles press up between your hips makes you instinctively grind back against him. you let out a hitched breath as you complain lowly, “why can’t i just get rid of you already…”

“because you need me too much, don’t you? clearly you’re pent up without me fucking you to sleep every night,” muzan sneers out the words and lets them boggle in your brain, the pleasure reinforcing the thoughts in your head as you start to cling onto him and rut your hips as if you’ve been starved for weeks. he’s manipulating you, it’s clear - but the throb between your thighs is just too good to ignore. muzan sucks on your neck softly, nipping at the skin as he mutters, “let me in again, won’t you? just one more time, hm? it’ll feel so good, you know it will.”

“i- can’t,” you pant out, whining and looking down at where you’re dragging your wet panties against his dress slacks like a dog in heat. it’s almost shameless now how hard you’re grinding into him, and muzan can’t help but smirk back in amusement as he grips your waist and suckles hickeys onto your neck that he knows you’ll have qualms about finding later.

“you can… just say yes like i know you want to,” muzan shushes against your neck, one hand grasping your jaw to crane your head up to look at him. his eyes are full of that familiar musky sense of lust, almost as if to distract you while he slips your panties off of your thighs from under your skirt. “stop thinking and let me bring you all the pleasure you desperately want, hm? and i’m not stopping until you’re nothing but a dumb mess…”

you let out a hitched pant when he hooks your leg up into his hold, the tip of his cock nestling snugly against your folds and the familiarity of it all makes your head spin. muzan’s sneered expression is all you can see when you feel his cock pressing up into your walls, and that smirk grows larger at the filthy whine you let out when he does. he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger - just how he likes you.

“see? mm, you’re so tight. i can tell you missed me,” muzan leers out between rasped breaths, hips rocking forwards as his fingers dig into the plush of your thigh. your teeth catch your bottom lip to stifle the unabashed moans slipping from your mouth. tingles shoot up your spine with every heavy rock of his hips, his cock pressing up into the spot he knows so well. muzan mutters between rasped sighs, “you only belong to me, isn’t that right? nobody can make you feel as good as i can…”

in your euphoric stupor, you mewl out ‘yes, yes’ instinctually and the familiarity of this intense pleasure is already enough to have you keening and reeling towards the edge. muzan lets out a ragged grunt when you tighten up around him, and his hips start rutting a little faster. the lewd sounds fill the kitchen, your hand on the countertop shaking as you try to brace yourself. your voice comes out in a broken whine, “m-muzan… too- too much.”

“it’s because you haven’t let me in for a while, mm? guess i have to retrain you,” muzan exaggerates his words with heavy thrusts, his cock pressing up into you fervently enough for little tears to prick at your eyes. his grip on your thigh gets tight, fingers digging into you as he leaves bites along the curve of your shoulder in between rasped grunts. “you know i have to teach you a lesson for ignoring me for so long, mm?”

“y-yes, muzan,” you hiccup and whine obediently, hips rocking back into him as pleasure wracks your limbs. you’re so tight around him now, and muzan thinks his breath fully left his lungs from the way his cock twinges between your walls. it’s when his fingers find your clit that you’re starting to shudder, bursts of tingles spreading through your body in a way you haven’t experienced in months - it’s almost freeing. “c-cumming… muzan, cumming…”

“that’s it… fall deeper into it for me. you’re mine, you’re all mine. you can have this feeling whenever you want, as long as you take me back,” muzan sneers and grunts softly, fucking you through your orgasm with quick ruts. he knows you’re much easier to influence when you’re dumbed down from pleasure, and he’s more than willing to use that to his advantage. “mm- you look like you want me to cum inside, don’t you?”

you nod through teary eyes as you look up at him, feeling intensely overstimulated from the rough rocks of his hips. muzan smirks back at you with glints of sheer lust in his eyes, his hand pulling your thigh up higher to reach an even deeper spot between your walls.

“i’ll give you what you want if you let me stay…” muzan whispers against your ear in a rasped tone, little grunts escaping from his chest as he feels his cock twitch between your walls. it’s when you nod again so meekly, so willingly, that muzan shudders and clutches onto you tightly as he spills white ribbons inside of you.

muzan mutters against your ear again, arms holding you close to his chest in an almost comforting way. “that’s it… i promise i’ll take good care of you, mm?”

but what you didn’t notice was the little smirk pulling at his lips as he whispered to you.

2023 SAETOSHIS. do not copy or repost.

[frownyalfred]

Hello! Big fan of your words. A bit intimidating really. I'd like to ask, seeing as you are aware of the fusion Superbat being created from Batman and Superman combined by the power of a Lantern Ring, how you would you go on to create a Trinity fusion composed of Wonder Woman, Batman, and Superman? What would their powers be? Their personality? How would it have happened, and what lead to it? Would you prefer it to be by accident or on purpose? What would be the side effects afterwards of coming apart from such fusion? Do you have any thoughts on what it would have felt like to split apart from being fused for Batman and Superman in the fight with Nezha?

May a kind week come to you, drink water and eat vegetables daily.

That’s an excellent question! I have been meaning to write a post fusion Superbat version fic for a while now and haven’t gotten around to it. But I think it works because Bruce and Clark overlap in so many ways, and are startlingly human in the same ways sometimes.

Diana is different and definitely adds a new element to the mix. I think it would be much harder to fuse her into them just because she’s SO individual and independent. Maybe they could do it temporarily, with her splitting off after just a few minutes/moments. They’d be the untainted fail safe — all three of their abilities and knowledge, only packaged together for brief urgent periods. Like trying to harness lightning or something.

I usually prefer fusions to be accidental or at least not totally on purpose because the shock at being fused is delicious — both the reaction/horror to how weird it is, but also how right it feels, if that makes sense?

I think splitting apart is a horrible thing, but it only lasts for a few moments. The grief of being their own people again persists until they realize they don’t have to be fused to know the person across from them.

[totallynotcoffeeturtle]

Scaramouche Masterlist

In all works I write, unless stated otherwise, the reader is gender neutral.

Genshin masterlist

Fluff - Suitable for all ages Not (as) safe for work - Suggestive or dark(er) content Content warning(s) - Will be included where necessary!

From April 6th to April 30th, I am opening my requests for 100 followers milestone! Check out more here! EVENT HAS ENDED!! THANK YOU TO ANYONE WHO HAS jOINED <33

HC(s):

♡ Little treasure chest Wanderer x shy! quiet! reader

♡ The ups and downs of dating nerd!Scaramouche How it's like dating nerdy scaramouche~

♡ Crochet and Coquette ♡ Wanderer likes you, and somewhat your crocheting hobby~

♡ Put a Ring On That... ! Where Wanderer puts a ring on your finger

Drabbles:

♡ Anniversary with Scaramouche Celebrating your one year anniversary with your dear boyfriend~

♡ Sweet little dove Yandere Scaramouche making you his (obsessive behavior)

♡ Worship me Scaramouche loves his obedient pet! (dom/sub tones, power play(?))

♡ "Would you still love me if I were a worm?" Wanderer loves you, even if you ask the silliest questions at times

♡ Chocolate, Blankets and (Preferably), Cuddles Where Scaramouche helps ease you through your period (female anatomy/reader)

♡ Kiss, Kiss, (already) Fall In Love That one tiktok kiss trend but with Scaramouche

♡ Kiss Me Under The Milky Twilight You celebrating Valentine's day with Scaramouche, even if he's somewhat late.

♡ Cuddle Trouble(s)! Scaramouche x reader who has a lot of plushies

♡ Head Spinner Have you ever thought of what would happen if Wanderer gets slapped?

♡ They’re a runner, they’re a trackstar ☆ The consequences of a kiss-and-run, really

♡ Wanderer? Never heard of 'im. Where you call your boyfriend by the wrong nickname

♡ Height Matters Not! Height (dis)advantage over wanderer~

♡ Breathing is for losers only! (Request) Where Wanderer's lack of need to breathe is free real estate! (suggestive, brat!scara)

♡ Too Sweet (For Me!) (Request) Even when married, Wanderer is just as bashful as ever~

♡ That One Time Scara Is Not Insulted When Called "Doll" (Request) The title says it all, really

♡ Sinking Into Your Arms Where merman Scaramouche takes you as his own. (possessive behavior, yandere! scara, suggestive)

♡ Good Night and Sweet Dreams Love is best enjoyed when Scara whispers his love to your (supposed) sleeping self~

♡ Fan Favorite! You play a little harmless prank on your boyfriend right before his stream.

♡ Sleepy Affirmations Your love shine the brightest when Scaramouche is asleep.

♡ Heart Eyes, On You Mutual crushes but it's you and Wanderer and a very tired Nahida

♡ The Devil Works Hard But... (Part 1.5 of Heart Eyes, On You) Wanderer prepares for your upcoming not date

♡ Touch Starved Wanderer wants to feel you too, a lot of the time.

♡ Long(?) Distanced Relationship Where Wanderer chases you (literally) to Mondstadt

♡ Delirium (?) (Request) You are sick and Scara is in pain :)

♡ Chromatic Act IV: Give her happiness where i attempt to add more wanderer into nahida's birthday event

Fics: (On AO3 only)

♡ A Picnic With Scaramouche (Hopefully Won't End In Disaster)  You and Scaramouche goes on a picnic date

♡ Happy birthday! Your birthday celebration in Sumeru with the one and only Hat Guy Wanderer!

If you want to be tagged on my future scara x reader fics, just comment something along the line of 'tag me' under here or any of my fics~

[ardafanonarch]

Hello, in fic I've come across mentions of

- the elves stopping frequently on their journey to Aman to have sex (and Orome urging them forward by creating storms?)

- elf sex being too intense for most mortals to survive

I think these come from HoME or NoME (or similar sources), but I've never seen the actual quotes. There might be other things related to elf-sex in there as well.

So I guess my question is: What else did Tolkien mention about elf sex, apart from (the already relatively well-known) LaCE?

Elf Sex Lore

There comes a time in every Tolkien fan’s journey when they come upon the Professor’s writings on Elf sex — and, since 2021, there are even more! Elf Sex Lore remains a hot topic as the fandom continues to experience the aftershocks of the spurt of new lore that came with the publication of The Nature of Middle-earth (NoMe) in 2021.

As you say Anon, before NoMe was published, the fandom’s primary resource on Elf sex was the (in)famous essay Laws and Customs Among the Eldar (LaCE), published in 1993 in Morgoth’s Ring, the tenth volume of the History of Middle-earth series. LaCE is full of juicy (or not-so-juicy) lore about Elven aging, marriage, gender roles, naming, death, and rebirth.

It is in relation to the first two that we get some details on Elf sex, such as the knowledge that “it was the act of bodily union that achieved marriage, and after which the indissoluble bond was complete.” (Laws B). We also learn that:

“…the Eldar say* that in the begetting, and still more in the bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children. For these reasons it came to pass that the Eldar brought forth few children; and also that their generation was in their youth or earlier life, unless strange and hard fates befell them. But at whatever age they married, their children were born within a short space of years after their wedding. For with regard to generation the power and the will are not among the Eldar distinguishable. Doubtless they would retain for many ages the power of generation, if the will and desire were not satisfied; but with the exercise of the power the desire soon ceases, and the mind turns to other things. The union of love is indeed to them great delight and joy, and the ‘days of children’, as they call them, remain in their memory as the most merry in life; but they have many other powers of body and of mind which their nature urges them to fulfil.” The History of Middle-earth Vol. 10: Morgoth’s Ring, ‘The Later Quenta Silmarillion (II)’, Laws B

*Note how this paragraph is introduced: “the Eldar say”. Phrases like this signal to us that LaCE is not written from a Elvish point of view. There are indications elsewhere clearly pointing to a human author with a human audience in mind.

Translation: Elves use up a lot of energy in baby-making, including in the sex part (“begetting”) but even more in the pregnancy and birthing part (“bearing”), so they don’t have a lot of children and they do so early in life, shortly after marriage. But even if they marry later in life, Elves are still able to have babies because being able to and wanting to reproduce are the same thing for Elves. But once they’ve fulfilled the desire to make babies they’re good and turn to other things. Still, they look back on the time of baby-making as “the most merry in life”.

In most (if not all) cases, when Tolkien writes about sex he is writing about reproduction. Did Elves have sex solely for pleasure? Maybe; I cannot find anything that says they didn’t. I also can find little conceptual separation of sex and reproduction in Tolkien’s writings. Make of that what you will.

(At this point I want to reiterate a principle central to this blog: it’s about presenting what canon says; it is not about casting judgement on creations that subvert, reinterpret, or ignore canon, none of which makes a work lesser than one which adheres strictly to canon.)

So what did NoMe add to our knowledge about Elf sex? First of all, let’s make sure we all know what NoMe is.

What is The Nature of Middle-earth?

NoMe is a volume of texts by J.R.R. Tolkien collected and edited by Carl Hostetter. It is basically a supplement to the last three volumes of The History of Middle-earth (Morgoth’s Ring, The War of the Jewels, and The Peoples of Middle-earth), which cover a period from the late 1950s to his death during which Tolkien was undertaking a rather massive project of worldbuilding, working out the structures underlying his Silmarillion mythology in preparation for revising and publishing what he had written of it before ‘a sequel to The Hobbit’ (LotR) took him away from it for the better part of two decades.

Christopher Tolkien in Morgoth’s Ring called this undertaking “analytic speculation concerning [the] underlying postulates” of his world (Foreword to Morgoth’s Ring). That’s how we end up with essays like LaCE and the philosophical debate about the fates of Men and Elves in Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth.

The texts in NoMe all date to around the same time and deal with the same sorts of questions about the physics and metaphysics of the world: it contains the essay on ósanwë, for example.

The Context of the NoMe Sex Lore

The first section of NoMe, ‘Time and Ageing’, is where we get the new lore on Elf sex. As it happens, the sex lore is rather incidental to extensive ruminations two core questions:

How did Elves experience the passage of time and how did they age?

How did the population of Elves go from 144 at Awaking to a sufficiently high number (around 30 000) when they reached the shores of Beleriand on the Great Journey?

(It is not relevant to get into why 144 and why 30 000 here; suffice to say those are the numbers Tolkien wanted and he expended great imaginative and mathematical energy trying to make them work.)

A note on the textual context: Anyone who has ever engaged in worldbuilding knows how it can go. You think (for example), “Okay, I need to develop a backstory for this character’s spouse,” and before you know it you are knee-deep in invented genealogies and geographies and Eru-knows-what-else.

It’s important to bear in mind that this is what Tolkien was doing. The quotes we are about to look at (yes, very soon!) are from a collection of evolving (and unresolved) notes in various states of refinement from barely legible scribbles to carefully penned essays. I will let you decide what that means to you based on your personal definition of canon, but I wanted the textual context to be clear.

Elf Sex Is Intense

In relation to Question 1, Tolkien considers the time-scales of Elven growth, including pregnancy. In the essay under discussion, Tolkien decides that Elven pregnancy should, like human pregnancy, take about 3/4 of a year. Oh no - not that kind of year. A yên, a ‘long year’, the unit used by the Elves and to which the matter of their bodies (their hröar) is bound. Elves gestate for 108 Sun years.

I know what you’re asking: If the pregnancy lasts 108 years, then how long does the sex last?

No? No! You’re probably asking yourself why Tolkien hated Elf-women so much (don’t worry, he says there’s no pain…)! But Tolkien was interested in the first question, which he answered thus:

“On the other hand the act of procreation, being of a will and desire shared and indeed controlled by the fëa, was achieved at the speed of other conscious and wilful acts of delight or of making. It was one of the acts of chief delight, in process and in memory, in an Elvish life, but its intensity alone provided its importance, not its time or length: it could not have been endured for a great length of time, without disastrous “expense.”” (NoMe, p. 24)

An earlier version of this passage, which you may also come across in fandom, comes to a similar conclusion:

“But the act of procreation not being one of growth until the union of the seed and being under full control of the will does not take long - though it is longer and of more intense delight in Elves than in Men: too intense to be long endured.” (NoMe, pg. 27)

Translation: Pregnancy, like other aspects of physical growth, is a process of the hröa over which the fëa has no control; thus it is bound to unfold on “Elvish time”, i.e. 1 year = 144 years. But the sex leading up to it is an act of the fëa and under its control and therefore occurs at a “normal” speed. The Elves love it, too! But not because of how long it lasts, which is a regular amount of time, but because of how intense it is. In fact, it is so intense that if it were any longer they would suffer “disastrous “expense”.”

What is this “expense”? Basically, it’s referring to the usage of an Elf’s natural “vitality” — far greater than that of Men but not infinite. As far as I can tell, this passage means that having intense Elf sex for too long would have spiritual results similar to Míriel’s bearing of Fëanor, or Fëanor’s creation of the Silmarils. Too much of their spirit would be expended (used up) in the act, with possibly disastrous consequences.

These are the quotes from which, I think, originate the rumour that Elf sex was too intense for mortals to survive. As you can see, the discussion is about Elf/Elf relations. Elf sex is too intense for Elves to endure for too long. Anything about what this means for Elf/Mortal sexual relations is fan conjecture.

That’s the Elf Sex nugget from Tolkien’s considerations of Elven growth rates: Elf sex (between Elves) is intense but of a normal duration.

Elven enthusiasm for baby-making delays March

As you can imagine, more nuggets are unearthed in relation to Question 2, which boils down to Tolkien crying: “I need the Cuiviénen Elves to breed a lot and quickly!”

Initially, Tolkien developed some Elven life cycle schemes that had them taking a leisurely approach to reproduction, with each generation taking many hundreds, even thousands, of Sun years to materialise.

This scheme did not work for getting him from 144 to ~30k in the timeframe he wanted. So, he made some adjustments to the scheme with respect to the timing of Elven maturity and consequent desire to begin reproducing — and then set about getting those Elves procreating!

One of the solutions he entertained was giving the Elves opportunities to reproduce on the Great Journey. He laid all of this out in a timeline (NoME, p. 49-53) detailing where and for how long the host of Elves would pause because of the “desire to beget children” (p. 49).

Reading this timeline, it can become increasingly comical each time this desire to reproduce (i.e., have sex) halts the host. It can start to read like, “The Elves took forever to cross Middle-earth because they couldn’t stop banging!” And, in a way, that is what happened. But bear in mind the context is an attempt at solving the problem of increasing the Elven population to a number Tolkien considered satisfactory for his worldbuilding endeavours. An Elven enthusiasm for sex is there, but it’s not the whole picture.

There are several points on the timeline when Oromë hangs out with the Elves or checks in on them, and he does become increasingly concerned with their begetting-related delays. For example:

“About 2000 pairs (of available Telerin 8th gen. of 4,950) beget children in the spring 1130/80. The Chiefs and Oromë are disturbed.” (NoMe, p. 51)

(“The Chiefs” are Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë.)

And:

“Either by chance, machinations of Sauron, and/or because Oromë withdraws protection (hoping to make the Eldar less content with their new Home (Atyamar), winters are hard and the weather worsens.” (NoMe, p. 51)

The second quote is the origin of that rumour about Oromë creating storms to urge the Elves on because they were having too much sex. Is it canon? Not quite: Oromë didn’t create the storm, for one, and the emphasis is on sex for the pleasure of children more than the pleasure of sex on its own (though, as we know from the previous discussion, sexual pleasure was certainly had!). But the rumour you've heard is not without basis in Tolkien’s notes.

The First Elves Really Loved Sex

There’s one more Elf sex nugget in NoMe that I’d like to end with. While scrambling to get his Cuiviénen Elves reproducing at an adequate rate to reach his population-at-finding target, Tolkien came up with what he calls the “Quick prolific” scheme (p. 99).

“The Quendi in their first few generations before the March (or reaching Valinor) must — as is quite reasonable — be made far more eager for love and the begetting and bearing of children. *They must have larger families, at shorter intervals between births.” (p. 107)

To explain this attitude of reproductive eagerness in the first few generations of Elves, Tolkien coins the term “philoprogenitive” — they love to procreate! Procreating — not artistic and intellectual pursuits or exploration or leadership as with later generations — is their number one priority in life. So much so that “they mated almost at once with their predestined mates” (p. 54).

Not only that, but they have so many babies! In one version of the scheme, 12 children per couple in the first generation (p. 108). (This soon changes to 6 per couple. Philoprogenitive they may be, but no one gets to outdo Fëanor).

As with the highly intense Elf sex and the Great Journey delayed by procreating, this is another bit of NoMe lore with great imaginative potential. As we learn from LaCE, Elves enjoyed sex, quite a bit actually, but they enjoyed a lot of other things also, and after a period of baby-making they would usually move on from sex (though they would always remember it fondly). But the First Elves, those early generations by the shores of Cuiviénen? No such balance between sex and other pursuits. It was all about sex and procreation for them.

Of course, what we’ve been looking at are drafts and notes. While all written around the same time (late 1950s to early 1960s), none of the texts here examined were ever finalised and many of them don’t even agree with each other. Tolkien was experimenting; he was worldbuilding. And with the publication of these notes in NoMe, we in turn get some intriguing ingredients for worldbuilding of our own.

So, do as you like with the Elf sex lore. But if you’re looking for a great setting for some canon-compliant smut, may I suggest Cuiviénen?

Resources

PDF of LaCE

Mythgard Academy’s seminars on The Nature of Middle-earth. You don’t actually have to have read or own NoMe to follow these discussions. Great for getting a handle on the material, and ideal for listening as you work your way through reading.

[polin-erospsyche]

I know there wasn’t time in the show, but I would love a scene of Colin picking out/designing the engagement and wedding ring and just see his thought process. Any fic writers out there, please feel free to write us one!

Ok, anon, know that when you send an ask like this to a person who writes fan fiction for fun that person will go "oh what a great idea! I'll have a go at it!" and then you end up with a 2K scene of Polin fluff. It's not exactly what you asked for but I hope you'll like it, especially considering that I haven't written fanfic in the longest of times (preferring playing with my own characters) and I was afraid of writing for Colin and Pen and not make their voice justice. I tried my best and I had a lot of fun writing it!

The quill's scratch against the thick paper resonated loudly in the quiet room. Penelope's thoughts raced faster than her hand could write. The gossip of the last few days created a frenzy in her mind, an unusual state for her. She had been writing for years and had always controlled the words she put down on paper. Yet recently, it had become harder somehow. The growing pressure from the Queen and London’s elite weighed heavily on her. People knew who she was, and she had vowed to use her quill more consciously. There was no more hiding behind her words and her column.

What she had failed to account for were the demands from the ladies and gentlemen. The socialites and aristocrats, with their veiled threats and insistent flattery, expected her to navigate their intrigues and scandals with care, yet with a sharpness that would entertain and inform. Each letter she received and each whispered rumor added to the weight on her shoulders. Her reputation had become a double-edged sword, granting her influence but also binding her to an unwritten contract with her readers. She remembered telling Eloise once that she had power; now she was fully realizing that power always came at a steep price.

She returned her quill to its inkwell on the desk, leaned back in her chair, and let out a long exhale. Her hands momentarily covered her face before gently sliding down to rest on her pregnant belly. Absentmindedly, she twirled her wedding band, tracing the contours of the bee and flower, finding comfort in the familiar ridges of the ring.

“You seem pensive.” The voice startled her from her thoughts. “How’s the writing going?” She looked up to see Colin standing in the doorway, a familiar and knowing grin on his face. He knew she had been struggling to write anything of note lately.

“How’s Thomas?” Penelope asked back without missing a beat. Their son was always a good topic of conversation; the state of her writing, not so much.

"Fast asleep," Colin replied, his grin softening into a tender smile.

"Of course he is. You spoil him too much. Did you know he won’t sleep unless you’re the one putting him to bed and singing him to sleep?" Penelope teased lightly.

"I'm certain that's not true."

"Well, it's been fifteen minutes since you put him to bed,” she glanced at the clock striking nine fifteen, “and here you are already. Yesterday, it took me a good half hour. I think I'm losing in this deal we made."

Balancing their household duties, social and professional obligations, and caring for their toddler had made finding quiet writing time increasingly rare. They had agreed to take turns putting Thomas to bed, granting each other much-needed solitude. Lately, though, Thomas had developed a clear preference for his father's bedtime routine, falling asleep in a matter of minutes, leaving Penelope with very little quiet time indeed.

“I can leave if you need some time,” Colin offered.

“And leave me to face the blank page?”

Colin furrowed his brows and strode purposefully across the room to stand beside her. Peering down at the paper she had been writing on, he remarked, “Calling it blank might be a bit of an overstatement.”

Words had been jotted down, so technically, it wasn’t a blank page. However, it was not a good page, and she could not publish it in this state. Yet she needed to submit something tonight to the printer—the Queen was expecting it.

“I think you’re overthinking this,” he added. “I think you need to step away from your desk.”

“Colin, I can’t. The Queen is waiting. I have to finish writing this tonight. Apparently, I’ve become an entertainer to the Queen and an ear for everybody else’s gossip,” Penelope said with a hint of frustration.

“Weren’t you always listening?”

“Believe it or not, there’s a difference between lurking behind a potted plant, eavesdropping, and having people visit, hoping for a favor in return,” Penelope retorted with a touch of irony.

“I, for one, am very glad you are in the center of the room. Really, you should be in the center of every room.”

At that moment, she looked up at him with eyes devoid of humor, only to meet his gaze filled with love and admiration. For a brief moment, the air seemed to escape her lungs. They had been married for months. They had a child together. They had settled into a routine that suited them both. Yet, sometimes it all still felt like a fleeting dream, almost too good to be true. It was everything she had endlessly dreamed of as a young girl, and now it was real, tangible. She wondered if she would ever fully grow accustomed to the way he looked at her before deciding that she preferred to always be pleasantly surprised.

He gently placed his hand on top of hers, stopping her fidgeting with the ring. Interlacing his fingers through hers, he gently pulled her towards him, and she moved with very little resistance. He slid his arms around her. This close, he smelled of ink and baby powder, a scent so comforting that she felt the tension release a little from her shoulders. Before she had time to fully sink into the safety he provided, she felt him pulling her closer still, slowly leading her away from the desk until they were standing in the center of the room. Tilting her head up to meet his blue eyes, she saw a glint of mischief, as if he was proud of himself for successfully drawing her away from her work. It was as if he whispered to her - it’s all right, the Queen will wait, the words will wait.

“You know how I know you are preoccupied?” he asked, still holding her, his fingers drawing small circles on the small of her back.

“I’m absent.” She bit her lower lip. She knew she had been. There but not entirely, part of her chained to her desk, to the next words she had to write. They were both like this, maybe it was the affliction of being a writer, a wandering mind. But he seemed to have a much easier time concealing his wandering. She envied his ability to be fully present with the ones he loved, giving them his undivided attention as if nothing else in the world mattered. It was part of his charm.

He gave a low chuckle. “No,” he said, to which she raised her eyebrows, so he quickly added, “I mean you are a little...” He paused as if choosing his words carefully, “...away sometimes.” She gave a resigned sigh. She was aware of her distractions, but she really would have preferred not to address them tonight. Before she could entirely withdraw from him, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. His gaze still held hers, intense. His breath warm against her skin. Then his thumb trailed over the wedding band she had been fiddling with. “It’s your tell.”

“The wedding ring? Is it a tell that I’m married to you?”

“You play with it when you are anxious or preoccupied. I see you, I know.”

Of course he did, just as she knew his tells. The way he furrowed his brows. The way he sometimes seemed to be searching for the right words. The way his quill hung in the air just so when he was writing, as if ready to catch the next word mid-air. She knew some of those tells, but living together, they had become mirrors for each other. They saw each other, they knew each other—sometimes, she thought, better than they knew themselves.

“I find it comforting,” she said to him, her hand suspended in the air between them. “Even if my writing days end up in ashes, I have this, I have you. It’s a promise that things will be all right.”

“That will not happen. It’s just a new normal, but by now, I believe we are adept at dealing with new normals.” He gently caressed her belly. “I think you’ll be writing as long as you’re breathing, and I love you for it. But for what it’s worth, I’m very glad you love the ring. I was so nervous the day I had it designed.”

“You, nervous? Why?” He had been rather swift in his proposal and securing the rings, but she could imagine him poring over ring designs, trying to guess which she would prefer. She wished she could have told him that it didn’t matter; as long as it was him she was marrying, she would have been happy with any ring. But she particularly loved the one he had chosen, so she asked, “How did you choose it?”

At that, he smiled wider and brought both of her hands up so that the rings were visible, his thumbs gently caressing over them. “This one,” he said, holding the hand with her engagement ring more firmly, “reminded me of you. Its simplicity and delicacy reminded me of your voice in the letters you wrote me. Also, the jeweler told me it symbolized loyalty and faithfulness. This one,” he continued, bringing up her hand with the wedding ring, “was to symbolize the Bridgerton family.”

“Our family,” Penelope chimed in—a representation of the family she had always, in some ways, been a part of, whether unofficially or more officially now through marriage. A family that loved her, and she loved them as her own. A family that had welcomed her with open arms.

“Yes, our family,” Colin agreed, nodding. “I’m not sure why the bee became our symbol, especially considering...” He trailed off, his face somber, lost in a memory he seemed reluctant to revisit. “Well, you know,” he finished, his expression sober. “But then again, in the morning, the world had Hyacinth, and what an absolute force she is—both a joy to us and a threat to the world. So, the bee represents us, a cycle of our family, and apparently it also symbolizes celebration, prosperity, unity, and resilience.”

She looked at her rings and then up at him again. He had never fully explained why he had chosen those rings, but now she understood it better. “It’s a representation of us,” she said.

“Yes, us and what I hope our marriage will be.”

“Resilient,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “We certainly are that.”

“You more than anyone else I’ve known, although don’t let Eloise know I’ve said it.”

Penelope let out a small chuckle. “I don’t always feel resilient,” she admitted, her tone more serious.

“That’s what we do; we’re a team. We remind each other that we’ll find our way. Besides, you’ve faced much worse and come out of it.”

She leaned into him, closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder. She allowed herself to be enveloped in the warmth of his embrace, and as they swayed gently in the flickering light of the surrounding candles, she felt the weight of her responsibilities, the demands of the Queen, and the expectations of the ton seep away. For a moment, she was a girl again—not a mother, not a famous writer—just a girl dancing in the arms of the boy she loved, who, by some twist of fate, loved her back just as much and had decided to intertwine his life with hers.

After what felt like an instant but must have been longer for the clock now struck close to ten, Penelope stopped their swaying. “Would you stay? Would you write with me? Or read? But stay until I’m finished?” 

Colin gently kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I’ll always stay with you.”

She rose on her tiptoes, her hand coming around his neck, pulling him down to her. Their breath mingled before his lips found hers, pulling her closer as she let out a small moan. His hands traveled up her back, sending shivers down her spine, while her own hands gripped at the lapels of his jacket before finding their way into his hair. His lips moved downward, along the side of her mouth, down her cheek, then her neck, leaving a hot trail of kisses. His hands grew more frenetic, gripping the fabric of her dress.

“Colin,” she whispered between a protest and a pant, “Colin.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed, the vibration warm against her collarbone.

“I have to finish... the Queen... the printer...”

She tried to grasp for words, for sense and logic, even as she attempted to push him away in vain. Truth be told, if he didn’t stop kissing her now, she wouldn’t care much about anything else besides their own needs and desires. That's how quickly Penelope had become pregnant after giving birth to Thomas.

“Colin,” she said more insistently, feeling her resolve to finish her column hanging by a thread.

“All right, all right,” Colin said, stealing one last kiss before meeting her eyes with hooded dark blue eyes. “One day, I’ll have a word with the Queen.”

“And tell her what? That you’d prefer me in our bedchambers rather than behind my writing desk?”

“Now that’s an idea!” he exclaimed, beaming as if it were the best idea she’d ever suggested.

“I’m afraid she’d find it preposterous, considering she’s the queen and managed to have a plethora of children.”

“Does that mean you’re open to the idea of having a plethora of children?” he asked, playfully stealing her words.

She chuckled, “Let’s have our second, and then we’ll discuss the possibility of having more.”

“Discuss? Because you want to discuss what we’ll do in our bedchambers if having more children is not an option?”

“You know what I’d really like to do right now?”

“No, tell me.”

“Finish it,” she said, looking back at her desk and the half-written piece of paper, “so that we may go to our bedchambers and discuss all of this afterwards.”

He seemed to catch her suggestive look, as he did not protest. Instead, he kissed her forehead before leaving the room momentarily, returning with a fresh stack of paper and settling down at his own desk, positioned next to hers.

Penelope smiled as she watched him concentrate, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. She felt a renewed sense of purpose and returned to her desk. The page was no longer daunting; it was a canvas waiting for her to paint with words. With a deep breath, she picked up the quill once more. This time, the words flowed more easily, each sentence building upon the last. The gossip and intrigues of the ton found their place in her column. She wrote with a clarity and sharpness that had eluded her earlier.

As the clock struck midnight, Penelope set down her quill and read through her work. A smile of satisfaction spread across her face. It was done.

She stretched before standing and walking to stand behind Colin’s chair. Sensing her presence, he had stopped writing, but his focus remained on the page before him. She slid her arms around him, her hands running up and down his chest. She whispered, “Want to go discuss your writing in our bedroom?”

“Absolutely!” he said, rising and kissing her passionately.

[the-southlands]

ROP Season 2 Countdown

Welcome to another event of ours!

This time we are doing a SEASON TWO COUNTDOWN.

The dates of the prompts have been chosen so as to represent the Rings of Power themselves: the first one is scheduled 9 days before the season premiere; for the other ones it will be 7 days, 3 days and 1 day.

The prompts are designed according to the same principle:

20 August: Nine / Mortal Men 22 August: Seven / Dwarves 26 August: Three / Elves 28 August: One / Sauron

You have two options for each prompt: either use the theme (Mortal Men, Dwarves, Elves, Sauron) or the specific number. You can do both, of course, or combine them.

Examples for the number approach:

write a drabble with 9 paragraphs

create a playlist with 7 songs

make a gifset with 3 gifs

share 1 fan video you love

write a post naming 9 things you love about the show

share 7 fic recs

write a post naming 3 things you are most excited for in Season 2

draw 1 fan art

write a fanfic where the number 9 is mentioned

do 7 stills of your favourite scene(s)

share 3 of your favourite pieces of dialogue

tell us which 1 character you love the most and why

Anything counts (pun intended)!

Tracked tags: #rops2countdown #9-7-3-1

By the time the event goes live we will hopefully have seen the trailer proper, and isn't it just the best to lose our minds collectively? We hope you will hop on our raft and sail along! :-)

See you on 20 August! 💚

[ancient-fog]

I am The Rings of Power's biggest hater

My somewhat controversial opinion is that I absolutely despise Rings of power. Now, I know that a lot of people argue that it is bringing more people to Tolkien's works, but is it really? To me, it feels like nostalgia bait for pre-existing fans. I'll admit, I took the bait too. I saw that they had released a show that was about LotR and I got excited, but the more I watched it the more I realized how un-Tolkien it is. And for taking his name, I would expect that they would keep some sort of semblance to the fantasy that he imbued into his world.

Besides being un-Tolkien, it has a great many other flaws as well.

It's terribly unimaginative

It wants to be Game of Thrones SO bad

its predictable

The characters are terribly mis-characterized

Despite trying to be diverse, it almost did the opposite?

It neglects, or even completely retells existing stories for the sake of their own narratives.

It feels like poorly written Fanfiction (no hate to fanfiction, I literally write lotr fics)

it was made by Amazon

Tolkien would have hated Amazon

Amazon why did you do this to me

Please Amazon stop retconning my favorite franchise

Actually, Please, Amazon just stop.

You literally put a billion dollars into this, when you could have stopped global warming

Where tf is Celeborn??

(I'll probably drop more RoP hate posts eventually)

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I’m personally a bit mixed on the senti-kid stuff.

I like it in concept because I’m a big fan of angst and existential horror, especially involving the “am I really a human/person? Am I a monster?” character arcs. Then you add in the horror of “they can have their free will taken away incredibly easily” (and be killed at someone’s whim) and that adds a whole other layer. I know that’s part of why a lot of people don’t like it, but I like the angst stuff a lot.

Having said that, I am still on the fence about it, because as much as I like the aforementioned reasons, I really hate how it was handled narratively. They do address the “can be killed easily” part a little, with Sentibug and Felix, but I think they don’t expand much on it, and don’t really stay consistant with it (like how they treat other sentis- LB controlling Sentibubbler, for example).

But the most glaring part of it for me is: having Adrien be a senti feels more like yet another reason for them to take him out of a significant action role in the story. They already did this with Chat Blanc: “oh he can’t know his dad is Hawkmoth bc he’ll destroy the world!” Then again with Ephemeral, though this time with the obvious use of the amok (Gabriel twisting the ring as he akumatized him). S5 shows him using it more and more, and has the finale with him still in control of the main villain, making it incredibly risky for Adrien to even have the Miraculous. Astruc and other fans can talk all they want about how feather kids are just magical IVF babies, and while I agree that they are human still, it blatantly ignores that having them be controlled by someone that dangerous makes them a huge risk, even if they get their amok (which is why I think there should have been some way to at least break them free of the control aspect, even if not their lives being tied to an object). (It’s also incredibly scary for the senti kid themselves.) Someone whose free will can be taken away so easily can’t be trusted with one of the most powerful objects in the world. It’s harsh, but powers like these, despite how they’re treated sometimes, can’t just be given out like candy to anyone, they need to be given selectively and carefully. Something like this can’t just be put in the hands of someone who isn’t even in full control of themselves. That’s so much responsibility to have. The narrative gave us two huge reasons that the narrative gave us for why Adrien can’t be a part of defeating his father and isn’t fit for the miraculous: 1) he’ll destroy the world, 2) he can be magically controlled and they can’t do anything about it. Why are they trying so hard to come up with reasons for why one of their main characters shouldn’t be in the role they gave him? The senti story would fit far better if Adrien wasn’t Chat Noir- I’ve read a lot of fics where things do work out, but they usually always take it in a direction that the show wouldn’t (in terms of story style and episode outline), so I don’t really think it can be successful in a canon style (though fic writers always surprise me, so I’m happy to be proven wrong).

That’s not even bringing up how Adrien’s arc was all about him obeying his father because he wants approval, not bc of magic, which… I guess can be explained away by Gabriel acting on the assumption that they made him perfect, therefore he doesn’t need to be controlled (like why Tomoe let Kagami keep her amok), but they don’t really address that on the Agreste side- how far is Gabriel willing to go? Why is he using it more now? Did Emilie use his amok? What for and why? Did the couple have a discussion beforehand? There’s just too much left open for the giant hole they created.

Sorry if this came off as ranty, but I wanted to share my thoughts as someone who does like the senti plotline, but still has frustrations with the show’s writing quality and inability to pull it off.

In another show, the sentikid stuff would have been amazing, so I don't fault anyone for liking the concept! It's a fantastic setup for a dark and twisted take on the genres that Miraculous is playing with. I could easily see that more serious show being considered a sort of sister show to Madoka Magica in terms of what it's trying to do.

The problem is that Miraculous isn't Madoka Magica. It's not trying to be a dark fantasy for teens and adults. It's trying to be a rom-com for little kids and the sentikid plotline has no place in a rom-com for little kids. It's way too serious for many of the reasons that you brought up.

For me, the biggest one is probably this point:

Someone whose free will can be taken away so easily can’t be trusted with one of the most powerful objects in the world.

Because sentimonsters do not have true free will, Adrien is a massive liability who should never be trusted with a miraculous. The risk is simply too great. He should also never be with Marinette or anyone else whose job is high stakes as he's a massive liability to them. A perfect sleeper agent who could be commanded to fool everyone until it's too late.

Great stuff if you like psychological horror, terrible stuff if you're here to see the power of love and friendship triumph over all!

There's also the issue of when the sentitwist was introduced. Madoka Magica goes from classic magical girl team show to psychological horror within the first few episodes, which is perfectly reasonable. Shows often take a few episodes to establish their tone. Miraculous doesn't introduce the sentikid stuff until season four, well over 24 hours into the show's runtime, way too late for a massive tone shift!

Add in the issues with how the sentitwist is used to downplay Gabriel's abuse and Adrien's reactions to it and, yeah, this was not a good move. I have no idea how the writing team got the higher ups to approve this twist. I'm still stunned that Disney okayed it.

I do think that Miraculous could have kept its lighthearted nature and done the sentitwist, but it would have required the sentikids to have a way to truly break free. After all, Pinocchio is a children's story and it has similar elements, but we didn't get Pinocchio. Instead we got Ephemeral, the episode where our hero stared his love in the eyes and doomed the world because he is totally incapable of being her hero when someone else has even one of his rings. That isn't a love story. It's a tragedy.

[kiteblue42]

Is Eric Kripke America’s Tolkien?

So I started Supernatural for the first time around 6 months ago for which I blame Tumblr entirely (where do I claim compensation?). In fact it’s very good and fun and I can’t believe I missed it when it was live.

Ok so bear with me I’ve been sick for a few days a combination of high temperature plus rings of power trailer drop may be making me delusional, but I got to thinking … why did this show have such a hold not just on this site, but also on so many fan artists and fan fic writers. (I mean it has a strangle hold on Ao3)?

Then the RoP trailer dropped and I got to thinking is it because it world builds from a US stand point like Tolkien world built from a European standpoint?

Then because I am sick and can’t sleep I am sharing my stream of consciousness o: Kripke as Tolkien, Sam as Sam, John Winchester as Gandalf, Castiel as Beleg and Dean as Turin Turambar - and maybe now I’ve got this out of my head I’ll feel better….:

I attempted to put this under a cut so hope it worked!

:readmore:

Source material

Most modern fantasy stands on the shoulders of JRR Tolkien who basically ingested a ton of European myths and languages (with focus on Northern Europe) and spat out the middle earth legendarium.

Eric Kripke (plus writing team) seems to have ingested a ton of US urban myths and US pop culture and spat out “Supernatural-verse”. Because it is *US myth making* it is distinct from a lot of other US writing that builds off Tolkien and / or European myth arcs (I’m looking at you Star Wars, Westeros etc).

And the themes and sensibilities therefore pulled out by Kripke are *not* the same as Tolkien’s themes and sensibilities. This makes it different to a lot of modern genre fiction (in whatever form) that either builds on or seeks to subvert the themes in Tolkien’s work.

(There’s also a lot of genre fiction that is satire or allegory for the real world, but that is another category to me and not really world building in the same way - incidentally the Boys fits into that category along with Good Omens).

Both ofc back end off the Bible but this is English literature based story telling and no one escapes the Bible or the bard.

Structure

We usually think of Tolkien in terms of:

(1) Hobbit - entry level nicely structured “there and back again” story for children, darker than expected. Main hero arc -Bilbo.

(2) Lord of the Rings - the pretty perfect fantasy master piece - very accessible clear meaningful themes and tidy /satisfactory ending. A number of hero arcs, but clearest drawn are Frodo / Sam.

(3) Silmarillion (&etc) - this is where the legendarium really gets built. It’s not neat, it’s not accessible, some of it is *not* a good read but the ideas here build the world. We have a creation myth. The “good” “wise” guys turn out to be more complex and flawed than we thought. The evil guys are extremely toxic but entertaining and bring the drama. There are epic doomed romances between immortal beings and mortal beings. Everyone messes up and makes catastrophic world destroying errors on the regular. People get cursed and can’t escape their doom. I can’t think of any real traditional hero arcs (maybe Beren or Luthien??). Note Tolkien didn’t finish this and it’s put together by someone else.

Now let’s do Supernatural

(1) seasons 1-3 - Horror procedural-

Entry level solid procedural hunting / horror story. Sam W is here in the traditional hero role. Dean is like your Thorin initiating the adventure. John Winchester is in the Gandalf role (he knows what’s going on and holds the secrets but is not available to the adventurers at all times). Maybe there something deeper and darker going on? This is your Hobbit equivalent very accessible but not particularly unique.

(2) season 4-5 - myth arc - lots of fans will say this is the perfect part of the story and a masterpiece of genre writing. It’s neat with clear meaningful themes and a tidy satisfactory ending. A number of hero arcs though Sam’s remains the most clearly drawn. Dean is more like your Aragorn or Faramir at the end of 5, Bobby in the mold of a Theoden and a Castiel in sort of Gandalf type position. Baby ofc is Shadowfax. This is your LoTR equivalent

(3) seasons 6 - 15 - the Legendarium- this gets a lot of criticism but it’s where the legendarium really gets built. It’s not neat, it’s not that accessible, some of it is not great to watch, but the ideas here build the world out. We have a creation myth (hello Chuck & Amara). We have hero doomed by the narrative (most notably Dean Winchester, though also Castiel). We have epic love stories between mortals and immortals. Yes I am comparing Dean & Cas to Beren & Luthien (!) though Turin & Beleg would perhaps be more appropriate (there’s a good case for Dean = Turin in this universe). The good guys turn out to be more complex or darker than we thought. The evil guys are extremely toxic but entertaining and bring the drama.

There aren’t really any straightforward hero arcs which is one of the reasons Sam fades out a bit and Dean comes forwards as a character. The stories are messy and tragic.

Landscape

Middle Earth - if you read the books or watch the movies or show it’s clear that Tolkien’s (sub)creation is a love letter to the mountains, lakes and woods of England and Europe. It’s also a cry of anguish for their destruction. Both the beauty and destruction are heightened (Europe doesn’t really look like this and really never did - as for the movies they were shot in anew Zealand and then digitally enhanced…) This is as important as the characters and plot - and stands out in particular in the Hobbit and LoTR where there are long descriptions of landscapes (or long shots of the same in movies / shows).

“Middle Americana” - it’s clear that as much importance was put into the look of the landscapes in Supernatural as to the characters or story. In this verse the look is long open roads, beautiful mountains and big skies that are a declaration of love for America, and the run down small towns seem to present wistful sadness. But again it’s not real it’s heightened. The cinematography in first few seasons is particularly thoughtful (and perhaps Kim Manners is to be thanked for that). The show is shot in Canada and the motels / gas stations in middle of no where needed to be built because they didn’t exist in reality. Again the landscape - the open road, the small towns, the big sky, the motels / dinners / gas stations in the middle of nowhere are as much a character as anything else.

I could go on but I suppose if anyone read this far you get the point (and more importantly it’s now out of my head and I can think about something else!).

Ultimately it will take some time to see if this could be right - in terms of genre fiction Tolkien is everywhere and you can’t escape it (even if you never read or watched any Tolkien!). Time will tell if the Kripke verse has the same impact on creatives and audiences, but I just look at the A03 archive and notice how many people know what happened on Supernatural without ever watching it (!) and think hmmm these are the readers and writers of tomorrow after all.

[90shaladriel]

A Lord and His Build - Chapter 17 (Completed)

Chapter 17 - Epilogue (Completed Fic!)

Rating: Mature

Words: 8k

Summary: Our hero's journey comes to an end but the paths go ever winding.

CW: References to birth and half-maia Celebrian 🤭

Thank you once again to the title art by @klynnvakarian!

Well this is the final chapter and instead of a snippet I just wanted to leave a comment on my overall thoughts on writing this fic.

Well, I can’t believe I actually did it! This is my first ever fic and it has turned into my longest after almost two years. While there are elements of this story I could imagine continuing, I felt that I wanted a solid conclusion and this was a sort of novel length point to end it. It was important to me that Ereddâz's journey had a satisfying ending for him. If you couldn’t tell, there’s elements of this character that are deeply personal to me and only became more so as the fic went on. I am grateful to have met this character and gone on this journey with him and at times it was very cathartic to some personal things I had going on. I hope I was true to the character though.

I truly had a great time writing this fic. It was a joy for me and I did feel proud of a lot of what I have written. Sometimes I think certain parts could’ve been better or I had other ideas that would’ve been cool but ended up on the cutting room floor so to speak. But overall this was such a memorable experience.

I’ll never forget the support and pseudo beta reading by my friends in the Saurondriel and Haladriel discords. In fact it was encouragement from one of those discords that I decided to actually put myself out there and write my first ever fan fic with zero experience in a community that I barely knew. That person said something like “your voice matters and we can use your contribution to the fandom” (paraphrasing). I can’t describe how encouraging those words were to read to get over the initial anxiety I had about writing this story.

Since most of the communities I was in were mostly focused on the Haladriel romance or even the smut side of things I did feel a bit on the outside having a very subtle Haladriel element while focusing on this Rings of Power AU story about Orc civilians. I think those fears disappeared after I started writing it for myself in a way AND then I continued getting all those lovely comments and kudos from all you readers here and on ao3. THANK YOU, your interest and appreciation definitely motivated me to come this far and finish it. Let me know what you think. Any constructive criticism is also appreciated!

[falling-star-cygnus]

I was an anon on some of your asks, the ones about Billy's past concerning his relationship with the Sons of Calydon and how the Cunning Hares might react to it, and I want to say that I love the amnesic Billy fic you made and I hope you keep making more fics because you're good at writing Billy!

Also, I just wanted to ask you if you can make a fic about Billy having an awkward or heartwarming reunion or homecoming with the Sons of Calydon and the people of the Outer Ring because ZZZ 1.2 is coming out soon. There have been leaks of characters and the new map area, and the new video about the Outer Ring was awesome, so the idea of Billy telling the Cunning Hare girls about his previous life and reconnecting with the people he once knew would be so nice to write.

I’M SO SORRY, THIS IS SO LATE -> and thank you so much for your kind words!

as of late, i've decided to close my inbox to focus on the requests I've already received :3 when those have been completed it'll be reopened, should y'all still be a fan <3

please forgive my tardiness, i do hope you've liked the Sons of Calydon content i've made thus far :{

So... sleepy..

Piper leans against the railing of the warm roof, lazily watching all the people go about their lives. It was such a nice sunny day.. perfect for a.. little... nap.

Or it would be.

Were she not being PELTED with ROCKS-

Itty bitty ones, Lucy's boars weren't mean, but the click-click-clack of pebbles against her forehead was annoying! Cruel, even, as it prevented the blonde from taking full advantage of the afternoon sun.

Ah.. but Caesar wanted her to keep a look out.

Meh.

Cracking open her mossy greens took more effort than Piper was willing to expend for such a menial task, buuut she powered through. Quite bravely, might she add. The two boars- one stacked atop the other- snuffled approvingly and finally, finally stopped their onslaught.

...huh?

Piper recounted.

Huh?

Two boars? Surely, that wasn't right.

One, two-

...

Piper rubbed her eyes.

One piggy, two piggy, three.... ee?

"Yowch! I'm awake, I'm awake!" the small girl whines, futilely raising her arms to block the next barrage of pebbles.

Counting sheep, pigs, what's the difference?

One more quick survey of the roof shows Piper that- yep, her eyes were not fogged with sleep... only two little boars were up here.

...oh no.

"LUCY'S GONNA KILL MEEEEEHEEHE!"

-><-...-><-

Piper now faces a new dilemma.

She can't leave the roof, Caesar explicitly told her to keep an eye on the people of Sixth Street. Or- well, she can't leave this area. She could probably leave the roof. Hm.

But if Caesar never finds out she left the area...

The two boars look at each other curiously, and then shrug as the blonde biker leans over the railing. If Piper can just spot a glimpse of red leather, she can grab it and get back to watching before the other two even suspect a thing.

Well.

She spots red leather alright.

About four shades too bright.

Is that...?

"Billy?"

The android stops humming, his endearingly goofy jaunt down the street coming to a confused halt. He'd gotten more expressive since he left the Sons..

Piper's hands twitch on the railing.

"If I run and jump at Billy, he will most certainly catch me in his arms," Burnice had said one day, before taking off running towards their android.

"Wait- Burnice, I'm holding Lucy!"

In the end, he didn't drop either of them. Lucy had been hastily moved to sit on his right bicep and the resident pyromaniac had koala-ed onto his side.

The verbal beatdown Lucy had given her was brutal, but it almost didn't matter when the three dissolved into laughs and cheers. All Piper could remember in her sleepy haze was...

..wanting to join them.

Billy left the Sons a few days after that- all without a word to the two youngest members.

Two yellow glass eyes meet mossy green irises.

The sleepy girl jumps.

"PIPER!?"

The android's arms are surprisingly comfy to land in- probably due to the spin he threw the two into to minimize impact- and it feels a little like tucking herself into bed.

Distantly, she can hear Billy squawking about 'giving him a warning first' and 'what if he hadn't caught her' and other junk. Like Billy would have ever let her 'splat against the pavement.' He was wayyy too protective for that.

She should've done this sooner... Piper already knew the android was comfy to lean on after so many nights curled into his side, but- eh... too much effort.

"Piper-?"

"Androids that disappear overnight don't get to say shit."

And oh. She was crying. When.. did that happen? It was like a dam broke somewhere in her chest- so much time had passed of resentment growing so silently that she hadn't even noticed it burned until she was face to face with the lighter.

Mechanic hands jolt from where they're holding under her legs and shoulders. Piper buries her face into his shoulder with a hiccup.

"Why didn't you tell us? Me and Lucy. Why did you just leave?"

It's a long second before Billy answers.

Uncharacteristically long, enough so that Piper wonders- through a blur of tears she can't stop- if he's going to respond at all or just keep rocking the sleepy girl like she's some child.

"...I'm sorry," the android settles on eventually, "I knew that if I saw you two again, I wouldn't be able to leave. That- wasn't fair of me. To just disappear on you."

It wasn't, and Piper hates that answer because it's true. She knows that if she somehow knew Billy Kid was going to leave that she'd ask him to stay and she knows he would have. And...

She's heard how happy he is with the Cunning Hares. From Caesar and Lighter and news headlines and the Phaethon siblings. Its.. not fair to take that from him either.

"You're the worst," she sniffs, clinging on to his shoulders, "I'm telling Burnice about the time you broke her flamethrower."

"What!? We agreed to blame that on Lucy's pigs!"

Piper stiffens immediately. Lucy's boars. Oh no.

"Piper?"

"I TOTALLY FORGOT I LOST ONE OF THEM!"

"YOU WHAT!?"

[Lucy sneezes somewhere on Sixth Street, and her loyal boar hands her a tissue]