#since she was thirteen it’s the only way she’s survived.

[cream-and-tea]

current favourite scene in lay me down is the one where judge sits agnes down and goes “listen…. you need to know that pallas is dangerous….. they’re violent and kill people… you need to get away from them…” meanwhile calliope is standing literally right next to her. i ❤️ u my beautiful beautiful hypocrite

[sinsofsummers]

sensational

6.9k | joel miller & f!innocent!reader part two

this comes from this request. a few liberties were taken with the details (the reader knows that sex exists, but not much else), just fyi!

summary: thanks to becoming an orphan at age 13, you've lived the rest of your life oblivious to all the world can offer. now that you're in jackson, joel miller ignites something in you that only he can give answers to. warnings: slight angst (mentions of parent loss), innocent!fem!reader, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 25), kind of pervy!joel, smut (18+, mdni!!!), fingering, grinding, reader watches old pornos with joel, slight praise kink, no use of y/n. note: i planned originally to have this be just one part, but even though it ends in a way that i like, i could maybe be convinced to write a second part teehee (part two coming soon!)

You used to love the rain. The way it cascaded down your skin in little droplets, cleansing your body from a hard day's work, and the way it made your hair look so perfectly disheveled.

You craved the rain, until it became nothing but a reminder of the night your parents died.

It had been years at this point, but you would never quite forget how young, and small, and unsuspecting you'd been when they told you to run. How cruel, that time might pass, you might change, but with one smattering of rain, you returned so swiftly to the worst night of your life.

The three of you had been living alone, making your way...somewhere, but they never told you where. Your parents' only wish was to keep you safe, that much was clear. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that upon an ambush by at least ten clickers, after both your parents had been infected, that they'd insist that you run.

"Please, darling," your mother had pleaded, a lump in her throat as she formed the words. "Don't make me beg. I need you to run. Promise?"

Your father was somewhere else, but you could hear him yelling in the distance, in a fight for his life. You were too young, even at thirteen, to understand that those were the sounds of a dying man.

"I'll be right behind you," she'd choked on the last phrase, and in hindsight, you knew she was lying. But in the moment, you'd believed her. You couldn't see the bite she was hiding on her arm, her fate already sealed. "I'll come for you, my love," she insisted, "but I need you to go. Head for the woods."

It was the last time you saw her. You'd turned tail and had run as fast as you could for the woods.

The last thing you heard was a gunshot. A single shot, echoing around you in the trees. It may have been impossible to know, but you didn't need to turn back. Your parents were dead.

If you hadn't found Jackson, who knows how long you might have lasted. Nearing your twenty-first year, you'd proven valuable to the community, and they'd welcomed you in. Jackson was the first home you'd had since you were five.

It hadn't occurred to you that you were years behind your peers in terms of...well, everything, until you met Joel.

Rugged, tan, and sporting a perpetual frown paired with an ever-present crease between his brows, Joel Miller was your patrol partner. You weren't exactly sure why, and he didn't seem particularly pleased about it, but then again—he never seemed particularly pleased about anything.

It hadn't struck you as anything to be proud of, or to boast about to the other young women in Jackson, but they certainly loved coming up to you and expressing their jealousy when they felt so inclined.

"What's he like on patrol?" they'd ask, their eyes wide and lips curled in smirks as they waited for any insight you could give them on his mysterious personality.

All you could ever say over the next four years was a quick, "He's quiet."

Maybe that was why the two of you worked well. He wasn't much of a talker, and after you'd lost your parents, you hadn't been one to waste any breath on conversation, especially when you had survived alone with your own thoughts for almost eight years.

Silence was your mutual understanding. No talking meant no questions, and no questions meant no problems.

And this worked. Until it didn't.

-- -- --

It started like anything started. Quietly, hardly a bother, until it sank into the marrow of your bones and demanded that you address it.

More literally, it started in your shoulders. You'd been on patrol with Joel, a quiet, "Let's go," his only words to you that morning. They were his only words to you every morning, and that day was no different.

Patrolling with him was easy. Like you'd said—no talking, so no problems. You rode next to each other on your respective horses, and there was nothing more than a glance or two toward each other when necessary. It was the only form of communication that the two of you shared.

His big brown eyes had always startled you, looking so inviting in the contrast of the white snow during the winter, but they never showed you more than he allowed you to see. And all you saw of Joel was his dedication to sleep, patrol, eat, and repeat.

You hadn't felt the desire to look that closely at him until some of the girls in Jackson asked you how big his hands were, or what he looked like up close.

"You know," one of them had crooned, not realizing you were unsure of their intentions, "what does he look like without that big old coat on?"

You'd shrugged. "Why should I know?"

Another one wiggled her eyebrows. "Doesn't it get...lonely out there? Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company?"

The faces of those girls, the glint in their eyes, it was something you couldn't quite decipher, as much as you wished you could. So one day, you'd asked the man himself what it all meant.

When you said it for the first time, it was so quiet that you could hardly even hear yourself.

Joel grunted, the only indication that he'd heard you.

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't find a reason why. This was just Joel. He seemed to know everything there was to know about life; surely he could help you understand this. "Why do the girls in town keep asking me what it's like to patrol with you?"

He didn't answer for a second, but then shrugged. "They botherin' you?"

"No." You weren't quite sure that was true, and knowing him, he could probably hear the lie in your voice. "They're just kind of...belligerent."

His eyebrow cocked. "S'a big word," he mused. "Sure you know what it means?"

Your cheeks grew hot. "Yes," you insisted sharply. "I do read, you know."

He murmured a response, but the wind carried it away from you. You rode in silence for a bit longer before he said, "Don't let those girls get in your head. I think they just wanna get a rise outta you."

"A rise?"

Joel nodded and brought his horse to a routine stop. This was where the two of you always stretched your legs. He reached up to help you down your own mount and set you on the ground gingerly. "You know," he said, as if you should know, but with no regard for the fact that you didn't. "You're still kinda new here. Seems they're still pretty dead-set on embarrassin' you."

"I'm not embarrassed," you insisted again. "I just...is there a joke I'm not getting?"

"Any reason you chose to talk so much today?" was his only answer, which made your stomach clench.

There was no reason for you to be offended, as it was your typical routine to remain quiet unless absolutely necessary, but you couldn't help the way your lips curved downward. "Sorry," you mumbled, "forget I asked."

He was quiet again as the two of you walked at least two hundred paces, stretching out your sore muscles in the snow. It used to be comforting, the silence. It wasn't maddening, it didn't ever bother you if Joel was in his thoughts. You weren't even sure at times if he had any. But all that had changed now; his brow creased more than it usually did, and you wanted nothing more than to ask him what he was thinking.

Joel was the one constant in your life now. Maybe it was a—well, probably it was a trauma response from losing your parents, but you couldn't help it. You didn't need much from anyone, just someone to stay. Joel was strong enough to take care of himself and was smart enough not to make any rash decisions. As far as you could tell, he'd stay.

So how could you be so embarrassed by asking these questions?

"I forgot how long you said you were...alone out there," his grunting voice filled the space between you once more. It was quiet, and he sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how to speak.

"Since I was thirteen," you said mechanically, so familiar with others in Jackson asking the same question.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath. "And you're how old?"

"Twenty-five," you said, feeling oddly small in his presence.

He shook his head. "That's a long time to be alone," he muttered, blowing out a breath.

You huffed. "Yeah, well, I survived. And besides, I've been here for four years now, you know."

"I know."

Again, the silence. Infuriating.

Then, you couldn't help it. "What's...'spooning,' and why do those girls ask me if we've done it?"

Joel stumbled, reaching out for balance. His hand found purchase on your shoulder, and you caught him awkwardly. "You don't even know what spooning is?" He sounded incredulous, as if you'd asked a juvenile question.

The warmth from his hand was astonishing, and distracted you from your embarrassment, if only for a moment. It sank through his glove into your coat, and down toward your skin. Something about the weight of his hand on your shoulder, even for a second as he removed it quickly, was enough to send you spiraling.

Your face burned. "Never mind," you said quietly and mounted your horse again. How stupid could you get? You scolded yourself. You'd ventured too far into this conversation, and now you didn't know how to get yourself out of it. "I was just...never mind. We should get back."

He nodded, but his face still looked somewhat pinched. "Yeah. S'getting dark."

The sun was still up. No intention of sinking beneath the horizon for at least a few hours. You rode again in uncomfortable silence, this time letting it fill the space. You foolishly thought that maybe if you were quiet long enough, he'd forget that you'd made a fool of yourself, that you'd exposed yourself to the truth: that you knew hardly anything about...anything except for survival instincts.

When Joel spoke again, it surprised you. "I didn't mean to tease ya," he said. "It's just kind of a surprise that you're not...that you don't..." he looked over at you, and there was some type of pleading in his eyes, as if he were begging you not to make him say it.

"That I don't what?" you said dumbly, hoping you didn't sound as childish as you felt.

He pondered his next words carefully, and then he hummed, "If you want, I could...teach you some stuff."

"Like spooning?" You felt a warmth in your face as you watched his shoulders hunch with a soft laughter. Your own shoulder burned where he'd touched it, and something bloomed in your gut.

He chuckled. "I don't know about all that," he said, "but I'll help you get...back on track. Would hate for someone to take advantage of your...innocence." It sounded sinful, the way he said it, and the something in your gut pulsed.

"You don't have to," you shook your head, but you didn't even believe the words as they came out of your mouth. "I'll just ask someone else."

"Darlin', don't trust anyone else to give you straight answers. I'm older'n half of everyone in Jackson, anyway." He flashed you a look. "I'll help. Whatever you want to know."

You bit the insides of your cheeks, your stomach turning strangely. "Anything?"

He nodded dutifully, but his eyes had already left yours. Joel Miller, ever the professional. "Whatever you want."

-- -- --

Joel liked to consider himself someone who would never again suffer the shock of surprises. After having lived through and seen more shit than any normal person could, he thought he'd experienced it all.

That is, until her pretty lips had opened and asked him to teach her about all she'd missed. Until she asked him to teach her.

He hadn't really seen her as the picture of innocence until he'd heard how long she'd been alone, surviving with no one and nothing besides her own thoughts and the clothes on her back.

The least her parents could do was teach her how to shoot, he'd thought when he first met her. It was a curiosity that was quickly resolved, as she'd proven herself valuable to Jackson.

Tommy had wasted no time putting them on patrol together. "It'll be good for you," his brother had reasoned when he brought up concerns. "You know, to talk to someone out there. I know she's on the young side, but you don't gotta fall in love with her." He'd flashed an apologetic smile when Joel had scowled. "You're scarin' everyone, Joel. Bein' all quiet and shit...it's—"

"It's what?" he'd asked gruffly. "I don't do it on purpose. I'm a grown man."

This was all true, and he very much didn't do it on purpose. With no one around whom he deemed worthy of his conversation, Joel Miller had become the quiet, introspective version of himself that everyone decided to become scared of all of a sudden.

The way he saw things? It wasn't his fault everyone in Jackson was boring. Or childish.

But her. With her unmistakable will to survive and those eyes that could burn fierce with ire one moment, and soften with curiosity the next...it was only a matter of time before he agreed to do whatever she asked.

He should have seen it coming, especially considering her past. Every time he thought of just how...unsuspecting she was about...everything, he had to shake his head, clearing it of any thoughts that threatened to take advantage of her.

But being ignorant of spooning. He had to clear his throat every time he thought of what that might mean for himself in this particular arrangement. If she knew nothing of something so...palatable, he could hardly help himself when thinking of what else she might be unaware of.

He tried to be patient, and he tried to be respectful, but at the end of the day, he was Joel Miller. From the moment she looked at him with those wide eyes, he was lost.

-- -- --

"What I would give to give that man the ride of his life," one of the girls next to you hummed at breakfast the next morning, her eyes presumably glued to Joel, who'd just come into the cafeteria. You didn't look up at him, instead casting a confused glance toward the girl who'd spoken.

"Ride where?" You cursed your quick instinct to ask questions, as the girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Face burning, you looked down again at your plate. "Never mind," came your almost instantaneous response. You were getting used to having to apologize for your ignorance, and people rarely—especially not these girls—offered their kindness.

One of the other girls snickered. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway," she said, smiling widely. Her next words were nothing short of a drawl, the complete essence of mockery. "'Joel, what's it mean to ride?'" she pinched her face in what you assumed was an impression of you, and it only made your eyebrows furrow despite your stomach sinking in utter horror.

And then there he was. He'd called your name, and now he was standing behind your left shoulder, hand outstretched to save you.

You were sure his hand had never looked quite as appealing as it did now. The calluses on his palm were raised and visibly rough. For a moment, you stared at his fingers and wondered what they might feel like against your cheek.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, that something arose in your gut once more before you heard him murmur your name again.

"Come on," he grunted, but there was a gentleness to it that made the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Time to go."

The girls at your table were silent when you took his hand gingerly and let him lead you from the cafeteria. You noted the swift wave of cold that hit your hand as soon as he dropped it, just a second later. Clasping your hands together, you hoped in a fit of desperation that you might preserve some of the weight and warmth of his touch on your skin. It failed.

"Thanks," you said later, when the two of you were outside the community's borders. Jackson felt a bit too stuffy for any real admissions of gratitude, you'd decided. It turned out to be a good conclusion when you felt the delicious churn of your stomach at the idea of being alone with him once more.

I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway, one of the girls had said. Doesn't it get lonely out there? You were reminded of another's teasing, and this time your cheeks burned at the memory. Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company.

He was big, you considered. When he stood next to you, his frame was almost larger than life, and his shoulders were sinfully broad when you watched him walk in front of you on previous patrols. The sheer size of him was enough to send you into a heady descent.

As usual, Joel didn't answer for what felt like ages, and you'd begun to wonder if he could see where your train of thought had led you. Then:

"You could have told me they were bein' that outrageous," he grunted, keeping his eyes forward. "I woulda helped you out sooner. S'no fun feelin' left outta everything."

It was...odd to hear such words come from a man like Joel. Although, you reminded yourself, you'd hardly spoken to him in the four years that you'd been in Jackson; who was to say he wasn't normally like this? A quiet, brooding older man, yes; but maybe he was naturally like this. One to offer his help.

"If you wanted to help, you would have made an effort four years ago." You let your words hang in the air. You didn't mean for them to come off sharp; it was simply the truth. "I don't need your help," you added, tightening your hands on the reins of your horse and swallowing roughly. "It was fine. I am fine."

He flashed you a look as if to say, is that so? You couldn't help but notice the way the corners of his eyes creased, the only sign of amusement. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on him, although you weren't sure how you were going to explain the way your mouth went dry at the sight of his big brown eyes.

"Besides," you insisted quietly, "you're not my dad."

Joel cleared his throat. Looked down, shoulders tense. Inhaled. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I'm not."

Emboldened by this clarification, you inquired, "So what did those girls mean earlier? Riding, I mean?"

If you could have guaranteed the image of Joel's eyes going wide in surprise to remain in your head for the rest of your days, you would have done it instantly. His forehead was creased as his eyebrows lifted, and despite his position facing away from you, you could see it all.

The way he seemed to wrestle with himself before answering, the way his hands seemed to clench in his gloves. "So, uh..." he started, and then paused again. Mustering up whatever courage he needed, Joel finished, "Well, ya see, when a man and woman love each other very much—"

"Joel." Oh. You couldn't help it when a breathless chuckle left your lips.

He was silent, and when he finally answered, it wasn't a question. "What."

"I'm not fucking stupid. I know how reproduction works."

Joel's chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and you couldn't ignore the look of complete relief that washed over his rough features. "Thank fuckin' Christ. Didn't know if I had it in me for another sex talk. I'm too old to be doin' this."

"Believe it or not, my parents did leave me with the basic information." Swallowing roughly, you continued. "And I know...I know that men usually...take. It's an assertion of power, from what I've...seen."

He shook his head. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've run into your fair share of dirtbags, even in the middle of the world goin' to shit." He ran a gloved hand through his hair, and you secretly enjoyed the way it stood up. "Anyone ever, you know...take...from you?"

Hearing your own words regurgitated back to you left you feeling fluttery. Shaking your head, you got down from your horse; you'd reached your typical resting spot. "No," you said firmly. "They never wanted me."

Joel nodded. "S'good," he said, and it bothered you to no end that you couldn't understand the emotion in his voice. "So..."

By now he was standing next to you, closer than you were used to, judging by the way his coat sleeve bumped yours as the two of you walked, stretching your legs. "So," you said, thinking up a way to make this conversation less awkward. "I just hate feeling like a kid again. I'm twenty-five, for fuck's sake. There's more than just survival when it comes to living. I just want to know what I'm missing out on," you confessed with a hand on your stomach.

When Joel brushed by your side again your stomach flipped. And what the fuck is that about, and why do I keep feeling it? You asked inwardly, but you were too nervous to ask. Bombarding Joel with questions, especially after you'd just started talking to him on patrol after four years, seeming to be the wrong path to take.

He shrugged, eyebrows still furrowed in thought. "There's nothing to miss if you don't know what you're missin'."

"Yes," you admitted, "but that doesn't stop any of those girls from making me feel like I'm..."

"Innocent?" he murmured, and you thought you weren't meant to hear it until he turned to look at you.

Those big brown eyes, they just won't quit, a voice nudged you in your head.

"I don't want to be innocent," you groaned, throwing your head back. "God, not in the sense that they see me in. Sounds like a damn curse."

The sound of his rumbling laughter, however quiet, sent a shock down your spine and you nearly tripped in the snow. "There's pros and cons, I s'pose," he offered. "It's like I said: I'll help you get back on track. If that's what you really want."

"It is." You stopped walking, took a look around at the landscape, otherwise empty with the scattering of trees. You swallowed, pressed one. "So...riding. It's a part of reproducing, then?"

He chuckled again, but this time it didn't come off as demeaning. It was like he was teasing you, but good-naturedly. "Let's not jump too far ahead of ourselves, yeah? Start with somethin' smaller. Then we'll work our way up."

Joel's eyes were piercing when he held yours in his gaze. If someone watched this conversation, you were sure they'd be able to see the blush blooming on your cheeks.

"Learnin' takes time, ya know," he mused, his growling voice nearly a hum that could have warmed you from the inside out.

You'd made it to the edge of the woods now. This was normally where you turned back, heading for home. But neither of you moved. The bubble of something pulsed again, and you swallowed roughly before whispering hoarsely, "So where should we start?"

-- -- --

If Joel were a better man, he might have warned her what the curse of innocence in a young woman could be. He might have shook his head, stepped back, and told her to ask someone else. He might have taken the reins and turned the two of them back toward Jackson.

If he were better, he wouldn't have stepped closer to her. If he were a better man, he wouldn't have looked into her sparkling eyes and let the question slip. Fuck it all.

"You ever been kissed, darlin'?"

-- -- --

You swallowed. Don't make a fool of yourself, you begged yourself before answering with a quiet shake of your head. "Not many contenders out there. Not any good ones, anyway."

He'd leaned closer to you with his question, and now you could practically see each line of age in his face. Joel's expression was unclear; he could have been pleased with this information or...or maybe there was pity in his eyes. "No," he said with an understanding nod. "No, I suppose there wouldn't have been."

He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth and you watched as he traced it along his lips. The gray strands in his hair glinted off the sunlight, blinking pleasantly in your eyes. That something pulsed once more in your stomach, and there was a sort of realization that came with it.

Joel, you thought. Joel is making me feel like this.

"Will you kiss me?" The words were out of your mouth before you could reel them in.

But instead of laughing, or scoffing, or giving any sign of mockery, Joel Miller inhaled quietly. "You know how much older I am than you?" he asked.

You nodded. "We're both adults, Joel. Besides," you felt a ghost of a smirk come to grace your lips, a feigned confidence coming to save you in this moment of truth. "I thought you told me to ask you these questions."

He sighed. "You're right."

"So? Will you?" you asked, with a small, "please?" coming out afterward.

He moved slowly, something you were equally thankful for as you were frustrated with, but his forehead met yours soon enough. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek, and he let out a shaky breath, letting it fan deliciously across your face. The knowledge that he was just as nervous as you were was not only a comfort; it was perhaps the most attractive thing you'd ever known.

And when you lifted your chin, just a hairsbreadth from his lips, your eyes fluttered closed, waiting for him to meet you in the middle. It only took a moment before he was closing his mouth over yours, and Joel Miller was kissing you.

He was gentle, of course, but there was something restrained about his kiss, the way he slowly slotted his lips over yours as if you might crack under any more pressure. It only made you want more, more, more...

You pressed your hands to his chest and curled them into fists, tugging his jacket to lessen the distance between your bodies even more. You didn't know how you were doing this, how you'd managed to find confidence in what could have easily been a humiliating experience. Your first kiss at twenty-five? With anyone else, it might have been a nightmare.

With Joel, it was turning out to be the most delightful dream.

"So soft, baby," he pulled back to whisper against your mouth. "These lips are so soft for me."

You hummed your response and pulled him back to you, letting him see that you wanted more. That incessant pressure was building, and it wasn't until he had his arms sliding around your waist that you forced yourself to pull back, head spinning. "Joel."

He blinked. "What? Too fast?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, darlin', you're just so—"

"No, that's not it." You managed a weak smile, but the look in his eye, the question and the undeniable desire—is that what it looks like?—quivering in his brown irises, nearly made you collapse. He waited for you to continue, his hands never leaving you, a courtesy you were grateful for. "I feel...hot." Your cheeks warmed. "Um, there's this...pressure."

His lips closed in a tight smirk, and he squeezed your hips. "Where, baby?" he murmured, and you could have sworn you saw stars outlining his head at the sound of the pet name. "Show me," he cooed.

"Um." You paused, unsure of just how. But with his hands on your waist, his heavy, warm touch melting you on the spot, you took one of his gloved hands in yours and guided him to your stomach. "Here. Kind of."

"Yeah?" he said, and you forgot about the cold. About your horses waiting to be mounted, about your other responsibilities in Jackson. All you could see were his dark eyes that had somehow grown darker as you pushed his hand down, down, down...

"Fuck, babygirl," he cursed, and let his hand rest on the crux of your thighs, just barely pressing on the source of the tingling sensation. If anything, it made it worse, and you let a breathy whine fall from your lips. "You're gonna be the death of me, huh?" he groaned.

You couldn't form words. Just one kiss (a very good kiss, mind you) and a heavy hand on your core was all it took, apparently. You could hardly look anywhere but his face, your mouth dropping open as your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into his hand before you realized you were doing it. "Joel—" you whimpered, and he pulled his hand away.

There wasn't enough time for you to feel jilted, as he tugged you back to your horse and practically launched you onto it himself. "We're goin' back," he said firmly, "now."

Swallowing, your throat dry and rough, you pressed a hand to your cheek, feeling the heat swimming under your skin. "Did I do something wrong?"

You could hardly see him shake his head as he mounted his own horse, looking back at you to make sure you were following him. "'Course not," he called over his shoulder. When you caught up with him, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder, he continued. "Look, darlin', f'I'm gonna be givin' you your first kiss and makin' you feel that good..." he sighed, his dark eyes finding yours. "I'm not doin' it in a fuckin' snowbank."

-- -- --

The entire ride back to Jackson was painfully long, silent but for Joel's mumbled directions, despite the fact that the two of you had taken this same route countless times in the four years that you patrolled together.

Your eyes were trained forward, and you knew his were as well, but it took everything in you not to glance at him even for a second. If you did, you were afraid that the pressure building in the crux of your thighs would never go away.

It would be unfair to say that you were completely unaware of what might happen when you got back to Jackson, but you still didn't know much, which left a nervous bubble rising in your gut. It wasn't like there were any books left in Jackson that you could read about it, or any movies that Maria would allow to remain in the community's borders.

Again, you got a wave of feeling like this should have concerned you, or at least made you a little anxious. But with Joel pulling ahead, his strong back the only thing you could look at, you felt the knot of tension release in your stomach. This was Joel. After four years—even four mostly silent years—of working together, you felt like you...knew him, somehow. That he couldn't possibly lead you astray.

Sure enough, when you were both within the borders, horses returned safely to their stables, the tension returned. Or had it ever really dissipated?

Joel hovered close to you as you left the stables. "Let's go, darlin'," he breathed, a gloved hand on your lower back as he guided you.

"Where?" you said, and you hoped it didn't sound as desperate as it did to you, the pressure getting worse. "I need—"

"I know, baby, I know," he cooed gently, his head on a swivel as if looking for anyone who might stop you. "We're goin' to mine. I've got the perfect lesson planned for ya, alright?"

It was all you could do to nod and let him push you forward through the snowy streets. If only those girls could see you now.

Once inside, you took a breath. There was no one around, and once the door closed behind you, the silence felt all the more heavy. "Ellie?" you asked, if only in courtesy.

He shook his head, and you bit your lip when you saw him smirk. "Just us, doll."

Joel shed his outer layers, and when he stood in front of you, you realized that this was the first time you'd seen him without his coat. Without his gloves, aside from that morning.

Your eyes snagged on his fingers, and you swallowed roughly when you saw the way they twitched, as if in anticipation for something. Or maybe he was holding himself back, you considered. His jaw did seem to have an impatient clench to it. Hands rough like you knew they would be, it didn't take long for your mind to wander into thinking of what it might be like to feel those hands on your skin.

With any luck, he'd give you the sweet release you craved, however it would unfold.

"See anything you like?" he teased, and your cheeks warmed.

"Sorry," you fumbled for a response, your eyes dropping. You'd meant to clear your head, but then your eyes were caught on his thighs. Specifically how hard the seams on his jeans were fighting to remain unripped. "Um, a lesson, you said?"

He nodded, reaching out a hand to take your own coat off, leaving you in the sweater and pants you'd had on all day. You were sure your hair was knotted and would be for days, but he only smoothed a hand down your face, letting you lean into his touch. His fingers were still cold, but your face was hot and it offered a dizzying sense of relief.

"I could never teach you all this," he murmured, his thumb rubbing back and forth in an absentminded swipe across your cheek. "Not without getting...distracted," he finished, pressing his other hand to your waist. Underneath the thick layer of your coat, his hand felt like a hot iron scorching your skin, despite there still being a few layers of clothes between your bodies.

"Distraction is okay," you breathed, lifting a hand to cup his on your waist. "Right?"

He shook his head, a chuckle lifting from deep in his chest. "Not tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, I want to stick to the plan."

"Which is?"

Wordlessly, he removed the hand on your waist and entwined it with your own, tugging you toward the living room where an old television had been placed on a rickety-looking shelf. "Sit," he directed, and you did so without hesitation. He paused, biting back a smile at your eager cooperation, and adjusted himself.

It occurred to you that as much as you were affected by him, he was experiencing a similar effect from you. His pants, already tighter than sin, seemed to have become even tighter, as a bulge began to grow while he stood just a few feet from your face.

"Joel—"

"No, no," he waved a dismissive hand and went to the television to grab something. He came back with something you recognized: a VHS tape. "Don't worry 'bout me, sweets. Tonight's just for you."

"We're gonna watch a movie?" you asked, trying to ignore the way your heart sank a little. You had been hoping that the two of you would kiss some more, and maybe even...you didn't even know the name for it.

"Not just any movie," he grinned, putting it in to watch. The video started. "A special one."

When the scene opened on a man and a woman in the throes of passion, you gasped. "No way," you whispered. "I thought Maria—"

He shrugged, sinking down on the couch beside you, his knee bumping yours. "She must've missed this one," was all he said.

The woman looked to be enjoying herself, as her scene partner kissed her neck, dragging his tongue from the dip in her clavicle to the curve of skin where her neck met her ear. A cartoon-ish moan left her lips, but you didn't pay it any mind. The sight of it made your thighs clench together subconsciously, the lick of pressure rising again in your center.

"Joel—"

"Shh," he said gently. "C'mere, darlin'." With no more than a heavy hand on your waist, he tugged you closer to him, situating you over his lap. "Comfortable?"

You almost said no; you knew that this wouldn't be an acceptable seating arrangement in the cafeteria (or anywhere public, for that matter), but when his hands landed on your thighs, you nodded swiftly. His fingers curled around your skin, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his fingertips, poised as if he might spread your legs from where they were squeezed together between his own thighs.

Something hard and solid nudged at your core, and you couldn't help it when you leaned back into his chest, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. A breathy moan tumbled from your lips, and your stomach fluttered when you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

"That quick, baby?" he whispered, his breath fanning over your neck. "You really are a sweet young thing, aren't ya," he teased, pressing his nose to the joint between your jaw and your neck, "fallin' apart for me already?" He rocked his hips forward, his bulge pressing harder against you, and it nearly sent you into a spiral.

You swallowed, your throat dry. The sounds of the movie seemed far away as you opened your eyes and looked at his beard, peppered with gray and scratching at your chin when he leaned over you. "Joel," you whispered, bringing your hands to cover his own on your thighs, "I-I want to know everything." You'd never meant anything more fervently, more desperately, than this.

If you'd known how addicting this could feel, being so close to him, feeling his hands on you, perhaps you would have been embarrassed at the way your hips began rubbing yourself on his lap, hoping for—you didn't even know what could be after this. You just knew that the way you felt was the most intense thing you'd felt in your entire life, and you wanted to keep feeling this way, as long as you could.

Joel tutted, squeezing his hands on your thighs. "Oh, look at you," he groaned, a deep, carnal noise that made your chest constrict, "you're a natural, doll." His lips brushed your shoulder, and he darted his tongue out to lick a small strip up your neck.

Your heart swelled with the praise, and it was all you could do not to squeeze your eyes shut. "Please," you begged quietly, as if someone might hear you.

"I know, baby, I know," he crooned, dark eyes locked onto your own as his hand crept closer—to your waistband—closer—unzipping your pants—closer...there.

Your hips lifted from his lap with the heady sensation of his fingers pressed to a bundle of nerves between your legs. "Joel—!" you squeaked.

You felt him smile against your cheek. "So wet," he murmured, "so slick for my fingers, baby." He began rubbing that spot in tight circles, a slow, torturous pace. "Let me know when you're gonna come, yeah?"

"When I..." you trailed off. You'd never...how would you know? "I don't..."

Joel hummed in your ear, rocking his hips again and releasing a guttural groan. "S'okay, pretty girl," he reassured you, "I'll be gentle. Lemme know when it feels like it's too much. "I've gotcha."

You were too far gone to doubt him. This was Joel. He wouldn't let you fall, as much as you felt like you were going to slide to the floor at the feeling of his hand coming up from your leg to caress your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingertips. A strangled mix between a cry and a moan left your lips, and with one more kiss to your brow paired with a quick swipe of his finger over your ever-sensitive bud—

Something gave way and you jerked your head back, digging into his shoulder. Your legs spasmed and you squeezed your hand over Joel's, holding his hand in place underneath your panties.

"Fuck, doll, just like that," he encouraged you. "Look at you, eyes rollin' back for me. Shakin' like a good girl." His hips tensed beneath you and you felt his chest shudder as he released a punishing moan. "Got me feelin' like a damn teenager, comin' in my jeans."

His fingers stilled, but his hand didn't move. Your legs slowly stopped shaking, and the solid mass beneath you was softening. You let out a sigh, your eyelids fluttering closed. Your cheeks were flushed, you could tell; but this time, it wasn't embarrassment that brought the warmth to your face.

"You okay?" he murmured, carefully removing his hands from their places on you. "Feel alright, darlin'?"

Your head turned, nestling into the crook of his neck. Nodding quietly, you shifted in his lap. "I...I didn't know it could be like that," you shivered.

Joel paused the video, the living room falling quiet around you. Swinging a hand under your legs and tugging you to a more comfortable position over his lap, he raised his fingers to his lips, glistening with the remnants of your desire. Your jaw slackened when you watched him open his mouth, lapping at the tips of his fingers.

"Trust me, doll," he said with a glint in his eye. You whimpered in anticipation as he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I've got so much more to teach you."

tysm for reading! you made it to the end! part two is in the works posted!

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

People in the ASOIAF fandom are very obsessed with passive women they can project onto. The obsessions with the characters of show!Alicent, Sansa, Elia, and Helaena are perfect examples of this.

In the show, Alicent is changed from a woman who actively seeks power and heads the scheming of the green faction into a passive victim who watches and reacts to the men around her. And yet, despite this being a much more boring characterization, the show version is vastly more preferred by her stans. They condemn her book character as simply an "evil stepmother trope" while completely ignoring how their fav is just as blank and tropey as they accuse her book counterpart to be. Alicent stans want her to be the show's blank victimized canvas.

Helaena is someone who the show changed very little in the adaptation, because both book and show Helaena have little impact on the plot other than to be victims of their surroundings. Both women are forced to marry Aegon at thirteen and have his children, go through B&C, and are the least active members of the green faction. The show only added elements to make her more tragic: her dreaming and autistic behaviors. Helaena's character makes her the perfect canvas for certain fans to project themselves onto as she simply exists to be victimized and play the dutiful wife/daughter despite her circumstances, just like the show version of her mother.

Elia Martell is a woman who we know very little about. She died thirteen years before the events of ASOIAF and, unlike characters like Rhaegar and Lyanna, she has no pov characters who think about her enough for us to learn anything about her. The only things we know are that she was loved by her family, was in an arranged marriage to Rhaegar, had his two (confirmed) children, and was brutally raped and murdered by Lannister men. She is an unknown character and, again unlike Rhaegar and Lyanna, has no known active role in the events surrounding the Rebellion. Because of these things, she is, again, the perfect blank canvas for people to project on.

Sansa is, despite being a prominent pov character in ASOIAF, a very passive character. She rarely takes action in her circumstances and simply reacts to them while trying to survive. There's nothing wrong with this, she's a young girl who has never had to fight for anything in her life, it's not unexpected or condemnable for her reaction to her circumstances to be this way. However, her passivity is something her stans obsess over. She is praised for being the "perfect lady" and they project their desires to see her rule onto her and how they view her story.

These women have been chosen by these fans because of their passivity and tragedy. They love that the women have suffered in the name of the "duty" they believe is higher than them. Because they love passivity, they hate the women of ASOIAF who are active in their own lives and fight to better their circumstances. Characters like Rhaenyra, Arya, Daenerys, and Lyanna are all massive influences on the world and purposely chose to challenge the patriarchy. Since they did not take their suffering silently, theses certain fans view them as wrong and hate them. They only love the women they can project on and who simply refuse to fight for better lives.

[2smolbeans]

Yandere Obey Me Brothers x Mc (Replaced Au)

But what about the side characters that become Yandere for Alex during the time she learns stuff from them and they become Yandere during Replaced AU

Orginal post/ Part one

In the replaced Au, I wrote.. For the side characters like Mephistopheles, Raphael, Solomon, Thirteen, and Simeon..

They aren't like the brothers and won't necessarily become obessed or infatuated with Alex (the rival student). If anything, to sum up most of their feelings, they would feel..Odd about her.

Like you know when you see a train speeding, and you know it's gonna crash, but you just can't help but watch? That's what they all feel, with their own different versions of course.

Simeon sees the good in people. He's an angel of compassion that adores humans - just like how God so ever loved his children. Like his father, he wants to help, he hates seeing those suffering. So when he sees Alex trapped in their own self-destructive path, he's eager to swoop by her side and be her Guiding Guardian angel.

He tries to help her, and he tries to steer her in a better path that will stop her from hurting you and ultimately herself. But it never seems to work. He'll talk to her, and she'll ignore him. He'll show her what her future looks like if she keeps indulging in the seven deadly sins, and it seems like it gets through to her. He gets hopeful, thinking he she'll change. And she does, for a bit. But then she goes back to her old habits again, and it breaks Simeon's heart. The murder, the abuse, and the torture she so happily inflicts..

Like his father, he wants to help..But also like father, he knows when it's time to give up. He sees the corruption in her soul and knows that nothing can be done. She has free will to do whatever she wants, it's gods given gift after all..And, she doesn't want to change. So he just watches her from the distance, unable to do anything.

He's angry. It's not like she's the first human that the deadly sins have used and manipulated.. And you're not the first obsession the fallen angels ever had.. Lord, why can't these demons just leave poor innocent humans alone?

Thirteen, on the other hand, is purely intrigued. It's a gameshow to the reaper as she watches this 'rivial' student in the shadows. How will she die? When will she die!? Ohhh she bets that Alex is gonna die a painful death!

The reaper eagerly watches this particular corrupted soul that dances with the most eldest evils since creation. She keeps an eye on her soul, the candle of her life always flickering and on the verge of blowing out..

Thirteen is infatuated with Alex and their stupidity. No normal human would comfortably snuggle up with the most horrid demons in hell, let alone SURVIVE being around them. She hasn't seen a normal human do that before. The only human that has ever dealt with the seven deadly sins and survived is that old ashy skeleton Solomon.

So, of course, she's slightly obsessed with this human.. Collecting her soul would be an honor! And seeing what her judgment will be when she gets sent to hell for eternal punishment would be even better!

Like a curious cat, death herself is always waiting at Alex's doorstep. Waiting to collect her soul, eager to terrify her.

Raphael doesn't seem to care or have any likeness towards this rivial student. If anything, he's disgusted with her actions towards you and how far in degeneracy she's gone to. He blames her for interacting with the brothers. He knows that she threw her own life away just by looking their way. He despises the brothers for enabling her sadism as a way to teach you a lesson and to get you vulnerable underneath their shelter..

He doesn't like Alex, but he doesn't hate her either. At the end of the day, he knows that it's just sin and human nature.. It's something that's hard to resist.. It's why he's made it his goal to try to get you out of there. He knows it'll get worse, and he knows that you've been praying for help. He hears your prayers, and he wants to answer them.

Even if you don't know who he is, he'll do everything in his power to give you hints on escaping and tips on how to protect yourself as an omniscient force. As Micheal's second best man, he does know a thing or two about fighting off powerful demons.

As for Solomon..He's entertained and curious. Like Thirteen, this man wants all the tea and info. A human dabbling into witchcraft and cruelty for the sake of the seven rulers of hell? That's interesting! Reminds him of the good old days when he was a beginner and dabbling into witchcraft!

Solomon antagonizes Alex, trying to see how far her devotion is for the seven rulers of hell. He sees her as this cute little girl who has no idea what she's playing with.

Like Thirteen, he'll start placing bets on what mistakes she'll trap herself in. Solomon has seen multiple people like her, desperate for love, desperate for power, and toying with the supernatural.. And they don't last long. Whenever she's roaming around the school, Solomon will go out of his way to tease her, pushing her buttons - but not to the point where she'll get the brothers involved.

When it comes to Alex bullying you, he won't do anything. He feels bad, but oh well. It is what it is! Just nature playing its role. He just likes to watch shit burn to the ground, in all honesty. Plus, why should he do anything? He's not gonna get involved and risk his life when the demon lords are connected with the both of you! Fuck that!

Mephistopheles is probably the only exception of being utterly obsessed with Alex. Not because of love, admiration, or lust.. But because of pure jealousy. How did this human get all the attention and excitement going on with their life? And how in the HELL did they manage to get Lucifer Morningstar himself to be around someone less of his league? And how is it that a HUMAN has more knowledge than a demon like him who has been in hell for years!?

He's interested. He wants to know every detail about Alex's life under the House of Lamentation. He was a journalist and loves to listen to personal details..

Mammon has connections from the human world inside casinos? Interesting.. Asmodeus has fallen angels in his strip club? Who could've known..?

There's another human in the house of Lamentation? Now, this was something he didn't expect.

For the sake of his own curioisty, he'll befriend Alex. He'll keep a calm, collected face, strategically getting closer to her with each day. He doesn't care about her, but he wants to be close to her. It's dumb, but he can't help it. Being around her is just so..Interesting. This rival student has a lot of charm for a human..

Okay, maybe he likes her just a bit.

But yeah, the side characters won't necessarily be 'yandere' for Alex, but definitely are invested.

.

.

[stu-dyingstudent]

Sakura fic recs: captured on a mission/mission gone wrong

Okay, I'm going to be completely honest with y'all, I'm really just recommending stuff by my favorite tropes lmao. Quite honestly, mission gone wrong just makes things so much more entertaining. Poor Sakura though, this girl just can't catch a damn break.

Now, I should point out that there are MANY Sakura fics out there were the mission goes wrong, but in this list I am only going to put ones where that is the primary focus of the series.

Started: 2024.07.23

Last Updated: 2024.07.25

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

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Survival of the fittest - cywscross || ao3 || T || shikasaku || mission gone wrong || one shot

Sakura is thirteen, still a Genin, lost in the middle of Earth Country, lugging an unconscious Chuunin around, and so far beyond scared that she’s moved right on to pissed off.

Survival of the Fittest is a fabulous one-shot that follows the trouble that Sakura and Shikamaru find themselves in after accidentally landing themselves in Iwa. This story depicts the characters truthfully and fully conveys exactly how hopeless they feel in their situation. I highly recommend.

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The Ocean is Deep and Dark - Pleasedial123 || ao3 || M || captured || complete

Gato doesn't trust Zabuza to get the job done. Instead he sends a team of thugs to ambush the Bridge Builder on his return to Wave. Team Seven, exhausted from their fight and Kakashi still unconscious, is separated. Sakura gets captured.Terrible things happen to pretty girls in the hands of men like Gato and his thugs.But Zabuza puts his claim in first and suddenly Sakura isn't the prisoner of a civillian businessman and his hired muscle. Suddenly she's Momichi Zabuza's.

I won't lie, I have a soft spot for fics that take place during the land of waves arc, especially when they focus on Sakura's growth. I love how Zabuza was portrayed in this as although he wasn't necessarily a bad guy, he wasn't a good one either. He simply has morals. Sakura's fear in this is also quite raw and eye opening as it covers a theme that isn't ever covered in the original series. The reality is, the world is not kind to women, and a captured young female ninja is most certainly going to be at some untasteful risks. Oh, team 7's concern was also pretty touching ngl.

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With Every Beat - halfdemonfan || ffn || sasusaku || M || canon divergent || incomplete

Pain can come in various forms. Sakura had suffered all of them; but with the war raging on she found the torture would continue.

If I'm completely honest, With Every Beat probably isn't the best rec for this trope since from what I remember Sakura is not captured for too long. I never did get very far reading this so I don't have too much to say, but it takes place during the war arc and is an interesting take.

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Ripples - Yellow Mask || ffn || sasusaku || T || captured || complete

Following a botched mission, Sakura is made a slave by Sound, a position that could very well alter the future…especially concerning a certain familiar missing-nin.

Ripples is probably one of the og mission gone wrong/captured Sakura fics, as far as I am aware, but it's pretty good! On her way back from a mission, she manages to get captured and is taken to Orochimaru's hideout. Super interesting to see as Sasuke is still with the sanin at this time.

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The Pack Survives - ihopethelightwillshineupon || ao3 || team 7 || mission gone wrong || complete

When a simple C-rank mission turns into a straight-up nightmare, the members of Team Seven narrowly escape with their lives. They end up stuck in the middle of nowhere, each of them injured and forced to rely on one another for help.They’ve only been a team for a couple of weeks, still distant from one another, still trying hard to prove themselves. But when they’re all hurt and struggling desperately to survive, they have no choice but to lower their walls.Stranded far away from the village, Team Seven fights to get back home safely – but with help impossibly far away, with their food supplies shrinking and with their injuries slowing them down, their journey becomes more difficult with every step.In the wake of their struggle, though, their bonds grow steadily stronger.

Sakura is not the main character in this one as it it more focused on team 7 as a whole, but she still has some great development! Essentially, in typical team 7 fashion, they find themselves in a bit of a pickle during a mission and it results in some great bonding between them.

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An Inch of Gold - KuriQuinn || ffn || sasusaku || T || mission gone wrong - time travel AU || complete

Team 7 is sent on a mission to investigate a disturbance outside of the village, where they encounter an unconscious girl in a crater. The mysterious Sarada insists she's a shinobi from the Hidden Leaf trying to rescue her teammates. When the team discovers she possesses a Sharingan, things become even more unbelievable. [Part of the Legacy of Fire Series]

Somehow, the Boruto and Naruto timelines interconnect and Sarada literally falls into team 7's mission. Things only get worse from there. The writing captures the personalities of the characters so well and I'm a complete sucker for the whole Sarada meets Sakura and Sasuke trope!! Sasusaku is super cute in this (while being realistic) and I love how Kakashi is such a shipper. Also, this is a multiple perspective fic.

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Dirt and Ashes, or: The One-and-a-Half Body Problem - Tozette || captured || gen || M || canon divergent || complete

The invasion of Konoha during the chuunin exam didn't fail. Team seven is broken, people are dead, and Sakura is hurt and frightened and a very long way from home.Alternative summary: In which Sakura carries half of Hidan across two countries, leaving a trail of blood, bodies, and other people's legs.

This one is pretty gross tbh, but I highly recommend!

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Only a Crush by Gingersoup || ao3 || kakasaku || M || canon divergent || complete

It was supposed to be an easy, fun night out. She never intended to wake up in her sensei's bed, half-naked and with no memory of what happened the night before! As she tries to unravel the mystery of that night, something sinister is growing beyond the walls of the Leaf Village... and what was only a crush spirals wildly out of control.

I can't really say much without spoiling, but Sakura is unwillingly thrust into the world of illegal drugs, trafficking, and sex all while coming to terms with her new feelings regarding her former sensei. I typically don't like kakasaku, but I think this work is done tastefully well. The characters are both adults and the immorality of the relationship is not ignored, so be prepared for a lot of "we can't," "this is wrong," etc.. Anyway, Sakura is an absolute powerhouse and I thoroughly enjoyed the relationship between all of the different characters and villages!

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Got Nothing to Prove (but I'ma show you how I do) - GuardianMars || ao3 || gen || T || mission gone wrong || incomplete

Civilians and orphans are always used as cannon fodder. Sakura’s not sure where she first came by this phrase. Whether she heard it or read it, she can’t quite remember, but it stuck in her head and it stays in the back of her mind whenever Team 7 takes a mission. When Sakura and Tenten get placed on a temporary team looking into a series of kidnappings of local village girls, Sakura is naturally worried. She doesn't want to be cannon fodder. When the mission goes to pot, Sakura and Tenten find themselves far away from home and with only each other to rely on. As it turns out being cannon fodder is the least of their worries.

Genin Sakura and TenTen are sent on a mission due to their unimpressive lineage and things go wrong. This is a bit of a mystery where details of the mission are uncovered as the series progresses and is seen from the prospective of both the girls and their sensei's who are desperately trying to bring them back.

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The Storm Beneath - CrimsonEden || ao3 || gen || T || mission gone wrong || one-shot complete

Sakura skidded to a halt. “Sensei?” she choked out, voice raw and painful. Kakashi made no reply. His eyes stared desperately up at her, as if he thought that she was going to disappear if he looked away. One of his hands reached out slowly, like he wanted to touch her face, to check to see did she was really there. His eyes were glazed over and his chest was heaving from the force of his heavy breaths. She stood there frozen, unsure of what to say or do. How could things have gone so wrong? . . . . . A simple mission goes horribly wrong, and Team-7 finds themselves stuck in the wilderness injured and facing Kakashi’s past demons. POV Kakashi and Sakura.

Team 7's mission gone wrong not just lands them in a complete disaster physically and politically, but also uncovers some of Kakashi's trauma. Really well written and focuses a lot on the team bonding, primarily Sakura and Kakashi, which I love.

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Team Seven and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Roadtrip -Transformatron || ao3 || gen || T || captured || incomplete

No chakra. No allies. Captured by an unknown enemy a thousand miles from home, Team Seven must work together if they want to survive - which, if you ask Sakura, puts their life expectancy at approximately one week. If she’s feeling generous.

Team 7 is captured and the enemy is trying to get information out of them by any means possible. Follow them as they try to escape.

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final exams coming up! - waterpllar || ao3 || gen || M || captured || complete

Kakuzu can name numerous reasons why Hatake Kakashi could make him an excellent profit, most of which involve the numerous organizations he's sabotaged. Specific figures would certainly be willing to pay very well for free reign to relieve their violent frustrations on one of the most notorious jounin in the Bingo books. Such a business would only function with a healer on hand, but it just so happens that a vast majority of shinobi teams have a healer, and there is a pink-haired genin without a bloodline limit or bijuu on the team. What he did not anticipate is that the Copy-nin's teaching might be so remiss that he hadn't trained said genin in any iryo-ninjutsu whatsoever. Kakuzu does not like making oversights, and he decides to remedy this fact immediately (unluckily for sakura).

Kakuzu captured Sakura and Kakashi in an attempt to make money (of course) off of Kakashi's many enemies and Sakura is forced to learn medical ninjutsu in order to keep him alive. Although this is marked as complete and could be considered that to those who read it, the ending is not very conclusive tbh (I wanted more).

Edit: ok this actually just got updated even though it’s marked as complete, so ig it’s still ongoing?? Maybe???

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New Day Dawning - IncompleteSentanc (Erava) || ao3 || narusaku || T || captured || complete

One day, while visiting the grave of Nohara Rin, Obito stumbles across a young girl terrifyingly like her. He decides to ensure she doesn’t meet the same fate. As for Sakura? Sakura had no idea what she was awakening the day she went to visit her parents graves - but she never looked back. One way or another.(Feat. Sakura raised by Obito and the Akatsuki, and her eventual return to Konoha and all those she left behind)

Sakura is brainwashed and manipulated, but loved by notorious killers nonetheless. Incredibly well written and I won't lie when I say that the ending took me a bit by surprise.

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Your childhood home is just powder-white bones (and you'll never find your way back) - Dovey || ao3 || gen || M || captured || complete

Sasuke is not the only one who worries he's getting too comfortable in his genin life. Itachi decides to add another motivator to Sasuke's revenge plans by kidnapping the teammate who wasn't a charismatic Jinchuriki. Sakura is used to being an objective for those around her, not a person, but even for her this is a little much. In which Sakura is held captive and learns what a genjutsu specialist can do to a person's mind, that sharks can actually make great friends, joins a dying clan, and gets regifted multiple times before she's finally strong enough to fight back. *while this fic contains explicit and graphic torture, there's no sexual assault.

Okay, this was actually a really hard read for me. We truly see Sakura's decline in this as she slowly loses her mind and it is very frustrating to see what has happened to her. Nonetheless, it is extremely well written and great is you want something dark.

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Freedom in the Eyes of Another - Oroburos69 || ffn || gen || M || captured || complete

The Wave Mission was a failure. They got caught, captured, taken-it didn't end well. Now Sakura has a half-heard order, uncut fingernails, and more desperation than bravery. One way or another, she's getting Team Seven out today. Complete.

I actually can't believe that I forgot to add this the first time I wrote this list! Anyway, team 7 is captured on the mission to Wave and Sakura takes Kakashi's mumble and runs with it! Pretty interesting as we get some nice team bonding and there are some other popular character appearances too.

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Like always, please send me recs if you have any!

[axelsagewrites]

Robb Stark*Cloak

Pairing: Robb x F!Reader

Platonic: all Starks x Reader, Sansa x Reader

Summary: When the reader returns to winterfell after being attacked she finds herself having night terrors again and only one person is able to make them stop.

Word count: 3486

Warnings: references to an attack but not explicit details, mentions of nightmares/terrors, mentions of bullying

Masterlist Here

Part two linked at bottom

Every summer or so your family travelled to Winterfell for the children to mingle and the fathers to talk business. It had been this way as long as you remembered. Being a couple of years older than Sansa meant she ran about after you, loving to copy after you and listen to your stories. You were also a year younger than Robb whom you had a complicated relationship over the years. As very young children you played together often, playing with toy soldiers and making up make believe games.

Once Sansa started tottering after you when she was seven, you ten, and him eleven he finally seemed to realise you were a girl and pushed you into the mud when you tried to join in with Theon, Jon, and him. When he was fourteen and you thirteen, he began to just avoid you mostly though when he was sixteen, he started to steal sideways glances and saying sweet words. Pretty words that were met with harsh words in return.

Somewhat to his credit Robb did try and apologise to you last summer for his actions as a child but you just smiled and told him it no longer mattered. There was now a civilness between you both but little more.

However, this summer and last were different by far. In between summers you had been out on a horse ride with your friend and a stable boy at your grounds, but you were not alone. When you rode deeper into the woods, your friends lagging behind, you felt someone pull you from the horse. The attack left you bruised and badly injured, but you had managed to survive it and that’s what people always told you. You’re okay, you’re fine, it could be much worse.

The stable boy had been the one to help you as your friend tore off on her horse to find help which luckily came in time. If not for the stable boy flinging himself on the man and helping your claw at him, you probably would not have survived.

Your parents offered to let you stay home this summer, but you figured maybe it would be good for you to roam a safer place. Winterfell had brought you so much comfort as a child that you looked forward to return.

The Starks had heard of the attack and sent letters at the time but when you climbed out your carriage you were met with Sansa running into your arms. “I’m so glad you’re alright,”

Your hands flew to stroke her hair, placing a kiss to her head, assuring her you were fine. It was ironic in a sense. Ever since the attack you felt the need to reassure everyone around you but yourself. Each Stark in turn including Jon offered their deepest sympathies and sweet words.

All but Robb. He was the last in the line to greet you, knowing you were here for his sisters more so than him. “Lady (Y/N),” he said as he took your hand to press a kiss to its knuckles. You bowed your head with a polite smile. You felt Robb give your hand a squeeze before he released it, “You look as radiant as last time I saw you,”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a small smile curling into your lips, “Thank you my lord,” you said before continuing your duties. You weren’t sure if it was the normalcy of the comment, the compliment itself, or the fact that Robb didn’t feel the need to extend you pity or have you reassured him that made a warmth grow in you. You never realised how much you valued normalcy until he had said it.

The day was pleasant enough if not enjoyable. You ate lunch and dinner with the Starks, Sansa making sure to be beside you the whole time. You sat in with her and Arya’s lesson and watched Bran try teaching Rickon to hold his wooden sword. The only problem was everyone wanted to know what had happened.

Sansa had asked about the details, Arya seemed to get a kick out the idea of fighting a grown man. Catelyn kept constantly assuring you of your safety which while sweet wore on. Jon listed all the things he would’ve done to protect you. Even Ned had asked about what had happened, something you did your best to be vague about especially with the girls. Sansa because she was sweet, Arya because she seemed to be getting ideas. Not to mention your parents constantly checking in. it was exhausting.

Despite being mentally so tired you lay in your chambers unable to sleep that night. The next day you were mostly fine on the outside despite your groggy nature which you blamed on the excitement from the day before keeping you up. The next you managed to sleep but it was the nightmares that disturbed you.

You did your best not to remember the attack but at night you seemed to relive it. waking up shaking and panting, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to remind yourself you were so far from home but that didn’t seem to help. Perhaps it was talking about it that had brought these nightmares back. Or maybe fate was just cruel.

By your seventh day in Winterfell, you were exhausted. Of the six night you had slept four and of those four nightmares raged through them. Some woke you up for a few minutes while others kept you up for the rest of the night. Heavy lilac circles rung around your eyes which threatened to close in a moment’s notice.

“Perhaps some milk of the poppy would help?” Sansa suggested at breakfast after you finally confessed to your nightmares.

You shook your head at her words, “Last time that just made it worse. I still had the nightmares I just couldn’t wake up,” When the attack first happened nightmares happened almost daily for the first month, but it was different, “(Y/F/N) stayed in my chambers with me every night for two months until she was sure they had stopped,”

“Maybe I could stay with you,” Sansa offered, clutching onto your arm, “Lady could sleep there too and then she’d be able to protect you,”

You smiled at her but again shook your head, “Your sweet Sansa,” you told her, running a hand over her hair, “But I need to sleep on my own. I cannot have someone sleep with me every night,”

Sansa nodded as she turned back to her breakfast with a sigh, “I just wish I could help,”

While you loved her dearly Sansa’s version of helping was to tell practically her whole family who told yours who just questioned you more on the dreams. By lunch you had had enough and excused yourself to the only quiet place. The library.

There was a fireplace that you didn’t bother lighting and half the books seemed untouched. There were a few tables and chairs dotted around the room and two armchairs placed near the fireplace. You took up a spot in one of them, pulling a random book from a shelf. Your eyes threatened to close with every word you read, and you didn’t even notice that you had dropped the book as they finally fell closed.

You woke up to a crackling fire and fur nuzzling your nose. Sitting up from your slouched position, the cloak slipped down off your chest. Your hands traced the edge of the fur lined wool that someone had placed over you like a blanket. The book you had been reading was placed beside you, a bookmark in the page you were last reading, and someone had obviously taken the time to light the fire but not stay to enjoy it. no one else was in the library and you couldn’t notice any obvious signs of someone coming in.

the room was solely lit by the flames as you noticed the darkness out of the windows. Stretching your arms, you began to get out the chair, picking up the cloak when it fell. Its fur was ever so soft, and the wool was thick that you wondered how you had not overheated. The black leather detailing on his clasps and pockets were crisp and precise. This was not a cheap cloak, and someone had left it to keep you warm without even leaving a note.

You raised it to your face, the fur tickling your nose, and inhaled its scent. A warm feeling flooded your heart as the woodsy smell filled your nose. It smelled fresh and earthy while also having misty fragrance to it. the smell made your lips turn up as your hands stroked its fur.

As you walked back to your chambers you noticed the emptiness of the corridors on your way. It was clearly far later than your nap was supposed to be. When you entered your chambers, you saw a jug of wine and plate of bread and cheese on a table waiting for you. This was when you realised just how hungry you were as you devoured the food. You weren’t sure if the one who had left the cloak had sent it or whether your absence at dinner, which you were sure you had missed, had caused someone else to send it up.

After eating you laid in bed, the cloak sitting on a chair in your room, and tried to sleep. Despite the nap you were still tired, but your lids did not close as easily as last time. When you sat up you saw the cloak again. Without thinking you padded over to the chair, snatched up the cloak and returned to bed, laying on top of the covers and instead used the cloak as a blanket. It was warm and as toasty as the fire had been. The furs nuzzled into your face and coaxed you into your dream filled slumber.

The morning rays woke you for the first time in over a week. No nightmares plagued your sleep, and you woke up without screaming or tears. For once you finally felt well rested. The sleep had done you well and you enjoyed the morning, braiding your hair, putting on your favourite dress, before going on a walk of the grounds. All this before breakfast. And still in the cloak a stranger had left on you.

When you entered the hall for breakfast you were one of the last there, but you were in the best mood out of all of them. “Good morning sweet Sansa,” you hummed as you took your place beside her, taking the cloak off, and began to butter your toast.

“You’re happy,” Sansa said with a frown.

This made you laugh, mouth filled with toast, “Is that so wrong of me?” Sansa shrugged but kept her eyes on you, her eyes squinting, “If you must know I slept nearly sixteen hours, nightmare free might I add, and have never felt better,”

“Oh (Y/N) that’s wonderful!” She praised as she clutched your arm, “We were wondering what you were up to yesterday,”

“To be honest im surprised I never woke up to a search party,” You laughed, and Sansa rolled her eyes and removed her hands from your arms.

“As tempted as we were Robb told us you were fine,” she said and your eyebrows knitted in confusion, “What? He said he ran into you at the library reading then that you told him to tell us you would be taking dinner in your chambers so you could have an early night. Did something happen?”

“No, no its fine,” you said, shaking your head trying to think, “It must’ve slipped my mind. It was a very good sleep after all. Its left me dazed,” you said but you knew you had never spoken to her brother yesterday let alone tell him your dinner plans.

Your fingers trailed over the fur of the cloak that was sitting beside you as you realised whose scent had lulled you to sleep. Almost as if it were fate this was the moment Robb had decided to come in with Jon beside him. “Robb where’s your cloak? You’ll freeze to death,” Catelyn chastised her son who had snowflakes scattered along his shoulders. Robb glanced at you before telling his mother he was not cold, “You better not have lost that cloak Robb. I paid good money for that,”

“It’s in my chambers I just forgot to lift it and didn’t wanna go all the way back,” the lied effortless fell from his tongue but you felt his eyes on you moments after. Your hands instinctively clutched the fabric beside you.

As you, Robb, and Jon had been the last to arrive it was no shock that you were the last in the room. Sansa had waited for you initially, but you told her to hurry to her lessons, not wanting her to be late. While true it was also because you had been eating your toast ever so slow so you could hang back to speak to Robb.

When she finally agreed and left the room you waited a moment before crossing the room to where Robb and Jon sat. You held the cloak out to Robb who turned around to look at you. It was the first time you had noticed how soft his eyes were and how strong his jaw was from this angle. And how his hair curled, so soft and perfect looking, “Thank you lady (Y/N),” his words snapped you back from reality as he took the cloak from you. You felt the flush that crossed your cheeks but ignored it as you turned and walked away, feeling unable to even speak suddenly.

You couldn’t like Robb? Not Robb surely? Jon perhaps. Theon maybe. Not Robb? Your parents had suggested the match a hundred times and Catelyn herself even hinted. It would be too perfect to be true. But the way his eyes looked at you…

You did your best to ignore the feeling creeping into your stomach the rest of the day and decided to just try and enjoy the day. It was going well, and you even managed to enjoy dinner though the whole time you kept stealing glances at the eldest Stark who on occasion even caught your eye with a slight smirk. For whatever reason that stupid smirk made your skin tingle more.

Then finally it came time to sleep again. You were tired from the day which you had thoroughly enjoyed but you lay in bed for hours unable to sleep. Yet again. You felt like the gods were torturing you. You couldn’t handle another nightmare or another sleepless night. Swallowing your pride, you wrapped yourself in your own cloak and quickly walked the halls before finding yourself at Robb Starks chamber and knocking on the door.

Then the reality of the situation set in. how stupid you looked standing in front of a boy’s chamber you rarely spoke to ask for his cloak to help you sleep. Quickly you turned around and went to walk away when you heard the door creak open behind you. “(Y/N)?” Robb asked, his voice heavy with sleep that made the way he said your name even sweeter.

You turned around with a sheepish smile, “Hello,” you said, biting your lip, “I need a favour,”

Robb nodded before he ushered you into the room and closed the door behind him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he led you over to a chair which he pulled out for you before sitting on the edge of his bed across from you, “Is everything alright?” his words grabbed your attention.

You played with the hem of your sleeve as you spoke, “I know this is gonna sound really dumb but I couldn’t sleep and I was wondering if maybe I could borrow your cloak?” you said, looking up to meet his now awake eyes, “Also thank you for today well yesterday now or well the day before in the library and that it was the first good sleep I had in a while and yeah and like thanks I guess,” your words flew out without you thinking, your skin burning hot.

Robb sat up slightly, his arms resting on his thighs to prop him up, “Why do you need my cloak?” he asked.

“It helped me sleep,” you confessed, your eyes falling to your hands that began to pick at your skin.

The room sat in silent for a few moments and finally you braved yourself to look up at Robb who must think you were a total creep. Instead, he was smiling softly, “That’s cute,” he said as he gazed into your eyes. A smile crept onto your own lips as you looked at him. Robbs hand went forward to hold yours, stopping your picking, “You shouldn’t do that though,”

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,”

“I get nervous,”

“I know,” Robb said as his thumb began to rub over your hand, “Do you want to tell me about it? Or if you’d like we can just sit here,”

“I’d like that,” you confused as your hands squeezed his and he squeezed back. The comfortable silence washed over you both. “Thank you by the way,” you broke the silence moments later, “For the food and the cloak and that,”

“It’s okay,” Robb said as he took your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it, “You looked so peaceful in the library. I couldn’t help but stare a little,” he said with a slight chuckle, “You were so beautiful but then you began to shiver,”

The way Robb looked at you felt so genuine, so tender. His thumb running over your hand, his eyes gazing into yours. “Should I fetch my cloak then?” Robb asked, pulling away from you and already you missed his touch but nodded.

Robb stood and crossed the room to fetch his cloak to bring back to you where you stood by the door. Robb walked closer to you but made sure to leave enough room for you to move out his way if you wanted. He brushed a stray hair strand that had fallen out of place behind your ear. His fingers softly trailed your jaw after before falling from your face.

Without thinking or warning you sprang forward, your arms flinging round his shoulders as you buried your face into his chest. His arms quickly wrapped around your frame and pulled you closer, the cloak falling from his hands. You breathed in his fresh woodsy smell that burned your nose with a sweetness.

You felt one of his hands holding your head, the hand almost the size of it. yet it made you feel safer. He began to stroke your hair, the other hand wrapped around your back to pull you closer. Tears welled in your eyes, “I was so scared that day,” you confessed.

“It’s okay,” Robb murmured, “It’s okay ive got you. You don’t have to worry anymore. You’re safe now,” he assured you as he stroked your hair.

Soft sobs left your lips and Robb placed kisses to the top on your head and held you as you cried. “Everyone expected me to talk about it and explain- “

“You never have to explain anything to me,” Robb said as he pulled back and took your face in his hands. His hands were rough but held your face so gently, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Im here for you, okay?”

“Thank you,” your said as your voice croaked, “Do you think,” you started, your eyes flickering away from his for a moment, “Do you think I could stay here tonight?”

“Of course,” Robb said, placing a kiss to your forehead. “I can sleep on the floor, or the chair and you can take the bed. Or I can go sleep with Jon or- “

“You don’t have to,” you interrupted him, “I mean if you don’t mind. I’d like you to stay in the bed with me,”

Robb nodded as he pulled back out of the embrace, he had held you in, “Of course I can. Whatever you need,”

You took your cloak off and Robb helped you into his bed in your night clothes before joining you under the sheets. Your head rested on his shoulder and his arm snaked under you, pulling you gently to lay on his chest. He held you in his arm, his hand resting on your waist. Without thinking you took his spare hand into yours. Your nose nuzzled into his chest, his scent making your eyes flutter shut. “Thank you again,” you murmured as your eyes grew heavier.

“Anything for you love,” Robb placed another kiss at the top of your head, “Just get some rest. I’ve got you okay. you’re safe now,”

Part Two Here

Taglist: @clairacassidy

[jumpstart-if]

Jumpstart is a character-driven slice of life, containing drama and romance. It's mainly inspired by the show 90210 and the movie Mean Girls.

You had multiple sticky notes on your bedroom ceiling, bathroom mirror, and any other surface you were able to get it on.

How to be rich by 21:

1. Survive high school Survive the final year of high school 2. Move out and get a pet (finally!) 3. Become rich and famous (should be easy enough...)

This list has followed you ever since your eleventh birthday when you were suddenly bombarded with the dreaded question:

‘What is your dream job?’

Quite frankly, you didn’t dream of labour. At least not the regular kind. Call it psychic, but you knew you were destined for the easy life, filled with copious amounts of wealth, relaxation, and travels. You were are special.

Seriously, you had everything set out for your 'rags to riches' story:

You weren’t the most popular, but you also weren’t eating lunch alone in the school bathroom. ✔️

You made sure to work a part-time job, starting from the age of thirteen, so it would be easier for future fans to relate to you. ✔️

You were on your way to being crowned ‘Most likely to be famous’, which would have made for the perfect moment on ‘The Late-Night Phil Show’.✔️

Everything was going to plan… until it wasn’t.

Not only did your mother decide to marry some wealthy businessman, but she also packed up all your stuff and moved you hundreds of miles away from your home that screamed ‘humble beginnings’ and into a five bedroom (minimum) mega mansion.

Oh, and public school? Forget about that. From tomorrow on, you’ll be one of those rich private school kids. Goodbye 'rags to riches' background, and hello nepotism allegations.

Though, that’s a problem for future you...

Right now, you’ll have to adapt to school life the way the people at the top of the food chain do it. 

Get ready to ‘survive the final year of high school’ filled with gossip, betrayal, romance, angst, and social drama you could’ve sworn only happened in movies and TV shows.

Jumpstart is rated 18+ as there will be mentions of sexual themes, drugs, alcohol and violence.

Choose your MC's name and gender.

Decide your MC's personality, clothing style, and much more.

Get involved with 1 out of 4 romanceable characters.

Climb to the top of the hierarchy at Maplewood Private School.

Jumpstart your way into the life of stardom and wealth.

Isaiah/India (m/f) 'the high school worldwide heartthrob':

You could’ve sworn you saw them gracing the red carpet in some of the hundreds of magazines stashed in one of your moving boxes. Child of the famous celebrity make-up artist, Naomi Lawton and basketball star, Sean Lawton. Wanted by many, yet only successfully claimed by A. Though, judging by how many people I can be regularly spotted with, it begs the question: Does I care?

Appearance: Sepia skin tone. M! has short coily black hair, mostly styled in cornrows and decorated with some silver hair jewellery. F! has long bleached coily hair, currently styled in waist-length blonde braids.

Alison/Anderson (m/f) 'the school's number one':

Not quite like the ones in movies… they’re somewhat nice? At first, they can be straight-up vicious, ripping apart any and every little detail they can get their hands on, but once you earn their trust, you’ll learn that behaviour is much more of a façade than a true reflection of them.

Appearance: Olive complexion with sprinkles of freckles on their nose and cheeks. M! has short curly ginger hair that loosely hangs over his forehead. F! has shoulder-length ginger curls and bangs.

Tegan (m/f) 'the estranged childhood best friend'

You were eight years old, when their family decided to move someplace else, ripping your, what you thought to be inseparable, bond into two. At the start you tried to keep up, exchanging letters almost every day… then weeks… then months if anything, until complete silence. You’re not sure who stopped sending them first or when even, but one thing’s for certain: you were no longer friends. No, after ten years, you definitely weren’t.

Appearance: Brown skin tone. M! has black buzzed hair. F! has straight, waist-length black hair.

Levi/Leighton (m/f) 'wherever they go, trouble follows aka the school's bad boy/girl':

For someone with a big reputation, there’s next to nothing that can be found on them. And all your pestering questions are met with nothing but warnings, yet you can’t help but grow more curious about them with each passing encounter.

Appearance: Tawny skin tone, though you can’t help but notice the faded scar tainting their otherwise clear left cheek. They have wavy brown hair, reaching down to their shoulders.

Reblogs are more than welcome and thanks for reading!

DEMO TBA

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 1

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (i) - You

[15 & 16] - THE CAPITOL

Pine is a simple wood. It grows in abundance, representing purity and innocence. In Eleven, it’s saved for children. Children like Cane. Only thirteen years old, but at the end of his life. He died in the initial bloodbath from a knife in the heart, you saw it yourself as you were running away. You had made eye contact with him for a split second and had contemplated waiting for him behind one of the many buildings encased by overgrown greenery. But, within the next second, those eyes had clouded over and cannon fire rang in your ears.

He looks so small in his pine casket, you note. The pale shade of his little brown face is the only giveaway that he isn’t sleeping.

His parents come to stand before him, withdrawn in their grief for their youngest child. They each place a fruit in his hand: a pear in his left, and an apple in his right. One for himself and another to share with whoever comes to take his soul.

Neem, his brother, holds up his sister Venus, the youngest girl. She is distraught, wails bouncing through the clearing. Their oldest sibling, Vera, hadn’t been permitted to leave the fields to come to the burial.

Chrysanthemums represent death, mourning, life, and goodbyes. Roses represent life, grief, and sadness. You watch as the adults of the town move in to help his family cover him head to toe in the petals. A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

You can’t help but think about how close you came to being the one under all those flowers. You imagine your mom having to place the fruits in your hands by herself. The hand on your shoulder keeps you pinned in place as Venus’s knees buckle. Your mom squeezes you to her side and you look at her tightened face. You aren't the only one imagining it.

The grave has already been dug and above it sits his headstone, a rock bigger than both of your hands combined with his initials and his age carved into it.

C.B.

13

You stare at that rock long after they put him in the ground and cover him in dirt. At the end of the ceremony, all of the children in attendance get in line to hug the family. This one is no different. You’re only fifteen, but you’ve been to many funerals. Only one stands out: your dad’s. 

You remember being ten and getting irritated at how sticky the pomegranate juice made your hands, but you preferred it to the painful lump in your throat. You had to be lifted so you could place the fruit in his cold hands and you don’t think your mom put you down after, holding you close to her chest as the town’s children hugged you.

You’re at the back of the line nervously picking at your nail beds. There’s a certain amount of guilt tied to being the one who survived, especially in the face of the grieving family. You haven’t spoken to them since you got back a month ago—it took a while for the Capitol to return his body—but you know they don’t blame you. That’s just not the way people think in Eleven. You don’t turn against your own.

You’re nervous because you have a bigger part to play other than offering condolences and you promised Cane you’d complete it.

Before you go in to hug his father, you speak.

“I, uh, have something for you.” You pull a small bear figurine out of your pocket, crudely carved from wood. “Cane, he gave it to me to give to his family the night before we went into the arena. Just in case I managed to come back.” Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally. 

And now he’s home.

And that’s what cracks them, you think. His mom’s lips quiver and his dad makes a pained noise when you place it in his shaking grip. And Neem, who has tried to stay strong for his family, gasps around a sob. Venus pulls you into a hug, tears dripping onto your neck.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

-

“Your accent is just darling. Say something else, say something else!” The woman in front of you exclaims. You can’t remember her name, but you’re pretty sure she never introduced herself to you anyway. In fact, you don’t think anyone has introduced themselves to you.

"Like what?"

"Like what?" They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead. "Oh, that is just a treat."

You've officially been the winner of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games for six months and thirteen days. It's the end of your Victory Tour and all you have to do is tolerate the Capitols poking and prodding at you until the night is over. Though, that's easier said than done. 

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

Your dress cinches at your waist uncomfortably. The heels you were forced into press painfully into the calluses on your feet, and you've eaten so many pastries that your jaw aches. Foreign hands pat at your hair, stroking and pulling at the curls as you recount for the fifth time how you escaped the tributes from District Five. 

"I climbed to the top of a building and jumped between rooftops while they looked for me on the ground—" 

“Skip to the part where you get your scythe!” Someone yells from the crowd, cutting you off. You purse your lips and bite your tongue so hard that you taste metal.

"Alright. Two days in, I was… gifted a scythe from a sponsor—" 

"And you used it beautifully!" Another person calls from your left. 

"Yes, that move you pulled off against that poor boy from Nine was simply marvelous!" A voice shouts from behind you. You remember him. How could you forget? The "move" you pulled off wasn't intentional. As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife. 

He was the first person you killed in the arena. The first thing you had ever killed.

You bite into a muffin, and it tastes like ash on your tongue. 

You try to ignore the multiple hands on your shoulders, arms, and neck; all moving to touch any bare skin they can reach. But it's hard to ignore soft hands that have never known a day of work. Much different from your own calloused palms, made rough from your days of harvesting crops and climbing high in trees to pick fruit. 

You keep quiet as they talk at you, never actually trying to engage you in the conversation. You grimace as a hand touches your face. 

"God, you are stunning—isn't she stunning?" A taller man smiles down at you with golden teeth, moving your face this way and that with his sharp nails. 

"Oh, just gorgeous! Who knew they were hiding such a diamond in the Agriculture district, of all places?" The group breaks out in howling laughter, as if the very notion of something worthwhile coming out of District Eleven is outlandish. Somehow, both a joke at your expense and one they expect you to join in on. 

You're willing to bet all of your earnings that none of these people have the slightest idea about life in Eleven, what it's like to be truly hungry. Children are being hung for stealing food and here they are, gorging themselves just to throw it all up. You're shaken by the thought that you are completely alone here. Forced to endure the abrasive attention of the Capitol residents until they grow bored with you. You contemplate how easy it would be to escape. You aren't sure how much longer you can go with people petting you like a domesticated animal. Maybe, if you make yourself sick from drinking those vomit-inducing drinks, you could make a strategic retreat with minimal fuss. "Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen," a smooth voice breaks through the crowd before a lithe body follows. The man—or boy, rather—is tall, all tan skin and sun-bleached-hair. Every eye falls on him as soon as he steps up, and you can understand why. Finnick Odair. He's objectively attractive; beautiful, even. You can tell from the brazen way he holds himself that he already knows that. Pink lips are settled in a smug smirk, but they don't take away from his eyes. If you were a writer, you could have authored a thousand and one poems about those eyes alone. "You wouldn't mind me stealing tonight's guest of honor for a dance, would you?" It's quiet, and the crowd looks at each other. They clearly don't want to give you up—their brand-new toy. But who can say no to Finnick Odair? Exclaims of oh, certainly and of course are called out before he comes to stand in front of you. Someone pulls the saucer of miniature cakes and cookies from your death grip and you feel bare before him. You had seen him two years ago during his games. Then, six months after that he came to Eleven for his Victory Tour, apologizing to the families of people he didn't know nor care about. He was just another pretty Career laughing and being gushed over on Caesar Flickerman's couch, pretty low on your list of priorities. But now—well, it was one thing to see him on screen, it was another to be in front of him. It's a lot like standing in front of the ocean, you imagine. You had seen it secondhand, through train windows and simulated in arenas, but nothing could prepare you to see it in person. He doesn't push you to take his hand, just holds it out in front of him like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you'll take it, eventually. The temptation to reject him is strong. You’d pay money to see the look on his and everyone else's faces if you said no and walked away. 

You reach forward and a callused palm meets your own. You trust him as much as you do everyone else vying for your attention here, but he's the lesser of two evils. You tense up as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself to be surrounded. But he doesn't lead you to the center of the dancing mass like you thought he would. Instead, you both linger on the edge, barely close enough to be a part of the crowd. He faces you and asks, "May I have this dance?" Overly formal in a way that nobody else here has been with you. 

"We're already here, aren't we?" You say as if you weren’t just contemplating leaving him behind. You step closer to him as the band starts a new song, your right hand holding his left and the other on his shoulder. His free hand lays on your waist, a fraction above the slit on the side of your dress. 

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down. 

You narrow your eyes. “What’re your thoughts on lying?”

He inhales slowly, head tilting side to side contemplatively. “Depends. Am I the one lying?” You shake your head. He shrugs. “Then, I hate it.”

“Then, I won’t answer,” you shrug back. He lets out a puff of air from his nose, a laugh?

"I'm surprised Seeder isn't here with you. She talked you up a big game, you know. Very confident that you'd win." His eyes sweep over the crowd of dancing couples before settling on you. “Guess, I should have bet on you too, huh?”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Why would Seeder be that confident in a semi-malnourished fifteen-year-old with no combat skills? 

You definitely wouldn’t have bet on yourself. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve put money into one of the Careers. Maybe that one girl from Two—perhaps the most muscular person you’ve ever seen. She was benching at least twice her body weight in the Training Center, but you think it was just an intimidation tactic. Though, a pointless one, since she didn’t even make it out of the Cornucopia. You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine. “I wouldn’t have if I were you. But now that you've actually seen me, do I meet all the expectations she set?” You partially joke. Partially because as much as you hate to admit it, you are curious. Why you’re curious about what he thinks of you will remain a mystery. “Now that I've actually seen you? No,” you look up at him in shock before he grins like a shark, teeth on display. "You exceed them. Don't get me wrong. You were beautiful on screen, but the TV doesn't do you justice." He does little to hide the once-over he gives you. It was meant to be caught. You don't know what to say. You've been excessively complimented and fawned over since you were reaped, but somehow, it felt different coming from him. His gaze felt different. Like he actually saw you. You throw that thought away. Finnick is a known flirt—a playboy. He means nothing by it and neither does the look in his eyes. "She's pregnant. Seeder," you clarify, abruptly changing the topic. “About seven months along. She's resting at the hotel.” Traveling for so long had taken its toll. Not to mention the stress of just being in the Capitol. Snow, the bastard, wouldn't let her stay behind, even though Chaff was willing to take her place as your mentor on the tour. "Ah, congratulations are in order then."  

"Please,” you scoff. “I'm sure you didn't come up to me just to talk about Seeder." Your gaze bounces around his face as you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him.

“Why not? I can’t ask about a good friend?” 

“If you’re such “good friends” shouldn’t you have already known she was pregnant?”

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means. “I came up to you because you looked like you were one more scone away from using it as a weapon." The laugh you let out is a surprise to you both and you have to bite your cheek to stifle it. You haven’t been doing a whole lot of laughing over the past six months.

"Was I that obvious?" He's quiet for a moment as he stares at you and you don't dwell on it. Instead, you focus on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. 

You're only a year younger than him and, yet, there's something about him that feels far older than any other sixteen-year-old you've met. The way he carries himself—something sharp-edged hidden under indifference, an alertness in his eyes that you're sure mirrors your own. "To anyone who cared to look," his voice deepens as he hums. It really is smooth. "Definitely." "Am I supposed to believe that the Capitol's darling cares about little ol' me?" "So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over. “Who doesn't?” It’s been two years and people are still talking about his games. And for good reason, you have to admit.

"Touché...again.” He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve—” "Seriously, what're you hoping to achieve here? You've gotta have a motive. Everyone does.” You push, cutting to the chase and sounding more accusatory than you meant to. But, he’s a victor too, right? Maybe you can toe the line here without repercussions waiting on the other side.

"Hmm, blunt. Even you?" He questions, continuing when you nod. "What's your motive for dancing with me, then?"

You could have said no to this dance, but that would’ve meant staying surrounded by them. This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

"I'd do just about anything to escape those vultures," you pause. Then, feeling emboldened, add, "And I guess you're not terrible to look at." If you were going to be forced to stay here, you might as well find your fun where you can. And talking to Finnick is fun. Undoubtedly, the only fun you've had all night.

"Oh, thank you," he laughs, mirth coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "You know, I was worried about that." 

"Is that so?" You smile, trying, and failing, to not step on his feet. 

"Definitely," he pauses for a second, seemingly deciding on something before answering your question, "It’s just that—you remind me of someone. They got wrapped up in the Capitol; thought they could handle the…” he makes a wide sweeping gesture to the gluttonous pageantry around you and you get it: the extravagance, the theatrics, the Capitol of it all. “But the Capitol asked for more than they were willing to give. And, well...I couldn't save them." His eyes look glazed as he trails off. His face is grim, his smile gone so fast it's almost like it was never there to begin with. You find that you want it back. "And you want to save me?" You guess, heart in your throat.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The people here? Every single one of them wants us. They want to talk to us, touch us, sleep with us," you swallow at the look in his eye. "But they don't see us as people." He leans towards you and you freeze. For a split second, you think he's going to kiss you. That doesn’t scare you. Instead, he hovers by your ear. What would you have done if he had kissed you? You don't think you would've moved away. That scares you. "Me and you," he hums, lips against your ear, "Well, we might as well be a completely different species to them. We're lesser than. Beloved pets at most, tamed beasts at least." 

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You live in Eleven, after all. There’s a reason no one goes looking for the kids that go missing from the fields. According to the people in charge, there’ll always be another to take their place. You sigh through your nose and turn away, but immediately turn back to Finnick when you make eye contact with the smiling man with gold teeth. 

He shakes his head, lips curled into a frown of disgust, "Look at them, the way they linger at the edge of the crowd." The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back as he spins you. "You see how desperate they are to get in your good graces?" You peek over his shoulder at the people watching you, teeming with anticipation. 

"Is that not what you're doing?" You ask, your cheek pressed to his. "Trust me, sweetheart. If I was trying to gain your favor, it'd be somewhere a little more private with a lot less talking." He doesn't give you enough time to reply, not that you know how, before continuing. "I'm doing the same thing I've done since I was reaped," he lowers his voice, almost like he's imparting some kind of secret. To the right person, maybe he is. "Surviving. I'd suggest finding your allies now if you wanna do the same. " And then he turns to place a chaste kiss against your cheek. To anyone watching the two of you, it would look like he's just flirting with you. You shiver as he pulls away from you, taking all the warmth with him. He looks down at you for a moment longer, locking you in his gaze. You had never really seen the ocean, you remind yourself, but, through him, you're staring at it now. Vast and limitless. All-consuming. He brings your knuckles to his smooth lips, and he smirks. The urge to shiver again is alarmingly strong as his mouth moves delicately against the skin of your knuckles as he begins to speak. "Until next time." You catch the shimmer in his sea-green eyes. It has to mean something, something worth pursuing. You've never known the ocean, but as you watch Finnick walk away into the crowd of adoring Capitols, you think you could grow to like it. There's a drive in him that's rare to see outside of Eleven, let alone in the Capitol, and it further proves your assumption right. There’s a kinship between the districts that only the victors are privy to—you and Finnick might be cut from the same cloth, and that’s made even more apparent by the way the masses move in to surround you both. You jump as trumpets sound around you and a spotlight shines on the balcony. You missed your chance to escape. It's time for Snow's speech. 

Present (I) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

It’s winter in Eleven. There’s little worse than winter in Eleven. You must have forgotten to close your window when you left in a rush because the air in your room is practically crystallized, and you mull over the idea of igniting your fireplace but decide against it.

Normally, you would go to the Capitol after being invited to a party, your prep team would scrub and shave you from top to bottom, and Snow would introduce you to your client for the night. Then, you would stay in your hotel room and have time to recoup before you left. But, this time, there was no party. Only a very important partner of Snow’s who is not a patient man. So you left in the early morning and made the trip back the next day as the sun was rising. Seven hours there, seven hours back. You’re dead on your feet and your bed has never looked more tempting. You stand before your vanity and grab a makeup wipe, dragging it over your face and revealing the bags under your eyes. You're tired, bone tired. You kick your heels off. You unzip the back of your dress and let it fall to the ground. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you press on one of the bruises littering your neck. You follow the trail to the top of your chest, breast, stomach, and hips. You frown at yourself. What a pitiful painting you make. "It's starting!" Your mom calls from down the hall and you sigh, looking at your bed mournfully. You'd usually avoid Snow's announcements like the plague, you don't want to look at him more than you already have to, but it's different this time. It's the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell had double the amount of tributes, and Haymitch told you how he only won by the skin of his teeth. So, despite yourself, you're curious to see what kind of nightmare Snow comes up with. There's also something else driving you. A man you met in passing at the party. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was strange, but a different kind than you were used to from the Capitols. He's taking the place of Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane's untimely death. He spoke in riddles, always hinting at things of importance without saying anything at all. And there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind surrounding something he said. "I understand that there’s a certain kind of…job that President Snow has employed you for. If I told you there was a chance to put an end to it, what would you say?" "I'd say you should cut back on the Morphling." "I assure you, I'm sober," he laughed, "I can't go into detail right now. I just need to know, when the time comes, that I can trust you to fight." Fight. It’s an interesting term, but you wonder if it has the same definition for him as it does for you. You doubt it. Very rarely is there ever any overlap between the way of thinking for Eleven and the Capitol. The people of Eleven fight every day and you’ve heard the other districts have finally picked up on the habit. Riots upon riots upon riots and it’s all thanks to the kids from Twelve. You still can't decipher what he was telling you and you’d usually chalk it up to the regular Capitol jargon. But there was something, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on. 

You throw pajamas on, something soft that won't irritate you, and walk to the living room. "Here: sugar, berries, and licorice root, just the way you like it." Your mom hands you the cup and pretends she doesn't see the marks on your body. You're thankful. She looks tired too, older. "Thank you, Ma." You say, for more than just the tea. "Of, course. Now, sit, sit. He's walking out." You settle gingerly on the couch beside her, sorer than you thought, and pull your legs under you as Snow stands behind a podium. He lets the audience quiet down before beginning. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of The Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of The Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol." You drink carefully from your cup as he continues, steaming liquid burning the roof of your mouth. "Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell," you place your cup on the table and fidget with your bracelet as Snow pulls a letter from an envelope, "as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell Games the male and female Tributes are to be reaped—" The hairs on your arms stand on end. You brace for the blow. "—from the existing pool of victors in each district." "No. No, no, no, that's not, that's not right." You shake your head. It doesn't take long for your mom to start sobbing beside you and you…you can't breathe. 

You suck a breath in and it feels like it's being funneled through a filter. Not enough, not nearly enough. Your heart's beating fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever beat and you're getting lightheaded. You stand up on shaking legs and stumble to the door, glass shatters as you knock a vase over in your pursuit. You need more air, you need, you need—you step out onto the snow-covered porch, submerging your bare feet in the white powder. It’s odd, it rarely snows here.

You kneel down and grab fistfuls of snow, smearing the ice on your face and grounding yourself. You breathe and you rationalize. You can breathe. You're taking in frigid lungfuls of air and you are breathing. You stare down the long walkway leading to your home, covered in both ice and snow. Across from that walkway is a cow pasture and past that pasture are woods. Vast and open and if you will it, no one would be able to find you. You wouldn’t be able to leave, not with the giant electric fence surrounding the district, but they wouldn’t find you. 

But Snow could find your mom. 

You stay out there until your feet and hands go numb. And then you stay until it hurts to move your fingers and toes, the skin of your shins and knees prickling with the temperature drop. You stay until your mom drags you in herself. "Let's warm you up." She says, but she's mostly talking to herself. She wraps you in a blanket and sits you on the couch. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a fresh cup of tea. Saliva gathers in your mouth at the thought of drinking anything, so you use it to warm your hands instead. 

“Oh, look what you’ve done to yourself.” You look to where she’s hovering over the carpet. Red footprints lead from the door to where you are now. You must have stepped on the broken pieces of the vase. You wait for the sting of pain to come now that you’re aware of the wound, but there’s nothing.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up with—”

“Can you just…can you just sit with me?” You ask and look away when you catch her frenzied gaze.

“Yeah, of course, baby. Of course.” The couch dips with her weight as she sits beside you.

By now, Caesar Flickerman is recapping the announcement to the audience with his cheery co-star. You can never remember his name. You're as still as a statue as Caesar goes over a list of remaining victors. You don't move when your mom holds onto you. She holds you and she holds you and she cries for you. You don’t think you have any more tears left in you.

“Now, it always hurts to say goodbye, Claudius, but I can admit there are a few lovely victors I’m particularly attached to.” Oh, you think, that’s his name. Doubtful that you’ll remember it.

“Yes, Caesar, I completely agree. Here’s one of mine now. From District Four: Finnick Odair!” Your eye starts to twitch, lower lid spasming. They play clips of him. Finnick waving to the audience as he walks on stage, Finnick posing for the camera at a photo shoot, Finnick walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

You imagine footage of him being reaped for the Quell and saliva is gathering in your mouth again, stomach flexing as you gag. You double over, nausea washing over you as you try to keep what little is in your stomach down. Absently, you feel a hand rubbing your back in wide, soothing circles that aren’t doing a lot to soothe you.

You were wrong. You do have tears left in you.

-

A/N: 1.) your arena is inspired by Valle dei Mulin in Italy 2.) The people of 11 all have farm and gardening-related names. (Neem tree, venus flytrap, aloe vera, Mass Cane) 3.) Cane had a crush on the reader similar to Peeta's initial crush on Katniss 4.) Each district has a different accent depending on their geography

[misc-obeyme]

Solomon Alone

Okay I am having some health issues, but I've been feeling pretty good today. And since I have some energy, I'm also kind of on a roll with writing tonight. I don't think I've ever posted two things in one day, but hey I'm just gonna go with it.

It's another Solomon story because I'm obsessed with him. This is a pretty short one about how he might be feeling after Lesson 12. This is assuming he doesn't have ulterior motives or anything.

It's a bit different from my usual fluff... I would say this one is all angst, but listen I don't question my muse when that slacker finally shows up.

Solomon x GN!MC

Warnings: Hurt/angst and SPOILERS for Lesson 12 of Nightbringer

Solomon watched as you lost consciousness. He heard himself asking Thirteen what to do, heard her say she couldn't help. He heard the brothers crying out your name, hoping you would somehow wake up. He saw the look of anguish on Lucifer's face, even as he held the grimoire that you had handed over to him.

Through a fog, Solomon helped the demons bring you out of the reaper's cave. When they were prepared to bring you back to Cocytus Hall, he told them to take you to the House of Lamentation instead. He convinced them that you would be most comfortable in the spare room there.

And Solomon went back to Cocytus Hall alone. He walked through it in a daze, not at all registering the environment around him. His mind was fully occupied by the sight of you falling to the ground, struck by the magic of the fountain.

When Satan came to talk to him about researching curses, Solomon listened. He agreed to help Satan look through all of the books they could find on the subject. It was a welcome distraction. It slowly pulled him out of the fog that had clouded his mind. He spent hours and hours reading through those books. All day and all night, he tried to find the answer to what had happened to you.

Because now that he was thinking a little more clearly… wasn't all of this his fault?

Solomon was the one who brought you to Thirteen's cave, to the Fountain of Knowledge. If he hadn't done that, if you hadn't been there when you made that promise, then you would still be awake right now.

That guilt was something he couldn't afford to think about too much. He threw himself into the research to prevent it from crushing him entirely. Not now, not while you still needed him.

He could face the shame of what he had done when you were awake again. He knew he would have to. He wouldn't be able to look into your eyes or see your brilliant smile without also feeling the heaviness of knowing he had caused your suffering.

It was easier with you resting at the House of Lamentation. He must have known that subconsciously when he convinced the brothers to take you there. He knew each of them would be spending time by your side, taking care of you. It allowed him to stay away so he could focus on fixing the mess he'd made.

It was only one of the many reasons he had sent you with them, though. The fact was, there were seven of them and only one of him. He couldn't take care of you the way they could. He could try to give you everything he had, give you all of his love, all of his knowledge, every part of him. And still they would always be able to give you more.

Solomon was sure you'd have an opinion on his thoughts if you were here to express them. Even so he felt himself reverting back to being nothing more than your teacher. You were his adorable apprentice and he would always be proud of you. He would do all he could to make sure you knew the magic you needed to survive and thrive in the Devildom and the human world.

He would teach you all he could no matter what, but he knew he couldn't hold onto you forever.

Solomon sat alone in his room at Cocytus Hall. A room you had poked your head into to ask him about this or that. A place where you sometimes looked for him to talk to him about your day or ask him questions about things that were on your mind.

It seemed like anywhere he went in the hall, there you were. The ghostly memory of you, standing in the kitchen making breakfast or sitting in an overstuffed chair in the library, reading. He saw you everywhere and the reality of your absence pulsed through his bones, settling into a dull ache. He was so good at ignoring this pain while he worked, it was days before he admitted to himself just how much he missed you.

And while working and researching was the only thing that was keeping him from falling into that pain, there was a little voice of doubt in the back of his mind. He couldn't help having the suspicion that your curse would break without him. That it didn't matter how much time he spent going through piles of books, that in the end it would be your tie to the brothers that would wake you up.

That once again, he would only be able to stand by and watch as magic beyond his control altered you and your life.

More than anything, Solomon was afraid that he couldn't save you.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[measurelessdreamer]

Part II of my musings about my scogan kid fic idea (read part I here)

It’s very delicate. And Logan doesn’t deal with delicate. He can deal with force and dangerous and what-doesn’t-kill-you-makes-you-stronger. A four-year-old girl calling him “dad” is nowhere near any of these things.

And Summers must know how much of a deal this is because he’s quiet the whole time they walk to his office to talk, for which Logan didn’t ask but Scott offered anyway, without the typical stoic composure Logan was used to seeing on him.

Then they get there and neither of them can really sit down or start because where do you start after seeing something like this? After apparently living in a universe where time-travel is possible and it happens to be your damn luck that you have to live with its consequences?

And Logan realises that Scott could ask first. He wasn’t there when Logan talked about his timeline with Charles and as far as the little girl goes, calling Scott “papa” is on the same spot of “urgent” as calling Logan “dad” is.

But Summers speaks in the end and, surprising no one, he decides to be unselfish and asks Logan what he wants to know. Logan gives him a look that must speak for itself because Summers clenches his jaw but still waits and Logan hates him but not really and so he asks, “The girl. Who is she?”

And Scott says that her name is Kayla (because I happen to be a big fan of Wolverine: Origins and I always have been ever since I saw it when I was, like, thirteen, and despite all the sad stuff about Kayla, I loved the message of her words to Logan that he’s not an animal and I think it would be nice to have that message survive in a little girl who at some point learned to love him enough to call him dad because if that doesn’t say he’s not an animal, then I don’t know). It might warrant a reaction from Logan right away. He might know what the name means, the Logan of this timeline probably didn’t (but it’s possible he doesn’t know either).

So he asks who gave her that name, to which Scott replies that he chose it and Logan asks why they would let him and Scott says because he was the one who found her. There is something Summers isn’t saying, though, and although Logan can tell, he lets it go this time.

Found her? he asks next and Scott says I assume you’re familiar with the name “Stryker”, to which Logan lets out one of his claws, the middle one, akin to all those years ago on the Liberty Island and he doesn’t know what he expects, but the soft smile that graces Scott’s face before it is squashed down by the cold calculated look was definitely not it.

Then Scott reaches under his desk and unlocks one of his drawers and pulls out a thick file with the huge red stemp of “classified” written over it and he pushes it closer to Logan. It says “Weapon XII” on the front and Logan bristles and almost lets out all of his claws.

He doesn’t reach for the file and Scott probably didn’t even expect him to because he goes on, unprompted, and says that the project was meant to be a continuation of the previous one, of designing a mutant who would be able to hold and control multiple abilities at the same time. The previous project made them aware they could change one mutant. Now, they wanted to know whether they could fully create one and raise them to be their perfect soldier.

For that, they needed a suitable collection of DNA from mutants they knew existed because it turned out that not every ability was compatible with the rest of them.

When Logan asks how they found out, Summers says it’s in the file and then clenches his jaw when Logan just says he’s not reading it. Then Scott says there were multiple test subjects that were biologically engineered in different ways so they knew where to push their limits. At the time, Kayla was being referred to as “12.9” and she was the only one they found at the facility. The rest were defined in the file as “failed” and “closed” and Logan really feels slashing through something right now.

Scott says she was merely six-months old when she was found by them. They didn’t know who she was but the following days were a bit self-explanatory when she teleported a meter away right in front of their eyes and shot red beams from her eyes at a toy she didn’t particularly like.

Her powers were meant to manifest early so Stryker’s people knew if she could harness all the powers they engineered her with without dying. It was a long process of deciding which ones she had to have and which ones she didn’t. All of the children had Logan’s, though, and as much as there indeed is no adamantium in her body, it was the plan to put it into her once she grew up. Putting it into her now would prevent her from her natural development and result in her death. Logan says, “Don’t tell me they found that out the hard way,” to which Scott replies, “What do you think?”

So, what, is she a clone? Logan asks after Scott explains the rest and Scott says, Yes, in a sense.

What do you mean? She either is or she ain’t!

Clones are usually of “something” and are meant to resemble that something to perfection. She has so much of other people in herself that no one would be able to pin point what she is a clone of.

As much as it clears up a few things about her to Logan, there is a lot Scott doesn’t mention that day or the ones that follow. He doesn’t say that it was actually the two of them together who found her and not just Logan. He doesn’t reveal that her first days here were a pretty accurate depictions of hell and that Logan’s healing factor came especially in handy and she also sort of seemed to cry a lot less when she was in Scott’s arms compared to everyone else’s. And he doesn’t say anything about the fact that, yes, as much as her DNA is comprised of DNA of other mutants, the percentages vary and there are two sets of DNA she has more of than from others and there is a reason why her eyes are so blue and why she purposefully has weaker versions of all her mutant abilities aside from her healing factor and heightened senses.

Part III

[morganalatina21]

Manipulating Death: Chapter Thirteen

Series Summary: When Harry discovers he has a twin sister that was hiding for years, he wants to know all about her, specially about her ability to bring people back to life.

a/n: i knoww it's been a minute, but i finally sat my ass down to write and I actually did it, I'm sorry it took so long, I was trying to meddle 2 universities, a job and a student organization, so i'ts been meltdown after meltdown. Anyways, hope you guys didn't gave up on me :)

Also for anyone that noticed, I did had to change the gif lol

Word Count: 2.5k

(Also, english isn’t my first language so I’m sorry in advance lol)

Last Chapter | Masterlist

"Please don't be mad. Although, y'all already are, probably. Did I anticipated it? Sure. Heavens know I'm sorry for not saying anything. Even if it's for the best. Lord Voldemort has to be stopped. Please don't worry, and DON'T come looking for me. Matter of fact, I shouldn't be writing. May we meet again soon."

That was all the letter, the only letter, said.

It arrived at the Grimmauld Place two and a half weeks after Y/n vanished from existence, leaving no trace behind except an incredibly disoriented family.

"How could she be gone?" Sirius mumbled for what seemed to be the twentieth time that morning, sitting in the living room, paper spread on the table as he wrote a letter to his godson; lying to him and saying that his sister was safe, yet again.

"This doesn't sound like her." Remus answered, exhaustion getting to him as he sat in front of the Black. "No little jokes, no funny tone, not even one who is clearly forced just to lighten up."

"She's in trouble." Guaranteed Regulus, pacing back and forth on the carpet like a lost cat.

The younger Black hasn't been able to sleep since he found the bed empty, desperately trying to find clues everywhere he looked. A string of her hair, her smell somewhere, anything! But no matter the effort, he'd always run into a dead end.

"We don't know that for sure, kid."

"I KNOW!" He spat, mad eyes looking at his brother.

"This could just be an attempt to get us out of the house, to go looking for her, so Death Eaters can capture us." Remus argued. "Which... is worse, because it would mean that they somehow know about her."

Regulus groaned, feeling sicker and sicker as he spoke.

"She could -possibly" Remus added, carefully stepping into the argument. "Be somewhere looking for a way to bring her parents back. I mean, she just died and got nothing on their end, she might be desesperate."

"Y/n wouldn't go without me." The young boy quickly dismissed it.

But really, he wanted to convince himself.

Was it that easy to abandon him? To leave him behind like nothing, and go run around like crazy? Because it sure wasn't easy for him to leave her.

"We should just... trust her." Sirius argued, calmly. "I trusted her enough to save my life and my little brother's, so I have to trust her enough to save her own life."

"She's too reckless."

"So we'd have to trust that she wouldn't leave us behind without a final goodbye."

Regulus swallowed thickly. The Black knew she wasn't selfish enough to survive just for herself, if it wasn't for him stopping her from bringing de death back left and right, the girl probably would've saved half the population without even thinking about the aftermaths on her health.

"We keep an eye on the news, magic and muggle, to see if we can find any clues. If she's out there messing with horcruxes, like you said before, it'll have an effect in the entire Wizarding world. If she's messing with the dead, the entire globe would feel it."

It wasn't enough for Regulus.

Staring at the news while she's out there somewhere, probably getting herself killed?

The Black sprinted downstairs, entering the basement again, trying to look for any clues, maybe a possessor he didn't notice at first, maybe a more convincing note.

He just wanted... something.

"Now that that's outta the way, keep him there." Sirius said, standing and reaching for his coat.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Save our goddaughter? And now, possibly my- my- my sister in law?" He chuckled, moving his hair into a bun. "Where else should I be going?"

"You don't actually think it's her, do you?"

The sand-haired man stared at the letter for a couple seconds, too vague, too cold. Not at all like Y/n, if it wasn't for them to go after her, as she clearly mentioned, why even bother writing a letter?

"It's a code, Moony!" He whisper-yelled, looking to the basement door, too afraid his brother would come out and ruin everything. "First letter of every sentence. It's one of the codes Prongs and I used to get each other out of trouble."

With eyes full of doubt, Remus carefully read the note again, putting letter and letter together.

"P- A- D- S- H - E - L -P - M -M " He listed. "Shouldn't it be, M and then E? Help ME?"

"No, Moons. It was always nickname, Help, and then some clue for our location."

"Did you manage to find words to spell Prongs?"

"No, I usually just scream for help."

"Makes sense." Remus shrugged, staring down at the piece of paper one more time. "So MM, stands for..."

Malfoy Manor.

A huge dark construction with dozens of rooms, in the middle of a forest, a house he used to visit when they were younger, to keep the bonds between the pureblood families alive. So much that his cousin, Narcisa, ended up marrying one.

"Never thought I'd step foot into this place again." He sighed, trying to be as careful as possible, getting inches closer to the house. "But anything for little ol Prongsie."

Truth be told, Padfoot was never one to make great plans, usually that was reserved for Prongs or Moony, he'd always be the lad to suggest just blowing everything to pieces and get on with it. But right now, he had to think carefully. If Y/n was really somewhere inside that god-awful house, possibly being held hostage, one false movement and she'd be murdered. Again.

There was a man standing tall, guarding the main door. If his eyes were correct, that was Antonin Dolohov, who he used to piss off when they were in Azkaban together, along with his oh so lovely cousin Bellatrix. That was a dead giveaway.

Lord Voldemort was there too.

"Great, we'll have a tea party while I try to negotiate my niece's life. The more the merrier." He mumbled, talking to himself, an old habit he got back after spending twelve years with basically no one to talk.

Sirius quickly transformed into his animagus form, judging it'd be safer if someone saw a dog walking around instead of a wizard who was part of the Order.

Sniffing around, he finally smelled something different from pure evil and expensive perfumes that wasn't Bella's stinky hair. The smell came from the back of the house, more specifically from a tiny window almost on the ground. The dark basement.

He yelped, keeping his distance just in case, but soon enough a forehead and eyes appeared.

"Pads!"

"What on Merlin's green underwear are you doing here?" The man whisper-yelled, now back into his original form, squatting down to take a look at her.

The girl was skinnier, with dark bags underneath her eyes, cuts with dried blood on her forehead, cheek and chin, but nonetheless there was a huge smile.

"I found my possessors!" She gestured, pointing behind her, to which Sirius could see their eyes glowing.

"That's great kid, but you still didn't answer my question."

"They still don't know about him, and they can not know." The girl said sternly. "But they do know about us hunting horcruxes down, and about me, and that's it."

So, Voldemort didn't know she could control death.

"Okay, what's the escape plan?"

Minutes later, the iron gate creaked. Sirius wasn't there anymore, leaving just a weak Y/n on a dark room with nothing but filth and oily ground.

"Y/n Potter." The man whispered, eyes wide open.

She hissed in response, "Wormtail."

"I didn't believe when they told me at first." The short guy was looking at her almost in awe, taking small steps forward. "But it really is you." Chuckling darkly, he tilted his head to the side. "I've seen that annoyed expression before, on your mother you know."

Sitting there, the girl barely blinked while looking at him. She wasn't nonchalant as usual, it was cold, stabbing daggers into his face with just her eyes.

"The dark lords demands to see you now."

His iron hand held both her wrists together tightly, bruising the already hurt flesh, to which she winced for a split of a second.

The main hall of the Malfoy Manor was mainly wiped away from the Potter's memory, hours of the Cruciatus curse making her memory blurry and unclear. Although she always remembered the arrangement: Voldemort was the only one sitting down, on what she assumed to be the fanciest armchair the Malfoys owned.

The rest of the Death Eaters stood in a parable, the dark lord being the highest point, leaving a huge empty space on the floor for her to be tortured while they hovered around her body.

"Let's try again, shall we?"

Peter dropped her arms and went to stand right beside his master's seat, opposite side to Nagini.

"I am not exactly patient, child." Voldemort started, the tip of his wand pointed right at her. "And you're not exactly giving us useful information. So if I were you I'd start talking. It wouldn't be the first time we'd torture someone until they can't move just to extract their memories, am I right?"

Just like brainless animals, the hord of wizards made laughing sounds the way they could.

"You don't even know the reason I'm here." The girl finally spoke, bringing silence to the room. "You just blindly trusted your followers that I have something important in me, but you don't have a fuck of a clue, do you? And I'm only assuming they can't explain it to you either."

"You are the sister of my greatest enemy, that is more than enough reason for me to keep you here."

"Your greatest enemy is a teenager with shitty eye sight? Man, I feel bad for you."

Her knees dropped to the floor as the sitting wizard whispered "crucio". Y/n threw her head back, gasping for air, refusing to give them the satisfaction of her screams. Bellatrix laughed uncontrollably as the girl struggled to not plant her face on the ground.

"Shut it, you insolent child." Voldemort ordered, not raising his voice. "I killed both of your parents already, and I will kill your brother, nothing is going to stop me from killing you when I think is convenient for me."

The Potter giggled like a child, hair falling in front of her face and air slowly going back to her lungs. That made the Lestrange stop her laughing and look at the girl as if she spat on her face.

"You are not going to kill me, Tom." Y/n could see a muscle twitch on Voldemort's face upon hearing that name, only expanding her smile. "I am important to you, you just don't know that yet."

"Nonsense you bitch." Busted Bellatrix, taking hard steps on her direction, wand ready, pointing at her. "The Dark Lord needs not a scavenger like you and-"

"Bella!" Was enough for the witch to stop on her tracks, a sour grimace spreading across her face as she slowly backed up next to her stop.

She's just like a puppy, a psychopath puppy, Y/n thought.

"And why are you important to me?" Voldemort asked, eyeing the girl still on the floor, slightly leaning on his seat.

"Because I am what you fear." The Potter smirked. "I can control who lives and who dies, I can reach into a dimension you're too afraid to discover, because you're frightened by death. You're frightened by me."

The Dark Lord stood up finally, raging fire behind his eyes looking down on her, and her shit eating grin on display only made things worse on his mind.

"Don't believe me?" She dared. "Choose anyone on this circle and I will kill them without using spells, and bring them back before you can say 'Crucio' again."

Suddenly, all the Death Eaters wanted to take a step back, noticing how their master was actually considering taking her word for what she could do.

Some, like Draco, did, ever so unnoticeable. Others, like Bellatrix and Yaxley, were skeptical of her possible power and stood still.

The young girl looked around, eyes scanning each one of them, landing specially on the brunette with hollow cheeks.

"Oh please, don't tell me Death Eaters are scared of death."

Infuriated, she stepped forward.

Bingo.

"I am not scared to die for the Dark Lord." Bellatrix announced, handing her sister the wand. "Do your worst."

"Oh I will." Y/n guaranteed as Voldemort took a few steps back, intrigued.

The girl reached her hand forward in the form of a claw right in front of the woman's face, in the best theatrical movement she could come up with. And with a twist of her wrist, Bellatrix Lestrange dropped to the floor without any second left, her body completely numb and frozen.

Gasps were heard all over the room, and Wormtail took three steps back. Narcisa, on the other hand, took three steps forward, squatting next to her sister. Turning her body to face up, silent whispers ran across the hall; Bellatrix's eyes were wide open, staring into nothing and not a single muscle twitched.

"She's dead."

In unison, all of the Death Eaters started taking steps back, it was magic without a wand and non verbal, without any weapons. Not a single person there had seen anything quite like it.

"Don't worry." Y/n intervened when Voldemort started gesticulating to Nagini. "I'll bring her back. That was the deal, right?"

Positioning both her forearms on each side of the woman's head, Y/n held her through the jaw and slightly opened her mouth. Getting their faces really close to each other, the Potter audibly inhaled through her mouth once, twice, thrice.

Bellatrix gasped.

Narcisa was quick to hold her in place as Y/n leaned back, smiling smugly as all the people surrounding them looked in shock. To them, the girl performed something close to a miracle right before their eyes.

Voldemort grasped his follower's face, squinting his eyes, looking for any sign that she might still be dead and it was all just a trick. But there was nothing

"I know you're probably wondering how." The girl spoke, smile not even looking like it would ever vanish from her face. "But I'm sorry. A magician never reveals his secrets."

As soon as the last word spilled from her mouth, the doors busted open, revealing a large Padfoot barking and growling next to an unconscious Dolohov, while dozens of dark figures ran around, assaulting the Death Eaters and knowcking them down.

Y/n sprinted as fast as she could, having a little help from something who just finished helping her with the theatrical demonstration. What no one had noticed, was one of the possessors Y/n owned, subtly placing himself as a dark cushion as she fell on the ground at the first Cruciatus. And with simple orders, he entered Bellatrix, killing her momentarily, just to get out moments later.

Running next to each other after being a menace, Sirius for sure missed that. He wasn't that young and prepared teenager anymore, but oh did he welcomed that adrenaline. Specially after hearing her laugh, he felt alive again.

Grabbing a piece of Padfoot's fur, they apparated far away from that horrid place.

Taglist: @intoanothermind @moonysupremacy01 @maraudersarelifee @elleraelockwood @darkenwolfie @hopesf @lukewearingbeanies @azuredgalaxies @klazina-couch-potato @goldensunshineshit @kaverichauhan @venomsvl @mrs-billyrussooo @mikadorbs @iavenderh6ze @wizardsgrace @reblog-princess @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @roroswitherose @s-we-e-t-t-ea @ok-boke @warcelia @danyxthirstae01 @b-tchymoon @lovely-maryj @the-sander-fander @regulusblackloverr @coffeeaddictednymph @quackitysdrugdealer @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @teamspideyman @artemis-the-ace @theprettytragic @loidforgerishotashell @criminalyetminimal @amortyong @qualitywitchchaos @musicconversedance @xcharlottemikaelsonx @esposadomd @e1213 @certainyouthpeanut @voodoodol7760 @ireneop @lovermoment @avadakadabra93 @musicconversedance @wildtigerlili @csifandom @noah-uhhh-what

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

omg omg maybe like chad x riley weathers reader

doesn’t have to be anything super specific maybe like comforting them after dewey dies or after gale is attacked

or hcs honestly anything

Warnings: mention of character death (Dewey)

my taglists are here (I added one for SCREAM) + you can requests here at any time

—

The day your parents announced their separation to you was the worst day of your life.

You had only been thirteen years old, but you remembered it like it was yesterday.

Mindy and Chad had invited you over for the weekend-long sleepover. You spent the weekend watching horror movies in secret — and hiding in Chad’s shoulder during gore-y parts you couldn’t stomach —, eating popcorn and ice scream, scraping your knee when falling from Mindy’s bike. It was a really fun weekend. You were excited to tell your parents all about it when they picked you up, but only your mom was in the car.

When you got home, your dad was there and you could tell by his face that he wasn’t in his best mood. You thought it had something to do with your grandmother, but it wasn’t. Your parents sat you down and announced that they would be divorcing.

You never thought another day could take this day’s position — until today.

You were at Chad’s, hanging out on the couch and distracting yourselves from the return of ghostface, when you received a text from Sam asking you to come to the hospital. Since Tara had not been released yet and she didn't have access to her phone, you assumed she wanted to see you, but when you arrived at the hospital you were faced with a totally different scene.

Lights from police cars were flashing around the entrance, giving away that something — likely ghostface related — had happened. Your stomach twisted at the thought and you leaned into Chad’s side, getting the feeling that this was ghostface related. He released a shuddered breath, wrapping a protective arm around you.

Chad was the one to point Sam and Richie talking to the police in a corner. He pulled you toward them, but your eyes caught a body-bag being rolled out of the hospital by coroners. There was a tag attached to the bag — a name —, but it was too far to be able to read it.

Was it Tara? Did ghostface finish her?

It didn’t make sense though. If Tara had been killed, Sam would be crying the loss of her sister. Instead, she and Richie were looking at you with sad and pitying faces.

‘’We’re so sorry, Y/N,’’ Sam said, heavy-heartedly informing you that the body in the bag was Dewey.

An agonizing scream derived out of your lungs as all the air was knocked out of them. Your heart began racing in shock and disbelief, refusing to accept that your father was dead. He was strong and resilient, he had survived many ghostface attacks and stabbings. He couldn't be dead, no.

Sam was retelling what happened inside the hospital. How ghostface had attacked Tara and that Dewey came to help them. Although he had retired, helping and saving people was something he would never stop doing.

He fought until whoever was under the killer was knocked out, but he didn't come with Sam, Tara and Richie in the elevator. He went to shoot ghostface, because according to the pattern of the past, it's the only way to kill them.

After a moment, Dewey was not coming out so Richie went back to check on him and found the ex-sheriff in a pool of his own blood — dead.

You slipped from Chad’s grip and ran to the coroners, hot tears streaming like waterfalls. ‘’No! Dad!’’ you screamed as the two men set the body-bag in the back of the van.

Before you could reach them, one of the police who knew you pulled you away. Her heart was breaking at the loss of her old co-worker, but she couldn’t let you get close to the body-bag. Another scream left your lips as you attempted to get away from the policewoman’s grip, the pain in your heart so big you needed to scream.

Chad came over to you, taking over from the police officer, and immediately you stopped screaming, turning them into heavy sobs. You felt your knees giving out, not strong enough to stand anymore. Thankfully, Chad caught you before you fell to the parking lot’s ground.

He didn’t say anything, knowing no words would fix your pain. Chad didn’t have any experience with death. The only person he lost was his uncle Randy, but he wasn’t even born when he died. So he took the support route and wrapped his arms around you tightly.

You leaned against his chest, crying into his hoodie as sobs shook your whole body.

Your mother had been called too. Her car pulled up in the parking lot a few minutes after you. She got out, calling your father’s name like she did in the past attacks, but this time he wasn’t there.

All she saw was her daughter crying in the arms of her boyfriend. 

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos​ @xjennyx2 @jennasslut​

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 26: Gallifrey at War Part 4

TW: classic Gallifrey at War death, destruction, and violation of autonomy

Cass Fermazzi's ship was crashing only because the Time Lords had indiscriminately opened fire on a group of ships.

The War in Heaven had 920 fronts across space and time.

The Twelfth Doctor assisted the General in the War Room while the first thirteen incarnations of the Doctor were working to freeze Gallifrey in a pocket universe.

The Beyond was a place created by the Last Great Time War where overwritten timelines got remembered. While here, Braxiatel was devoured by one of the Ravenous.

This specific Ravenous had once been Zara, a soldier in the Last Great Time War who was being forced to relive the explosion of a star she had gotten caught up in over and over again.

Lehena had Susan go back to 1963 Earth to collect the Hand of Omega. Unfortunately, she had been a Dalek duplicate, and the Daleks wanted to use the Hand to destroy Gallifrey. The Eighth Doctor recognized Lehena as a duplicate of a Time Lord in the year above him at the Academy that he had had a massive crush on.

The Venue Accords were the only attempt at a peace treaty made during the War in Heaven. Negotiations lasted a single picosecond, and they concluded that peace was impossible.

The Tharils, Porfue, and Krajonnu were all forcibly sterilized by Rassilon during the Last Great Time War to ensure that there would be no other time-traveling races to threaten the might of Gallifrey.

The Clock-People were humanoids with clockfaces instead of human ones. They were the remains of members of the Faction Paradox clinging to life after the War in Heaven. They could manipulate and corrupt others' biodata to insert themselves in their timelines.

During Remembrance of the Daleks before stopping at Harry's cafe, the Seventh Doctor was contacted by the same Time Lord messenger from Genesis of the Daleks (by some accounted named Jelpax, Valyes, Ferrain, etc). The Time Lord warned the Doctor of a counterstrike that was being made by the Daleks - part of the Last Great Time War. The Doctor became concerned for the Hand of Omega and ended up electrocuting a Slyther that the Daleks had been using to obtain it.

During the Last Great Time War, the Doctor and the Master were both hit with a degeneration gun, causing them to uncontrollably flick between all their different faces, including ones they hadn't even had yet.

Once Padrac had become a member of the High Council, he discovered that Gallifrey would be destroyed in the future, possibly by time war, invasion, etc. The only projected future where Gallifrey would survive was the future in which only Gallifrey remained, so Padrac set about to destroy the whole universe and convert their life force into regeneration energy to make the Time Lords immortal.

A tour operator took advantage of Gallifrey's fall after the War in Heaven to organize time tourism. They said that since the Time Lords and the Enemy used time travel to pre-empt each other, the War was continuously getting shorter, its climax getting closer and closer to present day.

The Tenth Doctor became embroiled in the Last Great Time War again when the War Master sent him telepathic summons. During this time, both of them were restrained and telepathically contained by the High Vectors (to be put on trial and probably erased), but the Master managed to escape and erase them before this could happen. The Master then retrieved the Doctor, and they parted ways.

Scarlette - one of the many who had at one point married the Doctor - was a child of the Faction Paradox's remembrance tanks in Pompeii.

Two other time wars that predate the Last Great Time War include the Halldon-Eternal skirmish and the Omnicraven Uprising.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

[cakerybakery]

Adam felt a kick to his gut and woke up in pain. Groggy as shit he heard a whine and felt a sharp kick in his thigh this time. He reached under the blanket and yanked at the tiny appendage.

Holding her up by the furry leg, Adam wasn’t sure what he was looking at. He thought it was one of the boys but this kid was not one of his.

Maybe?

“Eve?” He didn’t take his eyes off the child who was starting to cry. “Oh shh shh shh.” He lowered her back down and pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay, kid.”

From beside him Eve groaned, “Adam?” It was too early to be up for either of them. “Did one of the boys have a nightmare?”

“Not one of ours. Unless you have birth last night while I was asleep to a half goat toddler.”

“I don’t think I did.” She was still out of it and checked the blankets. “No? I don’t think so. I’d remember that, wouldn’t I?”

With a gasp, the kid clambered up Adam’s shoulder and down to land in Eve’s lap. “Hi!” She had stopped crying and was staring up at Eve with big eyes, “pretty!”

“Oh. That’s-“

“Mama pretty too!”

“Okay, well-“

She babbled but Adam couldn’t quite catch what she was saying, “They got lost!” She flung her hands in the air like she couldn’t believe she had to deal with all this.

Eve picked her up and interrupted before the girl could keep going, “who did? Your parents?”

She started to play with Eve’s hair and snuggled in. “Yes,” she said exasperated, like the answer was obvious. She pulled a blanket up and muttered that she was cold.

The kid looked so familiar to Adam. The kind of familiar that nettled your brain, making you want to sort it out to make it stop. She wasn’t human. He didn’t know anyone like this from heaven either. Something about her face was-

“CHARLOTTE!” A yelling came from outside. A man with a very familiar voice.

The name was called out again in quick succession by a woman.

The girl wiggled out of Eve’s arms and to the ground. Adam threw on a shirt to cover his bare chest to follow as the child made her way outside.

He paused in the door frame the darkness was normally enveloping on a moonless night like tonight, but the creature he saw held fire in his hands and atop his head. Adam stumbled back and nearly grabbed the child but she called out to him unafraid.

The demonic featured subsided and despite the changes Adam recognized him immediately. “Lucifer?”

The night was dark again as Lucifer’s flame extinguished. Adam could still hear Lilith, Lucifer, and Charlotte, their joy at being reunited.

Eve was by his side, dressed now. She took the first steps outside.

She called out to them and invited them inside. Adam could only stand aside and take a seat across the people he never thought he’s see again.

Eve built up the fire in the hearth and started a pot of water for some tea. She would steep peppermint leaves in hot water and named it tea. Adam wasn’t a fan but she and the boys liked it.

Lucifer and Lilith fussed over the girl asking if she was alright. Charlotte confirmed and told them about running away from the scary creatures.

It was only when Lilith got Charlotte to sleep in her lap by the hearth that the conversations turned. Lilith started to break down and Eve comforted her.

Adam kept Lucifer from going to her. “Leave it to Eve.”

“What happened? When did you two get a kid? How did you lose her?”

Lucifer never drank his tea, it had long since grown cold. “Lilith was pregnant when we fell.”

Adam had trouble wrapping his mind around that. He had not realized that they had been intimate in the garden. But that had been nearly thirteen years ago. Charlotte should be older than his boys.

“Neither of them survived the fall.”

He could see them. Touch them. How could what Lucifer said be true?

“They- Lilith revived as a sinner but Charlotte was just a spark. Lilith was cursed to never be able to have children but no one knew yet about her. I was able to grab her spark before she was lost to the ether of the universe.”

“That’s good. But how did-“

Lucifer’s tone hushed more he gripped his mug harder, never raising his head. “I carried her within my soul until she was ready and she was born. She’s about ten now.”

Ten? Adam couldn’t believe it. Lucifer had been pregnant with her for what two years nearly three maybe? But there was no way the girl curled up in her mother’s lap was ten. That was Cain’s age.

In a year or two the boy would be taller than Lucifer was now.

“How? She’s…”

“She’s half angel.” Lucifer didn’t seem to feel the need to explain further.

Adam wanted to correct Lucifer and say fallen angel, but did it matter?

“How did she end up here?”

Lucifer’s eyes turned red, the mug cracked a little as the tea began to boil. “There’s a new sin. Wrath, Satan. He wished to fight me for my place as king of hell. To help incur my wrath, so I would fight him, he sent his creations. Imps.” He nearly spat the word. “To steal her. They brought her to the surface. They scared her.”

“They didn’t stand a chance.” Lucifer grinned smugly, raising his head and puffing out his chest. “She raised hell. Lilith and I followed the sounds of their screams but she was already through a portal to Earth. Luckily it was close to your farm. Thank you. For finding her.”

Adam shook his head, “she found us. She crawled into our bed and woke us up.”

Placing a hand on his, Lucifer’s disagreed. “You saw a weird kid and didn’t try to murder her. I know she takes after me, I know she doesn’t look, normal. But you didn’t see a demon or a monster like so many in heaven have called her. You saw a kid. So thank you for that.”

“She’s just a kid. Why would-“

“Heaven can be crueller than you think.” Lucifer stood, “we should go. Thank you for your hospitality. Hopefully, we’ll never have to return the favour but if you need it. Find us.”

He gathered up his daughter and wife, hesitating at the door. “There are two of us now. Beware your pride, beware your wrath. Warm your children of the same.”

“How did you know-?”

“Two people don’t need four chairs. You and Eve have no use for the toys I saw either.”

Lucifer opened a portal and Adam stared over his shoulder into the red nightmare scape of hell. Demonic creatures stared back.

Lucifer roared, breathing fire at the one that stepped closer to the portal. The hell borns scattered, making way for their king.

Over Lilith’s shoulder a sleepy eye peeked open and Charlotte’s little hand waved before she settled back into sleep and the portal closed.

[yours-etc]

wiggly worm wednesday 🪱

shout out to @someforeignband for encouraging this brain worm madness

(don’t know if i’ve posted anything from this yet so if i have pretend like it’s the first time you’re seeing it 🫶)

here’s a moment from my Twister / Storm Chaser AU

———————

Robin was full of questions when he got home. Steve debriefs the whole interview, conversation, whatever it was.

“Eddie sounds hot,” she says halfway through, “and that's coming from me, a capital L Lesbian, I don’t know how you survived.”

Neither does Steve, to be honest. He’s known he’s gay since Nancy broke up with his senior year. Being with girls in a more intimate way just seemed like a chore to him, Steve just thought that’s how everyone felt. That was until Nacy screamed in his face about how obvious it was he never enjoyed being with her like that, how he needed to get checked out medically because any guy would ruin his own pants just to feel her up behind the bleachers. And yeah, so maybe Steve never really understood why his friends were so obsessed with their girlfriends until he and Tommy drunkenly made out on graduation night and Steve saw stars when Tommy started making breathy sounds and grabbing Steve in ways that made him feel light as a feather and heavy as a brick at the same time. And, yeah, they never spoke about it again.

“Yeah well, I’m not trying to get into something right now Robs, especially not with my much older new boss.”

Robin lets out an exasperated sigh, “Steve you are no fun! Just because you don’t want to buy does not mean you cannot window shop. A daily dose of eye candy is good for the soul.”

So Steve has a small, tiny, minuscule crush that's not even a crush on Eddie. He’s attractive and he clearly knows it. Steve is sure everyone in this town has Eddie on their hall pass list.

What didn’t help this budding crush that's not a crush was Eddie showing up on his doorstep at one in the morning about a week later.

“Hiya Steve, time to go, A big storm forming a few hours away, If we speed we can make it in time before any rotation starts,” He says quickly, letting himself into the apartment.

He was in a cut-up Dio shirt that stopped just below his belly button and showed off his muscular arms. His worn jeans sat on his hips perfectly creating a perfect peek-a-boo for Eddie’s happy trail. And oh and Eddie now had thick and heavy rings on that made his hands look so much… more. Steve had to take a deep breath and force his eyes to stay up.

This is just embarrassing he thought to himself You’re not fucking thirteen Steve get it together.

Eddie’s eyes rake over him darkly. Steve looks down at himself suddenly very aware of only being in a pair of boxers and he turns around without a word and goes to his room to change. When he reappears he sees Eddie standing in the middle of the living room looking around like he’s afraid to break anything.

“So how’d you know which apartment was mine?” Steve asks.

The older man turns to look at Steve, now properly dressed “Steve, it’s not too many people moving in, just had to ask the night shift front desk what room ‘the new kids’ lived in,” he says with a sly smile, “and I happen to know Tracy personally so it wasn’t difficult to get her to give up the information that she definitely definitely should not just be handing out.”

———————

I want to see everyone’s worms!! YES EVEN YOURS! if you see this you’re tagged 🫵

[thegorydamnreaper]

Darrow vs Lysander - symbolism and favored weapons

Okay this I a bit of analysis that has been turning around in my brain since I finished Light Bringer. There will be major spoilers for all of the books, so read on at your own discretion.

And of course if anyone has points to add please do! This is by no means exhaustive, just a compilation of my main thoughts on the whole thing!

Darrow basically grew up with a weapon in his hand, since he started mining at age thirteen. It becomes part of his identity, an extension of himself. It’s also a symbol of his people, as all Red miners are given one. So as a Red, he already closely identifies with the slingBlade as a weapon, as a cultural symbol, and as a means of protection.

“I wonder what Eo wants of me. Does she want me to take my slingBlade and start a rebellion? I would die. My family would die. She would die, and nothing would make me risk her. She knows that.”

(RR Ch 4)

“This is your slingBlade, son. It will scrape the earth’s veins for you. It will kill pitvipers. Keep it sharp and if you get stuck in the drills, it will save your life for the price of a limb.” So said my uncle.”

(RR part III intro)

Lysander, on the other hand, is trained by his grandmother from childhood to use his mind as his weapon. He is capable of using a razor after spending a decade with Cassius, but his mind was his first weapon. It’s also a callback to the Jackal losing his hand and being mostly unaffected - because all Golds are taught that their mind is their first and greatest weapon.

“He sighs. “I told you. I am something different than you. A hand is a peasant’s tool. A Gold’s tool is his mind. Were you of better breeding, you may have realized this sacrifice means so very little to me”

(RR Ch 41)

“Skipping supper. No wonder you’re a little twig,” Cassius says, pinching my arm. “I daresay you don’t even weigh a hundred ten kilos, my goodman.”

“It’s usable weight,” I protest. “In any matter, I was reading.” He looks at me blankly. “You have your priorities. I have mine, muscly creature. So piss off.”

(IG Ch 8/ Lysander 1)

“My memory is a formidable thing. In many ways it is my grandmother’s great legacy, her teachings preserved in me.”

(IG Ch 8/ Lysander 1)

But the mind isn’t a symbol on its own, there’s no cultural gravitas to it. So to him physical weapons are tools that are an extension of his intellect. In that world view, a gun is the most practical choice of tool. Firearms are the great equalizer - you can be smaller, weaker, less trained than your opponent and there’s still a VERY good chance that you will win any fight.

This leads into another similar understanding that he and Darrow share: their rise must be meteoric. Darrow accomplishes this the hard way, through pain and training and failures. He builds himself as a symbol because he knows that’s the only way to start the chain reaction of bringing Gold down. He is a symbol, and so are his tools. The slingBlade becomes a symbols of liberation when once (as just a razor) it was a tool of the enemy.

Lysander? He cuts corners, because the tools don’t matter only the endgame does. He’s not trying to build something new, or inspire his followers to fight for something they never thought possible. He is fighting to reestablish the status quo as swiftly as he can. He doesn’t need to fight from the ground up to become a symbol - as a Lune, he already is a living breathing symbol of Gold, and that’s enough.

“Dancer would want me to accept the offer. It would guarantee my survival. Guarantee my meteoric rise. I would be inside the halls of the ArchGovernor’s mansion. I would be near the man who killed Eo. Oh, I want to accept. But then I would have to let the Proctors beat me. I’d have to let this little whorefart win and let his father smile and feel pride. I’d have to watch that smug smile spread across his bloodydamn face. Slag that. They’ll feel pain.”

(RR Ch 41)

“He sneers at the gun. “No honor.”

“No time.”

I shoot Alexandar in the head”

(DA Ch 81)

He studies those who came before him, flipping their symbols and methods against them instead of doing anything new. He quotes poems like Roque, uses Darrow’s Morningstar as his flagship, claims to be honorable like Cassius - but it’s hollow because these aren’t his achievements. He doesn’t subvert the paradigm like Darrow does constantly, he just borrows and steals to get his way.

Darrow sees himself as the sword of his people, but he’s more than that because he put in the work to be more. He questions if he’s a good man, but the we see the weight his decisions have on him. But because he built himself up, he has a community that loves him, friends and family that are truly loyal and will check his worst impulses. He is the symbol, but he’s anchored by those he represent. It’s real and has meaning because of all the sacrifices he has had to make.

Lysander can’t even unite the Golds because he is built upon lies. His parents and their deaths, a lie. His grandmother’s teachings, all lies and propaganda. The Golden lies of the Society he so desperately wants to restore. He is built upon lies and hollow promises, of course he collapses into Gold dogma at the first sign of pressure. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s sacrificing everything and everyone to prop up this dying system, because that’s where he feels safe. He has no symbols to look up to, no culture to give him strength and community. Anything that could have grounded him is gone (often because of his own actions). Pytha and Cassius were his only family left and he rejected them and their teachings. More than ever before there’s nothing holding him back. He has his mind and it is telling him the only way to be safe is to double down and become the worst of Gold.