#yes I am aware fanfics can be like that

[medicsbigburlychest]

just wanted to say I saw a dbh fanfic with the tag, "c*pr*phagia" last night and had to take a lap around my house

[calicos-clones]

I don’t think people realize how freaked out fanfic readers get when their favorite author(s) doesn’t update their ongoing schedule ON TIME.

And it’s not cause we want the chapter…it’s cause we’re so fucking worried about the Author.

Like— OMG ARE YOU OKAY? YOU’VE BEEN GIVING US THE TRAGIC UPDATES OF YOUR LIFE IN THE NOTES THE PAST 10 CHAPTERS?! WHY STOP? ARE YOU DEAD? DID YOU GET STUCK IN THE WALL LIKE YOUR CAT?? HAVE YOU EATEN?? HAS YOUR BRAIN EXPLODED??

Readers no longer care about the story when they don’t get their usual update. We panic and flag S.O.S as we track down our wayward author who has been both blessed by the universe with a creative mind and cursed all the same with the worst luck.

So any authors who are reading this please understand— when we comment “hey are you okay?” in your comments. No, we are not asking about the chapter.

We are legitimately concerned for your wellbeing. Do not force yourself to shit out a chapter just to appease other ppl when you yourself are not in the mental state to enjoy it or even write it to begin with.

TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF DAMMIT

[insertsickusername13]

Promises Made on October 30th

title is the concept and summary bc i thought of the title before the concept of the fic. whoops.

warnings: implied abuse, alcohol is referenced and consumed but not in like a bad way (most of the time), no smut but there's one scene where they kiss and i describe it in a gross way for some reason and sex is talked about once or twice

word count: 3.6k

 Jake spent most nights alone. He had friends, sure, and plans most evenings. Dates with girls, parties to attend, and though he’d like to spend the rest of his life swimming in a fuzzy unconsciousness where he was only just aware of his existence, half passed out on someone else’s couch, dawn always sunk her rosy fingers into the horizon and one hostess or another was forced to give Jake a pitying look as they showed him to the door.

 My parents will be home soon, some would say, and Jake would leave with a bitter laugh. If he was lucky, he’d get to stay and help clean up. On the best days, he could sometimes sneak in a quick fuck with whatever girl was still around. 

 Most nights, though, he left before anyone had the chance to kick him out. He spent hours sitting on the floor of his living room, staring at the front door and waiting for them to come home. If he pretended hard enough, the pictures on the walls weren’t the most terrifying thing he had ever faced. Photographs from family weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, and award ceremonies all taunted him. His parents’ faces stared at him, scrutinizing every move as he trembled, cried, and broke down. Every sob echoed back like a bullet ricocheted off metal. He was sitting expressionless in the middle of a war zone watching soldiers (read: dreams) and civilians (read: his future) bleed out and die on the floor around him. 

 Despite holding onto the childish hope that things would get better, that the future held something more than loneliness for Jake Dillinger, there was still the undeniable truth that it wouldn’t. Jake was doomed. Life wasn’t going to be anything special for him—he was going to suffer and he was going to have to get used to it young. He hated his parents, himself, his girlfriend, his life, and his house. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t going to wake up every morning and fight to be okay. He was resigned to his sadness.

 Until Rich Goranski knocked on his door at 10 pm on September 17th and showed Jake that silence wasn’t the only thing that could exist in his house. 

 He didn’t wait for an invitation inside. The second Jake had opened the door, Rich pushed past him and into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite fast enough for Jake to miss the bruises on his cheekbones or the way he favored his right leg over his left. Jake cataloged the injuries and promised himself he’d ask about them later. 

 “The hell are you doing here?” Jake called after him, his tone tipping over the border between annoyed and concerned.

 Rich shrugged and settled on the kitchen counter. He seemed to only be slightly aware of Jake’s presence, more focused on the empty floor in front of him. His eyes were glassy in a way that suggested he’d already been crying and was done with it. Jake studied him, searching for his next move in Rich’s body language. If Rich looked like he was going to cry again, Jake could probably swoop in for a hug without being called gay. If he didn’t, Jake would probably offer a drink. Or a movie?

 “Stop looking at me like that,” Rich snapped. He was looking up at Jake, his eyes narrowed and lips pressed together, almost like he was challenging him. Jake flinched back, unsure of what he’d done to deserve such treatment. 

 “Like what?”

 “Like I’m a fucking math problem or some shit. I’m not. Just fucking talk to me.”

 Jake considered him. Though it was invisible to Rich, Jake could still see bullets and spears flying through the air as people screamed out war cries and fought with everything in them for land or oil or their families. Metaphorical war didn’t end just because a friend had shown up. Jake was always surrounded by imagined violence; always on the verge of fleeing. 

 “I don’t know what you want from me,” Jake answered. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of a bomb going off in the distance.

 Rich forced out a bitter laugh and hid his face behind his hands. 

 “God, fuck, me either. I don’t know why I’m here. Just fucking distract me. Do whatever the hell you want.”

 Jake found his parents’ record player in the living room and hit play. It was the only thing he could think to do—why, he wasn’t sure. But Rich had said anything, so Jake did anything. Some song by The Police (god, the irony) drifted through the room, a byproduct of his parents’ last anniversary together in the house. Jake had long since stopped caring—it didn’t even hurt to know they’d danced in this room, laughed in this room, raised him in this room. 

 He turned back to Rich and was met with a small, borderline amused, “What the hell, Jake?”

 “You said I could do whatever I wanted.”

 “This is what you want?”

 “I dunno.”

 Rich laughed as he hopped off the counter. The sound was so pure Jake watched the blood-soaked carpets go from crimson to pink as the rain washed away the worst of it. A white flag waved in the distance. Rich swayed to the music mindlessly, still favoring his right leg. 

 “Dancing?” Jake asked, the single word enough to get across his message. Rich nodded as he took Jake’s hand in his own and pulled him in close. 

 “Why not? We’ve got nothing better to do.”

 So Jake learned about music and dancing and how small Rich could feel when Jake had his hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin just to convince himself Rich was real instead of some fantasy made up as a coping mechanism for his parents’ leering memory. Silence wasn’t the worst thing to exist. Jake knew how to make it go away.

 Still, that did nothing to dispel the obvious and ever-painful emptiness. Jake could play record after record as loud as he wanted until he had every song memorized and could sing it from any room in the house, but it was still empty.

He stumbled into the kitchen, drunk and disoriented, his feet dragging across the tile floor. Each step was like wading through the ocean, sea monsters grabbing at his ankles and trying to drag him under. He gripped counters and walls to keep himself afloat just long enough for Rich to knock on his door and saunter in, his presence a song in and of itself. 

 Jake followed his every movement with every sense: his ears, listening to the sound of Rich’s footsteps. Taste: kissing the corner of Rich’s mouth—never his lips, Jake wasn’t gay, but close enough that he could convince himself there was something like love brewing between them. Touch: holding onto Rich’s hand, his clothes, his hair, latching onto the warmth of him to convince himself the air conditioner wasn’t too cold or the empty spaces too vacant. 

 Sight: looking at Rich and only Rich. If he only looked at his hazel eyes and dyed-red hair and, on the days when Jake was weak and scared, his lips, then the shadows in the corners of the room lightened into something manageable and the photos on the walls that functioned as the closest thing Jake had to family faded into… well, photos. Just photos. 

 Rich helped, but he wasn’t enough to make the emptiness go away until October 15th.

 He showed up in the same way he had before. Glassy-eyed, hurt, and willing to do whatever Jake wanted to make everything slightly okay for a little while. 

 Tonight, Jake chose balloons. 

 “You can’t be serious,” Rich groaned. He was on Jake’s couch, a glass of white wine in hand. Something imported from Italy, or maybe France? All Jake knew was that it cost four hundred dollars.

 Jake shrugged. “Isn’t Brooke’s birthday coming up? It could be for her party.”

 “This is literally just a fucked up coping mechanism, don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

 Jake sighed disappointedly and leaned back against the couch. He was on the floor in front of it, a pack of two hundred balloons in his hand. They were all different colors—some neon, some pastel, some black, and others white. He’d bought them on a whim at a Walgreens for twenty bucks with no particular plan. Faced with his barren living room, the only signs of human existence the expensive vases on the end tables and the overstuffed throw pillows, he’d decided he’d blow them up and throw them around just to add a splash of color. 

 Jake looked up at Rich. He was half asleep but tense, his face scrunched up and hands clenched. It’d been bad this time around. It hadn’t just been Rich’s existence that pissed his dad off—he’d done something. Probably something minuscule, like broken a glass or clogged the toilet, but it was enough that what was usually a couple of light bruises and a limp had turned to black and blue blemishes over his right eye and up his chest. His lip was busted and every breath seemed labored and painful. Jake, unsure of what else to do, ran his thumb over Rich’s pulse and whispered, “Please?”

 Rich opened one eye to look down at Jake. Amongst the annoyance and pain, Jake saw a flash of pity. Rich shifted uncomfortably. 

 “Fine, but I have at least two broken ribs so you’re going to have to accept the fact I’m only blowing up one or two of these.”

 “Of course,” Jake rushed out, his hands already fumbling with the packaging of the balloons. “I wouldn’t—if it hurts, you don’t have to. Obviously. Just—”

 Rich thoughtlessly threaded his fingers through Jake’s hair. Jake’s voice gave out. 

 “I don’t understand you,” Rich whispered, not even bothering to look at Jake. “You’re confident all day, and then the second it gets dark you freak out. I’m the same person I am all the time. I know you don’t want to hurt me. Calm down.”

 It was, of course, a trend Jake had noticed as well. At school, he could control his tone and inflections to the point he sometimes wondered if he was accidentally manipulating the people around him into loving him. Then at night, when his defenses were already broken down by hours of facing the empty, stormy seas that were his house, he could barely find it in himself to get out a sentence without stuttering. 

 He blamed it on the one lie Rich had told in his claim: that he was the same person. He wasn’t. There was something different about nighttime Rich that had Jake’s face feeling too hot and the silence turning into the sound of his heart beating circles in his chest. 

 “Sorry,” Jake replied softly, “I dunno why it happens. You make me nervous.”

 Rich raised an eyebrow. Jake shoved a purple balloon in his face and hoped that would be enough for the topic to be dropped. It was still too sensitive, still too in the early stages of development, for Jake to be prepared enough to vocalize the worst of it. Someday, maybe. Probably. Once he didn’t have Christine to distract him or Jeremy’s constant insults to scare him into suppressing every urge that didn’t perfectly line up with the picture everyone else had of him in their minds. 

 Rich took the balloon and started to blow it up. For Jake, the process was effortless. Rich struggled through it tediously, taking small breaths and wincing after almost every one. Jake hated to say that he’d originally interpreted Rich’s complaints as a joke, but his worry hadn’t really spiked until Rich choked out an awkward, muffled cough and pained groan. 

 “Do you need—”

 “No,” Rich breathed, “No, I’m fine. Shut up, Jake.”

 Jake turned back to his neon green balloon without a word. He’d blown up almost twenty by now, enough to coat half the living room in a thin layer of color. He thoughtlessly kicked one with his foot and smiled as he watched it hit a picture of his mother and uselessly bounce off. Smiling, he kicked another one. It hit a picture of himself as a child. 

 He turned to Rich to tell him—about what, he wasn’t sure. Kicking balloons? Hitting pictures of himself and his family? His coping mechanisms were getting more fucked up by the second—and was almost immediately paralyzed by… fuck, by Rich. Just Rich. 

 He was sitting crisscross on the couch, a balloon in his lap. He’d spent the last four and a half minutes blowing it up to just a little bigger than Jake’s head. It was still smaller than it was supposed to be but Jake wasn’t going to complain. It was physically impossible when he could barely get enough oxygen in his lungs to speak. It wasn’t that there was a crushing panic on his chest stopping him from breathing, it was something much brighter. There were so many butterflies in his stomach they were flying into his chest and choking off every inhale. 

 Rich’s lips were wet. That was really what doomed Jake. He’d previously been unaware that every time Rich removed the balloon from his mouth he felt the need to lick his lips, but now that Rich was focused purely on tying the balloon off and was giving Jake ample time to stare, Jake was forced to acknowledge the way his vision tunneled at the sight. The way his whole body seemed to go warm. 

 Jake turned fully to face Rich, the balloon in his hand completely abandoned in lieu of watching Rich stick his tongue out in frustration as he struggled to keep the balloon inflated while tying the knot. When he finally succeeded, he burst into a smile louder than any record Jake had played over the past month.

 Rich looked up, eyes bright, and faltered when he found Jake already staring at him. He cleared his throat as his face flushed red. 

 “Uh, hi,” he squeaked out. Jake wanted to scream. This was one of the differences that left him speechless. Daytime Rich would smirk and call him gay. This Rich just looked flustered. 

 “Hi,” Jake whispered back. 

 “Whatcha doin’?”

 Jake considered his response carefully. One song or another was playing softly in the background, the balloons were filling up the emptiness. Everything was kind of okay. Jake had nothing left to cope with. He just… 

 “I really want to kiss you right now,” he answered. Rich froze. 

 “What?”

 Jake got up just enough so he was kneeling, purple and green and red balloons gathered around his knees and feet and the coffee table his back was pressed up against. He leaned up so he was close enough to run his pointer finger down Rich’s jawline and nudge his nose against Rich’s.

 “You heard me. You can tell me to stop.”

 Rich remained silent. Jake thought he felt ocean waters rising around his waist, drowning his balloons and pictures in stormy salt water. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He kissed Rich like his life depended on it, because it did, and felt his heart start beating again for the first time in months when Rich kissed him back just as desperate and soft and messily. 

 Hands tangled in Rich’s hair, mouth open and his tongue practically shoved in Rich’s mouth, licking at teeth like they were nectar or ambrosia, he scrambled onto the couch, limbs slow and unsteady as he climbed over Rich and forced him back against the couch. He tried to get himself closer to his paradise, his respite, his island in the middle of the ocean, but all he got was a wretched screeching sound and the feeling of air-filled plastic against his chest. 

 He pulled away just enough for Rich to let out a small whine as they lost contact with each other.

 “Rich.”

 “Yeah?” Rich asked breathlessly, already trying to lean up and kiss him again. 

 “Get rid of the fucking balloon.”

 Rich’s eyes widened, almost comically so. Jake wanted to cry at the way that sent his heart into overdrive.

 “Yeah, yeah, right, hold on—”

 He threw it across the room. Jake found the balloons kind of useless now. He was so filled with giddiness and hope that he couldn’t even comprehend how anything could ever be empty. 

 Until October 30th. 

 Rich didn’t need to knock on Jake’s door or let himself in. Jake was at Rich’s house, banging on the door repeatedly, each knock echoing and panicked. He didn’t stop until Rich swung the door open, rumpled and half asleep. 

 “What the fuck?” 

 “I need to talk to you.”

 Rich glanced back inside—presumably at his dad—before nodding. 

 “Yeah, okay, lemme get changed and put on my shoes, then we can go.”

 Jake nodded rapidly. His mind was racing beyond what he could understand, landing on panicked responses before he even knew what had triggered his fight or flight. He didn’t stop moving even as Rich disappeared back into his house. His foot tapped against the concrete. His fingers picked at his nails and the fabric of his shirt and his hair. Curses ran through his mind like a broken record, repeated until the sound was imprinted on Jake’s brain. 

 Rich appeared and suddenly everything in Jake’s mind went silent. 

 “So… are we doing this here or…?”

 “My house. Not uh—” Jake glanced back behind Rich. Not near your father was the implied statement. Rich sagged with relief.

 “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.”

 Jake could feel Rich’s concern in his gaze. He was watching Jake’s every move as if preparing for something, like Jake was going to swerve the car off the road and into a ditch or shoot himself. It made Jake want to laugh. Or scream. Or cry. He was going to die. 

 He didn’t even make it back to his own house. It was only a six-minute drive and he only made it four minutes in before he pulled over on the side of the road and stormed out of the car, his whole body trembling. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed an escape from the cramped driver’s seat of his car. He needed the autumn air to stop him from overheating and the wide expanse of stars to talk him down from an anxiety attack. 

 Rich fumbled after him, too confused to be panicked and too disoriented to be calm. 

 “What the hell?! Slow down—”

 Jake halted and spun on his heel, eyes wide. They were by a pond with benches and a dock and a parking lot only twenty feet away. There were grills along the beach and a football in the grass. Jake almost screamed. Every sign of humanity felt like too much. If he was going to do this, he needed it to be in the middle of the desert or the empty expanse of space with no one but Rich around to hear his confession.

 No. Fuck it. He needed to do this now. 

 “I’m gay.”

 Rich seized up. He was only a foot away from Jake, close enough so when he finally regained control of his muscles, he was able to reach out and take Jake’s hands. 

 “Really?” he whispered, looking up at Jake with eyes that literally shone like gold or diamonds. Jake wanted to drown in it.

 He swallowed his shame, not caring that it burned at his throat, and said, “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Not all the way. I like girls. But I like kissing you and I like boys and I… I just like you. All of you. All the way. I like you. I’m really sorry.”

 Rich broke out into a grin. 

 “Yeah?” he asked just for confirmation. Jake nodded again. 

 Rich jumped up into Jake’s arms, fully committed to getting as physically close as he could. He wrapped his legs around Jake’s waist and his arms around his neck and fingers in his hair and kissed him hard on the lips. Jake felt like he was at home for the first time in years.

 “Me too,” Rich said between kisses, “Me too. So much. So fucking much.”

 Jake smiled into every kiss, so ecstatic he could barely keep himself standing. He fell back into the grass whispering, “Run away with me. Forever. It’s terrible here. It’s so terrible.”

 Rich nodded in agreement and pressed a gentle kiss on Jake’s neck. 

 “They hate us and we’re gonna find someplace better. I have enough money. Just run away with me, please. We can go anywhere you want.”

 “Anywhere?” Rich asked. He sounded pained, like the word burned as it came out. Jake nodded and propped himself up on his elbows. 

 “Anywhere. Just promise me you won’t leave.”

 Rich smiled and kissed him again. 

 “I promise,” he murmured, “I promise you’re beautiful, I promise I’ll run away with you, I promise I won’t leave, I—”

 He paused. Dread burrowed itself like a bullet in Jake’s chest. He searched Rich’s expression for answers before Rich had the chance to start speaking again. 

 “Not… not tonight, though, okay? There’s something I gotta do first.”

 “Is it—?”

 “Don’t worry about it, Jake. It’s nothing. How about Sunday? Give me tomorrow to take care of things, then we’re gone.”

 November first. The day after tomorrow. 

 Jake could handle it. He’d host his Halloween party, break up with Christine, and tie up any loose ends he had left. He’d be gone before he ever had to clean up the hell of a mess his friends were sure to leave behind in his parents' house.

 “Promise?” he whispered.

 Rich nodded. 

 “Promise. I just need tomorrow.”

[brotherbandchronicles]

would it be super rude to request a moodboard based on a fic? 'cause when I was writing axes and swords I had a ton of image vibes in my head and I kind of want to know if they came out in the text

(feel free to ignore this)

axes and swords by peredhelrond

“Hey,” says the figure. “Jes, hey. Settle.” Thorn crouches in front of him, putting their eyes on a level. “Jes,” he says again. “What’s wrong?” Unbidden, Jesper’s gaze flicks to the hickory baton still at Thorn’s belt. Thorn pulls it out and, not taking his eyes off Jesper’s face, tosses it across the clearing. “It’s okay,” he says. The shield hits the dirt.

[vourequat]

First was to love you, second was to fuck the shit out of you.

WARNING: Fem!reader, toxic relationship, short NSFW longer angst/fluff, implied murder, blood, cunnilingus, knife play

3rd part of my birthday special, I know I didn't post yesterday so I'll be posting two fanfics tomorrow if I can. I'm not feeling good, chat 😞

You couldn't say that your relationship with the Knave was as smooth as her operations that go under the nose of the Oratrice, it never was and might never will be.

At first, she was just nonchalant but very loving and sweet to you until one time she saw you conversing with someone else and that seemed to tick her off and made her switch from the Peruere that you loved to the Arlecchino that you feared.

What were you to expect from the child of a Fatui that killed her own mother?

"I'm a very jealous woman, you know that." She said as she stood up from her desk.

You scoffed, "And me talking to someone else ticked you off?" You snapped back.

She stopped from her tracks, the wind going still as she slowly turned around to see you. Her eyes meeting yours as she telepathically told you to stop pushing her.

"Yes—"

"You murdered someone, Peruere!" You reasoned out, trying to pull out her logical side.

"I am aware."

You sighed, rubbing your temples in frustration on trying to make this woman rethink her decisions and actions. Ever since she decided to make the two of you official, she always resorted to violence when it came to your safety but she was going out of line this time.

She then approached you, "I'm sorry, Mon cher... let me make it up to you" Her blackened hands made their way to your waist and to the ties of your dress, tugging on them slightly.

You tried to push her away but she was much stronger than you were, she lifted you up so suddenly and placed you down on her desk before tearing off your corset.

"Let me show you how sorry I am..."

You couldn't count how much you've come on her tongue, it was pure bliss as she kept working on your pussy like it was her very last meal. Though you could remember how she made you try to shoo away the children as they knocked and asked for their father while she was attacking your clit with passion.

You kept pushing her head away from you but she would not budge a single inch, it seems that this has agitated her as she stopped eating you alive and looked up at you with those X mark pupils of her before she stood up to look down at you.

A lump of saliva gathered at your throat as you watched her lips and chin glisten from your juices and the way that she wiped it off, slowly she leaned in closer to you, at first you thought that it was to hug you but then you felt a sharp and cold object run from the the nape of your neck towards the section where your back and ass meets.

"This time... I'll mark you to show everyone who you belong to... this time I won't hold back."

And just like that, you were turned onto your back with her hand pushing down on you. You felt her kiss along your spine before you felt the dagger that she held in her hands and carved her name all over your back, leaning down to lick up the blood that trickled off the shallow wounds.

You shivered as you felt her breath hit the open wounds she had put on you, this was pure torture but the pain seemed to fade into nothing but pleasure as you felt her rub at your clit once more before plunging the blunt handle of the dagger into you and kept thrusting it in until you were shaking.

Pulling out the dagger, she cupped your face with one hand to make sure you were watching as she sucked off your juices from the dagger's handle.

"When I was a child I never believed in the archons that plagued these lands... but by mercy, I gave them my devotion when they handed me to you."

You were now in the bathtub with her, the warm water engulfing the two of you as she laid your back on hers.

The wounds had long healed from being too shallow and not enough to cause you any further pain, however, Arlecchino seemed to get more relaxed as she kissed and licked at your neck whilst she massaged your thighs.

Her kisses trailed up and then she breathed into your ear before she spoke, "My whole existence is flawed and wretched... but you my dear... you make me get closer to the archons, you make me want to repent for all my sins just to be enough for you..."

You began to chuckle, laying your head onto her shoulders as you held onto her hands.

"You should really stop having sex with me just to take my mind off what you've done..." You spoke up, now stern and strict.

"Don't worry, his disappearance won't be linked to any of us." Before you could even speak up, you could hear the children speak from outside the door once more.

"Father, I had a nightmare..."

You laughed as the woman sighed.

"Your kids need you... daddy."

She gave you a warning glare before lifting herself out of the tub to dry herself off and cover her body with a bath robe, before she left however she did not miss to give you a quick kiss before leaning down back again.

"I'll make sure you'll be screaming that later... we're not done yet, I know I'm still not forgiven."

A/N: Do y'all think Arle likes being called daddy?

Anyways, I've been feeling bad these past few days due to the heat. I don't know if I'm just being dramatic but heat exhaustion is real gang, my head hurts all the time and I am just so irritable and I even got a nose bleed just earlier.

(Real, we kiss passionately when no one is looking)

[seulszn]

Listen I love TLOU and the fandom very much but a lot of people (not calling anybody out) need a reality check and need to grow up. I wanna say my two cents on things that bother me in this fandom.

1. Boycotting for Palestine

I have seen multiple times on multiple occasions where people would sit on their phone and complain about why writers are “flooding the tags with this boycotting bullshit” and honestly all I have to say is your super childish you can’t take a hour or a week out of your day to raise awareness on a important topic that is affecting millions of people? Your so horny so down bad for pixelated characters that you don’t care about the innocent children, women and men that are dying in Palestine? The boycotting isn’t gonna stop just because you want your needs filled, the boycotting isn’t going to stop because you think it needs to, it’s not gonna stop until Palestine is free. And if you wanna read things that bad then read nobody is stoping you but a take into ignition that if a writer is spreading awareness then don’t be ignorant and say stupid shit

2. Less Sex and more angst or other genres.

Listen I love Abby and Ellie just like everyone else and I read a lot of smut about them but does that all y’all see when y’all look at them? As sex objects? Like I’m not saying that you should stop writing smut for those characters but write other things to that don’t involve smut, like angst I see a lot of people under that tag say how they wish writers would as write other things that isn’t just smut and majority of the time when they say that they get hated for it. It lowkey gets boring reading fanfics where the whole plot is smut, smut, smut. And again I’m not saying to stop writing smut but please for the love of whatever you believe in write other genres.

3. Black inclusivity

As a black writer and a black person TLOU tag isn’t inclusive enough. I know you must be thinking “Why are we speaking about this again?” Because I’m honestly so tired of how uninclusive the fandom is like I said before Ellie dates WOC if you don’t know what WOC is it’s Women Of Color all of Ellie’s girlfriends where WOC now I’m not saying you can’t write for Ellie as a white person and I’m not saying that never did all I am saying is once again all of Ellie’s girlfriend where POC

Riley was a Black African American who Dated Ellie

Cat the girl who wasn’t mentioned alot but is in the game is Asian American who also dated Ellie

Dina is a Jewish (Mexican, Middle Eastern ) American who dated Ellie

Also yes we know when the reader is white coded so don’t try a put that you don’t mention when race mentioned cause you do and we can tell when you do “She’s Petite and cute with her long blonde hair” or whatever you bitches be saying we know when you guys aren’t inclusive the whole point of fanfiction writing is to be inclusive is to make sure that readers can see themself in your xreader so if your putting all these “white things and then labeling your story as “the readers race is not mentioned” or that OC stuff that y’all do then just label the story as a white reader or a OC reader

4. Futa, trans and masc

Now here I’m gonna discuss two or three things starting off with Futa and Trans. Now I don’t know when “Futa” or “Trans” Ellie and Abby came from but a lot of you readers need to understand and learn the difference between the two because they are both very different things.

Futanari: is the Japanese word for hermaphroditism, which is also used in a broader sense for androgyny. Beyond Japan, the term has come to be used to describe a commonly pornographic genre of eroge, manga, and anime, which includes characters that show primary sexual characteristics from both females and males. In today's language, it refers almost exclusively to characters who have an overall feminine body, but have both female and male primary genitalia (although a scrotum is not always present, while breasts, a penis, and a vulva are). The term is also often abbreviated as futa(s), which is also used as a generalized term for the works themselves.

Transgender (often shortened to trans) is someone whose gender identity differs from that typically associated with the sex they were assigned at birth. Some transgender people who desire medical assistance to transition from one sex to another identify as transsexual. Transgender is also an umbrella term; in addition to including people whose gender identity is the opposite of their assigned sex (trans men and trans women), it may also include people who are non-binary or genderqueer. Other definitions of transgender also include people who belong to a third gender, or else conceptualize transgender people as a third gender. The term may also include cross-dressers or drag kings and drag queens in some contexts. The term transgender does not have a universally accepted definition, including among researchers.

Mind you I am not transgender I am nonbinary but I see a lot of transgender people speak up about how offensive it is to write a character as Transgender but it’s not really transgender but a Futanari remember a Futa is a character who is assigned a gender at birth but just has extra sexual parts like a penis.

Now another thing that bothers me is how y’all Masculinize Masc Lesbians as if they still aren’t women themselves like every time I read a fanfic with Ellie or Abby or even Vi and Sevika from Arcane you guys like to ignore they fact that they are also women themselves like it’s not gonna kill you to give those characters feminine compliments there shouldn’t be a reason why your calling these women “handsome” or other Masculine compliments and also a lot of Masculine women where makeup it’s not just a feminine woman thing. Masc Lesbians are women they aren’t men so stop treating them as if they are men and ignoring the fact that they are women

5. the Innocent childish reader gotta stop.

They title says enough I don’t think I need to say too much but a lot of y’all get innocent and corruption mixed up but a corruption kink is When you find the idea of "corrupting" someone, mostly in a sexual way, like taking virginities or introducing people to stuff like bdsm etc. It's the idea of having someone "pure" do "bad" things under your influence. And innocent is not corrupted or tainted with evil or unpleasant emotion; sinless; pure. not guilty of a particular crime; blameless. (From the dictionary)

Y’all need to understand yes not everyone knows what sex is but everyone knows what a vagina is what a penis is, what a orgasm is and what sex is but they may not knows what happens when you have sex so making the reader what y’all call innocent isn’t innocent it’s honestly to me perverted cause the only one who would say something like “my cunny feels weird 🥺” or that “what is sex 🥺” is a child. Children don’t know what sex is children don’t know what pleasure or orgasms is and when y’all say “the reader is a Bimbo” is also funny cause Bimbos know what sex is as well yes they may be stupid but they aren’t slow so before you make a innocent reader please think “am I making my reader act like a child or am I gonna make her really innocent like how regular grown ass adults act?” so don't get not knowing and "innocent" mixed up

6. The stories where they have sex inside a church also gotta stop

Now I’m not a Christian but these stories are honestly really bad and are Blasphemy a lot of people have come out and said that they don’t like the fact that people are writing stories about church in a sexual way like their shouldn’t be any reason why your characters are fucking inside a church, that’s like stomping on someone’s dead grave. You guys do shit like this and then wonder why Christian’s don’t like us. Religion isn’t something to be sexualized it’s not something to be playing with either this idc how much you hate Christianity you can be a Atheist, or Catholic or Jewish but please for the love of whatever you believe in don’t sexualize people’s religion.

That’s all I can think of at the moment if I think of more I’ll of course make a part two to this but don’t take anything I said here to heart it’s just my blunt honest opinion on things in this fandom and if I get hate for this 🤷🏾‍♀️

[pick-me-up-im-scared]

Call Me When You Need Me (Ellie Williams x Reader) (Fluff)

Short Summary: When your best friend Ellie has problem sleeping you come over to help her. Like you always do!

Author´s Note: Another random idea I got that I thought would be waaay shorter. It´s not that long, but it's longER than I planned to. Istg, the universe wants me to write +5k fanfics. Everythime I come up with an idea for a blur (cause they're way quicker to write) I end up adding so much to it you can't even call it that. Anyway, hope you'll enjoy just a super cute little story! (I'm the person who tries to fill the "ellie x reader"-tag with stuff that isn't smut. Like I didn't just post two smuts right after each other a week ago.................)

Also! Ellie lives in the same house as Joel in this. Even though I'm well aware she has her own "hut" in the game

Words: 1473

(Pictures aren´t mine! I found them on Pinterest)

The empty streets felt oddly peaceful as you wandered down the oh, so familiar road. Only the streetlights lighting up your path as your sleepy feet stumbled on the sidewalk. It wasn’t unusual to find you walking down these streets at 3 am. You found yourself in this situation a little too often. Not that you complain! When your best friend needs you, she needs you. The crispy night air forced you to cross your arms in order to keep some warmth. Despite being near fall you decided to skip out on a jacket and just go with your outwashed hoodie. Big mistake. But it’s not that bad. Though you’d lie if you´d say you didn’t miss your warm, cozy bed. Just the thought was enough to put a drowsy smile on your face. You continued to kick rocks you stumbled upon on the sidewalk as you, trying to not hit any of the parked cars beside you, cause you know.......karma. Soon you noticed the familiar fence you helped painting white one summer. By the looks of it, it could use a little touch-up. Getting onto the lawn you quickly made your way to the back. The house was completely pitch black apart from one single window on the right corner.

You walked over to the corner of the porch, making sure to sneak a few glances through the dark windows, just to make sure Joel wasn’t up to grab a glass of water or something. But you’re just met with your own reflection in the surprisingly clean windows. You jumped up on the fence that tastefully decorated the porch to reach the edge of the roof. You took a sturdy grip around the aged wood before pushing yourself up the brick plated surface. This was nothing new to you. It was more of a routine. Getting called over to your friends house at least five times a week you kinda start to come up with a few tricks to make your arrival more smooth. Why are you climbing the house like you're a fucking monkey? you may as. The first time Ellie called me over you both thought Joel would be pissed if he knew. So you came up with the brilliant idea, with your life at risk, to climb up from the back. Yes, Ellie tired to prevent you from doing it, but you're too stubborn. She knows that damn well. And yes, you're pretty sure you've got a six-pack from all the times you've pushed your whole body onto the porch roof. But by the morning neither of you considered Joel's daily visit. So when he came to tell Ellie it's breakfast he was sure surprised to see you laying there, holding her. But he wasn't mad.....not at all. And when it was time for you to leave he made sure to throw out "You can take the door next time!". Despite that you continued to take your not-so-convenient way into Ellie's room. You saw it more as a fun thing, and you like to believe Ellie enjoys to too. Even thought she mumbled a "You're so dumb" before giving you a welcome hug.

You carfully got up from your crunched up position, being careful not to strainght out your back too much or you'll probably fall down and break your neck. At this height you could outline more details in the only lit up room, as if you didn’t know it by memory. You noticed the small crack Ellie always made sure to leave every night incase she got the urge that’s currently the reason you’re here. She didn’t want to have to get up and open it when you got there. Also, she’s been very clear that you can come over whenever you feel like it. Day as night. You used your finger to loop around the thick glass and push it up enough to give you the opportunity to get a better grip. You slid the glass into the slit, just enough to squeeze yourself through. The noice made Ellie quickly turn her head from her position on her bed. Just the look of you made her smile. "You came!" she happily exclaimed. You giggled "Of course! You said you had problem sleeping”.

Your beaten up sneakers barely got to touch the floor before Ellie threw herself at you, slamming you into the nearby wall. She continued to hug you, tighten up her grip. You chuckled, "Hey, hey! You shouldn't try to mush me like ground beef. Who´s gonna keep you company then?". Ellie let go off you and took a step back, giving you the chance to get away from the wall. "I'm sure you can take it" she snarky remarked "Weren't you the one who's got a six-pack" she sarcastically asked while slapping her hand against your clothed stomach. "Ow!" you screaked while backing way from her hand. Ellie just chucked before making her way back to her bed, signaling you to take place beside her. You let the strap of your backpack slide down your arms before leaving it by the end of Ellie's bed, to then quickly kick off your lazy tied shoes before crawling up the comfy bed.

You let out a deep sigh as your back hit the mattress, "I´ve told you to just call me whenever you need me". "I know" Ellie mumbled before looking to the side, "But you deserve to sleep too". "I never sleep as good as I do in your bed" you reassured her as. She smiled a little, but she wasn't convinced. She's tried to fall asleep by herself when she has one of these...nights, but it's impossible! There's been times where she hasn't called you even thought she should have. Just cause she feels bad for forcing you out of bed. She never told you this or you'd kill her. She's lost count of all the times you've told her to just call you when she feels down or can't sleep.

You place your hands behind your head, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers Ellie swore she'd get rid off, but hasn't "had the time to". But you swore she was lying. She's always been such a bad liar. But you think it's adorable, so you don´t mind. "I swear I'm getting us a house someday. That way you wouldn't have to call me whenever you have problem sleeping", Ellie smirked at you. "Yeah?" she asked while shooting herself closer to your laying from. "Yep! Then you could just come over to my room" you frowned a little "Or we might share the same bedroom...". You shrug "Or I mean, we're sleeping in the same bed now, so we could save a lot of money if we just get one". Ellie smiled at the thought but soon her face fell a little "How would that work when you bring a girl over?". You shot your head to give her a confused face "What the fuck, Ellie?" you grabbed a pillow from behind you to hit her playfully "I don´t even bring that many girls over!". "Suuure" Ellie playfully rolled her eyes while wearing that shit-eating grin.

You huffed before pushing her back against the bed so you could straddle her. Ellie had to stop herself from blushing at the sudden contact, but she's pretty sure you'd still notice if you weren't busy continuing hitting her with the pillow. You giggle "You play me out to be some type of slut!". She just shrugged "Maybe you are". You huffed once more, louder this time, before getting off Ellie's lap with a defeated look. "Fuck you, Ellie" you mumbled before throwing the pillow at her. She just laughs as she catches it and put it back to its original place. "Should we get to bed now? You know, the reason I'm here?". "Oh!" Ellie quickly adjusted herself "Yeah, that'd be nice". You grabbed the cover that was messily tossed to the side and placed it over you to. "You want me to read you a bed time story?". Ellie laughed "Fuck you, (y/n)". You smirked as you reached over her to turn off the lamp on her beside table. The feeling of your body being pressed against her made it hard for Ellie to focus, but thank god you soon got back to your previous position behind her.

You wrapped your arms around her frame before pulling her into your embrace. Transferring your warmth onto her. “You don’t have to come here every time, you know?” Ellie clarified. “No, I know” you answered “But I want to” you added before burring your face in the nape of her neck, automatically squeeze her torso a little tighter. Ellie couldn’t help but release a relaxed sigh, finally at peace.

[berlynn-wohl]

okay so I was watching a video about videos and decided to write about writing (specifically, fanfic)

Typically I don't share my thoughts on fandom as a subculture and how it's changed because I don't have the stomach for the kind of things that can happen when one posts their opinions on social media. But I'm gonna give it a go today because I watched this:

You don't have to watch it, I'll tell you the thing that got me: it was about how on YouTube, people are likely to be fans of specific channels, and if you subscribe to one, you could probably, if asked, discuss what you like about that channel/creator with others. But the way TikTok's feed works (turning you into a passive consumer of an endless stream of short videos), it's more difficult to differentiate who the creators are, even when you subscribe to them. You're more likely to just say, "I'm a fan of TikTok" (...or "I'm addicted to TikTok"). This is evidenced by the fact that at a recent VidCon, TikTokers who had millions of views and hundreds of thousands of subscribers faced empty lines at the meet-and-greets, because their content was just part of a blur of content their subscribers passively put their eyeballs on every day.

And I had a thought: Has AO3 done this for fanfic? Of course AO3's content cannot be passively consumed; you have to enter search terms and use filters to find what you're looking for. But once you have entered such a search, you could well be faced with thousands of results, which you begin consuming by opening tab after tab after tab. If you were not in fandom before 2012, I cannot stress how ludicrous this amount of fanfiction is. Before AO3, unless you were in a MASSIVE fandom (like HP or LOTR), you eagerly awaited the arrival of new fics because there just weren't that many -- and even if you were in a massive fandom, if you shipped one of the less popular pairings (or preferred Gen), you still could not necessarily count on even one new fic a day that was to your tastes.

And in those days when fics were fewer and farther between, and when fandoms were more siloed, you got to know fanfic authors. You recognized their styles. When someone posted a new fic, you were excited because you knew what you could expect based on what you already enjoyed about that author's talents and inclinations. In a small fandom I was in long ago, where only about ten people wrote fic, we once sat around and brainstormed which popular music act's vibe corresponded with which each author's style! (I was The Clash.)

Compare that to now, where many readers in fandom have the opportunity to just click-read-click-read-click-read, not just as a reward at the end of a long day, but on the bus or anywhere. I don't think it's a coincidence that fics get fewer comments than they used to, and there's far less discussion of individual authors. There's no incentive to linger on something even if you enjoyed it, when the next fic is waiting in another tab.

Now perhaps it's better that the structure of fanfic culture has changed such that we have less potential for BNF drama. But it also means that whenever I see newcomers to a fandom asking for recs, most of the responses are "Have you read [the fic with the most kudos and comments on AO3]?" It's not just that this response is a bit superfluous, as the newcomer has probably already sorted the AO3 results by kudos/comments -- to me it also indicates that folks get so much fanfic from The Fanfic Website and so little community from The De Facto Fandom Platforms that it becomes difficult to remember individual fics, what you enjoyed about them, or how an individual author's style might make them a better match for a certain reader. (Yes, I am aware that AO3 has histories/bookmarks for people to refer back to, but when one accumulates 1000 bookmarks and then someone asks for a rec, most likely the bookmark holder is only going to remember, off the top of their head, That One Crazy Outlier Fic That The Entire Fandom Lost Their Shit About Seven Years Ago.)

I dunno, this is all I got in the way of thoughts. I'm not saying I want to go back to the way things were 10 or 20 years ago, but I sure do wish I could a-la-carte it a little, you know?

[alnair-jpg]

Olympics AU Info dump!

First, I am blown away by how much love the series is getting, thank you all so much! I do really enjoy all the comments and reactions in the tags. Know that they all delight me and the only reason I don’t reply to everything is because there are so many! But I read them all 💕

General questions:

Can you draw the designs or concepts? Write fanfic in this AU?

Yes of course! I’d love for you to tag me if you post them so I can see

Do they all know each other?

At first, I would say no- with the exception of Nico and Will (they’re developing a whole backstory in my head that I cannot and will not stop.). But they all meet in the Olympic Village after the opening ceremonies and quickly become friends. They all try their best to attend each other’s events. (Someone please tell me how Percabeth becomes a thing. Please. 🙏 )

Why didn’t Percy win gold?

Percy was an Olympic medalist in swimming before moving to diving. After competing in several swimming events and feeling like they were all just small variations of the same thing, he wanted more of a challenge. He chose diving to stay rooted in to the water, but to add a new dimension to his bodily awareness and control.

What’s Annabeth and Luke’s rivalry?

They most definitely trained together, and it was Luke’s skill that motivated Annabeth to aim for the Olympics. But, she wanted to compete for her home country, Greece, which Luke thought was just a shortcut since there was a clearer path to an Olympic team in a smaller country. Annabeth is constantly trying to prove to him that she would have made it to the top of the sport either way.

Also, apologies to the IRL fencers out there for the inconsistency. I know fencing is a gendered sport, and Annabeth’s gear/style are inconsistent, please forgive the oversight ☺️🫶

Volleyball?

The whole Hunters of Artemis are a volleyball team (that apparently has no country 😅). Thalia ends up the captain. When Reyna moves on from tennis they welcome her with open arms.

Rejected sports

Will as a runner. Canonically, he’s super fast, but just having him as a sprinter didn’t fit with his personality.

Will as a pole vaulter. Specifically the guy that lost because he was ‘blessed a little too much’ and knocked down the bar. I will not explain further.

Will as a gymnast. He was this || close to being a gymnast essentially modeled after Steven Nedoroscik, I had the sketch and everything. (I shared it here!) But when an anyonomous ask clued me into the sick medical team uniforms it all fell into place from there. (Thank you no-longer-anon @helyeahmangocheese !)

Percy in anything equestrian related. I see him not having the patience for all the formality of it all, but he definitely crashes Hazel’s shows and chats up all the competition (the horses.)

Annabeth on a sailing team. Also, related to that, Reyna on a sailing team. It was a fun idea, especially for Reyna and her history with pirates but ultimately it was really hard to capture in a few illustrations.

Nico in several winter sports. For consistency mostly. He could fit for a lot of winter sports - ice skating and snowboarding are my personal favorites.

Leo as a shooter. He would most definitely build his own gear and make tweaks to his weapon. Which would get him immediately disqualified.

Jason in discus. Jason as a basketball player. Golf is just… fitting. 😂

Other Characters I’ve been thinking about

(that may have art in the works… and may not actually be athletes!)

Clarisse

Meg

Grover

Rachel

Lester / Apollo

Mr. D

Chiron

[everykindofnerd13]

I dunno if I can begin to explain how much of a ship purist I am for Haikyuu. Each character has a ship. That is their one true love and I will take no notes. I will avoid any fic that includes anything other than them, and I will refuse to acknowledge their existence.

Unless I find cute art, that gets a like and the occasional praising comment.

But under almost all other circumstances, no changes made. I will not budge on this.

Actually that’s not true.

KiyokoXTanaka

KiyokoXYachi

TanakaXEnnoshita

Tanaka alone

are all interchangeable and I will take them. However otherwise, I have a very strict little list of ships that I will read fanfic about, otherwise, out of my sight!

Tehe but no really I don’t have a problem with most ships, I just don’t enjoy them as much, especially as a sucker for childhood friends to lovers, there are some ships that tear Iwaoi, Tsukiyama, or Kuroken apart that I simply cannot look beyond. Like yes I know they’re best friends, but they’re actually so much more than that to me and I will hear nothing more.

And I’m AWARE that most of my ships are the most common but I like to believe that it’s because they make a lot of sense. Plus, this way, Everyone’s got someone they have chemistry with, when it gets mixed up some characters end up alone and I simply cannot do that to them.

(Also OsaSuna/OsaSunaKomo are both good. It’s like adding a little egg to your ramen, it doesn’t technically change the dish but it drastically changes the flavor.)

[smolvenger]

The Little Princess (Henry V x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: As queen of the nation and wife to Henry the Fifth, all rejoice to discover you are pregnant with your first child with your beloved husband. Only to discover, the child is not the long awaited son, but a girl...

Word Count: 5K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson

@anukulee @herdetectivetheorist (from your request!)

A/N: hehehehe uploading this while listening to "The Man" by Taylor Swift

Warnings: Pregnancy and childbirth in the beginning, which I try to portray as realistically as I can. I changed up what would have happened in history per the request I was given for this. No way is it accurate. But also this is fanfic world and irl Henry V wouldn't have had the luscious curls and ass of Tom Hiddleston. Mentions of sex but no smut. Baby stuff. Some angst, but lots of fluff. Grammar and spelling mistakes that missed my radar.

“Her Majesty, the Queen of England, is with child, Your Highness,” the messenger announced.

Henry had slouched, relaxed on his wooden throne. He then shot up straight. The dominant grace he held cracked for a second. His blue eyes blinked, doing his best not to stagger in his posture.

“She…she is?” he asked, almost incredulously.

The messenger nodded his head.

“Yes. The physician just examined her. He asked me to inform you of these happy tidings. And we shall pray you shall soon be blessed with an heir apparent,” he reported with a smile.

Henry found a small half laugh escape him. He smiled so wide it showed his teeth. He lowered his head, feeling a little dizzy for a second. But he knew how to regain himself quickly after his time as the ruler of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales.

“Tell the physician we thank him for his swift and happy news,” he replied.

The messenger bowed his head and exited through the wooden doors.

Henry did his best to remain focused throughout the meetings today. But he found his head swam. You- his precious wife, beloved consort-was going to have a child- have his child. He was going to be a father, and you were going to be a mother. His entire world had changed in just a minute and he was supposed to act as normal.

Once they were declared finished, he shot up.

“I would like to visit her Majesty at once,” he declared.

“She is in her chambers, my lord,” one servant confirmed.

He hurried to where you were, the attendants right behind him. The hallways nearly spun as he walked with such a quick bounce. Not caring even if his crown was knocked out of his head.

Meanwhile, you were sitting down. Your stomach was already churning- for you had become more aware of it since this morning. You could only sit and embroider with your ladies in waiting- it was only a matter of time until-

“His majesty, the king,” a male attendant announced at the door.

 You shot up and curtsied as Henry the Fifth of Lancaster bounded in. The other ladies followed suit.

“My lord, and husband,” you replied dutifully, raising back up to face him.

Henry looked flushed, scattered even. He walked up to you and held both of your hands in his.

“My lady, do you confirm that what I heard was true? Are you…are you with child?” he asked softly. As if you were in private and not with a dozen eyes on you.

You nodded, smiling. You leaned in closer, your voice matching his quiet tone.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I know it in my heart, Harry. I’ve had no courses for months. The physician’s tests confirmed my suspicions….” you replied.

 You took his hand and moved it to your stomach. Even if it appeared normal, even if the baby was now small- it seemed even the king himself sensed the presence inside.

“Our first child is inside me now,” you said finally.

He picked you up and spun you around and kissed you. Bursting into laughter, you clutched him. He held your face and kissed you again. You, his wife, his queen, his beloved, now about to be mother to his child. Who cared if these people saw this intimacy from their lord? He was the maker of what was formal, not they. 

“We’ve prayed so long for this, my lord. You know how long we have asked God to bless us someday… and someday has arrived!!” you replied.

He held your face again, his eyes shining.

“I’ve never loved you more than this moment, Y/N,” he confessed. 

“I love you too, Harry,” you responded.

As the pregnancy passed, you dealt with each symptom with as much grace as you could. For you knew once you had a son, all would see you as more than just Henry’s pretty accessory and broodmare. You would be the mother to the next king. All would respect you and revere you far more. That brought you through the mornings of nausea and sudden, intense cravings for certain foods.

What was best was the nighttime before sleep. Henry defied court tradition and insisted he wanted to join you in your chambers. Even though there was the advice that he avoid his marital duties until after the baby arrived, to risk any lustful acts harming the child inside you. To have a misteress to pleasure him as you carried the child was out of the question for Harry of England. He would prefer to fall on his sword instead.

The truth was, you didn’t need to perform any act of lust with your husband to be with him. You both could sit in silence. Read books and play chess or little games. Discuss anything and everything. Even to lay in bed and to hold each other. And how your heart burst with love as you felt his hand on his stomach and heard him talk to the child.  Even placing little kisses on there. When the baby first kicked, you put his hand there to feel. You both grinned and kissed each other. That was as intimate as anything with your bodies entwining. Whispering names and hopes for the little child. Said little prayers for a safe delivery for you. For the baby in your stomach to survive past infancy. To survive to an adult. One that would always know how much their mother and father wanted and loved them.

When the time came for confinement, the time when you would stay only in your private chambers in the ninth month away from the court, including Henry, to help guarantee a safe delivery. Your heart beat fast. Your stomach was so large that you could only waddle rather than walk. Henry only kissed you, gently tracing your face. Promising that only if there was a crisis would he break down the doors and run to your side. 

For days you sat in your rooms. It became stuffy and dark as they closed the curtains, the priests carrying incense throughout and blessing what was going to be the birthing bed. You sat there, sweating, and feeling both the immense fear of your death and the fear of the pain.

 At last, one early morning, your water broke. Hyperventilating and crying, you awoke a lady in waiting to run to get the midwife. You were shaking, pain scorching as the baby was starting to get ready to emerge. You knew what would happen, and yet when it began, you felt thrown into the unknown. You were so frightened, you let out screams as the contractions began. They fetched the birthingThere was the delivery, you cried your way through the pain. 

“Harry- where is Harry? Where is my husband? I’m so frightened! Please! Where is he!?” you cried, your vision blurry with tears.

“This is not the place for your husband to be, your Majesty. The Lords thought it best he be kept away for now. But how proud he would be of you now- you’re doing well- the baby’s coming out fine!” the midwife encouraged you. “Keep pushing, my lady! I see the head!”

You were sweaty and disgusting and at your most primal, far from the elegant and regal woman they all saw in public. Blood and fluids, including some embarrassing ones, had come out during the labor which was all being cleaned up after it was spilled.

The hours dragged on in torture. The midwife yelling encouragements through your hot face full of tears. You felt sick, even faint, as you pushed the child out from between your legs. Sitting on the stool with the midwife over, every lady in waiting dabbed your burning forehead and squeezed your hand through each push.

Then, finally, a cry came out. But not from your voice. A baby’s cry. You let out a shaky breath of relief.

 Alive. The child was alive. As were you.

You caught your breath, panting hard. One lady in waiting grinned at you-

“Well done, Your Majesty!” she praised.

You let out a gasp as the afterbirth crawled out. But it was easy and painless compared to a child and slipped easily into the below pot placed for it. A maid grimaced but took it away. You heard the click of a knife as the cord on the child was cut. Another warm cloth went over the tiny, wrinkled newborn as it wailed and wailed. You felt dizzy, the red curtains of your chambers swimming around. Then you came to.

The heir. The heir apparent. Henry’s heir- Henry’s heir was here. The one purpose for which you were made wife to the king was now fulfilled-

“It’s a girl,” the midwife announced. 

The child was in the midwife’s arms. your eyes noticed the lower half of the baby’s body. She was correct. 

For a second, your heart stopped. The world stopped. 

There was a slight silence in the room. It wasn’t like the eruptious joy that would have followed had it been the opposite.

The baby still cried heartily. They swaddled her- not the long-awaited him, her. For that was what the baby that was your constant companion inside you for months was. Not the long-awaited male heir for the Lancaster line. No- a daughter. And what is a daughter, but a disappointment?

In those seconds, your mind reeled. Your belly was empty now for the first time in over a year. You had disappointed the nation- there would be no heir to the Lancaster throne. Not yet. You had let down the court. Mothering a son brought special respect and privilege.

And, most of all, worst of all, you let down Henry. The one person you loved most of all. And that hurt the worst. 

The baby wailed. A high, piercing, harsh cry. Ladies in waiting gathered around and fussed. The midwife cleared out the mucus and fluids covering the newborn. Still, the crying rang through the room like harsh bells.

You wondered briefly if it would have been better if you didn’t recover and died from this than face the humiliation.

Wrapping some swaddling over the crying newborn, they handed her over to you.

“Here, hold her, your majesty. She seems a healthy, beautiful little girl,” the midwife announced.

The tiny, wrinkled babe at first didn’t seem beautiful. 

Then the bundle was placed in your arms and the baby stopped crying at once.

You looked down at her.

Something inside you broke.

She was….small. So small for your great pain. Her tiny face, the tiniest little hands, and hte tiniest head. She was fragile. Could you remember when you were brought to court to marry the king? You were just as fragile, as naive, as alone without protection- who knows what would have happened if Henry had been so gentle and patient with you, if you hadn’t grown to fall in love with him and he with you.

She nestled to you, her crying ceasing. Clinging to you. She didn’t know so many things…but she knew you were her mother.

And she trusted you to protect her. 

A new feeling burst on you. You were not afraid of facing humiliation from the men of court…you were afraid of failing her. She reached a hand and began to coo. Making tiny little noises like that of a mouse. You held up your hand and she held onto your finger- settling close to you. 

“Hello, my dear…hello…” you murmured. The pain seemed even more distant. 

Tears came down you again and you felt yourself smile. You loved her. This tiny, beautiful, and unwanted girl.

One lady in waiting reached for you and you barked at them.

“Get away from her! Don’t touch her!” you yelled out, the tears running down your face, your breasts heavy with milk that was not going to be used, and the hotness in your body flushing to anger. You held the bundle closer to yourself.

You understood the instincts of bears, how they would rip men into pieces if they dared tread near the den of their cubs. If anyone- anyone- haughty courtiers that were so stuck in their ways that they had nothing better to do with their time other than harm an innocent child- incapable of fighting, of proper speech, of defending herself- you would have murdered them. And you would have enjoyed it.

She cried only a little, startled by your voice. You rocked her and shushed her, kissing her forehead. 

“Hello, hello- I’m your mother, don’t be frightened, my dear, I’ve waited a while to meet you, shhhh. Mother is here, you’ll be safe. I’m sorry I surprised you, shhh,” you whispered.

The midwife approached you cautiously.

“Your majesty…the baby must be cleaned further. Do not worry- she will be safe…” she assured you. And your good sense one- for the midwife had delivered hundreds of babes and you knew the girl was in good hands.

You looked down again at your baby, still somewhat patched and bloody. For that, you handed her over.

Henry was tending to his stallion in the stables. The white one was his personal favorite. He often enjoyed being the one to hand the horse hay and feel it nibble form his hand. His attendants just beside him to see to anything, wanting to do anything to distract their lord and sovereign as he anxiously awaited news of his beloved wife.

 A lady in waiting arrived inside and their heads turned like deer. She took a few steps forward and curtsied low. Henry gestured for her to rise.

“How is the queen? It was early morn when the birthing began. Tell me- Does she live?” he asked anxiously.

“Her majesty lives. She is delivered of a…a princess,” reported the lady.

There was a slight silence. A greyness washed over the faces of the lords. Frowns remained on their faces, but their eyes were kept on Henry.

Henry took a moment. He was still, his face unreadable. He then replied.

“The babe is fine?” 

“Yes, the babe is fine, born healthy,” she answered.

He broke into a relieved half laugh and smile.

“May- may I see my them?” he asked.

The lady nodded. “Yes, the midwife said you may.”

Henry gave the lady a nod.

“We most heartily accept these joyous tidings, sweet lady. I shall see her anon,” he said.

At once, he broke into a jaunty walk. He burst from the stables, and up the stone steps, through the hallways into his wife’s chambers. He was far faster than some of the stuffier, older lords could keep up with They had a hand on their heads for their hats and puffed as their legs attempted to keep up with their lord.

 Confinement seemed like his sweet angel was torn from him to another world and not another part of the castle. But he bounced up the steps. The sweet temptation to burst through those doors for weeks was finally relieved. 

He at once raised a knuckle and knocked on the doors. There were feminine gasps and murmurs on the other side. 

And another sound, something light, a little voice- that of a baby. And his heart picked up.

There were no servants or lords, so he announced.

“It is his majesty, the king of England.”

One lady opened and they all bowed low. Even the few ladies in the corner trying to get rid of sheets full of blood discreetly. But Henry was a man who had seen battles and once killed the famed Hotspur himself- what was more blood to him?

You laid in your bed, holding the little babe. Your heart racing hard, fighting not to break and cry and yet you found yourself smiling at him. His curls swept back from the wind of his rush and his blue eyes wide as he saw you. 

He came forward and knelt next to the bed in a few short strides. He took your hand in his and kissed it.

“How is my lady?” he asked.

“I’m…I’m fine,” you replied in a choking voice. Glad to see him again, glad you were alive to experience all this.

You looked down at the swaddled child.

“Here is…here is your daughter, my lord…” you presented.

You waited for the stormy look on his face, hoping your smile would relieve it.  But Henry the Fifth merely loosened his shoulders. His jaw dropped then broke into a smile as he saw her.

“May I hold her?” he asked.

You brought her into his arms. She seemed ot know her father, for she settled easily. He rocked her, and kissed her forehead. Happiness beaming everywhere on his face. 

“Mary…that is what we agreed, my lady, if it was a girl…would you still like that to be her name?” he said sofly.

You nodded.

He looked around the crowd. The lord and attendants finally arrived inside, staring with wide eyes.

“Today is a special day- for we celebrate the birth of the Princess Mary. Named in memory of my mother. And we are all going to celebrate. I would like there to be a joust and a feast as well when she is christened, all for the safe arrival of Her Highness, the Princess of Wales- And please note, I want a portrait of the joust commissioned-”

Henry looked back at you sitting up on the bed.

“I want my queen in the center, on a seat- beautiful as she is and shining bright, as a testament of my love for her…”

Folding your hands, you smiled back up at him. Exhaustion and love warming your insides. Joy seeping through to where you thought you would float.

“And I ask for a second portrait be of all of us- for we are now the royal family,” Henry finished.

The courtiers nodded solemnly with plenty of “yes, my lord” repeating from their lips. For none would dare cross the king.

They departed, leaving you both alone for the first time in weeks. Mary wiggled a little in her father’s arms. He sat on the bed and smiled at you. You laid a hand on his arm.

“Harry, all of this fuss! Should you save such grand celebrations for when we have a son?” you asked.

“No, sweetling. Our child is born alive and healthy- and with her in my arms, I’m too overjoyed, that her sex does not matter right now,” he responded.

“But…your heir!” you cried.

He smiled and his eyes lowered to his baby.

“ I have three brothers. There’s more than enough heirs. There’s no need to panic…”

He leaned close.

“And with my lovely wife naked in my bed again… once she is better…how can I resist a night where we can create another beautiful child? Wouldn’t our little Mary be happy having a brother to play with and tease and scold over?”

You playfully shook your head with laughter and swatted his arm lightly.

“My lord, you are unappeasable!” you teased.

“And I have missed you too, my lady,” he replied.

Both of you kissed as May began to cry again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾���∙⊱⋅•⋅

How incredible a nursery they had built for her. The rockers- two people set up to stay awake all night to rock the baby to sleep- curtsied low. It seemed that despite the disappointment, they were charmed with the sweet little baby. Her little noises that cackled about. Her adorable squeaks that made won people over. How you loved to call her “my little mouse!” when you visited to hold and rock her. For Mary would always nestle and wish to be held. She had no thoughts of being a great Princess of the Sacred Isle yet. She was an infant who only wanted to be cared for and loved.

The joust came and went. The artists got right to work for their commissions. The christening was a holiday throughout the nation. Bells rang as the Bishop blessed Mary in the church with all the nation watching. 

At the feast afterward, many gathered around to glimpse at their new princess, cloaks and hats and long skirts crowding around the official cradle made for state events. It was decorated with the arms of the Lancaster house. Plush red fabrics draped the inside- the colors considered traditional for her father. It measured seven and a half feet long and two and a half feet wide. The guests invited could look at the infant from a safe distance. You couldn’t help but awe at the creation-  all for one tiny baby inside! How small she looked compared to the great size of the thing! They must have thought her a giant child, not a human one!

There was no better, no more doting father than Henry the Fifth. It seemed that the only concern about a male heir came from his courtiers. And their protests and reminders fell deaf on his majesty’s ears. Even in public events where she was placed in the state cradle, Henry would stay to stand guard near it. He was not too much of a man that he was beneath wishing to hold her. He would bend up and use one arm to hold her crimson swaddling. 

“I am the Father of the Nation. Of my subjects, as much as she.” he would declare, one hand up to gently touch his little daughter.

How often you stayed in that nursery, amazed at her. The nursemaids tell you everything about what a baby did and why they did it. For even if she was not yours to raise, your curiosity would get to you- and how much every day she would grow and change! Just a month later and she was big enough you wondered how she got out of you!

One night later at dinner, Henry wished to have her cradle nearby so you could eat with her. Little Mary let out a hearty cry out of nowhere.

You jumped- for it was loud and sharp. She did not wail often in her father’s presence.  But Henry merely tilted his head.

“Now, what is the matter, lambkin?” he asked the baby.

She continued to cry. He picked her up. A hand over her head and her bum, placing her on his arm.

“What troubles you so, Fair little chuck-hm? Would you like a kiss from your father? Would it cheer you?”

He gave her a kiss on her warm cheek. She calmed down a little. Then she began to cry again. Your husband shot up his eyebrows in confusion. But you listened carefully to the quality of the sound of her wailing- this one was low-pitched, repeating its rhythms.

“My lord, the nurses tell me that kind of cry means she is hungry.”

With a smile on your face, you asked a servant to send for the wet nurse. Henry only widened his eyes in awe. 

“Well, my lady, tell me…what have you learned from them about the crying of babes?” he asked in curiosity. 

One day- after certain parliament sessions, you returned to the nursery. You heard her crying again- the sort she did when fussing. For you only wished to…to be with her, see her- for her childhood to be as good a one as you could afford for her.

Once inside, you saw one maid trying to ring her rattle. The other maid held her up to see it. But it was doing no good for little Mary who kept crying.

You walked inside and the little girl paused. She began to smile and kick her feet, her crying ceasing. She was even reaching two chubby arms towards you. 

How could you have hated that she wasn’t a son when she was born? What were you even thinking with such joy and such love this little girl had for you?

Reaching over, you brought her up.

“Hello, my lovely girl, how are you?” you asked. You brought her up to yourself.

 Smelling how well they bathed her. How she was indeed a sweet girl who only wished to be held and loved! You kissed her forehead.

The maids smiled.

“She does that when she misses you,” one reported.

But you never forgot the day you heard her laugh for the first time. It was the fourth month after the birth. Returning inside after strolling the gardens with the ladies, his majesty not being present. You assumed he was discussing something with the Prussian ambassador or shooting his arrows. You passed by the hallway with the nursery. You heard a small sound. Like the tinkling of bells-

It was Mary- her first laugh- you felt a gasp. And another followed- a masculine one right after- a certain laugh you knew like your hand.

Could it be… was it…?

Curiosity overcame you and you opened the door, Henry was sitting on the floor, holding her up above him and she was laughing, clapping her chubby hands. He laughed too.

You burst with love and put a hand over your mouth. The servants watching were flabbergasted. Seeing the sovereign himself playing with her, lifting her in the air and moving her about as she wriggled. You walked in and Henry still held her and leaned up.

“I believe you are enjoying yourself, my lord?” you asked.

“Mary loves it when her father makes her fly like a bird, I discovered,” he said. “You should have seen her with the ambassador's son. So used is she to men with beards, that when the shaven youth stepped forward, she stared at him like a wonder of the world!” he recalled. “Oh, and the little dear is rolling over. She can roll over to one side, but cannot roll back. And when she does, she can only cry in frustration!” he reported excitedly.

You grinned and kissed his cheek. Both of you admiring the new gown on the princess. When there was money left over in the budget, Henry would find ways to spoil her with toys and dresses. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Months passed. You and Henry waited until the time was right, when you were ready for his bed, for acts that would put his seed inside you... But…you were having trouble conceiving again.

You took advice from the physician, recalling every embarrassing martial act out loud to the old man. You devoured certain herbs prescribed to you like a rabbit. Even mixing them into drinks when you could.

Yet…your courses returned as normal.

But you began to wonder…perhaps Mary was the only child you would have. And part of you mourned. Wishing for the large, happy family you both whispered to each other at night early on in your marriage. Secretly envious of women who boasted of their broods so easily conceived. 

One evening, you sat by the fire with your husband and child after dinner. Mary was asleep in the cradle in your private room. You rocked it gently, hoping she would stay asleep when the servants would come to fetch her to her nursery. Already she was big and big, more fussy from the teeth she grew.

Henry walked by you and placed an arm around you.

“What ails you, darling?” he asked.

You looked up at him.

“I am just worried, Harry… if…what if…what if she is the only one I will have…” you mourned.

 Henry looked into it and said. “I think it would be wise if Mary was made my heir.”

You blinked, your jaw dropped.

“What- but husband-I have not a problem with it, but others will! But the parliament, the lords…they will refuse. They will hate her…even hurt her!” you replied.

He remained still, resolute. But his voice was soft. 

“I am their king. My word is law and final. The lords, no matter what they think, must follow as I say…and if she is the one of my line, she is the one of my line…Mary will be queen. A good queen. A queen who will lead England to prosperity.”

The fire cracked more. Both of you looked at the peaceful, sleeping baby. So lovingly tucked into her soft nightdress and snuggled into blankets.

“She can barely talk yet.”

He smiled.

“She has your blood. And if that is the case, then there is no one I trust more than her…”

There was a grand announcement. Shock ran like a storm through the country. Though yes, the lords all complained and bemoaned a female heir, Henry made sure the ceremony was grand. It didn’t matter if they liked it or not, England had its heir. 

There was a grand ceremony. The stony throne room decorated with grand emblems. A crowd gathered as you and Henry dressed in red velvets. Though she was getting a little heavier, you still held her high. Your face raised as every icon of another Mary with Her Child, and just as dignified, perhaps as important.

“I now announce her grace, The Princess Mary of Wales, is the heir to the throne. She shall succeed me- and all of you must honor my wife, Her Majesty, as the mother to your next ruler and honor her highness as the queen to follow,” Henry announced, his beard neatly trimmed and his golden crown beaming on his head.

“Her majesty-Princess Mary. And one day, Queen Mary of England. Long live the queen!” he declared.

“Long live the queen.” the crowd repeated.

It was the day the artist said he would show the works he painted. The small, dark-haired, bearded man went up to the first one, covered in a cloth. He pulled it off with a flourish as all took it in.

The first in the joust showed you sitting on your throne as Henry rode his white stallion to defeat his opponent. You seemed to be glowing. In bright colors that shone when light caught it. Placed in the center where all would see, decorated and beautiful.

The artist went to a second painting covered in a cloth. He removed it.

There stood the three of you standing in the church in bright,  The child in your arms and Henry by your side. The three of you appeared just as grand, even Immortal. 

You had not failed your husband. You had not failed the nation. You had provided an heir after all. And all would be well.

You looked over little Mary, leaning close to press a kiss to her temple and whisper to her.

“Long may you reign, my little dove.”

[lucifersdickriderdotnet]

A Little Surprise

Summary: Through an unfortunate series of events, Lucifer has been transformed into someone much younger, much freakier, and much different. It's Mammon's job to take care of him. 5k words.

Disclaimer: NOT DEMONCEST. JUST BROS BEING BROS.

Notes: hey guys. This is my first ever (posted) Obey Me fanfic. If it's bad. No it's not. Baby Lucifer looks different because I headcannon that he did. If you disagree that's okay but I don't want to hear it. There are a lot of personal headcannons in here that you will have to pry from my cold dead hands. Also, Baby Lucifer is like, a freak. And vaugely autistic. (I'm so nervous about posting this please think it's good.)

“Run that by me one more time.” Mammon has his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the Demon Prince, heir to the Devildom Throne, with nothing less than malice in his eyes.

“It seems that there was a mishap involving him and Solomon.” Diavolo looks shy somehow, cowed. Even Barbatos looks wary. It’s rare for Mammon to get genuinely angry, rare for him to talk in any way that is not casual and lighthearted, and it’s rarer still for Lucifer to be absent.

“Yer aware that there ‘re very few curses that work on my brother?”

“Yes. I am– I am truly sorry, Mammon. I hadn’t realized that there would be this much trouble.”

“He’s only been tellin’ ya for ages how untrustworthy he finds Solomon.” Diavolo flinches back slightly, “But sure. ’S no way you coulda known.” Mammon can see Barbatos about to step in and defend his master, and he holds up a hand to stop it. Unlike his brother, Mammon holds no allegiance to either of them. His loyalty is to his brothers, he only cares for Diavolo because Lucifer does, and currently, there is no Lucifer.

“Just. Tell me where he is.” His arms are still crossed over his chest and they remain that way as he follows the two through the Castle. For once, he doesn’t even consider stealing anything, doesn’t flinch at the ghostly noises that filter through the halls, he just silently follows the two people who are supposed to be powerful enough to protect his brother. The two people who failed.

Unsurprisingly, the room that Diavolo had unofficially converted into a study for Lucifer is a mess. Mammon knows that Lucifer’s study at home isn’t exactly neat, but he also knows that his brother’s pride would never allow him to dirty someone else's home. Especially if that someone else is Diavolo. Still, he hadn’t expected the room to be in its typical pristine condition when he learned what had happened. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected there to be a room at all when he checked his D.D.D. and saw Diavolo’s name flash across the screen instead of Lucifer’s.

Standing in the corner of the room is Lucifer, although this Lucifer is much younger and much smaller and brighter, and standing in the opposite corner is Solomon, cowering and silent in a way that is entirely uncharacteristic. To be fair, Mammon would be cowering too if a fledgling Lucifer was staring at him. From what Mammon remembers hearing, before Michael was created, Lucifer was alone. It was just him and Father for a long time. Michael says Lucifer didn’t stop becoming off putting until Sariel was created, and even then he was weird.

“Who are you?” Lucifer’s voice is booming and loud and fills the whole room. He doesn’t open his mouth to speak and Mammon is hit with the sudden realization that he hasn’t learned he can yet.

“I’ve already told you! I’m a sorcerer! My name is Solomon and–”

“Lies.” Solomon flinches back at Lucifer’s words even though the latter hasn’t moved an inch. “Solomon is not born yet. He is to be a great king full of wisdom. You are not him. He does not exist.” Mammon sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Lucifer.” His brother’s head turns slowly towards him.

“Who are you?” There’s the boom again, shaking the walls of the room, knocking trinkets older than Mammon off of the shelves.

“I’m… I’m yer brother, Mammon.” He takes a step towards Lucifer’s corner and watches and Lucifer’s wings fluff up to make himself bigger. He almost forgot how brilliant they were, all six of them, brilliant and white and pearlescent. He forgot a lot of things about his brother’s angelic form, apparently. Like how his eyes are an unsettling shade of blue, and the white-blonde of his hair. He forgot how much Lucifer changed when he fell, God’s favorite, disgraced for all eternity.

“I do not have those. Yet. I will be getting some soon.”

“Yeah, I know. Somethin’s wrong and everythin’s all topsy-turvy. I promise ‘m not lyin’ though.” He takes a step closer.

“My brother, you said?”

“Yup.”

“Hmm.” Lucifer eyes him, sizes him up and down as Mammon finally gets within touching distance. He knows that even in this much younger, much smaller form, he would lose in a fight to his older brother. He thinks Lucifer must know this, too. There is a moment of silence where the two stare at each other, before Lucifer walks closer to him and headbutts his hip.

“Thank you for finding me. I do not like it here.” The top of Lucifer’s head barely reaches Mammon’s waistline and he’s going to hate that everyone knows he used to be shorter than Luke. Mammon snorts, patting his head gently.

“Of course. Yer my brother after all. It’s my duty.” Lucifer nods resolutely and grabs Mammon’s hand. He’s cold, but then again, he is even as a demon, so that’s nothing new.

Lucifer does not acknowledge Diavolo as they leave, he doesn’t comment on the way Barbatos is most certainly a demon, and he doesn’t mention the demonic energy he can feel radiating off of Mammon. He simply steps through the portal Barbatos created and stays quiet.

–

Levi is currently pounding on Mammon’s door. Mammon owes him 500 Grimm for not telling Satan that he was the one who broke a shelf in the library and Levi intends to collect.

“Mammon! I know you're home! Open the door!” There's a lot of weird scuffling on the other side before the door opens a crack and he's met with a singular blue eye.

“What?”

“You owe me.” He watches that eye roll and the door shuts for a second before a hand is shoved through the crack and Grimm is being unceremoniously thrust at him.

“Here. Now go away.” The door shuts again and Levi stares at the colored wood and immediately pulls out his phone.

Everyone Except Mammon

Levi: guys. Mammon just paid me back.

Satan: ?????

Beel: maybe he finally came to his senses

Levi: it's Mammon

Beel: yeah okay

Levi: he also wouldn't let me in his room

Levi: like he didn't even open the door all the way

Levi: he only opened it a crack

Asmo: do you think he's hiding something?

Levi: it's Mammon 

Asmo: yeah okay 

Asmo: so what should we do? break in?

Belphie: we could ask Lucifer?

Levi: he's with Diavolo on business

Belphie: it's Mammon 

Levi: yeah okay

Levi exits the chat and opens his contact for Lucifer. He doesn't usually let it ring more than once when it's his brothers. He hates to be left out of the loop and worries for them even if he hates to admit it. Levi’s call goes to voicemail, so he tries again. And again. Lucifer doesn't pick up at all.

Levi: Lucifer isn't answering his phone

Asmo: what

Levi: I called three times

Satan: I didn't curse his phone this time 

Beel: Belphie?

Belphie: nope

Levi: should we call Diavolo?

Satan: no

Satan: we should ask Mammon

Levi pounds on the door again and is met with more cursing and shuffling on the other side of the door.

“Mammon? What's happening in there?”

“Mind your own business!”

“Your business is my business!”

Levi: he won't let me in

Belphie: then wait until he leaves and sneak in or smth 

Levi grumbles to himself and resolves to wait. Mammon is gonna get hungry eventually, his chance will come.

It takes longer than he wants for Mammon to leave his room, his own door cracked open so he can hear when Mammon’s door opens and shuts. He’s halfway through a boss battle in his latest RPG when it happens and he, regrettably, has to pause. Mammon won't stay out of his room for long, especially if he's hiding something, but it isn't hard for Levi to push open the door and shut it behind him and come face to face with Lucifer.

“Oh, shit.” Levi stands in front of the closed door and stares. Lucifer stares back, except it isn't the Lucifer he knows. He's not tall and imposing, he doesn't have freaky carmine eyes or jet black hair. He doesn't have four wings because he ripped all six off when he Fell and then two sets came back. No, instead his brother is short, shorter than Luke, and still imposing. His brother has bright blue eyes and white-blonde hair and six wings and he's younger than Levi has ever known him. Obviously, he snaps a picture.

“And who might you be?” His brother's jaw moved up and down like a puppet but his voice sounds like it's coming from inside of Levi’s mind. He forgot Lucifer could do that.

“Uh. I'm Levi. Leviathan. We're brothers.” Lucifer's expression doesn't change past its neutral state, but his wings flutter happily.

“I have many brothers? I must be very blessed.”

“You could, uh, you could say that, yeah.” He takes a step forward before deciding to sit on the couch. The door opens the second he does.

“Hey, tyke. I got some food–” Mammon stands, arms laden with snacks that are most definitely Beel’s as the door swings shut behind him.

“Hello, Mammon!” Lucifer's wings flutter again.

“Hey. Levi, what a surprise! Why are you in my room?” He walks over and dumps the snacks in front of Lucifer and he trills happily before ripping something open and chowing down.

“You were hiding something. So, I had to check.”

“What if I was hidin’ a girl in here or somethin’?”

“Except you aren't ‘hiding a girl in here or something.’ You're hiding Lucifer.” Levi gestures wildly towards him and then stands. “What did you do?”

“I didn't do anythin’. Diavolo called and when I got there he was like this.”

“He's a baby!”

“I'm aware!”

“I am not a baby.” They both jump at the volume of Lucifer's voice. “I am already thousands of years old.”

“You look like a baby,” Levi says

“I am older than your feeble mind could ever understand.” Lucifer crosses his arms across his chest. He sounds defensive, like he's had this argument with someone before. It's the most emotion he's displayed all day.

“Yeah, sure.” It's fun to tease Lucifer, and even better when they can get away with it. Levi opens his mouth to say something else when Mammon gives a loud sigh.

“This ‘s why I didn't tell any of ya. Yer all gonna use it to be mean to ‘im.”

“He deserves it.”

“He's literally an infant.”

“No I am not.”

“O’course you aren't,” Mammon soothes, “Yer very big and very strong.” Lucifer preens. And Mammon gives another sigh.

“Levi, get outta my room.”

“I just got here!” 

“Don't care. Get out.” Mammon starts pushing him towards the door, shoving him forward despite the fact that Levi is dragging his heels along the floor. He forgets how strong Mammon is sometimes.

“C’mon! Just let me stay in here! I didn't do anything–” The door shuts loudly in his face. He pulls out his D.D.D.

Levi: I figured out what Mammon was hiding

Asmo: and what might that be?

Levi: image sent

Asmo: holy shit

–

In an impressive show of restraint, none of the brothers come knocking on Mammon's door. He expects it, because Levi is a blabbermouth and his brothers are nosy, yet it doesn't happen. Instead, he gets to spend the next hour trying to get Lucifer to talk normally instead of that weird way he used to communicate with Father. He is mostly unsuccessful.

“We'll work on it.” Lucifer frowns at him, a perfectionist even as a child.

“I would like to leave this room.” He says, and it sounds a little more normal.

“What if, and hear me out, we didn't do that?”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“I do not like that answer.” Mammon groans and flops backwards on his couch. Damn Solomon and damn Diavolo for getting him into this mess. And while he's at it, damn Lucifer for being such a weirdo.

“Mammon, please?” Lucifer leans over him until his blue eyes are boring right into Mammon's. He doesn't think Lucifer blinks for a straight minute.

“Yer gonna go out regardless of if I say it's cool or not, aren't ya?”

“Indeed.”

“Fine,” he sits up and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms, “I'll take you to the music room.”

“Music? That sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah, yer a big fan. Well, you are normally.”

“Let us go.” Lucifer’s wings flutter again and Mammon wonders when his brother learned to add inflection into his voice, when he learned to use his facial expressions. He wonders if it ever gets tiring for him to use them now, if he's ever exhausted by the effort it takes to be himself.

Mammon trods down the hallway and Lucifer floats behind him.

“It is dark here.”

“Yeah, we hadta move.”

“I see.”

They enter the music room without much fanfare except Satan is there playing the piano. Lucifer sways happily to the music and floats over to Satan.

“Hello. This is beautiful. What are you playing?” Mammon stifles a laugh at the way Satan nearly jumps out of his skin. Lucifer isn't speaking directly into minds anymore, but it does sound like a disembodied voice is speaking just a little too loudly right next to your ears.

“You've never heard of a piano before?” Satan's voice is full of snark.

“No.” Satan and Lucifer stare at each other for a minute before Satan grumbles and goes back to playing. Mammon goes and sits on Satan's other side.

“You guys never said he was so bright.”

“He is the Morningstar. You thought he just got that name for fun?” Satan shrugs in response, fingers still dancing along the keys.

“We look so similar like this.” 

“I don't think so.”

“Don't be condescending.”

“You look more like Lilith than anyone else.” Satan stops abruptly and Lucifer lets out a sad trill.

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Mammon bats Satan's hands away and takes over, playing an old lullaby that Lucifer taught him once.

“Oh!” Six wings ruffle, “I know this one!”

“I don't,” Satan says.

“He used ta play it for me when I was younger. When I couldn't sleep. I don't think anyone ‘cept the two of us know it, to be fair.”

“He's never played it here.”

“He doesn't play the piano anymore.”

The song finishes and Lucifer puts his hands on the keys.

“I would like to try.”

“Knock yerself out, bud.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you can go ahead and try.” Satan says and he moves so that Lucifer is in the center of the bench instead of him.

It's almost uncanny the way he plays. Repeating the song Mammon just finished with no error. It's just like him, to be perfect at something on the first try.

“Was that good?” He asks, blue eyes looking at the two of them imploringly.

“‘Course it was.” Mammon says.

“It's you,” Satan crosses his arms over his chest, “it wasn't anything less than perfect.”

“I am sure there is room for improvement.” Lucifer preens despite his attempt at humility. Mammon and Satan share a look over the top of his head.

–

Lucifer wants to go outside next. He all but begs until Mammon relents, and then basically drags him out the front door.

“There is a garden.” He’s mesmerized by the flowers.

“Yeah, ‘s yours. Most everything here is yours, actually.” Outside of their rooms there isn’t really anything the brothers own for themselves. Nothing they put effort into maintaining. Nowhere they spend their time. The library is shared by both Satan and Lucifer, and even though Belphie spends his time in the Planetarium, Lucifer is the one who does the upkeep.

“What are these?” Lucifer’s hands are gentle as he strokes along a petal of a rose.

“They’re roses. You grew ‘em yourself. Created a new breed ‘n everythin’.”

“That is wonderful.” He turns to look at Mammon. “Do you like them?” He stills for a moment. He doesn’t think Lucifer’s asked for anyone’s approval ever. He just does what he likes, what he thinks is best, and deals with whatever consequences happen by asserting his intellectual superiority.

“Yeah. Of course. They’re beautiful.”

They continue their walk through the garden, Lucifer “oo”-ing and “ah”-ing at the different Devildom flora. They come across one of Satan’s stray cats that Lucifer pretends not to know about and he laughs, bright and tinkling. It sounds like wind chimes. Mammon watches his face split open into a smile so bright it hurts to look at before fading into something softer but no less radiant. He doesn’t think he’s seen him this full of joy or wonder ever. He wonders when the last time Lucifer was unburdened.

They come to the center of the garden, where a bubbling fountain sits and find Belphie lying in the grass, staring at the stars.

“Hello.” Lucifer’s voice is less loud now that he’s had more practice, but it still fills the space like he’s talking at you from every direction at once. Belphie tilts his head in Lucifer’s direction.

“Hey.”

“Who are you?” Lucifer leans over him, blocking his view.

“Belphegor.” He pokes the side of Lucifer’s knee and chuckles when Lucifer twitches.

“Are you one of my brothers?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I have so many! It is nice to know I am no longer lonely.” Lucifer pauses for a second. “Not that Father is bad company.”

Belphie hums and puts his hand on the top of Lucifer’s head, pushing him out of the way of the sky. Lucifer squawks and Mammon is definitely going to mock him for it when he goes back to normal.

“That was rude.”

“You were in the way.” Lucifer huffs slightly and tilts his head up to stare at the sky, leaning so far back he almost falls over. Belphie laughs at him. “Lay down, dummy.”

“I am not dumb,” he lays down, wings curling over him like a blanket. “I am incredibly intelligent. Although, there is still much I have to learn.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Belphie’s dry tone makes Lucifer huff again, grumbling softly in irritation. Mammon sits down on one of the benches behind them and looks up too.

“There are many more stars than the last time I looked,” Lucifer says.

“I’d imagine they haven’t formed yet.” Lucifer hums and continues to gape at the full sky. “You see that one?” Belphie grabs Lucifer’s hand and uses it to point at a constellation. Mammon knows which one he’s looking for before he’s done guiding Lucifer’s arm.

“Yes.”

“You and I made that one together.”

“Wow.” Lucifer’s voice is soft, quieting so that it sounds like it’s coming from him instead of from everywhere. He turns his head to look into Belphie’s eyes. “It is radiant. You did a good job.” Belphie sputters at the praise.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You should be proud of your achievements, Belphegor.” He redirects his gaze back at the sky, finally tucking his arm back between his body and his wings. “Creation is a beautiful thing.”

–

The thing about Lucifer’s stare is that it’s always been incredibly unsettling. As an angel or a demon, if he looks at you for long enough, you’re going to spill your secrets. Mammon has only ever known Barbatos and Michael to be immune to the effects. It’s somehow worse now that he’s small. Maybe because there’s no reasoning behind it. He’s not staring to get information out of you, or to get you to behave, he is simply observing. He’s doing it now, watching as Asmo gets ready to leave the house.

“What is that?” He’s standing directly over Asmo’s shoulder, alternating between staring at the side of his face, peering at him through the mirror, and oggling over all the cosmetics Asmo has on his vanity. Mammon is playing on his phone, lounging on Asmo’s bed because Asmo got tired of using him as a test subject half an hour ago.

“It’s blush.” Asmo dips a fluffy brush into it and places it on the highs of his cheekbones.

“What does it do?”

“It makes it look like I have color on my face.” Asmo puts a hand over the half of his face with blush and points in the mirror. “See how my face kind of looks colorless here?” He moves his hand, “Now, I look all rosy.”

“Wow. That is amazing.” Lucifer leans forward more, like getting closer to the mirror will help him see better. “Can I have some?” The question makes Mammon almost drop his phone on his face and makes Asmo still. He meets Lucifer’s sharp blue eyes with his own.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I would like to be colorful, too.” Asmo snorts unattractively and mumbles something Mammon doesn’t hear. He rummages around his desk until he finds a different color blush, something more suitable for Lucifer’s pale complexion.

“Here.” He swipes the brush across Lucifer’s cheeks and nose and Lucifer giggles. Wind chimes tinkling through the air again. Asmo smiles and brushes some across his nose just to watch him scrunch it up.

“That tickles.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

They sit like that for a while, Lucifer watching Asmo do his makeup and then asking what it’s for. Asking for Asmo to do the same to him. It makes Mammon think of the times before RAD was fully built, when Lucifer still had time for all of them. It makes him think of before, right after the twins were born, when by some miracle he was around for long enough to know them. Lucifer’s been busy since before Mammon was thrust on him, since before Mammon was created, he must be so tired.

“What are you doing this for?” Lucifer has shifted so he’s sitting halfway in Asmo’s lap, forcing the younger to work around him and his wings.

“I’m going out.”

“To where?”

“I’m going to hang out with Solomon.” The answer makes Lucifer’s wings ruffle unhappily, makes him cross his arms over his chest.

“I do not like him.” His voice has shifted so it’s louder again, coming from multiple places at once now that he’s upset.

“I know.”

“Then why do you hang out with him?”

“He makes me happy.” Asmo sets his things down and pets the top of Lucifer’s head, fluffing through his hair in a way that Lucifer would never let him if he were himself. At present, the casual affection makes a chirp rise in the back of his throat and he leans into the touch like a cat.

“Oh,” he considers this for a second. “I suppose that if he makes you happy, it is okay.” Asmo laughs.

“You’ve said that before.”

“It is an easy choice. You are happy. That is what matters most to me.”

“He looks so different,” Asmo meets Mammon’s eyes through the mirror, “but I guess his goals have always been the same, haven’t they?”

–

Lucifer insists on walking Asmo to the door and staring down Solomon silently as they leave. It makes Mammon laugh and Solomon almost piss his pants. Asmo rolls his eyes at the whole ordeal and kisses Lucifer’s forehead as he leaves. Neither of them take a picture of the way his cheeks flush at the action, just like neither of them set it as his contact photo.

“Mammon,” Lucifer tugs on his sleeve as they make their way back to Mammon’s room, “I am hungry.” Mammon sighs and redirects them to the kitchen.

They find Beel in there, gross and sweaty from a workout, and angrily rummaging through the cabinets.

“Mammon,” he does not sound happy, “where are all of my snacks?”

“Uhhh.” He’s seconds away from slinging Lucifer over his shoulder and sprinting out of the kitchen when Lucifer moves over to look in the cabinets and recognizes something.

“Oh,” he pulls out a bag of chips that only Beel eats, “I had some of these earlier. May I have them again?” He’s looking at Mammon and Beel is looking at him and Mammon sends a prayer to the Demon King that Lucifer manages to survive this because he doesn’t know what he’d do without him.

“You.” Beel’s face is slowly turning red. “You ate my chips.”

“I had not realized they were yours. They are very good.”

There’s a moment of silence where Lucifer stares up at Beel and Beel takes several deep breaths in and out.

“That’s the last bag.”

“Would you like it, then? Mammon will surely find me something else.”

“No,” he sighs, “I guess you can have it.”

“Thank you!” He smiles again and Beel squints against it. “That is very kind.”

“You always say you hate that flavor.” Beel watches Lucifer tear into the bag like he hasn’t eaten in days. Save for the snacks Mammon gave him earlier, he probably hasn’t.

“I do not know why I would lie. These are very good. My favorite of the ones Mammon provided me with earlier.”

“They’re my favorite, too.”

“Would you like to share?” Lucifer offers Beel the bag and pouts a little when Beel shakes his head. His fingers and cheeks are covered in chip crumbs and he’s generally making a mess. He looks adorable.

Beel grumbles and looks at Mammon unhappily,

“You’re lucky.”

“Most definitely.”

“I’m going back to my workout.” Beel grabs something from the fridge that has Mammon’s name on it and makes to leave the kitchen, and Lucifer floats behind him.

“Where are you going?”

“To the gym.”

“What is a ‘gym’?”

“Uh. Follow me, I guess.” And he does. Lucifer watches in wonder as Beel returns to whatever set he was on, insists on trying the equipment, too. “Hey, do you wanna try something?”

“Yes!”

Beel sets himself up for a push up and gestures for his brother to sit on his back. Lucifer finds it delightful, wind-chime giggles ringing through the gym. It almost makes the stench of Beel sweat bearable.

–

Beel has usurped Mammon as little Lucifer’s favorite just because Beel is carrying him around the House on his shoulders.

“That’s not even fair! I can carry him!” Mammon walks slowly in front of Beel on purpose, not above tripping him to get what he wants.

“But you aren’t.” Beel walks deftly around him and Lucifer laughs at the way Mammon runs to catch up. He’s lucky he’s cute.

“Hey!” Levi’s door bangs open and it startles Mammon enough that he shrieks. “I want to hang out with him, too.”

“Levi,” Lucifer wiggles himself off of Beel’s shoulders, “we met earlier, yes?”

“Uh,” he doesn’t seem to know what to do under the weight of his brother’s stare, “yeah. We did.”

“I have done an activity with everyone. What is your activity?”

“We could play a game?”

“Like hide and seek? I do not like hide and seek.” Lucifer crosses his arms over his chest in a way that makes him look almost petulant. “Father always wins.”

“No, I was thinking we could play, uhm. Devil Kart.”

“I do not know what that is.”

“Good, maybe I’ll actually beat you this time.” Levi’s words make Lucifer ruffle in displeasure.

“I do not like to lose.”

“No, you definitely don’t.”

Levi pulls the three of them into his room and turns on the TV, feiging surprise when everything is already set up.

“Will you teach me how to play?” He considers it for a split second.

“No, you’ll figure it out. Afterall, you’re not a baby right?” Lucifer lets out another unflattering squawk followed by grumbles about fairness.

Despite the fact that no one taught him how to play, Lucifer proceeds to beat them all at the game in a way that is unsurprising but extremely annoying. Levi pouts and sighs about it, Envy leaking into the air.

“Do not fret, Levi. I am sure there are things you are better at than me.”

“Don’t lie, Lucifer. You’re good at everything.” Levi sinks further into his tub and jumps when Lucifer’s head pops over the rim.

“I do not believe so. I think I am bad at spending time with my family.” Lucifer’s face twists into a frown. “I did not think I was one to squander such blessings.”

“Well, it’s not like that’s your fault,” Levi rushes to comfort his brother, only because seeing his usually neutral face in anything except that or a smile is discomforting. “You have a lot of responsibilities.”

“Then it is not your fault I beat you at the game then, is it?” A mischievous twinkle lights up his blue eyes, “I must have what they call beginner’s luck.” Levi sits up suddenly, reenergized.

“Yeah! Obviously! There’s no way I’m letting a baby beat me in my own domain.” He grabs a controller again and Lucifer resolutely doesn’t mention the fact that he’s no longer a baby.

–

By the time they all turn in, Levi has managed to beat Lucifer once. Coincidentally, that’s when he kicks them all out of his room, claiming tiredness. The timing works out, because Lucifer is rubbing his eyes tiredly and stifling yawns. Mammon has to restrain the urge to coo several times.

The walk from Levi’s room to Mammon’s is a short one, but Lucifer still seems too tired to make it, so of course, Mammon carries him there. He sets his brother into his bed and goes to lay on his couch when a tiny hand grabs at his wrist.

“Mammon?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Sure.” Mammon crawls under his covers and pretends like this isn’t the first time in a long time he’s cuddled with his brother like this. There’s quiet, and Mammon thinks that Lucifer must be asleep when he says something.

“Thank you for taking care of me today.”

“It’s nothin’.”

“It is not. It is everything.”

–

Mammon knows his brother is back to normal when he wakes up because he is both no longer the big spoon and because baby Lucifer didn’t have this many muscles.

“Mammon,” his brother’s voice is deeper and for once feels like it’s coming out of his body instead of out of thin air.

“Mmh.” He doesn’t move away from the cuddle. Lucifer’s arms seem to tighten around him.

“Thank you.”

“‘S whatever.” He hears Lucifer let out a huff at his easy dismissal and decides to ignore it. His brother’s arms are nice, comforting. It’s been a long time since they’ve hugged like this, since he’s been able to rest in the safety of Lucifer’s hold. He misses it.

“I have to get up.”

“Nah.” Another sigh. Lucifer only shifts to get more comfortable.

“Don’t tell anyone that I’m doing this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

–

It doesn’t matter that Mammon didn’t tell anyone, because the two of them fall back to sleep and when Beel comes to fetch them for breakfast he takes a picture instead of waking them up. 

Lucifer has to pay Asmo not to post it.

[waffle-gal]

TADC - ADVENTURE AU MASTERPOST & BOUNDARIES

Big thanks to @burrotello for letting me use your digital circus logo 💜

SUMMARY:

When a virus manages to sneak into Caine's "Amazing Digital Expansion” his powers end up getting stolen! With everyone split up and lost, it’s up to Caine and Pomni to journey around the digital world to get back his powers, stop the virus and save their world!

In this slow-burn romance adventure, Caine tries to understand what it's like to be human, while Pomni just wants to live at the end of the day.

They both get into more trouble than they bargained for, as danger, peril and love await in The Amazing Digital Adventure!

ADVENTURE MASTER LIST

First Doodles!

Our Majestic Heroes

Caine and Pomni's Tents

Animal Crossing Vibes

New Member

The Map

TADA!

Updated Line Up with The Virus

Moodboard

More Doodles!

Caines' Stick Fight (Featuring @/iamespecter)

TADA x Freakshow (Part 2)

NEW The Rest of the Cast!

CAINE AND POMNI / SHOWTIME

Showtime's my Showtime AU

A Single Kiss (feat. Discord Friends)

IT'S A SLOWBURN

Hang In There!

Hang In There (color version)

Smooch

I'm So Autistic About Your AU I Swear

Until I Found You...

Some Friends' Fanart!

Official Comics:

Thank You for Being a Friend (Part 1)

Thank You for Being a Friend (Part 2)

INFO CARDS (To be Updated):

PLAYLIST

Q&A and BOUNDARIES

Can I draw fan art and write fanfics for this AU?

Absolutely go for it!! I would love to see what you make! 💕

Can I make NSFW for this AU?

Yes! I am an adult, but I am also aware I have a following of people who are minors. So, if you do make content, please spoiler it and use the appropriate tags.

Can I dub/voice your comics?

Please credit me if you do!

Waffle, isn't this just canon Pomni and Caine?

But hear me out-- Hear me out... What if I told you...

Showtime? 👀

I don’t ship Showtime, is this an AU for me?

Probably not, but I think it’s still good to be open to the pairing if you’re interested! If you’re still not then no biggie, but don’t attack others for what they like please. Thank you.

[featherandferns]

my thoughts on the rudy/madison discourse and obx 4 generally (spoilers):

I watch obx 4 for the characters. I appreciate the actors, find their behind the scenes moments entertaining at times, and indulge in the occasional interview or Instagram post, but I do not 'follow' the actors. My fanfics are about JJ Maybank as a character, not Rudy Pankow. I appreciate Rudy Pankow's attraction, especially when playing JJ's character, but writing fanfic about Rudy himself (or any other actor) is, for me, uncomfortable. That isn't to shame anybody who does write or read such content, it just makes me personally feel uncomfortable.

All this to say: I don't care about the drama. I don't care about why Rudy left the show, whether this was his decision or the writer's. I think Rudy's girlfriend seems lovely, but I am highly aware neither myself nor anybody else knows her. Rudy is a grown man. He's in his twenties. He can decide who he does and does not want to date, and who he does and does not want to spend his time with, both on and off set. An Instagram post Rudy made on his story on Canadian Thanksgiving I think summed it up perfectly: he loves his girlfriend, and if people can't get behind that, then get out.

Furthermore, Madison and Rudy do not owe anybody anything. I don't find interest or want to engage in the toxic debate of the 'he said, she said'. They're all adults, they all have their own lives, this is all between them. The speculation and pressure from fans is cruel and uncalled for. They don't owe anybody insight into their private lives. Maybe they aren't friends anymore - that's okay! People drift apart, people fall out. Yes, it's sad to see the change from season 1 in terms of dynamics, but a lot can happen behind the scenes. That's life! Also, I don't like the comparison between Rudy and Madison, and Madison and Chase. People saying 'but the actual ex-couple can work together fine' are forgetting that every situation is different! I had an ex-boyfriend at an old job; I was pissed at him for a few months but civil at work, and then I got over it and he apologised and we became actual friends about a year after the break-up. However, I have other ex-friends and ex-lovers who I could not ever tolerate or be near, and I can't imagine what it would have been like having to work with them after a falling out. If this is the case for Rudy and Madison, that's a really tough thing to navigate! Give them grace - yes they're actors, but they're humans too! The bottom line is: it's their life, leave them alone.

Following on from that, stop placing blame! We don't know why Rudy left the show. There's all different opinions and sources about who said what, who did what, who is the 'bad guy'. Nobody knows the truth but the three involved and, as I said before, they owe this to nobody to disclose.

I think Rudy leaving the show, whilst sad, is a fair decision. OBX began filming in 2019. You do a lot of growing from there and, especially with changes in writing, you can want a change. I think actors can sometimes be too tethered to their characters and it limits their future work abilities, because nobody can picture them as anything other than that character. You can still have successful careers because of this (think Camila Mendes and Riverdale; Matt Le Blanc and Friends; Ellen Pompeo and Meredith Grey), but Rudy clearly wants to explore other areas and other characters, like theatre and Indie movies. Good for him! We should support him! I don't love this 'I'm sorry we couldn't save you from your actor, JJ' stuff, because Rudy gave his heart and soul to that character and that performance. He doesn't deserve to be punished because he craves a change. It's the same as any other job/career; we all want a change sometimes.

The writers and show creators have been getting a lot of backlash too. Here's my thoughts on season 4: was it their best season? No. Did it do some of the other seasons and previous plotlines/character development justice? No. Did JJ have to die? Not necessarily. However, it is easy to lose sight of the small picture when you have increased demand and increased budgets. Netflix like 'bigger and better'. When people are given more creative freedom, sometimes things can veer off course. We can forget the original character motivations, dreams and desires by getting caught up in the spectacle. The only show I've ever seen that really keeps the characters true and consistent, whilst developing, and never forgetting a plot point, is Bojack Horseman. To me, that is the only show. It's a shame, yes, that it veered so far from season 1's aesthetic, but that's how it is.

As a fellow creator, I feel it's cruel sending so much blatant hate to the writers and creators for making the show. If Rudy did want to leave, they had to find a way to make this work for JJ. Yes, I've seen some say 'he didn't have to die' but I sort of disagree. JJ is too loyal and attached to his friends to just 'go off' on his own to somewhere else. That would also be out of character. I think the way he died, and the build-up and plot points that didn't get resolved prior to his death, is a little annoying. I don't like how it wasn't in Kildare, in his home, and in a different country. But hey - that's just me.

I know, that if I took so much time and energy and money, working and building something that I am proud of just, just to receive so much black-and-white hate, I'd be crushed. Constructive criticisms and opinions are good - we can be upset about a character dying - but saying 'fuck you' and 'we hate you' is a bit mean, in my opinion. The time and energy and work gone into this season is astounding. The travelling and set design is incredible! I mean, the shop is the most awesome thing I've ever seen!

I also respect that they killed JJ. I'm not saying I wanted him to die. I'm saying, it pisses me off when shows give plot-armour to the main characters. It lowers the stakes. You know they're going to be fine because they're always fine (think the majority of Stranger Things - there's a really good video essay about that here btw that articulates this point a bit better). JJ's death was shocking and upsetting, that's how a death (in a show, at least) should be, but it means hey, there are real stakes here. It's not fair he died! He didn't deserve to die! But he did, oh my God. It takes guts to kill of a beloved, main character. I agree, JJ was my favourite part of the show, but I respect the choice, personally.

I liked season 4. It wasn't as good as season 1, I wish they stayed more grounded and didn't start so many plot points without resolving any/all of them, but I liked it. It was entertaining. The acting was pretty decent, though the chemistry and acting when Rudy and Madison had scenes together was a little disappointing (again, I don't want to point blame at a certain individual; it's hard to have good on-screen chemistry, especially when you don't feel like it matches your character's true motivations).

Was it unrealistic at times? Yes, but OBX usually is haha. It's a show about finding EL DORADO at this point, like I can accept that they let Sarah and JJ get swept into the sea during a storm and come out fine, without a single earring out of place. Sure, whatever, I'll take it (so unrealistic, 90% would drown and you'd at least shed your clothes to help you swim and stay afloat but WHATEVER. Also put your life jackets on guys wtf it's a STORM).

I wish there was more development on the plots, done by having less plots at once, and more conclusions for JJ before his death. I felt as though we were building up to a big blow-out/resolution with Pogues which never really came. Also, don't love how they handled JJ and his biological dad. I don't think he'd be that willing to trust a random man who abandoned him so easy. Yes, he's reluctant, but COME ON. JJ has the biggest trust issues. I just don't buy it. Also, explain, please, how Luke went from being so wonderful and gentle with JJ to full on abusive? Just a bit of explanation would be nice, please. Not a huge fan of the pregnancy plotline but hey, sure, whatever.

So, yes, that's my thoughts on everything: leave the actors alone; the writers have balls for killing JJ but that isn't necessarily a bad thing; give people grace; treat people with kindness; I'm going to keep writing for JJ; and season 4 altogether gets a 6/10 from me.

I'm open to different opinions, further thoughts, or just general musings/ideas. I hope this doesn't upset or offend anyone, I'm not trying to spark drama or shame a certain person or people: these are just my thoughts and views! So, I won't be participating in any 'who's the bad guy' discourse surrounding the actors. I'm just here for JJ and the Pogues. Take care of yourselves and spread positivity in this crazy, difficult time <3 and, of course, rest in peace, JJ Maybank <3

P.S. These are my season-by-season ratings: season 1 - 10/10; season 2 - 8/10; season 3 - 6/10; season 4 - 6/10.

[christelightlavo]

*throws my football at you* PERSONALITY TEST TIME.

1) The last Podcast you listened to? with reasons.

My answer : Rizz, marry, kill by recreyo on Spotify while completing my books. Because that's how I get through the writting for college.

2) what was the last fanfic you read? What did you like about it?

My answer : https://archiveofourown.org/works/40337868 , it's from a series and it's about Atsushi and Akutagawa in which Ryuu keeps meeting Beast beneath the blue night. I like it because it makes sense character wise while also adding to what happens in the canon, while also being out of character with its own thing.

3) You favorite discord server?

My answer : the private only Gotham server that is between me and my friends.

4) open Pinterest and show the first think it recommends you!

My answer :

5) If your comfortable, show me something from your notes app!

My answer : [ Jennette wasn't nervous. She was petrified. Yes, she was pretty happy that she was able to follow her plan so smoothly but at the same time wasn't aware she would be around a younger athy so soon. ] < a draft from one of my stories.

6) Show us who you last gave a like on Tumblr! And why?

My answer : https://www.tumblr.com/starlightshadowsworld/764774506366681088/yay?source=share , idk I like most of our banters and their posts. 🤷‍♀

7) Show us a picture that's in your galary that you are proud off/like/are comfortable sharing.

My answer :

8) final question, what was the last YouTube video you watched?

My answer :

*chuckles* here is the FUN PART!

Tag your personal friend : @fandom-stealer

Tag your mom friend : @urlocalbisexualmess-alt

Tag a person you consider mutuals : @starlightshadowsworld

Tag people whose post you like alot : @hannigramislife , @scarecrowspawn

Tag a stranger! Why don't you! : @geodude96

You guys can ignore this post entirely, I am just in a very creative mode for no reason. To the point I continued three of my drafts---

[eddiemunsonappreciationsociety]

SPENCER REID BODYGUARD AU FANFIC

As I step into my house I’m aware that someone is here immediately. My heart picks up pace as I take the can of mace from in my bag, I try to get my hands to stop shaking as I peer around the doorframe into my kitchen. My heart briefly drops when I see a tall man sitting at my breakfast bar drinking tea. His floppy brown hair falls into his face.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?” I yell at him, waving the can of mace in front of me.

I bark at the stranger, tall and handsome and not meant to be sat in my fucking kitchen like he owns the place.

“So you haven’t spoken to Mr Smith yet,” he sighs.

“My dad sent you?”

“Yes, I’m Mr Reid, your new security detail”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am, Miss Smith”

“I am not a child I don’t need to be looked after,”

“Well, I’m afraid your dad doesn’t agree” he shrugs.

I start to rifle through my bag, trying to find my phone. I’m too mad and my bags too full of crap. I start to get frustrated when the tall stranger shoves his phone at me.

“It’s your father,”

I grab his phone off of him

“Dad, what the fuck?”

“I didn’t tell you earlier because I knew you’d flee,” my dads raspy voice travels through the phone “You’re going to go with my friend Mr Reid and he’s going to take you on a nice holiday,”

“He’s what?”

“My plane is going to take you and your new shadow to a nice little island and you’re going to take some time away where it’s safe,”

“This is fucking kidnap,”

“No darling, I’m trying to prevent exactly that happening,” his voice is soft

“Again,” I mutter sharply

“Yes, again” he sounds defeated “please, just go for a few weeks, see it as a holiday, it’s a beautiful villa by the sea, whatever you want I’ll get sent to you”

I don’t respond, my heart is racing and I feel sick.

“Darling, please”

It’s not often Tony Smith begs for anything.

“For how long?”

“A few weeks, maybe longer,”

I manage to stop the scream that wants to ring out of me. The audacity. He’s the reason I’m in danger anyway. Sure, when you’re one of the worlds biggest drug dealers it seems great and the moneys good but people hate you and want to hurt you and have what you have. They take daughters of drug dealers. I find my mind slipping back a little and I shake my head clear of the thoughts. I glance at the bodyguard, he’s dressed in smart trousers, shirt and tie.

“I’m not happy about this, and this guy you’ve hired: have you met him? He looks like a geography teacher. He’s wearing a bloody cardigan,”

Mr Reid finds this amusing, I see him smirk but he tries to hide it by walking away.

“I’ve met him and I know his reputation, you be nice to him,”

“Whatever, how long have I got?”

“Pack now, it’s hot, you leave in an hour. And you leave your phone there”

“I’m not leaving my phone”

“Mr Reid will give you a new one, but it’s restricted. You can’t let anyone know where you are.

“You’re the fucking worst, I’m not going,”

“Yes, you are. This isn’t optional, you will go nicely or you will be taken forcefully. Either way you’re getting on that plane. Go and pack, don’t think you’d like what the geography teacher would bring you.”

I hang up on my dad and hand the phone back to the bodyguard. He takes it and holds his hand out.

“What?”

“Your phone too,”

“We’re not going yet,”

“Give me your phone,” he says if slowly, demanding.

I slam it into his hand and turn on my heel, heading to my room.

I try to clear the rage from me and think about what I actually need to pack. I throw a bunch of clothes, some books and my Switch into a suitcase. My makeup, skincare and other toiletries go in another.

After trying to streamline what I thought of as a full, big life, it feels depressingly small. I pack a total of three suitcases and am still have time to sit in the edge if my bed and have a slight panic attack.

My new bodyguard comes half way through my freak out.

“Cars here, are you okay?”

“I'm kind of freaking out,”

“Yeah, no doubt. Let’s both panic on the plane though,”

I watch him take a seat opposite me on the plane and he smiles, looking around with an almost nostalgic look on his face.

“What?” I ask as I catch his eye

“Been a while since I’ve been on one of these,” he shrugs.

“You had a jet?” I try not to sound bitchy but that’s clearly impossible.

“No, we had one for my old job” he seems unphased.

“What did you do?”

“Oh, we’ve got a while together Miss Smith, let’s not use up all the small talk at once,” he grins at me.

“That’s fine by me,” I shrug and put my headphones in