#all of this is (once more) non-canon ofc
Note
Lately I've been thinking alot about lovestruck Hobie with an oblivious reader. I'm talking like, man's completely WHIPPED. Doing backflips on his eyelashes to get reader's attention and they just brush it off as 'he's probably like this with everyone'. Bro's furious, desperate even. If you're still in the getting to know each other stage, he acts like a complete idiot. I don't see him as a person to blush or stutter around their crush, but probably do his best to make you laugh or smile, even at the expense of his own dignity. To me, in the movie Hobie seemed like a very physical touch kind of guy. I assume it would be the same with reader, his arms always looking for excuses to end up around theirs waist or shoulders. You best believe he's always got you in the back of his mind (you make him question his beliefs around relationships at least once a week).
Pls give me your thoughts on the matter 🙏 obsessed with the idea.
~☄️ comet anon
ahhhh my first emoji non! this is so exciting 2 me c: okok so i haveeee a fic kinda like this — not really ( he kinda stalks reader to keep her out of harms way )— where hobie is OBSESSED but i like your take on it too
to me, hobie is the textbook definition of a lover boy and it takes him a while to make it look cool bc he’s inexperienced in the actual real world relationship stuff. like, he’s had flings, he’s had short-term relationships, if you can even call it that, in the past. he’s had crushes bc he’s human. he’s not locked down emotionally. if anything, he’s wayyy more open than your standard run of the mill person would be.
i think he wouldn’t be confused when he first saw you and got that little drop in his stomach bc he’s not an actual dumbass. he knows what having crushes is. he’s confused bc he can’t get his shit together and can’t seem to leave you alone. he’s liked plenty of other people before but he’s stuck on you and your pretty smile and your shiny curls, as if handcrafted by a higher power.
and everyone else is like “hobie wtf” when he does shit so blatantly out of character but you think it’s normal bc you just became friends with him. like he’s laughing at every little thing you say even if no one else is and you grin pridefully bc the positive reinforcement is nice. it’s encouragement and you feel like you’re being accepted by a very kind guy but in actuality, he’s dying to get you to look at him.
like he’ll get so desperate he’ll start googling stupid shit. “how to get a girl to like you back” “law of attraction for your crush” and he knows he looks so stupid rn but any opening he can get, he’s gonna take it. he, himself, is thinking “hobie wtf” when he’s walking down the street and swears he gets a whiff of your perfume. and when you’re standing close enough, he’ll wrap an arm around your shoulder in what you think is platonic, and use it an an excuse to inhale the scent of your hair products.
this man is completely and totally star struck and it’s not like him. i’m convinced he loves so hard. he has too w the way he acts canonically. and it’s not like he doesn’t believe in love, he just doesn’t fw the way society tries to force it down everyone’s throats. he sometimes catches himself imagining what it would look like if you two were actually together and if it’s something he’s willing to do, to actually work towards. ofc he is, btw. without a shadow of a doubt.
my hobie, the way i view him, is so unconventionally chivalrous. he’s not laying over a puddle so you don’t have to step around it but he is working behind the scenes, doing subtle things he knows you’d appreciate without asking and could possibly be overlooked. there’s not a single hobie variant that isnt absolutely star stuck all of the time around you. alllllll of the time.
#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 . . . 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 . . . ☄️ 𝜗𝜚⋆#hobie x black!reader#hobie brown#x black fem reader#x black reader#astv hobie#x reader#hobie x reader#hobie x y/n
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☀️ Sun in Libra ⚖️
bangchan as your boyfriend!!! (pt. 2)
(based on astrology) 🔞
✨bangchan x reader (f); fluff, angst, slight smut if you count like 4 sentences.
✨ word count: 2.3k
✨take a look into chan’s natal chart to see what type of boyfriend he would be! in this post, i will be talking about his sun in libra. this is a series!!! so follow up later if u want more <3
✨i will give a brief synopsis of what each chart placement means (for all my non-astrology friends out there <3) and how that would affect channie in a relationship :)
✨ author’s notes:
(1) some very sweet stays confirmed that channie’s birth time is in fact 20:54, yay! this means i will get to look into more aspects of his chart and post more content for anyone who wants to keep up.
★★(2) i am considering doing brief (just bullet points/highlights) astrological compatibility readings if anyone wants one! if you’re interested, message me your birth date, time, and location OR lmk your placements. i’m gonna limit the reading to include you x 1 skz member only! just specify who you’d like.
(3) i am trying to get better at using gender-neutral pronouns so more people can feel included in my posts. i’m really struggling since i use phrases like “my girl” a lot. anyone who has some good alternatives or tips, please message and lmk!
(4) the aspects in this reading are based solely on my opinions and interpretations! nothing about a person is set in stone simply because of astrology. please don’t use anything i say as canon :)
✨warnings: light sexual undertones???
✨ tl/dr: chan is a people pleaser, and thus as a bf will be a YOU pleaser. happy thirsting.
Sun in Libra: Sun signs are all about personality- the face you show the world! It is also the lens through which you usually see yourself and how friends would describe you.
-Libra is a cardinal sign, meaning that people who are in this placement REALLY live by the aspects associated with that placement- in other words, chan is likely to hold very true to these values.
-Libra is ruled by Venus, the planet of love, beauty, and charm. People with a Libra Sun tend to be extremely charming and value beauty in the world. They often seek approval from others and are people pleasers. They want to be well-liked and well-known. Because of this, they will avoid conflict and have a hard time being criticized or being involved in drama of any kind. They will also often “mold” themselves to fit into any environment. This is partially because they highly value balance and peace in their lives, and can also lead to indecisiveness.
as your boyfriend:
• Chan will mold every aspect of his personality to fit with yours. Once he decides he is interested in you (because he can be one indecisive mf’er), he will literally BECOME the person you want and need (even tho you think he’s perfect as is). And he loves it too. He loves the feeling of being the only person in the world who is “perfectly made for you." Even more, he loves the fact that you know that he’s the perfect man for you. He will need constant reassurance of it too.
• He LOVES when you dress him. I’m talking (1) you are picking him out an entire wardrobe, (2) you are picking his outfits for every date you go on… so it matches with you ofc hehe, (3) if he doesn’t know what to wear, he is automatically calling you (i mean you know his closet anyways since you chose it all, so might as well choose from afar). He wouldn’t buy any clothing without sending it to you first to make sure you think it’d look good on him. He’d like for you to pick him out new styles, but he would ADORE when you stick to things he’s comfortable with like blacks and more comfortable attire. He would love how much you thirsted over him when he put on his “bad boy tumblr aesthetic” outfits. It would make him feel so much more confident going into everyday life knowing that he was dressing up for and catering to his girl only.
• He will absolutely still mildly flirt with stays (sorry y’all). But he will be mindful to not take things too far… in other words, no more calling stays Mrs. Bang lol. That one is reserved for you. He just has such a charming and flirtatious personality that he can’t help himself. BUT he always makes sure to conclude anything he says to stay with “haha I’m just joking… So thankful my beautiful girlfriend will share me with STAY.”
• He is taking you out on LOTs of dates and TONS of events. He is a super social guy, so he loves any chance he gets to take you out and make memories- especially in groups. If any of the boys have a significant other, he would love nothing more than to go on double dates with them. He would always plan for something low key, but fun with them. Anything extravagant is reserved for you only.
• Chan would introduce you to all the s/o’s of skz and would basically push you to be besties (without even realizing it). He’s so good at being social and over-committing himself that he would most likely always take up the opportunity to hang out with skz and their partners, including you by default. Cause you’re an extension of him, duh. He’d love when you’d bond and get super close with the members’ partners, and it would reassure him that you were the one for him when he saw how well and perfectly you blended into the friend group.
• He is buying you flowers every damn week. It doesn’t matter if you’re with him or on the other side of the world, he is making sure you have flowers. Or snacks. Or whatever you’re into. He is a people pleaser by nature, and who else would he want to please? He also can’t resist the smile on your face when he knows that he’s the cause.
• He likes it when you baby him. You are the ONLY person he lets take care of him. He has such a strong and happy personality with others, and many times he will not feel comfortable being vulnerable with too many people. You know how stressed he gets. He is always trying to keep up appearances after all. When he gets home from a long day of doing everything anyone could possibly ask of him, he feels the immediate comfort of knowing that you will take good care of him. He would love when he’d come home to a meal that you cooked. Or when you were watching a movie and you’d sit up with your legs in front of you, motioning for him to rest his head on your lap so you could play with his hair. He would absolutely melt if he was sitting at his desk working on something, and you’d come up behind him, towering over him with forehead kisses while you squeezed into his back. He would love the comfort he felt during foreplay (or even when he was bored) of just holding, squeezing, and sucking on your tits while you looked down at him with loving eyes. He’d go wild at the way you would straddle him and rub him through the fabric of his shorts while telling him how perfect and loved he is.
• Channie will hate any fights he has with you. He genuinely cannot deal with it. He hates feeling like he’s done something wrong, and it will take him a longggg time to talk to you about it if he feels something isn’t right or if he gets mad. Usually, you will have to initiate the conversation.
• “Channie? Can we talk?” You knocked on his door. You had gotten into an argument with him about an hour ago.
◦ A stupid argument really. He had heard you talking with a friend over the phone. “You and I both know Chris isn’t going to buy me that,” you laughed into your cell. “He’s saving up for that new car that he has to have,” you rolled your eyes and smiled. You thought it was a joke of course. It’d be ridiculous for him to buy you a $5,000 ring for no reason. YOU thought you were just being sarcastic. Maybe in retrospect, Chan didn’t feel the same.
◦ He looked at you with a face that tried to mask being upset. But you could tell. “What are you talking about?” He asked with a clenched jaw.
◦ “That ring,” you smiled and stuck your tongue out at him, obviously messing with him. He knew the ring. You’d showed him weeks ago.
◦ You saw his face go blank, like a bare canvas just waiting to see what reaction would be painted on next. He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and nodded. You could see the annoyance on his face. He stood up of the couch and promptly headed to the bedroom. What was his problem?
◦ Now here you are… an hour later and radio silence.
• Chan gave no response. “Please, I want to talk about this…” you trailed off and waited for a few seconds. Still no response. “Come on Channie, I hate when we are fighting, please let’s just talk about this so we can feel better.” You heard rustling and then saw the door in front of you slowly open. There was a messy-headed Chris stood in front of you with puffy eyes and a locked-in jaw. You put your hand on his chest and nudged him ever so slightly so you could pass through the doorway and sit on the edge of his bed. He followed.
• “Okay, do you want to go first, or do you want me to go?” You asked, trying to get him to look into your eyes. He avoided them at all costs.
• “Do you really think I’m that bad of a boyfriend? You think I’m that self-absorbed to be funneling money into some fancy car, when I wouldn’t even buy you a ring you’ve been wanting for months? I would give you the world y/n, and you know that! Why would you even say something like that?” His lids and eyebrows turned downward as he spoke loudly. He was genuinely hurt.
• “No, I do not think you are a bad boyfriend! I think you are the best boyfriend in the world. Honey, I was KIDDING. I know how expensive that ring is. I was making light of how ridiculous it would be for you to just randomly buy it for me. I was joking that the reason you didn’t do it was because of the car, but it was just sarcasm. That’s literally it. How could you think I was serious?” You looked him dead in the eyes with a furrowed brow.
• “Because I AM serious y/n. I already bought you that ring. Because I love you. I was waiting until Valentine’s Day to give it to you. And you saying that just makes me feel like I’m the worst boyfriend. And now, that’s what your friends think too. I just- that just makes me really upset.” You felt your heart break. It wasn’t anger in his voice. It was disappointment. Disappointment in you. You knew how badly he struggled with self-image and with how others perceive him. It meant a lot to him. Even though he was trying to work through it, he wasn’t there yet. And you knew that.
• “Channie,” you breathed out. “I am so so sorry. I need you to know that it wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way. I think you are the perfect boyfriend.” You scooted closer to cup his face in your hands. “My friends know you are the perfect boyfriend. I talk about it all the time.” You lowered your face down to look him in the eyes. “I tell them about how much of a gentleman you are, always opening the door for me and holding my hand when we’re walking. About how beautiful you sound when I visit you at the recording studio and you’re making a sample. About how strong you are that I can feel it every time I grab onto your arms.” A tiny smile crept across his face and he looked down in embarrassment. You unconsciously mirrored his smile back. “I absolutely revel in the fact that you are the most perfect man I’ve ever known. Please don’t think that I think anything less of you. You are my perfect boy, and I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel unloved or unappreciated. I will call her back right now just to emphasize to her that I was kidding if you think it would help you feel better.”
• Chan had a small tear in his eye when he finally looked back up at you. “No, no, you don’t need to do that… I’m sorry baby. I just- I took it the wrong way. You know I can do that from time to time,” he giggled up at you, getting embarrassed again. And he wasn’t wrong. “You are the most special person in the world to me. I never want to not live up to what you deserve… I know I have had problems with this, but I promise you that I’m working on them, and I will continue to work on them until I get better at it. You’ve already helped me so much.” Looking deeply at you, he sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I will do better, I promise.”
• “It’s okay, it really is. We just have to work together through this. I also promise to do better at not making little jokes about you and being more respectful about our relationship. We will work on it together, okay? Deal?”
• “Deal.” He stuck out his pinky for you to intertwine with yours. In the same moment, you both bent down to kiss your hand. You’re sworn into the pinky promise now. You followed up with a swift kiss to his lips and a big hug around his neck. You stayed like that, locked in for a couple of seconds until you could feel his body relax underneath you.
• “Let’s not fight anymore. This feels way better,” you murmured into the side of his neck.
• “I can think of something else that would feel even better.” He locked his hands behind your waist and flipped you to onto your back. Maybe pinky promises could be broken, you thought. Hell, you’d break it if the fighting led to this.
• He gently kissed down your neck. “We will be okay,” he whispered softly into your ear. “I will be perfect for you, and you will be perfect for me.” Sun in Libra.
#bangchan scenarios#bangchan x female reader#bangchan x you#bangchan x reader#bangchan fluff#bang chan#chris bang#bangchan angst#bangchan imagines#bangchan stray kids#bangchan smut#bangchan#skz x reader#skz smut#skz imagines#skz fluff#skz angst#christopher bang#chris bang smut
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“Being Ben’s S/O„
He’s a bit dramatic at times but that doesn’t stop him from being the best boyfriend to you! Gn reader (I rlly hope I got his character right)
Reilly | O’Really
Forces you to help him bleach his hair
Has a mini panic attack when his roots start growing back in
As you may or may not know he bleached his hair to differentiate himself from Peter so he would be pissed if his natural colour came back too fast
“Is that brown I see?”
“What. No, where? Are you serious, I just bleached it!”
If you are a frequent gym-goer he’d go with you
Y’all are each others spotters
“You got this, lift it!”
“I’M TRYING.”
If you don’t go to the gym often/not at all it’s alright he’d encourage you to go with him but would respect if you didn’t want to
Platonic or romantic relationship doesn’t matter he’s def gossiping with you especially about spiderverse shit
“I was just assigned on another mission and everything cause some kid came here and prevented Pavitr’s canon event and now wants to prevent his own canon event! Can you believe it?”
“Ben. What the fuck is a canon event?”
Can’t keep a secret
If you ever took him in a date to the carnival he’d start crying
Average bumper cars enjoyer
Very dramatic but if you lived the life he did you’d prob be seen as a bit dramatic too
In addition to this it would prob take a while before he tells you his entire past
Like he’s given you parts but never the whole thing
Give him time and he’ll tell you eventually
Shares headphones with you to show you his music taste and Vice versa
You guys have matching jewelry of some sort
Necklace, ring(non-marriage), bracelet, etc.
Comic Ben no, because his thoughts are written out in the narration box, but spider verse Ben narrates out loud while you guys are on a date or even just hanging out
No matter if your clothes fit him properly or not he’s wearing them just cause
Ofc he’d let you wear his too granted his closet isn’t very…diverse?
He doesn’t have bad fashion sense but like his closet is hella empty 💀
That hoodie though…🦀
Gives little kisses every morning even if you didn’t fall asleep together he’ll make sure to give you the routinely morning kiss
I see him as more of a little spoon? Feel free to disagree but I feel like he would want to be in your arms regardless if ur arms are slim or muscular
He DOES NOT CARE about appearance or anything like that bro jus wants someone to love him FR😭
Back to the silly shit
He cries during romantic movies
Especially if it’s a tragic one
His sobbing ruins the movie FR💀
“God—Ben can you cry quieter?”
“I’m sorry I just can’t believe she died before he could even tell her his feelings!”
Ugly crier fs
Isolated himself from the world after watching the notebook for the first time
Loves playing iMessage games with you especially 8ball and cup pong
He definitely cheats in Uno
Whether or not you help him cheat is up to you
Just know if you call him out on it he’s not talking to you for like a week
If your a regular dude he likes to show off with his powers and everything
If you’re a hero/villain/vigilante etc. he still shows off perhaps even more than before especially when your out doing whatever your doin💀
I could rlly talk abt him forever
He’s actually pretty smart just not in a common sense way
He’d make you come with him to get his ears pierced bc he’s a pussy
I love him and he IS hella strong and shit but he would definitely be too afraid to get his ears pierced
Getting thrown into a car? No problem!
Needle near ear? No.
He can cook a lil bit
No chef but if you want chicken and rice he WON’T give you food poisoning!😁🫶
Better at making drinks
Likes cuddling with you, watching random YouTube videos, and eating goldfish
Has a ritual of rewatching all Jersey Shore seasons at least once every month
Idk if it’s canon but he def doesn’t have a drivers license and you drive him everywhere💀
#ben reilly#x male reader#x masc reader#ben x male reader#ben riley#ben reilly x reader#ben reilly x male reader#ben riley x male reader#ben riley x reader#spiderverse x reader#spiderverse x male reader#scarlet spider x reader#I’m sweating#fanfic#fanfiction#headcanons#spiderverse headcanon#my hcs#x female reader#x fem!reader#x gn reader#x gender neutral reader#Ben x female reader#ben x gn reader#ben riley x gn reader#ben riley x female reader#ben reilly x female reader#ben reilly x gn reader#scarlet spider x gn reader#scarlet spider x female reader
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hi i had an idea but it would not work out in hels canon at all so. consider an alternate alternate universe where there’s a decked out hels counterpart? maybe it’s a sentient dungeon near spawn designed to lure people into a false sense of security and perhaps bravo is the creator of it… or the bait? other game component ideas like peace(hazard) or stillness(clank)
hehe i’m just spitballing silly ideas to you for fun >:) sorry if you’ve received an ask like this before
:0 now this is an interesting (non-canon ofc) concept. bravo would absolutely make a decked out in hels just to one-up tango. but since he’s annoyed and fatigued by the brutality of hels, he wouldn’t just make a more intense, deadly decked out: he’d make it an escape. a sprawling map safe from the outside world, filled with beautiful scenery and fun puzzles and some damn peace and quiet for once.
but what he didn’t anticipate is that the dungeon can take on a mind of its own, and this one would want to keep players ‘safe’ forever and ever- by never letting anyone leave. it’d do its best to make players want to stay, but it’s not above trapping them if it has to.
timmy would 100% fall victim to the dungeon, happy to finally be safe and provided for. he’d even try to discourage other hels players from staying- not as a warning, but for his own sake. he doesn’t want more hels players ruining his sanctuary, even at the cost of incurring the dungeon’s wrath.
it’s like the opposite of @hybbart’s deepfrost cast au, where jimmy acts as a dungeon guide. timmy would be a territorial (but still pathetic) herald of doom, desperately trying to get hels players to leave this apparent ‘paradise’ before it’s too late (because he wants this place all to himself, thank you very much).
#hels to pay au#HTP ask#idk what the ‘dungeon’ would be called except for decked in LMAO#but it’s def got some coraline other mother vibes
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Platonic Kenny x reader! Ty!!!!!!!^^
Dude, I love you./p We NEED more platonic South Park content!!!!
Kenny X Reader [PLATONIC!]
Okay, first of all, I am tired of people saying he’s some ‘bad boy who smokes’ HE IS NOT‼️‼️ (but I respect ur HC.) Even as a teenager, he just isn’t. He’s such a sweet boy :(((
You guys could’ve met a lot of different ways, but honestly the most likely IMO is when he just take a a break from the other three assholes/nm
You guys become friends pretty quickly, and he’s a little surprised at how well you treat him.
When the other three finally notice Kenny hanging out with you they are JEALOUS. But they aren’t gonna admit that. They just make backhanded comments about you and Kenny being a thing.
He’ll listen to any of your problems and be supportive <3 this isn’t even a HC, this is literally canon.
Once he’s comfortable enough (maybe like a week or so of being friends) he’ll start coming over to your house. He likes using it as an escape from the other three and his family.
You guys play video games together on any consoles you have
If you invite him to stay over for dinner?? He will GLADLY accept. He’s kinda like a dog, feed him and he will never leave lol.
If you have little siblings he is so stoked to meet them. Might pay more attention to them than he does to you….only for a bit tho!
You guys will play dress up together. This is non-negotiable and it happens at one point or another.
Oh my GOD if you get things for him???!!!
Literally flabbergasted bro.
“Really? For me? :D”
On the other hand, doesn’t really want you to come over to his house. He doesn’t want you making fun of him. :((
If you get along with his sister you are officially his best friend.
If you’re a girl, he asks you for advice on girls. What they like and stuff.
Tells you about his totally awesome and full-proof plans to get lucky with the ladies.
Super so supportive, cannot stress this enough. If you’re ever crying he is there and patting you on the back.
you don’t eat lunch with the main four since you’re not ‘one of the guys ™️’ but there are days where he just eats lunch with you. Mainly when his friends are being super unbearable.
Sleepovers are a MUST. Mainly at your house though, he really doesn’t want you over at his place because of his parentsss…..
Defends you from Cartman
Occasionally borrows your stuff-never without asking ofc.
He plays games on your phone. Just imagine you two waiting in line and he’s just like “hey dude do you have games on your phone?” And you just hand it to him.
In general, you’re his safe spot for when things are a lot. Of course you two occasionally have wacky adventures of your own, but you’re a nice change of pace from his normal three friends.
Sorry if these weren’t that great, I wrote them while really anxious ^^’
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In the mood for...
~*~
1. For the next ITMF, do you know of any fics with Lan Xichen with more of a spine, being less naive/more astute? His absolute trust in JGY drives me up the wall sometimes, so I'd like fics where he sees through him, for once. @kitsileya
i told you when i came i was a stranger by Caramelized (M, 50k, OFC/LXC, minor WangXian, Isekai, Transmigration, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Amateur cartography, Butterfly Effect, Sunshot Campaign, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, No Golden Core Transfer, Dimension Travel, Politics, LXC the politician, Self-Insert, Foreknowledge, Angst with a Happy Ending) for #1 the closest I can think of it "i told you when i came i was a stranger" by Caramelized it's isekai, but it's extremely well-done. one of those fics i reread a lot. lxc needs some help to see through the deceit, but he gets there in the end, and learns something from it. idk if it's exactly what the asker is after but no one else seems to have provided anything so I thought I'd at least offer it
A Little Fall of Rain by Just_a_Girl_in_a_Crystal (T, 47k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Temporary Character Death, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Grief/Mourning, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiang siblings, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, Protective LXC, Protective LQR) heavy angst
crack in the mirror by the_pretzel (T, 59k, WIP, WangXian, Reincarnation, Royalty, Transmigration, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Murder, Mutual Pining, based on a manhwa, Mystery, court intrigue, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s)) AU - he does keep supporting jgy for a while but believes lwj and then decides for himself
The blame game by apathyinreverie (T, 13k, WangXian, Fix-It, Time Travel, mainly just lxc getting his brother the husband he has wanted since they were teenagers, this time without the years of mourning, also lxc wants his adorable nephew back, LXC time travels, Canon Divergence, Possessive LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Fluff, Siblings, Romance, Golden Core Reveal, kind of, Golden Core Fix-It) here he has the benefit of time travel so idk if this is what OP is going for
~*~
2. itmf fics where wei ying dies in qiongqi dao? thanks! ♡ @darlingjunebug
End Racism in the OTW | The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts) Technically WWX doesn't actually die, but he is assumed dead, so you get LWJ going a lil mad with grief & the sects reacting as if he's dead
in this place where we don't have a prayer by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T, 42k, XuanLi, WangXian, ChengQing)
Looking at You Always, All Ways by Keysmashed (T, 29k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nostalgia, Subtly Assertive LWJ, very mild angst, Angst with a Happy Ending)
Troublesome Lotus by orphan_account (G, 20k, WangXian, Female WWX, Gender Changes, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Unplanned Pregnancy, Miscarriage, LSZ is LWJ and WWX's Child, Baby LSZ, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pregnancy, Pregnant WWX, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Childbirth, WWX dies in Qiongqi Path, Implied Sexual Content, Parent WWX, Good Parent WWX, Single Parent WWX, Sad Ending) if you dont mind reading fem!WWX
The world was wide enough for the both of us by Moonlit_dewdrops (T, 5k, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Not A Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Ambush at Qióngqí Path, Blood and Injury, Heavy Angst, Golden Core Reveal, JZX lives but someone else dies instead...)
ius in bello by Lise (T, 2k, Yunmeng Siblings, Canon Divergence, Tearjerker, Sad Ending, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning, Not A Fix-It, POV JC, podfic available)
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3. hello! thankyou all for your hard work. for the next ITMF, please suggest fics where: a) modern sick wwx, b) a-yuan is wwx and lwj's son but lwj know it some years after like wwx hid it or smth, it can be modern or not. c) good underrated tags that i can explore later. thankyou!
3A)
A Grand Immortal Made Me Soup by s6115 (G, 5k, JC & WWX, wangxian, canon divergence, Immortal JC, Immortal LWJ, Immortality, Yunmeng Duo Days, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, JC & WWX Reconciliation, JC used his immortality to grow and mature, WWX finally reincarnates and the immortal JC isn't going to fail this time, JYL's Pork Rib and Lotus Root Soup, Good Sibling JC)
the soft animal of your body by sysrae (T, 15k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, modern cultivation, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Animal Transformation, Shapeshifting, Sort Of, Getting Together, Confessions)
Grace and a tender hand by feyburner (T, 4k, wangxian, modern, First Date, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Fluff)
3B)
Nothing but your heart by airinshaw (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Implied Mpreg, First Time, Getting Together, Angst and Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anal Sex, Whump, Breeding Kink)
Family Pictures (Or: “Mark Rothko is very, very dead, Wei Ying.”) by belleweather (M, 37k, wangxian, modern, Kid Fic, Post Mpreg, Cindarella Story, Mistaken Identity, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, LWJ doesn’t know how to express feelings except with his checkbook, WWX is strangely okay with that, art conservator LWJ, idiot WWX (he gets better slowly), shockingly little actual sex omg what happened to me?, fake/mistaken cheating, no actual infidelity, I apologize to Mark Rothko and Julian Baumgartner)
3C)
agree about the personal preference thing! i feel like the novel has big themes of (found) family, so occasionally i like to go through the tag and stuff like yiling sibs, lsz&wwx, jl&wwx etc etc. also i thing the "disabled character/wwx" fics are pretty underrated? because sometimes they're not found in the tag sadly
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4. Hi! I was wondering if any of you knew of fics that portray the confession scene from LWJ's POV? Ideally, I would like for fics to portray both parts (outside and inside the temple). If not, I would prefer it if the fic had its focus on the part inside the temple @blueghost13
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5. Hiii hope y'all are doing well! For today's itmf fics where wwx and lwj are trying to solve crimes. (any type works but thriller and/or horror would be amazing)? They can work together or meet and have to work together to figure it out, anything works really but I'd have a preference for detectives kinda stuff! @rkivees
medium blues by darkterrible (E, 193k, WangXian, Modern AU, Horror, Spooky, Opposites Attract, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Ghosts, Necromancy, Mojo’s post)
once upon a time, 很久很久以前 by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (M, 23k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, Modern, Canon Divergence, Transmigration, of the townwide variety, Amnesia, of the nearly everyone variety, Mystery, of the shenanigans variety, Not Everyone Dies au, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, wwx is sad and down bad, Single Parent LWJ, except a-yuan runs away to find his other dad, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, oh no by god this cant be happening to me, WIP) this is my WIP and there's a murder mystery and a curse that wangxian work together to solve, though they're both more like amateur detectives here. That part is still being set up, however.
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6. Hello, do you know any fics where the guanine temple incident goes wrong and somehow people end up hating wwx again, including lwj. I want an angst adventure fic to cry.
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7. Hello!! I hope you're doing well! I am in mood of angst and heart wrecking wangxian fics to feel emotions.... do you have any suggestions: where wangxian break up/divorce, misunderstandings, arguments or/and similar stuffs? Thank you very much... I will appreciate it so much 😭😭
The Right to Care by travelingneuritis (E, 61k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mood Whiplash, musician LWJ, nanny wwx, Developing Relationship, Breakup, Texting, Pining, Eventual Happy Ending, Adoption, Child Abuse, abuse intervention, Miscommunication)
you'll always know me by ana_cp (E, 127k, wangxian, modern, Actor WWX, Teacher LWJ, Getting Back Together, Exes to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, LWJ being cute with children alert, WWX rides a motorcycle, LWJ writes as a hobby, ALL THE GOOD THINGS, Back hugs as a love language, Sharing Food as a Love Language)
🧡 Life as a House by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 55k, WangXian, Modern AU, Post-Divorce, Father-Son Relationship, Reconciliation, Therapy, Angst with a happy ending)
Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)
Dirty Little Secret by ilip13 (E, 67k, Wangxian, modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Post-Break Up, Friends with benefits / Exes with benefits / Fuck-buddies, Implied Cheating, Also possibly some cheating kink, Self-Worth Issues, WWX is strong with the self-hatred here, trigger warning: suicide and mental illness (background of minor character), Graduate Students, Liberal use of the word 'fuck', Semi-Nonlinear Storytelling)
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8. Hello hello! It's been a while since I asked for fanfics buuuut I came back :D. Anyways, for I'm In The Mood For, can I ask for some "Freak for Freak" wangxian?
Thaaaaank youuuuu~~
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9. hello! thank you very much for your work! i was hoping if you know fics about how LWJ reacted or the scenes surrounding LWJ realizing that MXY is WWX after playing their song?
thank you very much! @cuddlemehun
~*~
10. this has probably been done before, but i want to ask nonetheless. i'm in the mood for a fic where lwj is married to (preferably dark) yllz in exchange for something. dubcon is okay. thank you :)
💖 love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, wangxian, immortal WWX, slow burn, pining, arranged marriages)
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11. Hello! I don't actually have a specific fic to request for but I'm wondering if you can recommend or know of any fics where WWX is chubby?
All the fics I read describes WWX as desirably slim and I'm kind of thinking, is there any out there where he's meaty and cuddly?
leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you've met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation) This is one of my favourites, WWX has had previous food insecurity but he and LWJ now both appreciate his current level of chub
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12. Hi hello! I saw some people asking for fics where married wangxian fight like a married couple, kinda soft, but I was wondering if there are some where they fight for real? Like not necessarily physical (but could be), but I mean where they disagree with something very important and fundamentally can't agree. The kind of fight from before, but after. With happy ending of course, just lots of angst first hhahaha Could involve Sizhui for extra angsty points. thank you! @alexwilltellyouthings
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13. Hi. For the next ITMF could you recommend any fics where LWJ gets hurt protecting WWX and him feeling guilty (or just getting hurt for whatever reason but with WWX still blaming himself somehow /maybe even others blaming him too)? I've read Traveling in shadows, chasing your light by MusicMe_tc, it was amazing, so I'd love to read sth similar. Also I'd prefer finished works. Thank you @castielle711
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14. ITMF silent/quiet Wei Wuxian
❤️ whipstitch by curiositykilled (M, 131k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Torture, WWX Lives, but basically no one else, Case Fic, Cultivation Sect Politics, Past Abuse, WWX Whump, YL WWX, JL Needs a Hug, JL Tries, Yunmeng Bro Reconciliation, Past Character Death, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Alternating, Flashbacks, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Depression, Not A Fix-It, Mouth Sewn Shut) he has his lips stitched shut
can consider looking through the mute wwx tag on ao3
I am sorry for taking your voice by misterfish (G, 9k, WWX/OMC, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt WWX, Remorse LWJ, Mute WWX, not Ji��ng Family friendly, Past Child Abuse, WIP) Also, this is technically alr in the tag but I want to specifically rec
🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 53k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)
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15. goodday! recently ive been rereading lots of fics and i feel like ive read all of i think the goods one (more like 25% completed, 50% ongoing, 25% ghosted).
i dont know if this is for ficfinder or itmf, i just want a suggestion from u'all, what tags should i explore more? or maybe you can recommend some fic? i already explored/read the compilation list here. ive been looking for underrated tags in ao3 but lots of them are ghosted. i feel like my request is kinda hard but thank you!
it really depends on your preference but I'd say start with your fave fics and follow the tags. Sometimes you can also check out the author's bookmarks for their fave fics as well. I'd also recommend checking out the wangxian fic recs blog! Alsp dont just search by kudos!!! This fandom has so many hidden gems. Id recommend making limited searches like within a certain time or even just going to a random page and checking out what you might like!
agree about the personal preference thing! i feel like the novel has big themes of (found) family, so occasionally i like to go through the tag and stuff like yiling sibs, lsz&wwx, jl&wwx etc etc. also i thing the "disabled character/wwx" fics are pretty underrated? because sometimes they're not found in the tag sadly
it might be helpful to only look for completed fics in ao3 :)
~*~
16. Hi! I am in the mood for fics where Wei Ying is compelled to tell the truth via a spell or talisman, so secrets come out sooner than in canon. I have read sooooo many fics where WY is dragged before a conference and accused of stuff and no one believes what he says and for once I want him to tell the truth and for everyone to know he is telling the truth and then I want the dramatic reaction from everyone around who know that WY cannot lie right now. Ya know? Thanks so much!
After Truth Lies the Honest Path by Vrishchika (M, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Truth Serum, Angry WWX, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Mild Angst, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Getting Together)
Silence Like a Cancer Grows by julomaiboulomai (M, 12k, Yunmeng Siblings, LXC & WWX, truth curse, Suicidal Thoughts, Canon Divergence, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, WWX Needs a Hug, Golden Core Reveal, Hopeful Ending) not a conference
~*~
17. i would very much love some recs of wwx being the spouse of a sect leader! like, wangxian is awesome for acting SL/chief cultivator lwj but i'd like specifically ppl HAVING to respect him for his position at least if they're not gonna do it for his genius and kindness. mingxian/ruoxian/xixian or idk other ships also welcome 🌸 if E-rated, please canon wwx dynamics! thank you! ❤️
~*~
If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***
#wangxian#mdzs#wangxian fic recs#i'm in the mood for a fic#the untamed#wangxian fic search#wangxianficfinder#long post
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⚙️~MAGOMARCH 2023~⚙️
yes. you're reading this right. in light of return to dreamland deluxe coming soon, I MADE A MAGOLOR BASED DRAWING CHALLENGE!! it works like all those other month-themed drawing challenges; every day you draw something based on the corresponding prompt! only required thing is that you put magolor in all of these because well. its Magomarch whod you expect to draw /lh
some prompts require a bit more info! i highly suggest you check this section as it can provide context to any prompts you're confused about!
FREE PROMPTS:
every Sunday/Magolor Day of March is a free prompt! this is where you can draw whatever you want (as long as it involves magolor ofc)!
DIFFERENT SPECIES:
i felt this one was obvious but just in case, this prompt just has you reimagine magolor as a non halcandran species! just be sure he's recognizable dhsdhsdh
CONCEPT:
draw one or more of magolor's many concept designs! he's got quite a lot of em! if i find some good images of them i'll be sure to edit this post and put them here but for now you gotta find em yourself sorry HSDHSDH
GIJINKA/CANON:
ok this one's fun, and also depends on whether you draw magolor as a gijinka more often than his canon form or vice versa! if you draw him as a gijinka more often, challenge yourself and try to draw him as he canonically looks (stylization is more than ok and is encouraged! i love stylized magolors)! the inverse ofc applies to people who draw his canon form more. you can also draw both at once if you want!
ALT. UNIVERSE
draw magolor as he would appear in any sort of AU! this can be an AU of your own creation or even someone else's (if they're ok with it)! you don't have to make an AU solely for this challenge if you have one already.
if anyone else needs a prompt explained, i'll put it here in this list!
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ok whew that was a lot of reading sorry HSDH
i hope this challenge gets some traction! i've been thinking abt it for a while and figured now was as good a time as ever to post it! if you happen to wanna take on this challenge, good luck!!!
DONT FORGET TO TAG YOUR PROMPT ART WITH #MAGOMARCH !!
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Sexuality headcanons
(Does not have anything to do with the ship hcs, these are my personal hcs. It’s more related to the twitter au but even then it’s not 100% the same)
Experience doesn’t necessarily mean sex, just like dating and such
Darry
- Cis and gay lol
- He likes guys that fight (Paul, tim)
- That’s why he liked football so much lolol
- Despite this he doesn’t have a lot of experience with other guys because he only dated girls in highschool
Soda
- Bisexual ofc. Also cis but very connected to fem side
- His type is uhh. Mean ppl. He hates to admit it though and makes excuses for his partner/crush
- “No Sandy isn’t cheating on me she just has lots of guy friends!” “Steve isn’t mean he’s just bitey!”
- Has experience with lots of different ppl because he’s so in demand so he’s good at flirting (charming handsome boy)
Pony
- Hm. Also bisexual because if taht obvious crush on cherry but also everyone else in the book lmao. Non-binary in a “I don’t give a fuck about my gender” way. Still he/him
- Doesn’t have a set type, it’s literally just anyone. He meets someone? Oh wow, new crush.
- It seems like he’s attracted to assholes, but it’s actually just because everyone around him is an asshole
- No experience, he’s 14 and kind of losery (I love him still, not pb hate)
Twobit
- Bisexual but leans towards girl, cis
- Canon that he likes blondes, so I bet he’s made out with dally at a party at least once.
- Marcia is an obvious exception to this and he doesn’t understand it. He jokes about her dying her hair blonde but he really does like her as is
- Lots of experience I’m sure. He’s funny and charming, I’d be surprised if he didn’t
Dally
- Bisexual but leans toward guys, cis
- Likes people that kick his ass (tim, Sylvia) honestly his type is just people that see him for who he is
- Tim and Sylvia are his toxic exes that he keeps going back to. He hates it but they really are some of the only people that he feels understand him
- He’s Dallas, im pretty sure Ponyboy mentioned him having tons of flings so he’s got experience.
Steve
- Gay, and I read a really good fic where he was ftm and it rearranged my brain so he’s trans now
- His type is pretty boys (soda) he’s mostly only ever had a crush on soda so it’s not like he’s explored his type lol
- He dated evie because she was friends with Sandy and he wanted to double date with soda and Sandy so he could watch them the entire time (jealous mf)
- Zero experience, he refused to even kiss evie and he never had the guts to even look at other guys
Johnny
- Hm. Gay and cis, but he seriously questioned his gender for a bit because he didn’t have much of a self concept and he couldn’t imagine himself at all. He decided to stop thinking about it because it stressed him out
- His type is people that he thinks are better than him (Dallas, for being tuffer, pony, for being smarter) he thinks that being around cool people will make him feel better about himself
- It doesn’t work, but he still likes to do it. Anyway, pony and dally still make him feel better in other ways because they think he’s so cool
- No experience, nobody ever flirts with him (or even notices him) except for Sylvia that one time. He thinks he’s ugly but honestly he just needs to put himself out there
Tim
- Gay and ftm (projecting lolll) very few people know because he was really young when he transed. Like when he was like 4 and his parents were like “hm okay whatever we don’t care anyway.” Also itty bitty titty committee so he doesn’t even have to bind (jealous)
- His type is literally just tough guys. That’s why he dated dallas and why he likes darry. They’re both tough and good at fighting.
- also dated Sylvia but only to make dally mad (and he regretted it because he realized immediately afterwards that he was definitely gay. Sylvia thought it was funny)
- Lots of experience but only with select people (people he can trust)
Angela
- Bisexual but doesn’t realize it lol, cis
- She likes traditionally masculine guys and traditionally feminine girls. Idk why but she likes it. Tbf it’s the sixties she wouldn’t be exposed to many fem guys and masc girls. Maybe she had a crush on Sylvia
- Dated bryon and actually really liked him for a bit. She broke up with him for pb but regretted it lmao.
- Bryon was her first bf so no real experience. Also tim chases any possible beaus away so she’s real unlucky
Curly
- Gay and cis, but too stupid to realize that he’s gay
- His type is any man ever. (Saw tuffponyboy’s post about how curly likes dally, bryon, and Sodapop and I committed it to my belief system)
- But he also likes pony. Maybe he even realizes and is like “omg I’m a homosexual 😧” and he doesn’t realize that everyone around him is also gay and wouldn’t judge him.
- Zero experience, gets no bitches, loser. Also he’s fifteen and he cares more about fighting than smooching
Mark
- Aromantic, asexual and ftm. Idk I feel like it fits him.
- Honestly he cares more about his friends and family than anything else. He literally sold drugs ti support his family (look where that got him)
- Has dated girls before but he hated it so much. Even tried kissing a guy at a party but decided that everyone else was crazy for enjoying this stuff
- A little bit of experience from before he decided that it all just wasn’t for him
Bryon
- Bisexual and cis
- His type is shorter than him (he likes to be tall and feel strong)
- He dated angela and Cathy, but he kissed curly at a party once (claimed it was because he was drunk and curly looks like angela but it’s not true he just thought curly was a cutie (even he’s super annoying))
- He mentioned being a ladies man so yeah he’s got experience.
Cathy
- Straight and cis, but a mega ally !!
- Her type is thoughtful and also big muscles
- She really thought bryon was perfect until he had his, err, mental breakdown and flipped out. It really hurt and she was so worried about him but he shut her out for months so she ended up moving on.
- Pretty sure bryon was her first bf? But she got with pb so she’s got a little bit of experience now
M&M
- I think gay and nb, and he doesn’t care about pronouns at all. He’s nonchalant like that
- Had a crush on mark lol. And Randy. He doesn’t date anyone because the only person he’s come out to is Cathy
- He thinks curly jumps him because he’s gay. Doesn’t realize its because he’s a hippie (curly is stupid but not homophobic)
- No experience, he’s like 13 and has never ever dated. Maybe he’s danced with someone at a school dance but he has no charm
Cherry
- Cishet ally
- Her type is canonly jerks. Very funny miss cherry.
- She dated bob, liked dally, in the series she liked Tim too. Why is she like this 💔
- A bit of experience, she dated bob after all.
Bob
- Bisexual in a homophobic way, cis
- Type is attractive rich people. He would never be attracted to a greaser, he’d rather jump off a cliff
- Dated cherry, likes Randy. He wants a very traditional future with a spouse and two children and he doesn’t think he can get that with a poor person for whatever reason. He also wants to be the “man” in the relationship.
- Lots of experience because he’s a whore I think. Flirts with most any rich person.
Marcia
- Cishet, doesn’t know that gay people are actually real. (When cherry told her she thought it was a joke)
- Type is funny lol. That’s why she likes twobit. I guess that means Randy is somewhat funny
- She actually isn’t that funny herself, she just likes to laugh.
- Very little experience. Randy was her first bf
Randy
- Gay and cis
- He likes bob. That’s it !
- He legit isn’t attracted to anyone else. After bob died he changed his entire ideology and became a hippie !! He was down bad. He doesn’t give a fuck about Marcia she’s just a girl to him
- Only has experience with Marcia and it’s not really the experience he wants because he is bobsexual
#the outsiders#darry curtis#darry curtis headcanons#sodapop headcanons#sodapop curtis headcanons#sodapop curtis#ponyboy curtis headcanons#ponyboy curtis#two bit mathews#steve randle#dallas winston#johnny cade#tim shepard#curly shepard#angela shepard#cathy carlson#m&m carlson#bryon douglas#mark jennings#bob sheldon#randy adderson#sherri valance#cherry valance#the outsiders hcs#the outsiders headcanons#that was then this is now
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Which tadc ship do you like more? Funnybunny or Showtime?
oh well long-post comes-
okay i did a little searching, since i often don't understand such ship names. if google doesn't lie to me, then the first one is Pomni/Jax, and the second is Pomni/Caine.
damn, I thought funnybunny was the name for Ragatha/Jax 💔💔
i don't ship Pomni/Jax but i find the pairing cute. i don't sense any special dynamic between them, Jax just makes fun of her the same way he makes fun of everyone else because he's a jerk (i say this lovingly). when i discovered that this pairing was the most popular in the fandom, i didn’t really understand why, since i wouldn’t say that there was anything particularly interesting going on between these two. I think the dynamics between Jax and Ragatha were more distinct, which I immediately noticed, they had tension and i really liked it x) but then, after thinking about it a little, i realized why Pomni/Jax is the most popular ship (I guess?? it's just my supposition) — people combined two of the most main characters, one of whom is a badass-tumblr-sexyman, and the second is an angsty ordinary person with whom people could identify themselves.
anyway i just find it funny that so many people like this ship. i saved fanarts of these two a couple of times because i thought they were cute. to be honest, kitsch's (@ bunnyjesters/ nuzipilled) works probably influenced my opinion about this ship the most. arts with Pomni and Jax from kitsch is probably my favorite among all the other fanarts for this couple, i think that he well preserves their canon behavior and characters despite the fact that the pairing itself in the cartoon is non-canon, and their interactions in his art feel quite realistic for me! i love how kitsch draws them and how he uses gestures and body language to show their emotions, it's very, very cute.
so yeah, i don't ship them, but i do find some of the fanart of them cute. i drew this a while ago, so have this if it will make you happy 🌸
now Kaine/Pomni...ahmmm, to be honest, i was even more surprised that this is probably the second most popular pairing in the fandom? :D apparently it really comes across often and haha, i don’t understand it... i’ve never been interested in the dynamics of student/teacher or employee/boss, in my understanding there can be no romance in their relationship, maximum platonic, family relationships, understanding each other. Kaine is very quirky and doesn't seem like he's interested in romance (i generally like Kaine/Moon, but i really think Kaine is just confused by Moon's behavior since he's not interested in her romantically x)). it's more like he treats all the guys in circus like friends, colleagues or something like that. so yeah, it's weird for me to see romantic stuff with Pomni/Caine, but like the first one, occasionally i might come across fanart with them that i think is cute. once I saw a mini-comic (don't remember the author) dedicated to that circus teaser, in the comic Caine suddenly appeared in Pomni's room. Pomni, out of fear, hits him sharply, after which he got upset and she began to apologize <з
if we talk about my fav ship, i love Ragatha/Jax! i don't remember this "name" for the pairing, but yes, that's them. dynamics like theirs are my favorite dynamic in couples, i just love it when characters can't stand each other lol. i love the tension between them and i'm afraid i paid too much attention to it while watching the pilot... oh my god, a moron, who pisses everyone off, with a good-natured girl, who wants to help everyone, but she has to deal with this asshole. i guess it's the "from hate to love" trope, right? i like that the first thing that manifests itself in such couples is negativity, they just piss each other off and cannot calm down. but after a while the annoying cools down and they begin to open up to each other. ofc i don't know Gooseworks’ plans, but you guys probably thought that Jax is actually not such a jerk as he shows himself to be, and in fact he is a deeper character, with his own traumas and trials? let's not turn this into a tragic sob story, but nevertheless, Gooseworks said "every tadc character has a reason why they behave the way they do" and i believe that we will be revealed that. it seems to me that to some extent Jax and Ragatha can complement each other. Like, you know, it’s like N helps Uzi cool down and be calm, and Uzi helps N to be confident and defend his positions. maybe Jax can show Ragata that her toxic positivity is not the best option and sometimes you need to be tough, and Ragatha can help him open up, share his problems and well...to be less jerk-like.
and yes, of course i can't get it out of my head that Jax called her "dollface" while he gave the others rude nicknames haha
also i like Ragatha/Pomni, i probably don’t pay much attention to them, but they're good. there are cute interactions between them and it seems that Ragatha was better than the others in being able to approach her and become somewhat of a friend. Ragatha has this energy of a caring mother or something, so her desire to help Pomni get comfortable in the circus and direct her to positive thoughts is cute. at the same time, Pomni looks extremely confused, but Ragatha is the one she turns to because she seems the most adequate and friendly of the others. i liked to draw how they hug, but in i think that most likely Ragatha would not have allowed herself to hug someone without asking, at least she would have asked permission x)
however, it seems to me that physical contact and kind words are Ragatha's way of support, so simply holding hands with her would calm Pomni down
also i like Pomni/Gangle and Gangle/Kinger and i don'tind other ships as well !!
#evele stuff#ask#ship ask#tadc#tadc ship#the amazing digital circus#ragatha x jax#jax x ragatha#pomni x ragatha#ragatha x pomni#pomni x jax#pomni x caine
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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 2
The Dead Land
Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)
Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian
Wordcount: 2.4k
Warnings: canon-typical violence, non-specific injury, angst, nightmares (not described)
Suggested Listening:
Summary: Echo runs his first mission for Rex's resistance cell and learns more about his new companions.
A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.
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This is the dead land
This is cactus land
—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”
“I’m scanning at least four Venators in various stages of decommissioning,” Cerra said. “This one, near the equator, is still mostly intact. Probably our best bet for a functional pod.”
“Planetary security looks tight,” Echo said. “And there’s an Imperial outpost under construction. Looks like the Empire wants to oversee the Scrapper Guild in person here. If they spot us, it will complicate the mission.”
“Got a better option?” Cerra asked.
“No,” he conceded. “I don’t suppose I do.”
“Then let’s hope they don’t spot us.”
Entering atmosphere was bumpy as hell, and the sub-light drive was still making that disconcerting racket, but despite Echo’s pessimism, their shuttle went undetected. He flew low over the Venator, scouting for a landing zone that was at least somewhat secure.
“Any chance you can put us down on the flight deck?” Cerra asked.
“Negative,” Echo replied. “It’s blocked by debris.”
“Figures,” she sighed.
“There,” Echo said after a few moments of searching. “Plenty of cover, not too far from the Venator.”
He landed the shuttle as Cerra readied the cargo floater. Echo exited first, scanning for hostiles before motioning her forward.
“On the plus side, the shuttle blends in with the rest of the junk,” Cerra muttered.
They moved as quickly as possible with the unwieldy cargo floater, keeping a wary eye for Scrapper Guild members. The path was rough and littered with sharp, twisted durasteel fragments and shards of broken transparisteel. Cerra wore sturdy work boots and durable clothing, and she had a blaster strapped to her thigh, but Echo hated how vulnerable she appeared without armor or a helmet. If she slipped and fell, she could easily sever an artery in this scrapheap. He resolved to help her get her gear in order before the next time she went offworld.
They picked their way stealthily to the massive ship, and once aboard, made their way through the shadowy corridors. Cerra seemed to know exactly where she was going, and Echo realized she must have spent a significant amount of time on a Venator. The ships were confusing to navigate even when they were powered up and illuminated, and based on the amount of dust and refuse that littered the passageways, this one hadn’t been operational in a long time.
When they finally reached the med bay, Cerra dropped her satchel and got to work while Echo stood guard.
“Better make sure this thing actually works before I tear it out,” Cerra said.
“I hope you don’t need me to restore power to the ship,” Echo said, remembering Bracca. “I’m not making that mistake again.”
“Rex warned me,” Cerra said. “I brought an auxiliary power unit. It doesn’t have enough juice to actually run the pod, but I can at least make sure it’ll turn on.”
She connected a cable to her small power unit, and pumped her fist in victory when the screen flickered to life.
“Wizard,” she mumbled, disconnecting the cable and immediately beginning the complicated process of uninstalling the pod. She worked in efficient silence, stopping occasionally to consult a datapad, and within an hour, they loaded the surgical pod onto the cargo floater and began their return journey to the shuttle.
“I need to make a detour,” Echo said as they approached the armory.
Cerra nodded and moved to guard the entrance, blaster ready. Echo quickly found what he was searching for, extracted it, and returned to the cargo loader. Cerra didn’t question him once he was back, merely resumed her rapid progress. With the cargo floater fully loaded, it was trickier to get out of the Venator than it had been to get in, and Cerra lost her footing, tumbling down the hull and slamming to the ground.
Echo cursed and ran to help her. “You good?”
“Yeah, all good,” she said. “Gloves are toast, though.”
She stripped off the mangled gauntlets. They had, fortunately, protected her hands from being cut when she scrambled for purchase on the jagged piles of scrap, but in their present state, they would only serve to hamper her dexterity.
“Better not fall again,” she said with a shrug.
As the shuttle came into view, Echo spotted movement and froze.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said grimly. “Scrappers have found the shuttle.”
“I guess the camouflage wasn’t as good as I thought,” Cerra said. “How many?”
“Three at least. We need to get rid of them before they call for backup.”
Cerra craned her neck to see around the pile of rubbish where they were hiding. “Damn. It’d be nice to have a sniper right about now.”
Echo chuckled drily. “Yeah. Ready?”
“Say the word, boss.”
“Go.”
They got as close as they could before they broke cover and fired on the scrappers. They stunned the three they could see, and Echo ran to secure the ship while Cerra retrieved the cargo floater. As he powered up the shuttle, he could see her running full tilt toward him, pushing the cumbersome lift ahead of her. Just when he began to think they’d managed to make a clean break, he saw a flash in his peripheral vision, and a shot blasted into the floater as a scrapper opened fire on Cerra from their vantage point inside the hulk of a derelict freighter. Cerra ducked behind the surgical pod and returned fire, and Echo ran to back her up, cursing. He laid down cover fire as she wrangled the floater up the shuttle ramp, and as soon as she slapped the control to close the ramp, he leapt back into the pilot’s seat and took off.
The shuttle jostled from the impact of blaster bolts as the scrapper continued firing, but within seconds, they were out of range. Cerra secured the cargo as Echo piloted them out of atmosphere, and as soon as they were clear of the planet’s gravity well, they jumped to hyperspace.
It was the middle of the night when they arrived at the repair shop, but Gregor was waiting on the landing platform outside the garage. As they disembarked, he sent Echo a casual salute and handed Cerra a cup of caf.
“Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite commando?” she asked, gulping the hot liquid as though it were life itself.
“I think I’m the only commando you know,” Gregor chuckled.
“Still my favorite,” she said. “Ugh, I can’t wait to shower. That planet was disgusting.”
“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait,” Rex said. “The timeline for Fireball’s extraction just got a lot tighter. We need to finalize our plan tonight and move out in the morning.”
Cerra shrugged. “Your call, Cap. You’re the one who has to smell me.”
As Cerra walked into the garage, Gregor narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re injured.”
“It’s nothing,” she said.
Echo glanced at her and realized she was hunching slightly to the side as though to protect her ribs, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. There was no blaster wound, so she must have hurt herself when she slid off the hull of the Venator. Gregor arched a disbelieving eyebrow and strode directly to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets until he found a small medkit.
“Let me see,” he ordered.
“Bossy,” Cerra grumbled, but she shed her jacket and sat obediently on the sofa.
Gregor peeled her shirt up her torso, and Echo turned away to give her privacy. Still, he heard Gregor’s hiss.
“Karking hell, Cerra.”
“It looks worse than it is,” she said.
“Really? Because it looks like you got drop-kicked all the way to Karthon and back. What happened?”
“I fell off a spaceship like a kriffing idiot,” she said. “Are we going to get this mission briefing started, or are we all just going to stand around yammering about nothing?”
Rex frowned. “Don’t you want to wait until Gregor finishes with the bacta?”
“I want to take a farking shower,” she snapped, and despite himself, Echo glanced at her, surprised by the sharpness in her tone.
Gregor worked quickly, but it was obvious that Cerra was in a considerable amount of pain. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her clenched fists shook as they rested on her knees.
“Almost finished,” Gregor murmured quietly.
“Good,” she said as her voice broke.
“Does it hurt when you breathe?” She merely shrugged in response, and Gregor gave her an impatient look. “I need to know if you cracked any ribs.”
“Why? Nothing you can do for that anyway,” she said.
“I can put you on light duty,” Rex said.
Cerra shot him an irate glare. “Nope, doesn’t hurt to breathe. In fact, I feel great. Never been better. Can we please, please get started?”
“Fine,” Rex sighed as he began to outline the plan of attack.
Gregor finished with the bacta as Rex spoke, then put away the medkit and quickly returned to the sofa. As he sat, he gave Cerra’s hand a little squeeze, and she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as she closed her eyes. Echo would have thought she had fallen asleep, except she occasionally asked a clarifying question or commented on the plan.
As Rex wrapped up the briefing, he said, “It’s vital that we remove Fireball’s chip as soon as possible, so Cerra will remain here and get the surgical pod operational. Any questions?”
Gregor and Echo shook their heads. Cerra watched Rex with an unreadable expression. When nobody spoke up, Rex dismissed them all with orders to get some sleep. Gregor went to the barracks, while Echo headed for the refresher, just as desperate for a shower as Cerra. As he left, he overheard her speak to Rex in a low voice.
“Can I have a word?” she asked.
The two disappeared into the small office at the back of the garage, and Echo took the longest shower of his life, reveling in the luxury of hot water. As much of his life as he’d spent on starships, he was accustomed to the efficiency of sonic showers, but there was no way in hells that he would opt for the sonic when a real shower was available. By the time he finished, he was relaxed and bone-weary, and he headed straight for the barracks.
A low, strained conversation emanated from behind the office’s closed door. Echo didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but his cranial implant amplified Cerra and Rex’s voices as they argued.
“—can handle himself. He has more training than any of us,” Rex said.
“It’s not about his ability,” Cerra said. “It’s about keeping him alive. He’s been through enough.”
Echo slowed to a halt. Were they arguing about him? Did Cerra not think he was capable? He frowned. She hadn’t said anything during their mission to Karthon, and she’d seen him in action. He could take care of himself, and he didn’t need her interfering with Rex’s plans.
“We need his infiltration skills,” Rex said.
“Dank farrik, Rex, you saw the extent of his brain damage when AZI removed his chip. Another hit could kill him.” Cerra kept her voice down, but her distress was evident.
Gregor, Echo understood suddenly. Cerra was worried about Rex’s plan to use him on the extraction team. Echo hadn’t realized how severe the injuries hiding beneath the commando’s irreverent disposition were.
“He knows it’s dangerous,” Rex argued.
“He doesn’t care about the danger because he trusts you so much that he’ll do anything you order,” Cerra said. “Use Echo on the infil team instead. Please, Rex. He’s just as skilled as Gregor, and he’s not at risk in the same way.”
“You know Gregor will never let me ground him,” Rex said.
“I’m not asking you to ground him. I’m asking you to assign him to pilot the ship instead of being part of the extraction team.”
“Cerra, I will protect him,” Rex began.
“Like you protected Fives?” Her voice cut like a vibroblade.
Despite himself, Echo gasped. Rex was silent.
“I’m sorry,” Cerra said after a tense moment. “That was out of line.”
“No,” Rex replied. “You’re right. I’ll put Gregor on pilot duty.”
After a long pause, Cerra finally responded. “Thank you.”
Echo realized he’d been listening much longer than he’d intended to. Shaking himself, he hurried to the barracks and climbed into his bunk. It was some time before Cerra entered, and Echo assumed she must have finally gotten her shower. She moved silently through the shadowed room and climbed into her own bunk. She must have been exhausted, because within a few minutes, he could hear her breath even out as she dropped into slumber.
He was jealous of her ability to fall asleep so easily. He’d never slept well, even before Skako Minor, and his insomnia had only gotten more severe after his experience with the Techno Union’s particular brand of hospitality. Still, he must have dozed off at some point, because quite suddenly, his eyes snapped open at the sound of a distressed whimper.
The sound was barely audible. Echo probably wouldn’t have even heard it if he hadn’t been so restless already. The cry came again, muffled and indistinct, and Cerra thrashed in her bunk.
Gregor moved with such impressive stealth that Echo didn’t even realize he’d gotten up until he heard the commando quietly murmur words of comfort under his breath.
“Gregor?” Cerra asked in a hushed, broken voice.
“Shh, I’m here,” he whispered.
The bunk creaked, and Echo heard the soft rustle of bedding being rearranged.
“I’ve got you,” Gregor said softly. “You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”
Cerra shuddered, and a muffled sob followed by stifled, gasping breaths rang out through the barracks. Echo could tell that she was trying to stay quiet by pressing her hands over her mouth.
“It’s all right,” Gregor soothed. “All the way out, remember? One, two, three, four, five. You’re all right, sweetheart, I have you. Now breathe in. One, two, three, four, five.”
Echo had an uncomfortable sense of voyeurism, as though he were intruding on an intensely private moment, but there was nothing to be done. Gregor continued to quietly coach Cerra until she brought her breathing under control. Once again, the barracks descended into silence, and at last, Echo fell asleep. When he awoke early the next morning, Gregor and Cerra were still curled up together in Cerra’s bunk, fast asleep. Gregor was lying, fully clothed, on top of the blanket, with Cerra’s body tucked securely against him and his arms wrapped around her.
---
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#the bad batch echo#captain gregor#captain rex#echo x riyo chuchi#gregor x oc#star wars fanfiction#bad batch fanfiction#clone wars fanfiction#dystopicjumpsuit writes#Spotify
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𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 || 𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀
pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality
genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni
word count: 13.8k
summary: Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.
Domestics.
All infected. One unlike the other.
You expect the infection to eat you from the inside out, turning you into something horrid. But instead, you find yourself with leaf-shaped ears and antlers that belong to a deer. While you live out the rest of your days trying to adjust to your new features and survive, you meet Joel, a survivor just like you but with a more grim approach to life.
Both of you adopt the forest as your home. One wants the other gone, meanwhile the other will do anything to not be left alone.
warnings: canon typical violence, horror elements, horror imagery, a non-descripted attempt at suicide, blood, intense feelings of grief (joel), joel having anger issues, joel threatening to shoot you, intense feelings/descriptions of loneliness (reader), female masturbation, you get shot, mentions of reader having body hair, piv, oral (receiving and giving), emotional sex, possessive kink, praise kink, mild dirty talking, soft!joel, vaginal fingering, kitchen sex, mild choking, rough sex
a/n: Hello everyone! this is the whole story of Exile, if you want to read this chapter by chapter you can by clicking on the masterlist below. Enjoy!
I would like to thank @pedrorascal for reading this over and giving me insight about the story. And also thank you to @honestly-shite for answering my camera-related questions 💜💜💜
And lastly, once again thank you to @pedrito-friskito who listened to me bitch and moan about this fic for months and edited this entire thing. I love you so much brainwave twin ❤️
SERIES MLIST
PROLOGUE
(SEPTEMBER, 2013)
Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.
Domestics.
All infected. One unlike the other.
After getting infected, what happened to one’s body could be described as no less than horrid. The change could happen to anyone; your neighbors, your friends, your family. After the virus seeped into your skin and flooded your veins, your body morphed into something inhuman. The stench would be unbearable— Acidic and rotten. Regular faces now looked as if they’d been through a meat grinder, or exploded from the inside out.
And those were your exact thoughts as fear crept up your spine. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as the feeling took hold of your spine, a cold hand clutched at your heart. The taste of bile was thick on your tongue, your nostrils filled with the cloying odor of decay. You could hear the clicking sound of the Infected drawing closer, a relentless, maddening sound that seemed to echo within your skull.
Click Click Click
The Clicker moved closer, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby fire. Its eyes were blank, soulless orbs that seemed to stare into your very soul. Its twisted, mangled body was covered in pus and blood, the stench overpowering.
You managed to make your escape with an empty gun in your hand and your black boots caked with mud. The rain fell heavily from the sky, as if it were determined to wash away all traces of your existence. Despite the downpour, you had managed to evade the Infected and make it deep into the woods.
You collapsed under a tree with thick, leafy branches and you cried— Warm, salty tears mixed with cold, sweet rain. You felt your stomach, soft, warm, and incredibly wet.
Blood, you realized.
With shaky hands, you peeled the wet fabric off of your skin and mused to yourself that it actually did feel just like that—warm. Your tears dried out when you saw the violently red bite mark. It was deep. A chunk of your flesh gone.
You checked yourself for ammo, your hands trembling. You didn’t want to turn. You didn’t want to become a mindless creature hunting for untainted flesh.
You let your head slump against the trunk, the weight of your circumstances pressing down on you as you grasped the finality of your empty ammunition. Your body trembled. Blood continued to pour heavy and thick over your skin.
Life was so cruel that it didn’t even allow you to die. You would live the rest of your days as a mindless shell of what you once were—a disfigured monster— until someone shot you. And that was only if you were lucky.
The thought of living long enough to morph into a Bloater struck you to your core. You closed your eyes.
While raindrops slid down the leaves and dropped onto your shivering body, you were blessed with unplanned sleep. You hoped that you wouldn’t wake in the morning. If you were lucky, a hunter would come by and shoot you before you had the chance to turn, robbing you of all your belongings.
A new type of Infected was born that day— Domestics, they would be called. A type of infected that didn’t behave like the rest. Domestics could continue their lives as regular people (whatever regular meant in this bitter world) however, they still carried the signs of nature’s rebuttal across their bodies.
Some Domestics had claws, some had fur, some had eyes that could see through the pitch-black night.
Some could breathe underwater, some had scaly skin.
In your case, you had antlers and soft, leaf-shaped ears allowing you to detect even the faintest of sounds from miles away. But with these gifts also came the curse of being forever marked as one of the Infected, an outcast from an already broken society.
This infection was different. Some called it adaptation.
But to most, it was still the Infected, there was no difference.
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
(MAY, 2014)
The wet soil sinks as you bend on one knee. The squelch of earth prompts you to wrinkle your nose. Your ears fall flat over your head, and you point the lens of the polaroid camera to a fallen tree trunk. It’s covered in rich green moss, with a handful of small mushrooms grown within it. You press your eyes against the viewfinder. The rest of the forest is blurred, the mushroom being the focus of the shot. You click the shutter release, the sound of it louder than you expect. A picture soon follows.
You flinch at the sound of wings fluttering. You press your chin against your chest, only moving your eyes as you look up. Your ears are raised with alert, your muscles tense, and your body unbelievably still. You see a flock of white doves swarming in the air.
You slowly get up with an exhale of a breath. You feel more and more on edge every day. You know for a fact that the forest is empty except for the animals that already inhabited it and well…you.
After you were infected and before you decided to make the green your eternal home, you had scoured the area endlessly. There wasn’t much; a couple of abandoned cabins, and safehouses made from stone and metal. As far as you could tell, there weren’t many Infected living here. However, that didn’t mean there were none.
Getting used to your new body hadn’t been easy. At first glance, not much didn’t appear to be different. Your ears were now one of a deer, your antlers small and not really good for anything.
The latter surprised you because from what you’ve known, does did not have antlers.
Funnily enough, getting used to your new physical appearance had been easy. The hard part was the newly developed senses; you could hear better, see better, could pick up scents miles away from where you stood. The first day after being turned you were frozen with fear, hearing and smelling too much all at the same time. It paralyzed you, making you think that the threats loomed much closer than they actually were.
But days passed and the pack of wolves you heard days before never came. The hunters seeking out tourists never found you. Then you realized that no one had been after you this entire time. You got up, ready to find a home.
In one of the abandoned cabins, you found a dusty old polaroid camera. You fixed it, cleaned it, and now it was your only tool to remind yourself of what life used to be.
The camera loosely hangs from your neck, swaying from side to side as you walk back home. You tend to limit your time in the forest, not wanting to attract attention from anything—be it humans, infected or regular animals.
A gust of wind blows and you notice a tree stump. Without a second thought, you gather a couple of the rocks that lay idly nearby. Four, you count, and stack them on top of the stump. This had become a habit after the first week. You enjoy seeing them months later, still laying on top of one another, untouched. The ones that are knocked by the wind or something else, you don’t pick up again.
Joel doesn’t think much of the scenery. There’s no one to bother him, no one to look out for, and that’s enough for him. His rifle hangs warm on his back, a newly shot buck limp and thrown over his shoulder. A good hunt, is all he can think.
His pain is still fresh. The hole in his heart still pouring crimson blood— it causes his skin to itch constantly, and he does so hard enough to leave red marks dragged across his skin.
Joel doesn't think anymore, his mind consumed by the need to survive. It’s out of habit. He shoots first and never asks questions. But even as he fights for his own survival, it feels meaningless, a hollow victory in the face of the horror that surrounds him. He moves through the world like a ghost, haunted by the memories of those he has lost and the darkness that seems to follow him. The constant fear and desperation have turned him into a shell of his former self, a shadow of the man he once was.
The part of him that used to feel is long gone, the watch on his wrist telling him the exact time of death every single day.
His chest heaves and his knees buckle under the added weight of the animal. With a grunt, Joel catches himself before falling and looks ahead. He’s close, a break seemingly not needed.
Then he sees a soft shimmer of light, his eyes following it like a moth to a flame. Rocks, he sees, four of them stacked on top of a tree stump, shining under the afternoon sun. His mind draws blank as he thinks who might’ve stacked them. At first, he worries that it might be hunters, but then he realizes that nobody would come out this far without a good reason.
As the realization sinks in, his heart slows down, his breathing evening out. The tension eases out of his body.
Joel rolls his shoulders and pushes the dead animal further up.
He only stops when he sees another set of rocks stacked on another stump.
TWO MONTHS LATER
(JULY, 2014)
It happens when you’re trying to take a picture of dew on a big leaf.
You hear the click of a gun, silent steps, and an agitated grunt. A man, you guess, a man much stronger than you. The feeling of him lurking behind you makes a shudder trail up from your tailbone to your nape, a needle-like sensation that induces the need to run. He’s closer now, his breathing heavy. You know it’s too late to run when you hear the loud crunch of leaves.
“Hands in the air,” he says, voice gruff. “I swear, you make a sudden move and I’ll shoot.”
You tremble. Your hands slowly raise, the camera falls and the strap stings your neck when it does.
“Don’t shoot.”
You sound meek and afraid. A million thoughts swirl in your mind, the most prominent one being that you didn’t want to die. An irony considering how you felt when you first breached the border of the forest. When he speaks again he doesn’t address your plea for your life, which scares you more.
“Turn around then, let’s see what you are.”
You turn and his eyebrows rise with shock, mouth parting. His hands falter lightly, the barrel of the gun dropping to your neck. When he swallows, his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
“Well, I’ll be… a Domestic.”
His shock gives you a brief moment to observe him as well. His hair sticks out from all directions, messy and unkempt. His patchy beard is peppered with a healthy amount of grays; so is his hair, you realize. You’re impressed by the broad width of his shoulders and strong jaw. He’s wearing a tattered brown jacket and a gray button-up underneath. His finger still rests on the trigger, the crease between his brows deep.
The watch on his wrist reflects the light into your eyes.
“I didn’t think your kind actually existed. A fairy tale, I always thought.” he huffs. “An Infected that can speak, think, and eat like one of us,”
“I am one of you,” you answer defensively.
“You have antlers growing out of your head, girl.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m any less of a human,”
“Maybe, but it sure does mean you ain't all human now, does it?"
The drawl of his words strikes a nerve. Blood pools underneath your fingernails and you think about the many others that think like him.
Rarely do you leave the protective bubble of the forest, but those scarce moments when you do have shown you what the masses thought of this new type of “Infected”. Most treated Domestics the same: shooting on sight. Some believed they could be the source of a cure—Whichever one they believed, it always ended in violence.
You have no reason to believe this man is any different from the rest. Hell, you can’t even rule out the possibility that he might be a hunter.
He takes a step closer. You inhale sharply, lips only slightly parted. The man doesn’t stop until you’re staring directly into the barrel of the gun, he cocks the weapon, his eyes glued to your ears and antlers. Saliva gathers in your mouth and you swallow thickly.
“What makes you different from the rest of’em— The rest of the Infected,” his voice drops, his tone threatening. “Give me a good reason not to blow your brains out right this second,”
Your ears straighten when he pushes the cool metal against your forehead. It’s cold yet it also burns. You’re hesitant to say anything, let alone convince him to let you live. Your lips are numb like a corpse, your throat seizes, the air caught in your throat.
Your gaze falls to his throat, and with a subtle snarl, he notches the gun under your chin, lifting your gaze back up.
“Speak,” he commands.
“I—I don’t crave to attack the uninfected,” you blurt out. He raises one eyebrow and looks you over, clearly not convinced. “I’m also scared of them. They attack me like they would any other survivor,”
“Is that so? Maybe we should try that theory out.”
You must’ve given him a look of utter horror— or one of a kicked puppy— because his eyes soften, brows relaxing along with the rest of his muscles. He finally lowers the gun and shakes his head.
“I won’t, don’t worry,” he holds the rifle with one hand and reaches out to touch your ear. It flinches at his touch. You take a tentative step back.
“Don’t do that,” you say with a frown. You feel incredibly warm and your ear continues to twitch. A sense of both comfort and fear rolls in your stomach. “I’m not a dog you know,”
“I guess not.” he also takes a step back and waves his hand. “Go along then—Scram,”
You scoff at his words, half smiling half surprised. “Scram?”
“I don’t want any sort of infected around me,” he answers, you notice his fingers curling tighter around the handle of the rifle. “I don’t care whether you can talk or shit gold, I want none of it.”
“I live here too, you know. You don’t own the forest—”
Suddenly, you find yourself staring into the muzzle again, you jump and goosebumps trace your skin. His hardened expression is back, he looks angry—furious almost, which surprises you. You didn’t expect him to offer you tea but you surely didn’t expect him to threaten you once more.
“We managed not to come across each other this far. Which tells me you must’ve been snooping outside of your regular path, am I right? Don’t come near here again.”
You’re wrong, is what you want to say since this actually was your regular path but seeing that he has no intention of backing down you decide to keep your thoughts to yourself.
“If I do find you snooping around again, I won’t be as kind. Now, go.”
Joel watches as the Domestic runs away, jumping above the branches and fallen trees. She didn’t say a word. She merely stared at his rifle one last time before fleeing.
Rightfully so, he would’ve shot her if she hadn’t.
For the longest time, he thought of the Domestics to be nothing more than a lie. He assumed it to be a weak attempt to spark hope within the people. A new type of Infected that didn’t behave like infected regularly did.
He remembers Tommy speaking of them, once, before Joel shut him down.
Supposedly they came in different forms, all of them having animal-like features. Joel never thought this of being the next step of human evolution —or an adaptation as many had told him— there was no use in having tiny antlers or other minuscule differences. They still would die just as easily as regular folk, so what was the point?
He turns and leaves. Joel would’ve shot her— hell, he probably should have. He doesn’t know nothing about this new type of infected, who was to say that the next day she wouldn’t come crawling back as a damn Clicker?
But, he still had some fraction of a conscience, and when she looked up at him, so afraid—the mere thought of him offering her up to the Infected making her tremble— he just couldn’t.
Joel is positive that this decision of his will cause him trouble. Hopefully, she’ll actually listen and never come near him again. But in this day and age, people rarely heed the warnings.
A fly lands on his shoulder and he swats it away. The thing you were doing had piqued his curiosity; you were taking pictures. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d taken a picture—
No. That’s a lie. He does.
It was when Sarah had won an award for playing on her youth soccer team. He remembers the picture well; Sarah holding her trophy with one hand and making a peace sign with the other with his arm thrown over her shoulder.
Joel stops, looks at the ground, and lets out a shaky breath. His eyes are wet, and his throat is so tight that it hurts.
Back when it all happened, he couldn’t even manage to go back to their home and bring a single picture with him. All he remembers of Sarah is from his memory—Not that he could ever forget what she looked like.
His chest stutters, anger boiling in the pits of his stomach. It’s unfair that he is still breathing and walking, it should’ve been him— Or he should’ve at least died along with her.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice loud within the silence of nature.
His anger festers in him like a disease. It never leaves. Whenever he thinks about his last moments with Sarah, his arms coiling around her as she stopped breathing, her blood warm against his skin. He feels a sharp pain in his chest and collapses. Most days, he wished that the pain would stop his heart, clog his veins, and leave him dead under the trees.
He jolts at the familiar pain growing in his chest. The sounds he makes come from his throat, an unattractive gurgling sound that reminds him of Runners. Joel stumbles forward and trips. Looking down he sees thick roots making their way out of the soil, his gaze follows the rotting limb, he sees a tree stump.
Again, he sees rocks.
The tightening of his chest subsides for a brief moment, his shock numbing the rest of his nerves. Joel looks back to where he came from. He observes the path the Domestic had escaped to, then he turns back to the rocks.
Joel isn’t sure what prompts him to do it— He’s angry, bitter, and the peaceful image of the Domestic happily taking pictures doesn’t leave his mind. Raising his foot from the ground, he kicks the stack violently with the sole of his boot.
He doesn’t care to look in which direction the rocks flew to. He walks away.
ONE WEEK LATER
(JULY, 2014)
Summer rain isn’t common, but very much appreciated.
You hear the soft pitter-patters of rain first. The light that filters through the clouds casts the room in a hazy, dreamlike quality. You slowly open your eyes. There it is again, that feeling of restlessness, accompanied by an itch that you just can’t scratch. You stretch your arms first, then your legs and your back—twisting and turning until you hear a satisfying crack.
Staring at the ceiling, you think of what to do. You’re low on supplies. Especially food. You have a handful of dried berries in the cupboard and freshly gathered rosemary to make tea. Not the most nutritious breakfast. Soon you will either have to travel to the city (which is never fun) or you will need to scavenge the woods, in hopes that maybe there is an empty cabin you haven’t sacked yet.
Thunder bellows and you close your eyes, your ears flat. Your heart races not only at the sound, but the memory of a rifle being pointed at you and the man who held the trigger. You remember the smell of gunpowder and fear, the taste of terror and sorrow. You think back to the man and the moment when it all could have gone wrong. But the thunder falls silent, and you’re still here. You’re still alive.
You’ve seen him once more since that encounter. For obvious reasons, you hadn’t come out to say hi. He seemed to be wearing a perpetual scowl on his face, which makes you uneasy near him.
The rain speeds up, the cold crawling through the gaps. Yet, you feel incredibly warm.
Human contact is something hard to come by and for some reason, the man behind the trigger awakened something inside you. Despite the imminent threat of death at the time, you realized he had a handsome face, a strong body. He’s clearly competent if he managed to survive this long.
You remember his hands, how large they had looked holding the grip of the rifle.
With a stuttering exhale, your hands move across your body, squeezing and touching parts of yourself you found that still enjoyed being squeezed and touched. Your breasts feel heavy and warm beneath your palms. One hand slides up as the other slides underneath your loose shirt; slowly you curl your own fingers around your throat, with the other you draw slow circles around your nipple.
The sensations are enough to make your eyes flutter closed as your mind drifts back to the man who had held you at gunpoint. His strong frame, his deep voice, and his intense gaze. You let out a soft sigh as you imagine what it would be like to feel his hands on your body. To feel his breath on your neck, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. It's a wonderful fantasy, but one you know will remain just that.
But then again, there is no harm in fantasizing. Especially in a world so bleak.
You imagine that it’s him. His thick fingers roughly squeezing your tit as he chokes you. Your breathing hitches. You spread your legs at the ghost of his cock. You can almost feel his breath on your skin—his growl deep and low in your ear. You imagine the stranger fucking you out of spite, bending you over until your body gives in, he’ll make your muscles twitch and ache, your name falling from his lips again and again as he fucks you senseless.
Another gasp drops from your lips, your jaw slack and eyes half-lidded, the hand that plays with your tit cheats under your shorts. You’re so wet. You shudder when you touch yourself, slow and sensual. You imagine that it’s his tongue, you imagine him praising you on how wet you are for him, and you keen at the whisper of his words. Your back arches off the bed, two of your fingers moving in unison as you draw quick, short circles around your clit.
Your moans fall freely from your lips. His mouth presses against that tender spot right below your jawline that you tend to touch when you want to feel good—the spot tingles at the thought and you hum with delight, your pussy fluttering and dripping around your fingers.
He'll bring you to the brink of pleasure, but won’t let you reach it—not until you surrender to him. You imagine his voice commanding you, his hands punishing you.
You feel yourself grow wetter and wetter, desperate for his touch. You imagine yourself screaming his name as he finally pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you as he slams into you with one last thrust. You’re left trembling and exhausted, your body aching and your mind reeling from the intensity of you imagination.
You come violently, shaking and trembling. You breathe heavily through your nose and your chin drops forward, slack with the need to say his name. Deep down, you wish you had asked when you met. He would’ve probably shot you if you did. You want to cry when you push your fingers inside of you, the feeling is pleasant and warm but not at all fulfilling. You thrust them a couple of times, warmth blossoms within your stomach, tears flow and your second orgasm shatters through you
Still crying, you wipe your fingers and rub your eyes. You do it in a childish way, the back of your hands going up and down your eyes again and again. You think of how he would console you.
You’re doing so well for me.
So beautiful.
Just you and me, nothing else matters.
You’re not alone.
You hug yourself when the last phrase passes through your mind. Within yourself, you accuse him of lying, you say that he’s far away and doesn’t even know who you are. The ghost of him shushes you and strokes your hair. You cry harder then.
A man that threatened you with your life becomes a source of comfort. It makes you sick, deep down, but you carry on by imagining him whispering sweet sayings into your ear, his hands stroking your body, his cock deep inside. You shudder at the thought. You know that you’re lonely but you never had quite known how lonely you truly were.
The rain sounds louder now, the thunder more menacing.
Your room now seems darker.
The rain lasts all day. You pour some hot water into a cracked mug with a bundle of rosemary inside. Steam flows out of the mug like a waterfall. You take a small bite out of one of the berries you dried yourself and chew it slowly. Your movements feel mechanic. You swallow and raise the mug to your lips, it’s hot, and a bit of tea slips through the cracks and burns your knuckles. You only wince a little bit, not really taking any immediate action to subside the pain.
Drops slide down the window. The inside is warm thanks to the old wood-burning stove you managed to salvage, most of the parts not matching one another. Soft crackles of fire accompany the sound of rain.
You take another sip of your tea. You don’t dare to think about the man that is probably staring at the same rain as you. You feel close to him, yet miles and miles apart.
The salty and earthy taste of rosemary mixes with the warm and comforting smell of the fire, providing a bit of solace in the midst of the storm.
It’s probably better not to think at all.
THREE MONTHS LATER
(OCTOBER, 2014)
Joel makes his way through the abandoned cabin, his eyes scanning the cluttered room for any supplies that might still be of use. The air is heavy and still, the only sound being the soft dripping of water from the leaky roof. The shadows seem to dance and shift around him, and he can't shake the sensation of being observed.
He still has food, luckily, but there was no harm in searching for more. Once a week, he scanned the forest from dawn to dusk, looking over every inch of the crowded forest. Most often than not, he came back empty-handed.
Joel ventures further into the cabin, his heart racing as he searches through the abandoned rooms. In the bedroom, he finds a torn and moldy mattress that he can use as a makeshift bed. In the bathroom, he discovers a sink and bathtub that are caked with grime and rust, but still functional.
As he gathers the supplies he needs from the kitchen, Joel thinks about the Domestic he’d met months ago. He saw her once more after that, camera dangling from her neck, a gun strapped to her back. He has an inkling that maybe it was her clearing out the abandoned cabins before he could.
Just as he’s emptying the cupboards, his blood freezes. He hears the creaking of the old steps and the familiar sound of staccato clicks. Beads of sweat flare across his dusty forehead and his lips tighten into a grim line. He slowly unwraps his fingers from around the can, crouching down slowly. His hand moves to his gun, which he pulls up to his chest.
He takes a deep breath and edges backward. He tries to stay hidden as he figures out the exact location the noise is coming from. Joel watches as the twisted, fungal body stalks down the stairs; it trips but is unbothered by it.
It moves around with a silent, deadly grace.
Its face is completely engulfed in the thick, black fungus that covered its entire being, its eyes long since rotted away. Swallowing, Joel crawls forward, wanting to reach the door before the Clicker finds him lurking about in the kitchen. He breathes out from his nose, as silently as he can. The Clicker turns to the living room, leaving the exit wide open. Joel’s skin tingles when he moves, like little needles poking into his skin.
Joel’s eyes frantically dart around, taking in every tiny detail just in case something goes wrong. He spots the wide windows, the coat rack, the couch—
His body shuts down entirely when he sees it. He stops breathing, moving, even the twitching of his right eye subsides within the minute.
Joel sees her. Antlers and all, crouched behind the couch, teeth deep into her bottom lip while breathing heavily from her nose.
And in that brief moment, their gazes meet.
Joel’s mouth is dry as sandpaper. He holds his gaze, eyebrows raise with shock, her confusion is quickly replaced with hope— A look he despises, yet can’t help but be drawn to.
The Clicker moves around the sofa, its head tilting from side to side as the horrid clicking sounds spurt from its open mouth. Without even thinking Joel motions with his head for her to sprint forward. He sees the still in her steps, strained and fearful but despite it all, she manages to reach him.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her gaze glued to the floor.
“It’s too early to give me thanks. We’ll talk when we’re out.”
He feels the way she breathes, hears the way her heart hammers in her chest. It reminds him of a caged baby bird. She inches closer to him. A movement driven by pure instinct. Joel thinks she trusts too quickly.
The Clicker stands by the door, head turned in their direction, taunting them.
It must have heard the two of them whispering. Joel feels his entire body tensing, his breathing nonexistent—
Without thought, Joel senses her nearly jumping with fear and his hand reaches for her. His fingers curl tightly around her neck, pushing her head down without his eyes ever leaving the creatures’ gruesome silhouette. It doesn't have eyes, but it sure looks like it's staring them down, its head tilting to the side as it listens for any sign of movement.
The Clicker turns its head, cracking its neck before heading deeper into the house.
He grinds his molars together and feels the sting of it in his gums. She lets out a breath of relief, it feels loud— Too loud. He squeezes her nape once more before letting go, and without a word, he heads for the door, not bothering to close it as he finally leaves the cursed cabin.
Her footsteps follow.
FIVE MINUTES LATER
(OCTOBER, 2014)
You follow the man deeper in to the woods as the two of you rush to put a reasonable distance between you and the cabin. He keeps looking over his shoulder. Every time he does, he looks more and more rageful. You’re sure that he wants you to leave.
Honestly, that is probably the more sensible thing to do.
But the skin of the back of your neck still stings from his grip and you can’t bring yourself to leave without at least learning his name. This forest is your home, and it’s his home as well. In a twisted way, you two are neighbors.
You hadn’t expected to come across an Infected when you went inside. The heavy rain made you walk inside with little care. It was terrifying, waiting for the threat to pass by yourself. But then there he was, a rugged angel, offering a way to salvation, and bringing you to safety.
You’ve seen him around; you even took a picture of him. To you, he was a perfect specimen to document someone who was both free and trapped. It was also nice to actually photograph a living, moving thing.
“When are you gonna quit chasing me around?” he suddenly snarls, turning on his heel with force. “How many times do I have to tell you— Scram.”
“You’re really rude,” you answer, crossing your arms in defiance. “And you said we would talk after we got out. Well…we got out, now it’s time to talk,”
“Fine. Thank me and leave,”
The wind blows warm. The sound of leaves rustling scratches your ears. You try to make yourself seem bigger by straightening your back. It’s been so long since you wanted to talk to him—To get to know the other person who was in the same situation as you. Afraid, confused, hurt, lonely.
You just want to know his name. That’s all.
“My name is June,” you say with the exhale of your breath. “And thank you.”
He considers your not-so-subtle peace offering. His eyes are narrowed, lips tight. Briefly you fear he’s just going to turn and leave. But the fire crackling in his eyes dies down, his shoulders drop and the wind ruffles his hair.
“Joel.” he answers, “and you’re welcome.”
TWO WEEKS LATER
(OCTOBER,2014)
You never thought you would have another person in your house. Ever, really.
But here Joel is, walking up the steps of your humble cabin, taking in the details, assessing what he could take just in case. At the time, inviting him over seemed like a good idea. You wanted him to know where you lived, if something were to happen to where he lived, you wanted him to know where to come.
However, your good intentions were not reciprocated.
“I’m not telling an Infected where I live,” he had said. “Feel free to show me if you feel that’s the right thing to do, but don’t expect me to do the same. We are not the same.”
The words still echo in your head as you finally reach the top of the stairs. You don’t think it was wrong of him to think like that. Technically, you two aren’t the same, not even the same species. But it frustrates you a little bit to see that he’s still so reluctant about your intentions. All you want to do is make your life less miserable.
“This is the bathroom,” you point out. “However, there’s no real plumbing. I pull in water from the nearby river and wash directly there.”
He hums, eyes uncaringly looking inside. “What else?” he grunts, walking ahead.
You dart ahead, grinning as you make an effort of bowing and opening the door. It’s stupid maybe, being so excited about wanting to show him the photos you had taken—But you couldn’t help it. It feels like having a friend over after years, it’s…it’s nice.
“And here’s my bedroom slash office,”
“Office?” he scoffs. “What work are you doing?”
“I like taking pictures,”
You don’t miss the way his face falls, hands tightening into fists and loosening up again. Confusion crosses your face but you manage to erase it by shaking your head.
“Uh…anyway, do you want to see?”
“Do I have a choice?”
His voice is emotionless, so you have no way of telling if he’s annoyed or not. You only understand his intentions when you turn and see him smiling, the expression sprinkling relief over your heart. It’s a very small smile, something that wouldn’t be considered smiling before 2013, but now it’s the broadest smile in the world.
It’s odd, feeling this light when doing something. You feel your fingertips tingling as you pick up a medium sized box from your desk and place it on the bed. Before he moves closer, you snatch Joel’s picture from on top of the pile and place it facing down on the sheets.
“You really have been busy,” he remarks, picking up one of the photographs. It’s one of dandelions. “Not bad,”
“Thanks. It is hard to find polaroid films and the one’s I find are quite old, or expired, hence the reason why all the pictures look faint or discolored. But it’s better than doing nothing,”
Joel gives you a faint smile that makes your heart flutter, his eyes grow soft. “Guess so.”
You show him your favorite photographs, one by one, with insightful commentary on each. He nods, a man of few words, but you appreciate having someone to talk to, other than your own echoing voice.
As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a golden light through the windows, warming your skin, you realize with a startle that hours have passed. You find yourself sitting on the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Joel, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The light dances on your skin, and the colors come alive, and for a moment, all is right in the world. No virus, no loss, no grief. Just the two of you, smiling and talking.
It feels like a glimpse of another life, an alternate universe. The sudden urge to cry overwhelmes you. It’s so strong that you press your nails into your palm, the sting of pain forcing a hiss to stumble from your lips.
“You alright?”
The deep baritone of his voice makes you jump. Joel doesn't seem to notice, as he carefully places the photographs back into their box and slowly stands up. While you nod and open your mouth to say that you are, his eyes lingers on the backwards photograph sitting on the bed.
He reaches out before you can stop him, “It seems like we missed one,” he says, picking it up. Your fingertips touch the photograph as he pulls it away, slipping from your grasp before you can prevent what’s about to happen.
“Joel, wait—”
You watch him, transfixed as he studies the photograph, his eyes scanning every inch, his mind working furiously. First, his eyes go wide, then they narrow, brows scrunched angrily. His eyes snap up, his gaze hardened like the first time you met him.
“What the fuck is this?”
“I can explain.”
Joel doesn't pay attention to her explanations, his gaze glued on the photograph. It's like looking into one of those distorted mirrors at a theme park. In the picture, he's standing, gun strapped to his back, fingers curled around the straps of his backpack. He doesn't remember this moment, every day blending into one. It's hard to tell which day it is just from a single photograph.
He looks tired, cheeks hallowed and eyes sunken. His hair and beard has more grays than he remembers, and there's a scar above his right eyebrow that he hadn't noticed before. How could he? He doesn’t like to look at himself.
But what really sets him on edge is the sight of his own gaze. In retrospect, it's a beautiful picture, the setting sun casting a golden glow on his skin and eyes alight. But he knows what he used to look like, how he used to be tired but happy, content with the life he had built for Sarah and him. Now, he looks tortured, eyes lacking life and love.
This physical copy of his grief and pain is a stark reminder of all that he has lost. He turns the photograph over in his hands, tracing the edges with his fingers as the weight of his past presses down on him. He can't bring himself to look at it any longer and feels a heavy ache in his chest.
He rips the photograph into two pieces, then four—He tears it until the pieces slip from his fingers, fluttering to the wooden floors.
When he looks back at her, he feels anger. Nothing more nothing less. He never should have came here.
Her lips are pressed tight, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. She looks so small right now, ears pointed down, and her body curling in a way that makes him think she wants to disappear.
Maybe she should.
Or better yet, he should. Only if he wasn’t a damned coward.
“Why the fuck would you take my picture without asking?” he spits, venom behind ever word.
“We weren’t really on speaking terms at the time…”
He senses her need to lighten the mood, but it’s too late. The lid is popped wide open, and he’s not strong enough to close it back. The sickening part is that he doesn’t want to close it. Joel wants to lash out, he wants to scream and throw a glass at the wall, watch it shatter into a billion pieces. He wants it so bad in fact, it feels if he doesn’t his chest might explode, his breathing hitches, eyes darting around.
Joel spots the box of pictures, for a brief moment he imagines himself ripping it all to shreds. Pouring gasoline over them, watching it burn.
“You shouldn’t have taken it anyway,”
His gaze then falls upon the camera, sitting idly on the desk. She follows his gaze, noticing the way the air around him becomes tense when he picks it up. It’s hard to breathe. She starts begging him, her voice trembling, as his fingers tighten around the device.
"Look, calm down, please. I'm...I'm sorry, okay?" she says quickly adding. "I understand how you feel—"
"No, you don't," he snaps, the weight of his grief and pain pressing down on him. "You know nothing of my pain. You don't know what loss is."
With a snarl of anger and frustration, Joel throws the camera to the ground. It crashes with a loud sound of shattering glass and plastic. He watches as the pieces of the camera litter the floor, its once precious film now spilled out like entrails. His chest heaving with each breath, his anger slowly dissipating, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of regret. He stares at the broken camera, with a feeling of emptiness and a heavy weight on his chest, the feeling hadn’t gone away.
As a response, her anger starts to rise as well, competing with his own. Her gaze traces along the broken camera pieces, her hands balling into fists.
“You’re not the only one who lost people, Joel.” you say, eerily calm. He doesn’t like the way a chill has settled over the bottom of his spine. “I’ve lost people too. You don’t get to say who’s pain is bigger.”
Joel steps forward, then another, crowding her space. He expects her to cower in fear, but instead she glares at him, staring at him with an unwavering gaze he’s never seen before.
He’s so close that he can see the small flecks in her eyes.
“Yes, I do.” his voice drops. “You talk mighty big for someone who prances around and takes pictures all day. You can fool yourself and think that you’re in pain but you ain’t fooling me. You’re happy.”
She blinks away her tears quickly, her lips parting with shock. It’s too late for him to feel guilty now; he’s sure he’s run out of guilt.
Anger briefly flares in her eyes, and much to his surprise she attempts to push him away. Joel grabs her wrist, holding them tight as she thrashes around. She refuses to look at him, his words cutting too deep and into something that she fears might be true.
“That’s not fair,” she cries out managing to pull one hand away and slam the side of her fist into his chest. “Fuck you Joel. Fuck. You.”
“Good,” he replies cruelly. “That’s how you should be feeling.”
TWO MONTHS LATER
(DECEMBER, 2014)
Snow crunches under your boots and the wind chills your skin. Except for the pines, most trees are left bare, thick snow covering their branches. Ever since the infection you don’t feel that cold anymore. A simple jacket is all you need, unlike Joel, who seems as if he’s wearing a dozen sweaters underneath his coat.
He walks ahead, rifle hanging on his back.
After knowing one another, it was hard to truly part ways. The first week after he shattered the only joy you had left in your life, you two steered away from each other; both of you angry, both of you bitter.
But you two danced around each other like butterflies. One day, you met his gaze and he nodded. The next day you told him about the extra fish you managed to catch, and that you wouldn’t mind sharing. He seemed hesitant at first, but accepted your offer when his stomach ratted him out with a loud growl.
Neither of you talked about the incident. You swept the camera away, tucked the box of photographs under your bed. You didn’t enjoy looking at them anymore.
You watch his back, the way his coat seems tight around his shoulders, the dip from the rifle pronouncing his shoulder blades. He always walks in front. No matter what the situation might be, you find yourself staring at his broad back and beautiful neck. He doesn’t talk much anymore, and when he does, it’s in the form of short sentences.
You on the other hand, do whatever you can to fill the silence.
You don’t dive much into your past, but you tell him about your hobbies, what it’s been like being alone, and how you adapted to your new antlers and ears.
Then one day, as you were telling him the things you were afraid of most, he turned to you slowly, his one eyebrow raised and slack-jawed.
“Don’t you think you tell me too much about yourself?” he had asked and you were caught by surprise.
“Uh… no? Am I annoying you?”
“Not annoying—Well, maybe a bit, but I can live with that— you’re too… trusting. Aren’t you afraid?”
You shrugged, “I feel like if you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already. No use in dwelling on something I can never be sure of.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Fine then, what do you mean? Do you want me to be afraid of you?”
He didn’t answer and you were grateful for it. The thought of reopening the wounds he caused you wasn’t something you particularly wanted to do.
You’re abruptly drawn away from the whispers of the past with a sting spreading from your nose to your forehead, you groan and stumble back, your hand immediately going up to touch your nose.
Your vision is blurry, but you see Joel standing as still as a tree in front of you. His one hand is raised to his side, fingers forming a fist. The command is silent but it reaches you loud and clear. You pull out your pistol, finger nestled against the trigger as your ears raise. You hear steps that you missed before, too entranced by your thoughts to hear them. A faint murmuring reaches your ears.
You take a slow breath to steady yourself and take a step closer to Joel.
“Three people,” you whisper. “They sound obnoxious and dangerous,”
He scoffs, “How can you tell they’re obnoxious all the way from here?”
“I just can. We should go,”
“No,” he says, fingers curling around your wrist just as you attempt to turn. “We should check who— or what— they are,”
“And after that?”
“We take care of it.”
There’s a stillness in the air and for the first time, you feel the sting of cold. You don’t share Joel’s coldness towards killing. Even killing the Infected is hard for you ever since you also became one by extension. You much rather let the threat simmer until it boiled and threatened to burn you.
Joel ignores your hesitation and releases his hold. “They’re close aren’t they? If I was able to hear them even a little they must be. Lead the way,”
“Joel…”
“Waiting around will get you killed,” he answers, his tone calm and collected. “You’re either with me or with them,”
“That’s cruel.”
“Is that your answer?”
Leaning slightly forward, he forcefully meets your gaze. He doesn’t blink and it feels as if he’s staring into your soul, which is ironic considering Joel probably doesn’t believe in such things. Closing your eyes you face the sky, the tips of your ears burn and your heart skips a beat. You already know what your answer is, and he knows it too.
“I’m with you.”
“Then lead the way, Bambi.”
It’s not a long walk. You’re surprised that they’re so close, so surprised in fact you shudder with each step. You’re not a fan of confrontation. Every nerve in your body screams at you to run. But you feel Joel’s presence near you, his ghost chokes out the screams, only litter whimpers left that are easier to ignore.
You and Joel take cover behind the thick trunk of a pine tree. Your guess is that the small group are hunters. They carry guns and they look the part. Your eyes move to Joel, his own gaze slowly turning to you. He pushes a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. The three men talk about the tourists and the Domestics they managed to get a hold of, you bite back a whimper.
Joel leans in, the curve of his lips barely touching your ear. He doesn’t have to do that, you could’ve heard him just fine, but some habits are hard to break.
“I’ll take them out,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath prompting you to close your eyes. “You stay on lookout, shoot the ones that try to kill me.”
You nod. There isn’t much you can add to his plan anyway.
Joel moves out. As he slowly approaches the first one, you move, your steps feather-light. You find the best position to spot all three of them and crouch down, the snow melts under your knee and wets the fabric.
With one eye closed and finger on the trigger, you realize you’ve never actually seen Joel attacking another. You’ve seen him hunt, but that was as far as the violence went. Briefly, you admire his contrast to the white snow. His coat a dark green, stained, and his hair mussed.
His every move is calculated. He walks around the first target, wraps his arm around the man’s neck and pulls him away from the others until he faints. You expect him to fixate his gaze on the others, but instead, he raises his foot and slams it down with no shred of hesitation. Blood sprays against the snow, melting and hissing at the warmth of blood. A drop of red lands on Joel’s cuffs.
You let out a scream, clapping both hands over your mouth before you can stop yourself.
But it’s too late, the other two are already running toward Joel.
“Shit,” Joel hisses, eyes finding yours amidst the chaos. “Get out!”
You’re a deer in headlights, both literally and figuratively. The two men crowd Joel, one pressing a knife to the neck you admired many times while the other sets his gaze on you.
You hear the bullet first, and your body moves before you can process it. Joel manages to kick the man heading towards you in the back of the knee. He falls face first with a grunt. You hear the knife against Joel’s neck cutting skin.
You don’t blink when you raise the pistol and shoot your shot, the bullet sinks right between his eyebrows. He falls promptly. The other one still groans on top of the snow. Joel takes the knife that was still stained with his own blood and stabs the last of them in the heart. You collapse to the ground, pistol falling to the side as you cover your mouth.
Warm tears roll down your cheeks, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers tremble. You see black dots hovering across your vision. You feel incredibly sick. Your mind replays the scene over and over again until you feel his touch on your cheek.
You were aware of the violence growing in the world. Seen bits of it whenever you left the comfort of the forest. But you haven’t been aware of how bad it had gotten. How desperate everyone became to hurt others for the means of survival.
Bile rises up your throat and burns your tongue.
“Calm down— Calm down,” Joel cradles your face, thumbs moving over your cheekbones. “You’re good. We’re safe. You did it,”
“Did what exactly?” you snap, pushing him away and falling back. “Joel you—you kicked in his skull! You—You—” your voice breaks and you finally open your eyes accompanied by a deep breath. He looks broken and for the first time you truly understand what that means. “What the fuck, Joel?”
His eyes flit around your face. He slowly takes in every detail —the way you shudder, the way your ears are flat against your head, the way your breathing is uneven— but he doesn’t know what to make of it. Your words have underlined fear, uncertainty. You look at him as if it’s the first time you’re seeing him.
Joel’s gaze moves from your face to your shoulder, he reaches his hand out.
You jerk away without meaning to, his look softens, the tips of his fingers only an inch away from your shoulder.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he drawls, voice dropping, barely a whisper. “You’re bleeding.”
You look to the side, too tired to actually panic about it. Now that you were seeing the blood, you start to feel the sting of the bullet still being inside. You wince and Joel catches it.
“Your cabin is close by right? Let me patch you up.”
You’re strikingly aware that you won’t be saying no to him, not now and probably not ever, “Sure.”
Joel is surprisingly gentle.
He helps you out of your blood-soaked shirt, leaving you only in your bra. The chair creaks under your weight. You ignore the vulnerability of the situation. It’s been months since another person saw you bare, you didn’t have the means to groom yourself properly. The hairs on your arms and legs growing with time— Even though you’re blatantly aware of how stupid it is, you still wonder if he notices, or what he might think.
Joel returns with the first-aid kit and you refuse to look at him, turning your cheek when he kneels to your side. He dabs the cotton in alcohol, cleaning it first before taking the tweezers out of the box. You hear him sigh.
“I know you want nothin’ to do with me right now but you might want to bite down on something. It’s gonna hurt, Bambi.”
Hearing the nickname makes you feel lightheaded. Turning around, your gaze drops to Joel but he’s not looking up at you, instead, he’s staring at the wound caked with blood.
“Give me my shirt, I’ll bite into that.”
Joel nods and hands you your shirt. You take it begrudgingly, balling it up in your hands and biting down on the fabric. The pain is excruciating, sweat beads on your forehead. You close your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the searing agony in your shoulder.
Joel's gaze is fixed on you as he works, pulling out the bullet with steady hands. You try to focus on anything but the pain, your gaze drifting to the window. You see that it's started to snow, the flakes swirling in the air. You wince, the pain making it hard to think.
Joel's gentle touch brings you back to the present. His fingers are light and careful as he works, pulling out the bullet and cleaning the wound. You can hear the soft sound of his breathing, the occasional sigh or murmur as he focuses on the task at hand.
“You’re bleeding too,” you state, pointing to his neck. “We should get it cleaned,”
His fingers brush above the shallow wound, not even a small wince crossing his face.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”
“I’m assuming you won’t tell me about those memories even if I asked,” you whisper, and his hands go still, fingertips feeling like hot iron against your skin. “I’m not even sure I want to know.”
“Believe me, you don’t.”
And that’s the most you get out of him. A tiny crumb of his past. His one hand slides down to your upper arm, fingers pressing into the muscle as if you’re a ghost that has just materialized in front of him. Briefly, you see scenes much more violent compared to the one you witnessed flashing before your eyes; a desperate Joel trying to survive, losing himself to the darkened world. His grief still consumes him, you can see it clearly now.
With a soft sigh, you cover his hand with your own. The moment is still, neither of you knowing what to say. He seems surprised by the fact you’re touching him, his eyes slowly lifting and meeting yours. You swallow, the sound of blood loud in your ears.
When you look into his eyes, his soft gaze is briefly replaced by the memory of rage-filled ones you saw outside. You don’t think you will ever be able to forget that look. You won’t be able to forget the way violence clutches at his heart. His need to protect himself and those around him clouds his better judgment— Or rather, he doesn’t care about what happens to others for the sake of his own people.
You know that this should most likely scare you, or that you should perceive him as something ugly and tainted.
But it doesn’t. In fact, you think it does the opposite. It’s like a moth to a flame. You’re drawn to him and his tainted light. You see him as nothing short of beautiful.
His breath hitches while yours stops completely. It warms the fresh wound, then you feel his lips, scarred yet soft, a soft kiss as an answer to your pain. The touch of his tongue forces a shiver up your spine, a soft sting blossoming across your shoulder.
Joel continues, mouth moving over the slope of your shoulder and to your neck. His patchy beard is a harsh contrast against your skin but you enjoy it all the same. He closes his mouth and presses his lips into the column of your neck. Your lips part with a soft moan. He kisses your neck again and again as if it’s a means to survive. With every press of his mouth, he becomes more sure of himself, the softness is accompanied with the sharpness of his teeth, goosebumps coat your skin.
Your hand hovers an inch away from his head, too afraid to dive your fingers in just in case he’ll turn into another ghost that your cruel imagination often creates.
Joel moves back, only an inch between your faces. There’s a new emotion you see that crosses his face but you can’t place what it is. He feels your hand at the back of his head, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a deep, long breath. Joel’s fingers gingerly curl around your wrist, pushing your hand flush against his head.
“Touch me,” he says, his southern drawl deep. “I want to feel you.”
It’s like an experiment almost. Your fingers are touching new soil, getting used to the feeling of soft locks and the bumps of his scalp. You allow your fingers to explore, nails raking his skin. A soft hum rattles his throat and you look back down. You spot the vein meandering down his neck and with wide eyes your hand moves down his head, feels the warmth of his neck, and traces the thick vein. His jaw is locked tight, nostrils flaring with every touch.
“Joel, I—”
“Don’t.” his voice breaks, eyes falling away from your own. “Don’t. I don’t wanna hear anything of the sort, not now, not ever.”
“Tell me what you want to hear then,”
“The sound of your breathing is enough.”
Your body reacts before you do, forcing out the breath that was caught in your throat. An eternity later his lips move against yours. His tongue brushes the seam of your lips, your heart flares, your lips parting with the silent command.
How many times have you thought of Joel touching you like this? Kissing you like this?
He’ll never know what his mere presence means to you. How the sole image of him brought you back from the brink of not wanting to wake to such a daunting world again and again. Even before he knew what your name was, before you knew his, he was the only one keeping you company—Accompanying you during your every move. A phantom man, following you around and wrapping its arms around you whenever you needed.
Your body reawakens, his lips and tongue pulling you from somewhere dark. His large hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan openly, your hands coming up to hold his wrists.
Words you want to whisper burn the tip of your tongue. His words echoing loud in your mind whenever they bubble to the surface.
The sound of your breathing is enough.
You have trouble swallowing them down, tears gathering in your lashlines, but Joel makes quick work of them, licking into your mouth forcefully as if he’s trying to erase the entire English vocabulary from your mind.
Your hands drop down from his wrist and awkwardly try to reach his belt. Joel smiles into your lips, calloused fingertips stilling your hands.
“Easy there, sweetheart. Show me to your bedroom,”
You give him a confused look, “You already know where my bedroom is,”
“I prefer this being the first time you lead me to your room.”
It’s been long since you moved the box of photographs and cleaned the broken pieces of your camera. The ache of your heart is hard to ignore but you do. You nod, also preferring for this to be the first time he’s seeing your room.
Neither of you touch the other until you’re confined into the smaller area. It’s much colder compared to the kitchen. Joel shivers, a puff of steam dancing from his lips.
Not wanting this moment to end, you close the distance. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging as his hands find your waist. He squeezes and pulls your hips close, forcing a grinding motion. The pleasure you feel is real. It’s overwhelming. Your whines are needy, made with short breaths and the sudden lack of air.
Joel swallows them all, he sucks your tongue, unbuttons your pants. Arousal pools between your legs, heat licks the bottom of your spine. Your entire world starts spinning when he gets on his knees, pulling down your pants along with him. Your eyes follow, another shudder overtaking you as his fingers move between your legs.
“J-Joel…”
“So wet already. Pretty thing,” your heart leaps at the way his eyes move up from your sex to your face. “I haven’t tasted a woman for so long.”
“Then go ahead,” you mutter, burying your anxiety deep into your heart.
Everything moves as if it’s in slow motion. The snow outside, the fading light, the way Joel tugs down your underwear. Pupils dilated, he licks his lips at the sight of your slick sticking to the net of your underwear. His thumb moves over your mound, nestling between the soft curls that reside. You suck in a sharp breath.
The sound is loud enough to prompt him to look up. “Most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen.” Cupping himself over his dark jeans, a groan slips from his mouth.
Joel's tongue glides over your skin, you let out a soft moan. His lips velvet against your sensitive flesh. You grip his hair tighter as he expertly works his way over your aching clit. The fading light filters through the dusty window, casting a warm glow over your skin and creating shadows on Joel's face as he buries himself between your legs. His palms skim the back of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. You let out a breathy moan as Joel's tongue delves deeper. He takes his time, the sharp edges of his face soften, the perpetual crease between his brows fading.
He must’ve looked beautiful before all was taken away from him. Joel never speaks about it, but you know. You have seen the same expression of grief in your eyes many times. You wonder if you two could’ve met if none of this had happened; the infection, the violence, the change. Another wave of pleasure washes over you with the swipe of Joel’s tongue. You moan and he mimics the sound, the reverberations making you curl over him, your arms wrapped around his head.
Every cloud has a silver lining, you don’t know who came up with the phrase but you find it cruel, haunting—yet also to be true.
Haunting is a perfect way to describe the moment. Hauntingly beautiful. A soft hue of light lingering in the darkness dances over your skin.
Any second can be your last, that’s what makes this moment truly memorable. It can be your last, and you choose to spend it together.
His gaze finds yours amidst the darkness, lips moving and tongue swirling around your clit. He sucks on it, watching you with a heavy gaze as your whine joins the sounds his tortuous tongue. Joel pulls away and your first instinct is to pull him back, chase the feeling of his skin against yours. His fingers squeezes the back of your thighs, soothing you like a scared animal. You feel his lips moving slowly over your mound, kissing the sensitive skin.
“I want you on the bed,” he says voice honeyed in a long drawl. “I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy out until you’re drunk on me. Then I’m going to feel the way you squeeze my cock—But I need you to get all nice and wet for me first,”
Your thighs clench together and he lays another kiss, hands roaming over your ass one more time before pulling you to the bed. He falls on top of you, his heavy presence proving not to be a figment of your imagination. Your entire body rings for him. You feel his breath fanning your face, he stares at you, you see the traces of regret and your stomach sinks.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,”
The apology takes you by surprise, you stare, unblinking, and swallow. His hand moves between your leg, two fingers slipping inside you with ease as his palm cups your sex.
“You still do,” you gasp before you can think. “But I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone. Something inside me—A heart, a soul…it’s been seeking you out, Joel.” his fingers deftly move with a sharp thrust. Your back archs, body pressing into his touch. You close your eyes but you still feel his eyes boring into you. “You terrify me Joel. But not only because of the reasons you might be thinking.”
“What other reason is there?” he asks, curling his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. You clench your teeth, swallowing down your moans.
You’re a whirlwind of emotions. His sadness, his grief…all of it resonates deep inside you, it joining the pleasure that builds up, your arousal thick around his fingers.
You feel the brush of his hand on your ear, your eyes open with surprise, remembering the first time he had attempted to touch you—The Infected part of you. He had ignored it ever since he learned your name.
Joel leans in and presses his lips, the fur soft against his mouth. Your heart leaps as you flinch, your ear twitching uncontrollably.
“Tell me,” he says as you moan. “Tell me the other ways I frighten you.”
“I fear the way you make me feel alive.”
He curls his fingers, a shout rips from your throat. “Go on,” he prompts you.
“I’m scared that you’ll leave. That you’ll leave, and that you’ll become a ghost again.”
“Again?”
“Forget I said that,”
He hums, “I can’t promise you that I won’t ever leave. But right now, I'm here. You feel me, don’t you? I ain’t no ghost,”
To emphasize what he said, he circles your clit with his wet fingers, tongue moving down your neck. He draws your stiff nipple into his mouth, teeth sharp and pleasurable. You feel the wet streaks across your skin when he slides his other hand up your waist, he pries your mouth open by pressing his fingers into the hallows of your cheeks. He sneaks in two fingers, forcing you to taste yourself.
“I think I need to fuck you now, think you can take me, my little doe?”
You’re highly aware that the words are spoken without much thought. However, the endearment crackles across your skin, lighting a fire in your stomach, your body jerks, slick wetting your thighs and sheets. He holds your tongue with his fingers, feeling the way it moves with the muffled sounds you make. His mouth moves up the swell of your breast.
“You like it when I call you mine?” he groans out, breath wet and warm.
Joel pulls out his fingers so you can speak, his cock lays heavy between your legs.
Your chest heaves, “Yes.” you gasp, the pressure building starting to become overwhelming. “Say it again, please,”
“You’re mine,” he replies, sounding as if he’s just stating a fact. “Nothing will hurt you. No one will touch you…” the words sink into your skin, your hips stutter forward, searching for the stretch of his cock. Your breathing becomes heavy, shallow. “And since you’re mine, you’ll take whatever I have to give…won’t you?”
You hear the uncertainty that follows his hardened tone. Nodding, you catch yourself murmuring back, "I'm yours, and only yours."
Joel doesn’t give you any indication that he hears you, he presses forward, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. Your cunt flutters around him, begging him to move. He’s nothing like your vivid dreams; he takes his time, making you feel every inch. Your breath is caught in your throat, your lungs convulsing. The sudden regret of not touching him beforehand resonates inside, you wanted to feel how heavy and warm he was under your palm, wanted to hear his whimpers—if he makes any, that is.
“So damn tight,” he grunts. “So wet—fuck,”
He moves his hips forward then back, thrusting against the dampness that coats your entrance. A moan escapes your lips as he moves faster, each thrust pushing deeper than the last. Your hands grip the sheets as your body trembles. You gasp and bite your lip, the heavy drag of his cock sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel him, hard and thick, and it feels incredible.
Tears gather in your eyes when his lips find yours in the fog of pleasure. Sweat and sex clings to your skin, body on fire, he shoves his tongue into your mouth. The muffled sounds you both make seeps into the other’s lips. You’re both hungry to devour one another, both touch-starved. He parts away with a string of saliva following, he kisses the tear streaks, kisses your eyes.
You're left chanting his name like a prayer, his hands slide down, cup your ass and lift you from the bed.
His thrusts quicken, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cling to him, your hands gripping his back, your nails digging into his skin. His warm breath tickles your neck, and your head spins. Every movement sounds wetter than the last, he splits you in half, cock moving all the way out before he slams into you again and again and again—
Your body shatters around him, pleasure bursting across your very being. The feeling pours into your veins, leaving a simmer and buzz in the pits of your stomach. Joel fucks himself deeper into you until you’re begging him to stop, your body overwhelmed both physically and emotionally.
“Where do you want me?” he asks, pulling out and fisting himself with little care.
The fog clouding your mind briefly lifts and you manage to push yourself up the bed. You push his hand away and wrap your numb fingers around his length. He’s so wet, glistening with your slick. Joel watches you as you lean down, wrapping your lips around his cock. His hand touches the back of your head, pushing you further.
Arousal pools between your legs once more, your tongue warm and wet as you eagerly lick down his shaft, feeling the soft curls tickling your nose, you swallow. Joel’s head falls back, exposing his tanned neck and small scars littered like a starry sky. A loud groan emits from the depths of his lungs, choked out and raspy. Your eyes roll back when he thrusts his hips, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat.
Your insides clench painfully, begging for more.
Your lips pop off, tender skin left wet and swollen. “Come down my throat,” you say, before swallowing him down again. Your tongue slides underneath his shaft, tracing the thick veins as you move up.
Joel’s nails bite into your skin, a string of curse words falling from his lips. Heat flares under your skin. He pushes and pulls, guiding you as you swallow around him again and again.
There’s something about the way his nails softly bite into your skin that makes your toes curl. It’s been a while since you sucked cock, and he’s showing you how to do it—
“Doing so good, little doe— Can you take me deeper?”
You moan your approval, your hand moving between your legs. Your fingers trace around your puffy clit, still sensitive, yet aching to be touched. He doesn’t seem to notice that you start to touch yourself, he holds your head between his palms, fucking your mouth until he feels his shaft begin to pulse before spilling into the warmth of your mouth.
You swallow every drop. He tastes bitter and you reel at the way the taste of him burns your throat. He keeps his cock buried in your throat as he rides out his orgasm. You run your fingers up the span of his stomach, feeling the dents and marks painted over his skin.
Joel is left breathless, his chest heaving and cock now soft. You tenderly pepper his skin with kisses, moving all the way up until you press one hurriedly onto his lips. Your fingers rub over the sweat-slick skin of his forehead. And as you move away he grips you by the shoulders and pulls you back, tasting himself on your tongue.
He licks the inside of your mouth and teases your bottom lip between his teeth.
“Why do you want me around?” he cups your jaw and rubs two thumbs down your cheeks. “I’m such a fucking mess. I’m not going to trick you into thinking that I’m something that I ain’t. I’m not a good man, June.”
“I said it earlier,” you say with a soft smile. “I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone.”
NEXT MORNING
(DECEMBER, 2014)
The teapot whistles in the background, warm steam filling the kitchen. It’s still early, you’ve come downstairs to prepare a little breakfast where you would use your best supplies after a night spent in such delight. Joel was still there when you woke up, snoring with his arms wrapped around your waist. The warmth made you want to stay there forever.
Little did you know, Joel is a light sleeper.
Joel's hand covers your mouth and his weight presses you against the table. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to him with every deep thrust. Your body runs hot when you think of how needy you must look spread open for him, so willing to take and give.
“Best thing to wake up to,” he groans, his teeth clenched.
You hiss at the way the wooden surface of the table rakes your skin, he must’ve heard your discomfort because he pulls you up, fingers that were on your mouth drop to your neck, holding you, feeling your erratic pulse.
“Is this alright?” he grinds his hips against yours. You gasp, keening at how deep he can reach.
“Yes,” you breathe out. “More, Joel, please.”
Every time his hips slap against your ass, you choke out a sound, and your walls spasm around him. His hand on your throat keeps you from moving far. Joel’s forehead drops between your shoulder blades, he licks a thick stripe up the middle to your nape.
You shudder, clenching around him tighter. He looks down to witness how wet you are, a slick ring coating the base of his cock. A groan that can only be described as animalistic rattles his throat, he nuzzles the mustache above his lips into the crook of your neck his teeth nipping at your skin.
His other hand moves between your legs, fingers drawing fast circles around your aching clit. You cry out as you rock your hips to meet the roll of his hips. There’s a live wire runs right under your skin, electrifying you from the inside out. Your legs clench together, your body quivering, breathing uneven as he furiously swipes two fingers over your clit again and again. Your eyes roll back, hands moving up to grab his forearm.
“Harder.”
You feel the mood swiftly changing, his calculated pace faltering and shifting into something more wild. His fingers around your throat tighten, his teeth sink into your skin deeper, the pain makes you smile, the pain makes you feel good. His hand cups your breast, pinching a puckered nipple between his fingers.
You gasp, eyes falling shut as he repeats the sharp movement.
Before you come, much to your disappointment, Joel pulls out. His shaft pressed against the curve of your ass, his breathing heavy, you feel him spilling over your skin, nose buried in the back of your neck, inhaling your scent like a wolf.
“Sorry,” he grunts. “Thought I would last longer,”
“It’s okay,” you say, albeit still unsatisfied.
The promise of your orgasm tickles your skin, sweat chilling your skin. You’re about to straighten up and clean yourself but he stops you, hands kneading your ass.
“Get on the table,” he orders. “Let me taste you.”
Joel helps you flip over to your back and you find comfort in the way his hands tilt you up your hips. The table isn’t the most sturdy, but you trust him. He kisses a trail down your stomach, opening his mouth wide when he reaches your sex. Catching the backs of both knees, he pushes your legs apart and licks into you. Joel’s tongue swirls around the bundle of nerves, he closes his lips over your clit and sucks—hard.
Pulling away, he spits, your back arches when he does.
And he dives back in, tasting you over and over. Tongue twisting itself deep inside, moving up and down languidly, rolling around your clit as his fingers make dents in your skin.
It doesn’t take you long.
Your entire body convulses, both legs pressing down against the frame of his face. You’re scared the table isn’t going to hold but Joel keeps you still—for the most part. He drags his mouth slowly, tasting you, swallowing you. His movements soon grow slower, the heat of your orgasm subsiding.
When you let out a bubble of laughter, you think that this is going to last forever. You and him against the world, living your days drowning in pleasure and each other—lifting two middle fingers at the crumbling world around them.
The next day he’s gone. You don’t see him until three months later.
EPILOGUE
(MARCH, 2015)
It’s excruciatingly warm. Your tank top sticks to you like second skin, it’s uncomfortable and all you want to do is go home, grab a spare pair of clothes and take a dip in the river.
You haven’t seen Joel for a while. But to be fair, you’ve been avoiding him. You know well that if you truly wanted to see him you could, you just didn’t.
He abandoned you without a word. Your heart threatens to shatter again when you remember the thing you admitted to him; your fear of loneliness, your fear of him leaving you to rot in your self-pity once again.
And that’s exactly what he did.
It was painful, too painful. You returned to entertaining yourself with ghosts, despite your best efforts, all of them looked like him. Three months had passed but you still feel his lips burning your skin, his cock dragging orgasm out of orgasm out of you.
Joel said he wasn't a ghost at the time; he never promised you that he wouldn’t be one in the future.
Life is cruel. You know this better than most. It was stupid of you to think anything could change. But the thing you had forgotten was that life thoroughly enjoyed making a mockery of your life.
You nearly drop to your knees when you see the state of the cabin you once called home. Infected, a multitude of them, moving around your house, a couple of them inside, lurking about.
You almost break down. Almost.
Joel never told you where he lived, but you know. And you have no choice. You need to go. You need a place to say. You need to survive despite the pain, the heartbreak, the loss.
The reasoning as to why still escapes you, maybe it’s just instinct.
You also need to warn him.
When you knock on the door you expect him not to open it. Much to your shock, he does at the first knock. Almost as he was waiting for you—You keep your gaze locked to his face, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he’s shirtless.
“June?”
“Joel,” you answer, your eyes fixated on his face. “I need a place to stay.”
#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x ofc#joel miller#tlou fanfiction#tlou fanfic#tlou x reader#the last of us fanfiction#hbo the last of us#the last of us hbo#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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If you could make literally any ship canon, which would it be? Go crazy. Have it make as little sense as possible. But only one may become canon.
This is actually quite a fun ask because I have so much to express regarding the matter of canon solely on the 'shipping' category.
I know this is not what you want to hear when you sent this ask, but just let me confess a few things.
I, with all due respect, am not fond of canon couples.
What does it mean? It means that most of the time, the canon couples or ships just don't seem that interesting to me compared to other crackships/ rare pairs/ crackcanon ships - basically those non-canon fanships in general. It's a strange thing, I know, that somehow a ship being official or not can affect the level of enthrallment it possesses to me, but this is quite true in my case (ofc there are some exceptions but let's just pass that).
It's not without reason that I rarely engage in the official BL content (once did, now refrain), and that most of the ships I invest in are non-canon. Because the moment a ship becomes official, it loses attraction to me. I'm still figuring it out, which proves to be quite difficult. Though, we'll not delve into it here.
Anw. With that being said, I'll change your question a little. Let's say the question is "What romantic attraction do you want to be canon?" - then the answer would be Percy to Luke.
Yeah point your pitchfork at me all you want but if you're wondering Why? then well, the reasons are simple:
The hints are THERE, okay!? I refuse to admit I'm delusional
It adds more layers of depth to their relationship (which includes their animosity ofc), which again adds more thrill to the story.
(Canon) Bisexual Percy could have been such a nice representation IMO (*muttering* At least better than whatever Rick's trying to convey through Will...)
Rick did Nico -> Percy pretty epic so I think it's within reason that Percy -> Luke could have been somewhat as thrilling. The parallel would have been absolutely astounding.
Percabeth would be ten times funnier. i stand by what I said.
It pisses off the fandom and I like to see the world burn
In case you're gonna ask, the attraction from Luke's side is not necessary. In fact, I think it'd be better if Luke merely considers Percy his mentee/enemy whereas Percy's sporting a crush and hatred at the other's betrayer.
It's more complicated that way.
I have a general idea of what more the story could bring were Percy's (romantic) attraction real but I don't think I can articulate it well enough just yet. Nonetheless, all I've got to say is that: love and hate are two sides of a coin, and feelings are just as messy as Arachne's spider web. If you can somehow weave both sides into a relationship, you'd have a deliciously paradoxical and beautifully complex connection with layers upon layers of emotions to unpack, which leave a heavy impression on the readers, which in turn makes that relationship the most excellent concept ever.
You have seen a similar one in Nico and Percy's history. I don't think Percy and Luke would be too far-fetched.
Another romantic attraction that I think would bring a nice touch to the story is Jason to Nico. It might or might not shine a new light on Jason's character, developing it further. However, the progress would feel insufficient with how Rick cut off Jason's roles too soon, which might end up making it sound queerbait-y, so we'll just leave it there.
Alas, a dream is a dream. And PJO is not a dark seinen manga in which more often than not all morals go to waste. I'll just content myself with my non-canon ships LMAO.
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wine red, tears gold - chapter 5.
king aegon II x baratheon ofc
previous chapter | next
dropping this early cus its my b-day and this is how i celebrated: writing this. so sorry in advance! there is about a 5ish month timeskip in this chapter, so keep that in mind.
word count: 2.2k
please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings
content: smut, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity, child loss, vomiting
blue - marina & the diamonds • gold - marina and the diamonds
warnings: rough sex w/ biting, hairpulling (non descript), miscarriage / loss of a child, vomiting, suicidal ideation
Warmth. She had been so snugly pressed to Aegon, her body riddled in hickies and bites, just reveling in his warmth. He smelled so nice, too— mayhaps it was just her cloudy, lust-dumb mind, but she felt so… at peace. As if this was where she was meant to be for once. Lyanna, for the first time, didn’t doubt that maybe Aegon did want her, in some proximity or fashion.
But then it was cold. She was asleep when he left, but her body noticed the change right away. Curling into herself autonomously, she clutched a pillow in the empty space where her husband had left.
She deluded herself into thinking that this was some sort of turning point, right? He hadn’t gone out to the Silk Street since their first encounter upon her wardrobe seat, had he? Then with their multiple, raucous sessions the night before—
When she awoke, he was gone. Lyanna tried to convince herself that he rose early. A quick query to one of the keep’s servants quickly brought the truth to fruition; Aegon had left the Keep late at night, towards his places of habit.
Oh.
Oh.
There was a sting of hurt in the pit of her belly— but surely, he could’ve been going to other places. There are many more night activities in King’s Landing than just whoring, right?
She found her answer later in the day as she was returning to her solar from a luncheon with some courtiers. Aegon was passing her in the corridor— his eyes were red rimmed, hair a mess. He didn’t smell pleasant like the night before, but of cheap booze and even cheaper, strong scented perfumes. He didn’t even go to the effort to hide the prominent bite marks upon his neck.
Lyanna hadn’t bitten him the night before.
As they passed in the hall, their eyes connected. Lyanna had gone her entire day giving him the benefit of the doubt, as she imagined that people were too quick to write off Aegon, too quick to judge. The passion and fervor of him the previous night— surely it wasn’t faked? He… he seemed quite impassioned about it all, just as she— she didn’t misremember the look of warmth in his eyes, unless she was blinded at the time with sheer joy, her brain shutting out the things that might’ve seemed wrong.
The look of pure shame and self-loathing in Aegon’s eyes told her everything she needed to know.
They didn’t say anything to each other and Lyanna nor Aegon stopped their walk, merely slowed down their gaits to observe. The entire moment felt surreal for the Queen as she took in every minute detail, every piece of evidence from his night out.
Aegon, in turn, zeroed in on her eyes. The darkest of browns, almost black in their hue— it was so easy to get lost in them, like two huge pools of thick, voided ichor. But they weren’t so all encompassingly dark now, as there was a sheen of wetness upon them like a film. Tears rimmed her lash line, threatening to spill over.
The times that Aegon has made her cry was certainly outweighing the times he’s made her laugh.
How very typical of him. Just another thing to add to the list of fuck ups in his life, he thought. He couldn’t even bring himself to apologize. He just kept up his pace, even quickening it.
Off to ruminate in his agony of his own creation.
—
Lyanna was stuck in her melancholies— feeling sickly all the while. And still, something within her, brought to life by their one night of passion, wanted Aegon’s attention. She craved it, no less, like a warrior craves the swing of a blade or a whore craves the tinkling of coin.
So for the next few moons, she scratched the itch within her, bringing Aegon to her bed by any means necessary. More times than not, it was by igniting his blood with jealousy. Other times, it was by intercepting his nightly traipsing and having him come back to her chambers with a few well placed, and vulgar, words.
What had started as gentle, soft moments between them spiraled into borderline violent grappling, hair pulling and biting from both sides. Aegon would call her horrible names, enunciating each syllable with a smack to her bottom. Lyanna would bite, scratch and mark every part of him, as a way to tell whatever whores he still entertained himself with to back off. She felt like an animal, pronouncing her territory to other predators.
She knows it isnt healthy for either of them, bordering on self-destructive, but its best to be empty and fucked than empty and alone, right?
One eve, after they had a particularly tumultuous session. Lyanna’s dress was shredded on the ground, along with her small clothes. Her hair was a mess, strewn at angles unnatural from where Aegon had pulled at it by the fistfuls, skin marred. Aegon, on the other hand, was bleeding from his shoulder lightly where he had insisted that Lyanna bite him with all of the force she could muster. She was still hesitant to outright hurt him, even at his request— but she wished to please him.
Lyanna, nude as the day she was born, crawled into bed— she had pushed him off before he started bleeding onto the sheets— and settled under her heavy blanket. She watched as Aegon, nude in turn, muttered to himself and dabbed at his shoulder with a piece of her shredded clothing. Something inside of her felt hollow, looking upon the scene, the massacre they had made of themselves, of their marriage. It made her want to vomit.
Feeling bile rise in her throat, she streaked from the covers to an empty chamberpot, throwing up the contents of her stomach. It hurt, her whole body convulsing as the very essence of her was ripped from her in an acidic, foul tasting mess. Tears fell down her cheeks from her exertions— and her emotional turmoil.
Aegon, all the while, was unphased. He peered at her momentarily before uncorking a new bottle of wine and proceeding to take a healthy swig from it. “Are you quite done?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“… I… think so,” she murmured in return, wiping away the snot, tears and saliva from her face. Her body instantly ached, aided by Aegon’s heavy hand upon her bottom just twenty minutes before. “I need… water.”
“No water. We only have wine— unless you’d like to have a maid come to tend to you? I’m sure she would appreciate the mess you’ve made here.”
“The mess I’ve made?” she coughed, her eyes widened with disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’re the one who begged me to fuck you instead of going to the whorehouse, wasn’t it?” he bit back, his voice laced with a venom.
“You make me feel like a whore— no, less than a whore. You would fuck a whore without being spurred.” Lyanna squabbled back, her stomach doing flips again. She sank to the floor against one of the walls, her back creaking down against it. Holding the chamberpot against her, she stared up at Aegon. “What… What is so wrong with me, Aegon? What is so wrong with me that I have to beg you to fuck me? Why… why?” she was murmuring frantically now, shaking her head. “Am I that ugly?”
The king turned to her, tugging on a silken robe that he had left there the night before. “You… just aren’t my type, Lyanna.” he whispered in return, looking down into the now half empty wine bottle. “No amount of jealousy, nor filthy things you say to me will change it. I don’t find you attractive, nor do you pull at my heartstrings in any particular way,” he paused, swirling the bottle. His brow creased, as if it pained him to continue to speak. “I’m merely fulfilling my duty.”
Duty. Duty. Those words stung, sending a wave of pure pain and shame through Lyanna, as if a dozen bees were making their home within her bones. They vibrated against the marrow, calling more bile from her stomach into the chamberpot. Gods, it fucking hurt. She knew what they were doing wasn’t healthy, but it had started somewhere soft, didn’t it? That was all… duty to him.
She felt increasingly faint, feeling too much all at once. Her breaths were thready, not coming out right and she couldn’t see through the mist of tears blinding her. Somehow, she was able to speak. “So… when you go to the Silk Street…” she sobbed, “What type of woman do you fuck? What is it that I am not?” her voice was tinged with a concoction of despair and poison, her now bloodshot eyes half-lidded.
Aegon was silent for a while— Lyanna had almost thought that he left— before he let out a sigh, downing the last of the wine. He hissed as the alcohol burned his throat, as if feeling some semblance of the bile that had scalded his wife’s throat in turn. “What type of women?” he echoed, chuckling lowly. “Any woman that isn’t you, Lyanna. It doesn’t matter, they don’t have to beg me, unlike you,” he had a wicked smile on his face and he didn’t look like himself— no, he looked like a caricature, violet eyes wide and wild. “How would the court react if they knew? If they knew that their lovely rabbit queen had to beg her husband, a known whoremonger, for sex? It would have to be the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard, mayhaps I’ll tell it to my next woman at the brothel.”
She felt numb. A prickling numbness spread through her extremities as she stared down into the bucket of her spew.
It was pathetic, wasn’t it?
She wasn’t exactly sure how long she’d been sitting there for, staring. It felt like she wasn’t really in her own body, as if her life had spiraled into some dark dream.
It must’ve been hours, as when she snapped from her fugue state— Aegon was gone. And she was sitting in a small pool of her own blood, leaking from between her legs.
—
The look of Lyanna’s face when he had said those terrible things— Aegon would likely never forget.
It was reminiscent of Helaena’s pale visage for weeks after Jahaerys was slain. Like a white, shrouded specter, flitting through the walls without any sense of purpose or drive. A ghost stuck inside their own body.
He laid on the pile of pillows in the brothel, some whore latched to his cock, and two more on either side of him. He was nursing his second bottle of wine of the night, the ladies urging him to drink more and more so that he could pass out and they’d go through his pockets.
Aegon’s addiction to the darker sides of life started as an outlet for pleasure. More wine made his stomach warm, made him jovial. More women than he could count had been on his cock, milking him for all he was worth. Gods, it felt good— to just be an epicenter of hedonism, an apex of debauchery and sin just for the pure thrill and act of it all.
Things changed, of course. After the war. The things that gave him pleasure before now felt like too much— to a point where it pained him. But he relished the pain in a way to where it became punishment.
Punishment for everything he’d done, everything he hadn’t done— when he drank, he saw their faces.
Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jaecerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Rhaenys, Criston—
They stared at him blankly, as if expecting something from him, when he had nothing to give. He’s never had anything to give. He was stuck in a living hell— if not for Jaehaera and mayhaps his mother, he would’ve thrown himself from the ramparts like Helaena did. This was his punishment, for all their deaths.
He couldn’t allow himself to have anything good. And Lyanna… she was good. Good and pure and he was fucking tainting her, pulling her down to his level of disgusting, animalistic debauchery. He had to push her away somehow before it was too late, before she became soulless and as empty as him.
His head was foggy as he pushed the girls off of him. “Get off of me, fuckin’ whores,” he slurred, getting up with wobbly legs, hand planted flat on the wall. He heard a commotion slither through the brothel, until the door flew open.
‘Twas his grandsire and his loyal Kingsguard hound. Aegon narrowed his gaze. “The fuck do you want?” he spat, leaned against the wall with his softening cock in his hand— the whore had smeared her rouge lipstick all over it.
“By the Seven,” Otto muttered. “Where is your shame, boy?”
“It died with the rest of my family, grandsire. I suppose I have you to thank for it.”
“Me? I can’t— no. There are more pressing matters than your filthy self-loathing.”
“And what could be so pressing? I am quite busy, you know— I’m due for another whore in just five minutes.”
Otto’s brow furrowed, his face softened. The look on his grandsire’s face scared the hell out of him— he never looked so sorrowful, not since…
“Jaehaera? Mother? Are they alright?”
“Yes. They’re alright,” Otto paused. “Your wife. Lyanna. She’s… had a miscarriage. They aren’t sure if she will survive.”
“My… wife?”
“They say she was five moons along— the baby came out with wings and scales. ‘Twas a son,” Otto said, “Lyanna… said his name was Aeron. For Aemond and Daeron."
A son?
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii targaryen fanfic#aegon ii targaryen fanfiction#aegon ii targaryen smut#aegon ii targaryen angst#aegon ii targaryen fluff#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii#aemond targaryen#hotd#house of the dragon#my writing#wine red tears gold
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I SAW DRAGON AND STARTEDNABRAGRHAHB
holding out my idea of wolfwalkers type shit but with dragons. im jsutbtrghgrhgbrjrghrgjngrughibkjfggfhbjgrfihdkjh SMASHING MY HANDS ON MY DESK. PLEASE.
just imagining big angry dragon miguel with gold accents trying his damn hardest not to snap as hes got a bunch of smaller dragons clambering on him and excitedly talking while waiting to be told what to do. being dragons and all they go around and make sure theres peace between kingdoms and stuff ....
sobbing into my hands. i need to see more dragon content im GGGGHR AAHHHHHH
YES OMG PMG I LOVE DRAGON AU’S (so sorry this is kinda late 🙏 school seriously beat me up this week. Also YOUR ART IS SO SO SO COOL!)
(Also also I’m so sorry but I’m not familiar with the wolf walkers series and never got the chance to watch it :(( but I absolutely love the animation style and premise from the ads I’ve seen)
THIS IS NOT NSFW AT ALL!!! KINK BLOGS AND NSFW BLOGS DNI
I can just imagine miguel grumpily walking around with all of the spider kids either nestled on his back or chattering somewhere in the cave, waiting to get assigned their missions. I am in LOVE with the idea of Miguel sending them out to keep the peace between humans since sometimes humans can be very… not wise. Idk actually, maybe the some of the spider kids are humans and that’s how they meet Miguel or peter and Jess (bc I’d love to see them as dragons theyre so cool)
imagine a human Hobie just confidently walking around a dragon’s cave/network society and just casually arguing with a giant dragon Miguel. I’m feel like he’d get in the dumbest arguments with him just for the giggles. I can see him also baby sitting a hatchling mayday, keeping her fully entertained while Peter goes off to finish missions too dangerous to bring her along. Their little interactions in atsv were adorable especially the little salute he gave her.
or the fight between miles and Miguel ☹️ even tho I love him (Miguel) and understand why he did that and his motives, I’ll always feel so bad for miles. I feel like it would even be worse because instead of having a 6’9 roughly judged 310 pounds of muscle man chasing after you and pinning you down, there’s a ten ton dragon hellbent on having your dad die for the sake of the canon, claws, wings, VENOM/FIREBREATHING. It’s pretty much game over at that point. Ofc miles is a resourceful amazing wonderful intelligent human so I think he’d be able to reason with him. Besides, even then I kinda doubt Miguel would want to kill a kid, even if they’re a human. Nurturing instincts don’t go away after ur daughter dies 😋! Actually Miguel might even nom miles in an effort to keep him from messing up the canon :( can you imagine being so so terrified of this huge creature and getting nommed and you don’t know you’re safe and you’re panicking and —
The hurt and comfort is strong here :o. And the guilt. So much guilt. Once they work out their issues (there are so so so many poor dudes) I’m sure they’ll be besties. But that’s for human miles au
dragon miles would definitely get the short end of the stick. Even if he’s a hatchling (kind of, he’s in that odd stage between adult and adolescent but on the younger side) he’s still a whole lot more durable than if he’s a human. Which means that Miguel won’t be nearly as cautious handling him physically. Ouch. Miguel genuinely wants to protect miles in the movie but does it in the worst way possible. That would probably transfer over to this universe too.
But still because I absolutely LIVE for found family, I want to imagine they work through their problems in a long and very very non linear path that has setbacks and leaps forward and minor changes and everything because I love all of these characters sm and without depth they don’t feel like people. Plus imagining sleepy spider kids/dragons stumbling into Miguel’s section of the cave system/lair and deciding to take a quick nap there because it feels safe and waking up with Miguel curled loosely around them, wing slightly shielding them from the chilly drafts and hsjskskdjskj they have my heart. (Miguel will deny it later.)
or peter b taking the human kids out flying to let them feel at least a little what it’s like to taste the sky while Miguel lurks in the background anxiously, crimson eyes tense just in case peter accidentally drops one of them. Not that he would, he may be goofy but he’s most definitely not stupid.
I can imagine Miguel trying his hardest to stop some of the kids from doing things that he thinks is wayyy too dangerous for them and just giving up and tucking them away in his brooding pouch. If they won’t listen to his very very valid concerns then he’ll just have to make sure they don’t go anywhere >:(. Plus it’s warm and safe and even though Miguel will never admit it, he feels calmer if they’re there, protected completely bc he’ll never let anything hurt them. At least not while they’re nestled in one of the literal safest places in the world. I can’t imagine anyone would have an easy time getting to them when there’s a very protective and vengeful dragon guarding his precious brood.
and I haven’t even really gotten into the other characters either :( especially exploring the relationship between Jess and Gwen or Hobie and miles/gwen and pav but I feel like I’m writing too much so I’ll end it here. If you or anyone else wants to continue this thread/au PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GIVE ME AN ASK! I LOVE THIS AU SM 😭😭
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Hii! Are requests open? Poly Noco x reader please! (Just the normal headcanons! Orrr yandere if you want Pt.2!!) :) please delete this if requests are closed!
(THIS is the person who requested yandere noco x reader btw!!)
ofc anon! I did non Yan since it would kinda just be reiterating the Yan hcs. You didn't really specify, so I did crushing hc's! Hope this was okay! Did a lil fic bit at the end as I'm trying to get more comfy with it.
(In these HC's, Noco is already canon and they're both crushing on Reader)
-Ah yes, ever the gentleman (Cody) and gentle man (Noah)
-These two. These absolute dumbasses hnkajsjsh
-Would be a mix of "We have to serenade them until they are dead on the floor" and "WAIT WAIT NO NO WHAT IF THEY DON'T LIKE THA-" and also "Hey babe are you a person because you sure do look like a person" -Cody, probably
-I head canon that Noah's secretly a hopeless romantic, he reads so many books and I bet they're literally only just non fiction or romance. No in-between.
-You'd definitely notice something's up. They can't lie for shit-
-E.g every time you see them they're whispering to each other and instantly clam up when they see you, suddenly can't look you in the eye anymore when talking to you, and they hang out with you less and less :(
-you'd think they hate you, but it is 1000% the opposite. These two are WHIPPED
-I can honestly imagine the others getting tired of y'all being so dumb and doing something like Lumity/Hooty's tunnel of love but shhhh
-The others are so. So tired of you guys being so OBVIOUS and so OBLIVIOUS THEY JUST *strangles you*
-Either one of the other campers tells them to grow up and encourage them to confess, or you walk your ass over there and confront them yourself. (Probably the second option, although I could see it being a mix of both.)
You sighed, slipping out of your bunk. You had been more downcast lately, and it was because of your best friends. Or, ex- best friends now. Maybe. You really hoped not.
You just didn't understand! It was like they were constantly avoiding you, and any time they wanted to tell you something it was through another camper.
You were sick of it, and that's why you finally decided that today you would confront them about it, once and for all. And if they- if they didn't like you anymore, that was fine. No matter how much the thought stung.
However, as you swung open the door, you were greeted by the sight of just the two people you were about to visit, with Noah's hand mid knock.
...
"oh- OH! Y/N! There you are! I mean, of course you are! This is where you sleep, and you uh. Sleep. Here."
A voice piped up from behind him, and you were greeted by the sight of a very nervous looking Cody. Which was... Rare.
"We uh...- Haha! Funny thing actually,- We were uh... Just on our way to see you! To tell you. s-something."
You raised an eyebrow at that. Noah was usually always calm and collected, and Cody never dropped his 'flirty bad boy' persona act. In public, that is. So this was super out of character for them both.
"That's weird, I also had something to tell you two."
"Well, maybe we could go all say? O-On three?"
He desperately looked to Noah for confirmation (despite the other boy looking just as lost as he was) and turned to you once he had a thumbs up.
You were getting suspicious, this was usually something they did if they were like, really worried about something.
..But you nodded anyways, knowing what they would most likely say. Although it was odd how they seemed so excited about it??
"Okay!! 1.... 2.... 3!"
There was a pause when no body said anything for a few seconds and then-
"WILLYOUGOOUTWITHUS?"
"DOYOUGUYSHATEME?"
...Wait wait wait wait. Wait. Hold the phone- You were taken wayyyy aback. This... Was not what you had expected. At all.
"You thought we hated you?"
"You guys love me?"
You heard what sounded suspiciously like a mix between an exasperated groan and a snicker from behind you, but ignored it.
You... Were all going to have a good talk about this.
Bonus:
Reader: Waiitttt. Are you guys... flirting? with me?
Noco: Have been for three years, thanks for noticing.
#total drama#total drama x reader#noco#noco x reader#noah x cody#fic#kinda at the end sjshsbjsj-#it would be the most dumbass poly relationship ever and im living for it tbh#sorry this took so long to finish btw
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I've been trying to figure out just who Aurora is, or rather why she is the way she is and why she fights the Urge the way she does.
I think she was always going to be a resist Durge, both bc of the way I make characters, but also bc of my own issues with intrusive thoughts. Like it have gotten so bad at times that it have brought on borderline suicidal thoughts for me, and playing a resist Durge has been strangely cathartic while still having fun with it bc it's taken to such silly extremes (and it's fun to be unhinged about shit sometimes). To fight the demons in your mind with everything you've got, and fucking win? Because at the very core of you there's a good person? That's the real power fantasy right there.
The basic idea is that getting non-consensual brain surgery and tadpoled caused a sort of factory reset in her brain, reverting her back to a version of herself similar to the time before the Urge.
I need to write a post about her background and all, but tl;dr: she grew up in a small, but close knit community in the poorer areas of Baldur's Gate, consisting mostly of other dwarves. So much of her upbringing was about the love and joy forged in human? dwarven? connections, and in looking out for one another. Her adoptive mother was also of the altruistic sort, which might be where some of Aurora's more self sacrificing tendencies stem from.
It's a funny little case of nature vs nurture. On one hand she's a child of Bhaal, his literal flesh and blood, with death and murder at the very core of her being. On the other there's years and years of learned empathy and kindness, genuinely felt and displayed, and it has wrapped itself so tightly around that bloodstained core that it can't simply be cut away.
She've also been fighting the Urge for a long time, I think, since before she was an adult. This has no real base in canon, but I love the idea of it starting small when she's a little kid, and her having to learn to live with it, to suppress it the best she can. That she would work so hard to be so good, in opposition to the depravity boiling hot in the back of her mind, which is partly why she's so good at resisting later on; it's second nature to her, as natural as breathing.
When she wakes up on that beach it's just her again, a ghost of her former self, but it's her nonetheless. The Urge is there too, trapped among the threads of her former life once again, and held in check for just a little bit longer.
This feels like a lot of words saying a whole lot of nothing, like there's about 19 layers of further explanation and nuance that naturally connects to all of this but is hard to explain simply. Reading through all of this feels so fucking cringe, but I'm trying to be sincere here so I'm just pushing through it. It doesn't have to be good, it just have to make me feel good (and a little insane).
Kinda unrelated, but it's also important to me that Aurora just has all the weird little tics, like doing the etch-a-sketch head shake, loudly telling her Urges to shut up, or doing a bunch of weird fidgeting when she's especially stressed out. And then ofc doing her very best to hide or mask that when other people are around and can see/hear her. Baby girl I'm giving you so much of my mental baggage, I'm so sorry and I love you.
#Sunny Plays BG3#OC: Aurora Dawnbringer#*shouts out to a crowd of 2 people* hey is this anything#the reason I feel I can justify much of this is bc amnesia often affects different parts of the brain#so it can obliterate your memory but you can still feel empathy or know how to speak or have critical thinking skills etc#aka much of the ''old'' Aurora is still in there when it's no longer suppressed by the Urge to such a degree that she can't fight it
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