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pinkie-pop · 10 days

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"Reincarnated As The Cringefail Lord of Hell's Second Child."

Part I Part || Part III

Sequel to this.

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Morningstar! Reader, Platonic Hazbin Hotel x Reader, Yandere Hazbin Hotel

Word count: 2.7k

Includes: Alastor being creepy, invasion of (your) privacy, bad things are coming...

Synopsis: A straightforward isekai story, you're reborn as the devil's child. With knowledge of your past life and the show your new world is based on, it's clear that you must be destined for greatness. The only question remains: why does everyone around you seem to be acting so...strange?

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

There's nothing better than the payoff that a successful scheme brings. Vaggie returns to the hotel a few hours after your talk with her, and with her is a pair of two gorgeous angelic wings.

“Wait, yer an exorcist?!” Angel exclaims, throwing his top arms up, and using his bottom pair to pull himself up from his position on the couch. “How did I not know about this?!” He looks around, shaking his head wildly. Husk merely shrugs.

“Maybe if you weren't high all the time-”

“Oh, yeah, like yer one to talk, Mr. Hasn't-been-seen-without-a-bottle-in-seven-years!”

Charlie claps her hands together, effectively stopping the two before their banter turns into an actual fight. “Okay, so Vaggie's an angel, that doesn't mean that-”

“Oh yeah, easy for you to say, Princess. I bet ya already knew about this, didn't ya?”

“I mean, I did. But-!”

“Then why didn't ya say anything?!”

“It wasn't my place to-”

Angel dramatically falls back onto the couch. Odd, you think, his reaction wasn't nearly this strong in the show, why is he- “Whatever. I need a drink,” he says getting up. “Husk! Pour me a drink!” Husk grumbles something under his breath as Angel passes you to get his drink.

“I think he's over it,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at Angel, who is drinking straight from the bottle. “So, an angel, huh? How exciting! My dad was an angel, too, y'know?” Vaggie looks unimpressed at your attempt to pretend this is new information, but you ignore her.

“Yeah…I know,” she says flatly. “Anyway, Carmilla agreed to supply us with angelic weapons at a discounted price, should we need them.”

“Why would we need them?” Charlie asks, looking worried. Vaggie looks away, briefly making eye contact with you.

‘Something’s going to happen on extermination day,’ you say, looking oddly certain.

“Just…in case,” she says, offering an unsure smile.

“Well ain't that fuckin’ ominous,” Angel pipes up from the bar. “Care ta enlighten us as ta why we might need em, toots? Something a little less vague than ‘Just in case'?” Angel puts down his drink (which is really just a whole bottle of what appears to be a mix of tequila and vodka—it’s a good thing he's already dead, you think to yourself) to make air quotes with his hand.

“Angel, I think you're drunk,” you say, diffusing the situation. “You're slurring your words.” He's not, but you figure the statement will draw his attention towards you and away from Vaggie. You don't need him prying and accidentally figuring out something he shouldn't know.

“Am not slurin’ my words” He slurs, then slumps over, immediately falling asleep in an almost cartoonish fashion. Well, you suppose you are in a cartoon, you think to yourself, but you know that's not the reason for his sudden drunken state.

No, you're sure the sleeping spell you cast on him was by far the more likely cause.

Alastor, who had been quietly observing the whole time, widens his grin with a look that seems to say ‘I know you did that’ but you ignore his gaze and ask Charlie for help taking Angel back to his room.

While Charlie is busy tucking a grown man into bed, you slip out of the room and bump right into Alastor, who seems to have followed the two of you back to Angel's room.

You have a bad feeling about this. Of all the many characters in Hazbin Hotel to avoid, Alastor probably ranked at the top of your list. You really don't need him getting curious about you.

“Why, hello there, little one,” he says, peering down at you. You think his eyes may be glowing, but you aren't sure.

“Uh, hi?” you say, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You glance back at the door. Charlie will be emerging from it soon. She'll save you, right?

“I couldn't help but notice the little ‘stunt’ you pulled with dear Angel Dust earlier—quite amusing, I must say! And I don't say that lightly. Might I ask you to join me on a stroll so that we might…discuss it?” He asks. You swear the room’s temperature just dropped.

“I'm not going anywhere with you,” you say. “Dad told me not to talk to strangers.”

“Ah, still playing the role of an innocent child now, are we?” He says casually. You stand a little straighter. “Not to worry, I'm a good friend of your sister, and besides, we have much to discuss!”

“We don't have anything to ‘discuss’,” You say firmly, moving to walk past him when he grabs your arm.

“You may not have anything to discuss with me, but I have much to say to you,” he says. His tone then shifts to something more dangerous as he says, “And believe me,” he leans down to your level. “You don't want to see me when I get angry.” It's a cliché line and not at all scary. Even with the voodoo sigils floating around him and his radio-knob irises, you hold firm.

“If I scream, Charlie and the rest of the hotel will hear me,” you say. The static around you dissipates, and Alastor's grin twitches in annoyance.

“Very well,” he says, swinging his cane and turning to leave. “But this won't be our last encounter. Sooner or later, you'll give me the answers I want.” And just like that, he walks away.

Once he's out of view, you sink to your knees. Despite your firm insistence that he didn't scare you, it was stressful nonetheless. Having him leave merely sucked the stress out of you, and momentarily took the strength from your legs.

Yes, that's right. That's all it was. Your human nature makes you wary of him, but your demonic side keeps you steady. Soon, you'll be more demon than human, and this so-called ‘fear’ will be nothing more than a fleeting memory.

Not that you were scared.

“[Name]…? What are you doing on the floor?”

“It's comfortable down here,” you mutter, standing to your feet. “I'm going to bed early tonight. Where's my room again?”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You flop on to your and Lucifer's bed (king-sized, thanks to Lucifer's magic), exhausted. You bring your stuffed demon bear (Mr. Snuggles—a gift from Lilith, before she left) to your chest and sigh. You close your eyes. A lot happened today, and you could use some rest.

But before that…

You open your eyes and sit upright, swinging your legs over the bed and standing. You walk to the small writing desk by the door and summon your diary from seemingly thin air, and begin writing. Journaling is a habit you formed as soon as you were able to hold a pen (this has left the first few entries of your diary completely illegible, but you were able to transcribe them once you had developed a steadier hand), and something you kept up to this day. You document today’s events, making sure to note Alastor’s suspicious behavior, then close and lock your diary. It’s a rather unnecessary step, considering you’ll be sending it back to the subspace you summoned it from, but the lock puts you at ease regardless.

You’ve just finished clicking the lock back into place when Lucifer walks in.

“What’s that?” He asks curiously, walking over to take a peek. Without thinking of how suspicious your actions may come across, you quickly dismiss the journal back to your subspace.

“Nothing!” You say, a tad too loudly. You clear your throat. “Nothing,” you say, quieter, this time. Lucifer opens his mouth to speak, and you realize you need to change the subject, and fast. “Um, I just realized we didn't bring any clothes with us. If we're going to be staying here, we'll need to get some.” Lucifer seems to hesitate before taking your bait, using magic to summon your wardrobe from the palace to the hotel’s drawers. You pick out a pair of pajamas and head to the bathroom to change, while Lucifer uses magic to change his own clothes instantly. When you return, he's already in bed, smiling and eagerly patting the space next to him.

Wait…what's in his hand?

You take a closer look.

Isn't that…?

Oh God.

Oh fuck.

“Dad, I don't-”

“C'mon, sweetie, let me read you a bedtime story!” He says, opening the book of fairytales, eyes practically shining. It's endearing, in a way, the way he constantly tries to be a good father to you. But it's also annoying. You're a grown adult, for Christ's sake. You don't want to be read a bedtime story.

But it's not like you can just tell him that.

“...Okay,” you say, climbing up to the bed and nestling yourself beside him.

It's surprisingly soothing. A hellish retelling of Cinderella, spoken to you in a soft, rhythmic voice. It reminds you of ASMR, in a way. You find yourself drifting off to sleep before you even realize you're tired.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

[Name] fell asleep.

It’s not surprising, the story Lucifer read to you is known to make children sleepy. Still, he was half-expecting it to fail, or for you to refuse to listen to a story altogether.

You look so young, curled up like this. So innocent.

You look like a kid.

Lucifer’s stomach churns. What were you writing about? He knows he should respect your privacy, but…

Something tells him it’s important. He’s seen you write in that notebook before. He knows it’s a diary.

He shouldn’t read it.

He shouldn’t but…

Lucifer taps into the subspace you’ve been using (you may be unusually good at magic for your age, but you’re still a novice. You haven’t learned to secure your network yet.). He pulls out your diary but pauses when he sees the lock.

He could open it with nothing more than a wave of his hand if he wanted to (and God, he did want to). But it feels wrong. Like he’s encroaching on something sacred.

If he puts it back now, nothing will change. He’ll stay ignorant. You’ll keep your secrets. But your relationship won’t be affected. The two of you will go back to playing family, and he’ll never know what’s so important to you that you created a private network and a lock to keep it hidden.

He could do that, but…

He opens the diary. The first few pages are impossible to decipher, but pages 6 and onwards are legible.

October 3rd, 20XX

This is a transcription of the following days: September1st, September 9th, September 16th, and September 22nd.

‘September 1st…? They couldn’t have been older than a month old when this was written,’ Lucifer thinks. Demons develop themselves faster than humans, but even by a demons standard, learning to read and write within just a month of being born is…unheard of.

Lucifer keeps reading.

September 1st, 20XX

I’m finally strong enough to crawl around and hold a pen. Thank goodness. Being trapped in a body you can’t control with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company is pure torture. Though, I suppose this is hell. Perhaps that was the point…? No, if that were the case, I’d never be able to walk and write, let alone so fast. I haven’t been able to keep track of the days, and the clocks are all too high to read, so I have no idea how long I’ve been here, but I saw a calendar hanging in the kitchen. I hope it’s up to date.

I was able to pinch myself today, but it didn’t hurt. I’d count it as evidence that I’m in a dream but…well, it could also just mean that I’m too weak for it to work. I’ll try again once I’m a little bigger.

Dreams don’t usually last this long, do they? Perhaps I’m in a coma. I must’ve gotten into a horrible accident, and I’m on the verge of death. This is just my brain spitting out random information from my subconscious. That’s why Lucifer and Lilith are here. That’s why I’m in Hazbin Hotel. It can’t be anything else.

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. How did you know about the hotel, seven years before its opening?

September 9th, 20XX

Lilith gave me a Teddy bear today. She called it a hell bear. It’s cute, and something I probably would have kept in my room before all this. It’s less babyish than the rest of the things she’s given me. Lucifer named it for me. Mr. Snuggles, he says, in a mock baby voice. It’s bad. I know I’m in the body of a baby right now, but it still feels a little belittling whenever he does that. I used to pay taxes, you know! Sure, I liked cute things every now and again, but I was still a bona fide working adult. …Mr. Snuggles is a cute name, though.

A working adult? Taxes? You thought his baby voice was stupid?

Okay, maybe that last one was less important, but still. Ouch.

September 16th, 20XX

I finally found the library. Goodbye, boredom!

Lack of proper stimulation was slowly killing me. If I were an actual baby, the mobile and fairytales would probably have been enough to keep me sated, but, well, you know.

Anyway, the novels I’ve been reading lately have been pretty good, I think I’m able to more or less pick out which ones belonged to who. Mostly by the way they’re organized. The novels stored in the shelves under the staircase all have happy endings and sappy romance, they seem to be Charlie’s. The stories near the front have badass female protagonists and are usually crime mysteries and thrillers, probably belonging to Lilith. The informationals on various animals and other special interests are likely Lucifer’s. And the books in the very back…are all pornography. I’m not sure whose those are, and I’m not really sure I want to know.

Lucifer’s face turns bright red, and he nearly squeaks, but he manages to reel himself in and continue reading.

September 22nd 20XX

I’m able to crawl up stairs now. The second floor of the library is filled with Grimores. They contain complicated mathematical formulas and intricate sigils. I’ve done the math over and over, but I can’t seem to find any flaws with them. I’m not smart enough to have come up with the formulas on my own, so unless I’m doing something wrong, there’s a pretty good chance that this isn’t a dream after all.

Come to think of it, you’re not supposed to be able to read in dreams, either.

…I just pinched myself. Ouch.

Lucifer’s mind is racing. Nothing about this makes sense, and yet it explains so much, and yet—

He flips the page.

October 4th, 20XX

It took me a few days, but I’ve finally accepted this as my new reality. I’ve transmigrated into the body of [Name], a never before seen and likely nonexistent character of Hazbin Hotel, who just so happens to share the same name as myself.

It’s…a tough pill to swallow. I miss my family, my friends, my home.

I may never be able to go back. But I have to try. I’ll read every grimore in the library, even the ones written in ancient languages, I’ll find a way to translate them, I’ll learn the language if I have to. Whatever it takes, I will see this done. I can’t give up. Even if I have to lose what it means to be human, even if I have to become a demon, that’s okay, once I’m back, I can relearn what it means to be human. There’s so much I haven’t done back on Earth. So much I’ve never seen. So much I’ve never done, never said. I have too many regrets to just sit back and accept this.

I’ll find a way home.

You’re…leaving?

Home? You’re already home. This is your home now. These past seven years, have they all been a lie? Did it really mean nothing to you? Did he mean nothing to you?

Sure, you’ve always been distant, always been a bit too mature, but you were still a child. You were still his child.

Weren’t you?

You’re…going to leave. To throw him away. Just like Lilith.

No, he can’t lose you too. He won’t. He’ll find a way to stop you.

Even if it means you can’t smile the way you used to, even if it means you don’t love him the same. He has to keep you.

But he can’t do it alone.

Tucking the diary under his arm, Lucifer is careful not to wake you as he leaves your shared bedroom.

Taglist: @Halparkebitch @American-idiot21 @Toast-on-dandelioms @Mixplarab @aria-tempest @nirvana5874 @arsonist-on-fire @dollsgate @shoebillcuicui @galaxywing-has-adhd @sakuraluna2468 @luckywitchsong @ibcreations-blog @heather-hutchcroft @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant @bee814 @deadgirldreaming @reikamasama @pandaquick

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin angel dust #angel dust #vaggie #yandere lucifer #yandere alastor

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florenceafternoon · 5 days

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━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

Gilded by @charmingwillow

Beneath her jumper, her heart was fluttering fast. Her free hand rubbed at the spot, willing it to calm. Her eyes ached from all the nights she spent awake, unable to sleep because it hadn’t calmed in days. Weeks.

She knew why; beneath her fingertips, under the soft cotton of her sweater, her skin tingled. She knew without seeing that the spot above her heart sparkled faintly with gold, like stars spinning in the cosmos. Scattered and dancing around a name that wouldn't quite focus. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Someone, somewhere, was falling in love with her. They were close enough that Lily could feel a tug of alignment if she concentrated enough.

Or, Lily and James go on a walk in the forest.

Sunshine in My Eyes (requires an ao3 account) by monroeslittle

Mr. and Mrs. Evans are killed when Lily's only a girl, and she's supposed to go to a home with her sister. Instead, a relative they didn't know they had comes to collect them, and introduces Lily to manners, magic, and a life that's just the slightest bit different from the life she was supposed to live.

Or, an AU in which Minerva McGonagall raises Lily.

Dying Fires by @jamesunderwater

In fifth year, James attempts to comfort Lily by a dying fire - but finds this will require restraint on his part in a number of ways.

Their tentative, developing friendship is something so special to me

basic maths by @gigglesandfreckles-hp

Euphemia cuts Sirius off sharply. “I was simply verifying whether this is indeed the same Lily Evans whose name is written under my dining room table with a heart around it.”

or Lily meets the parents and James tries not to hyperventilate. over and over and over again.

Blue Jay by @neurowriter14

In a world with magic, the only thing that really took Lily by surprise, and trepidation, was the fact that she had a soulmate.

All That's Known by @women-inthe-sequel

Wizards view nearly everything as a problem for magic to fix. Other people might view him that way, but James has never felt broken. He doesn’t need to be wound like an old-fashion toy and programmed to do what everyone else does.

I am in desperate need of more deaf!James (or deaf!Lily). Please can someone recommend me fics

just like a tattoo by sleepygirl0305 (on ao3)

Shortly after he witnesses Remus and Sirius realize that they're soulmates, James gets his own soulmate tattoo. A fairly inconvenient time, given that there is a war going on. And N.E.W.Ts. But no matter, he was going to try anyway.

A Happy Thought by @thelighthousestale

The 7th year Defense Against the Dark Arts Class learns the Patronus Charm.

James is shocked to learn what Lily's Patronus is.

I know that this is a very cliché trope but I'm a sucker for patronus fics.

The Boy (in the bedroom) Next Door by @eastwindmlk

Lily Evans has to move in with her new potion's teacher to finish her apprenticeship. There is one small issue, said teacher? Fleamont Potter, father of infinitely annoying and frustratingly fit former rival James Potter. Who she has not seen after leaving Hogwarts after her third year.

Put on Bed Rest also by @/ eastwindmlk

Hogwarts is covered in snow and James Potter is sick. Who better than Lily to nurse him back to health.

May Moon by Elynn (on ao3)

May Moon- also known as the Flower Moon or Blooming Moon, due to the abundance of flowers that occur as spring arrives.

She glanced up, catching sight of Mary and Marlene in the crowd of unsorted first years, the both of them bouncing on their toes as a new student was called up. She’d already made two friends (she hoped) and Lily was always a bit of an overachiever. “Hiya,” she said, doing her best to sound upbeat. The boy—Lupin—looked up at her, face a bit shocked. “I’m Lily.”

or sixth year, a bad pick-up line, and a secret.

Not really a jily fic (it's pre-relationship) but I really wanted to include it in this rec list

Accidental Magic by @missgryffin

What else is there to do after confessing feelings in the middle of the night than spend a lazy Saturday in bed?

Hell Is Empty (And All The Devils Are Here) by @nodirectionhome-ao3

When an Order mission takes an unexpected turn, James and Lily find themselves stranded together. In the aftermath of the chaos, sheltering together through the storm, a fire catches between them.

Ignore the fact that I can't remember if I've recommended this fic or not. Regardless, the back-and-forth between James and Lily is so good in this fic.

Starlight by @suzyq31

Under the cover of stars, Lily and James go out in search of an elusive flower. The northern lights make Lily contemplate how plans change.

The next few fics are all by @apalapucian because I may or may not have been stalking her ao3 page. Everything, and I mean everything, Jayne writes is incredible.

maybe it was egos swinging (maybe it was her)

James starts rolling his shoulders, wincing. "Jesus, Evans." "back at ya," says Lily, testing her wrists. "ever heard of taking it easy?" "with you? never." "can’t believe you’d use confringo on me." "knew you'd block it," he says. "can’t believe you’d use depulso." she shrugs, grinning. "knew you'd block it."

(or: seventh-year, auror-aspirant, academic rivals, head boy and head girl James and Lily.)

I still can't get over the fact that Jayne wrote me over 11 thousand words of academic rivals jily. ELEVEN THOUSAND WORDS OF ACADEMIC RIVALS TO LOVERS JILY!! The banter, the stakes, I love everything about this fic

calliope calling

in which:

James wields a wand for the first time; Lily giggles, tracing an impossible dancing deer in the sky; Sirius slams the door; Peter sighs; and Remus screams, raw and screeching and piercingly young.

(or: the marauders and lily evans as children, and something about invisible strings glinting in the moonlight.)

green light

There are yellow roses on the kitchen table. a cup of coffee charmed to keep warm for a time. a scrawled "morning! :) –James & Harry" on a scrap of paper, the torn bottom of a receipt for... milk, she finds. and strawberries. harry was signed by Harry himself, and Lily wants to cry at the shaky strokes, the crooked lines. she can hear them in the other room where James' window seat project is almost finished. harry is laughing. he asks questions, mocks his dad's shabby handiwork, drops the things he's asked to hand.

roses and handwritten notes and coffee and giggles nearby. this is her life now. she skims the flowers, the sun itself in her heart.

or: the war is over. everybody lives AU. (well, not everybody everybody, but the potter family + sirius + remus + even peter* live.) old fic rewrite.

* = you'll see.

bad day wall

Lily calls it the bad day wall. it's like this weird communal one-liner diary thing.

every time i think i'm over her something happens and it hits me just as stupidly intense as all the other times. i'm SICK of it

why can't people just LIKE by default the people they LOVE? why do they have to be separate feelings? it would make things so much less complicated

or: in sixth year, Lily starts talking to a stranger(?) through messages on a wall. she also befriends James Potter. These two things are completely not related.

I haven't read this one but it on my marked for later

#lily evans #james potter #jily #jple #james x lily #lily x james #jily fic rec

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 5 months

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I really really hate to be that person - especially because I know a lot of people are under the impression that fanfic authors are greedy and we should be grateful for any comments we get, even if those comments are full of unauthorized concrit, even if they're kind of rude, even if they're weirdly self-shaming (sometimes insinuating that people should feel bad over reading the dark or smutty content in the fics or that we should feel bad for writing it in the first place even though you're also reading it??).

But like, lately, I have been getting so many comments along the lines of "this fic should be longer!!" "I wish this was a series!!" "please turn this into a series!" "I would read endless sequels of this!!!" - today someone literally commented on one of my fics saying that it was a war crime that the fic was 30k instead of being 'a whole series'. And I totally understand the mindset that if something is good, you want more of it. If you enjoy something, you want more of it. But these comments are definitely not as flattering as people think they are.

When reading those comments - it doesn't always come off as a compliment. Most of my fics range from 5k to 30k on average, and they are usually oneshots or oneshots that I have split into multiple parts in order to be more readable - most of my longer, ongoing series are abandoned because I didn't have the steam to maintain them. (Most people don't know at all how hard it is to write a good, coherent, well-plotted 100k fic and actually keep up with it.) After I post the fic I have written later this week, I will have written over 400k this year alone, with my entire AO3 having over one million words split between 79 different fics.

So often, having people look at my fics and having their only comment be to 'write more' - feels like an insult. Because I do write more. I have written more. I write consistently. (It just sucks that people have almost nothing to say about what I have already written.)

Having people look at my fics - usually very long fics - and go "hey, this would be better if it was longer!!" or "hey, that was good, but the only productive thing I have to say about it is: make it longer" - it always feels very discouraging.

It doesn't make me want to rush to write more of that fic. In fact, most of the time, I actively avoid working on sequels to fics where the only comments are 'more please' because I know the only thing people will say about the sequel is 'when are you gonna make more?' - and oftentimes, I don't intend to make more.

I have said this in another post, but the ending to my fics are always intentional. I don't write fics with the mindset of turning them into a 100 part series. I write fics with the mindset of making them like a film or a short TV series - telling a capsule of a story with a very intentional beginning, middle, and end. And if I write a sequel, it's because I feel there is more to be told - but I will also cap off that sequel with a very intentional ending.

(Also, don't get me started on the complex of - if fics don't have the classic 'happy ending' people feel like every single thread needs to be resolved until it gets to a more classic happy ending, when I love writing intentional melancholic and thoughtful endings.)

Also - in general, I feel like people don't understand how much work goes into a fic. It might take you about 2 hours to read a fic that's 30k (and a lot of people who are avid readers probably read faster than that, reading it in an hour or less) - but concepting that fic, writing that fic, and meticulously editing that fic so that it can be readable and pleasant for people takes upwards of 20 hours of work. I would say realistically, upwards of 30 hours. And those are just working hours - hours sitting at the computer actively working. That doesn't include the time spent in between workshopping the ideas in my head while I am doing other mundane tasks in life.

It's very, very easy to consume a 30k oneshot in one sitting and then hold out your plate and go "more please!!" without putting any thought into how much work went into the original fic.

All of this just to say - please think about these things next time you are commenting on a fic (or even closing a fic without commenting at all), or doing something stupid like generating a fic with AI - which steals from everyday hard working fanfic writers. Fanfiction is hard work - it's a labour of love, and it shouldn't be about blind consumerism where you finish one and then rapidly start looking for the next one. You should appreciate each one like a good, hand pulled taffy instead of gobbling them all down like cheap candy mass made by factory machines.

Yeah - I think that's it.

-your local over worked (but still passionate) fanfic writer

#uuugh #either nobody will see this or everyone will and they will complain about it #sundrop speaks #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #ellie williams x reader #spencer reid x reader #abby anderson x reader #mike schmidt x reader #fanfiction #fandom #vanessa shelly x reader #gar logan x reader

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the-owl-tree · 1 month

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Deer's Xenofiction List - The Good, the Bad, and the Furry

Compilation of my xenofiction books I've read, my opinions on them, and ones that I've yet to get to. Will be updated as I go along, if I remember. Books I have not read have an asterisk (*) in front of them. Not a complete list, I will update as I gather more titles.

Adaptations will be listed along with the source material and not as a separate entry.

While I am accepting additions to the list, please make sure your suggestion isn't already listed.

Last Updated: 27-05-2024

-New 'miscellaneous' section. -New addition to the books section. -New addition to the film section, removed Dreamworks and Disney films. -New addition to the television section.

-Categories and sub-categories being considered: short films, animal transformation (human to animal).

-Content Warning: Mentions of sexual assault, animal abuse, animal death, and violence. Only a handful of entries have content warnings because they were given to me prior. Please look into the works beforehand to see if you feel comfortable engaging with them, this list is not a content warning guide.

Books

Warriors by Erin Hunter - A long-running series following the drama of four groups of feral cat groups in a forest.

Rating: sucks just read the first arc and nothing else. unless you have childhood nostalgia for this series you probably won't like anything that comes after.

Seekers by Erin Hunter - another animal series from the erin hunter team. It follows a group of bears searching for a safe place to live.

Rating: It's fine. I only read the first arc. While it has a much drearier tone than Warriors at times as it deals with growing environmental impact of global warming and human interference. If you like Erin Hunter's writing style, you might like this one.

*Survivors by Erin Hunter - Look we just gotta get these out of the way, these guys have a monopoly on kid's animal books. Survivors follows a dog named Lucky (yes. really) trying to survive in an area abandoned by humans.

Rating: I read the first book and nothing else. I'm sure it's...fine, suitable for a dog-obsessed young reader but as it is, no one's really rushed to recommend it to me. I'm sure it has fans somewhere, but I can't really speak for them.

*Bravelands by Erin Hunter - uuuhhh animals? in Africa? Surviving? I guess? Sorry my bias against Hunter is showing, but at some point you start to wonder what's going on here, you can feel them trying to recreate the success of Warriors.

Rating: idk what to tell you, never read it and probably never will. If you're a person who likes lion stories, you might enjoy this, maybe? Been told the hyena rep is appalling, another sad day for hyena lovers everywhere.

*Bamboo Kingdom by (you guessed it) Erin Hunter - It follows three pandas (apparently) each in different panda kingdoms.

Rating: I couldn't tell you shit about this one to be honest. You want more bears? Here's bears!

The Bees by Laline Paull - A novel following the life of Flora, a sanitation bee in her hive who rises through the ranks of her devout society.

Rating: Unfocused at times and a rushed ending, but a gripping story nonetheless. Would recommend!

Pod by Laline Paull - Follows the life of Eira, a spinner dolphin from an "exotic tribe" who is forcibly taken into another group of dolphin's to become a member of their leaders harem.

Rating: This book relies on the mythos of "dolphin rape" with numerous, non-graphic sexual assault scenes. While interesting concepts are introduced and, at times, the plot becomes compelling; it otherwise flounders its premise with messy execution and poorly thought out ideas. Also there's an American spy dolphin named Google, make of that what you will.

*The Wildlings and its sequel The Hundred Names of Darkness by Nilanjana Roy - A book about a small band of cats lives in the labyrinthine alleys and ruins of Nizamuddin, an old neighbourhood in Delhi.

Rating: Recommended multiple times to me by different people, no warnings given.

Varjak Paw (and sequels) by S. F. Said and illustrated by Dave Mckean - A short book about Varjak, a Mesopotamian Blue Cat, and his journey to learn an ancient art from his family’s past.

Rating: Varjak Paw is unique with striking imagery and interesting ideas. However, the writing in itself is far from anything special. The book it at its best when accompanied by Mckean’s striking visuals.

*The Underneath by Kathi Appelt - An abused dog hides under the porch of a home to escape from its owner. Based on a reply I've been given, do not ask me to expand anymore on the plot of this book, I have no goddamn clue.

Rating: Described as a formative book for reading xenofiction, it’s been recommended highly! Contains heavy topics such as animal abuse, be warned.

*Fire Bringer by David Clement-Davies - A novel following a red deer named Rannoch and a prophecy that looms over him.

Rating: It seems to have a decent fanbase and it's been recommended to me a handful of times.

*Bambi, a Life in the Woods by Felix Salten - A coming-of-age novel following a roe deer named Bambi. Best known from the 1942 Disney film.

Rating: If you're a deerhead, check it out I guess!

*Raptor Red by Robert T. Bakker - Often (favorably) compared to a textbook, Raptor Red follows a female Utahraptor. Written by a paleontologist, it's meant to be a realistic look at dinosaur's social habits and their interactions with their world.

Rating: Yet to read but sounds cool as fuck. This book contains a heavy emphasis on realism and world-building, with little dialogue. It may be slow for some readers!

Black Beauty by Anna Sewell - Horse girls, certain English classes, and so on, Black Beauty is fairly well-known. Though for those unaware, Black Beauty follows the titular Black Beauty's life in Victorian days.

Rating: It's a classic! Pulls at your heart strings! Just typing this out makes me want to reread it.

Watership Down by Richard Adams - Similar to Black Beauty, I can't imagine anyone reading this list doesn't know about the tale of a group of rabbit's trying to survive a harsh world.

Rating: It's well-written with a lively world, but its treatment of its female cast reveals a deep gendered bias in the writing.

*Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert. C. O'Brien - Mostly known from the (excellent) Don Bluth adaptation, the book follows Mrs. Frisby and he encounter with a group of highly intelligent rats.

Rating: Yet to read.

*Redwall by Brian Jacques - A 22 book series following a group of anthrophormic animals who live in Redwall Abbey and their call to action to defend themselves from "vermin".

Rating: Yet to read

Guardians of Ga'Hoole by Kathryn Lasky - A 31 book series following a group of owls and their attempts to thwart evil. The first arc follows Soren and his attempts to find the owls of Ga'Hoole and beat the 'Pure Ones' while the later books act as an epilogue and prequel.

Rating: First half read and loved! Highly recommend! Handling of Kludd is...meh.

Note: It has an animated film adaptation! While not entirely faithful, it still does a great job keeping to the themes of the books, trimming the fat, and telling a complete story. It also has two video games, one on DS and one on ah other consoles? Both are fun, I like the Wii version.

*(sorta?) Wings of Fire by Tui T. Sutherland - Most people reading this will know this one! It takes place in a world of dragons with seven tribes. The first arc follows the exploits of prophecized dragonets and their attempts to end a war.

Rating: I've yet to finish it. The writing is skewed for a younger audience but is charming nonetheless.

Note: It has a graphic novel adaptation illustrated by Mike Holmes.

*Duncton Wood (First book of the Duncton Chronicles) by William Horwood - A novel the three groups of moles in Duncton Woods and the tyranny of a powerful mole named Mandrake.

Rating: Not yet read, heard good things! lots of mole sex apparently.

The Plague Dogs by Richard Adams - After escaping an animal research facility, Snitter and Rowf escape out into the wild where they must survive a hostile world.

Rating: ough. my heart. would recommend.

Note: Well-known for its animated adaptation, would recommend it as well.

*Silverwing by Kenneth Oppel - The first in the Silverwing book series, Silverwing follows a bat named Shade who loses his colony during a migration to the south.

Rating: Yet to read but I've heard good things!

Note: Currently has an animated television adaptation, go check it out!

*A Black Fox Running by Brian Carter - The story follows the tale of a dark-furred fox named Wulfgar and his human nemesis, Scoble the trapper, over the course of time.

Rating: Yet to read.

*The Books of the Named/Ratha’s Creature (First book of the Ratha’s Creature series) by Clare’s Bell - Ratha’s Creature is set in prehistoric times following the story of Ratha, a Dinaelurus nimravid(?) and her role as a female in her Clan.

Yet to read, often recommended in the Xenofiction scene.

*The Taken (Book one of the Foxcraft trilogy) by Inbali Inserles - Follows the story of Isla, a fox kit who loses her home and family and must survive in the world of “furless” while mastering Foxcraft.

Recommended by @girlashfur

*Hurry Home, Candy by Meindert DeJong and illustrations by Maurice Sendak - Described as "heavy", Hurry Home, Candy follows the life and struggles of a dog named Candy.

Recommended by @mosshugs

Felidae (the first book in a nine book series) by Akif Pirinçci - A crime novel following Francis the cat as he tries to uncover the truth behind a series of murders in his new neighborhood.

Rating: I haven't read the novel and nor do I want to, but I did watch the adaptation. It's a grisly one but apart from the violent murders and striking imagery in the film, you're not missing much by skipping it. I can't really recommend this one for a variety of reasons.

Important: I can't stop you from reading the book or watching the animated adaptation, I watched the animated adaptation, but please do not financially support the author in any way. Pirinçci is a far-right dipshit and does not deserve support.

The Animals of Farthing Wood by Colin Dann - With eight books under its belt, The Animals of Farthing Wood originally started as one book about a group of woodland animals trying to find a new home after losing their old one to human development. It was followed by six sequels and one prequel.

Rating: Haven't read the books but I love the animated adaptation of it! I recommend checking out both.

*Ragweed (First book of the Dimwood book series) by Avi - A book about the adventures of a mouse seeing the world.

Recommended by @meanling

*A Dog's Life: An Autobiography of a Stray by Ann M. Martin - Written by the same author of the Babysitter's Club series, A Dog's Life chronicles the life of a dog named Squirrel.

Recommended by @meanling

*Scary Stories for Young Foxes by Christian McKay Heidicker and illustrations by Junyi Wu - Scary Stories for Young Foxes is a book consisting of several stories all told by a mother to her kits.

Recommended anonymously

*The Sight (and its sequel The Fell) by David Clement-Davies - Set in the same universe as Fire Bringer, The Sight follows a pack of wolves cursed by a lone wolf, Morgra, whose powers foretell the destiny of one of the mother wolf's pups: Larka, a white wolf gifted with a mysterious power known as The Sight.

Not yet read.

*Last of the Curlews by Fred Bodsworth - A realistic depiction of the journey of the last of a critically endangered and soon to be extinct bird.

Not yet read.

Note: Has an animated adaptation!

Comics (Webcomics included)

Beasts of Burden written by Evan Dorkin and illustrated by Benjamin Dewey and Jill Thompson - The comics follow along the adventures of the ‘Beasts of Burden’ a group of animals who investigate paranormal happenings in their neighborhood.

Rating: With gorgeous art and an interesting world, I recommend! Just be warned, it is bloody and the sory doesn't hold your hand.

Note: Beasts of Burden currently has 21 comics published in Dark Horse Comics.

What Lurks Beneath by ArualMeow - A feral colony must grapple with a food shortage while simultaneously tussling with the divide between two groups of cats.

Rating - A highly compelling read. Each character plays a role in the unravelling drama of three siblings and you will walk away loving someone.

Note: Ongoing!

I Hope So by Detective Calico - A rewrite of My Pride turned into an original story, I Hope So follows the story of three lionesses navigating both the complicated politics of the lion prides but also the harsh environment they must survive in.

Rating: Slow to update but absolutely worth it! I Hope So is a charming and interesting read. It’s yet to finish but it’s far enough that you'll be able to invest yourself in the world and characters with no trouble!

Note: Ongoing!

Tofauti Sawa by TheCynicalHound - A revenge story that follows a spotted hyena named Sahara.

Rating: Tofauti Sawa is not here to endear you to its protagonists or hold your hand. It can be a tough read but a worthwhile one nonetheless. I need to catch up but I recommend it!

Note: Ongoing!

*Golden Shrike by Doeprince - A story about twin deer and their friends and their search to retrieve three fallen stars for a bored God.

Rating: Yet to read but I've heard good things!

Note: Ongoing!

*Doe of Deadwood by Songdog - It follows a deer who has a pact with a demon that takes the form of a tree. It has some heavy themes and light gore.

Recommended by @beeloaf

Note: Complete!

Jet and Harley by Doeprince - Described as a beautiful piece on grief and moving on, Jet and Harley stars a kitty cast and gorgeous artwork.

Rating: Recommended anonymously. It's still starting but it has some strong set up and charming writing going for it, I recommend keeping an eye on it!

Note: Ongoing!

Preeny Has to Repeat 6th Grade by momodriller - A love letter to adoptables and the creativity of young artists, this charming comic utilizes designs bought from adoptables on DeviantArt! It follows the story of Preeny, a young cat with a magic brush tail and what happens when her whole world turns upside down.

Rating: Beyond adorable, charming and sweet. There's a lot of love put into this webcomic and it shows! Highly recommend.

Note: Ongoing!

Africa by Arven92 - The story of a female leopard named Africa and her quest to protect her family and loved ones while her territory comes under threat.

Rating: Gorgeously drawn and with a story that twists, Africa pulls no punches in showing you the wickedness of its antagonists but also the enduring bond of a family.

Note: Ongoing!

*Oren's Forge by Teagan Gavet - A webcomic that explores the dynamics of predator and prey and what happens when those divisions fall in the story of a pair of pine martens and their journey for sanctuary.

Rating: Not yet read

Note: Ongoing!

*Pride of Baghdad written by Brian K. Vaughan and Niko Henrichon - A graphic novel falling the fictionalized account of the real life escape of four lions from the Baghdad Zoo after an American bombing in 2003.

Rating: Not yet read.

Content warning for graphic violence, gore, animal death, and a brief one panel depiction of sexual assault.

I Didn't Know by Songdog - A comic about a cat exiled from her Church.

Rating: Not yet read.

Note: Ongoing

Manga & Anime

*Silver Fang Gin and Ginga Densetsu Weed written and illustrated by Yoshihiro Takahashi - The original and the sequel respectively, the manga series follow Akita dogs, Gin and Weed. While Silver Fang focuses on Gin's search to fight the monstrous "Red Helmet", Weed follows the titular Weed and his search for his father.

Rating: I've not read this but upon getting recommended it, multiple people warned me about the misogyny in the series. Ye be warned. Additionally, the manga is (apparently) very gory!

Note: Both have anime adaptations. Weed's opening is a fucking banger go watch it at the very least.

Beastars (and Beast Complex by extension) written and illustrated by Paru Itagaki - In a world of anthromorphic animals, Beastars follows Legosi, a young wolf navigating his complicated feelings towards other species and learning more about his world.

Rating: Beastars is action-packed, fun, emotional, and dramatic! The first half is a compelling story of identity and how we interact with one another and the complex forces of society that drive our feelings, all wrapped up in a wonderous animal metaphor. As a coming-of-age story, it carries themes of desire, sexual desire, yearning, shame, and more. The second half is eeeeehhh not as strong, but I still recommend it nonetheless!

Note: Beastars currently has an anime adaptation by Studio Orange! It looks fantastic and has some really nice quality of life changes. Highly recommend.

Chi's Sweet Home written and illustrated by Konami Kanata - An adorable slice-of-life story following a cute kitten named Chi adapting to her new home.

Rating: It's just plain cute! If you're looking for something adorable to help you relax, I recommend this one. It's for a younger age demographic so don't go in expecting deep storylines or anything.

Note: Chi's Sweet Home has two adaptations: one with traditional 2D Japanese animation and two seasons and a 2016 3DCGI adaptation. I'd recommend the original adaptation but that's pure preference.

Nyankees written and illustrated by Atsushi Okada - A comedy manga that depicts street cats as brawling "yankees", drawing them as both cat and human to depict their brawls over food, territory, and ladies!

Rating: It's funny, I can't deny the humor in this one makes me chuckle. It's a little racy but otherwise, a fun, light-hearted read.

*A Cat's Tale written by Sae-Him Kwon and Hyeon-Jung Kim and illustrated by Kwon-Sam - A thrilling tale of murder and deception from the animals living on the Sae-Min's farm from the point of view of an elderly cat.

Rating: Yet to read, discovered on Anime-Planet's search system.

Monotone Blue written and illustrated by Nagabe - A story set in high school, it's a BL manga that follows Hachi the cat and Aoi the lizard.

Rating: Yet to read, but I adore the author's other works so I have high expectations!

*Neko to Ryuu written by Amara and illustrated by Sasaki Izumi- A cat raises a baby dragon as her own.

Rating: Yet to read but come on, that sounds adorable.

A Story of Seven Lives written and illustrated by Shirawaka Gin - A Story of Seven Lives follows Nanao, a former housecat turned street cat after a terrible tragedy.

Rating: It's a tearjerker and absolutely adorable. The artwork is lovely and all the cats' designs look fantastic. if you're interested in a simple drama about the relationship between cats and people, i would highly recommend it.

Note: There are human protagonists! If you want pure animal protagonists, maybe skip this one.

Film

i'm not gonna put every disney or dreamworks film on here i'm sure a majority of us know that disney makes a lot of already popular animal films. if possible, i'd like to spotlight some films that weren't made by big studios and/or don't get a lot of attention. Further note, some of these are adaptations of children's books. I'm cheating a little here mainly because the adaptations are more well-known and probably more appealing for readers of this list than the original books. Uh, sorry.

The Brave Little Toaster directed by Jerry Rees - The film follows the adventures of sentient kitchen appliances and the search for their owner.

Rating: Aimed for a younger audience, it's an adorable viewing for all ages.

Isle of Dogs directed by Wes Anderson - In the year 2038, canine flu breaks out in a futuristic Japan and all dogs are sent to 'trash island' where they fight to survive. One day, a young Japanese boy crashes down on trash island to find his dog.

Rating: The stop-motion animation is gorgeous, the writing is fun and charming, and the visuals are amazing, however the film has rightfully garnered criticism for its stereotypical depiction of Japanese society and 'white savior' narrative around one of its human characters.

Chirin no Suzu (English Title: Ringing Bell/Chirin's Bell) directed by Masami Hata - On a farm, Chirin witnesses the death of his mother to a wolf. Distraught and filled with rage, Chirin vows to get revenge and trains to do so.

Rating: A fantastic and visually striking film, the film's cute aesthetics hide a sombre and darker story. Would recommend!

*Vuk (English Title: The Little Fox) directed by Atilla Dargay - A Hungarian animated film that follows the life of a fox and how he must use his wits to survive.

Rating: Not yet watched.

Arashi no Yoru Ni (English Title: One Stormy Night) directed by Gisaburō Sugii - On one stormy night, a sheep and a wolf take refuge from a storm in the same abandoned home and befriend each other...unaware of what species the other is until later. They strike an unusual friendship that's tested when their respective groups begin to clash.

Rating: Cute, sweet, and well-animated, One Stormy Night is well known for the romantic undertones of its two leads. I think it's adorable and highly recommend.

Note: It received another adaptation of the same source material, a 3D animated show where they made the sheep a girl. Do with that information what you will.

Leafy, A Hen into the Wild directed by Oh Sung-yoon - A farm chicken dreams of one day living a life in the wild and raising her own clutch of eggs and, after faking her death to escape, finally gets the opportunity to do so.

Rating: A gorgeous animated film with moments that will tug at your heart strings. It's got some kiddy jokes with poop and fart jokes but they're not too distracting. Would recommend!

Note: Please find a version with the ORIGINAL ending, not the censored one. It is more thematically fitting and one heck of a gut-punch.

Underdog/A Dog's Courage directed by Lee Chun-baek and Oh Sung-yoon - After being abandoned by his owners, a dog joins up with a pack of other dogs in search of 'paradise'.

Rating: Despite some poor pacing and wonky tonal problems, I think this movie is still worth checking out! The character designs are cute and it's decent entertainment if you've got some time.

Note: There's a post that says this movie is about dogs escaping to North Korea, it's not true. They escape from North Korea to South Korea.

Padak directed by Dae-Hee Lee - A dark and sometimes brutal film about a wild fish that ends up in a restaurant fish tank that overlooks the ocean. The film stays there and the audience is given a tense, nerve-wracking narrative of life and death.

Rating: A fantastic, emotional movie that uses its limited setting to its full advantage. It's brutal and unforgiving but one hundred percent worth the watch.

Khumba directed by Anthony Silverston - A film that follows a zebra with only half his stripes and his journey to gain the rest of them in hopes of being accepted by his herd.

Rating: It's fine, a little wonky but it has a lot of heart.

Earnest and Celestine directed by Stéphane Aubier, Vincent Patar and Benjamin Renner - A gorgeous 2D French animated film based on a series of children's films about a bear who takes in an orphan mouse in an anthropomorphic society that does not approve.

Rating: you're going to get cavities at how sweet this film is. Charming, funny, and visually stunning, you would be remiss if you didn't watch this wonderful film at least once.

The Land Before Time directed by Don Bluth - After tragedy strikes, young Apatosaurus must embark on a journey to find the Great Valley.

Rating: It's a classic! A bit cutesy and meanders at times, but still worth a watch.

Note: Pretty well known for the host of direct-to-DVD sequel movies it produced, a television series, and a video game.

Television (Online Productions Included)

My Pride directed by Maddi Patton - My Pride is an independent internet production that follows the tale of a disabled lion named Nothing trying to exist in her cruel society.

Rating: My Pride is clearly a work of passion, one can’t deny the creator clearly had a vision of what she wanted from this show. However, the execution is flawed and the handling of disability has been (rightfully) criticized. While the animators and voice actors have clearly put a lot of love and effort into the project, the writing falls short of what it could be.

Note: The series ends on a cliffhanger and has been discontinued. You have been warned.

My Little Pony (Generations 1-5) developed by Hasbro - If you like ponies, here you go! While G1 did have a human character, G3 to G5 are purely horsies. Each generation has a different story and main cast to follow.

Rating: Very obviously for a younger age demographic, the generations do have their own charm! G4 is popular for a reason with a sleek style, witty writing, and a lovely cast of characters.

Azurehowl and Azurehowl Reborn created by azurehowlshilach - Bet this one brings back nostalgia lol Azurehowl is set in a world where wolves have the magic of dragons! It centers around Ruuza who may be more special than she realizes.

Rating: i gotta rewatch this one to make my thoughts clear but i remember finding it charming. Azurehowl Reborn appears to be the remake/reboot of the original series.

Note: Ongoing!

Twelve by Petpyves - An original series about May and Imp, a duo who's jobs are to jump from body to body and guide them to a better end, results vary. It's a work of love and has some really strong concepts and writing, as well as doing its best to handle more mature subejcts with respect.

Rating: It's rough around the edges but nonetheless a great show to binge! I recommend it, though it's been a while since I watched it.

Note: Complete!

No Evil by Betsy Lee - In the land of myths and fables incarnate a group of spirits live their casual lives alongside humans, until a cataclysmic force thought to be dealt with shows once again in the world. A prequel series to the webcomic Brother Swan.

Rating: Not yet watched.

Note: Complete!

Burrow's End by Dimension 20 - A Dungeons & Dragons campaign following a group of stoats.

Rating: Not yet watched.

Note: Complete!

Video Games

Okami developed by Clover Studios - You play as the wolf Amaterasu on her journey to save the world from forces of darkness.

Rating: A classic for a reason. Fun to play, great story, lovely characters. Would recommend!

Stray developed by Bluetwelve Studios - In a walled city populated by robots, you play as a cat.

Rating: ending made me bawl. Gameplay is a bit clunky, the platforming is essentially hitting buttons to automatically jump to your destination instead of you jumping yourself. Otherwise, would recommend!

*Tokyo Jungle developed Crispy's! - Set in a deserted, furistic Tokyo, you can select from a wide array of animals to play as and survive.

Rating: never played but maaan do I want to.

*Spirit of the North developed by Infuse Studio- You play as an ordinary red fox whose story becomes entwined with the guardian of the Northern Lights, a female spirit fox.

Rating: Yet to play.

Untitled Goose Game developed by House House - honk

Rating: honk

*Copoka developed by Inaccurate Interactive - You play as a pigeon trying to build a nest in a totalitarian state.

Rating: Yet to play.

*Seasons After Fall developed by Swing Swing Submarine - 2D platformer where you play as a fox in a magical land.

Rating: Yet to play.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon developed by Spike Chunsoft - A rogue-like RPG in which you take the form as a human turned Pokemon and must navigate your world. There are currently seven games to choose from, each with a unique world and story.

Rating: I love PMD, I'm putting it here because I'm biased. I love it a lot and it fits the criteria so here you go!

Cattails & *Cattails: Wildwood Story developed by Falcon Development - With the creator known for their WC fan game, Untold Tales, Cattails branched out from the bones of the fan game and became an original game of it's own! In this RPG, you play as a cat where you can hunt, fight, find love, and solve puzzles. Wildwood expands on the base mechanics, adding in farming, characters, and more!

Rating: I found the first Cattails to be cute and simple. It's not an intensive RPG, the mechanics become repetitive after a while. If you're someone who likes getting into the rhythm of a grindy rpg, you'll like this one. Not yet played Wildwood but I've heard it's great!

Rain World developed by Videocult - You play as a nomadic slugcat in a brutal world with only your wits, agility, and strength to survive. Eat, hunt, flee, and hibernate while finding out the secrets of your world.

Rating: Okay. this game is HARD. Like unfair hard. Imprecise controls, brutal difficulty, and sometimes really unfair save points - this one is tough. However, it is gorgeous and it's really fun seeing all the beautiful environments the creators came up with. Enemies are also incredibly complex, reacting to each other and you in different ways. It's an acquired taste, while it wasn't for me personally, I would recommend giving it a try at the very least.

Miscellaneous

Additions that aren't necessarily xenofiction but pertain to it in some way.

Cheek by Jowl: Animals in Children's Literature by Ursula K. Le Guin -A fantastic essay that explores the role of the animal in children's literature from its role as something to reflect human society, or how it teaches children about animals. Furthermore, it explores the ways in which xenofiction can intentionally or unintentionally reinforce human bigotry through what we deem the "natural" order of the world.

Rating: Please read if you're interested in xenofiction! A fantastic essay that kicks you off thinking critically about what xenofiction has to say. The essay has a striking section on Watership Down that I highly recommend reading.

Cardinal West (YouTube) - A YouTube channel that discusses xenofiction. Videos that I recommend to start with are:

How (Not) to Write Xenofiction: A Literary Autopsy of “One for Sorrow, Two for Joy” by Clive Woodall (CW for discussions of sexual assault)

How Adapting The Fox and the Hound Changed Animation

#NOT A COMPLETE LIST!! i'm still updating it!1 #but i'd like to post it now so others can add #deers xenofiction list

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passionateseadruid · 6 days

Text

I am loved! I am loved!

Few things: Tad bit of Misogyny (Adam, kinda Lucifer), swearing (almost everyone), Sera, Slander (Lucifer and Lilith), extermination talk, bad people mentioned

sequel to this

Me and my husband, we are doing better.

Or at least that’s how I feel.

It had been a few centuries since you’ve been married and it seems like he’s been more tense lately. You thought to take him out to for lunch.

“Adam! Sweetheart?” You opened the door of the conference room that a small light blue elephant cherub had directed you toward. He had come with you. “Thank you silver.”

“Babe! C’mere!” Adam motioned you over. “Listen Sera my baby agrees with this.”

“Darling? Do you?”

“I completely agree with my husband. What am I agreeing with?”

“Adam thinks that it’s a good idea to kill off some of the worst sinners in hell.”

“…Adam?”

“Yeah because you’ve been spewing nonsense about the whore with some mildly entertaining curves trying to overthrow us with those sinners.”

“Her husband had a smaller waist and wider hips than she does.” You and him wheezed at that.

“True! Oh ho ho,” he panted from laughing too hard. “And this is why I love you, honey.”

“Um… so what was his idea Sera?” You asked bashfully. Adam had never publicly stated his love for you. Sure he was touchy-feely but he always blamed that on his high sex-drive when asked.

“Adam wants to train an army to kill certain sinners.”

“Only the really bad ones, like the ones we talked about.” Adam assured.

“Like the people harming children? Or those that sexually abused others?” You asked.

“Yeah! Or the really really bad killers who just slaughter tons of innocent people for no reason other than that they can!”

“Yeah Sera I agree. Not all of the souls down there would have to get involved.” You reasoned.

“No, course not.” Adam agreed.

“I don’t know, darling.” Sera looked at you both apprehensively.

“Sera, you know that people like that do not deserve to live. It was only because of Lucifer that they exist! And it is because of him that they get to roam freely!” You asserted, anger grew in you as the seconds passed thinking about Lucifer.

“…okay.”

“But! Just the very bad ones.” You warned.

“Course! I may be a “misogynist” or whatever but I’m not a monster.”

“Do you want to go get burritos now?” You grabbed his hand.

“Fuck yeah! See you later Sera!” He tossed you over his shoulder and slapped your ass.

////////////////////////////////////////

It had been a few months and Sera arranged a meeting with Lucifer.

“Sera! Please make him bring Lilith!”

“Why on earth would you want that?”

“Because then Adam and I can show them that we don’t care about them!”

“Ugh, please don’t be so immature.”

“Please Sera! Please please please!”

“Okay okay! Just don’t be upset if he doesn’t care. And don’t interrupt the meeting okay?”

“Thank you Sera!!”

////////////////////////////////////////

The day of the meeting you had picked out matching outfits for you and Adam. White robes with gold accents. You had gold jewelry in the shape of crosses. And you slipped on your wedding ring with the biggest diamond you’d (or anyone’d ever seen).

“Adam sweetheart! Cmon!”

“Babe why do we have to go?” Adam whined.

“The Morningstars will be there. Don’t you want to show them up?”

“…yes.”

“Come on then! You big baby.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Adam.”

////////////////////////////////////////

“What the fuck are they doing here?!” Lucifer shouted.

“Calm down Lucifer. Darling here overseas humanity.” Sera calmly explained.

“Why did you have to mess up all of humanity?” You glared at the two.

“And Adam was the one who came up with the idea.”

“Yeah bitch!”

“Okay… then why are they on Adam’s lap?” Lilith asked.

“Because we’re married?” You said.

“WHAT?!” The two exclaimed.

“Yeah! I can steal your bitch too Luci.”

“Hey…” You pouted at Adam.

“Don’t take it to heart! You know I think you’re a badass bitch!” He nuzzled your neck and gave you a little peck.

“Can we please just get this over with?” Lucifer asked Annoyed.

////////////////////////////////////////

After the meeting Lucifer cornered you. “You may think you’re special because you got into the pants of the first man; but you’re not. You’re just some freak with pretty privilege and that’s all you’ll ever be!”

“…” You smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I-” He just stood there stuttering like an idiot.

You purposely brushed his shoulder and said, “Keep dreaming that you could ever have this.” Not looking back as you strutted down the hall to find your husband.

“Get your hands off me!” You heard him scream. “I love my baby and you aren’t going to change that Lilith.”

“I’m sorry are we going to have a problem here?” You walked in.

“Of course not babe. The Morningstars are just trying to stir up drama.” He came over to you and you wrapped your arms around his.

“How well I know.” You turn back. “Lil, step off my man and try to get a hold on your for a change.”

‘Yes me and my husband, we are doing better.’

#adam x reader #vivziepop #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin lucifer morningstar #hazbin lilith #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin adam #adam hazbin #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin adam x you #hazbin hotel lilith #hazbin hotel sera #hazbin sera #hazbin

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 7 months

Text

The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfic #my fic

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victoriously-wicked · 4 months

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LIST OF SOME JORI/VICTORiOUS FANFIC FOR YOU!

Fanfiction.net links: blue Wattpad links: orange Ao3 links: red

Just a Stage Kiss: There's a fine line between love and hate. What happens when Jade and Tori are partnered together for another class at Hollywood Arts, only this time it's not stage fighting, it's stage kissing. Will that line be crossed, or redrawn thicker than before? Ao3 Wattpad Fanfic

I Have No Sister: Oneshot. Trina had done the worst thing on the day of her sister's wedding. Disgraced, she starts a new life in NYC. But a blast from the past has a bone to pick with Trina Vega. Fanfic

They Say a Bad Girl Will Shatter Your World, Drive You Insane: Tori needs to seem more mature for an audition and decides it's time to take a real risk. And what is more dangerous than dating the girl who used to hate your guts? Based on the episode 'The Gorilla Club'. Fanfic Ao3

Let’s Show the World That Science is On Our Side: Sequel to "they say a bad girl". Their relationship is the best and the strangest thing that's ever happened to Tori. You can't really blame her if she's still trying to figure it out. Fanfic Ao3

I Think You Know Me: Oneshot. Beck plots to get Jade and Tori back together. Andre just wants to stay in one piece. Twist from 'Tori Fixes Beck and Jade.' Fanfic

Shock Value: In one of Sikowitz's classroom exercises, Tori needs to Shock the class. Jade doesn't think Tori's capable of shocking anyone. What does Tori do? Fanfic

Start from Scratch: It's been 3 years since Hollywood Arts and Jade's life hasn't worked out like she wanted it too. Fleeing her past, she must start over from stratch and finds her only refuge is with a person with her own personal demons, Tori Vega. Can the pair rebuild their lives and perhaps even find love along the way. Fanfic Wattpad

Our Story: Jade's deadly secret caused Beck to leave her, but Tori came into her life and made everything better. Now, Jade's life is done hanging in the balance, right? She's been told she's safe, so why does it feel like everything is about to come crashing on her and her friends? Fanfic

Behind Enemy Lines: How Yerba changed everything. Wattpad Fanfic

You Don’t Know Me: Jade and Tori are forced to work together on a group project for school. And when Tori visits Jade's house one day and her father is drunk, Tori realizes that Jade may not be the person she always thought she was. Fanfic

Replay: I never thought I'd be where I am now when I took my sister's place in that showcase. It definitely brought changes I didn't expect. But now that I'm here, I wouldn't change it for the world. Ao3 Fanfic

You’re Worth It: Tori's determined to get Jade to become friends with her no matter how many times Jade's threatened her and screamed at her. What happens when Jade starts to hang out with Tori more and realises that she doesn't seem to be feeling as much of a strong connection with Beck as she used to. Will Jade tell Tori her deepest secrets? Will Tori confess her love? They must endure a long, bumpy road together, but will it be worth it? Wattpad

A Dangerous Friend: Everyone needs at least one crazy friend, and it looks like Tori's found hers. Ao3 Wattpad

My Best Friend’s Girlfriend: Hello there...my name is Tori. Tori Vega. I'm a little nervous at the moment...so bear with me? Well I have a confession to make...it's a hard one at that. I um...well I moved here to Hollywood just a little while back and am now going to school with my childhood best friend. Then something happened... I never planned it to happen. I just... well... I accidentally fell absolutely and uncontrollably in love, with his girlfriend. Wattpad

Violated: Tori Vega, good girl, straight A student, musical master. No one would have expected her to be forced with a life changing trauma. But she did. She had many to turn to but who was her choice? Jade West, bad girl, possible straight A student, Musical, acting and producing master. She hates Tori with a passion, yet no one knows why, Jade herself doesn't know. But what happens when her enemy appears at her doorstep crying and in need of someone to help her? Fanfic Wattpad

Where’s Tori: 9 years ago, Jade's life was shattered, when her girlfriend Tori, vanished. After many years, Jade has long since given up hope of seeing Tori again. But what happens when the Impossible happens? Fanfic Wattpad

Twist of Fate: Tori is paralysed and Jade is blind. Two lives drastically affected by fate. Two people who don't realize, how much each needs the other. But fate can be kind as well as cruel, which they soon come to realize. Slight AU. Wattpad Fanfic

The Lock-In: Locked in a building for 48 hours with 238 other high schoolers isn't exactly the greatest weekend. And nobody knows that more than André Harris, Beck Oliver, Cat Valentine, Trina Vega, Robbie Shapiro, Tori Vega, and Jade West . . . especially Tori Vega and Jade West. The lock-in begins. 48 hours to go. (Jori friendship.) Wattpad

The Last Resort: Jade has become completely catatonic since the death of her fiancé in a tragic accident. Not responding to any treatment or words from family and friends, they turn to the one person who hasn't tried, to try and bring her back. A person who once broke Jade's heart. Her ex girlfriend, Tori Vega. Wattpad Fanfic

The Impossible: A certain student at Hollywood Arts that no one’s noticed before is suddenly involved with the gang for her Kickback performance. But she has also revealed that she is a 'great fan' of Jade West and Tori Vega and decides to let the two girls approach to help her. Who is this girl? Will she reveal who she is when Victoria Vega and Jadelyn West, one of the most talented [and hottest] students at Hollywood Arts, approach her based on curiosity and interest? Ao3 Wattpad

#GrandFinale: Caterina Valentine is just weeks away from graduation. She understands things are about to change for her and her closest friends at Hollywood Arts. But her feelings for her best friend and roommate, Sam, have already been changing...and Cat realizes it might be time to be honest about them. Sam Puckett doesn't like people or connections. People always leave. Connections always hurt. Then she met Cat and her entire world changed. But with graduation weeks away, Sam fears she's going to get left behind again. Maybe it would be better if this time, she did the leaving. Past and present collide as Sam and Cat face the uncertainty of the future. But will they face it together, or alone? It's been a long time coming. Welcome to the #GrandFinale! Ao3 Fanfic Wattpad

The Untold Jori: Sequel to “#GrandFinale”. With graduation in her rearview mirror, Jade West finds herself on the cusp of a fantastic opportunity: the chance to direct a short film. It's not her style or genre, but a successful film will lead to funding for her own feature film, a story so important to her she might be willing to take the deal. Much to Jade's frustration, the best person for the lead role to ensure its success is none other than Victoria Vega. But Tori is long gone, and Jade resents the idea of asking her to be in the film. It's the reunion neither of them wanted, with a result neither of them expected. Ao3 Fanfic Wattpad

One Last Song: Sequel to “The Untold Jori”. Victoria Vega: successful actress, prominent scream woman, married to the love of her life for nearly a decade...and, as she approaches age thirty, a woman wondering what happened to the dreams of her youth. A mysterious call from an old flame may just awaken those dreams once more, but at what cost? Jade West: one of the most celebrated masters of horror and thrillers in Hollywood. But when the social media mob descends on Jade for an innocent remark, her future in the industry is suddenly on shaky ground...and the one she depends on the most, her rock, Tori, seems to be more distant than ever. Jade fears her dream may be coming to an end...and what she will wake up to when it's over. After a string of successful broadway shows, Cat Valentine has spent years at the top of the pop charts as the sensational "Caterina". She and her longtime love, Samantha Puckett, have settled down in Sam's hometown of Seattle, where Cat records her music. But one morning, Cat wakes up to find Sam gone without a trace; not even her beloved motorcycle remains. In a panic, Cat hunts down her best friends, Tori and Jade, to help her find out where Sam went, and why? All three women stand at the brink of their most difficult challenges. Can the girls and their friends endure, or will all three be torn apart forever? Join Tori, Jade, Cat, Sam, Carly, and more for one last adventure...and one last song. Ao3 Fanfic Wattpad

One Last Time: Jade and Tori had always felt some unspoken thing between them, but never acted on it. On Tori's last night in LA, a certain song by their friend brings Jade to do just that, but is it already too late for them to be anything more than friends? Ao3 Wattpad Fanfic

Postgrad Partners: Sequel to “One Last Time”. As Tori is about to leave LA for a record deal in Miami, she and Jade hastily decide to move in together and explore their relationship and postgraduate lives. What challenges await to test this newfound couple? Ao3 Wattpad Fanfic

HAVE FUN READING!

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tropes-and-tales · 8 months

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If You Weren't You, Part Two

Day 1: Hate sex (Benny Magalon x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Light angst, kinda; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5618

AN: This is a sequel to this, and it was requested for Kinktober by @thesandbeneathmytoes!)

The weekend passes uncomfortably for Benny Magalon.

He has the usual bullshit chores to catch up on. He gets groceries, does his laundry. He calls home, gets the updates on his family from his mom. He goes through the pile of mail that accumulated on his table during the week.

Every idle moment, his mind drifts to you. That moment with you, specifically. The moment of insanity.

Nighttime is the worst. He doesn’t fall asleep easily anyway, but Saturday night, Sunday night…it takes longer than usual to drift off. He keeps replaying that moment. In the darkness of his room, he swears he can exactly remember the weirdly tender way you touched him—your hand in his hair, the gentle way you kissed him.

The way he made you laugh—really laugh—when he jokingly accused you of getting turned on by being mean to him.

The curiously hurt look on your face afterwards when he implied that fucking you was some bottom-of-the-barrel situation for him. It was inexplicable, the hurt in your expression, because Benny hadn’t thought you were capable of feeling hurt. You were too cool, too dispassionate…or so he thought.

Sunday night stretches out long and uncomfortable. The minutes tick by slow, and he’s no closer to falling asleep. In only a few hours he’ll have to get up, get dressed, and face you.

“Goddammit,” he mutters in the darkness of his room, and he rolls over, punches his pillow into shape, and tries to push you out of his head.

-----

He doesn’t have to face you Monday morning. Lobbin’ Bob is the one leading the morning debrief, and you are nowhere to be found.

Benny finds out later that you are with the LAPD, plying your charm to get some case files they have on the suspect on a separate case. Right now, though, he’s just relieved to not have to see you.

He and Big Nick go outside after the debrief to head back to Major Crimes. His boss looks awful—he hits those Friday parties hard and never seems to have enough time to recover. Nick gestures to Benny to wait a moment, and he leans against his truck, slides a pack of smokes out of his coat pocket. He lights a cigarette with a grumble, then tosses the pack and lighter to Benny.

They smoke together in silence for a beat. God only knows what Big Nick is thinking.

Benny? He’s thinking he’s dodged a bullet, but that he’ll have to face you soon enough.

Big Nick takes a deep drag of his cigarette. “Sorry about Friday night,” he says. “You drew the short straw.”

Benny flicks the ash off of his own cigarette. “S’ fine.”

“You missed a good party.” A beat. “So how was she? Lobbin’ Bob’s pet ice queen?”

He shrugs. He refuses to tell his boss about that moment of madness in the backseat of your SUV, the weirdly tender moment that turned sour as soon as you both put your pants back on.

“Same as always,” he replies.

Big Nick chuckles, shakes his head. “You know, I’m all for women in law enforcement. Equal rights and all that shit. But I hate it when they get too high on themselves. The way she marches around, acting like she’s better than everyone…there’s no room for ego in this game.”

Benny bites his tongue, doesn’t point out that Big Nick has the biggest ego of anyone. How he insists on being the center of attention, the center of any moment. The Sheriff’s department resident bad boy who get results at the cost of….well, everything. At the cost of good procedures and policies, at the cost of his family, at the cost of his detectives’ personal lives…

“She needs taken down a notch or two,” Big Nick says. “Think we should be the ones to do it.”

Benny has witnessed plenty of his boss’s pranks and mean-spirited jokes. Big Nick plays rough.

He remembers the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair, the soft way you pulled him to you to kiss him. The startling sound of your laughter.

“Nah, leave it,” he tells Big Nick, but he should know better—Nick does what Nick wants, and tough shit to anyone who doesn’t like it.

*****

You learned how to compartmentalize things when you were just a kid, and the knack for it serves you well in adulthood—in your personal life, but especially in your job.

When you make the terrible decision to fuck Detective Magalon, that decision straddles both your personal and professional life, which makes it harder to shove away in a box and forget it…but you’re a pro at sealing off unhappy moments, sliding them into some cobwebbed corner of your mind, so that’s exactly what you do.

You seal off that moment with Magalon, you push it away, you start to forget it.

Monday: you spend the better part of the day with LAPD, sifting through evidence tangentially related to your case.

Tuesday: you testify in an unrelated case, drive up to Sacramento and walk a judge and jury through your investigation from months ago.

Wednesday: you return to the office and the case at hand. The LAPD sent over all of their casework while you were in the state capitol, boxes of evidence, so you sigh and settle in for a day of combing through it all. It’s a proverbial needle in a haystack, but you aren’t alone for long.

An hour into it, you’ve only just ordered the boxes and cracked open the first one. There’s a knock at the door of your office, and Bob peeks his head in.

“Hey, the Sheriff’s Department sent over one of their detectives to help you sort through the evidence,” he said. He shook his head, chuckled. “I tried to tell O’Brien that we didn’t need any help, but he’s afraid of getting iced out.”

You roll your eyes and hope the gesture covers the way your stomach cramps and twists. You know it’s going to be Magalon. That shoved-away, boxed-up memory resurfaces—the gentle way he had cradled the top of your head in your SUV, the way he had smiled down at you…then how he had insulted you right after, and how hard that stung.

“It’s fine,” you lie to Bob.

“Good.” He raps his fist against the doorjamb. “He’s on his way up. Play nice, but if you need me, just call.”

“Will do,” you reply, and you have only a handful of minutes to compose yourself: to pull on a neutral face, to take some steadying breaths, and then Detective Magalon—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Stupid—is in your doorway with an inscrutable expression on his face.

*****

You’re quiet all day. Through the morning, through lunch and into the afternoon—you say so little. The sum total of your conversation is you asking him what he wants for lunch, then you calling out to an assistant to place the order.

You eat in silence. You work in silence. Benny goes outside to smoke a cigarette, and he finds his hands tremble to light it. He lingers outside as long as he thinks he can, and he returns to your office slowly, drags his feet.

Your silence is unnerving. It holds weight and takes up space, like a third entity in the room with the two of you. Benny’s not used to women being so quiet when they’re pissed at him—and you must be pissed at him. Women he’s done wrong, they usually yell at him, scream at him, come at him like wildcats.

You just sit there and page through wire-tap records, witness interviews, phone records. You don’t avoid eye contact with him but you don’t stare him down. You’re perfectly neutral, exactly down the middle of the line.

His weird guilt and unease shifts back to a more familiar feeling: irritation. Lobbin’ Bob’s goddamned pet ice princess. Fussily perfect, completely boring. You drink water all day to stay hydrated. You brush and floss your teeth after lunch. When you get a headache, you pull open a desk drawer—neatly organized—and shake out a single tablet of ibuprofen that you toss back with a practiced flick of the wrist.

You’re a goddamned robot, not even a real person, and Benny hates that you took up so much space in his head over the weekend. He hates that he felt a burgeoning guilt over what he had said after your hookup; he hates that he felt nervous to see you again. He hates that he lost a single moment of sleep over you.

The sun reaches its apex and starts its slide into the west. The quiet murmur of office noise dies off on the other side of your door. Benny’s concentration wanes too; the numbers on the phone logs he’s combing start to blur together. His thoughts drift off to other things. He starts to fiddle with his phone, restlessly scrolling through his email, his texts, the handful of bare-bones social media he has.

You glance up at him from your pile of paperwork when his phone chimes—a text from Big Nick—and Benny feels your eyes on him. When he looks up from replying to Nick, he catches your studious look, your arched brow.

But you say nothing, so when you bend your head back to the task at hand, he goes ahead and breaks the onerous silence with a terse, “we gonna be much longer?”

“Big Nick got a line on some coke and hookers?”

There it is. Finally. He pushes a hard exhale through his nose and shakes his head. “That wasn’t Big Nick.” He doesn’t add more to the lie; he’s curious if you’ll think it’s a woman. He’s curious if any glimmer of jealousy will cross your features.

He’s disappointed a beat later. Instead of feeling jealous, you seem to see through his ruse but you play along. Your lips twitch into a ghost of a smile.

“Oh, a hot date, then?” The smile widens, and you lift a hand towards your closed door. “If you leave now, you won’t lose your deposit on her.”

Another huffed out breath, and his irritation rachets up a degree. He hates your implications around him paying for women, but he hates even more how close to the mark you’ve hit. He hasn’t paid for it, not in a long while…but there was a time when he had, back when he was freshly-divorced and smarting from it, licking his wounds at their big seedy parties each weekend.

“Jealous?” he asks, and he hates how lame it sounds as a comeback, but he pairs it with a stony expression.

You nod, and a fake frown replaces your smile, a pouting moue that would be charming on anyone else but you.

“I’m devastated,” you reply, dead-pan, but then you sigh and look back down at your paperwork. “No, go ahead and go.”

He would leave if you’d leave, but you seem like you’re staying. The sun is almost set now, and your office is darker, but you make no move to box up the remaining evidence. You seem like you’re hunkering down until the job is done, and that needles at Benny even more. You’ve always obliquely—and not so obliquely—implied that you are the better cop. That he and the Major Crimes assholes are reckless tramplers of the law, and that you and Lobbin’ Bob are upstanding examples of law enforcement.

“You coming?” he asks. He stands up but doesn’t move towards the door.

“No.”

“It’s late.”

You tilt your head but don’t look up at him. “I’ve worked later than this.”

The implication, Benny hears, is that he’s never worked late before, and he bristles at your tone. “There’s probably nothing here,” he replies, and he gestures at the boxes of evidence from the LAPD case. “Leave it.”

You snort, and you finally lift your head. You stare at him dead-on, no blinking. “That’s excellent police work, Detective. ‘There’s probably nothing here.’” You repeat his words back to him in a startingly good impression of him, his lazy California accent and soft voice, and he bristles even more.

“This stuff was always a long shot,” he argues.

“Long shots pay off all the time. Some cases are built on long shots.”

“So you’re gonna stay here and finish?” He glanced over at the boxes you haven’t gotten to yet. There’s three of them. You’ll be here all night. He feels that familiar sting of guilt, and then he feels pissed, like you’re manipulating him into staying longer, even though you’ve been beating him with your silence all day—

“Yup. I am.”

“Well, I’m leaving.” He takes a step towards your door but goes no further because that fucking guilt keeps him rooted in place. The thought of you spending a lonely night with boxes of evidence, and he’s supposed to be your partner in this—

“C’mon, let’s just go,” he adds. “We can hit it tomorrow fresh.”

“Tomorrow I have to hit something else,” you reply. There’s tension in your voice, a tightness to your words. You’re getting irritated with him now. “And the next day there’s something else. I have to get through this now or it won’t get done.”

“Shit, there’s nothing—”

“Christ, Magalon!” You snap, sudden, and it makes him jolt where he stands. You toss your pen aside and bring your fist down on your desktop like a hammer, and the display of anger makes him take a half step away from you. You stand up, round around your desk, and you go to your door and yank it open.

“Go.” You stand in the doorway and point out of it, and you actually fucking snap your fingers as you point, like he’s a recalcitrant dog caught chewing on the furniture.

“Jesus, calm down—”

The words slip out despite knowing that telling any woman to calm down always elicits the opposite reaction: you actually stamp your foot on the floor, and it’d be cute as shit, how feisty you’re getting out of nowhere, but you’re you, and he’s been ready to leave for hours, exhausted by the boring work and the frustration to be paired with you again.

“Get out,” you tell him. “I’ll finish it up myself.”

“I only—”

“I don’t need any excuses. Seriously, Magalon. Go home. Go find O’Brien or your band of merry assholes.”

He should leave. He wants to. You’re back to being a bitch, a living cold front that leaves him chilled by your silence and your judgement. He’s completely free to stalk away; he has no obligation to stay and suffer more. Except…

…except you’ve been calling him by his name all day. Calling him by his title. Magalon. Detective. You’ve dropped the pretense of calling him the wrong name, the pretense of conflating him with his Major Crimes teammates—the message that they’re all the same, interchangeable, identical in their awfulness.

Does it mean you see him as himself now? Did he lay you well enough to distinguish himself from the pack and earn that scant bit of respect—razor-thin, admittedly—that you use his last name now?

“Calm down,” he repeats, and this time it’s intentional. He’s rewarded by more outrage: you stamp your foot again (it is cute, he decides now, because you’re usually so collected). You actually go so apoplectic that when you open your mouth to respond, nothing comes out. You glare at him gape-mouthed, and nothing comes out, so he adds, “shit, you need laid again? You already missing it after a few days?”

Your eyes go wider, and you huff out a breath so heavily that your nostrils flare at the effort. “Shut up.”

It’s not a no. Benny smirks at you, and your eyes narrow into slits at his expression.

“Just go,” you seethe, like you’re pushing the words out between your clenched jaw. “Seriously, don’t leave whoever waiting. Your date. O’Brien. Whoever.”

“I can spare you five minutes.”

You snort, roll your eyes. “What’s that come to, four minutes of foreplay and a minute of action?”

This is cute too, he decides. You talking shit about his game when you know better. You acting like you don’t know how he is, like you don’t have the first-hand experience of him pretty effortlessly coaxing an orgasm from you—

“Aw, sweetheart.” His smirk widens, and he reaches out to trace a fingertip down the curve of your face. “You know that isn’t true.”

You swat away his hand and make a dismissive tsch sort of noise, but you don’t reply. He lifts his hand again, traces his forefinger across the neckline of your blouse. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s close, and when you go to swat him away again, he catches your hand in his. Pulls you towards him, takes you off your balance until you sway closer to him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Five minutes, then we leave, and hit those few boxes fresh in the morning.”

He sees that you’re tempted. He sees the way your expression wavers, and he isn’t sure if you’re more tempted by him or the prospect of not spending the night in your office…but either way, he’s snaking his way around the wall you have up, and you’re wavering—

“C’mon.” He drops his voice to a low rumble right by your ear, and he catches the way your breathing picks up, the rise and fall of your chest quickening. “I know you’re already wet, sweetheart. You’ve been mean to me all day. You must be.”

It makes you laugh, and just like that night in your SUV, it startles him. It’s such a rare sound, he guesses. It’s throaty and low but loud, punched-out. Just like before, he feels a thrill of pride to draw it out of you. He bets it’s a rarer thing to make you laugh than to make you come, and he’s done both.

“I haven’t been mean to you at all,” you point out. “I’ve barely talked.”

“Silent treatment can hurt.”

Another eye-roll. “You complained the other day that I talk too much. Now it’s not enough.”

A fair point: he did snap at you that night, right before he kissed you. He doesn’t want to rehash it at the moment. His own arousal is awake, powering up, so he lifts his eyebrows at you and says, hopeful, “so?”

“So what?”

“Five minutes, then we go?”

“Fuck off.” You move past him, out of the doorway and back into your office. “You just want more ammo for your asshole buddies. Tell ‘em all about hooking up with the ice princess or whatever.”

Benny shuts the door to your office, but he’s on the wrong side of it. He takes the few steps to follow you and says, “I didn’t tell them.”

Another one of your bitter tsch sounds. “Because it’s embarrassing. Yeah, I know. You already—”

“It isn’t their business.” He cuts you off, and if he’s been teasing you before, he’s deadly serious now. It isn’t their business. Not Henderson, not Z, not Connors. Certainly not Big Nick. He chafes under their closeness sometimes, hates that they work and party together so much that it feels like he has no privacy. But this thing—a one-time hook-up that maybe is burgeoning into more—belongs to the two of you. You and Benny. No one else. He tells you so, in far fewer words.

You don’t believe him. You finally turn and watch him, and the expression in your eyes is pure wariness. Underneath it, though, he swears he sees a glint of something else, something not easily defined—

“Come on,” he says. He sounds whiny but he doesn’t care. “You keep scrapping with me, and we could already be fucking.”

It makes you smile. It blossoms across your face like you can’t help it, and in the moment Benny just thinks got you, sweetheart, but afterwards he’ll think about how your smile, rare as it is, holds no artifice, not a single ounce of guile. He’ll think, later on, how your smile transforms your entire face from one of a brittle sort of prettiness to something extraordinarily beautiful.

“Fine,” you answer him, and if you weren’t you, it’d be adorable how you act like you’re put out, like you’re doing him a favor. “Lock the door then, Magalon.”

-----

The interlude in your SUV wasn’t romantic by any stretch, but you try to make this moment even less so. At least that first time, it started with him kissing you, you kissing him back. Now, you’re all business, and he stares for a beat as he watches you kick off your shoes, as you start to unbutton your pants.

“Damn, slow down,” he says.

“You have five minutes.” You push your pants down, give a little shimmy to get them over your hips, over your ass. You get them off but you shake them out and hang them over your chair, fussy as ever.

Benny closes the gap between you, and he manages to reach down and still your hands before you can get your panties off. He clasps them and draws them up, presses them to his chest.

“Slow down,” he repeats. He says it softer, almost a whisper, and it makes you lift your gaze to find him.

The corner of your mouth quirks into a near-smile. “Well, now you have four—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He bends his head and cuts off your smart-ass mouth with a kiss, steals the words from you. Your lips are just as soft as that night, and when he groans at the feel of them, he feels them curve into a smile. A beat later, he feels the sharp line of your teeth nipping at him, not very hard, and then the tip of your tongue tracing along his lower lip.

Benny releases your hands. He wraps one around the back of your neck to hold you to him. He places the other on your waist, and he pushes his fingers under the hem of your shirt to revel in the feel of your skin—soft, and so warm that you feel almost feverish.

You? You don’t romance it beyond kissing him, but you’re eager. He can feel it shimmering off of you like heat on pavement on a summer’s day. Your hands reach down on him; one fumbles at his belt and the button and fly of his jeans while the other cups him through the denim. He inhales sharply at your touch, even through the layers of clothing. He breaks the kiss a moment later when you snake your hand under his jeans and his boxers—the sudden feeling of your warm palm on his cock, coaxing him from half-hard to fully erect.

“Eager. Knew you missed me,” he gloats. He tries to catch your eye but you avoid him, shake your head.

“Shut up,” you mumble, and it’s defensive, and it could lead to you stopping this whole encounter and putting that wall up around you again, so he leaves it be and kisses you again.

Benny wonders what it would be like to take his time with you. This is paltry; it’s a meager mouthful, barely enough to sate any appetite. When he hoists you onto the edge of your desk and pushes into you—you’re already wet, just as he had guessed, so you must get turned on by scrapping with him—it feels just as amazing as before. Your pussy is molten, velvety, gripping him like a fist until he grits his teeth so he doesn’t embarrass himself and come too soon…

…yet he wonders how much better it would be to take his time. To have the luxury of time and space and privacy, to strip you completely naked and see what you really look like. He’d love to edge you, he thinks. He’d love to see you stretched out on a bed, back arching away from the mattress as he pushes you to the precipice of your orgasm only to deny you at the last moment. He’d love to strip away every bit of ego you have, every bit of smugness that sets you higher than him in your own opinion. He’d love to frustrate you completely in bed, would love to see your eyes leaking tears, that mean mouth of yours begging him so sweetly…

…because even like this, once he gets his cock in you, you turn so nice. It gentles you, rounds off the sharp bits and edges of you. Your face goes soft with wonder. Your eyes go soft when you meet his gaze. As he fucks you—sharp thrusts, steady pace—you tilt your face up to him, and you look so unlike yourself that he kisses you again. You sigh into it, hold him tighter where your arms are wrapped around his shoulders to help hold yourself steady at the awkward angle.

Neither of you say much else. He wraps an arm around your waist as he drives into you, and you mumble when you’re close but he already knows: as inscrutable as you are, as placid as your face can be when you’re masking yourself around him, your body is an open book. He feels like he’s tuned in perfectly to whatever wavelength you’re operating on. He hears the way your breathing picks up, feels how your kisses get sloppier as you sink into the sensation of your approaching orgasm. He feels how your cunt grips him tighter, how your arousal coats him and makes it easier to bottom out in you.

He tells you he’s close too, and that’s about the sum of your conversation for the rest of the night: you come a beat later, with a keening whine that sets him off and gives him barely enough time to pull out before he’s painting your belly with his cum.

You’re both quiet afterwards. He resists the urge to kiss your forehead before he parts from you. You might be resisting a similar urge, because you pat him awkwardly on his shoulder in a “way to go, sport” sort of way. But neither of you say much as you clean up, dress, reassemble yourselves. You’re both silent as you leave together, likely remembering how quickly shit turned mean the last time you fucked.

“Hit the rest of the evidence tomorrow morning?” he asks, and you meet his gaze and then nod.

You turn towards where your SUV is parked, but you turn back a beat later, tell him to drive safely.

*****

The case progresses slowly.

You and Benny continue…well, whatever it is, you continue it.

It gives you whiplash. The mean sniping with each other, the insults and barbs you trade. He still follows the ice princess routine, the prissy, bland, clean-living routine. He makes wild assumptions about your life—accuses you of loving beige, of being boring, of decorating your home in “live, laugh, love” décor. His speculations about your sex life—as it exists outside of your hookups with him, that is—make you sound repressed and tedious. You fuck white-collar men, he claims. With the lights off. Missionary. Through a hole in the sheet.

All of that contrasted against how he’s kinda, sorta nice when you hook up. He kisses you nicely, helps you clean up afterwards. You tend to fuck in inconvenient places that test your flexibility, and Magalon is nice about it, considerate to take as much of the discomfort as he can rather than let you twist or strain to make it work.

Tall, Dark, and Stupid. He is capable of being nice, you guess. Who would have thought?

Only capable of it, though. It’s not an innate character trait, you assume. He’s still a mean asshole, snarky, and sometimes his words hit their target dead on and other times they only glance off of you. You’re never sure when they’re going to hurt and when they’re going to make you laugh.

Once, you hook up in your office again, quiet because it’s the lunch hour and there’s twenty fellow FBI agents on the other side of your locked office door. Magalon makes a crude joke afterwards about how you need to take a day off to meet up with your waxer, and your anger at the double standard—this dude who rolls around Los Angeles in a flannel with scruffy facial hair, judging you—washes through you immediately. You open your mouth to argue because his judgement still stings, still makes you feel small and unworthy, but you catch him holding back a smile. His stupid dimple gives him away, and he reaches down and smacks your ass lightly before he goes to leave.

“Save that feistiness for next time,” he tells you, and he drops you a wink, and you hate that he knows you will hold onto his comment, that you will likely visit your salon before you see him again. You hate that he’ll see the results and smirk knowingly.

You hate that he’ll know he is capable of getting to you.

Another time, he hurries you along. It’s early evening, and he’s watched the clock all afternoon. It’s distracting and keeps your orgasm frustratingly out of reach, like you can brush your fingertips against it but not get a firm grip. You do what you always do, then: you gasp beside his ear, you bear down. You fake it.

You think he probably knows, because he peers at you through narrowed eyes right before he comes, and you hate that he’s savvy enough about your body to know the difference between the real thing and faking.

“Got somewhere to be,” he tells you as you clean up. You hear the rustle of his jeans, the clink of his belt buckle.

“Well, don’t let me hold you up.”

“Got a date,” he adds, and you catch the sidelong glance he gives you. No dimples though. You wonder if it’s true or if he’s riling you up.

“Lucky girl.” You perch on the edge of your desk and pull your shoes back on.

“You sound jealous.”

“I’m not.” You aren’t. You’re relieved to find the thought of Magalon going on a date with someone else doesn’t spark any emotion at all. You’ve done a lot of dumb things lately—chiefly the detective standing in your office, zipping up his pants—but at least catching feelings for said detective isn’t one of them.

“You sure?” He peers at you again, and his face is back to its usual stoic stoniness. Not a hint of smile, and you can’t read whatever is going on behind his dark eyes.

“Be sure to hold the door open for her,” you advise him. “Women love basic politeness.”

“If you’re jealous…”

“I’m not. Go. Have fun.” You shoo him away. You sit down at your desk, not wanting to leave with him and go through this jealous-or-not-jealous routine in the parking lot too. You see him out of the corner of your eye while he lingers in your doorway, and then he’s gone.

You don’t catch the faint hurt, the disappointment on his face when he leaves, like he was hoping you’d be jealous of the thought of him out with another woman, wining and dining her properly instead of just hate-fucking her.

And he, of course, isn’t there later to see when the jealousy finally does hit you. It’s just a small feeling; there’s no wild tears or tight chest. You’re already home and walking your dog when it hits. You imagine him out with a nameless woman, and you fill in all the features based on where you find yourself lacking: this nameless woman has smaller, perkier tits, a better ass, a perfectly landscaped pussy. She oozes warmth and openness. No one has ever accused her of being an ice princess. She has a complete, happy family: parents who are still married and still very much in love, an older sister, a younger brother. By the time you’re done walking the dog, you have written an entire history for this nameless woman, and the sting of jealousy needles deeper.

“It’s just fucking,” you remind yourself in bed that night, chiding yourself for getting so worked up over nothing. “It’s just hate sex.”

Still, maybe this is the moment you need to end it. It’s just a bad idea all around. Magalon says he’s never told his buddies, but you can’t be sure and you certainly don’t trust him. Hooking up isn’t against the rules, per se, but you’d hate the judgment that would spring up around the office. It also distracts you when your attention should be elsewhere; the thought of prior hook-ups, the promise of more. And now that you know he’s seeing other people outside of this thing you have, you’d have to make him wear a condom anyway. No sense in putting yourself at risk.

“Easier to just end it,” you mumble as you roll over, tuck your hands under your pillow and try to make yourself comfortable.

Yes, that’s what you’ll do. You’ll just end it. Cold-turkey. No need to make a scene about it. The next time he reaches for you, you’ll just gently and firmly decline. You’re not really the sort of woman to go for hate-fucking anyway, so breaking off your thing with Magalon is just you getting back to who you really are.

A temporary break from sanity, but now you’re returning to who you are.

#benny magalon imagine #benny magalon x reader #benny magalon x reader #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon #benny borracho magalon x reader #borracho magalon imagine #borracho magalon x reader #borracho magalon #den of thieves #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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onceuponapuffin · 16 days

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Fanatic Intervention Part 5!!

Hiya! Sorry about the delay! Life got in the way there for a bit ^_^" But I am here! With Part 5!!

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*************

Crowley had liked Hozier (although Take Me To Church, predictably, wasn’t his favourite), and after whining at Aziraphale that it’s nooooooot ‘bebop,’ you finally managed to get an admission that all right, it wasn’t all that terrible. You took the win.

But the dance party couldn’t last forever. There’s still a world to save, after all.

And so, all of you sat, thumbing through Revelations. Well, Aziraphale and Muriel were. You and Crowley had given up on the fancy Bible-ness of it and googled the Cliff Notes version.

“Ugh,” You say, “John really hated the Romans.”

“Well, yes,” says Aziraphale, “He had decent enough reason, though, as far as humans go.”

“What, he hated indoor plumbing and heated floors?”

“Actually, he hated people of the Christian faith being arrested, tortured, and killed for their beliefs.”

“Oh….yeah that makes sense,” You say, and after a moment you add “...Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright,” Aziraphale replies kindly, “He wrote Revelation as a way to reassure Christians that all of their suffering would mean something in the end. That it must be part of the Great Plan.”

“The Ineffable Plan, you mean,” chimes in Crowley with a smirk. Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“Yes, that one,” he replies. You notice the microscopic-Michael-Sheen-ian smile on his face as he says it. Honestly, the resemblance is uncanny. Aziraphale continues. “He wanted Christians to feel heard, and to encourage them to hold fast to their faith.”

You pause for a minute before saying anything. Then you remember a tumblr post or something from forever ago.

“Santa Claus,” You finally say. Crowley spurts wine from his nose, and begins to laugh. Aziraphale is confused.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s like Santa Claus,” You say again, “Like ‘be good, and you’ll get presents! it’s almost Christmas Eve! Santa’s watching!’ You know?” You look at Aziraphale imploringly. Crowley is still laughing. Aziraphale doesn’t look impressed.

“I think that’s rather an over-simplification.”

“Am I wrong?”

“…..It’s...it’s not...That’s not how it works!”

“Oh, okay, so I’m wrong then.”

“Sounds about right to me!” Crowley calls with glee from the other side of the room. Aziraphale looks all flustered, his face beginning to go red. Crowley hands him a glass of wine and Aziraphale downs it in one go.

Okay, winding him up is a great deal of fun, and so easy, but I’m guessing, dear Reader, that you love Aziraphale just as much as I do. You don’t actually want to hurt his feelings. Thus you decide to concede the point.

“So,” You say, “He said he had a dream about things getting really bad and then Jesus coming back and saving everyone.”

“In a nutshell, yes,” Aziraphale sighs, clearly relieved to be back on topic. You think back to old interviews with Neil and Terry about their back-then-hypothetical sequel would look like.

“Okay, well the only thing I know about it was something about it taking place in America. I read in an old interview somewhere that Jesus was meant to descend from the heavens in a private jet with a bunch of like...bodyguard angels or something.”

“America? Again? I mean really.”

You shrug. “Neil Gaiman really likes America.”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” says Muriel now, flipping back through their notes, “You said that the sequel was never written, and the third...season?was still being written too when you left. And you said that book isn’t the same as what happened in the tv show, or the radio show, or the musical. So how do we know it would be the same here?”

They make a good point.

“Maybe ask that author of yours,” says Crowley, looking over from his drink, “You said he answers questions sometimes. Who would he be to deny,” he swishes his glass around with what you suppose is meant to be grandeur, “The Famous Crowley and Aziraphale?” He empties his glass.

“Anathema might be able to find him,” You say after a while, “Jesus, I mean. She did a good job finding everything in Armageddon Part 1. Or Adam. I mean, Jesus is supposed to be all about love, right? Maybe we can convince him not to, you know, end the world.”

Aziraphale hums to himself. “Revelations states that Armageddon is meant to be started by the seven angels of the church, bringing together seven keys. I mean, John could be wrong of course, but I wonder...Could one of you find me a map and search these names? I might have an idea why Mr. Gaiman wanted to set The Second Coming in America.”

Good Reader, guess which country contains cities named after 5 of these 7 angels. I’ll give you three guesses, but you’ll only need one.

And so now we have three directions we can take this story in.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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glux2 · 6 months

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Musing: Emotional connection

Recently a very close person to me suggested i binge watch "Angel Hare", before that day my only exposure to that project was a fan game that had a very funny punchline in lampooning the "cursed videogame" genre.

So i watched the whole thing and it was great.

This scene right here made me feel more feelings than most of the media i have watched/played/read in like the last 5 years or so.

So it made my mind wonder, like, "hold on, when was the last time i felt this strongly about a piece of entertainment?"

Sure, if you know me, i felt strongly about the ongoing plotline for Noelle on Deltarune, so one would think "2021 when chapter two came out", right? but no, i got very invested but it wasn't it.

The last time i felt so strongly about a piece of media was actually Deltarune's predecesor, Undertale in 2015.

I finished Undertale in tears, i got in a very bad funk when i found out about the genocide ending, it truly made me feel emotions.

So i began to ponder, just what really moves me?

Full disclosure: I don't cry at movies. This is not a "look at me i am a badass who is not beheld by feelings" statement, no, i kinda just dont connect emotionally with movies as easily as other people.

I have talked about this, many times actually, Toy Story 3 did not make me cry, it always bothers me how people at the time were like "if TS3 didn't make you cry, you have no soul" and shit like that, so let me repeat something i have said many times before:

Toy Story 3 was a movie i went to see the day doctors had informed me my mother had entered terminal phase of cancer.

My friends took me to see TS3 when i felt the greatest sadness i have ever felt in my entire life. And im glad TS3 was a pretty funny movie that managed to distract me from what i was going through. TS3 uplifted me when i had a very real reason to cry.

So what im getting at is, i rarely connect emotionally with what conventionally makes people emotionally connected, not that i havent felt strong emotions from movies, but as we'll get to later, it's just not the stuff you would expect, when we get back to movies you'll be thinking, "what the fuck, Toy story 3 did not make you emotional but THIS THING DID?!"

So, if traditional "emotional things" rarely have moved me i began to think to myself, "what are things that have made me feel this strongly?"

I realized it's the damn weirdest things.

I'll try to list things that i can remember making me feel this emotional.

Now i'll be upfront, im not a very cultured person, so you'll notice most of this is...not very high brow.

Also, obviously spoilers for all this stuff im about to talk about.

Before we begin: Honorable mention goes to me finding out i had repressed memories of being traumatized as a kid by being show an animated adaptation of "Pilgrim's progress" by an aunt, which disturbed me greatly towards the end as the main character dies and before it the souls of two people he met are condemned to eternal damnation from making MISTAKES, not sins, not evil, but THE FUCKING MISTAKE of exploring alternate routes before them.

-Yoshi's Island, 1994 When i was a wee one Yoshi was one of my fave videogame characters, so of course i was beyond hype when a game where you play as yoshi came out, the ending is one of the greatest moments in videogame history, the beautiful music, the journey of the stork, and finally the classic Mario fan fare playing as baby mario and baby luigi being held by their parents with the words "Heroes are born", it's such a powerful moment. To this day i still cannot listen to that credits music without tearing up.

Sequel? Retcon?! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT, SHUT UP, THIS IS THE PERFECT ENDING AND NOTHING ELSE HAPPENED AFTER IT!

-The bicentennial man, 1999 The bicentennial man is one of the biggest examples of a movie being fucking mischaracterized in the marketing, this movie is based on Isaac Asimov's short story and later novel, it stars Robin Williams, so all marketing was presenting the movie as Robin Williams comedy movie, IT. IS. NOT. The bicentennial man is a scifi drama about the existential search for meaning and the nature of what truly is to be alive. You get invested on the quest of this robot trying to find humanity for 200 years, and the punchline to this movie is, in his quest for humanity he forgoes the immortality being a machine provides him as he had developed the way to turn himself biological, still artificial but biological, and he dies peacefully on his sleep before he can be told that humanity had declared him, legally, a human being. To me it was such a powerful moment, he found true meaning to his life, became human, yet died before knowing so.

-Courage the cowardly dog, "The Mask", 2002 This is a legendary episode of an already great show that has a lot of very good emotional moments, some may cite episodes like "the giving tree" or "the last star maker", but for me it's this one. For those who have never experienced this episode, it revolves around a cat girl named Kitty who one day shows up at Courage's farm and she's wearing an upsetting mask, she abuses courage because she believes all dogs are bad. The mask serves 2 purposes, one is metaphorical, "her inability to face reality", the second is to hide her identity as she believes she is in danger. The thing is, she is on the run because her lover best friend Bunny is trapped in an abusive relationship with a gangster dog who threatened to kill her if she was seen near Bunny ever again, the episode coats the whole situation with a ton of goofiness, but it's actually very fucking dark: A young lesbian is trapped against her will on an abusive relationship with a toxic, violent man who threatened to kill her girlfriend if she refused to date him. Courage, being a good little dog ventures to save Bunny and have her reunite with Kitty because, despite how bad Kitty was to him, he recognizes that Kitty is a victim and she and Bunny deserve better, leading to Courage letting them escape away together, to live happy and free. I don't think it's just me, but the final image of Kitty and Bunny hugging as the train takes them to freedom felt so powerful to me.

-Twisted Metal Head-on, 2002 This is one of the weirdest things i have ever gotten emotionally invested, but honestly? i love when some shitposting franchise suddenly manages to pull this off, specially given the set up for this whole thing im going to describe starts in an early game as a fucking joke. So to contextualize this, the first two Twisted metal games were helmed by the og creators of the franchise, TM 3, 4 and small brawl were made by different developers when the creators lost the rights, but during the PS2 era when the og developers came back and created TM: Black, and TM: Head-on, Black was a reboot, Head-on was a retcon sequel to TM 2 that eliminated TM3 from the timeline, but not TM 4. Still with me? Okay so TM2 had this character, Krista Sparks, who was the revealed to be the daughter of the main antagonist of the game, Calypso, but hold on? wasn't Calypso's backstory that his family died in a tragic accident which lead him to become evil? So turns out, the FBI retrieved his daughter's corpse, turned it into a robot with a bomb with the intend to make her get close to Calypso and blow him up. The ending ends comically with a message reading "The FBI wishes to thank you for putting an end to Twisted metal". Stil Still with me?!?!?! ok! so Head on! In this game Krista is back, as a ghost, her ending consists on her confronting her dad, who has now brought up so much pain, misery and death to the world, Calypso tries to explain that the nature of his powers mean he has to do this otherwise he cannot use his powers, and his plan was for Krista to win so he could bring her back and her mom to life, but Krista is so horrified with what has happened that she refuses and blurts "I wish the accident that killed me and mom never happened" the intention being impeding Calypso from becoming this evil super natural villian, but as per all endings, it's always a monkey paw affair and Calypso knows it, looking saddened he grants the wish because he has no option, his powers force him to. Briefly Krista has a vision of her childhood with her dad before he became evil as they share a sweet moment playing on a swing set. HARD CUT TO A HOSPITAL, Krista is on a bed in coma, Calypso is there and whispers to her something along the lines of "Sleep tight my dear, may you finally find peace", as Calypso is leaving the hospital you can hear 2 doctors talking, mentioning that Krista had been in coma for more than a decade and apparently Calypso just had found out. Excuse me Twisted Metal, but WHAT THE FUCK? You are a dumb fucking edgy car combat game, how dare you make me feel these things?

-Mother 3, 2006 (translation on 2008) Mother 3 hopefully needs no introduction, or maybe it does, because many people have reduced it to a joke due to how nintendo stubbornly refuses to give us an official release, but also many of you must know this franchise is the spark that ignited the flame of the absolute Juggernaut Undertale would become, as well as many other games influenced by it. The Mother/Earthbound games were known for being quirky and deviating from the standard conventions of the game, notably for the modern day setting and unorthodox choices of how you deal with the villians, they were always billed as emotional, but i feel they did not live up to that...until 3. The general narrative to Mother 3 is about how greed is destroying the world, the main villian corrupting what we see of the world (a paradise little town where everybody is nice) by introducing luxury, money and status....and also stomping everything with his fascist army and cyborg mutants. Mother 3 is a game about how the worst traits of humanity are destroying the world and upsetting nature. Mother 3 is also the story of 2 twin brothers who suffer tragedy after tragedy after tragedy that ultimately pits them one against the other with the fate of the world at stake. Mother 3 punches you almost immediately by killing the mother character (which i might mention you're encouraged to name after your own mother) at the end of the first chapter and how this affects her surviving family. one of the Twins, Claus, is so disturbed that he decides to on on his own to try to kill the monster that took his mom, while the other, Lucas, was too afraid and weak to stop his brother, resulting on Claus dying as well...but the badguys take his corpse and reanimate it into a cold, emotionless cyborg who follow's the big bad's order and is using him to try to cause the end of the world. In the climax of the story Lucas is force to confront Claus, clause is a brain washed cyborg, his master is out of the picture and all he can do is fight, you can't reason with him...and then.... Lucas and Claus begin to hear a voice, a familiar voice, it's their mother, reaching for them from beyond the grave, pleading for them to stop fighting, suddenly Lucas and Claus both have a flash back to when they were babies, overhearing their parents talk about the hopes they have for them, the many things they will be able to achieve together, this makes Clause snap out of his brain washing, removing the helmet that had been hiding his face since he was resurrected, Lucas and him have a moment as they are finally reunited, Claus realizes all the bad things he has done while under control of the bad guy and realizes he must atone for his crimes, he prepares a lightning attack he knows cannot hurt Lucas and cause HIM to die. "Im sorry for all the problems i caused" he says as he is dying on his dad's arm, "I must go to where mom is now", as he passes away he can hear his mother calling for him, "You just be so tired" she says. Now i know it will sound insane for people to hear a videogame of all things can make one so emotional, but damn, just recollecting these scenes for this dumb post has made me start to cry, the emotional punch of this scene is very strong, it demolished me when i played the game back in the day, but now? After my own mother passed away? I have been scared of playing this game again. I mot sure if im emotionally prepare to go though that again, even 10+ years later. That's how powerful this scene was to me.

-Elite Beat Agents, 2007 If you have played this game, you know were im going, for those who dont, EBA is a silly rhythm game about secret agent cheer leaders that are dispatched around the world to help people in need by raising their spirit and allow them to overcome adversity, the game is insanely wacky and have scenarios like helping a ninja car salesman prevent a company from stealing his company's secrets, helping a washed up baseball star fight a lava spitting golem rampaging on an amusement park and traveling back in time to help davinci paint the mona lisa. EBA is also the second game in the Ouendan series, and there is something you need to know about this series: They all include tearjerker levels to contrast with all the goofiness. "A christmas Wish" is a christmas themed level set to Chicago's "You are the inspiration" and the story to this level is positively DEVASTATING: A few months before christmas a business man tells his daughter and wife he has to go on a business trip but he promises he'll be back just in time for christmas, the girl asks him to bring back a "girlfriend" for her teddy bear. The father dies on a plane crash. When the mother breaks the news to the little girl she gets angry, crying to the skies that her dad promised he would be back for christmas. The backdrop of the stage is set the girl and the mom doing things to remember the dad, like looking through a photo album and baking a cake for his birthday, it's very sweet, but...this is EBA, if you're doing poorly you see the "bad" versions of these scenes, and in this one, one is very devastating, the little girl is having a dream where she's chasing the spirit of her dad, if you're doing well she calls for him and for a brief moment the dad stops and starts turning towards her, if you're doing bad the spirit fades away and the girl wakes up in tears. Dear goodness. But of course, if you beat the level you get this sequence of the ghost of the dad showing up on chrismas morning to fullfil his promise, giving the little girl the teddy bear he promised and having the chance to say good bye to his family.

This punches you really fucking hard in the gut. I am incapable of doing this level without ending in tears. For a time i could not even listen to this song without tearing up until, i shit you now, the deadpool movie used it on a comedy scene.

-Punch out!!, 2009 This one is one i know got me because of personal nostalgia, when i was a wee one the og NES punch out was a big part of my childhood, Punch Out!! on the wii was a masterfully crafted tribute to the franchise. To not dwell too much time on this, this game has an interesting quirk, the ending is a downer ending and it's the only ending you can get. After you beat the last opponent there is a sequence where Mac and Doc seemingly are having a disagreement, where Mac seemingly has decided that if he loses 3 times, he'll retire from boxing completely. After this you face randomly opponents from the game, the first time you lose in this mode you lose your champion title, after three loses, it's game over and the story mode becomes locked for that save file. The final cutscene is Doc walking through what seems to be a gallery with boxing memorabilia, and untold number of years later, he is alone, he spots his old bike on this gallery and rings the bell, he looks up and speak to an absent Mac, "Good job son, good job", as he leaves the camera pans to reveal he was looking at a framed photo of him and Mac on one of their training sessions. The music on this sequence is so perfect, and it was aimed at people like me, people who grew up with the franchise, the idea was making it feel like Doc was reminiscing of YOUR time with punch out when you were a kid, and to make you think about how far YOU have come since the first time you played the games in an arcade, or your nes, or snes. It's actually pretty effective and it got me.

-Regular Show, "Trucker Hall of Fame", 2012 What makes this one different from others instances of me making me emotional, it's, much like the "Angel Hare" example at the top, this one is all about WARM HAPPY FEELINGS, so for those who did not watch this episode, let me summarize it for you: One day Muscleman gets word that his dad, who was his personal hero, has passed away, and he's tasked with carrying his final wish, spread his [hat's] ashes in a place called "Trucker hall of fame", you see, Muscleman was lead to believe his dad was a legendary trucker and that earned him his admiration, but during the episode Muscleman finds out he was lied to, his dad was a forklift driver that the truckers belittled, altho feeling cheated for having been lied to he carries on with his father's wishes. Now because this is regular show, when they arrive at the trucker's hall of fame they are immediately attacked by ghost trucker for "desecrating the hall of fame" as they spread the ashes something happens: The ghost of Muscleman's dad manifests himself and saves his son, taking the chance to apologize to his son and having the chance to say his final good bye personally. Despite the inherent silliness of the show's premise, i think this episode really did a good job on expressing that sense of catharsis of making peace with the passing of a love one.

-The Final Girls, 2015 A friend suggested we watched this movie, and much like Twisted metal up there, i absolutely did not expect for this incredibly stupid comedy horror movie to hit me with any sort of emotional connection, and yet... The Final Girls opens with the main character in a car with her mom, who is an struggling C-tier actress whose biggest achievement ever was appearing on a Friday the 13th knock off movie, during this sequence they get in an accident where the mom dies and even after it's been some time since the accident the main character has not properly moved on from the passing of her mom. Her friends and some people at the college she attends are preparing this horror movie festival where the main event is they are going to play the movies from the franchise her mom was on, and they suggest she should come. Then some bullshit happens and they all end up somehow trapped in the world of the movie. A quick rundown of the rules of horror movies is explained to them, the monster cannot be defeated by fighting it, it's only the final girl who can defeat the killer, and unfortunately for them they accidentally killed the character that, in the canon of the movie, is the final girl, so they believe one of them has to become the final girl and end the movie to hopefully get out of it. The problem is, the main character is experimenting shock from interacting with her mom's character, she is not taking well to seeing her mom on the flesh and she dedicates the entire movie to "save her mom", in the climax of the movie the mom character begins to understand that she is a fictional character and the nature of her attachment to the main character, understanding that they cannot be both the final girl and if then main character wants to make it back to the real world she has to learn "To let go", choosing to sacrifice herself so there is only one final girl. It's kinda weird, that of all possible premises, this managed to make a "You need to move on" message that somehow managed to resonate with me, you might have figured out by now a running theme here, but, i was really hard for me to deal with my mother's passing even if it's been years since it happened, so it's kinda funny for me to think these are the places i have found comfort from.

-Undertale, 2015 Okay this is tumblr, i already talked about Undertale on the prologue to, whatever the fuck im doing here, you know what undertale is, you know how effective it is, Undertale is really well designed for you to grow emotionally attached to these characters, so being able to see all these characters you know have grown attached to have their happy ending on the pacifist ending does fill one with a very satisfactory warm happy feeling that can move you to tears. ...Or you can be bummed out by being a little greedy gaming bitch and taking a look at the bad ending. Because you just couldn't help yourself, could you?

-Onward, 2020 This movie did not hit me as hard as the most emotional entries on this, but it still got me, because in the end of the day the main motivation of the characters on this movie is experiencing closure, catharsis over the death of their father, for Ian it's the fact that he died before he was born so he never met him and is driven by this desire to finally see the father who he shares such a connection with on the stories everybody who knew him in life have told him, and then there is Barley, the elder brother, who did know his dad in life, but is tortured by how, as a kid, he did not properly say good bye to him because he was terrified of death and avoided being there for him in his final days. The ending for this movie is very powerful, Ian choosing to sacrifice being able to meet his dad in the flesh, even for a few minutes, in order to give Barley the chance to being able to properly make peace with his dad and properly say good bye to him. Ian doesn't even get to SEE this, he does not get to see his dad even tho it was what he wanted most of all, but he understood bringing closure to Barley was more important than his selfish desire to see his dad, someone he never knew in life.

So what have i learned from whatever the hell this trainwreck of a post is...i guess that what really gets to me, what really moves me, is when a character, maybe not even someone i can realistically relate to, gets to experience closure, catharsis and be in peace with the people who are missing on their life. The majority of these things in here, even the Angel Hare example, relate to a character being able to experience catharsis by being able to properly make pace or otherwise contact someone they lost, or their ability to move on from this world, so to speak, knowing that their affairs and in order and that their loved ones will be okay.

Things can always look dark, the world may be trying to keep you down, maybe losing someone has been specially hard for you, but it's not the end of the world, you are loved and things can get better, it always hurts and we'll never stop missing what we have lost, but the memories of happier times are there to remind us, we can be happy again, and we can move on, use those memories as your motivation, you can lead yourself to a future filled with light.

#rambling #onward #mother 3 #angel hare #twisted metal #punch out #yoshi's island #undertale #deltarune #regular show #courage the cowardly dog #EBA

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sunandflame · 7 months

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Shards of Glass, Chapter 6

Summary: Kyojuro Rengoku, History Teacher on the Kimetsu Academy, is constantly having strange dreams about a Slayer who looks exactly like him. He thinks nothing of it until he recognizes a very specific person from these dreams and feels a very unique connection to her.

Pairing: History Teacher Kyojuro x Teacher Fem!Reader

Trope: Reincarnation / Sequel to Flame and Water (can be stand-alone)

Word Count: 1962

Warning: slightly suggestive

Pinterest Board of Shards of Glass

Crossposted on AO3

Masterlist of Shards of Glass

It was Friday. Kyojuro was dressed up nicely in clean jeans and freshly washed shirt, having a single pink rose on his desk and the two tickets for the Kyogen Theater show in his pocket. He was ready for his date, or at least he thought so.

‘Hey, I’m sorry, can’t make it today but have fun at the theater!’

He looked at the message on his phone with a sullen expression and frowned. Luckily he was the only one in the staff room so no one could see the disappointment in his face. He had decided to stay a little bit longer in school and then go to his date straight from there. He sighed. He had been really looking forward to the date, not necessarily because of the girl - but for the event because he loved the Kyogen Theater and hoped to have other thoughts than thinking about Y/N, who he had avoided as much as possible all week.

He let out another sigh as he sat down in his chair and hung his head. He felt miserable. The rejection was his punishment for ignoring her. He had seen how she had tried to approach him for conversation, but he always fled. Like a coward. He ran his hands through his hair and immediately felt his heart beat faster when he saw her in front of him, realizing he was not the last one here.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Her voice was so gentle and sweet, nearly angelic - he realized how much he missed it. He had ignored her and she was still worried about him. He should commit seppuku, he thought sullenly. "Yes, everything is alright."

“Did you know that you are a bad liar?” She tilted her head and raised a single eyebrow.

“I guess you are right.” He chuckled. Who would have thought that his bad mood could change so quickly with her.

“I am always right,” she giggled with a teasing smile. “You really look sad and depressed. It’s very unusual for you. You can confide in me. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” She came closer and sat on his desk.

Kyojuro tried not to stare at her thighs that were suddenly so close to his face. It also didn’t help that she was wearing one of her flowy sundresses that looked so pretty on her. He leaned back in his chair to create a bigger gap between them, closed his eyes and sighed. “I just got dumped.”

It was silent for a moment and he dared to open his eyes again. She just stared at him again with her head tilted and mustered him. “So this is why you are dressed up so nicely?”

“Hey, I always dress nicely!”

“Well that one tie with the flames you wore one day was not that nice, but I think the fashion gods can forgive you since you are so handsome.” She giggled with a blush on her cheeks.

“You think I am handsome?” His ears perked up and he got slightly up from his chair. Her soft and innocent flirting made his blood rush.

Her blush turned a tint deeper and she tried to change the topic by bringing back the original one. “I am really sorry that you got dumped. This must hurt.”

“Yeah, it’s a really bummer since I already bought these tickets.” He brought the tickets out of his pocket and threw them on the table.

Interested, she took one of them and read it out loud. “Kyogen Theater… Is that not a traditional comic theater? This sounds fun! Though I never saw one.”

"Well, I have two tickets, you know…” Before Kyojuro could realize what he said he saw how her eyes lit up.

“Really? I would love to! Just let me message Kenji quickly before getting ready! I would not want to make him worry.” She slid excited from his desk to get her phone and quickly typed a message.

Kenji, so that was the name of that man that holds Y/N’s heart. His thoughts would have turned bitter, but her excitement was so refreshing that he did not have the time for it, watching her as it brought a smile to his face. “There is also a free flower with the tickets.” He gave her the pink rose he had bought for his date, but who was he lying to. When he bought the rose in his break time he had thought about her, and her pretty white dress with the pink flowers.

She took the flower from him and took a pair of scissors to shorten the stem and blunt the thorns. He watched her with interest before seeing her put the flower in her hair. She smiled and turned around the circle. “And does that suit me? Am I even properly dressed for that? What do you wear to an event like this?”

He watched how the fabric of the dress flowed around her hips, swaying perfectly. His heart was beating fast again and before he could stop himself he said, “You look perfect.”

~ ~ ~

Never had he had so much fun in his life. It was not the first time he was at this play, which was hilarious, but having this experience with Y/N. Seeing how she enjoyed the evening, how she got tears in her eyes from laughing, seeing her happy. It was all more than he wanted. That she was sitting so close to him, the thighs next to each other, her perfume waving over to him and haunting his senses. Or how she put her hand on his forearm to keep from doubling over with laughter. It was a bonus and something that pushed away the thought that she actually belonged to someone else and that he would probably never get over her.

Even when the play ended she didn't let go of his arm until they arrived at his car. Still laughing and talking, getting out of her shell in a way he did not see in the school or at the drinking party. The blonde man was on cloud nine, since she trusted him so much to be herself and feel comfortable. They talked for a long time about the performance and then about everything and the world, neither of them realizing that they had already arrived at her house. But they were so deep in their conversation that she simply stayed sitting in his car the whole time.

She looked at her watch. “Oh no, it’s already so late!”

He also looked at the time and was surprised at how quickly the evening had passed. “Yeah, you shouldn’t keep your boyfriend waiting so long. He’s definitely worried about you.”

But not a single word about Kenji left her lips. She just took the flower out of her hair and put it onto his, leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much, it was a wonderful evening. The most beautiful one I’ve ever had.” With those words, she got out of his car and walked into the apartment complex, leaving Kyojuro sitting there in the car with his mouth hanging open.

He touched his cheek almost blissfully, not believing what had just happened. She had kissed him! His face beamed beyond measure and no one could spoil the smile on his face. Not even Kenji, who had watched the whole thing from the window, but Kyojuro didn't know that as he happily started the car's engine and drove home with the pink rose in his hair.

Y/N felt all giddy and excited like a young schoolgirl. The butterflies in her stomach were dancing. All the feelings of happiness she was experiencing suddenly disappeared when she saw Kenji in front of her as she entered their shared apartment. She was startled. It wasn't that he scared her, Kenji was a nice guy who would not hurt a fly. She had known him since middle school. He was the type of guy who persisted when pursuing his dream, or even the girl he loves. Since back then he had adored and followed her around, asking her several times on a date until she said yes. One date turned into two and later into a relationship. She liked Kenji a lot but everything always felt -

“Y/N, do you actually know what time it is?” His gaze was expressionless. She didn't like it when she didn't know where she stood with him. She didn't like it when people suppressed their feelings.

“I'm sorry, we totally lost track of time.” She put down her bag and took off her coat.

"Who is we?"

“I texted you that I was with my colleagues. You know that I'm trying to make new friends at my new workplace." She didn't look him in the eyes, taking off her shoes.

“You have the audacity to lie to me. You didn’t write anything about a male colleague!”

“Yes, because I knew how jealous you would become!”

“How do you expect me to react if I see you kissing him in the car!”

“That was a harmless good night kiss on the cheek!” She knew that was not true. She knew that no matter what she said, Kenji would not calm down, because no matter how kind hearted and friendly he was. No matter how much he loved her and would put the world at her feet, he was also terribly jealous. And she knew that this heated argument was just the beginning and would not end quickly.

~ ~ ~

The kiss on his cheek lingered for a long time as the smell of her perfume haunted him. He had slept great and woke up with something hard between his legs as his dreams took a lewd direction for the first time. Embarrassed, he took a cold shower to calm himself down and decided to visit his parent's place again. After yesterday he was more determined to find what he was searching for.

And he actually found what he was looking for. Behind the crib he saw a piece of clothing hanging. Put in a special plastic to preserve garments and protect them from moths and aging processes. He pushed everything aside to take a closer look. It was a haori in white-yellow gradient pattern and red flame-like ridges at the end. He stared at it for a few moments until he understood that this must be his ancestor’s haori whose memories he kept seeing.

Kyojuro had to sit down on the floor at this realization. This was remarkable! The haori was still in such good condition after all these years. The history teacher's passion had been awakened. He wasn't supposed to do it, but he unzipped the plastic cover to the side and wanted to feel the texture of the material. It felt like someone was pulling him through a void the moment he touched the fabric of the haori.

Everything was black for a fraction of a second and then so bright that it blinded him. It took him a few seconds to get used to the dazzling light just to find himself in bright daylight in a field filled with red spider lilies. He saw someone in the distance and slowly walked towards them. With each further step he recognized first the haori and then the blonde-red hair. "Who are you?" As soon as the question left his lips, the person turned to him with a smile as his white haori blew in the wind.

The history teacher, who felt so out of place, widened his eyes and recognized him immediately. It was the same presence he had felt over 5 years ago, watching him constantly over his shoulder.

“It’s you.”

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heartsofminds · 9 months

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at least i let the light in (i).

"No one was more responsible than Bradley. No one was more reasonable than Bradley. No one was more mature than Bradley. No one else had life figured out the best they could like Bradley had. . . But no one knew how deeply sad Bradley actually was." or Bradley is on a downward spiral and Natasha doesn't know how much more she can take or the unofficial sequel to 'cause no one breaks my heart like you.

A/N: well guys, here we are! months after publishing 'cause no one breaks my heart like you, i decided to write my ass off and truly deep dive to the bottom of bradley's heart the best i knew how. while I'm not an expert and don't know everything, i am super proud of the work I've done and cannot wait to share more of it in the weeks to come. so for now, enjoy this small tidbit of the series and prepare yourselves to ride this rollercoaster with me! also, a special shoutout to jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me ramble about this and reading over the millions of screenshots and drafts I've been hoarding over the past six months! i could not have had the courage to continue to write this or publish it without you!

After - Three Months

Maybe Natasha was mistaken; a phenomenon that did not occur very often.

She’s one of those people who’s a lucky guesser. Precisely the kind of person who could say “fuck it,” roll the dice of whatever was being talked about, and always come out victorious, and if not entirely correct beyond a reasonable doubt, was as damn close to right as anyone else could get.

But she’s not a boaster.

Sometimes being right is embarrassing and she never seemed to like the attention it brought; making people roll their eyes when asked for her opinion or always lucking out in a money pool whenever a bet was placed amongst her friends. She likes being right but she doesn’t necessarily like the reputation being right gives her, so she closes her mouth, nods her head, and tries to put on her best poker face whenever a bad idea is uttered from the mouths of her colleagues.

Watching people blow their own bullshit in their faces is comical and she and Bob get an absolute kick out of it whenever it's on Jake’s dime.

But this time it isn’t Jake or Javy or Maverick or anyone she would giggle and be in stitches over looking silly and distraught.

This time it’s Bradley, and from the iron flavor in her mouth from where she had been biting her lip the entire night, she knows that this is bad.

This is really bad. This is super bad. This is fucking horrible.

In hindsight, Bradley had a little bit of a problem. In hindsight, it was a stupid idea to let him have as much as he did. And in hindsight, it was downright imbecilic to let him get that wasted, play a game of pool with Jake (who loves to engage in smack talk), and not tell Jake about the breakup which resulted in Bradley leaping over the table and trying to beat the absolute shit out of him for making a joke about his girlfriend whom everyone else had yet to establish was now his ex-girlfriend.

Maverick, who watched the entire thing go down from the bar stools, practically begged Penny on his hands and knees not to throw them out and she obliged but only after tasking Mickey and Bob with taking Bradley to the bathroom and letting him calm down in there before he was ready to come back out.

And Nat knew that they all should probably head home and that Penny had every right to kick them out for the evening (and probably should), but she remained quiet while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Her careful eyes caught wind of Bradley’s incapacitated disposition as he stood slumped between Mickey and Bob as if he was an anchor ready to sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Their gentle arms held him steady while their faces wore desperation. The chunky wet spot of acid on Bob’s pant leg told Natasha everything she needed to know and from the way Bradley’s head hung, he was down for the count.

If she was being truthful, Bradley had been down for the count for a long time; much longer than anyone had ever really taken notice of, and the seed of anxiousness planted in her torso only bloomed with each assisted step he had taken toward her.

Natasha was mistaken, and letting him tag along tonight was an incredibly bad idea.

“Hi, Nat,” he slurs with reddened cheeks and a boyish grin on his face. Part of him looks like the boy she had gotten to love like a brother all those years ago in flight school; way before the stupid mustache and the muscles and the “slight” drinking problem he’d developed over the past nine weeks.

“Hey, dumbass,” she snides back. She’s so overwhelmed that irritation is the only feeling coursing through her veins.

“We had a bit of an. . .” Mickey looks toward Bob who looks as if he’s about two seconds away from passing out, “incident in the bathroom. He really needs to get home, Nix.”

She sighs deeply; the likeness of a sleepless night and a massive headache in the morning a premonition burning bright behind the heavy blinks of her eyelids. Her hands hold her hips and her shoulders slump. She and Bradley had ridden with Jake to Hard Deck tonight, and she’s sure that the debit card saved to her Uber account would not appreciate a twenty-five dollar fee for an eight-minute straight shot up the road.

But asking Jake for a ride home after he’d been sat icing his left eye with a Heineken bottle isn’t ideal either.

Her eyes dart to the watch on her left arm; an old Cartier with a white face and hands that were always ten minutes off the hour. If she remembers right, multiplying the drive time by two would get her an estimate of the walking time, and if they jay-walk on Jasper and Kinnecky, they could shave off four minutes and be at her front door in about-

“Twelve minutes?” she looks up at the triad of men and flashes a small smile in the process, “Do you think he could make that long of a walk?”

Bradley tries to straighten his legs to stand on his own, but his knees buckle before he can even put his full weight forward. He giggles to himself; the sound childish and carefree. He attempts to lean his head on Bob’s shoulder but slams his forehead down too enthusiastically and knocks heads with the sheepish brunet instead.

“I’m gonna be so honest with you, I don’t think he can tell you what color shirt he has on. It’s a miracle he’s even standing right now.”

Natasha groans and puts her face in her hands.

Fucking hell, Bradley.

“Don’t be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. Don’t be mad,” Bradley speaks up. His voice is whinier than usual and it’s one of the few phrases he’s bothered to utter tonight. His weight still remains supported by his two friends and for a moment, she feels guilty for even being frustrated with him at all.

The warm hazel of his eyes peer into hers and she can almost feel his sadness and solitude. Bradley always liked to operate like he was angry, but anyone who dared to get close enough to him knew that the anger was how he felt about himself; a mirage of explosives made up of pure loneliness and hurt.

“I’m not mad —”

“Oh my fucking, God!” Bob screeches.

A slosh of yellow vomit exits Bradley’s mouth faster than anyone can manage to process. The warmth of his stomach acid mixed with the various types of alcohol he had shoved down his throat throughout the night makes everyone around them wrinkle their nose, and it’s in that moment - the one with Bob dropping Bradley’s arm in shock and Mickey being left to support his weight alone and succumbing to his friend’s heaviness sending them both straight to the floor in the puddle of puke - does Natasha accept the fact that this was a mistake and that Bradley had no business being anywhere but on a bathroom floor with a cup of water next to him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Mickey groans, his arms pushing himself up. He grimaces as he stands and examines his hands; the chunks of what was in Bradley’s stomach (which isn’t much besides alcohol, he figures) sitting warmly on his palms and making its way between his fingers.

Bradley grunts from the ground and is almost an afterthought due to the catastrophe taking place in front of them. Javy and Jake jump from their spots near the pool table and help him up.

Natasha can feel the headache brewing in her temples. She turns to look around and take count of all the watchful eyes. Even though she’s beyond mad at him right now, she always finds herself looking out for Bradley. After a quick sweep of the bar with her gaze, she figures that he’s not embarrassed himself too badly to never show his face around again.

Her eyes catch Penny’s sympathetic look. She mouths an apology while Penny nods and slowly starts to make her way to the supply closet in the back. On her way out from behind the bar, she pushes Maverick’s head with her hand a little bit harsher than what could be considered playful, and Maverick simply gives a sheepish grin in return.

“M’soooo tired,” Bradley garbles some more. His head hangs as if his neck isn’t attached to him.

“No, no, no, no. You can’t go to sleep right now!” Javy discourages. He pulls Bradley’s arm tighter around his shoulder. The brunet is properly jostled and Jake grumbles beside him.

Jake sends a sharp glare to his best friend at his sudden movement and for a second, he feels a wave of sympathy wash over him. It’s no secret that Bradley and Jake had been each other’s least favorite person for much longer than they had been friendly, but the fact that they can call each other that now - a friend - makes this taste so much sourer in the blond’s mouth now.

“But I’m tired!” Bradley croons. His body starts to go slack again as if his bones were made of rubber.

“But you can’t go to sleep, man!” Javy tries to reason.

“Why not?” Bradley continues to whine. His eyes squeeze shut and he stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Because – fuck, dude – because you just. . . can’t!”

“Why,” his foot resounds on the ground to punctuate his word, “Not!” The force of its landing causes him to stumble back a little despite the hunkering support on both sides of him. The room spins slightly and he chokes back a gag.

“Penny hates sleepers and you’re already skating on thin fuckin’ ice with her,” Javy snaps, “I suggest that if you don’t wanna lose a hangout spot, you try and get it together.”

Bradley attempts to mock him, but the effort it takes to remember what was said proves itself too great. He gives up after his third attempt at unscrambling his words and instead sticks his tongue out.

A frustrated puff of air leaves Jake’s mouth before he turns to Natasha. The face he makes is something Nat likes to call his “bitching face,” which everyone knew he made when he had something to say (which was all the fucking time, so he would often argue that it was just his face). She rolls her eyes to mentally prepare for the bullshit that’s about to come out of Hangman’s mouth.

“So what’s your plan, Phoenix?”

She hadn’t expected for his statement to be so tame, and for the first time tonight, the pressure of having to be right pinched her nerves like a thorn. For once in her life, she doesn’t really have a plan, and the realization startles her.

“Shit. I – I don’t know–” she stammers.

She feels a sharp pain in her thumb and glances down to see the side of her nail torn to shreds and spewing crimson. She curses herself internally. Picking anxiously at her skin was a habit she thought she had kicked after flight school.

Jake’s lips form a straight line of dissatisfaction with her answer. Bradley utters something incomprehensible to the sober ear and Javy shakes his head, pretending to understand what the brunet is saying when he truly has no clue if it was even English.

“I don’t feel good.”

Despite the confession being whispered, the world stops turning as if it were screamed from the rooftops. Bradley’s face pales. Javy can feel his chest squeeze with a sense of dread. Jake’s grip on his friend’s shoulders tightens.

“I need you to tell us what we’re doin’ before he starts blowin’ chunks everywhere!”

Natasha just stands still with a God’s eye view of the scene unfolding in front of her. Had you gone back in time and told her this would be her life three months ago, she’s positive she would’ve laughed in your face.

No one was more responsible than Bradley. No one was more reasonable than Bradley. No one was more mature than Bradley. No one else had life figured out the best they could like Bradley had.

But no one knew how deeply sad Bradley actually was.

And no one knew that this is exactly where that deep sadness would land him.

“What’s the plan, Phoenix?” Jake’s voice booms and bounces around in her ears.

Her hands come up to push the flyaways from her French braid back. Natasha’s face feels hot and the mugginess of the bar feels like a wet paper towel trapping her movements beneath its paper tendrils.

Think. Think. Think. Think!

“You need to make a decision –”

“I don’t fucking know!” she screeches.

Time stands still and everything seems to be moving in slow motion.

Penny whips her head around to see the commotion; her eyes wearing worry. Bob straightens his back due to her sudden change in cadence. Javy shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Mickey and Rueben give each other wide-eyed looks while Jake’s lips mold themselves even further into a straight line.

Even the music playing over the speakers seemed to quiet down.

It all makes her want to cry.

Her breathing is rampant and her heart beats raucously inside her ears. Her pulse is in tune with it and she can feel the blood coursing through every single vein in her body. Her hands shake and her body feels electrified from all the adrenaline.

Making a choice isn’t doable right now. And making the right choice is a task that remains an unsolvable dilemma with a bright red “danger” sign at its conclusion no matter the option.

“Fine,” Jake grumbles. He turns his body slightly to face Javy. “He’s comin’ with me.”

Javy widens his eyes; his thoughts formulating what he wants to say before he can even come up with the words to express it. “He can’t even stand straight. How in the fuck are we gonna get him into that stupid ass lifted truck –”

“Can you just shut the fuck up and help?”

Javy rolls his eyes and lets out a puff of air that he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. Jake is lucky that they had been best friends for over a decade and Bradley even luckier that Javy has a soft spot for him.

Natasha’s mouth feels stuffed with cotton and her limbs molded by concrete as the two men breeze past her to lead Bradley out of the front doors of Hard Deck. She could almost convince herself that the entire scene was a dream had it not been for the whiff of cologne and the slight tang of Bradley’s vomit hitting her nostrils as they walked by.

She slaps down a fifty-dollar bill on the bar top near the cash register before jogging into the sandy parking lot with the sky-painted indigo and violet above them.

By some miracle, Bradley is dragged (not without any hiccups or the impending fear that he would start projectile vomiting everywhere) all the way to the floor of the backseat of Jake Seresin’s black Ford F-150.

“Lard ass,” Jake mutters as he slams the door of his truck closed. Javy slides into the backseat with Bradley and another hollow sound of metal shutting can be heard.

Jake rips open the front passenger door for a meek Natasha, whose arms had yet to move from their crossed spot over her chest. Despite the dry summer heat nipping at her body and her damp arms showing evidence of her sweating, she feels cold.

Shocked.

Numb, is the word she’s looking for but can’t seem to find.

Her thumb rubs over her watch band and her purse hangs stagnant near her belly button. She looks as if she had seen a ghost. Her fingernails leave small scratches where blood had been drawn from her nervous picking.

Jake swats at her hand gently; telling her to let go. Telling her that this is okay. That this is under control.

That she needs to let go and let him help.

They stand silent in the hollows of the bar’s parking lot and Natasha can recall very few times where she had felt like this.

There was a weariness that grew in her whenever she told her dying grandmother that she would get to see her walk the stage at her high school graduation. There was a need for protection when she had broken up with her boyfriend before getting her first deployment assignment. There was a loss of hope whenever she looked at Bradley’s pleading eyes in her living room tonight, begging to let him tag along and carve out what he wants to say but can never manage to utter; “I’m lonely and I need help.”

Dread.

Impending doom.

Knowing the outcome despite trying to convince yourself that if you pray hard enough or ask God kind enough or are a good enough person or try your best or whatever the fuck you believe in doing – that this will work out and that you’ll come out on top.

But all that does is set you up for your grandmother to die two nights before high school graduation and for your boyfriend of three years to admit that he was cheating on you for two and a half of those.

All it gets you is a drunken best friend with demons and night terrors that still swallow him whole with fear despite sleeping on her living room couch and being thirty-seven years old.

“You coming?” Jake’s voice cuts through her downward spiral of thoughts.

She gulps down her feelings of decay. She makes a mental note to bring this up to her therapist this week even though she knows she’ll skate around it and they won’t get to unpack it for at least three more sessions.

“Y– yeah. I am,” she wipes at her forehead with the back of her hand, “Thanks.”

Jake gives a sharp nod of his head to her. Despite being a major shit-talker, he doesn’t really have much to say outside of the realm of having a good time or riling up some trouble.

He and Natasha aren’t close by any means of the word, but his appreciation for her had doubled the size since seeing all that she goes through dealing with an obliterated Bradley. Most friends don’t stick around like she does.

He sure as hell wouldn’t.

She throws herself up into his passenger side seat and closes the door before Jake can get to it. He’s already taking her and Bradley home, she figures. He can’t keep doing favors for her.

But then maybe shutting my own door is rude.

And then the thought spirals into why she doesn't think anyone wants to do nice things for her and how she’s undeserving of the good deeds she’s been dealt and then realizes that this thought pattern can wait because there are much bigger problems in her rear view.

Natasha turns her head to peer into the backseat. Bradley lays with his head in Javy’s lap and his legs folded in some miraculous knot. Javy doesn’t seem to mind and sits with his arms spread across the backs of the seats; scrolling away on his phone and checking his March Madness bracket to see exactly how much money he should be collecting at work tomorrow morning.

“How’s he holding up?”

The sound of her own voice surprises her. It comes out soft. Less assured. Less assertive than it usually does. She thinks that she sounds like her mother in a way before she discards the thought. She’s always hated the sound of her mom’s voice and –

Bigger things, Nat. Way bigger things.

Javy lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Pretty shitty,” he looks down from his phone and turns his neck to the side, “Can’t even hold that big ass head up on his own.”

Natasha lets out an airy snort. Her eyes continue to drink in the sight of the two men behind her before her attention snaps to the sound of Jake climbing into the driver’s seat.

He lets out a soft groan before shoving his key into the ignition and the engine roaring to life. His hand finds the button for the stereo and clicks it off before any sound can come from it.

“How you holdin’ up back there, ‘Yote?” he asks, right arm behind the back of the passenger seat as he begins to back out. He whips the gear into drive and guides the wheel with the palm of his left hand.

“Haven’t had to play EMT yet if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jake’s eyes catch Javy’s face in his rearview mirror. The idea of saying something sarcastic crosses his mind, but he doesn’t indulge in it; not now when shit has hit the fan and there’s seemingly no end in sight.

There’s a time and place for his snide comments, he thinks.

See, I’m learning. . . .God, these people have made me soft.

He wrinkles his nose and checks his periphery for Natasha. She sits solemnly at his side like a child who knew they were in for it once they got home. Her hands sit in her lap; fingers busied doing God knows what (probably picking, Jake would guess, but he’s too focused on trying to get everyone home without someone dying to actually look to confirm). Her mouth is set in a deep frown and her face competes with the moon for how pale it is.

Jake had never really looked at Natasha before, but he’s seen her enough in quick glimpses and fond flashbacks to know that she’s never appeared this hollow.

Something is weird.

Something is off.

Something is wrong, and Jake starts to wonder how anyone could have missed it at all.

He opens his mouth to comment on it before he’s interrupted.

“Turn left up here,” she whispers. Jake has to blink a few times to prove to himself that he had actually heard her voice come out like that and hadn’t dreamt it up.

A simple nod and a turn much wider than he would have liked it to send them to the driveway of a charming California bungalow. Natasha’s car sits outside the garage parked next to the God-awful and constantly falling apart Ford Bronco that everyone and their mother knows belongs to Bradley Bradshaw.

Jake fixes his wheels to be parallel to the lip of Natasha’s drive before throwing the vehicle into park and killing the engine. He throws the door open and hops out to help Javy pull Bradley’s deadweight out of the truck to take him inside.

“Up you get, dumb fuck.”

Bradley lets out a soft groan before being fixed across both men’s shoulders. His feet drag on the ground and his eyes remain closed. His brain is absent of any thoughts and the possibility of him remembering a single detail about this tomorrow is slim to none.

Natasha jams her house key into the lock and switches on the hallway light. She doesn’t bother taking off her shoes before she’s turned the corner to her kitchen to fetch some Ibuprofen and a glass of water. Javy and Jake silently struggle behind her, and she tries to ignore their hushed comments of “Oh shit!” after a loud thud fills the house, which she presumes to be them accidentally dropping Bradley on the ground.

Her feet feel like they’re stuck in buckets of cement as she stands before her kitchen sink; idly watching the air pocket bubbles of water fill the glass she holds beneath the faucet. The thought of getting Bradley water from the Brita filter in her refrigerator briefly crosses her mind, but then she remembers that she’s angry with him, and at the very least, he doesn’t deserve filtered water.

It’s a childish attempt at getting even, she knows, but she can’t express her annoyance any other way without feeling as if she was a raging bitch.

Her hand mechanically slaps the lever on the faucet to shut it off and her throat tightens when she hears the sound of her coffee table being scraped across the floor and Bradley mumble a whiny “Ouch!”

Natasha takes a deep breath and attempts to count to ten.

One. Bradley is okay. Two. Bradley is okay. Three. Bradley is okay. Four. Bradley is okay. Five. . . He’s fucking killing himself and you’re not even trying to help. Six. What kind of fucking friend are you? Seven. You should be ashamed of yourself. Eight —

With a wobbling lip and starry eyes, she forces herself out of her kitchen and into her living room where she finds two of her friends huddled around her other one; trying to position him on his side so that he can properly fall asleep.

“You fucking – you fuckin’ dropped me!” Bradley cries, his limbs flailing around like a baby’s.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Don’t cry over spilled milk, Bradshaw,” the lightbulb to say something shitty goes off in his head, “. . . S’not even milk you’re gonna remember spillin’.”

Bradley wordlessly slides himself deeper into the couch and smushes his face up against a throw pillow. Natasha watches from behind and makes a mental note to go ahead and plan on taking that pillow to the cleaners tomorrow.

It would be by God’s grace if she came to the living room in the morning and the cushion was absent of vomit.

“Don’t be a dick, Hangman. He’s already down bad enough as it is,” she speaks, brushing past him to set the water cup down on the coffee table. Her fast hands move the small waste basket hidden by her lamp near Bradley’s head. Her palm lingers on his head; fingertips ghosting the space where his hairline meets the back of his neck.

She sits down on the loveseat adjacent to the couch with a ‘plop.’ All that can be heard is the buzz of the cicadas outside and the anchoring, rumbly snoring exiting Bradley’s mouth. Javy shifts his weight between his two feet. Jake chews on his lip.

No one speaks.

The elephant in the room has gotten harder to ignore.

Natasha senses the ball forming in her throat before she feels it; the scary, dark monster of angst that everyone seems to want to will away. Its claws dig themselves deep into the crevices of her throat and tear every part of her to shreds. The stinging prickling of her eyes becomes harder and harder to blink away. Her nose begins to run; leaking the secret anguish she had been keeping to herself for months. Her limbs feel as if they had been injected with pure lead and she can’t will herself to move.

Because this is it.

This is the end.

This is the official cry for help that she had never wanted to make.

It’s crazy, she thinks, how your body can betray you even harsher than your worst enemy could.

Jake knows she’s crying before Natasha knows she is. Growing up with four sisters gave him a special radar for hidden emotions. The knowledge startles him a bit because never did he ever think that she had it in her to be so. . .broken. His eyes widen when her chest begins to wrack with sobs.

He and Javy share a wide-eyed gaze as if the scene playing in front of them could be any less real. Both men had never been great at comfort because they never had to deal with it, and as she tries to stifle her cries in an attempt to not wake Bradley and to not freak out Javy and Jake, she wonders if the anger she holds in her heart for Bradley makes her a bad person.

It’s insane, she thinks, that in one of her darkest moments, she can’t help but be horrified of being an awful human being.

All she had ever known was sacrifice and she can’t help but want to throw in the towel. To stop fighting so hard. To stop caring so much. To stop loving so deeply.

But she can’t.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

And thus the tears continue to fall while she wipes furiously at her eyes. Through a blurry lens of reality, she looks down and sees marbled red between her fingertips, but says nothing. The metallic stench of her own blood dripping out of her nose isn’t enough to stop her frenzy of thoughts beating her feelings into those of self-doubt. If anything, the blood attracts the emotions of worthlessness like sharks to live bait.

“Shit,” Jake hisses. The sound of his boots tendering his steps toward her makes her cry harder. “Shit, shit, shit. It’s okay. It’s alright.”

His hand moves in slow motion to reach out and touch her, but he snatches it back before it makes contact with her body.

Although he’s good at detecting sob fests, he’s never been good at resolving them.

“Holy shit, that’s so much blood,” Jake whispers louder than he intended. He sits on his knees in front of her and tilts his head to both sides of her face to get a good look at the geyser of blood spewing out of her nose.

Javy sends daggers toward him before making a plan in his head. “You take her to get cleaned up,” he instructs, “I’ll stay with tilt-a-whirl to make sure he actually makes it to the trashcan.”

Jake opens his arms in offense and opens his mouth to make a complaint before Javy stops him, “Blood or puke, dude. Your call.”

The blond’s lips form a straight line before he quickly makes a decision. He ushers Natasha up and gently guides her to the bathroom down the hall. She can barely see with the rate of tears building up in her eyes and though she would rather die than show weakness, the vulnerability sat revealed on the cushions of her loveseat.

There is no tough guy act available for her use anymore.

As she sits on her toilet seat lid with her head tilted forward over a wastebasket, she determines that Jake Seresin isn’t the most atrocious thing she has ever encountered and has a slight appreciation for his detached demeanor.

He doesn’t ask any questions. He doesn’t push her to say anything. He’s more than content with the silence and sits on the ledge of her bathtub with his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs.

In any other circumstance, they would be ripping the other a new one; trying to embarrass each other by coming across the other’s faults with a fine toothcomb. In another world, Natasha is somewhere teasing him about being a softy. In another world, Jake is rolling his eyes at whatever she was saying and dismissing it with a nasally, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” In another world, he never sets foot in her house and in another world, she doesn’t fall apart at the seams like this.

But in this world, the one with an entire box of bloody Kleenex filling the waste basket she has her head over, they don’t say anything because they truly don’t need to.

The thing no one tells you about hating someone’s guts is the way that you’re so accidentally in tune with them.

You know how they think. You know what nasty little habits they have. You know exactly what makes them tick.

And you know precisely what faces they make when they want you to spill your guts.

Natasha tries her hardest to ignore his wandering eyes and looks down at the mess beneath her instead. She can feel his stare slicing through her body; layer by layer: skin, fascia, muscles, organs, bones, and all.

“He’s been putting vodka in his coffee every morning.”

Jake quirks his eyebrows together. His stomach drops at the idea of what her admission may reveal.

“I suspected it for a while. He’s never been a Yeti cup kind of guy,” she lets out a sarcastic laugh, “So one day I went over to his desk and took a sip. I figured he wouldn’t mind.”

She shifts uncomfortably and her tears begin to slide down the apples of her cheeks like a waterfall once again.

“You know the shitty part about being right no one ever tells you? That it applies to dumpster fires too. Like, I didn’t wanna be right about my best friend drinking on the job but. . .”

Silence fills the air. Jake’s heart starts to race. This can’t be good, he thinks. This isn’t good, he knows.

“But?” he leads, leaning forward more to make sure that his ears don’t miss a single word that falls out of her mouth.

“Went by his desk every day for a week straight and sniffed his cup. I was right.”

Night and day pass before Jake can let the idea – no. The fact that Bradley had been showing up to work drunk settle in his stomach. It spreads like a thick goo that he can’t swallow down.

“How long?” he asks quietly. Gently, like a parent whispering as they hold their sleeping baby to their chest.

She licks her lips. The wetness of her tears help mend the dryness her mouth had encountered.

“Three months.”

The admission is dropped like a bomb. The effects of both of them knowing changing the intricate thread of life as they know it instantaneously. Jake’s chest starts to heave with a feeling that he doesn’t recognize.

Hurt. Anger. Disgust. Care. Sympathy. Hatred.

All of these things that he has never felt at one time. All of these things that he doesn’t have a name for.

His mouth moves faster than his brain. “You know you have to report him.” He says it with such finality and although he knows it’s the right thing to do, it certainly isn’t the right thing to say.

Natasha narrows her eyes at him. “You think I haven’t thought about it? You think it’s just that easy?” she scoffs, anger making her cheeks crimson red, “Fuck you, Jake!”

He knows that he shouldn’t take any offense to her words, but the weight of the events of tonight has taken a toll on him, and her words plant a seed of irritation in his heart.

“He’s coming to work drunk, Natasha! Screw me for wanting to keep people alive.”

She takes a deep breath. Her knuckles whiten around the rim of the trashcan she’s holding as a means to try and calm herself down.

“Look,” she speaks through gritted teeth, “I know this is horrible –”

“Horrible? Just horrible?” his words sound sharper than he intended them to be, “Horrible is your dog dying or losing a bet or staining your white couch with a fucking nosebleed.”

A sarcastic laugh leaves his mouth as he stands up to leave the bathroom. “He’s gambling with life, and he of all people should fucking know better.”

“Because using the dead mommy and daddy card against him is soooo fucking rich, Jake. What else is new? Huh?” She shoves the wastebasket to the side and stands up to look him in the face.

“You gonna pull the dead grandma card on me? Cheating ex-boyfriend? Oh let me guess. The female pilot who belongs in the kitchen and not the Navy?” With each word, she gets closer and closer to him.

“Don’t let the fact that I have a heart and actually try to do the right thing make you forget that I’ll fuck your life up beyond repair. You’re absolutely the last one to talk about gambling with life when you tried to kill your team and didn’t even feel an ounce of sympathy. Being number one means nothing when you kill all your competition, fuck face.”

The dried blood around her nostrils leaves a scarlet film in its wake. Jake takes a few deep breaths to remind himself to calm down. He knows that she’s right. He knows that he hasn’t quite redeemed himself. He knows that despite everyone having a chummy attitude with him, he is still considered a person who cannot be trusted.

Because he does bail. He does cut people down to make himself feel better. He does eliminate his problems instead of facing them.

“I know that he’s your best friend. I know that he means the world to you, but what he’s doing is dangerous, and you helping him hide it will only bite you in the ass in the long run,” he exhales softly, “You need to tell.”

She rolls her eyes and reaches past him to flip the light off. She stomps past him back into the hallway that leads to her living room.

“You still don’t fucking get it. You’ll never fucking get it!”

Her gaze finds Bradley sleeping softly on the couch and Javy curled up on the loveseat fast asleep before she decides to lower her voice. She turns on her heel to face Jake once again and takes a deep breath to calm herself down.

“You don’t have to get it or understand or even pretend like you give the smallest ounce of a fuck about him, but I do. I care about him so fucking much, Jake. And I know that it’s fucked up and I know that I’m not doing the right thing, but I can’t rat him out because betraying him when he’s like this would hurt him even more than getting in the cockpit wasted.”

“Nat –”

She holds up her hands to his chest and distances herself from him. The tears start to form again and she wonders if she’ll ever stop crying.

“I can’t take this away from him. I can’t take the only thing he has left away from him and you can’t make me. . . . Because this time, he might just hate me enough to dig the hole so deep that he won’t be able to climb back out.”

The collage of versions of Bradley she had gotten to know and love so well over the years of their friendship blind her with sorrow and sadness. She truly knows him in a way that no one else ever will, and while part of her takes pride in that, another part of her wishes there was someone else to help share the load because she’s tired.

She’s so fucking tired and there seems to be no relief in sight.

“And I’d rather him rot away on this couch knowing that someone loves him than get a phone call that he—that he killed himself because I helped everything get taken away from him.”

She zips past him to her linen closet to grab a blanket for Javy. “So yeah. You don’t have to get it but I do, and I’m gonna continue to stick by him regardless because that’s what friends do.”

Jake stands dumbfounded in the dimly illuminated doorway as she carefully unfolds a blanket and gently lays it on Javy. He watches as she turns to Bradley and puts her finger underneath his nose to ensure that he’s alive and breathing. Her eyes refuse to meet him as she walks into her bedroom and shuts the door.

And when she wakes the next morning to find Jake fast asleep in a chair alongside Javy and Bradley, she knows that there was nothing but truth to the words he had uttered to her last night.

When they wake, they separate and leave for work like the events of the evening had never happened.

Like Bradley hadn’t projectile vomited at the bar the previous night or that Javy hadn’t dropped him on his ass in Nat’s living room. Like Natasha hadn’t cried so hard her nose bled and that Jake hadn’t had the chewing out of his life given to him in a bathroom at three in the morning. Like everything is fine when they all know that it’s not – the textbook definition of burying an issue beneath a rug.

Natasha almost tricks herself into pretending like the entire evening had never happened until she spots Bradley’s black Yeti cup on his desk. She stares at it with wonder and hatred and she doesn’t even realize how long she had been standing there until she feels the warm drip of blood seeping from her nose slide down her face and onto her chest.

Natasha Trace was a person who was very rarely mistaken, but now she can say that her mistakes run large when she is.

Because Bradley Bradshaw is fucked, and there is absolutely nothing she can do about it.

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

Note

hi! can we get an unwrapped update with andy, reader and their baby?

….damn you, nonnnie, you started a mini-series. i started drabbling out the update, and then it just… got away from me. for those of you who are new here, this is a direct sequel to Unwrapped.

Title: Return to Sender [1 of 7]

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: Andy Barber promised he would never let you go, and come hell or high water, he’s going to keep that promise.

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Gaslighting, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation

A/N: i never actually intended to revisit this series, but… the muse strikes where she strikes, lol.

The bright sunlight makes you squint, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sudden intensity as they adjust. The air smells clean and fresh and distinctly summer; cut grass and charcoal smoke. The baby gurgles in her carrier, and you adjust her on your hip, peering down to make sure the sun-shield is properly covering her sensitive skin. She coos at you, reaching chubby hands up to grab at your fingers. Wide, blue-grey eyes peer up at you from the soft roundness of her face—her father’s eyes—and apprehension knots your stomach.

Suddenly the air around you feels thick and crowded, and you wonder if maybe you should go back inside, back to your room, and wait until next week.

I’m fine, you tell yourself, your knuckles going white as you grip the infant carrier. You know that the only reason you want to return to the comfort of your home—your prison—is because of Andy. For the last fourteen months, he had condensed your world down to a single point.

Him.

The ankle monitor you’d left on the dresser upstairs had made quite sure of that.

I just want you to be safe, sweetheart. Don’t you understand?

Dove claps her hands together and blows wet raspberries in her carrier, snapping you back to the present. If you stay any longer, you’ll miss the bus, and you know what tarrying means—

Another week of Andy and his relentless affection. The syrup-sweet praise on his tongue turning sour on yours, another week of feeling your walls crumble against the poisonous kindness he pushed on you at every turn. It would have been better if he was cruel, because then you think it might be easier to hate him. Instead, you look down at Dove and remember Andy’s hand on the swell of your belly, him whispering softly through your skin to her as she grew.

Tears gather in your eyes as you fight through the cloud of anxiety to the front gate. Most of your neighbors—Andy’s neighbors, you try to remind yourself that this isn’t your home, Andy isn’t your husband, despite the diamond on your finger—will already be gone for work now.

Less people to see us leaving.

You know Andy will be angry when he comes home and finds you missing, the monitor abandoned. But that won’t be for some time yet, not until he comes home from work.

And by then, you’ll be with Irene.

You puff a little, hefting Dove’s carrier onto your shoulder as you make your way to the bus stop. There’s only one, at the mouth of the wealthy cul-de-sac. You’d found her number scrawled in the back of a self help book at the library, one Andy had promptly made you put back.

“What do you need that for, sweetheart? I don’t hit you. Don’t scream at you. Am I really so bad?” Your throat tightens, and you hate yourself for wondering the same thing.

I can help you get out, her first email had been blunt. But you need to be ready to start from zero.

You run over the plan in your head as you wait for the bus, trying to hide behind the curtain of your hair as cars roll by. You’re supposed to take the bus into the city, where Irene would meet you. And then from there—Canada.

I can’t wait if you’re late, she’d warned you. There are other people depending on me too.

The bus arrives, lowering itself with a hiss. The doors slide open, and you press change into the driver’s hand. You can’t use your card, not anymore. You settle yourself against the window, an arm over the carrier. Dove coos as the bus rocks forward, and the old woman in front of you turns around, a wide smile on her face.

“Adorable baby.”

You force a smile, railing against Andy’s indoctrinated anxieties—no one will protect you like me, honey, the world’s a scary place—

“Thank you.” You grit out the words. She waves down at Dove, who promptly sticks her own foot into her mouth.

“How old?”

“Six months.”

“Oh how wonderful! Congratulations!” She beams another cheerful smile at you, and you have trouble returning it. Her gaze falls to the duffel bag you have shoved up against the window. “Do you have a long trip planned?” She asks, and you can tell that though she’s being polite, she’s prying. Panic rises further in your chest, bile burning in your throat. Does she know Andy? Has she been watching you? Watching you for him?

You’re being paranoid, honey. You can hear his taunting voice in your head, and with jerky movements, you lower the sun shield on Dove’s carrier, blocking her from view.

“Are you meeting your husband somewhere? It must be such a pain to travel with all these bags and the baby—” You yank on the cord, signaling to the driver that you want the bus to stop.

“No—I mean yes, I’m—I have to go,” you stammer, grabbing your bag and Dove and barreling out into the aisle as the bus slows down. This isn’t your stop—you’re a full four stops early—but you can’t be on the bus anymore, you just can’t. Not with this old woman and her questions, and—what if this is all Andy? Testing you?

And you’re failing it?

You’re panting, tears gathering in your wide eyes as you practically flee the bus, half running down the sidewalk until it passes you. You keep your head down, you don’t want to know if the old woman is still watching you.

What if she was just trying to help?

You shake your head—it doesn’t matter. Irene had told you to try and keep as low of a profile as you could, and that meant not making new friends while you were fleeing the father of your child. Finally, the adrenaline peters out and you slow to a walk, your legs cramping. You haven’t moved like that in a long time—mostly because you’re confined to the house when Andy isn’t around. “For your safety”, he says, but you know better.

He doesn’t want you getting out, going home to the parents he’s been feeding lies upon lies about your condition.

But you aren’t going back to them at all—you’re doing what Irene said you should do. You’re starting from zero.

You’re five minutes late when you finally arrive at the bus terminal, your throat tight with anxiety. What if she’d left without you? What if you’d blown your only chance at escape by being exactly what Andy said you were—

A mess. A lovable mess, but honeybee, you need me to make the pieces fit—

“You’re late.” You turn, tears brimming in your wide eyes to face the stranger behind you. Irene is short, shorter than you, but you can see she’s muscular underneath the t-shirt she’s wearing. “You’re lucky I waited, come on.” She motions for you to follow her, and after a moment you do, still juggling Dove and your bag.

“Y-you’re Irene, right?”

“Yep. Car’s this way, in the back. You said he gets off of work at five, it’s three thirty. Let’s get a move on.” You follow her to a gray Subaru behind the bus depot, with California plates. She opens the trunk, and you mumble out a thank you when she motions for you to hand her your bag. “You’re not the first person I’ve done this for, but I want to make sure you aren’t the last. He’s not put any… tracking devices on or in you, right?”

“N-no. I had an ankle monitor, but I-I left that at the house. And my phone, and credit cards too. No computer, or anything.”

“Good.”

She helps you load Dove into the car-seat, and you hesitate to get into the front.

“Is it okay if… if I sit back here?”

“Sure.”

When the engine starts, you feel both relief and apprehension—you know Andy won’t give up easily, but his reach could only extend so far, right? You were going to disappear, to vanish like smoke through his fingers.

You just had to want it bad enough.

—

Andy pulls into the driveway, leaving his briefcase on the seat as he exits the car. Jacob is in the back seat, crashing two action figures together as he makes explosion sounds with his mouth. Andy chuckles at the sight of it.

“You ready to go see your sister, bud? I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you,” Andy replies as he unbuckles him. Jacob nods vigorously.

“Yeah! And m-mom.” He’s still getting used to calling you mom, but it grows less and less noticeable each day, especially with how good you are with him. You’re a natural, just like he’d known you would be. Jacob hops down out of the car, and scrambles for the front gate. It usually gives him trouble—his little fingers can’t quite manage the latch just yet—but it’s wide open this time.

Andy narrows his eyes.

“Wait for me, bud, okay?” He says, catching his son by the arm. Something’s not right. He walks up the familiar steps, holding his keys quiet with his palm so he can listen before unlocking the door. Jacob bounds inside, dropping his action figures one by one as he goes.

“Dove!” He calls, his little voice sing-song-y. “Mommy!”

There’s no answer.

At this time of day, you’re usually feeding Dove, dinner ready on the stove for him and Jacob—but the oven is cold, and there’s nothing set out at all. Andy moves quickly up the stairs to check the baby’s room, and he grits his teeth when he finds the crib empty, and the sheets cold to the touch. The master bedroom is empty too, the dresser drawers pulled out, and—

Your fucking monitor.

Andy wants to yell, throw things—and he contemplates it as he scrubs his hands through his hair and down his face.

You’re gone. Really gone, and the baby, too.

“Daddy, where’s—”

“She went to go see some friends,” Andy replies quickly, his voice cracking just a little. “Mommy will be back soon.”

He heats up leftovers from the fridge for Jacob, and while he eats messily at the dinner table, Andy pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. He can’t believe you’re really gone, that you’d really left—

That you’d dared.

Three weeks in the basement wasn’t long enough.

Andy had taken his time, soundproofing the little suite downstairs and outfitting it for your comfort. Minimal comfort, of course—he needed you to appreciate life upstairs. No contact, only your own thoughts and the drugged food Andy left for you while you’d slept. It had been hard on him, too, knowing you were down there alone and miserable, but he needed you to see things his way.

Clearly you don’t—not yet, anyway.

He knows he can’t trust his first instincts, the ones that are screaming for him to pack up the house, to smoke you out of hiding and bring you right back where you belonged. Here, with him. He’d done everything he could to make sure you were cared for, provided anything and everything you needed. And, once he’d thought you could be trusted, he’d take you on outings. To the store, to the library, anywhere you wanted to go.

You just couldn’t go alone.

“Eat up, Jake. I’ll be right back.” Andy steps out of the kitchen, standing in the living room as he holds his phone up to his ear.

“If you’re calling me, I know you’re waist deep in something terrible.” The man on the other line drawls, the voice dripping with pleased smugness. “Are you?”

“Shut up, Odinson,” Andy snaps. “You’re lucky I let you slide on that—”

“Yes, yes, I know, I owe you. Racketeering. Ugly word.”

“With worse charges.” Andy reminds him. “I need you to find someone for me.”

“Oh, interesting. Alive or dead?”

“Alive. And they had both better be so when I see them next or so help me, I will—”

“Fire and brimstone, Barber. I’ve quite got the picture.” Andy can hear Loki’s satisfied purr through the receiver, and it makes him want to hang the phone up, and try a different avenue all together. “So who did you lose?”

“My wife.” Andy grits. “She took the baby. She’s… she’s not well. I need you to find her, bring her home. I can take care of it from there.”

“Ouch. Opening up old wounds for you, eh Barber?”

“You have a week,” Andy growls. “To bring me my wife and daughter.”

“And on the off chance that I should fail?”

“Your case is just wrapping up, isn’t it?” Andy asks, enjoying the power flowing back in his direction as he tightens the reins. “I think it would be a shame if the prosecution were to discover new evidence.” He pauses to let the weight of his words sink in.

“And presumably you’ll be, what, waiting out the clock?”

“A week.” He hangs up without a further word. He doesn’t like Odinson, doesn’t trust him, but he knows people.

The kind of people who would be able to track you down, and return you to him without asking too many, if any, questions. Andy pokes his head into the kitchen to peek at Jacob making a mess of his spaghetti and meatballs, and verifies that at least some of the food is making it into his mouth before he makes another call. He needs to flush you out, spook you from your hiding place.

“Hello 911?”

Andy swallows thickly before answering, like his voice is heavy with tears he isn’t actually shedding.

“Yes, hello, police?” He says, his voice distraught. “I’d like to report a missing person.”

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