#-read it but still choosing to Write It Down like a kind of permanence and the way part of that is bc of him getting a secret admirer's-

[quillheel]

─  romantic gestures.   bold what applies to your muse , italicize if there's potential / it depends.

holding hands · buying flowers · cooking · cuddles · writing a poem / song · holding door open · tying shoe laces · sharing a milkshake with two straws · offering their jacket when it's cold · kissing in the rain · publicly confessing love · long walks at the beach · doing the titanic pose on a boat · taking cute pictures in a photo booth · sharing a taxi / uber · kissing the back of their hand · slow dancing · getting tickets of their favorite artist / sports team / other · introducing them to your parents · lighting candles · flower petals on bed · love letters · star gazing · brushing / doing their hair · picnics · teaching them to play an instrument / sport while gently guiding their hands · compliments · late night drives · taking selfies together · drawing them · self-made gifts · massages · proposing with a family heirloom ring · lending them your favorite book to read · paying for dinner / coffee · mixtapes / playlists · surprise birthday parties · feeding them · handing them keys to your apartment · making space in drawer for their clothes when they stay over · sharing a blanket · couple costumes · tucking a hair strand behind their ear · running after them at the airport / keeping them from leaving · moving cities to be together · blowing a kiss · breakfast in bed · defending them in a fight (verbally / physically) · joint bubble baths · dropping the L-bomb ("i love you") · dedicating a song at the karaoke bar to them · wearing their clothes · yawning before putting an arm around them while watching a movie · granting them the last bite (from meal)

tagged by: stolen from @infog <3 I legally HAD to tagging: @tenebriism @braveryhearted @autonomousxselves @fantomevoleur @musesofthesun @pluviacuratio @tendercoded / @manebloom / @lncanting @cozyfarms @deiscension @shadowedresolve @sakuaxe @lovlorne @leuvspell @adoranoia and you!!!! ( multi's, decide as you please! )

[gurugirl]

Don't Speak

*images are for aesthetic only

priest!harry x subby!reader | soft dom!harry x bratty/sub!reader

Summary: Y/n accidentally says something in front of everyone at prayer group that gets her in trouble with the priest.

A/N: I know it's been so long since I gave y'all any priestrry but I missed him and his pet so I was compelled to write this! Hope you enjoy! And if you're tagged it's bc you are either on my main general taglist or you asked to be tagged in anything for priestrry (even tho it's been so long) just let me know if you want to be removed and I will! xoxo

Word Count: 2,692

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, religious mentions, smut, sub/dom dynamic, spanking, punishment

Forgive Me, Father masterlist

She hadn’t meant to say it in front of everyone during prayer group. It didn’t have to mean anything if no one read too much into it. She was only responding to a simple question but she said we.

We plan to eat after the meeting.

We, as in the mention of herself and Harry. The two of them doing something together. She hoped they interpreted it as her saying -with someone other than Harry. But she also looked at Harry directly when she said it. Maybe no one saw that.

But Harry certainly did. And the look she received from him was scalding. She knew she was in for it once everyone had gone.

No one followed up to ask who was the other part of this we she spoke of. She wished they would. She could say anyone and make up a little lie. Her brother. Her roommate. Anyone. But no one asked.

And she wasn’t sure if the room felt tense or if it was just her. Because after she said it, she felt like everyone was suddenly looking at her differently. And of course, the way Harry was warning her with his eyes wasn’t helping matters.

So she kept her head down and her mouth closed until the end. And when everyone began to leave, like always, she walked out of the house and to the side to wait until everyone was gone.

And even when the coast was clear she hesitated for a moment. But ultimately going back inside with Harry to face whatever kind of reprimand he was going to give her was better than waiting and wondering about what he might do. Perhaps she could plead her case.

Stepping into the living room she found Harry folding up the metal chairs and placing them tidily in their little wooden cubby behind the couch. He walked across the room without even a glance in her direction and into the kitchen with a glass. Standing still in her spot she could hear the glass being placed in the sink and then his footfalls as he began to walk back to the living room.

“Father, I’m sorry. It just slipped out. I don’t think anyone noticed–“

“Go stand and face the corner. Don’t speak.”

She gulped and gave a quick nod as she scurried toward the corner of the living room and let her limbs fall loose as she waited for the priest to finish what he was doing. She wanted to protest. To tell him it was an accident and to go easy on her but she knew better than to resist.

Minutes stretched on as she listened to Harry cleaning up and moving back and forth from the living room to the kitchen before she heard him approaching behind her and then stopping.

She could feel him standing behind her but he kept silent for a beat or two before she felt his breath at the back of her neck, “Tell me what happens if someone finds out about us, Y/n.”

She inhaled a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes closed, “Well, you could face expulsion from the church. Everything you’ve worked so hard for that you love the most would be gone. Or they’d transfer you and after penance, you’d have to promise to permanently end our relationship.”

The floorboard creaked as Harry stepped in closer and she felt his warm hands at the tops of her arms, “I could lose what I love, yes. But if it came to choosing you or the church do you know what I would do, pet?”

“Father, I would like to believe you’d choose me. But I would understand if you chose the church.”

“Do you doubt how deep my love for you is?”

Y/n opened her eyes and took a deep breath, the plaster of the white wall in her view, “I don’t doubt how deeply you love me. I feel it every moment. But I also know how deep your love is for God and for your vocation.”

“I’m angry that you let it slip out like that so freely in front of everyone. But I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I want you to know that I’ll always choose you. Over everything else. Over my priesthood. Over God. You’re the most important thing I have.

A stray tear escaped her eye as he pressed his chest into her back and suddenly lifted his hands and she felt her red leather collar being placed on her neck as he adjusted the buckle, “Besides, I’ve slipped up too haven’t I? When I thought no one was watching. But you slipped up in front of many sets of eyes and ears. Let’s hope they didn’t notice the way you looked at me when you said it.”

She turned to look back at him to respond but one of his hands gripped the back of her neck, “Face the wall. I’m not done with you yet. As much as I understand it was a mistake, there are consequences for your actions, pet. Take off this dress.”

Biting her lip she silently pulled the fabric over her head and Harry noted she was not wearing panties. He imagined she did that on purpose. She often enjoyed leaving things uncovered in case they were in a situation where he could just take her. But she was cheeky too so maybe it was just to get a rise out of him.

“No panties while we were all sat here praying to our Lord. Fucks sake, Y/n.”

The first strike to her bottom had her wobbling forward, palms on the walls, and bending slightly at the waist. She was used to being spanked and when he did it with his hands it was a treat. She loved his hands on her. No matter how they were touching her.

Another open-palmed swat and then another had her dipping her head and closing her eyes as she braced herself.

She felt his hand smooth up her spine and press down between her shoulders, “Bend down further. Keep your hands on the wall, legs together. Think about what you can do to not make the kind of mistake you made today while I get your paddle.”

A big gulp was pulled down her throat as Harry stepped away. What could she have done differently? Maybe just be on top of her thoughts at all times? Never waver in front of people? She wasn’t sure. How was it possible to not accidentally slip up once in a great while? She had been so good all this time. Never doing anything that would really tip anyone off. The slip-up was bound to happen at some point.

When Harry returned she felt a kind hand rub over her bottom, “You get five on each side and no crying. Once I’ve given you five you’ll tell me what you could have done differently and if you haven’t come up with something you’ll get another five on each side. Understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Count for me.”

Every strike to her sensitive bottom had her keening and gasping. She counted each one, five on each side (so ten really and she would have complained but now wasn’t the time).

“Now, tell me. What can you do to make sure that never happens again? How can we avoid it?”

She took a deep breath, still reeling from her stinging bottom and knowing she was about to get five more (ten more) because she hadn’t come up with an idea quite yet.

“Uhh… I just need to think harder and not let myself really look at you… uh… I can keep my mind sharp so I don’t say things I shouldn’t on accident.”

“No. That’s not it. Count for me.”

The next round hurt more. The smooth leather landing against her sore ass had her arching her back away from him and hissing between numbers she pushed from her lungs. Every one biting a little more than before.

But when she got to her final five (ten) she thought of an answer that she felt would suffice and nearly hopped up with a grin, but knowing better she stayed in her position.

“Have you come up with an answer for me?”

“I can just not speak. I’ll say my throat hurts and keep my mouth closed the whole meeting.”

“That will only work once or twice. But every meeting, pet? You can do better than that. Count for me.”

She let her tears slip out of her eyes as she racked her brain for the answer he might want. Every number she counted got lost in her fuzzy brain and the ache from the paddle on her bum started to numb and the shift in how it made her feel manifested in arousal, which the priest did not miss as he could see her pussy with the way she was bent for him; That obvious glisten beginning to seep out from her labia.

“Tell me what you can do to avoid making comments like you did today.”

She inhaled and moaned softly, “I think that I should maybe not come to all the prayer meetings. I can stay in my cage if I’m feeling a little off maybe? Then I won’t have the opportunity to at all. And me not being at all the meetings would be good I think. Because no one is always at every meeting. Probably good for me to sit back for a while.”

The paddle fell to the floor and she felt Harry’s hands gently caressing her bottom, his fingers gliding over the raised skin left behind from the paddle, “You are so smart, pet. See? That’s perfect. Don’t move from your spot. Keep your thighs together.”

She heard the clank of his buckle and smiled to herself. She loved it when he had his way with her. She didn’t even care what he was about to do, she welcomed him wherever and however he wanted.

When his hands returned to her back and gently pressed over her bum she sighed as he leaned over and kissed her shoulder blade, “I love you. I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she listened as he spoke and could tell he was stroking himself behind her the way his voice was wavering, breathy. “No matter what happens, you’re mine and I’m keeping you, okay?” His voice hitched up just a bit as he scraped his cockhead through her folds. She was tempted to spread her thighs but she resisted since he’d been very clear with her to keep them together.

“Yes, Father,” she breathed as she felt his smooth tip collecting her arousal, gliding up and down through her crease.

“And since you didn’t do it on purpose and I’ve given you 15 spanks as punishment,” 15 on each side, she corrected in her mind, “I’ll let you come but you may not move. I don’t want you spreading your legs to keep steady either. I’ll hold you up if you start to fall.”

The sudden slicing of his wide cock through her delicate pussy entrance had her groaning and dropping her mouth wide open. She was so wet and gushy already. She felt her arousal seep down to the back of her thigh as he began to thrust into her, juices leaking down from her opening.

Harry’s hand landed on the wall next to her head as his other clutched her hip tight, thick crown splitting her in half, and it all felt even tighter inside with her thighs pressed together. But her legs started to sway as he took heavy strokes, hips smacking against her ass. A deep moan vibrated from his chest and the way she was squeezing around him was like heaven. If he had to go to hell for his sins it would be worth it. She was worth everything to him.

When the priest noticed his pet having difficulty keeping steady he pushed into the brim, filling her completely, and gently nudged and nudged deeper into her, rutting in with hips pasted to her ass, “Being so good for me, pet. Keeping your legs together as I asked. Feels so good with you around me…”

She could hear the tightness in his voice. Her priest was enjoying her pussy. His pussy. Everything was his. All of her belonged to him. She kept her palms on the wall as he fucked into her, keeping his body tucked against her, spreading her open completely and fitting right up against her cervix like she needed.

“Want to be good for you, Father. Want to make you happy and give you everything I can. You own every single part of me.”

He groaned and rutted forward making her inhale sharply, “I do own you don’t I pet? That’s why I call you my pet. Because you’re mine and you always will be. Isn’t that right?”

No one would have ever guessed the pair stood together in the corner fucking in the small living room had the kind of secret they did. No one would have ever guessed the man was a priest and the girl on his cock with the red leather choker was his dirty secret. His divine secret. No one would know the kinds of sinful things they did together every day. If they glanced at the marks on her bare bottom they wouldn’t have assumed they were from the hands of a priest.

“Yes! Father, I’ll always be yours. I’m your possession, your property…”

They both panted as Harry’s cock worked its magic inside of her hot cunt. The wetness of her walls surrounding him and coating him was the perfect spot for him to snug into and spill his seed into.

Her lip curled up as she coughed out a loud moan and arched her back, eyes closed and in sheer bliss from her insides being rearranged. She was weak for him and her orgasm couldn’t wait any longer.

“Please! Can I come, Father? Oh my god…”

He could feel her shaking, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold her hips on both sides so she didn’t tip over.

“Aww poor thing. It aches, doesn’t it? Little pet needs to have her release, doesn’t she? Got all stressed out after misspeaking. You can come. Give me your orgasm, Y/n. Let me feel you… want to feel you milking my cock…”

Harry’s own strong thighs were beginning to quiver as his balls began to squeeze up against his body, his release just moments away.

She cried out and tensed as she spasmed and clenched around him, wave after delicious wave of wet orgasm gushing from her until she felt his grip tighten and then his chest brush into her back, his lips on her shoulder, “Come for me, pet. Holy fuck…”

He groaned at how her walls pulsed, beckoning him to come, sucking his cock deep into her tummy with every squeeze until he growled and bit down on her skin, cock pumping and throbbing inside of her.

The priest had considered not letting her come at first. But he was glad he changed his mind because there was nothing better than to have her siphoning his come from his cock as she fluttered around him and her pretty voice whined and begged…

His hot come began to leak out of her pulsing hole as he thrusted in and when he stood back to watch as he pulled out and plunged in again he saw her cream coating him.

Her legs were still wobbly as he pulled out and gently turned her in his arms and pushed his lips to hers. She felt his warm hands on her face and she knew she had nothing to worry about with her priest. He loved her and she knew it without question. Misspeak or not, he wasn’t going to just give up on her because of an accident.

Bumping his nose to hers he whispered against her lips, “I’ll always choose you. Over everything. Don’t ever doubt my love for you, pet.”

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Tags: @love-all-things-writing @avalentina @daydreaming-laur @michellekstyles @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @golden-hoax @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @closureesny @justlemmeadoreyou @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @0oolookitsme @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @reveriehs @lc-fics @mema10 @carmenxharry @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @harrrrystylesslut @elidoho @bananabk9756 @gotdrxnkonu @freedomfireflies @cathy-1997 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

[xxsabitoxx]

Pale Blue [2] No Context Teaser Suguru Edition

A/N: taking a little break from my finals just to share this cause I miss writing Pale Blue and physically cannot wait for this week to be over.

Pairing is Geto Suguru x Pregnant Reader

“She will be the last client for this year, please let any new potential clients know that I will not be able to meet with them until after the new year.” 

She nodded quickly before departing, leaving Suguru alone again as he reached for the paperwork he set down. “What a kind heart you have, papa Geto.” Suguru hadn’t even been able to read the next sentence, laughing softly at Mimiko’s comment. The brunette girl was kicking her feet, coloring intently beside her sister on the plush rug Suguru had put in just for them. “It’s important to help people in need, you know. She seemed like she could really use it.” He smiled fondly at the two sisters, listening to Nanako hum softly as she scribbled onto the page. 

“I guess you’re right.” 

“You guess I’m right?” 

Mimiko nodded, stopping her coloring to look up at Suguru behind his desk. “Yeah, I mean you really don’t need to help anyone. But you choose to do so even when you don’t have to. You have a kind heart, papa Geto.” The small girl repeated her initial statement, smiling softly as Suguru’s expression morphed into one of genuine surprise. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, watching her small head turn back to the paper she was drawing on, starting to hum along with the tune Nanako had set. Suguru sat there, wondering how a child could think of such things. 

He saw himself as anything but kind-hearted at this point in his life. But still, he didn’t have the heart to say those things, especially not to a six year old. Suguru had barely reached for his paperwork again when your face crossed his mind, making him freeze once more. You had been a constant thought in his mind since the day he left. Not even an hour had gone by where you didn’t consume his thoughts, knocking the air from his lungs and paralyzing him for a moment. He missed you. Fuck he missed you terribly and it was enough to render him utterly immobile at points. 

Slowly, he forced air back in his lungs, your smile leaving a permanent mark engraved in his mind. He didn’t regret anything he did up until this point, well maybe except for one particular thing. He didn’t take you with him the day he left. He knew he loved you too much to force you into this kind of life, he needed it to be a choice you made out of your own free will. Something cheesy about loving someone meant setting them free when the time came had crossed his mind when leaving you that letter. Leaving it on the bed he once called his own, so long as you were in it, it was his. 

But still, the choice to leave it all up to your own free will did nothing to fill the void beside him each night. How desperately he wished you were laying beside him, curled perfectly into his embrace, face snuggled into the crook of his neck. Your natural musk mixing with your perfume, your hair tickling his hands as he held you tight, your chest rising and falling evenly as you slept. He ached to hold you again, finding it hard to fall asleep each night in your absence. But he had made this choice, he had to own it, even if that meant you weren’t a part of his life right now. 

“But he knew, deep down, that it was only temporary; you'd come back to him.”

[sameheart-sameblood]

Love in the Time of Cordyceps

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: when the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. joel miller makes that rule hard to stick to

words: 7.1k

warnings: mentions of gore (pretty tame but still), swearing, sickness, angst, fluff, two dummies not realizing they love each other until one of them almost dies 🙄

a/n: this was supposed to be more angsty but then i remembered life is hard enough already. and i just want soft joel soooo here we are. also i meant to write 2k at most but boy do i love to ramble

read on ao3!

After the world goes to hell, you promise yourself you’ll never love again. A person, an animal, a place, nothing. Only a fool would choose to make themselves that vulnerable, needing every fiber of your being one hundred percent devoted to your survival and nothing more. 

Was a life without love worth living? Every time that question enters your mind, you swat it aside. It’s like a nagging fly that buzzes around you until your persistence finally drives it away completely. Of course you could live without love. You’d been doing it just fine these past fifteen years. 

Living without attachment proves useful in the new world you find yourself in. It makes the countless people you lose along the way easier to move on from. In the early days, your heart still twinges as the people around you drop like flies. Most fall victim to the bites of clickers, some to raiders’ gun, a few by their own hand. 

The first group you had travel with is filled with Midwesterners who see the terrors of the new world and still somehow have a smile and a joke for you. Their joviality can’t save them, though. Clickers swarm you one rainy night two years after the fall of civilization. The sight of Gail, a woman who reminds you of your grandmother, having her stomach ripped out by an especially voracious clicker cures you of your need for any connections to the living. 

Over the years, you make your way to the East Coast. Smiles, defiant in the face of adversity are replaced by permanent grimaces etched into the faces of everyone you meet. It seems as though every survivor has lost the ability for happiness of any kind. Good, you think, they’re finally learning. You wonder what took them so long. 

Tales of peace the Canadian wilderness has to offer reaches your ears. In your heart you know it is most likely a tall tale spread by desperate survivors. But the good thing about a zombie apocalypse is you now have nothing but time on your hands. Working your way north, if all goes well, you’ll reach Saint John by May, continue to Port Elgin and then decide if you’d try for Prince Edward Island or turn east to Nova Scotia. 

Plans are made to be broken, though, and yours, along with your ankle, break clean through one day as you make your way through Boston. It would have been over for you if not for the two survivors that find you nursing your injury in a department store that will most likely be swarming with clickers by nightfall. 

The woman, after she puts her gun away, introduces herself as Tess. The man doesn’t offer his name, preferring to keep the barrel of his shotgun pointed at you. As they argue quietly over what to do with you, you observe their faces. Both are etched hard with years of loss and worry. Even harder than your joyless face. It’s impressive albeit in a sad kind of way. 

Tess had somehow persuades the man to help you back to the Boston QZ. Joel. You hear her call him Joel. “Fine,” he had grumbles as he places your arm over his shoulder for support, “but if she scans red, I will not hesitate to put her down.” Oddly enough his threat somehow makes you almost like him. You sense a kindred spirit. Another follower of the “no love, no attachment” way of life. 

You do not, in fact, scan red and are allowed to enter the QZ. An apartment is assigned to you, a crappy little studio with faded lime green paint. The old you would have adored it, called it quirky and planned out how best to decorate it with your meager funds. The new you just appreciates a safe place to sleep. 

After your ankle heals, Tess invites you to join her smuggling scheme. Thoughts of Canada flee your mind for the time-being and you gladly welcome something to keep yourself occupied. 

“But what about the cowboy?” you ask. 

“Joel? What about him?”

Your eyebrows arch, “He threatened to shoot me.”

“Only if you were infected. Just don’t get infected.” She says it like you’re discussing the weather. 

Joel allows you into the group begrudgingly, probably because he thinks they can use you as bait or a distraction if needed. Fine. Let them label you bait. You’ve been called worse before. 

The first few months working together are tense. Joel reprimands you for the smallest mistakes and warns Tess you’ll get them all killed. At first, you bite your tongue, reminding yourself of the part he had in saving you. But one night after he scolds you for the millionth time about not checking your blind spots for clickers, you snap. “Fuck off, Joel! I survived the clickers for fifteen years. I think I know what I’m fucking doing!.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, wandering off with a hurt pout like he wasn’t the one who was just being the asshole. You wonder why your victory leaves you feeling hollow. 

After that, Joel keeps his mouth shut around you. No nagging, no “helpful” tips. Just the bare minimum of whatever he needs to convey. You’ll never admit that it hurts. You don’t have to, though. Tess, at the end of her rope, explodes one night as the three of you eat dinner in awkward silence. “Couple of fuckin’ babies I’m working with,” she seethes. “If you don’t grow up I’m finding a new crew.”

It’s decided that you and Joel will do the next supply run to Bill’s. Alone. No Tess there to act as buffer between you and him. Joel grunts at that but doesn’t argue, always deferring to your leader. The trip to Bill’s goes as well as you can ask. There are no arguments between the two of you at least. You’re sure you even see Joel crack a smile. Of course it’s when you clumsily tripped over a raised tree root…But hey, progress is progress.

With the supplies in tow and Frank’s compound behind you, you actually think this trip might be a success. A gang of raiders lying in wait to sabotage you dashes your hopes of that. They had seen the two of you lugging your supplies and thought it would be an easy win. At first, they are correct. They outnumber you and Joel in size and wickedness. The four of them aren’t content to kill you outright. They tie you up and discuss what to do with you next. 

Of course their attention quickly falls on you. The man with an ugly gash across his face leers at you. “Maybe we should keep her around awhile. She looks like fun.” Try as you might to act tough, that sends the blood rushing through your ears. 

You almost don’t hear Joel snarl at them. “You lay one finger on her and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” The venom in his voice snaps you back to reality. While their attention is on him, you discreetly start ripping at your bonds with the little pocket knife you thankfully decided to stow in your back pocket. 

They beat Joel senseless by the time you get free. You honestly think you’re too late as you stab the goon nearest to you in the thigh, by some miracle hitting his femoral artery. The others turn to you, blindsided as you go wild at the sight of your bloodied and broken companion. Gash-Face comes roaring at you, all brawn no brains. The look of surprise as you lodge the knife in his neck makes you smile with sickening glee. 

The remaining two corner you, murder in their eyes. Your gun is just beyond them, taunting you to come retrieve it. The only “weapon” you have is the belt you’re wearing, it’s clasp heavy and silver. You undo it and swing it at the nearest man. He grabs it, cackling victoriously as he uses it to pull you closer. In their grasp, you become the target of their blows. You curl into the fetal position, angry that after all the near death experiences you’ve had, this will be the way you go out. 

A shot rings out, then another. Two thuds on the ground next to you make you open your already swollen eyes. As you look up, you realize your savior is Joel. Back from the dead. His face is covered in blood, like some kind of ghoul. But in that moment, you have never seen someone look more like an angel. The two of you limp back to the QZ where Tess nurses you as she simultaneously curses the deceased thugs. 

Joel corners you in the bathroom the next day as you study your bruised face. “You could have run,” he hisses at you, making you jump. You don’t know what he wants so you just shrug. He invades your space, making you back against the counter. “Why didn’t you run?” His voice has gone low, anger simmering just beneath the surface. 

Faces inches from each other, all you can muster is a weak, “We’re a team. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Several emotions flicker across his face in quick succession. Anger, fear, worry and something you can’t quite put your finger on. Pride? Maybe that was you projecting but you hope you were right. Joel studies you for a moment longer, then reiterates, “Next time, you run.”

******

After that, things change. Joel is still a man of few words but the ones he does grace you with are softer and more intentional. Instead of berating you for the knowledge and skills you lack, he takes them time to teach you. He shows you how to identify fake ration cards and to spot the kind of guard you can bribe. Nights are spent with you following behind him like a shadow as he shows you all the secret ways in and out of the QZ. When your hands shake during target practice, he places his calloused ones over yours. It steadies your hands but frays your nerves, threatening to awake a feeling long thought dormant. 

It goes both ways. Joel lacks attention to detail in certain situations and you show him how to read people and ascertain their flaws that can be exploited. During your runs you point out the flora that can be consumed safely or used as medicine. At Flynn’s, the only bar in the QZ, you teach him how to play pool. An essential to survival? No. But it sure helps you win a huge stash of ration cards from your fellows survivors. It also gives you an excuse to sidle up behind him and mold your body around his, all in the name of helping him get the “proper pool stance.”

Your excuses to fleetingly touch one another became more and more common. They are all perfectly innocent but carry the weight of something elicit, at least to you. Joel is never one to give away his innermost thoughts, happy to wear a permanent poker face. For all you know he couldn’t care less about you. Maybe he just knows keeping you alive is good for business and that’s why he takes a particular interest in making sure you’re safe. Whatever the reason, you hope he never stops. 

******

During one supply run, a torrential thunderstorm forces you to spend the night at Bill and Frank’s. You know it makes Joel nervous to be indebted to anyone for such hospitality but you can’t hide your glee. A night there means a cozy bed and a hot shower, something hard to find in your home where the water runs tepid at best. 

Afterwards spending way too long in the bathroom, you curl up in your bed, toasty and content, only to find sleep won’t not come. Your hosts are dear to you, even the grumpy Bill, but their snoring through the wall you share makes hopes for a deep sleep impossible. 

After an hour of tossing and turning, you decide to go make your bed on the couch. As you tiptoe down the stairs you run into Joel, on his way up . “Going somewhere?” he drawls, exhaustion making his voice deeper than usual. You shrug, “Couldn’t sleep. There are two buzzsaws in the room next door.”

Joel chuckles, “I’ve had that room before. Can’t say it was the best night of sleep I’ve ever had.” You lived for these little snippets into Joel’s life before you came around, always eager to hear more. But the trek to the house through never-ending sleet and over the turbulent river left you more tired than you had felt in years. Right now all you want is to get where you could pass out immediately. “I’m just gonna make camp on the couch,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Joel shakes his head. “You take my room. The couch is good enough for me.” This man. Hadn’t anyone told him chivalry is dead. You sigh tiredly and beckon for him to come back up the stairs with you. “It’s a big bed. We can share.” There is silence behind you where there should have been footsteps. Joel’s smile disappears as his forehead creases in thought. “Please,” you pout, “I can’t sleep in my room and I won’t get any rest knowing you’re crammed on that dainty little loveseat.”

It takes far more coaxing than it should but finally Joel gives you a little nod and follows you into his - your - room. You gesture to the bed, “Care which side you get?” Joel thinks, then shrugs. “Left is good.” You flop onto the right side, eyes immediately drooping shut. Once again, there is no movement from your companion. Without opening your eyes, you chide him, “If you’re gonna be weird and watch me sleep all night then you can go sleep on the couch.” That got him moving again. 

The sound of the shower turning on lulls you to a sleep that is disturbed only when you feel the dip of the bed several minutes later. You watch through barely opened eyes as Joel does a strange shimmy under the covers. It’s clear he’s trying his best not to wake you. The sight makes you laugh softly and his head whips to you. 

“Thought you were asleep,” he murmurs. 

You hum, “I was. You woke me up.” 

It’s meant to be a joke but Joel grimaces. “Sorry.”

The sight is sweet and your heart flips, his frown making him look almost boyish. “It’s ok. It’s your bed.” 

As you burrow into your cocoon of blankets, Joel props himself up, a pillow behind his back. He looks from you to the bedside lamp and back again. “You mind if I read for a few minutes?” 

That surprises you. In all your time together you had rarely seen Joel do something just for the pleasure of it. There was usually no time. But Bill and Frank’s is a sanctuary and even the hyper-vigilant Joel Miller is able to slow down here. You nod enthusiastically, perking up. “What are you reading?” 

It’s like you had asked him what his darkest secret was. He reddens, then finally grabs a book from the table. Pride and Prejudice. He stammers, “It’s just…I never had a lot of time for reading before and this was a favorite of…it was a favorite of somebody I knew.”

“You can read out loud to me if you want,” you offer with a grin. Honestly it was half in jest and half a serious hope. It had been decades since anyone had read aloud to you. Joel, always thinking you were making some sort of fun of him, smirks sarcastically. “Not a chance.” 

Your glower slowly melts away at the sight of him putting on his reading glasses and settling in. Silently you curse as you feel your hardened heart crack just the tiniest bit. Idiot that you are, you try to talk yourself out of your own feelings. You aren’t attached to Joel. How could you be? He’s just a handsome, rugged man who keeps you safe and reads Jane Austen in his spare time. Maybe some lesser fool would fall for him but not you. No, sir.

The next morning, you find yourself curled into him, chest pressed against his back and arm draped over his side. Like a bomb diffuser, you carefully try to extricate yourself from the position, every movement slow and precise. Joel, still asleep, lazily grabs your hand, keeping your arm around him. He sighs contentedly as you settle back down and you swear under your breath, nestling your head at the crook of his neck. You are so that lesser fool. 

******

The thunderstorms of summer give way to the pleasant days of autumn. Those good days don’t seem to last long enough. You should have appreciated them more while they were there but so is the way of being human. 

Winter in Boston isn’t fun. Ok that’s an understatement. It makes you long for the soul-sucking, never-ending Midwestern winters you had lived through for most of your life. There is something about being next to the ocean that makes everything feel colder. 

The nights are especially hard, the wind seeping through the cracks in the walls of your apartment. No matter how many blankets you tuck around yourself, your body never truly feels warm. Runs to Bill’s or anywhere outside the QZ become less frequent and more difficult. Only those deemed truly necessary are attempted and even then there is always a long discussion beforehand weighing out the pros and cons. 

Runs between the months of November and January are too risky and after much debate, it  is decided you three would lay low in the relative safety of the QZ. In the meantime, you’d assess your stockpile, make connections over the radio and wait for the spring thaw. With less food smuggled in from the outside, you decide to put your energy into earning ration cards. Even though no one could argue you don’t pull your weight in the group, you often feel like the weak link. Making sure Tess and Joel have a hot meal every night is the least you could do. 

Joel had always told you to stay away from sewer work. It paid double what the other jobs did but at a high risk. Besides not being able to wash the stink off for days, the tunnels under the city were treacherous. Many had gone down there only to be blindsided by a stray clicker or jumped by a loner who made their home away from society up above. Some just got lost in the labyrinth, never to be heard from again. Or at least you had been told. You hoped those were just myths. 

You and three other desperate souls are sent down to the sewers with the task of clearing the rubble from a recent cave in. A hard day’s work definitely but you were optimistic that you could get it done in a few hours time and be on your way.

The first few hours go well, the biggest pieces of the concrete being cleared easily enough. Your back aches and callouses quickly form on your palms. But still, all of that you can deal with, mollifying yourself with the thought of the stack of ration cards you’ll proudly gift to Joel and Tess. 

Maybe if you hadn’t been daydreaming you would have heard the shouts of your fellow volunteers sooner. Finally coming back to reality, you move just in time to avoid another piece of falling rock. You save yourself from being crushed but lose your footing, coming down hard on your shin. 

A stream of bright blood instantly trickles from the gash and you swear as you try to keep the tears that spring to your eyes at bay. Wanting to prove yourself, you brush off your group’s insistence that you go get it checked by the doctor. It doesn’t matter if you complete ninety percent of your shift. You still don’t get your payment if you leave early. So you suck it up for another hour, slogging through the muck as you finish the job. It’s fine, you tell yourself, it’s just a scratch. You’ll wash it off when I get home and be good as new. 

With the job done and ration cards tucked away in your pocket, you hobble back towards your apartment. The thought of a shower, as lukewarm as it will be, is the only thing keeping you upright. That is until you feel someone putting your arm around their shoulder. Joel helps you the few blocks to your house, his icy silence hurting you more than the cut that now throbs with every jostle. 

It’s only after you get inside and are deposited on the couch that Joel speaks. He rolls up the leg of your jeans, cursing as he sees the already festering wound. “I told you to stay out of the sewers.” 

You suck in a pained breath as he starts wiping away the dirt. “I’m fine. It’s just a little cut. Besides, it was worth it,” you pull out the stack of ration cards and present them to him proudly. The sight gives him pause. But the look on his face isn’t one of gratitude, it’s worried exasperation. His signature grimace returns, “It’s not worth it if you lose your leg.” And people claim you’re dramatic. 

Pushing him away with a shoo, you rise, limping to the bathroom. “I just need a shower. Then I’ll be right as rain.” As you peel off your now ruined clothes, Joel hovers on the other side of the door. “I can hear you pacing,” you call over the sound of the warming shower. 

Even through the almost closed door you can hear Joel sigh. “I just think we should take you to the doc. Make sure you’re alright.” The water hitting you makes you audibly moan, the filth on your body washing down the drain and with it, the memory of the hard day. You appreciate the concern but all you want to do know is forget about the day. You call out to a still pacing Joel, “I’m fine. You worry too much!”

******

It turns out Joel worries the right amount. Of course he does. As eager as you are to forget about your day, it’s not long before you can’t ignore your leg. The wound is an angry red and the area around it has swollen, leaving it tender and throbbing. Thankfully you have Joel there to dress it because, honestly, you can’t stomach the sight of it. These past years have been filled with much blood and gore at your own hands. But there’s something different when it’s your own blood. 

In any other circumstance you would have reveled in the feeling of Joel holding your leg so tenderly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he wraps the bandage around you. It would have driven you insane seeing him crouched in between your legs as he is now. But at the moment all you can think about is how you much pain you’re in. 

You try not to show your discomfort, but your poker face is nonexistent. Joel’s eyes flick up to yours as you slowly exhale, trying to keep calm. Avoidance has always been one of your favorite tactics when dealing with uncomfortable situations so you pipe up, overly perkily, “See? All better. Now about those ration cards, I was thinking for dinner-“ 

Joel rolls his eyes, standing with a groan, his knees audibly cracking. “The only thing you’re gonna do tonight is rest.”

You slowly turn your body to prop your leg up on a pillow as he watches. Pouting has never worked on Joel but you figure it never hurts to try. “I still have to eat,” you mope. 

“You will. I’ll open a can of soup or something.”

The disappointment is real and bubbles to the surface quicker than you realized it would. “I just wanted us all to have a nice dinner. You and Tess do so much and I feel like…” Thinking how you feel is different from saying it out loud and you have to psych yourself up. Joel’s softening gaze helps you continue. “I feel like I’m useless. I just thought this was one thing I could do to really contribute.”

The silence between you feels heavy as you avoid his stare. Finally, he speaks, confusion contorting his features, “Of course you contribute. We wouldn’t have kept you around if you hadn’t.” It’s meant to make you feel better but it doesn’t, especially in your current laid up state. 

“So are you going to get rid of me if I’m no longer useful?” you gesture at your leg, feeling your eyes beginning to sting with tears. 

Joel sits down next to you. Your fear has made you defiant and you meet his gaze, wanting to fight. But Joel speaks in a soft, level voice, as if teaching a child a lesson. “First of all, you’re going to get better. You just need to be patient. Second, you’re thinking there’s only one kind of way to be useful.”

“I can’t shoot like you two can. I can’t fight. I can’t threaten people into getting what I want. I can go on runs and earn ration cards. That’s it. I’m too soft for anything actually important.” 

Joel frowns, “You say that like it’s a bad thing. ‘Being soft’ in a world like this is an act of defiance. It’s brave as hell. What you consider important? I don’t want that for you.”

Warmth spreads through your chest as you observe him. He’s trying so hard to find his next words, to make you believe his truth. “Me and Tess, we let the world harden us more than it needed to. It was easier that way. But having you around reminds us there’s still innocence and good out there.”

The angry tears have turned to ones of gratitude. The sentiment is too much for you, unused to such vulnerability from Joel. You give him a small smile and he returns it, leaning over to wipe a tear off your cheek. “You’re useful just being you.”

While you still wish you matched Joel and Tess’ levels of badassery, the conversation helps ease your mind. You might not think much of your survival skills but you remind yourself that you’ve stayed alive in a world that wants you dead. Fifteen years you’ve been fighting and surviving and that’s nothing to look down on. 

“And for what it’s worth, “ he adds, “you scared the hell out of me the first time we met.”

You grin at him, shocked, “Really?”

He nods, smirking cheekily, “Really. Still do sometimes.”

******

Joel heats up a can of tomato soup for you to share. You try not to think of how old it must be as he prepares it. But actually, it’s not bad, the taste reminding you of your childhood. 

It also helps that you’re sharing it with someone you care about. A part of you hates that how easily you’ve let him into your heart. The one thing you swore off all those years ago is now all you can think about as you watch him sitting across from you, ladling out the steaming liquid. 

He catches you staring and breaks the silence, “Were you even going to tell me you got hurt today if I hadn’t run into you.” The fuzziness of your feelings for him makes your brain a little mushy and instead of having a grownup conversation, you reply with a childish, “No, I thought I’d let it be a soup-rise.” 

Joel rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. You chuckle and continue eating your rapidly cooling dinner. You sober up a bit and add, “The extra ration cards will be good, though. Right?” 

He nods, “Yeah. I think it’s soup-er.” His eyes flick up to yours as they crinkle, the only sign that he finds himself amusing. 

After dinner, Joel excuses himself to go work his overnight shift. When he leaves and you’re left along, the throbbing in your leg returns with a vengeance along with a mild fever. Your usually chilly apartment now feels stuffy and you have to remove all of your layers except your t-shirt to be even somewhat comfortable. 

Worry creeps in as you sit there, alone and increasingly unwell. You long for the company of Joel or Tess, anyone to reassure you that you’re fine. But you’re alone and the dark thoughts creep in, whispering in your ear that whatever is brewing is not good. Unsure of what else to do, you slip in to bed, hoping that whatever this is will be better by morning. 

******

You don’t wake for two days. Or at least, you have no real memory of the past 48 hours. Later, when the worst is over, Joel will tell you the details of that lapse in your memory. He’ll recount how you faded in and out of consciousness, sometimes submitting to your fever for so long that he wasn’t sure you were coming back. His voice will waver as he remembers how bad it got and how fragile you looked…

But for now, he stays by your side, foregoing his own health to make sure you stay alive. The first thing you remember is waking up to the sounds of Joel and Tess arguing in hushed tones. 

“We need to get her to a doctor. Now.” Joel’s voice sounds strained, like he’s trying desperately not to lose it. 

Tess still maintains her signature composure. “We can’t, Joel. It’s too late for that.”

Joel must make some kind of face because Tess sighs and re-words. “It’s too late to take her in because if we bring her to the hospital all they’ll focus on is her fever. They’ve put people down for way less. You know that.”

In your addled state, you wonder who they’re talking about. Your throat hurts to much to speak up though and ask. 

“The doc will give us the meds. We’ve bribed him before.” 

Tess shakes her head, “Antibiotics are on lockdown. Shipments have been delayed because of the weather. No one gets any without FEDRA knowing. Breaking in guarantees we get caught. We’re no good to her dead. ”

Joel scoffs, “So what do you suggest we do?”

“She rides it out.”

“She’s been ‘riding it out’ for two days. Look at her,” Joel’s voice gets closer as he peers down at you, “she’s fighting but she’s losing.”

Oh. Fever may have taken hold of you, making your brain fuzzy and concentration near impossible, but you understand now that you are the subject of their argument. For Joel to sound so forlorn you must look bad. 

If you’re dead soon, you want to let them know to leave it and just let you slip away. Your well-being means nothing if it puts them in unnecessary danger. Rule be damned, they’re your family now and you care about them. If you’re being honest, you’ve cared about them since you met them. It breaks your heart thinking you won’t be able to tell them that now. It nearly kills you right then and there to know you won’t get the chance to tell Joel you love him…

Opening your mouth to articulate all of that takes great effort and when you do try and speak, all that comes out is a strangled groan. The two rush over, Tess sitting down beside you. She takes your hand, an uncharacteristic show of tenderness. Yep, you’re dying. 

“You’re ok, kid,” she whispers, “you just have to hang in there.” It would be easy to ignore reality and blindly trust her. But you’ve always been stubborn and so you shake your head and continue trying to speak. Again, nothing comes out but garbled nonsense as you writhe around trying to make your limbs do what your brain wants. 

You must look a sight because Joel lets his anger overflow. “Maybe you can sit here and watch her die, but I can’t.”Heavy footsteps and Tess yelling are all that you can focus on as you fade back into oblivion. 

******

Living is hard and unconsciousness is addicting. Peaceful and cozy are feelings you can scarcely remember having. It would be easy to stay in that enveloping darkness but the feeling of the back of someone’s hand on your clammy forehead pulls you back to the realm of the living. You grumble weakly as you’re made to come to. 

Everything is painful. Stabbing jolts of electricity radiate up your leg from the cut. Your chest is tight, making breathing troublesome and your eyes can barely stand the dim, watery sun coming through the shades of the window. Someone places a damp cloth on your forehead to keep the fever at bay. Still out of it, you try and swat it away. 

A gentle hand grabs yours, shushing you. “It’s alright. It’s only me.” 

Joel. Maybe you have died and this is heaven. The man you love by your side, nursing you so tenderly. It’s more than you could have ever hoped for. This might be the afterlife believers talk about if only you weren’t in so much pain. The neurons in your brain begin firing more rapidly as your fever dies down. They remind you that you and Joel aren’t lovers. Your cowardice, disguised as intelligence, has kept you from telling him how you feel. 

“What’s happening?” Your voice comes out croaky and soft but at least it’s intelligible. The bed dips as Joel moves closer to you. As you peer up through barely opened eyelids you can see him leaning over you. His tired eyes look down at you as he caresses your hair. 

“You got real sick, honey. That cut you got festered and turned into a fever. We thought we were gonna lose you.” The slight falter in his voice makes your already tight chest contract. 

“How long was I out?”

“Three days. We got you some meds, though. You’re gonna be ok.” He says it firmly, which does some good in easing your worry. 

Trying to open your eyes a bit more you continue your questioning, “Where did you get the antibiotics from?”

Joel hesitates, “Bill and Frank had some.”

You try and sit up, angry that he made that trip and put himself in danger. Even now, you can see the snow whipping around outside your window. Knowing he made the trek there and back through that storm makes you curse. Joel tuts and puts a gentle hand to your chest, keeping you down and resting. 

“It’s done. No use getting angry about it now.”

You glare up at him even though you’re really just upset with yourself. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

His smiles peacefully down at you, exhausted but eyes bright. “We’re a team, remember?”

It’s too much for you to handle. You cover your face just in time to hide the angry, relieved and grateful tears that spring to your eyes. Silent sobs wrack your frame, making you seize with pain. 

Joel pulls you into him, shushing you as he resumes stroking your hair. You hide your face in his side, trying to regain your composure. Crying shouldn’t be something you feel the need to earn. But you’re all sorts of broken, so you take this rare opportunity to not judge yourself and weep with abandon. You almost died, for Christ’s sake. Surely that warrants some show of emotion.

After a few minutes, the tears stop and your breathing calms. Peeking up, you see Joel has his eyes closed. His face is the most serene you’ve seen it in ages, most of the worry lines softened. There’s still a few that refuse to relax, though. The crease in between his eyebrows remains stubbornly indented. You gaze up at him as he continues to run soothing patterns along your back. 

Feeling the weight of your stare, he opens his eyes. Coward that you are, you glance away. “Thank you,”is all you can mumble out as he gazes at you. After a moment, you add a shy, “I would do the same for you. You know that, right?”

Joel pulls you gently into him, almost to remind himself you’re still here with him and that the danger has passed. He nuzzles into your hair, murmuring an affectionate“I know, honey. I know.”

******

After a few more hours and another dose of antibiotics, you begin to feel more like yourself. Joel still won’t let you get out of bed yet, except for a trip to the bathroom for a quick shower. Even though you’ve been dead to the world for much of your ordeal, you’re quickly getting bored with bed rest. But you’ve learned long ago that resistance is futile with Joel. So you shower like a good patient, scowling as the water hits your scabbing cut. 

Once you finish, Joel hops in and washes the grime and worry of the past three days off. As you settle back in bed, you can hear him singing softly to himself. Through the patter of the water you can hear his soft rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s Songbird. It’s one of your favorites, too, and you hum along as you settle back into your pillow. 

After a few minutes, sleep still won’t come. You toss and turn as Joel finishes getting ready for bed. He comes in to find you still awake. “I thought I told you to get some sleep.” He says it like a loving mother gently scolding their rebellious child. 

You flail as you try and get comfortable. You shoot back a moody, “But I’m just not tired.” Joel chuckles as he sits down into the arm chair next to your bed. He smooths back his wet hair and gives you a faux stern look. “Your body’s been through a lot. You need rest.”

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

Joel looks confused, wondering what he did wrong. “Sorry I just thought I’d sleep here tonight in case you need anything. I can leave, though.” 

“No!” you yell out, completely abandoning any hope of looking cool. You give him an apologetic smile, “I want you to stay but you’re not sleeping in that chair one more night.”

Joel glances to the spot on the bed beside you, then looks to you for confirmation. He sighs, a smile playing at his lips. “If I stay will you promise to go to sleep?”

You nod very seriously. “Of course.”

Joel grins, knowing you too well to believe you. “Liar,” he chuckles but still gets up and makes his way to the other side of the bed. You pull back the blankets so can get in, then cover him up. Settling on your side, you watch as he suddenly looks lost, unsure of what to do now. It’s cute, this powerful man rendered helpless by something as innocuous as sharing a bed. 

You can’t help but laugh at him and he looks down at you, eyes wide. Taking pity on him, you make a suggestion. “If you’re not tired you could read to me.” Joel opens his mouth to refuse but you blurt out a quick, “I did almost die, you know.” He glares at you but his lip quirks up. He grabs the book from the other room then flops back down in bed, opening to a spot in the middle. 

Frowning, you reach out to touch Joel’s arm. “Do you mind starting from the beginning?” He rolls his eyes but flips back to the first page. You grin triumphantly as you settle into his side. Joel places his arm around your shoulder as he begins to read. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…” 

His southern drawl mixed with the Romantic Era style of writing makes for an amusing but  pleasant combination. After a few chapters, your eyes get heavy and Joel feels you nodding off against him. Jane has just been invited to Netherfield Park but even that can’t keep you awake. Joel puts the bookmark in to save your spot and places the novel on your bedside table. 

You grumble in weak protest as he tucks you in and turns off the light. “We can keep reading tomorrow. But right now you’re going to sleep.” Joel lies down beside you and with the pale light of the moon through your curtains you can see him studying you. He caresses your face and you close your eyes, delighting in the sensation. 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispers. 

You force your eyes open, needing him to see the truth of it when you pledge a soft,“I won’t. I mean it.”

Joel nods gratefully and you reach out for him. He slides into your arms and you rest your chin on the top of his head. He’s watched over you for long enough. It’s your turn to take care of him and reassure him that, in this moment, you both are safe. 

For most, an outright admission of affection is needed to understand how you feel about the other person. But you and Joel are cut from the same cloth, stubborn and slow to reveal your feelings. In this world, for people like you, ’I love yous’ are rare and replaced with actions and deeds. 

You realize that even though you've never told Joel that you love him, you’ve shown it. Joel has been showing you all this time too and you were just too dull to realize it. While you know you’ll long to say the words to him soon, for now it’s enough to have him in your arms. 

Joel’s breathing deepens and you feel him completely give himself over to sleep. Looking at his face bathed in the moonlight he looks like a new man. His edges soften and his vulnerability brims to the surface. It tugs at your heart and you understand how rare of a sight this is for Joel to allow anyone to see. 

Smiling sleepily, you close your eyes and nestle into him. This feeling coursing through you is something foreign but familiar, an old friend you thought you had said your final goodbye to long ago. The love you have for Joel will leave you vulnerable. But it’s a price you’re willing to pay a thousand times over. 

******

[poppy-metal]

omfg. art abusing the power he holds over his stalker is SOO. your insistence and pestering and creepiness give the impression of dominance, gives the impression of control. but art could do literally anything to you. could make you do anything. anything in the whole world. nothing was too depraved. and he knew that. you weren’t normal. you were troubled, deeply, deeply. but what did he want with normal anyway? maybe he wasn’t a normal guy either. maybe, with patrick ran off with tashi, he could have someone that was just his. he knew you would never even look at another man. you told him so yourself. and it made him infeasibly hard, knowing a girl with such a hot little body was so insane about him. you probably had no issue with men, but you just wanted him. so, being abnormal, he writes something back. tucks it in your favourite pocket in his gym bag, knowing you’ll find it.

artdonaldson@hotmail.com

write my name on your tits and show me in a video

okay now we're back to being depraved <3

its a risk. art almost feels guilty for being so...... short and demanding about it. about talking to someone that way. but then he remembers you're literally breaking the law and harassing him and you've sent him pictures of your fingers in your pussy - his guilt fades then. he's more on edge with anticipation. it takes you awhile to get back to him and he wonders if its a line you wont cross. if its some unknown boundary you have. he naws on his pen cap while he pours over an essay, an essay he should be writing, but hes not, he's thinking of you - as he often is these days. his knee is bouncing under his desk.

really, the reason you take awhile is because you're trying to find the perfect lighting. you dont want to have your hair in the frame, lest he be able to recognize it later on - you make sure you dont have any identifiable marks near your chest - nothing but a few beauty marks, nothing too distinct - then you spend half a day just debating on the kind of marker to use - what color. do you go the permanent route? but what if someone saw when you were changing and asked about it? using an easily washable one feels wrong though - his name on your skin going down the drain the very same day you'd marked it down..... it makes you frown. permanent it is, then. you'd just skip going to the gym this week. you choose blue for the color. like his eyes.

you have a whole setup in your dorm - a camera and a stand for it. you spend alot of time working on the angle - should it be super zoomed in? a little farther back? its different when its just a picture but a video.... you have to make it enticing. you cant just sit still.

you end up staring zoomed in - his name is written between the valley of your tits - the video shows you cupping your hands hesitantly under them, unsure. you imagine art watching you - you remember reading his note - losing your breath over the commanding tone behind it - he wants to see my fucking tits -

you get into it then - squeezing the flesh in your hands and you mute your sigh but it slips out anyway. the words on your chest - his name - morphs and expands as you jiggle your tits, squish them together to show the hard peaks of your nipples.

you drop your hands so he can see the bounce of your chest when gravity is involved. rub your thumbs over your hard buds and whine when you pinch of them - you imagine arts hands. his fingers pinching and twisting them - playing with you like a doll -

you can't stop playing with them - you get turned on, sticky between your legs - you hope he streaks his stomach in cum and thinks about covering your nipples with it.

when art gets the video sent over through email from an anonymous file - he tries briefly to see if he can track the ip, but you'd used some encrypted file that gets him nowhere. he sighs. he'd find you eventually. what he'd do when he did..... he didn't know. turn you in? end this? ask you out? kiss you? fuck you?

he opens the video and sits back. lets out an audible "fuck." when he sees your tits. his lips part and he doesn't even touch his dick for the first half, mesmerized by the sight of your tits. the hard little nipples. and his name..... art donaldson. his breath hitches.

he slips his hand into his sweats and fists his dick. it isn't enough. he has to lean over and fish through his drawer until he finds the fleshlight he'd bought a week ago - he'd never bought one before - his hand had always been enough - his pillow too when he was desperate. but it wasn't enough lately. especially with the pictures of your pussy.... he needed to feel pressure around his dick so badly. it burned under his skin until he was forced to cave and order a standard toy online.

it makes him flush with shame to place the plastic lips over the tip of his cock - but that shame pretty much floods out of him as soon as he puts his eyes back on his computer screen - watches your tits bounce - and sinks the toy down. his eyes roll back and his head falls back too, curls tumbling.

he works the silicone up and down his length while he watches you play with your tits - for him - he can hear the small little moans you let you and it makes his balls ache. fuck. hes so turned on. grips the toy and starts really fucking it up and down on his cock - shameless in chasing his pleasure now.

he wishes you were here. he wishes he was rubbing his cock all over your chest and into your hard nipples. he'd make you press them together for him - he'd make you rub them on his legs - on his chest - he'd demand them in his mouth - oh fuck he wants those nipples in his mouth. wants to suck and suck and suck and hear those moans in full volume.

when he cums - he paints the inside of his toy with it. twitching with the aftershocks.

already, hes thinking of what he can have next. of how much you're willing to give.

he kind of scares himself when he realizes how much he's willing to take.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #16 – The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera

I grabbed this on a recommendation I now forget the specifics of, but which I am incredibly glad I listened to. Not a perfect book, but a beautiful one. It really does immerse you in a capital-w Weird setting in a way I haven’t gotten to enjoy in a while, and might the best in years at really weaving it in with a sense of the mundane and the bathetic. Pacing and character development and plot are a little all over the place, but still a great read.

The story follows Fetter, the only child of the Perfect and Kind, anointed messiah of the Path Above. His mother tears his shadow off of him at birth, and forever after he must choose to remain tethered to the earth and not float away into infinity. He is raised from birth as a tool to take vengeance on his father by committing each of his five unforgivable sins – culminating, of course, in holy patricide. His childhood is spent in indoctrination and murders – and oh, he’s also the only one he knows who can see the monstrous devils who share the world with humanity.

So anyway, all that gives him a lot to talk about in therapy.

The actual book follows Fetters’ life as an aimless young adult in the city of Luriat, with its layers of impenetrable government and byzantine system of castes and races inherited from successive colonizers, its regular pogroms and plagues, and its tendency for any doors left closed and unwatched for too long to instantaneously become permanently shut portals to Somewhere. Over the course of the book, he is dragged into a revolutionary conspiracy, learns his father is coming to the city, learns deep metaphysical secrets, is a pretty terrible boyfriend, becomes a suicide bomber, and learns to fly.

To start with the negative, the pacing of the plot is...okay, maybe not bad, but it’s really not trying for the things I’d expect it to. A whole act of the narrative is spent meandering through an absurd purgatory of refugee/prison/quarantine camps Fetter has been consigned to. Lovely writing, thematically important, does eat up a lot of page count which then leads to rest of the book being things happening very quickly one after the other with very little in the way of buildup or reflection. Time is enjoyably spent just detailing the experience of Fetter’s day to day life, but much of the supporting cast feel more like plot (or thematic) devices than characters. The book ends with the protagonist loudly reciting the big lesson he’s learned from the events of the book. So yeah, less than perfect book. Still, I found all the sins very easy to forgive.

As mentioned, this was the first fantasy book I’ve read in a while that felt properly fantastical, like it was created from first principles rather than being the latest in a hoary old lineage stretching back generations. Which might be complete bullshit, I don’t know – not like I’ve read a great deal of other South Asian fantasy to compare it to – but it worked for me. A big part of which is how very modern it is. This is a secondary world with prophets and plague-bearing anti-gods, forgotten timelines whose ghosts leak into the world, and a whole plethora of almost- and not-quite- messiahs. And also one with cellphones and UN-administered refugee camps, labyrinthine bureaucratic politics and scandals over inappropriate allocation of imported medical devices. It all feels like a reflection of the present and its own concerns rather than the thousandth-generation pastiche much of the genre does, I suppose – which is something I really did appreciate.

The world of the book – or, at least, the little slice of it the story is concerned with. There’s clearly grander and stranger things happening off in the distance – is one intensely concerned with caste and class, race and religion and breeding. Luriat is weighed down with the architecture and high culture of successive waves of colonialism, and its elites organize and govern the population according to a syncretic mix of all of their ideological castoffs. Politics – and in particular the use of plague and quarantine on one hand and sectarian pogroms on the other to control the populace – is pretty key to the whole book. It’s also just about entirely beyond Fetter. Not that he’s dumb, just that he’s apolitical, in the sense of treating government like an inexorable and inevitable fact of life to be worked with/around or avoided, not something you can understand or change. Which makes for fun reading as there’s clearly a whole Les Mis thing happening like 0.5 degrees to the left of the book’s plot.

Anyway, I’m still sad Pipra didn’t get more screentime, and the whole ending feels almost comically rushed, but absolutely a worthwhile read.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

I Promise

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: You fought by Steve’s side until the Accords made everyone choose different sides. You wanted to run with Steve and he thought going alone was better. Do you take him back when he finds you? Can you trust him when he makes promises to you?

Word Count: 686

Warnings: Light Angst, Happy Ending

A/N: This is for Annie's Writing Challenge @nekoannie-chan with the prompt of  "In case you didn’t get the memo, I’m not one of the good guys anymore." I hope you like this bestie!

A/N 2: Beta read by @ifnr-blog-blog-blog & @nekoannie-chan Moodboard by Me. Please be kind as this is the first thing I have written in months.

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. Even if you leave an emoji you will make my day. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps, or third-party sites. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property.   🚫🚫

You were once an Avenger fighting alongside your friends and the love of your life Steve Rogers. With the chaos of the Accords, everyone took a side, your side was on the run from the law with Steve. That was until he decided he needed to run on his own. It was supposed to be temporary but you should have known better. Steve saw this as protecting you while you felt this was going to be permanent. 

So you lived on your own in a little town in New Hampshire where your home sat in a wooded area. You would grab supplies once a month in town so you wouldn’t be recognized. Hauling everything home you put everything up and grabbed wood as it was supposed to snow for two days. 

You went about your day organizing everything, starting a fire, and eating your favorite soup. The sun slowly was covered by the storm clouds that were rolling in and sure enough within the hour it started to snow. After you cleaned up you went to your room and grabbed a hoodie to put on. It was once Steve’s and it was big on you. 

Walking out to the living room you grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and covered yourself. Picking up a book you started to read. The fire in the background cracked and snapped in the background. Before you knew it the fire gently lured you to sleep.

A loud knock on your door startled you awake. It was past nine o’clock and there were no neighbors nearby. You set the book down and grabbed a gun from the side table drawer and walked cautiously to the door.

“Who is it?” You yelled through the door. Your gun trained on the door.

“Doll it’s me, open up.” 

You recognized his voice immediately and put the gun down as you flung open the door. Steve was bundled up on your front steps. He had snow caught in his hair and beard. He was exactly how you remembered him.

“Please come in and get warm by the fire.” You closed the door behind him watching as he took his boots and coat off. He then joined you on the couch. “So what brings you here? Last you told me you wanted to be on your own.”

“I did it to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to live the life I have been living. Being on the run is stressful at times. You deserve better than that.”

“I deserve better? In case you didn’t get the memo, I’m not one of the good guys anymore, Steve. Why do you think I’m living in the middle of nowhere? I would have rather lived a life with you on the run than live here alone.”

“Why do you think I’m here? I’m here to stay with you if you’ll have me. I’ve missed you so much while I was gone. Say you will have me again. That you can eventually forgive me. If not, I will leave now and never bother you again.”

You had to admit you did miss him a lot. Your heart still belonged to him. Hell, you still have a few shirts in the closet that belong to Steve. 

“Promise me you won’t ever leave me again.”

“I promise.” He answered.

“Promise wherever you go I can follow.” You continued.

“I promise.” 

You crawled across the couch to hug him but he was already pulling you into a bear hug. You had to admit you missed this.

“I will always love you, sweetheart. I will never leave your side again.” Steve promised before he sealed the promise with a kiss. Thankfully Steve kept his promise and you got to live your lives together in the mountains.

tags:

@americasass81

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@caffiend-queen

@charmed-asylum

@denisemarieangelina

@fictional-affairs

@georgiapeach30513

@get0verit

@hollybee8917

@joannie95

@jobean12-blog

@jvanilly

@labella420

@lfnr-blog-blog-blog

@madscape

@mdemontespan1667

@mrsmischief209

@mycrazyasslikestoread

@nekoannie-chan

@notyourtypicalrose

@patzammit

@princessofdarkwinter

@rayofdawnworld

@reneeenders

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@wolfsmom1

@what-is-your-plan-today

@writercole

@missvelvetsstuff

@jtargaryen18

[ranahan]

Mandalorian clans & government

Headcanons ahead! You have been warned. Approximately 1% of what I’m about to write is canon. But I’ve been thinking a lot about how a clan based space-age society would function (how do you pay taxes? what’s the government like?), and I thought others might get a kick out of my musings too so I finally put them down and here we are.

I want to star by saying that what I describe here is far from a utopia. I wanted to explore a Mandalorian society that would be functional (no, their government is not only based on a magic sword). But I also wanted to explore where all these conflicts within the Mandalorian society come from. In my experience, some conflicts do stem from ideological differences, but most of them actually go a bit deeper and are questions about who has the money and power? Who wins and loses economically? Whose accustomed rights are being infringed on? So I wanted to explore what kind of legitimate grievances the different factions of Mandalorians might have against each other. Because that’s where stories would get interesting, organic conflicts from. I’m not interested in reading or writing perfect, can-do-no-wrong characters or sides. Give me people who have legitimate wrongs they want to fix, and other, sympathetic wrongs they want to commit. Give me people who want to do the right thing, only their right is in conflict with another people’s right. When it comes to stories, interesting is so much better than morally pure.

The origins of the Mandalorian clans

I imagine that the Taung, the original Mandalorian race, either was a clan-based society or developed into one during their wandering days after leaving Coruscant and before settling Manda’yaim. For a nomadic people, their clan would be their safety net and their basic social unit.

I also like to think that the archaic Mando’a word for a clan derives from a word for a ship: the Taung were not just nomads, they were space faring nomads. In those early times of space travel, it would have actually been the ship that was the basic social unit and the ship crew would have been the origin of the clan. And that’s why the words belly and home are related: they both derive from archaic words for a ship or a ship part. Aliit is a Modern Mando’a word that derives from a ’command group’, and was coined by Neo-Crusader recruits.

When the Taung settled on Manda’yaim, they had to adapt to a more sedentary lifestyle with permanent bases and sharing space with other ships’ crews. But when a nomadic culture adopts a sedentary lifestyle, they don’t just abandon their culture. And that’s the origin of clans—the Taung built up their organisation and government on top of the existing command structures. Ship captains became clan chieftains, ship crews became clan members. Very traditional old clans might have kept still some other positions.

And they also kept certain social attitudes: a crew is not based just on family ties (although in the early days of space travel, the crew would certainly have had their families on board). Additionally, when the Taung settled a new planet, they began as resource-rich and people-poor. So the basic social dynamic developed into one where clans compete for skilled workers and strong warriors, who in turn are free to choose which clan they want to belong to. If a particular clan has a tyrannical leader, they would start haemorrhaging workers to other clans with better leadership and/or better perks. That leads to the clan losing income and resources. Eventually the remaining members would overthrow their old leader and choose a better one. That dynamic only got reinforced when Mandalorians started conquering the nearby regions of space: war requires a lot of bodies.

In the modern days, an adult person may choose which clan they wish to belong to. Usually that’s the clan of one of their parents; sometimes though, they come to a better agreement with another clan. When you marry, you and your spouse typically decide which of your clans you want to belong to. Sometimes spouses decide to stay belonging to their clans of origin, but that’s fairly rare. Children belong to their parents clan until adulthood, at which time they may decide which of their parents clans they want to belong to. Poaching young adults for another clan is highly frowned upon, although it might be technically legal in some circumstances (it used to be completely legal, but then some assholes abused the system and now there are some additional laws and agreements in place).

Administration, bureaucracy and taxes

Administration and bureaucracy got built over top of the existing Taung command structures too. The Mand’alor is effectively the commander of the entire fleet of ships (=clans), but expects the ships (=clans) to largely function independently. The clans would pay a tithe to the Mand’alor which would finance larger public works like space ports, but a lot of local infrastructure and works would either be completely financed by local clans or at least supplemented by them. Many large endeavours would also require the Mand’alor to get additional financial backing from the clans, because the Mand’alor doesn’t directly tax their subjects.

That’s right: the basic taxation unit is the clan. In the modern days, most people choose to file their taxes under their clan (and let the numbers guy in their clan worry about it), and work out their fair contribution and tax rate with their own clan leaders. This is a fairly flexible system: when you are down on your luck, you can rely on your clan for welfare; when you prosper, so does your clan. The clan then uses a certain amount of funds to e.g. provide medical care and schooling for its members, and to pay their tithe to the Mand’alor. Originally, the tithe was based on the number of able-bodied and armoured warriors the clan could muster; today, it’s in practice based on the number of adult members in a clan.

Taxes might sound boring, but I cannot stress this enough: without taxation base and tax records, the Mand’alor cannot govern. (Did you know that the first thing most historical peasant rebellions on Earth did, was to burn the tax records?) The Mand’alor rules only with the support of the clans. The Mandalorian government is not a democracy, but it’s not a dictatorship either. In effect, an aspiring Mand’alor needs to get the backing of the clans: most critically, the big houses, but they would also receive a steady trickle of smaller independent clans and even individual people swearing to them.

Guilds and Houses

Guilds would have started out as co-operative organisations for people who either come from very small clans or don’t want to financially associate with their clan. A guild would generally provide a similar package of benefits for its members as a clan: medical care, life insurance, filing income taxes, etc. The House system is another adaptation to this dynamic. Smaller clans can band together or under the protection of a larger clan. Effectively most Mandalorians either belong to a fairly big clan, a House, or a guild. In the modern days, there is an option to file your taxes independently, but few people choose to do it—its easier and more flexible to work things out within your own House. It’s more popular in Sundari and other areas with more centralised governance (that typically hails from the caretaker government post-Dral’Han) and more public services. Belonging to any of these organisations is in no way mandatory—pretty much the only one you need to declare for any official purpose is your clan—but belonging to none is a pretty precarious way of life.

Oh and the schools and hospitals and other such institutions? Most are private, fairly affordable due to being subsidised by donations from local rich clans and big companies (Mandos have a strong tradition of contributing to the community) and operate on a sliding scale of payment. Some (e.g. small local schools) are wholesale owned by local Houses. If you belong to a clan, its most likely your tuition was (at least partly) paid by the clan instead of your parents. Ditto for your medical bills. There’s also a healthy competition in the market: if you don’t like or cannot afford a school or a hospital, you go somewhere else. Sundari and the other domed cities have more publicly funded services, since a tightly packed city inside a biodome requires centralised administration to function.

tl;dr: The clan, the House, or the guild is the basic unit that provides welfare services for an individual. Usually, the school/hospital/etc. is a private enterprise or a foundation, with ties or contracts with local clans or Houses.

Mining and land rights

The land and its mining rights belong to a clan. The ancestral clan lands go all the way back to the original settlement of the Mandalorian worlds. Since the discovery of beskar, land- and mining rights have been hotly contested and have been the source of many civil wars and inter-clan conflicts.

That means that technically beskar belongs to a clan. Indeed, it is the clan’s duty to arm its warriors. In practice, beskar’gam is partly earned by the individual and partly given by the clan. Beskar is sufficiently rare that only the richest and oldest clans can afford to clad their warriors entirely in pure beskar. Most make do with beskar alloys of various quality (the beskar content of many plates has gone down over the years and their many reforgings). Many wear partly or all durasteel or even composite. However, because of the cultural significance, usually at least the kar’ta beskar is actual beskar (or beskar alloy), even if the rest of the plates are not.

In the olden times, clan tithes could actually be paid in beskar, and often were by clans with good beskar mines. And thus the Mand’alor could then gift (or sell) the beskar to other deserving clans or warriors.

Since the land belongs to the clans, most farmers are either clan members or tenant farmers, although the tenancies are generally given to families (=family lines), not individuals, and the tenant farmers receive many of the benefits of the members of the house if they’re not members themselves (which they often are). The clan that owns the land would usually pay for infrastructure projects and the like, often with manpower provided by the communities living on their lands.

Fishing and hunting rights and other natural resources similarly generally belong to the clan who owns the land.

As an aside, this system unintendedly contributed to the Ba’slan shev'la after Dral’Han. Many clans had their lands and livelihoods obliterated, and faced a choice to seek refuge in one of the less-affected areas of Mandalorian space (which were crawling with other refugees who had recently lost everything in their name), or leave and try their luck elsewhere in the Galaxy. Many chose to leave not because of some grand strategy or masterplan, but to find work, make a living, and raise their children somewhere that was not a radioactive desert.

Disasters like the Dral’Han have left many Houses land-rich and people-poor: it’s not unusual for them to grant lands for smaller clans and families swearing to them. It’s in everybody’s best interests that the land and its resources gets managed—preferably of course by a loyal vassal clan, who pays tithes to you.

Government and law

I like to think the Mandalorians have a split system of law, kind of like common law vs. statute law. There would be the military law and the military tribunal—or in Mandalorian terms, the Mand’alor’s law, with the Mand’alor acting as the supreme commander of the armed forces. And the other branch would be the other powerhouse in Mandalorian society: clans.

I imagine there’s a Mandalorian equivalent of the House of Lords, or what might be called a Moot: a body that consists of all the Mandalorian clan chieftains. When they vote about anything, the votes are probably weighted based on the number of warriors (historically) or adults (in modern times) in their clan. In practice, a lot of the smaller clans belong to a House which would also act as a voting block—almost like a political party. This is another dynamic that makes Houses compete for clans and warriors declaring for them.

The original function of this body would have been to decide matters that are beyond any one clan—and furthermore, to arbitrate matters between clans or intra-clan grievances that cannot be solved within the clan. And this could lead to them developing into a body that handles a lot of the high-level civilian matters—or appoints civilian administrators and judges to handle them. There’s probably some wiggle room and a lot of power plays about which matters belong to the Moot and which to the Mand’alor and which perhaps are decided by the Moot, but require the Mand’alor’s agreement. On Earth, that has historically been the case between monarchs and their Houses of Lords too.

The clan law is effectively a huge pile of historical precedents upon historical precedents. So it’s a customary law in character. It’s the Mand’alor’s law that’s the more flexible one: they can just give executive commands, effective immediately. But then the next Mand’alor might countermand all of their orders. In practice though, the military law is again a pile of previous Mand’alore’s executive orders building on top of each other—that’s a part of why Jaster’s Codex was 700 pages or whatever. In this way, the Mand’alor’s position could be compared to the president or the prime minister of some democracies: they’re the highest executive power, but they don’t make the civilian laws and don’t control the courts. I do think the Mand’alor has more power than Western presidents/prime ministers though, and that they e.g. name their own cabinet. Although politically savvy Mand’alores would in practice fill their cabinet with members of powerful clans to keep them happy.

Oh, and the magic sword as the basis of government? It’s a cool prop, but it’s hardly the whole story. The right by combat sounds to me like a very old tradition preceding the Darksabre. The Darksabre just got caught up in the old tradition, and became a visible symbol of having won a duel against the old Mand’alor. However—and it’s a pretty big however—like I said previously, no one rules Mandalore without the support of the clans. There are probably many stories of some hotshot young warrior thinking to make themselves into the next Mand’alor. And they might actually manage it—for about five minutes, until the old Mand’alor’s warriors line up to challenge them. You might win one duel, but no-one will win a hundred duels in a row. Even if they would manage to keep the Darksabre, if the clans didn’t support them, they would shortly go bankrupt, and find their armies going home when they stop being paid.

So there are probably some five-minute-wonders in the history, who are quickly succeeded by the previous Mand’alor’s second or third in command. I’d also like to point out that there’s an incentive to leave the previous Mand’alor alive: they are still (often) the clan head or at least the commander of a significant number of troops present in the capital, and if they’re alive, they can order those troops to stand down. If they’re dead, those troops may choose to fight instead and hope to make the challenger’s reign very short indeed.

The New Mandalorian government

Now on this stage comes the Republic, who in 738 BBY bombs key Mandalorian worlds and leaves large swaths of them inhabitable. They also installsa caretaker government to make sure that the Mandalorian threat would not rise again. And I imagine that from the get go, this Republic oversight would have been universally loathed. But it also split Mandalorians between those who on principle refused to recognise the Republic’s puppet government, and those who saw that Mandalore was in no position to evict them militarily, and needed to do everything to ensure the Republic navy didn’t have a reason to come back and finish the job. So they chose to work within the system to fight tooth and nail for an independent, Mandalorian government.

And, well, that itself is a huge source of friction. Mandalore essentially has two governments, which don’t recognise each other: the post-excision government that grew from the Republic’s caretaker government and the Mand’alor. The clan Moot would probably be something of a grey area: perhaps it was recognised but reorganised by the post-Dral’Han government; or perhaps it was not, but traditions are not so easily killed and it still holds a lot of power in practice. Individual Houses operate in between all of these separate systems of power, striking a deal here and giving a nod there.

But I also think that a lot of the Core-inspired laws installed by this post-Excision government, and the laws that are needed to make the tightly packed domed cities run, come into conflict with the traditional Mandalorian laws. So now you have what is effectively a tripartite system of law. And there’s certain friction between all of these parts, and lots of arguments about which law applies in which case and who has jurisdiction.

This is also how the Mand’alor can be a rather hands-off position (depending on the Mand’alor) after the Dral’Han—there are two other forms of government to keep things running.

Citizenship

Let’s start with a couple of basic assumptions. First, the basic unit of Mandalorian society is the clan. Aliit is also a part of the Resol’nare. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that one cannot be a Mandalorian without a clan. I mean, in a religious sense, you have to be adopted into a Mandalorian clan to become a Mandalorian and share in the Manda. That’s why the adoption vow is literally ”name and soul”. Well, that’s the orthodox, religious view anyway. I imagine modern attitudes are laxer, but older views are probably reflected in many laws still.

Secondly, a lot of the Mandalorian space was originally conquered by the Taung. The conquered peoples could become Mandalorians, but I always got the vibe that it was an individual choice (both of the adoptee to want to become a Mandalorian and of the clan to accept them)—conversely, there must have been many people who decided not to convert. I doubt they were all put to sword either, especially after Mand’alor the Ultimate’s reforms.

So this creates a situation where there are both people who are Mandalorians by creed and by clan, and people who live on Mandalorian worlds and are not one or the other or neither.

And I like to think that Mandalore, by the accident of history, effectively has two kinds of citizenships: ”full” citizenship for members of Mandalorian clans, and ”civil” citizenships for residents of Mandalorian worlds who are not considered Mandalorians. And that these two kinds of citizenships come with different rights and responsibilities. For one, only the Mandalorians have representation in their House of Lords. Conversely, only Mandalorians are expected to answer the Mand’alor’s call and to serve in the military. Yes, this came about because I wanted to explore that whole are Jaster and Jango Mandalorians or not, and who even is a Mandalorian debates. Where do they come from? Could there be some reasonable explanation that gets garbled in the translation to Basic? In my version, there’s both a religious/creed aspect to being a Mandalorian, and a legal citizenship aspect, that overlap. So perhaps Jango was born on a Mandalorian world, but not as a Mandalorian. Just a thought.

Now the people who aren’t born Mandalorians but wish to become one by creed, they have an easy precedent available to them. They either get themselves accepted into a clan (the most common way); or I like to think there’s some kind of a provision for people who for one reason or another don’t want to be adopted. Perhaps they need to have a sponsor who’s a citizen of good standing (this would be the adopter for those who are adopted into clans, or perhaps the spouse or the spouse’s clan head for those who marry in), and let’s say two witnesses who testify they have completed their verd’goten or an equivalent trial. A clan can’t really be just one person, so I imagine that if a clan shrinks to just one member, they keep their lands etc., but lose some other e.g. political privileges until they became a clan (of more than one) again, and conversely, newly minted mandos who don’t have clans don’t get all the benefits and representation either.

Then we have people who are neither. Now these people could have legitimate grievances against how the political system operates, because it disadvantages them. And I think that’s an interesting point and an interesting conflict. Which is what stories are all about.

And then we have New Mandalorians, at least some of who are Mandalorians by clan—but they refuse some duties that come with that, and which probably actually are codified into traditional Mandalorian law. So that’s a legitimate grievance on the part of the old guard against the New Mandalorians: they want all the benefits, but dodge the draft and other legal duties. But it’s also a legitimate grievance of the New Mandalorians (mandatory military service is a violation of individual rights as their government defines them & answering to a Mand’alor who is not recognised by their laws). And what else would they define citizenship by, if not birth and residence on the Mandalorian worlds?

And I imagine that New Mandalorian government either defines or wants to define citizenship in a new way that’s not based on creed and being a member of a clan. And this is also a source of grievances and conflict. The traditionalists feel that being a Mandalorian is a creed, a choice; and that choosing to walk the way of the Mandalore has been a foundational right since the time of the Mandalorian Wars. After all, all of the modern day Mandalorians are descended of people who made that choice.

[angel-bubbles]

5+1: headcanons!

got tagged by the oh so lovely @romirola , the queen of headcanons hehe.

5 headcanons i hold +1 i'm still working on >:3 i spent a lot of time choosing these bc boy oh boy do i have a lot ajskdlf

Babe is 100% an author in their free time. Sometimes they ask Asher’s mom for pointers on how she balanced life and writing and they’ll even bounce pitches off of her. It was a really sweet bonding moment for them. Ash used to read their rough drafts but he was too excited to read it that very very little edits would ever be made asjdkfl (he got demoted from his place as editor. sorry ash)

Damien really likes to be the big spoon when him and Hux are cuddling even though size wise it’s a little bit like he's an awkward backpack. Neither really mind though. On that same note they don’t cuddle when they’re sleeping, but they always fall asleep holding each other. Their asleep bodies move them to other ends of the bed at some point before morning and they always have to find their way back to each other when they wake up.

The shifters’ cores literally feel different when they’re with their mates. There isn’t necessarily an absence of their mates’ presence if they aren’t around them (i.e. if they’re at work or something) but there IS a sense of fullness when they are. Their mates make them feel whole, even if they didn’t even know they were missing something in the first place. 

Aaron and Elliott shared a room as little kids and Aaron DEFINITELY put tape down the middle to separate the halves. Eli, following through with his little brother duties, would purposely cross it just to make Aaron mad. The amount of times their parents had to separate them got so exhausting that they got their own rooms as soon as physically possible. 

Asher definitely has some really really stupid tattoo that he got because he lost a bet to Milo. To his credit, Milo really didn’t think he would actually get the tattoo, but Ash is the type of guy that has no shame at all. Now that it’s been a few years he actually kind of likes it. 

+1. This one is still in the very very early stages of curiosity but what if Cutie had dated an unempowered person before and they had to watch their memories get wiped.... and whether the separation is permanent or not the department started asking about Geordi. Just… been thinking about that one. (memory modification and covert laws fascinate the hell out of me what can i say)

tagging: @lovelylonerliterature @sealriously-sealrious @bicyclepainting and @angelcactus but no pressure of course!! as always feel free to take this as an open tag as well :) i <3 hc's sooo pls share with me hehe

[punishercross]

NICHOLAS D. WOLFWOOD (TRIGUN STAMPEDE) PERMANENT PLOTTER/AD

SO I've never actually written one of these before, but considering that I pretty much constantly have muse for this guy and always want new threads and am just insane about Trigun in general, let's actually make a permanent plotter.

In general, I take these as a "I can reach out to you, you can reach out to me" kinda thing, and assume that one of the categories below is something that piques your interest! Although I will say my DMs are always open, and I'm definitely approachable in the isola discord server.

General content warnings for this character include: child abuse, child experimentation, death, violence, smoking, alcohol, religious trauma, cults.

I read rules before I write starters, but I think that it's important to consider personal comfort with characters when discussing collaborative writing!

SHORT CHARACTER SUMMARY

Wolfwood can be a difficult person to get close to. While he's definitely one for joking and pulling the occasional con for shits and giggles, he's actually a deeply traumatized man who was trained as an assassin by an insane cult in exchange for the safety of other orphans. He's led an extremely violent life and doesn't shy away from it despite his own deep-seated desire for normalcy. While he's trying to play nice in Spirale, he absolutely will kill if it means preserving his own life. Wolfwood is a sheep in wolf's clothing.

GENERAL PLOTTING GUIDELINES

As a rule, I have zero issues with people recognizing Wolfwood from his work with Lionheart, because of the other Wolfwood, or because he's a guy with a big fucking cross and that's pretty memorable. I also don't mind you choosing whether or not he has the Punisher if starting the thread, because he's definitely a conversation piece! Unless in combat, the Punisher is wrapped up in cloth and belts, so unless you've seen him use it as a gun it just seems like a weird cross. Although to note that he's now been in a public exhibition match with the other Wolfwood(s) where these clowns were drinking their glowing Kool-Aid AND firing rockets and lasers at each other, so. There's that. Other notable points include that he usually wears sunglasses all the time, even indoors, and that his "uniform" has crosses embroidered into it. He, technically, is an ordained priest, but he'll refer to himself as an "undertaker". He also may con you out of money, because he's a holy man.

RELATIONSHIP GUIDELINES

Platonic

As stated before, Wolfwood can be an extremely difficult person to gain a deeper relationship with. He can be temperamental and is extremely closed off, his world views often differ from people around him given his general propensity for pessimism despite wanting for optimism. While he's trying to be on his best behavior in Spirale due to the influence of his partner, he's still definitely working a job that puts him in dangerous situations. When it comes down to it, he'll pull that trigger, regardless of how he may feel about it at the time. Despite how he can be in general, Wolfwood is particularly good with kids and teens, switching into "big brother" mode as needed. This is especially true in Spirale, as he views any kid being brought to Spirale as being displaced given the very nature of the island. Generally, friends, coworkers, and collaborators are welcome in this category! He's also not averse to found family, as he's an orphan himself.

Antagonistic

I would love for some antagonistic relationships, as I'm a particular fan of inflicting all sorts of trauma on my muses and I love fight threads. I mean, ahem, Wolfwood is actually kind of an easy person to have an antagonistic relationship with. Between his upbringing, his job here in Spirale, and his affinity for pushing people's buttons, it's not that hard for the undertaker to get on someone's bad side. Alternatively, as he's generally accepting of most walks of life, it can take more to provoke him than it typically takes for him to provoke others. Being on the other end of the Punisher isn't entirely a reason for him to hate someone, and a job's a job. He will, of course, defend himself, but as he has generally low self-esteem, he tends not to take much too personally, especially from strangers. After all, it's hard for people to mistreat him more than he already has been, and he has low expectations of most people he meets. Of course, he can be provoked if it involves people he deeply cares about, or if a kid is being treated poorly. He'll definitely sucker punch someone on a kid's behalf.

PLOT IDEAS (Updated 5/26/24)

Working Dangerous Jobs - I love putting Wolfwood into SituationsTM that test his character development. The more dangerous the better. I enjoy making NPCs to involve in this, too, so we can have a pretty extensive mission for our muses to go on.

Fight! Fight! Fight! - I'd really like him to get into more fight threads. How far those go, well, we can play that by ear depending on the why of it all!

Stranded in the Mistwood - He frequently travels between The Land of Burnt Umber and the center of the island for work, which means driving through the Mistwood. Having a bike break down in the Mistwood is more than a possibility, and I think it could leave room for shenanigans, danger, or both!

[teddy-tastic-the-toon]

Disadventure Camp Rant 🚧(spoilers for EP 8 below)🚧

Ok, SO- I had already expected Ellie to get the boot this episode, pretty much since the last episode. And, honestly? I'm glad she’s gone- but not because I dislike her!

First off, HUGE Ellie defender and lover of her character here- she's actually part of my top three and man do I love her design and motivation! She’s so real and desperate in a way I think many people can relate to nowadays. She’s obviously portrayed to be kind and caring person to all those who’ve met her outside of the game, even mentioned by Kai in one of his greetings! It’s also obvious how much she adores Gabby and I thoroughly believe that she would ultimately choose her if it came down to it.

Still- I can’t deny that her cut-throat competitive nature would have gotten the better of her at some point. She was becoming really harsh and Tess has a really good point, one I 100% agree with. The game was NOT good for her, and she honestly would have permanently burned so many more bridges if she’d have continued. Plus, it would be silly for her to win as she’s displayed her competative nature again and again, so it was she’d likely have been soon to go anyways. If she, by the slimmest chance, made it to the merge? She’d have been either an early vote if most of yellow didn’t make it, or an easy Villain boot if they did make it. The only one of the four remaining that would possibly want to keep her in would be Alec, but after last season’s finale? It’s be a long shot. The point is that there’s literally no way she would have won, so better now than later.

To get back on topic though- the biggest reason I’m glad she’s gone though? (hoping for) More Gabby character development/screen time! She was a pretty early boot during the first season and her character has been mostly revolving around Ellie thus far in All Stars. I'd simply love to see some more of her interacting with the other contestants and even just her on her own! She’s obviously got something up her sleeve, and highly potential allies to back her up! Villain Gabby arc? Uh- YES PLEASE-

All in all, a bittersweet ending for my girl Ellie- really hoping Gabby gets far! (Gabby for the win lol) Going to cross my fingers for a Gabby vs Grett ending, though that's 100% wishful thinking. Also though- SO psyched about the confirmation that they use pet names! I wasn't sure how cringy-cutesy I could get away with being when writing them but I'm glad it's cannon lol. They're so adorable- can't wait to see Ellie again in the finale! (kinda sad we didn't get her reading off the patrons, though hoping that it means there's a chance she’ll be back?? MAYBE???)

[fizzlefroth]

The ultimate journal for the ultimate journey

Hello everybody I hope you’re ready for one of those immense posts people do that no one reads, though I suggest some of you do, it’s important. [b]Hopefully, I will never need to write down this much in the future. Just know, for short, that everything I do is to favor quality over quantity.

I’ve been thinking it over and I came to a conclusion. Some of you might remember a post from some time back where I mentioned my work being boring.

Many of you disagreed, and you were right. The problem with my work is not that It’s boring, but that it became incredibly corporate. That’s what’s been bugging me. This profile started with the intent of being somewhat of a journal for me to keep track of things on my way to get back into art proper and to try and put myself on the path of self-improvement after a long time of stagnation.

Posting was supposed to be secondary, exploring was the focus, and it had worked… Up to the point when Gone Feral found success (DON’T WORRY I’m not going to stop updating, nor am I going to take a break), more precisely, when I decided to try and make it a business.

Opening a Patreon is fine, but there is such a thing as too soon. I shouldn’t put the weight of my economic success on the thing I love doing the most. Not through this current format, at the very least. The early access ruined my fun, and the voting, entertaining as it was, led me to draw things I’m not all too happy with.

That’s not on my patrons, of course, they have been incredibly kind since, well, they HAVE been supporting me (big shoutout to you, guys). It’s my fault, however. I put the options there, I whored my character out… And I couldn’t handle it, much as I tried. My page became a flurry of preview pictures and a permanent reminder that I have a paywall up which… I can’t stand.

I want people to be able to enjoy what I do for free.

Fun fact is that this isn’t my first attempt either. This problem started a long time ago, when I was told that, well, I could make this a business, much before I created this account. I tried multiple times throughout the years, I had multiple Patreons and a lot of false starts.

It took me this one to understand why none of them succeeded. It’s because I will never be able to make a living out of my art. Not only because I genuinely think I’m not good enough (yet), but because I don’t want to. It’s the wrong path for me to take, at least for now. And it’s fine.

It's okay. Finding a personality as an artist, being transparent and genuine with myself... I choose to give it full precedence.

I’m not ruling the option out, but I will stop looking for succeass in that direction. If it ever happens? Good. Otherwise? I’m finding another solution to get the mula. Art is for me to speak with myself and you, cheesy as it sounds.

Now, here’s what I’m going to do: Patreon is NOT going to close, but it will be depowered. It’s going back to being a glorified tip-jar, along with Discord access to a much smaller, more modest server. But whether I work on the comic or not does not depend on it anymore, this way I can delay a page as much as I need and keep all the surprises to myself, not only regarding the comic itself. And it will NOT be advertised outside of my bio and MAYBE some completed, free-to-access work here and there.

Commissions, particularly commission streamings, are STAYING. Because I still need the cash, I don’t have my old job back yet. As a matter of fact, on the off chance that I will ever power the Patreon up again, it will probably be modeled around commissions, which are the only things I make that work around a “business model” of sorts.

As for everything else, yeah, I will go back to keep all my stuff a secret that I can enjoy and toy with until it’s out. I like it much more that way. I want to focus on the making and the creative process as much as I can.

I know this was a big read, I usually keep these thoughts to myself, but in this case… People who are giving me money are directly involved, and I think they all have the right to know what’s happening in great detail.

If you managed to get through this wall of text, first off: [b]CONGRATULATIONS.[/b] Secondly, thanks a lot. See you as soon as I have a proper idea~

[rogue-durin-16]

THE MOMENT THEY KNEW

Summary: their imminent death brings surprising clarity to both Jyn and Cassian. While one of them surrenders to their bittersweet realization, the other decides to act on it.

Pairing: Jyn Erso x Cassian Andor

Genre: angst

Tags:

Rogue One/Andor: —

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @comfort-reads

Warnings: broken bones, blaster wounds, major character death, canon compliant, language

A/N: Recently read the Rogue One novelisation in hopes of finding a little kiss in the elevator scene. I was so disappointed that I wrote it myself (I even made some silly little playlists). I was tempted to write a happy ending but I'll leave that for another fic. Enjoy <3

Rogue-durin-16 navigation

AO3 link

Jyn Erso wasn't stupid. She knew they wouldn't make it.

A part of her was made aware of that the moment K2 had shut the vault's gate. Said part kept growing the higher she climbed.

By the time she, through welled up, defiant eyes, saw Cassian Andor holding up a smoky blaster even though he could barely hold himself up on his feet, she knew.

They wouldn't make it to the shuttle. They wouldn't make it out of Scarif.

It didn't matter much to her at first, though; more important thoughts flooded her mind. Thoughts about the Alliance's Intelligence Captain who she had just learned how to read.

She thought about him choosing to grant her cover over saving himself while they had attempted their climb up the data tower. She thought about him plummeting twelve stories down and crawling back up to help her atop the citadel.

She also thought about how he constantly refused to leave her behind, like everyone else had done before.

And she surprised herself being capable of thinking all of that at once throughout the short path she made over the ruined catwalk in order to reach him.

It all washed over her like a tidal wave, erasing the looming planet killer and the suicide mission and the man in white, and substituting it by how beautiful Cassian looked.

Jyn forced her mind to remember she still had a mission to accomplish. Instead of letting Cassian's name slip out of her lips while she threw herself at his arms in a kind of relief she had last felt when she was eight, the woman rushed to the tower's computer and sent the message to the rebel fleet.

At least, she hoped so.

With all buttons pressed and the plans being broadcasted, she still knew that was it, and it still mattered little to her because she wasn't alone. Cassian supported his own body against the concrete column, right by Jyn's side; his chest heaved as much as hers, and his arm pressed at his abdomen as if he was trying to mitigate the pain caused by the fall, but he was smiling.

Jyn hoped he was as happy to see her as she was to see him. She started to step closer to examine him —although she knew she'd be little help for the Captain—, when she heard it. Someone's staggered breath behind her.

The man in white.

The warm feeling coursing through her veins thanks to Cassian's proximity ran cold.

She ran cold, yet rage made her skin burn, because the man who killed her mother, the man who ruined her father, the man who had sentenced Cassian to death even if they were to make it back to the cargo ship, was still breathing on the floor.

Her father's revenge was sabotaging the Empire's deadliest weapon; hers would be smashing the Krennic's skull until his brains were poured out on the metallic platform.

Jyn seethed and leaped away from Cassian with a growl. She didn't want to kill Krennic, she wanted to murder him, she wanted to—

"Hey— Leave it, leave it!" Cassian urged as his free hand gripped her bicep, tugging her back and holding her flush against him for good measure.

A part of Jyn wanted to try again, but her rage was subsiding increasingly fast, and the scalding feeling on her skin toned down to a tummy-flipping tingle where Cassian's torso met her side.

"That's it." His voice became a soft, soothing whisper on her ear, and she couldn't help but lean on the wounded man.

He gladly took her in, his calloused digits exchanging her elbow for the small of her back and then her waist. Cassian stayed like that, slowly swaying them both while awaited —maybe a bit too long— for her need to disappear. He wondered whether Jyn's hand clinging on the back of his shirt felt as intimate to her as it did to him.

"Let's go." He finally spoke, bumping his nose on the woman's temple —or maybe she had been the one closing the minuscule gap between them. Cassian didn't dare to assume that.

"Okay." With a nod and a camouflaged sniff, Jyn's fingers slipped away from his ragged up shirt and her blue eyes rose until they met the man's chocolate ones. Cassian was in immense pain, yes, but the way the woman who had fueled the rebellion's dying embers until they'd become a wildfire looked at him made up for it. That longing stirred with worry and fear put him at ease, because he knew he made the right choice when he decided he would die for her.

He was no longer dumbfounded by those sort of thoughts like he had been in Jedha —back when he didn't know why he couldn't leave her behind—, or scared like he had been in Eadu —he had betrayed himself so easily for a woman he barely understood.

No, now Cassian knew. Jyn was a reflection of him —the part of him he had left behind. She was also a force to be reckoned with; a hurricane that had swept him into her chaos the moment they met.

Jyn was everything he had been unconsciously searching for a couple of years already. He would have loved to discover her day by day —the scrappy criminal who had saved him in Jedha; the soft girl who glistened in her tears; the passionate leader who had taken them to a nonstarter victory.

Yet, he accepted they didn't have the luxury of time, so he would take whatever she gave him in those last moments.

"You look like shit." She stated, feigning a nonchalant cynicism whilst giving him an up-and-down.

Cassian let out a half laugh that immediately turned into a grimace due to his most likely broken ribs. How he made it up to the top was beyond his comprehension.

"Can you walk?" She whispered, and this time her true emotions bathed her sentence. Cassian surprised himself by denying with his head.

Without a single word, Jyn awkwardly passed his left arm over her shoulders and hoisted him the best she could. She was limping too, the brunet man realized, although he wouldn't bring it to her attention.

"Do you think anybody's listening?" He asked, trying with all his might not to let his discomfort show. If Jyn heard it, she didn't mention it out loud either.

"I do." she gifted Cassian a smile, genuine and peaceful, before confidently stating, "Someone's out there."

Jyn wasn't the best with words, but she hoped that was enough to hint to Cassian the effect he had had on her. She hoped he understood she decided to fight for the cause because he inspired her to do so.

It took them forever to reach the damn turbolift. Despite Cassian doing the best he could to walk by himself, he could barely take two steps without stumbling, which had Jyn's already sore body tensing the whole time to balance them both. She almost exhaled in alleviation when her hand abandoned Cassian's to press the opening button.

The dimlit elevator gave her a fake sense of security, but did little to erase the concern about the Captain's well-being. Even though she had let go of him and his shoulder blade and crown now rested against the holed up wall, Jyn couldn't bring herself to lower her arms. Out of instinct, she kept them extended towards Cassian, ready to catch him if his legs gave in.

No one could blame her; the man looked like he was about to break into a million pieces.

He would have been bothered by that in any other situation —he was no kid who needed to be pampered, he was capable to hold himself— but the agonizing ache lighting up his body was reflected on Jyn's eyes as they roamed his frame, occasionally looking into his with an unspoken apology.

She didn't know how to help.

K2 would have known, Cassian thought, and felt the nausea coming to him. He had led the droid to his death.

In all fairness, he had probably led every pathfinder to death. Melshi had joked about how Rogue One's mission was a one-way ticket to the hell the had earned.

More nausea.

Did Jyn feel that guilt too? At the end of the day, she hadn't really gotten to know those people. Maybe she did feel it for Chirrut and Baze. Maybe for Bodhi. Maybe even for K2.

At the very least, he knew she felt his own life weighing over her shoulders. With a strained groan, Cassian bit the bullet and turned to face the woman besides him.

Jyn felt her heart skip a bit. With a gasp, she stepped forward, her panicked, shaky hands immediately shooting to hold Cassian's forearms when his position shifted.

He was surprisingly fast to catch one of her hands in his, thumb tracing reassuring circles on its back.

His spy façade had fallen with K-2SO, but only now he was actively allowing her to see through him. She found herself once more admiring how beautiful he was like that; exhausted and calm, still standing strong enough to hold her, staring into her soul with gentle, comforting brown eyes.

"This didn't have to end like this." She confessed, refusing to take a step back and lose the grip she had on Cassian's forearm.

The man inches away from her seemed half taken aback —fuck, even she was—, but not entirely.

"It's alright." He muttered, his free hand squeezing Jyn's own forearm before squeezing her waist. "I chose this."

He did. Jyn tried to remind herself Cassian had been in this fight for long enough to know what was at stake, but it haunted her still, the fact that it took her arrival into his life for it to end.

"I'm sorry."

"Jyn..." She almost preferred the Captain's impersonal front now; the way Cassian's gaze made her feel seen was overwhelming. He carried the understanding of an equal, the tenderness of a friend and the yearning of a lover all at once.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat while she reached out to cup Cassian's nape.

The man's lids fluttered close with her touch, a content exhale slipping through his parted lips, and Jyn's mind wander what they could have been in a fairer world.

The same Jyn whose life motto had been to live from day to day since she was a child, who had never had the luxury of daydreaming about future plans, became frustrated. She wanted to know this side of Cassian —the genuine, sympathetic Cassian who melted under her touch and smiled proudly at her curt speeches and would die for her in secret—, and it wouldn't even be an option, only a sour what if.

Jyn Erso didn't like the 'what if's. She didn't know if Cassian did, but she didn't really give a lot of thought before standing on her tiptoes to close the embarrassingly small gap between their faces.

It was a just an instant-long abrupt kiss, but for Jyn it sufficed to know it wasn't a 'could've been', but a 'would've been'. The certainty showed in her stomach flipping and the burning feeling on her skin under Cassian's tightening grip and the immediate reciprocation of her actions.

Jyn hadn't imagined that the bittersweet realization that came with that shortlived kiss would bring her peace, but it did.

The badly wounded Captain half chased the woman's cracked lips when she retreated. He didn't have to go far, though, since Jyn's forehead swiftly met his.

He wanted to say something —anything— but words escaped him. Perhaps it was for the best, Cassian thought. Jyn preferred action over talking that might have as well been hot air.

Trusting the woman to keep him up if he lost balance, his right palm abandoned the faux security of the turbolift's wall to caress her dirt-stained cheek with an equally smeared thumb.

Cassian felt a slight relief when her reaction to his touch mirrored the one he was having to her fingers toying with the hair on the back of his neck. He had to use all his willpower not to fall when Jyn snuggled closer, her nose bumping his own.

Having her close felt so natural. It wasn't fair.

Their blown pupils met through low lashes and, right when Jyn seemed to find her voice, an unprompted tremor shook the citadel's tower, making them both stumble and putting out the cold, flickery lights outside the shuttle.

Jyn had been quick to react, acting as a pillar for the pair and simultaneously forcing Cassian's back to lean on the wall again.

"What was that?" She whispered in the dark, and Cassian became well aware of the lack of space between them by the feeling of her hot breath fanning over his neck.

They both knew what it had been, but Cassian chose to shake his head briefly. "I don't know." Shaky breath in, shaky breath out. "We're still going down, right?" He caught himself having to ask. He hated the weak pitch he was forced to use.

"We're still going down." Jyn confirmed, carefully resting her face on his half exposed clavicle.

This time, it was Cassian's right that found Jyn's side, sneaking under vest to feel her closer.

Not even a couple of seconds passed before the lift fully stopped, signaling they had reached the lowest level in a shattered blue screen above the gate.

"Hold on, I'll open the door." Jyn requested in a resolved tone, her fingers slipping away from Cassian's biceps. "I'm going to get you out, Cassian."

That was the first time she used his name with earnest. He liked the way it rolled on her tongue a little too much for someone who was about to die one way or another.

"Wait."

Cassian slightly folded forward to take a hold of his savior's wrist and felt his insides twisting at the movement.

Jyn didn't complain. She didn't rush him or chastise him, she didn't even scold him for coercing his damaged self.

Instead, she obliged and waited; she let herself be brought back to his arms and fisted the collar of his shirt when his mouth desperately found hers once more.

She had had her chance, now he needed his. This time the kiss was messy and rushed and needy —so needy that Jyn wondered if Cassian would have denied it happened afterwards in a more promising scenario.

Cassian was writhing in pain and his own movements were at fault, because he needed Jyn's body burning life in every part of his own her touch could reach. He held her impossibly tight and winced against her lips when her own desperate hands did the same.

He kept up as long as his body allowed him to, moving in sync with Jyn until the pain became unbearable and he had to pull away.

There are worst ways to go, Cassian thought with salty tears caught in his eyelashes and his arms wrapped around the woman whose soul was a bit too similar to his.

"Cassian..." There it was again, that intimate sweetness. "We have to go." She muttered, cupping his stubbled cheeks with her fingerless gloves to plant one last featherlight peck atop his lips.

He nodded and complied, first letting go in order for her to open the gate, then draping his arms over her shoulders so she could drag him out into the unnatural hot of Scarif, and lastly allowing her to choose a place to rest.

A part of Jyn wanted to try and make it to a ship, but she was past the moment of knowing better, so the beach was her best call.

Her mother used to love Lah'mu's shores. 'The sea soothes the soul', she had confided Jyn. She wanted Cassian to have a soothing end, and Scarif's beaches were as beautiful as they could get.

She almost ran out of breath, but somehow managed to get them through the heating sand before Cassian's legs gave in, making them both stumble to their knees.

He had made it further than Jyn fathomed possible, which made a new kind of admiration for the Captain bloom in her chest.

Fixing her hopeless, terrified gaze in the horizon, she surprised herself by thinking how breathtaking the view was. Bizarre was an understatement to describe the uncanny resemblance between the upcoming boiling wave of destruction and the most beautiful sunset she had ever seen.

While she stayed mesmerized by the terrifying sight, Cassian sought comfort in observing her. He tried to imprint her silhouette in his brain through his already blurry glance, in case he would drop dead that same instant.

Her face turned and her apologetic crystal clear irises infused one last bit of life into Cassian. There was a thousand things he wanted to say, but maybe just a handful she would have needed to hear. Cassian wanted to believe he chose the best one.

"Your father would be proud of you, Jyn."

A tight-lipped, grateful smile confirmed it, and he felt content.

Jyn too wanted to return the favor, to give him the closure that, unbeknownst to her, she had already provided, but speech wasn't her strong suit.

Her unsteady hand reached out to his, at first miscalculating but ultimately intertwining with Cassian's fingers. I'm scared, she wanted to say at the feeling of the heat wave scorching her exposed skin.

The man whose job was to read people knew, and with one last effort, he propped himself up on his knees and prompted Jyn to do the same. He found the strength to hold her one last time.

Jyn could have cried in relief right there, but instead enclosed her newfound companion in the tightest of embraces. She heard him sigh peacefully, and felt his palms go all the way up to her shoulder blades while his face snuggled on the crook of her neck.

She plucked up the courage and shielded him from the world as it grew brighter, because she owed him; because he came back and wrapped her in a warm, safe embrace that felt like home at the end of it all.

[seiya-starsniper]

20 questions for fic writers!

TRIPLE TAG THREAT from my faves @arialerendeair @bazzybelle and @honeyteacakes, I love you guys so so so much!!!!! 💖💖💖

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 36 in total published, a whole bunch more in drafts!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

167,076 which is crazy when you consider 146,736 are just from THIS YEAR

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Sandman, currently! I have a couple of WIPs for other fandoms but I just haven't gotten around to them.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Dreams for a Dozen Cats - 527 kudos A Dream for a Viscount - 513 kudos and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - 504 kudos Wake Up & Smell The Flowers - 457 kudos Let's conspire to ignite - 397 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I've been bad about it lately, but I love responding because I absolutely adore the dynamic of being able to communicate with my readers. It's just a tiring exercise and I have to be really in the mood to do it! But I absolutely love and adore every comment I receive 💖💖💖

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

A sweet dream - it's the only one where I've used the tag Main Character Death! The ending is quite hopeful, but the death is in fact permanent, take care if you choose to read it!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hnnnnnnngh I have absolutely no fucking idea because they almost all have really happy endings! That's like asking me to pick a favorite child. Honestly though, if you want sappy and sexy romance throughout an entire fic with literally zero conflict, then my happiest ending is probably A Dream for a Viscount. If you want ANGST ANGST ANGST with a massive payoff and a lot of hurt/comfort leading up to a soft ending, my happiest ending is the one in and if I get burned, at least we were electrified

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not on AO3! In my ff.net days though, whew lordy the salt was strong whenever I wrote somebody's NOTP and dared to publish it. Those were some interesting days.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Well, seeing as I am a mod for @monsterfucktoberbingo....I think you can probably guess what type of smut I write LMAO. I do write quite a bit of omegaverse too just to spice things up 😄

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have! Back in my ff.net days, my teenage self LIVED on the high school fandom crossover fic. I shall never return to those days ever again, but I had a good time. I also recently wrote this Dreamling/SnowBaz crossover for my beloved @bazzybelle💖💖💖

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge! I never really participated in fandoms where fic stealing was common thankfully.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! I have absolutely no idea what site it ended up on, but I've had my fics translated into Russian and Chinese.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not in a really long time! When I was a teen, I used to RP characters with my friends as a writing exercise, and then that would turn into a fic! I also absolutely LOVED the round robin fic culture back in the old livejournal days. (can you tell I'm dating myself heavily lmao)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

00Q hands down. I'm still reading old favorites to this day. Although, I will admit Dreamling is a pretty damn close second considering *gestures vaguely(

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh lord, I have quite a few, published and unpublished. Most of my published unfinished WIPs are just rotting on ff.net and I've made my peace with them. Unpublished WIPs...I have quite a few SamBucky fics that never made it out of drafts and I'm really sad about that because I really loved that ship at one point :(

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have a few I'm pretty proud of: - Succinctness: I can tell a whole story in under 10k words. One-shots are my bread and butter. - Angst: Do you want to cry? I'll make you cry and wring your soul out with no regrets. - Fluff: On the opposite end of the spectrum, if you want to feel soft and like you're snuggling with a cloud, I can do that for you too. Fluff is such a delight to write, because I like to feel good, and I love making others feel good too 💖 - Dialogue: I love writing dialogue. It's such a delight to try and figure what a character would say when placed in ~situations~

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Whew lordy, here we goooooooooooo: - Longfic/Multichapter fics: I can and have written longer fics, but it's highly demotivating for me. I am struggling so hard to finish my multi-chapter fics right now, it's a nightmare. I'll get there, but... - Descriptions: I AM SO BAD AT MAKING SETTINGS AND DESCRIBING HOW PEOPLE LOOK. I'm sure some people will disagree with me, but I some days I truly hate my inability to describe things the way I want to, or the way I've seen other people be able to. It is a thing I am working on, for sure, I know it's just a matter of practice. - WIP hell: I start and stop things at the drop of a hat. Rest in pieces to all my ideas stuck in partially written states - Plot Summaries: I can write a whole thing and be utterly unable to give you a plot summary. Save me hahahahaha

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I LOVE IT. It's not for me since I only speak English, but I love coming across it in fic.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Yu-Gi-Oh!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

...heh. I thought this was gonna be harder but it's definitely and if I get burned, at least we were electrified. This fic dragged me out of lurking in fandom to full on writing and participating again. It's my most canon-adjacent fic. It's got angst and action and feelings. It has tentacle sex. It has the Corinthian being indulged within an inch of his life. This fic is a love letter to myself, it the reason I am here, in sandman fandom, writing as much as I am. Is it my best written story out of all my fics? No, it was my first fic after a long writing hiatus and while I consider it a well written piece, I also like to think my writing quality has increased since I first wrote it. But it is my favorite fic, for all the reasons above, and for the sheer joy it brought into my life then, and in the subsequent months after.

Tagging: @valiantstarlights @five-and-dimes @chaosheadspace @ironwoman359 @silver-dream89 @rosaren2498 @bruce-wayne-simp @acedragontype and whoever else wants to do it!

[pixlostinatos]

heyyyyyy do you like worldbuilding headcanons? i do! and ive spent some time writing up some of mine about how wandering traders, pixandria, and chromia connect!

ill start this off by again saying this is just headcanons, not theories. i am fully not expecting ANY of this to be made canon.

anyway, this is going to be a bit of a long read, so strap in for a fun time and head under the read more!

when it was first revealed by scott that his character like traveled a lot as a kid, i know a lot of people were like "oh what if he was a wandering trader? what if his family were wandering traders?" and i feel like thats tapered off a lot ever since he revealed the skull thing, but i still think it was a neat headcanon

and then in season 1, when pix was talking to fwhip about wandering traders, he said, "i see my kind isnt welcome around here" and like i know he was just doing a bit but like?? assuming copper king pix was human, it would make sense for him to have been a wandering trader before he was king

and i know not all wandering traders come from pixandria but. consider it. also i do feel like most wandering traders do have some pixandrian lineage somewhere down the line simply because in s1 im pretty sure pixandria was one of the places that wasnt actively hostile to wandering traders?

if i remember correctly, pix killed one for some leads once and that was it

anyway into the worldbuilding aspect.

all the written history of pixandria remained in the empire

so when it disappeared, all that was left was the oral histories of the traders who happened to be away at the time and whatever writings they had (mainly receipts and other transaction records). this is why the history books say its hard to tell if pixandria ever really existed, bc A) its been a thousand years and B) bc just like many real historians a lot of academics just didnt take the wandering traders oral histories seriously

many traders still use the pixandrian numbering system for their own personal records, too! they use the mangrovian base-16 numerical system for interactions with others, but their own notes are in pixandrian base-12 bc its easier to tally quickly

also basically every family claims theirs is the one that the fabled Copper King was born(/adopted) into.

but whos to say? they may all be wrong, and that bloodline died out a long time ago (or they may all be right, and every family of pixandrian wandering traders can in some way trace their lineage back to them), but whos to say? certainly not scott

obviously theres a lot that has been lost because its been a thousand years of them basically living in a permanent diaspora

one of the reasons that scott was so put out about losing his fedora is bc he embroidered a personal tally in pixandrian numerals of all the artifacts hed stolen on the brim, and so when he had to get a new one he had to start from scratch

bc of the way pixandrian numerals are written it just looks like a funky little stylized floral pattern to other people, but a wandering trader would instantly know that its a count of something, just not necessarily of what

i also choose to believe that the reason villagers/wandering traders use emeralds as currency is bc they can find them really easily and so its not so much that its valuable bc of its rarity as much as being valuable because they use them to make a lot of jewelry and to embellish pocketwatches and such (bc like. as a game mechanic villagers produce infinite emeralds. not great to base an economy on)

so scott wears a lot of emeralds and copper (in addition to the gold that appears to be cc!scotts go-to accent for his characters)!!

and as with about half of the s2 "rulers", i headcanon scott as having founded chromia himself

so i personally headcanon him as having built it with the intent for half the houses to be uninhabited but upkept so they can be halfway homes for wandering traders and other travellers who are between trips

anyway yeah i think about things a perfectly normal amount

[novantinuum]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by @picnokinesis! Thank you, friend! <3 I love these sorts of things.

__

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

91 works, spread across five fandoms! (listed in #3)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

368,544 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

(In order of most to least recent)

Legend of Zelda (9 works)

Steven Universe (40 works)

Doctor Who (20 works)

Trollhunters: Tales of Arcadia (5 works)

Gravity Falls (17 works)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

All Steven Universe fics here, which isn't surprising:

Hollowed Moon (2,953 kudos)

Crack the Paragon (1,711 kudos)

Shattering Atlas (733 kudos)

Contact (625 kudos)

Misalignment (472 kudos)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do my best to respond to comments when I can, although if I get hit with a strong influx of them I often fall behind on this and respond "late." I like my readers knowing that I do take time to read their thoughts, and that they're not just commenting into a void! Also, I've actually made some new fandom connections through engaging with the AO3 comments thread in the past, so they're something I like to encourage.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

So this is a tie between Shattering Atlas and a one-shot I posted in my LoZ Whumptober collection.

Shattering Atlas because... well, it's my Steven Universe: Future Bad Ending corruption fic with zero comfort. However, I do IMPLY an eventual "good ending" in the author's notes, so this is up to audience interpretation whether it TRULY counts as "full out angst."

In my Legend of Zelda Whumptober collection, meanwhile, I have a one-shot that is basically an in-game Bad Ending but permanent, in which Mipha's spirit has to watch Link die horribly to the Blight Ganon in Divine Beast Vah Ruta. That one absolutely has no silver lining, but the angstiest descriptions of it ARE pretty swift and don't linger too long.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

This question is a little hard to answer because most of my fics are either one-shots or unfinished, and basically ALL of my one-shots have some falling action or catharsis of some sort. I feel like this is more applicable for authors who focus on multi-chapters, so it's not one that meshes well with my fic catalogue.

That being said, if I have to choose ONE fic, then probably my recent post TotK Zelink fic, A Hymm as Sweet as Memory, which actually contains a very impromptu and rushed proposal, and emotional reunion smooches. I feel like that counts as "happy" ahahah.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Eh... no. I haven't really written anything super "controversial" that would garner flames yet.

Yet, though.

(See below.)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do now. Haven't posted it yet, but I have a fic about 75% complete that in fact COULD gain me flame commenters. I don't feel like it will, because I feel like AO3 readers are a bit more chill than folks used to be on Fanfiction dot net, but like. It always Could. It is overtly non-con and is written as an experiment both to explore my own cerebral interest in sex from a very detached asexual perspective, and see how absolutely disgusting a piece of prose I can muster. (Think... slime. Monstrous nasties. Hot, brackish fluid rushing down one's throat. Exploding eyeballs. And... yes, this IS a Gloom Spawn porn fic, what of it?)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've written ONE crossover to date, and it was a fusion of Gravity Falls and Trollhunters, where all the characters existed in the same world and things played out quite differently for both plots as a result. A Tale of Two Trollhunters, it was called. Very niche, but I'm still quite fond of the idea. There's a SHIT ton of notes I have for the crossover that I never got around to writing... I only posted 14K of this work, but I have like... another whole 5K of work that's partially finished, just sitting around.

It's honestly one that I haven't entirely discontinued in my mind- I think it could be fun to return to one day should I ever get the inspiration or whim.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Lol YES, and it's with the person who tagged me. We had like... a series of 13th Doctor one-shots about her first episode we were working on for a while, and then life got away with us. Honestly they're still pretty good IMO.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Oh god. Uh... I don't think I can consciously choose a favorite ship, but I CAN choose a favorite ship from each fandom I've been in:

Doctor Who- The Doctor/Clara Oswald, with a particular emphasis on queerplatonic 12/Clara.

Gravity Falls- Stanford Pines/Fiddleford McGucket

Trollhunters: Tales of Arcadia- The Jim/Toby/Claire trifecta

Steven Universe- Steven/Connie

Legend of Zelda- Zelda/Link (in general, but especially their BotW/TotK incarnations)

My AO3 stats signal that my most posted ships are Connverse and Zelink (3 fics each), but I do feel like spending multiple years writing in-depth Ford/Fiddleford RP, and like easily over 300K words of it, does mean that this ship is especially dear to me even IF it's not represented in my AO3 stats.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Sigh... probably Crack the Paragon. I care about that fic very deeply, but I'm so damned blocked on it and so deep into another fandom right now that I certainly can't see myself returning to it within the next five years, unless there's a really epic Steven Universe interest renaissance coming for me and half the internet soon.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Uh... when I write a super crunchy metaphoric sentence, it sure can be a mean ass, crispy banger of a sentence.

I also feel like I'm decent at establishing unique voices for characters in my dialogue when I try at it. I've been told by some that they can easily hear characters speak the lines when they read, so... I will take those compliments to the bank, I guess.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue passages that feel oddly disjointed from the surrounding prose. I often end up sketching out bits of dialogue before I can think of good ways to link the segments together coherently, and as a result I feel like some of my dialogue-to-prose and back to dialogue segments come off as disjointed and awkward.

Also I abuse the em-dash. Em-dash my beloved. So sue me.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I am only proficient in English, so for the meantime this isn't really something I'm interested in or think I could pull off successfully and respectfully.

The single exception here is that I am trying my best at describing a few signs and emphasis markers for the sign language Link uses in many of my fics. I am bending the rules a little because he is using Fantasy Sign Language and not ASL, but I think there'd naturally be a lot of visual overlap with super basic concept gestures, so I've done research for those and am having fun finding creative ways to describe his expressiveness through his hands and facial features instead of through a voice.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who! I started posting Doctor Who fanfiction on FF.net in 2011, and never looked back. Although that original account I posted on is now inaccessible to me, sadly.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

I have two.

One is my first fic written for Legend of Zelda... a funky lil second person POV fic called so close, so far... (so familiar...)

I just really enjoyed the writing process of this one, and feel it's one of my most unique works in style. I also think it's probably my most slept on fic of all time lol, like I wish it got more attention than it did for how much I cherish it.

The other is A Memoir of the Marks Unseen, one of the last major projects I finished for Steven Universe. This fic took me about a year and a half to write, real talk. I often get the sense that I HAD to get this one out of my head before I could truly move on from SU as an active fixation. In many ways, it's the culmination of my emotions about my own mental health recovery, all partially projected onto Steven as he goes through a different but still metaphorically relatable experience. I also like... kinda think that my writing peaked here. Lol.

_

I am tagging only a few people. I am tired. Yeet. Off the top of my head:

@deiliamedlini, @citrusella-flugpucker, @bahbahhh, and uhhh... one more... @michpat6