#and sometimes the world wants us to want things because there are stories carved into the grooves of the world

[alexanderwales]

The worst thing about creative AI right now is that it produces bad results. The writing is bad, the images are bad, and the video is bad. It's impressive, sometimes, that the technology works as well as it does, but it's still bad.

I think if you sit down and go through a few hundred generations, then tweak and edit and inpaint and think intently, you can sometimes get something worth putting in front of people, if you have the right eye for it. I could definitely edit up an AI-written short story into something worth reading, especially if I was the one who had fed it the prompt and gone through the work of having my own ideas to insert. I think at least part of the output would be the AI's, and I could carve away everything that was nonsense or just bad, leaving only a few turns of phrase or some general boilerplate structure ... and this would take more time and effort than just writing the thing myself.

Most people who use generative AI do not want to do any work, and in fact, have no conception of what work would be required. Most of them are consumers, not producers, and they're used to the modes of content consumption, where you don't look closely at the details. Generative AI, in its current state, just kind of sucks when you're in a "press button, get results" mindset.

The stuff generated by "press button, get results" is the vast, vast majority of AI art that you will see, even accounting for filtering effects. There are a lot of people who have no love of artistry producing artwork via machines that are not good at making artwork, sometimes just for a lark, sometimes with profit in mind, and it's threatening to drown out other stuff in spite of being bad.

This is my thesis: generative AI produces bad results, and this is possibly the worst thing about it. If it were able to produce good results, I think that a lot of people would be less opposed to it. If you could get a short story that was worth reading, or a picture worth looking at, for no additional effort of manipulation or prompt engineering or whatever else, then we would be flooded with good art instead of bad art.

When it comes to art, I care about how it makes me feel, and what it's trying to say, and where the intent is, and what ideas it has. AI is not there. Possibly it will never get there. But sometimes I see a picture that the AI has made, and I do feel something in the sweep of the lines, or the composition, or just the juxtaposition of elements. It's just really really rare, and the product of either chance or really careful work on the part of some human. It's not something that the AI can do reliably, at least at the moment. You can also quibble about intent, because the AI "has none", but I find beauty in nature too, which is not trying to make a statement with its sunsets, and whose intents, if they can be said to exist, are mostly about things that are orthogonal to my perceptions, like the plumage of a sparrow or the curved leaves of a fern. To me, art is art because of the way that it can be read and the emotions that I feel when I look at it. Contentious, I'm sure, but I don't find other definitions all that useful.

But the art that the AI makes is, unless expertly guided, bad. And there's a ton of it, and it's impacting the ability of real artists to make superior work.

I think the future I see, if the AI doesn't get better, is one where we have a bunch of cheap shit that's replaced a lot of good expensive things. I am in favor of cheap things, but I'm not in favor of shit. I would love for translation to be as simple as pressing a button. I would love to have a good painting to go with every chapter I write. But we're in a world where the results mostly suck unless you're willing to put in quite a bit of effort and have some expertise in a field of creative endeavor, and that means we're in a world where the products are bad.

I'm interested to see how the conversation shifts if the results start getting better, because that seems to me like one of the sticking points.

[revasserium]

狐と蛍の物語 (the story of the fox and the firefly)

harrison; 4,064 words; fluff and angst a/n: for @violettduchess and @aquagirl1978's summer days, sultry nights event -- prompt "fireflies" (obviously); i'm also gonna say this counts for my 31 days of au prompt -- reincarnation!au; inspired by hotarubi no mori e and catheryn m valente's deathless and honestly, i'm so proud and happy with this one that i'd encourage you to read it even if you have no idea of the fandom/character. u__u i would love, love, love to know what you guys think!

once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there lived a girl who only danced to the firefly’s light and a fox who could tell nothing but lies.

01.

for as long as you can remember, there’s always been the wood. and it has always been behind your house, it’s leaves and branches foreboding in the winter wind, and somehow less so in the simmer of mid-summer afternoons, when the sunlight dappled light across the soft, forest floor. it isn’t a very large wood, but it’s a wood nevertheless, and deserves all the respect and fear afforded to bigger woods in faraway places. woods that warn of teeth and terrors, woods that hide both dreams and monsters.

you’d been wandering the wood from when you were a little girl, and to you, there’s not a single rock you don’t know, a single tree you haven’t tried to climb. and the forest knows you, as forests do the people who frequent them, and it welcomes you with open arms, it cradles you to its chest, whispers stories into your ears, carves itself open to show you it’s secrets —

“you’re late.”

you crinkle your nose at the familiar voice, letting out a huffing breath as you drop your picnic basket in the middle of the small, sun-lit clearing, taking your time with laying out the checked picnic blanket and two cups and saucers for tea, and finally, pulling out a tray of confections, covered by a thin, linen baking towel.

“no, i’m not! you just want me to think i am so i’ll give you more than half of the sweets.”

a boy settles over the picnic blanket, cocking his head at you before you narrow your eyes.

“well? isn’t that true?”

“ahh… i wonder if it is…” he says, but you can hear the grin in his voice, even through the material of his fox-faced mask, which, after a few more seconds of posturing, he pushes up onto his forehead. he shakes out his milk-tea hair and slates you a poison-ivy grin. you know that grin like you know the woods— and you know the woods like you know the backs of your own hands. better, even, you think sometimes.

because for as long as there’s been the woods, and as long as you have wandered it’s depths, the boy with the fox-faced mask has always been there.

“there were fresh strawberries at farmer’s market today,” you say, setting up the tea service as you nudge the opened picnic basket towards the boy with a foot. he peers in with wide, curious eyes before letting out a soft noise of contentment as he reaches in to pull out a slice of freshly baked strawberry cream cake.

“your grandmama makes the best pastries in the world,” he says, and there’s such sincerity in his voice that for a moment, you almost believe him.

but you nod and take the compliment in stride, “she sure does!”

he digs in with gusto even when you tut that the tea hasn’t steeped properly, but you laugh as he smears a large dollop of whipped cream across his cheeks. you point it out to him with a dainty finger, and as always, you fight the urge to reach over and wipe it off for him. instead, you hold yourself still and sigh as he finally gets to it, smudging a bit into his hair in the process.

“clumsy fox,” you giggle, pressing a hand up to your lips.

“picky girl,” he snipes back, but there’s that full, sated grin on his own lips as he leans back, his elbows propped up on the soft grasses of the clearing.

after a moment of pleasant silence during which the leaves sang on their trees and the grasses swayed beneath the breeze, the boy turns towards you.

“so. no dancing today?”

you turn your head towards him before casting your eyes up towards the still bright blue sky.

“you know it’s not time yet.”

the boy heaves a melodramatic sigh, sound much bigger and larger than his 14-year old body should be able to hold.

“ah… right, right — because you can —”

“— only dance by the fireflies’ light — yep!”

the boy regards you with an imperious sort of look before breaking into a fit of bright, open laughter.

“you’re the strangest girl i’ve ever met!”

“just you saying that tells me it’s not true,” you stick out your tongue at him, even as heat washes up into your cheeks.

the boy shrugs, lying back down on the picnic basket, “i don’t always have to lie, y’know.”

and it’s your turn to regard him with the imperious look, and, a the cock of a singular eyebrow, his lips tug into a lopsided grin. his eyes flash, the color of budding spring.

“liar,” you say, but you’re smiling too as you lie back down to watch the clouds pass.

he makes no sound to correct you.

02.

once, you’d asked him what his name is and he simply shook his head and said —

“call me whatever you’d like.”

“but i want to call you by your name.”

“what’s in a name anyway?”

“uhm… nothing’s in it but…” you’d frowned then, your eight year old mind spinning to try and catch up with this strange, strange question and this strange, strange boy.

“see? so why should it matter what my name is? just… call me whatever!”

but you’d only frowned hard enough for him to roll his eyes.

“fine then — uhm — what’s the name of the current prince?”

you’d blinked, “harry.”

“then call me that.”

“but is that your name?”

“well, now it is.”

you hadn’t been convinced but you liked it better than not calling him anything at all.

“harry, then,” you’d said, smiling. and the boy — harry — had smiled too, slipping his fox-faced mask back in place as he led you further into the forest.

03.

“y’know…” harry says, his voice light as the sun dips beneath the horizon line, leaving behind a blaze of reds and pinks. you turn your head, eyes catching on the shape of him, inked out against the dying light.

“you’re the only person i’ve ever met who’s wanted to be cursed.”

you take a long breath and turn your eyes back up to the bleeding sky.

“well. you’re cursed, and you seem just fine to me,” you try to keep your voice strong, resolute and steady. grandmama had always said that if you keep your voice strong, people are more willing to believe your words. you wonder if that’s why harry’s voice is always soft, always lilting, his words slippery as moss-covered stone.

“yeah, but you can’t even touch me,” he says, and for once, his voice is harsh, his words sharp and hard as broken glass.

“that’s okay though — once i get my own curse, i’ll be able to touch you, right?”

harry fights back the urge to turn, to take you by the shoulders and shake you till you push him away. he wants to scream, to howl at the moon like the mother wolves and the hungry cubs that live in the heart of the wood. he wants to run through the woods, crash into things, climb up the trees and shake off all their branching leaves.

but he can’t, and so he doesn’t.

instead, he turns to look at you and look at you and look at you.

he wonders if it’s a strange thing, to like looking at someone so much, to find something new about a face every single time it’s looked upon — the wisps of hair fallen loose to frame your face from the velvet ribbons holding it back, the curve of your button nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow. he wonders if this is a normal thing, the thick weight of it in this chest, the truth of his curse sitting heavy on his tongue.

“yeah… probably,” he says — and the lie is smooth as milk, sweet as just-spun sugar.

“good. then we won’t have long to wait, hm?”

04.

there’s a story, so you’ve been told, of a fox that lives in the woods — and the fox can tell nothing but lies, lest the truth cut open it’s throat. and when it bleeds, because even monsters bleed (oh especially monsters), it will bleed in blue and silver, which everyone knows is the color of magic.

“but why would telling the truth kill it?” you’d asked, your eyes wide and round as the full-bellied moon.

your grandmama had sighed, rocking you in her lap as the forest outside shivers and shakes with the steps and breaths of creatures unseen.

“that’s what curses do, my sweetest… they’re unfair things, they are. and they don’t like to make a lot of sense.”

and that had been that. she’d moved onto a nicer story, a sweeter story, a story that was not so much truth and mostly lies — because the truth, as your grandmama had said, is sharp and unfair and makes so very little sense.

lies are much, much the better for the makings of stories.

05.

he has never complimented you on your dancing, not even once — not in all the years you’ve been dancing for him, by the light of a million and one fireflies.

you’d been eight when you made the promise, it’s been ten years since then.

and at eighteen, you wonder how many more years it’ll be before the moon or the forest or whatever it is that chooses people to curse will take pity on you.

it’s just after sunset, and you’d just finished your customary sunday afternoon picnic. harry is sprawled out on the picnic blanket, his fox-faced mask lying in the soft, long grasses, an arm thrown over his eyes. you wonder if he’s asleep, though you don’t think you’ve ever seen him fall asleep, not in all the time you’ve known him.

“music, please…” you announce to the clearing, and after a long pause, as if the forest itself is coming to life, the wind picks up — the leaves rustle on their branches, the birds sweep up into a twitter wingbeats and song, the grasses around the clearing hish and hush the thrumming baseline to a music that only you and harry and the forest can hear.

slowly, harry pushes himself up, making a show of rubbing his eyes, and in the darkness you can only see the shape of him.

you don’t see the prickle of tears at the edge of his eyes as he wipes them away.

instead, you close your own eyes and wait.

and wait.

and then — at the first flicker of a firefly’s light, you lift your hands and start to dance.

06.

once, you’d asked him how he’d gotten cursed in the first place.

“it’s a long story,” he’d said.

“i’ve got a long time,” you countered.

he’d crinkled his nose, pursing his lips as the pair of you hopped over a narrow stream, him watching as you teetered on the edge of the water.

“hm… well, if you do something a ton of times in the wood… the wood decides that that’s all your good for, and it becomes your curse!”

you’d blinked up at him from over your shoulder, a soft smear of mud on your cheeks.

“oh… it’s that easy?”

“easy?”

“i mean, to get a curse.”

he’d narrowed his eyes, “why would you want a curse?”

you’d straightened up, pressing your palms down your rather sullied dress.

“because — you said that i can’t touch you cause i’m human, right?”

“uh-huh…” harry had nodded, uncertain of where your child-logic had taken you.

“but other cursed things can touch you, right? like the wolves and the shadows and the queen of ravens.”

harry bit his lips. but you seemed to have taken his silence for consent and happily skipped off further into the forest. he’d never corrected you even as he heaved another world-weary sigh and followed after you. because technically, you hadn’t been totally wrong.

and his curse was only that he couldn’t correct you.

07.

your mind wanders as you begin to dance, and these days, it’s been doing a lot of that — wandering. so your grandmama says that it’s a part of growing up — learning when to let your mind wander and when to reign it back in, hold it on a tighter leash and tell it to wander no more. it’s a blessing to be able to let your mind wander, and so you do.

it’s just that these days, you can’t help but notice that it’s less of wandering and more of… well, a straight-shot descent to a well-known destination. and you know from a whole childhood of actual wandering that if you know the way and you know what you’ll find at the end, then it’s not wandering at all.

it’s just going.

but still, you let your mind go where it wants, and lately, it’s been going and going and going... to harry.

harry and his soul-soft laughter, harry and his knife-edge smiles, harry and his loose, lethargic movements, unhurried and always so certain. back when you were both still children, he’d led you through the forest with nothing but his voice, spouting out random facts that were much too outlandish to be true, and later, when you were both a bit older (and you’d long since memorized every bit of forest there was to memorize), he’d walk alongside you in companionable silence.

you knew his favorite trees, his favorite flowers, his favorite birds and colors, his favorite season, his favorite sweet, his favorite fruit and so many others.

and still, it feels as if you don’t know him at all, even though you’re certain he knows everything there is to know about you.

except…

you spin out on the long grasses, the light of a million and one fireflies dancing across your skin, dancing with you, singing with you as the forest does. and above you, a crescent moon cuts a sinister smile into a lonely, starless night.

years later, you’d wonder if the night had known — if the wood had known (of course, of course it had known, because there are no secrets the woods do not know, no secrets the waning moon doesn’t keep from the sleeping earth), if the entire world had conspired against you and for you that night.

when you finish dancing and the last of the fireflies flicker down to rest on the long, soft grasses, you’re breathless with exertion, luminous with exaltation and drunk on the song of the forest and a million and one lightless stars.

in the middle of the clearing, harry is smiling, you can see it even from here, and for the first time since you’d danced for him the very first time, he brings his hands together and claps.

“that was… beautiful,” he says, and his voice is deeper now, supple and sweet with the night air.

“th-thanks! phew — i really think that might do it,” you say, plopping down on the picnic blanket next to him, spreading wide your arms and staring up at the velveteen sky above you.

08.

once, you’d been told another story, though you don’t quite recall who you’d heard it from. maybe your grandmama, and maybe the old man who sits in the village square after all the longest days of the year, smoking his pipe and telling his stories.

“do you know why the cursed forest creatures can’t touch humans?”

“why?” a village boy had asked before you had the chance to.

“because… if a cursed creature touches human flesh, the cursed creature will die.”

“oh…” you said, clutching your hands to your chest, and you’d never really thought about dying. because really, what ten year old in their right mind would? but you knew of the concept from when grandmama talked about grandpapa — how he was there one day and then the next day he just… wasn’t.

“he died in his sleep,” she’d said, a tone of sadness in her voice that you’d never heard there before and wished you’d never have to hear again, “it was the best way to go.”

you’d wondered then if there’s really such thing as a “best” way to go. wouldn't the “best” thing to be not going at all?

“then… do the cursed creatures get to live forever?” you asked, before the village boy could cut in.

the old man took a long sip from his pipe and blew out a few concentric rings of smokes before coughing and waving it all away.

“no… you see, if the cursed creatures get to pass on their curses, they’d get to be reincarnated into being a human once more.”

09.

“do you… really want to be cursed?” harry asks as the pair of you share in the silence after your dance.

you suck in a long breath before pushing yourself up to sit in front of him, careful to keep your knees from bumping his.

“of course i do! it’s… it’s what i’ve been trying to do since i was like — eight!”

“but… why?” and harry’s voice is small, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, even though now, his eighteen year old body should carry a much heavier, harder sound.

“because,” you say, resolute as you’d always been, “once i’m cursed, i’ll be able to touch you.”

“and why… is that so important to you?”

harry casts his eyes towards you; you catch his gaze with yours, holding it steady. and in that moment, you mind lets go of the story that the old man told you. because it was a long time ago, and the story was so, so far away. and sometimes, the mind chooses which truths it wants to listen to, which truths it wants to believe in.

sometimes, it chooses truths that don’t look like truths from the outside in, but from the inside out — they’re the truest things to ever be true.

like this one —

“because i want to touch you. because… it’s what i’ve wanted since i was a little girl. because… sometimes, i think i want to do more than touch you — sometimes —” your voice catches on a hitched breath, lost somewhere in your chest, somewhere between your heart and your throat.

but then, darkness descends over your vision and it takes you a long moment to realize that you’re staring at the inside of a mask, thin but solid — the fox-faced mask that harry always wears.

and then pressure, and warmth, right where the fox’s dagger-carved grin usually is, so close to your own lips you can feel the heat.

it holds for a long, long moment, and then it’s gone.

the light returns as harry tugs the mask from you, grinning that teasing, lopsided grin of his, though there’s something about it tonight that makes your heart seize.

“tell me, one more time…” he says, and his voice is jagged with something that sounds painful and true and so, so terrible.

“i — i want the curse…” you say, before you really realize what you’re saying, and it takes you a moment to realize that this too, is the truth.

“okay then… it’s yours.”

and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

the truth, harry realizes, is always bitter, and harsh, and much too sharp. when he pulls back, he presses his palms to yours and lets the moon wash the clearing in blue and silver. you gasp as you feel the magic creeping into your bones, tugging you under, dragging you through the cracks in the world even as harry is tugged away from you back to the world of the living.

“w-was this all a lie?” you ask, because inside you, your heart is fighting for it’s last few beats.

“no,” harry says, his voice is pained, and his expression even more so, because every truth he tells cuts him a little deeper, and he feels his throat constrict over the words, “your dance really was beautiful… and…”

he swallows hard, feeling the knife-edge of this one final truth slicing through him, sharp as moonlight, sweet as the lightless stars.

“i love you. please… don’t forget me.”

and already, you can feel the truth starting to hurt, starting to constrict inside you like a curse. but still, you force it from you as harry flickers and fades along with the light of a million and one firefly lights.

“i — i won’t.”

10.

“but how exactly do you transfer a curse?” the village boy asked, his voice loud and jarring.

the old man takes another long sip of his pipe, puffs out a few more smoke rings.

“through a kiss,” he said.

you blinked. a kiss?

“ew!” the village boy recoiled then, shrinking back from the thought of kissing — because that’s what children are taught to do at such grown-up concepts as kissing.

you, on the other hand, you stayed right where you are, but a frown has creased your tiny, child-like brow.

“and the trick,” the old man continues, his smile going wide and a little lascivious, “is getting someone who will take their curse willingly… to accept the kiss.”

01.

for as long as harry can remember, there has always been the wood. and in the wood, there’s always been a girl with a fox-painted mask who danced to the light of the fireflies.

once, when he’d gone exploring (even though his grandpapa had warned him time and time again about going into the wood by himself), he’d nearly run into her and she’d cocked her head when he’d fallen face-first near the bank of a tiny stream, smearing mud across his cheeks.

“you’re strange little boy,” the girl said — and she could be no more than his age, harry thinks.

“and you’re a weird little girl,” he counters, his eyes catching on the bright red of the fox’s painted mouth.

there is magic at work here, harry knows, though he doesn’t know what kind, and all he really wants is to explore the woods behind his house, to know all there is to know of the world, and perhaps — he thinks as you turn and make your way deeper into the forest — to one day hold the hand of the girl with the fox-faced mask.

but that’s a wish for another day, he decides as he follows after you, jogging to catch up and ask for your name.

“ah… what’s in name,” you say, you voice light and languid, even as he frowns, “you can call me whatever you like.”

02.

once, harry had asked his grandpapa what the truest feeling in the whole wide world is.

and his grandpapa had answered —

“that, harry, would be falling in love…”

“falling in love?”

“yes, my dear boy — and the thing about love is that it’s like a curse… but it’s also like a blessing.”

“but… how can a thing be a curse and a blessing?”

then, his grandpapa had smiled, a smile that is starlight and wolfsong and all the secrets the forest ever has to tell.

“because we are doomed to always, always fall in love, my boy — and it will always, always be like handing someone and knife and asking them to cut open your throat.”

[propheticbride]

Abducted

𐙚 Living among Joel’s group isn't so bad, you were fed and taken care of. The only downside? You could never leave him.

𐙚 Raider!Joel x Reader (tw: kidnapping, dubcon, reader is technically a hostage, joel is a bad man!)

AN: Listen to this, for maximum effect <3 reader is early 20s and Joel is mid-50s :3

You really missed your father. You couldn't remember what he looked like, not truly. Could not make out his features precisely, the way his face curved. Your heart dropped at the realization. The very person who had raised you, almost your entire life was gone. Viciously beat to death by the man who quietly slept beside you, his back to you.

Joel was an awful man, wasn't he? You had heard stories of him, at least a year before he had gotten to you. Your cousin returned from patrol with news of him carving up men in camps, stealing everything and leaving nothing but a butchered mess in his wake.

And for a while you couldn't believe men like that really existed, men who would take advantage of the innocent of the world. As if there wasn't already enough of that in the form of a vicious infection.

When he came to your camp, it was dark. You hadn't heard the attack at first, but rustling of the bushes around your tent made you quickly sit up. After screams and sounds of wet filled the air, tears streamed your face as he stood in front of you. Blood caked his face, fresh and new. His clothes were old and worn in. He was a truly frightening image to take in and you prepared for what you knew would come, his knife in your neck.

But it never did. A woman had entered your tent behind him, 'She's pretty.’

‘We’re takin her with us.’ he had muttered to her, and quickly turned and left.

The breaking in part was brutal, more brutal than what the soldiers had to endure you were sure. He wouldn't touch you, not yet. He left you alone for hours on end in an empty barren room, with no clothes on and realistically nothing to piss in. Then we would return, bloody and bruised and care for you, tricking your mind into believing he was the best thing for you. But after much pampering, he'd leave you on your own again. Alone and abandoned.

He would do this for a solid two months, until your will and mind shattered.

The last time, the last you could remember of that room, you had begged him to take you with him. Grabbing at his pant leg and refusing to let go, please please please.

‘Please take me with you!’ you had screamed, voice hearse.

‘Why, why darlin, what's the matter?’ he had asked you with a smirk. Joel was enjoying you, begging like this.

After all, the man had been a father. He would never force himself on someone unwilling, so in his mind; he needed you willing.

‘I love you. Please take me with you please!’ you cried.

‘You what now?’ he cupped his ear, pretended he didn't quite hear you.

Hot tears streamed your face, it was an awful position to be in. You wanted clothes, you wanted to be held. You wanted love again. ‘I love you.’

And with that, Joel had scooped you up and carried you to his room, and that’s when the sex began. Almost every night, no matter how sore you were or was from the night before. Pleasing him was the only real job you had.

Now you sat up in bed, the covers covering your bruised legs, all left over from his iron grip on them. He was not a gentle lover, nor did he make an effort to become one for you. He'd come back from his raids and take you, it didn't matter if you were doing anything. Because your only real job was pleasing him.

Sometimes, you thought about the repercussions of stabbing his throat and running. But his entire group, who worshiped Joel, would sic you like a dog and you found it wasn't worth it. And other times, you really fucking loved him.

“Darlin?” his gruff voice fills the silent room.

You quickly turn to him, watching as he rubs his eyes.

“You awake? Itso’ late”

“I’m sorry.” you murmur.

“C’mere baby.” Joel leans against the headboard and holds his arms out.

You waste no time practically launching yourself into his arms, he had bathed recently and the smell of outdated old spice (and maybe some musky cologne he had taken off a dead man’s body) filled your nose. God you missed him. He had been gone, not raiding but patrolling with Tess.

“How's my girl?” he asks.

“I’m okay. I missed you. I hate…hate it when you go.” you say, leaning into his shoulder. “When you leave, and I…can't go with you. Something dies inside me.”

You can't see it, but Joel grins. A wide grin he hasn't smiled since he held Sarah.

“What dies darlin?” he begins rubbing your back. A tactic he used after abandoning you for days, when he sat you in the bath and promised he wouldn't do it again only to do it…again.

“I dunno. Something hurts, like in my stomach when you leave.” you pull away to look at him. Joel was pretty, too pretty for you to possibly deserve. And he thought you were pretty enough to take.

“I’m not really leavin you doll, not really. Jus’ gotta go protect our little family, you know that right?” he kisses your forehead.

“I know. You wouldn't leave me.” you tell yourself mostly.

“Now, I’m glad you’re awake.” he starts. “I had a dream darlin, a good one.” Joel reaches down to his pajama pants where a tent is forming. “Think my lil doll can help her daddy?”

You nod, nervous.

He pulls his pants down, along with his boxers. You take a deep breath and begin small kisses on his dick. He sucks in a breath and collects your hair in his hands.

You continue to kiss at his drooling shaft when he starts huffing, “Just suck it doll, don't need to be teasin’ me and shit.”

“Sorry daddy.” you murmur.

You take him all in your mouth, using your tongue to wet his dick more.

“Oh god damn, I knew you were the one… god, good girl.” he groans. It's filthy, in the gruffy voice he knew you loved. “I knew I was right to take you. Got a mouth like an angel.”

The comment made you dizzy. I was right to take you.

You continue to work him, until he pulls you off. A sign he's close.

“Come ride me darlin, let me feel that tight lil hole.” he grins at you.

You nod and allow him to undress your pajama shorts and panties off. He bunches the fabric up and brings them to his face, inhaling the scent you left behind.

Small things turned you on, you weren't sure why. Maybe proof he indeed was attracted to you and it was proof that you weren't just a toy he fucked.

Growing frustrated, Joel simply grabs you and places you on his dick with little to no effort. He's sheathed fully, he's completely inside of you. You whimper slightly.

“Now hush darlin, you’ve taken this cock about a dozen times now. Don't be so damn shy.” he tells you, shaking his head.

Joel begins pumping into you, while at the same time grabbing your hips and bouncing you on him. The movement was all too much, too dizzy. You try your best to keep up with him, but Joel is always an animal. Too insatiable to do really anything. So you do what you’ve learned to do best in these situations: you simply take it.

“Fuuuuck.” he moans. “God this never gets fuckin old. Your pussy is all mine, mine to have and mine to fuck. Got that?”

His stamina never amazed you, despite being almost over half his age he still fucked you like you’d imagine a young frat boy would. Only Joel was better. He knew what thrusts when and how to angle them to hit your little spot inside, knew how to send you seeing stars.

“You hear me?” Joel smacks you.

“Yes! I’m…I’m yours!” you agree and nod.

“Good.” he begins to pick up his thrusts. And you sat there, taking it like the good toy you have become for him. “Hate when I gotta repeat myself with you. You young people are so annoyin’, never fuckin listening.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Always are doll.” Joel kisses your forehead and his final thrusts get lazy, and he finishes inside you.

You both stay there for a little. Joel trying to catch his breath, his age truly showing. You cuddle into his chest, your head below his chin. In the beginning there were no small moments like this, only sex and he’d leave to shower or go back to Tommy.

But now, he likes to cuddle you and coddle you. Was the mean terrible raider that everyone feared…growing affection for you? No no. You couldn't delude yourself into thinking someone like him could love anyone, let alone someone he stole.

[w8lkers]

★ | carl grimes headcanons

“what’s wrong? you’re doing that face again..”

“that’s just my face?”

carl is not a very expressive person. that’s not to say people were unable to read him, he actually becomes easier to read the more time you spend with him. when he’s upset, he looks more spaced out and he avoids eye contact. when he’s angry, it’s an easy spot. if there’s one thing carl was good at, it was giving people the stink eye. he couldn’t help it sometimes. most of the time, you have to coax his emotions out of him - he’s a hard nut to crack. talking about feelings with carl tends to feel more like an interrogation.

“i got you this flower..”

“aww.. thank you, this is my favourite flower.”

“no it’s not. your favourite flowers are daisies.”

carl loves gifting you small things that he finds. one time he gave you an acorn he picked up whilst on a supply run. when you point out the heart carved into it, he gets embarrassed and insists that it was there before he found it. he lied.

he also remembers almost everything you say to him. he’ll forget your eye colour, but he will remember the time you told him a story about your second grade teacher who accidentally broke a chair. carl prefers listening over talking generally, which makes him a very good listener. that doesn’t mean he remembers everything.

“are you a photographer? because i picture us together.”

“um…wouldn’t you be the photographer then?”

bad pickup lines. he found one of those joke books one time and boy did he read it. he even uses some highlighters to pick out and sort through ones that would make you laugh, ones that he thinks would actually work and ones that he found funny. when he first started using them, he was a bit awkward about it. sometimes he’d mess up the lines, or his delivery would be slightly awkward. practice makes perfect though and he gains more confidence eventually.

“do you think we’ll ever have kids..?”

“i think we’re both too tired for that question, carl...”

carl thinks about having a family all the time. he has his fears about pregnancy and childbirth after what he went through with his mom, but he can’t help but daydream about it. when he’s sleepy, he’s a big rambler. it’s the one time of the day where carl is the one who is talking the most and you hold it dear to your heart. sometimes he talks about what he did that day, but sometimes he talks about what’s been on his mind lately and he’ll take advice, or comfort from you. bedtime is usually the only time he’ll open up with ease. something about being relaxed in bed just before going to sleep with you there next to him is a perfect mix. on the odd occasion, carl gets into a mood if he’s sleepy enough, where he just wants to bombard you with affection and compliments. he’s a sweetiepie.

“no one’s even looking, c’mon just a small kiss..”

“carl, daryl is right there! are you crazy?”

carl. pda. Yep. he doesn’t care who is around. he wants to be as close as he can get to you at all times. i don’t mean that he’s trying to make out with you in front of everyone in the world, but he’ll always have an arm around you, or hold your hand and his favourite, around your waist. he likes being near you, it makes him feel safe. he feels safe knowing that you’re safe and close to him. of course with pda comes the occasional tease from michonne and daryl. it always embarrasses him, but not enough to stop him.

“you know, i used to be judith’s favourite.”

“see what happens when you skip out on too many tea parties?”

carl loves LOVES spending time with you and judith. it’s no secret to anyone that carl loves his baby sister. seeing you play pretend with judith makes him feel happy, like everything he’s been through was worth it, because now he gets to see this.

“carl, samantha doesn’t have a boy voice!”

“i’m not doing a girl voice.”

“carl.. do the girl voice please :( ...”

getting carl to join you and judith while you play with dolls together is an almost impossible task. except it’s not, you know he secretly wants to play. it’s a joint effort between you and judith, but you manage to convince him to join in every time.

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

Oh god now that toh ends with luz being able to travel between worlds ppl are using that to dunk on amphibia. And now that belos died ppl are using that to dunk on su.

They are different shows people! They have different themes! Amphibia is a classic take on isekai as escapism! Marcy went to amphibia to avoid her real life and while she had fun she didnt mature until after she accepted she needed to embrace change in her life! Anne matured in amphibia bc she always recognized that she has her own life to get back to! Sasha matured after realizing that too! Leaving amphibia for good means to embrace the step out of childhood! Something thats inevitable for everyone!

The owl house is about finding a community in midst of ostracization! Luz stayed in the boiling isles because she found people who accepted her quirks! The boiling isles was in danger from a bigot and luz helps her new community defeat him! Its a very queer story! Community is the center of the story so it makes sense for luz to be able to go back to the boiling isles since shes maintaining her place in the community!

Steven universe is about choosing to be kind! Its that everyone has their own specific traumas that they can overcome with the right support! Its about surviving in a world of bigots at any cost, even if it you have to work with the bigots to carve out a space for the people you love! Because people like you exist and theres nothing anyone in power can do about it! Its also a very queer story! The diamonds can never stamp out the off colors because they will always be there! Steven works with the diamonds not because he likes them but because they can improve the world for his family if only he could get through to them! Hes rewarded for choosing to be kind with success because the theme of the show is hope! Hope that anyone can change! But even though the diamonds stop being fascist steven still doesnt like them because its not about forgiveness! Its about fixing things! Stevens just polite about it!

The owl house starts off with the assumption that everyone can change but its not about the potential its about the willingness to change! The focus is on belos, whos had every chance to turn his life around but will never admit that hes wrong! And the show posits that if someone isnt willing to change theyre not worth helping! Its not about whether or not the character is fascist its about if theyre willing to stop being fascist! Several characters stop being fascist and are welcomed by the characters with open arms belos just wasnt one of them! Several characters clean up their acts but dont adequately address the previous harm they did and are STILL fully forgiven eventually! For toh forgiveness is paired with fixing things you just need to give it time!

And theres an argument that some of these shows didnt do their themes well. If you wanted to portray amphibia as an escapism world that the girls need to leave behind to get to their richer futures then having them get such caring found families go against that by giving them a potential of a good life in the isekai world. Steven universe uses the diamonds as metaphors for mental illness and relationships but its hard to stick with that when you also need to consider the countless other gems they hurt. I think its also fair if people prefer one theme over another.

But a lot of stuff i see comparing these shows just go over surface similarities? Like oh shit! These two shows have the same character archetypes! They have the same inciting incident! This must mean that theyre exactly the same in everything but names and artstyle and are trying to say the exact same things! Like. No. Sometimes,,,,,two stories,,,,,,can talk about two different things,,,,,,,

[flowercrowngods]

@steddie-week

part 1 (bc this is one big 7 part story)

day 02: bittersweet & angst

1 new message

eddie The Problem munson: engagement party on saturday babyyyy 🥳🥸🕺

Steve’s been staring at the message for two days now. It's sitting in his notifications, staring at him like a painful reminder of what happened exactly seven days ago. A week. It's only been a week, and Steve somehow it feels like it was both only one day or seven months ago.

It's an almost liminal experience, walking through life without texting Eddie every second of the day – because texting him would mean opening his message. It would make this real.

And that's the last thing Steve wants.

"I'm not going," Robin declares as they're cuddling on the couch, wallowing in their misery as Mayday Parade's Oh Well, Oh Well is playing for the eighth time on repeat. "Tell me you're not going, Stevie."

"Robbie," he sighs, squeezing her tighter as she tries to wriggle out of his arms to glare at him.

"Steve."

"I can't not go."

"Yes you can." She pokes him in the ribs, but he doesn't budge. She pokes him again. "Not going to things is literally the easiest thing in the world. It's a hundred times easier than going to things. You should try it sometime, trust me. You go to too many things, and–"

"Bee," he hums to get her out of the rambling spiral before she can get lost in it.

"What I'm saying," he interrupts herself dramatically, "is that you can't do this to yourself. They're engaged. They're getting married. We're going to keep our distance until our brains and hearts and the traitorous little chemicals in our bodies catch up to reality, and then we get over them, and then we can go back and see them ever again. That's the logical thing to do, Steve. But you can't... You can't just go and get your heart broken and talk yourself into thinking it's the right thing to do. It's not."

Steve sighs into her hair and buries his face in her neck. He knows that. Technically, logically, he does.

But not going feels wrong. Wronger than anything else that's been hollowing out his chest and leaving nothing but emptiness and the ghosts of every smile, every touch, every baby, love, sweetheart, sunshine. Every imaginary future, every scenario where Eddie meant it. Meant those words, meant those smiles, meant it when he took Steve's hand to hold it.

But Eddie did mean it. Every time, he meant it; because he calls Argyle and Jeff and Gareth baby and sunshine and sweetheart, too. He takes their hands, too, leans in to kiss their cheeks and just holds them when he needs to. That's just the kind of person Eddie is. Always has been.

To go and assume he never meant it would be unfair.

To go and hope it could ever mean more when Chrissy has always been right there would just be stupid.

Well, good thing Steve has that kind of reputation with a few people anyway, so it's not even a statistical outlier, that one. It's not even worth a side note.

"I know," he rasps, his eyes beginning to sting as the next lyrics are carved into the empty space of where his heart used to be.

Oh well, oh well I can't live with myself As I'm climbing in your window to get to your bed.

And I'll be what you need, You can call me anything. Just as long as we're still friends.

Tears prickle in his eyes and he doesn't bother to hold them back. Not now, not with Robin. They've both been crying on and off all week, even though Robin took it better than him.

"I know," he sobs, wrapping his arms around her even tighter as she lets herself be held because she knows that's what he needs. "I know, I know, I know. But I have to. I can't just... I can't just stop, Bee."

"I know," she sighs, climbing out of his hold eventually to wrap her arms around him in return as he cries into her shoulder.

The world (read: his Spotify playlist) makes it worse by playing Sum 41's With Me next, ripping out even the newly carved words.

Robin holds him for the rest of the night, even as he finally opens Eddie's message and types out a reply.

—I'll come!

And especially when there's a new message immediately.

—hot 🥵❤️

He leaves Eddie on read after that.

~*~

Saturday rolls around in a haze, and suddenly Steve finds himself looking at the front door of the little house Chrissy inherited after her mother passed a few years ago. It's a nice little house. Quaint. Perfect. Everything Steve could ever dream of, actually. And she deserves it. All of this and more.

There's noise coming from the garden, where people are laughing and having a great time. A happy time, celebrating their friends and all the good things in life that come with a love well placed.

God, what is he doing here? He can't do this. There is no way.

He's just about to pull out his phone and call Robin, tell her he's coming home, or ask her to tell him everything's gonna be alright, when–

"Steve!" Chrissy hurries towards him, throwing her arms around him in a tight, warm, perfect hug. God, he loves her so much. He melts right into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her middle to spin her around with a grin.

She giggles in delight and tells him to let her down again, which only makes him spin for another round, his grin turning into a genuine laugh.

"No, I hate you!" she laughs, but still doesn't step away from him when he puts her down again. Instead, she leans up and brushes a kiss to his cheek. "Hi, asshole."

"Hi."

He grins and takes her hands in his, just smiling at her for another moment before his eyes trail down to a ring he's never seen her wear before. Ah. Right.

"Oh shit! That it?"

"That's it," Chrissy says, looking down at her hand to look at the ring with a fond, happy little smile, her cheeks flushing red. It breaks Steve a little, but it also fixes something inside him to see her so truly, genuinely happy. "Pretty huh?"

"Very," Steve breathes, hiding the lump in his throat with a sound of awe.

Chrissy hugs him again for good measure and then takes his hand to drag him into the backyard the same way she just came out front, through a little gate off to the side instead of through the house.

Steve loves their backyard because it's always covered in sheerly endless colourful strings of light that are wrapped around decorative arches or poles, framing the back doors and the canopy swing set on the lawn, and just give it the most homey and comfortable atmosphere.

"Stevie!" Eddie exclaims immediately and jumps off from his chair, interrupting a conversation he's apparently been having with Argyle and Nancy to run up to him with such a giddy expression that Steve wants to cry. His heart leaps in his chest, coming back to life and saying one last goodbye at the same time.

"Hi," he says, hugging Eddie close before he can so much as think about what he's doing. But no matter how hurt he is, there will never be a world in which he won't want to hug Eddie Munson. "Sorry I'm late."

"No sorries, it's fine," Eddie murmurs into his neck, staying in the embrace endlessly, and Steve takes the chance to breathe him in. He smells so good. So, so good. It clogs his lungs and renders him unable to speak.

But who needs to speak when they have Eddie in their arms? Who needs to speak when all they have to do is never let go?

Eddie squeezes him a little tighter, and Steve wants to cry. He slowly, gently pushes away from the hug and turns towards the other guests, greeting them with a grin, a hug, or a handshake if they're not familiar.

When he gets to Wayne, the man eyes him with a look that Steve doesn't want to read too much, and his embrace is just a little longer, just a little stronger than usual.

“You look tired, son,” he says by way of greeting, and Steve can’t help but snort and shake his head a little.

“Good to see you again, too, old man.”

Wayne eyes him for one moment longer, then breaks into a small smile and pats Steve’s shoulder before stepping around him to go grab another drink.

After that, the night passes in a blur of talking to his friends, trying to understand what the hell it is that has Nancy and Argyle arguing so profusely, but with smiles on their faces. He fails. But it’s good to see them again, so he just basks in it for a while.

Or, he tries, because every second that he’s not talking or listening to someone, his eyes flick back to Eddie. Eddie, who’s lifting Chrissy from behind and smacking a loud, wet kiss to her neck, her jaw and her cheek, accompanied by her delighted squeals and laughter.

Eddie, who’s looking larger than life, a happy grin permanently plastered on his face as he reminds their guests that Chrissy was his bisexual awakening.

“I swear, she just swept me off my feet after years of thinking I was only into dudes. Knew I had to marry her, but man, I don’t know why she said yes.”

“I’m settling, honey,” Chrissy calls from the other end of the table they’re sitting around. “Only in it for that rockstar money and all.”

The whole table laughs at that.

“Hear, hear,” Eddie snorts, lifting his glass in a toast. Steve and the others lift theirs, too, even though Steve’s hand and arm and whole body feels numb and he’s not entirely sure he’s breathing.

A while later, he grabs a drink and retreats to the canopy swing, illuminated in the soft pink flow of the fairy lights wrapped around it. Eddie’s eyes land on him for a second and Steve thinks that he’ll come over and join him — but then one of Chrissy’s friends says something that distracts him and seemingly makes him fall into a monologue of sorts.

Steve watches, feeling only loss and longing as he does. Eddie is a force of nature. A spectacle. Something beautiful, something powerful, something secret that only a select few get to witness. To know. To appreciate.

Staring as he is, blind to the rest of the world, he startles a little when the swing jostles with another weight settling on it. He didn’t see Wayne coming to join him, and he’s not quite sure whether he should be grateful for the company or apprehensive of what the man who’s like a father to him might have to say.

“How are you doing, son?”

He frowns. “I’m alright.”

Wayne only hums, and Steve’s frown deepens. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him Wayne knows something. That he knows.

“Y’know,” he continues after a while, not looking at Steve but rather at his nephew and his fiancée. “I always figured it would be you.”

Steve crumbles. Yeah, me too, he wants to say, but that would be a lie. Watching the way Chrissy sits on Eddie’s lap with his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder as he tells her something that makes her laugh that cute, pretty, adorable laugh that Eddie then can’t help but join — that’s just something Steve would never compare to. Nothing he’d ever want to come in between.

Eddie and Chrissy are perfect. They’re happy. They fit, they match, they work. They worked so hard and treat each other so right.

They look giddy and serene at the same time, and it makes Steve’s eyes sting. Because he can never make Eddie look like that. He can never make Eddie look at him like that.

I always figured it would be you.

But he couldn’t. That bubbly kind of love, the sunshine kind of love. He knows that’s not for him. Steve’s too much for that. He would never be enough for Eddie — even if without Eddie, there’s nothing left of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wayne continues, unaware of Steve’s thought spiral. “I love that girl, I do. Always will. I think she’s too good for Eddie. Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds hastily, and Steve smiles through the tears that threaten to fall again.

“They’re perfect,” he rasps, laughing wetly as Chrissy starts chasing Eddie, who’s hiding behind a very distressed Argyle, who just wants his brochachos to chill!

Maybe it’s a laugh, maybe it’s a sob. He doesn’t have it in him to find out or care.

“They are. Doesn’t mean they’re right, son.”

Steve sighs and tears his eyes away from Eddie. “Wayne.”

“I know, I know.” He lifts his hands in defence. “Shutting up.” After a long pause of holding Steve’s eyes, he asks, “Will you be okay?”

No, he thinks immediately, the lump in his throat too big to say anything. So he just shrugs and swallows. “Sure.”

Maybe. Hardly. Probably not. Definitely not.

"No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me. You’ll always have a home with an open door with me, you hear me?"

"I’m not going anywhere, wayne," Steve says, though for the first time ever he doesn't really believe that. Maybe he needs to leave. To leave Eddie behind. Get over him. Cut out his heart and leave it here, run away to heal somewhere else, come back as a new person, or just stay away forever.

The thought makes a tear spill as an empty kind of desperation spreads it’s ugly wings inside his chest, and he's too frozen to wipe it away.

"You hear me?" Wayne repeats, gentler this time, but no less urgent for it.

"Yeah," steve rasps. "Thanks."

Another tear falls as Eddie gently pulls Chrissy closer to him and kisses her in the soft glow of the fairy lights above and around them. Their friends cheer. Steve wants to cry his heart out again.

“I—“ he swallows, wiping at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. I can’t do this, he wants to say. For the first time, that’s what he wants to say. “I think I’m gonna head home soon.”

“You bring your car?”

He shakes his head, feeling foggy and dazed and empty and endlessly, endlessly sad. “Was gonna, uh—“

“Let me drive you.” There’s no room for debate or argument there, and Steve wants to crumble again, but still he shakes his head.

“Wayne, no—“

“I’m taking you, son. Make sure you get home safe, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Don’t wanna keep your old man up all night, do ya?”

Steve concedes with a fond eye roll and a grateful smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They sit like that for another ten minutes — and if Steve leans into Wayne’s side a little, then that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

The car ride is quiet, but it feels weighted even as Wayne pretends not to see the way Steve keeps wiping at his cheeks as the silent tears keep falling, leaving him powerless to stop them.

I can’t do this, he keeps thinking over and over again.

“Just a little warning,” Wayne speaks up again as he pulls up to Steve’s building. “I think he’s going to ask you to be his best man, Stevie. Don’t do anything you’re not ready for, okay?”

I can’t do this.

He nods, numb again.

“I’ll do anything for him,” he breathes.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, yeah.”

He gets out of the car before he can find out what exactly Wayne means by that. The car stays where it is until the front door closes behind him, until he’s up in his bedroom and finds Robin already asleep.

Ten minutes later, he cuddles close to her and tries hard not to cry, but tonight’s memories have burned themselves into his mind. And he shouldn’t have gone. He knows. He knows.

I’ll do anything. I can’t do this. I’ll do anything. I can’t do this.

He can’t breathe, and Robin holds him through it, whispering sleepily to him as he cries himself to sleep, wishing for a world where he’s not absolutely and utterly in love with Eddie Munson, but failing to imagine one.

I’ll do anything. Anything but this.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen come back tomorrow for idk which prompt | read part 3 here

[saltofmercury]

Reunion

Pairing: König x f!reader

Author's note: This fic I think will be broken into three parts. There's so much I want to write but I also need to cut down!

Requested by @wikusiax0

Summary: König takes you to meet his family.

Part 2

"Reunion"

There’s a shaking at the other end of the couch.

His big knee jumps up and down rapidly, sending waves towards you. 

You’re used to it by now, calming his nerves about an upcoming mission. You put your hand on his leg, rubbing gently up and down.

The motion doesn’t stop however, prompting you–

“You’re sending a mini earthquake over here.”

He stops, smiling at you. The smile seems forced, showing the dimples carved into his cheeks. 

“Sorry schatz” he says absentmindedly. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to regulate the chaos that’s sending ripples of anxiety throughout his body. 

He starts to fiddle with his fingers.

First cracking them as he brings his knuckles into his other hand and bends, pulling each finger individually. He’s about to crack his first knuckle now, but you stop him.

“What’s going on? I can feel your anxiety.”

He pauses, his bottom lip being bitten by his teeth. You can see how his nostrils kind of flare. He opens his mouth to speak but he ends up laughing.

“It’s stupid really.”

He’s said this before, he’s said that he always gets nervous before a mission. Sometimes you’re not sure if he’s mistaken excitement for anxiety.

However, there's been a small doubt in his mind now that he won’t be as invincible as he once was because now there’s someone else in the picture. Someone who is waiting for him to come home.

You tilt your head, smiling at him, waiting for him to tell you.

“My uncle passed away.”

Your stomach drops, your eyes widen. 

“Oh my god why didn’t you say anything?

“This is exactly why. You get weird around death.” 

He pokes down at your leg.

This was a bit of an exaggeration. When you told him about how many childhood animals you found out really died and didn’t run away, it opened a floodgate of tears, him consoling you telling you that:

“It was a long time ago, things like this happen.”

It was embarrassing. It had now become something that he thought was triggering towards you.

He exhales, continuing,

“That’s not even the bad part. I hardly knew him and… well, he was hardly my uncle.” eyeing you carefully. 

It wasn’t an immediate family member. It was the person behind the funeral who insisted König should come home to pay his respects.

You stop for a second. Confusion clouds your mind, eyebrows shift from their place, you’re about to ask him what the big deal is if he hardly knew him, but he stops you.

“I…uh have to go to Austria.”

“Oh…”

From what he’s told you, it’s been years since he’s gone back. He never had a reason to go back.

His mom was divorced and traveling the world.

His relationship with his dad was never there, so he never put effort into it. 

His older brother, much like his dad, was kind of distant towards him. They had each other’s numbers and talked on the phone every other month.

It was sad, but it’s the way he liked to keep it. He told stories of his mom, enduring a relationship she never wanted but kept because she came from a broken family. 

She told him once he enlisted that she only stayed so that he wouldn’t be made fun of or looked down upon for having divorced parents. 

It was also something he didn’t like to talk about. 

He looked at you, bumping his knees together, waiting for an opportunity to bomb you with another surprise. 

“Maybe… I was wondering if you could go with me?”

“Me?”

“Yeah why not? We could vacation for a bit, have you meet my family.”

There it was. Something you had always wanted but knew you couldn’t get. 

If he was being honest, it had been long overdue —he had wanted you to meet his mom. He could get away with never meeting his dad or brother, but his mom was 100% the reason he wanted to bring you.

There were constant phone calls where she had heard your voice in the background but König had been changing the subject whenever she brought you up.

“I know you’re living together, I am a mother of modern times!”

König laughed, ignoring her and asking her what she did today.

“You can’t keep secrets from mama, at least introduce us on video, I won’t say anything embarrassing!”

“Mama… stop, in time you will meet.”

“In time? When? When I am in heaven?”

König laughed, there was nobody more impatient than his mother. 

“Okay,” you nodded your head at him. Biting your cheeks, excitement flowing through your body.

“A week at most, schatz, don’t worry.”

Exhaling, a wave of relief surrounds his body.

At least the hard part is halfway over.

*

Throughout the week you asked him questions about his family. At least now was the chance to really ask him, get something out of him. Your relationship was very open. You two did not keep things from another and had great trust in one another. There were touchy subjects as all relationships have, but his family was one of the touchiest. 

“So what’s your mom been doing lately?”

He looked over at you as he packed his black shirts. 

“She … uh… she’s been in Malaysia the last time I spoke to her. She said something about the tropical landscape.”

You nodded, asking if she was still with her boyfriend.

“I guess so, he’s the one who paid for the ticket.”

If he was being honest, he was weirded out that his mom had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who looked just like his dad, but had a softer personality.

You’ll never forget when he had been in his computer room, talking to them through FaceTime, about him spending the holidays in Austria just for a week, when all of a sudden, his mom’s boyfriend called him “son.”

König practically tensed up, you heard it in his voice, his tone had pitched, as he excused himself in English and not German.

You saw his shoulders tense up, along with the face in the monitor scrunch up as he tried to excuse himself again, saying you called over to him.

As he left the call, he bumped right into you, laughing at how weird he got.

“He called me son?! What the fuck!” His face turned red, he shut his eyes, scrunched his nose as if he had tasted something bitter, trying to get the aftertaste out of his mouth.

“He’s just being nice, he loves your mom.”

“Yes but he is not my dad!”

“It’s a term of endearment Konig.”

“Well he can keep it!”

You kept pressing for information.

“What about your brother? Any news about him?”

He eyed you again, knowing exactly what you were doing. 

“Yeah, he called me yesterday, still painting. Still living with my dad.”

You bit the bullet and asked.

“How’s your dad going to feel about us going there in two days?”

He smirked for a second, his tongue licked his lips as his face contorted to being serious. 

“It doesn’t matter because we probably won’t see him. It was my mother’s best friend, my father won’t make an appearance.”

“Oh…”

If you were being honest, his dad and brother were the intimidating ones. You were glad that at least you were going to meet the important person in his life and not the ones who had scared him, and intimidated him.

He closes the luggage and sits on the bed.

“You don’t have to worry. It will be my mom and her boyfriend. This vacation should be simple.”

He traces along the end of the bed, sighing, grabs your hand.

“I know it must be intimidating but I’m really happy you’re coming.”

You smile down at him, adjusting yourself into his lap. He pulls you in, kissing you and falling back onto the bed. He adjusts himself on top of you, kicking the luggage down on the floor.

“I can… show you my favorite bakery, my old school, the nice little pond where my uncle took me sometimes.” He kisses down your neck, pinning your hands above your head.

“You can meet my mom and tell her how much you love me.”

You laugh, sliding your hands from his grasp to his face.

“I’ve been wanting to tell her since forever but you kept delaying our meeting.”

A quick peck to your lips, he sits up.

“Ok go ahead and ask what you want. It’s better to know now then go in blindly.”

You’re quick to ask about his uncle.

“Well, I only call him my uncle because he was my mother’s best friend growing up.”

He eyes you again, trying not to get sentimental.

“He knew my mom first, so he stood by her, often giving her money when she needed it. Giving her a room in his house when things got sketchy after I left.”

“Uncle Elias was friends with both my mom and dad, so he knew a lot about the troubles they had in their marriage from both points of view and he played devil’s advocate for a lot of their fights.” 

“It wasn’t until one day that my dad had threatened him to not house my mom or else he would tell his family his true secret… that Elias was gay.”

“I guess my dad has always been an asshole because Elias ended up coming out to his family not on his own terms, but they didn’t care, but he never was the same with my dad anymore.”

“I think part of me does want to go, because uncle Elias was such a good friend to my mom, and an even greater uncle to me, however, part of me hates that Elias still wanted to maintain a friendship with my dad.”

Your eyes meet, and he closes his hand around yours. 

“And part of me, regrets bringing you when Elias isn’t even around anymore.”

You bite your bottom lip, nodding slowly.

"It's okay, I've never wanted to rush you."

He looks up at you, forcing a smile.

"Come on, let's finish packing. You'll understand later."

You continue to roll your jeans into your luggage on the floor.

There was just so much more you wanted to ask him, but figured it would be best seeing it in person.

[dyns33]

Only wastelands part 2

Here's part 2 of my Cooper Howard x Reader ! I think it will be a story in 4 parts at the end, but I'm not sure yet.

Tags : @one-of-thewalkingdead @coolrobloxkid28 @thebumbqueen @rachmari @ilyvia @justme12200 @honeybunhottie @savanahc @gobbodoggo @bisasterbisexual @killingboredom @bonafideyapper @i-simp-for-mha-men @pixelatedprofilepic @ultimatreality @chattersstuff @harmfulb1tch @hellolettuce444 @miketastic25

If Y/N had to pay Cooper one compliment, it was that he had been a very good teacher.

Months passed, years, and she survived the apocalypse perfectly on her own.

To avoid trouble, she hid her pitboy and her gender under a large coat and a Ranger mask. Some people made fun of her, thinking she was doing this to protect herself from radiation. Everyone knew that West Tek's hardware, or any of Vault's partners, was crap.

Y/N knew it, and that was why she always had Radaway on her. Not at all in case she saw Cooper again and he needed some.

Three years without any news, doing everything to avoid attracting attention, and she hardly thought about him at all.

If she sometimes looked at the photo of him before his turning, with little Janey, it was only to remember that she should trust no one in this rotten world. Never again, she repeated to herself.

It was with this spirit that she almost killed Lucy when the young woman fell on her. Literally.

Y/N was standing in a crater, calm, silent, holding her sniper tightly, ready to shoot her future dinner, when the little vaultie had jumped to escape a yao guai.

Her instinct not being often wrong, she knew that it was more urgent to kill the bear than the imbecile who had thought that surprising a shooter was less dangerous than confronting a beast.

Even though she had a gun, was covered in blood, and one of her fingers was a different color, little Vault dweler looked harmless with her big, naive doe eyes.

It was obvious that she had been outside for a short time. A true miracle that she is still alive.

"Thank you, thank you very much !" she repeated with a huge smile, as if Y/N wasn't pointing her sniper at her. "You don't know the week I just had ! My father was kidnapped, I wanted to save him, but I discovered that he was a murderer who had bombed a city, and all the people I met tried to kill me, and…"

"Hey. I don't remember asking you to tell me about your life, vaultie."

"Oh, sorry ! It's just that I got lost. I was with someone heading to a place called New Vegas, but a big monster pulled him into a hole, then this thing attacked me. You seem nice, and I could use some help…"

"No."

“Wait. But wait !” the girl begged, following her as she went to carve the yao guai. Not the best meat, but she had just wasted five bullets for that, and the noise had either scared away the easy preys or attracted the attention of the dangerous ones.

Y/N vacillated between ignoring Lucy and threatening her, asking her to leave, but after exchanging names, the vaultie seemed to have decided that they were now best friends and should stay together.

No doubt taking her savior's silence as an invitation, she continued to talk about what had happened to her, between her meeting with a man named Maximus, and the inhumane treatment she had suffered at the hands of a mercenary.

Completely incoherent, she ended her story by explaining that she had abandoned her potential boyfriend to go on an adventure next to the guy who tortured her, with the aim of finding her dad and discovering who had destroyed the entire planet.

It was quite funny, because Lucy reminded her a bit of herself before. Y/N wondered if Cooper had seen her like that when they met, a lost and stupid thing.

At the same time, the girl's reasons for living were the same as the Ghoul. Find a family member and take revenge on Vault. Amusing. Maybe they would be very happy together.

If we forgot the fact that Lucy thought that no one should be killed, that everyone was nice, and mutual help was a fundamental notion, to start again. Ugh.

"So, some free advice, if you want to avoid having your tongue cut out, remember that it is not a good idea for a little vaultie who grew up in a palace to give big moral lessons to people who have been doing what they can to avoid dying for years, sometimes centuries."

"Why do you call me that ? You come from a vault too, right ? My pitboy picked up yours."

"Hang on. I am a victim of the cruelty of politicians and businessmen, betrayed by my own country and only alive by luck, or bad luck. You are a little vaultie. Now get away before I strangle you."

Lucy continued to follow her. And Y/N could have killed her, she really could have. This wasn't her first rodeo. She had killed a lot of people for less than that. But she didn't really want to.

Maybe she had been alone for too long. Maybe she felt sorry for this girl, like Cooper had felt sorry for her.

A deal was found. If Lucy could keep her mouth shut, then Y/N would help her find her friends so she could resume her main quest. Their paths would then part ways, and everyone would be happy.

Especially Y/N.

Because if she often talked about her dear Max, the little vaultie didn't seem so eager to find her survival partner. This was understandable, since he had tried to kill her several times, shooting her, cutting off her finger, using her as bait, and selling her.

Compared to this guy, Y/N was a saint, an angel from heaven, the perfect friend. When she offered the girl a bottle of non-irradiated water, she seemed about to ask her to marry her.

“You must be the only person in all the wastelands with good water !”

"It doesn't come cheap. But… I made a promise."

“My lovely traveling companion forced me to drink disgusting water and eat a man.”

"Charming."

Even though she seemed sweet and pure, Y/N continued to be wary of Lucy, sleeping with only one eye open and waiting for the moment when she would try to stab her in the back. First rule, don't trust anyone.

It had happened before. Never again.

Even after three years, the wound was still raw.

It was only when she saw the fear and regret in Lucy's eyes that Y/N restrained her action, yet ready to plant her blade the moment she had shown her the photo, taken out of her bag, asking her if it was her family.

Cooper hadn't been her family. He had been an asshole, who had manipulated her, who had made her believe that he loved her, and that she could love him, before abandoning her like a dog on the side of the road.

"Be careful with this Maximus. Men never change. He will take what he wants from you, and you will be hurt."

“He’s not like that.”

"I didn't think Coop was like that !" she shouted, really getting angry for the first time at Lucy, who jumped. "Yes, I loved him ! I trusted him ! It was stupid of me and I will never make that mistake again ! I hope he died in a hole, alone and in pain !"

"… Can I throw the photo away then ?"

“Give that back !” Y/N said quickly, snatching the only souvenir he had left from her hands and putting it safely in her pocket.

Lucy's sad smile indicated that she wouldn't have destroyed the photo. How sorry she was, for having gone through her things, and for having caused her pain by forcing her to talk about this man who had been so important. Also that she was happy, to see that despite her speeches, Y/N still cared for someone, even if she didn't want to.

She had never told anyone about it. It had been a long time since she had said his name, except when she woke up from a nightmare, in the middle of nowhere, calling for him like a child.

Lucy continued to smile, because for her, there must be another explanation for her precious Coop's behavior. She continued to call him Coop, even after Y/N threatened to make her eat her rotten finger.

"I know you don't like talking about him…"

“If you know that, shut up.” Y/N muttered as she continued walking towards New Vegas, trying to ignore the stream of words from the stupid vaultie, bingeing on romance novels and patriotic films.

"From the few things you agreed to share, Coop cared about you. He protected you, he taught you to defend yourself, he gave you a picture of his daughter. For me, this are proofs of love. Actions speak louder than words."

“He promised to come get me and I’m still waiting.”

"Wrong ! You left, you know how to hide perfectly, and you do everything to avoid him ! So, maybe he's been chasing you all this time and you don't know."

"What I do know is that the main clause of our deal was that you would stop talking so much, especially if it was to give such ridiculous and inappropriate advices."

They finally arrived at their destination after several weeks of walking. No sign of Lucy's friend on the way though. Perhaps he had died, or had not continued on his own.

It was clear that he wanted to use the daughter of vault 33 overseer to achieve his ends, and now that he had lost her, there was no point.

The city amazed the girl. It was the first real city she discovered, instead of those piles of ruins full of dust and vermin that were found in the four corners of the wastelands.

Her enthusiasm almost made Y/N laugh. A bit like how she had often made Cooper laugh without meaning to.

Damn, she needed to stop thinking about that bastard so often. Her mother was always saying that we manifest things through emotions and thoughts.

Her poor mother, long dead, but who had always been right.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, Y/N was crouched behind a wooden crate, watching Cooper Howard, fucking Cooper Howard, sitting near the casino, seemingly waiting for someone.

Seeing her, Lucy began to ask her what she was doing, her gaze following hers, and then the reaction was strange. Everything about this girl was strange anyway.

She started to smile.

Worse, she waved an arm at the Ghoul in greeting, opening her mouth to get his attention as she realized it wasn't enough, his cowboy hat falling over his face.

Y/N quickly grabbed her arm to pull her towards her, asking her what she was playing.

"It's the mean bounty hunter who accompanies me !" she replied happily, as if everything was normal.

For a moment, Y/N wondered if Lucy was making fun of her. If from the start, this was just a horrible joke against her, the continuation of a torture started in this seedy bar.

Then she told herself that if someone made fun of her, it was just fate.

Because she remembered that she had only described Cooper, continuing not to have any particular interest in his condition as a ghoul, and with her goodness as a jug, Lucy had not wanted to reduce him to his appearance either.

The difference was that he didn't give his name to his new pet.

“I knew you were an idiot, but not that much.”

"What ? Why ?" Lucy wondered, slightly offended and trying to free herself.

"You can't trust him. You already know that, why do you want to go back with him ? Look… I can help you find your father, okay ? Find Max. Whatever you want, but let's avoid this bastard and let's leave quickly."

"Golden rule. We said we would wait near the casino, he's there, I'm not leaving him."

With this serious look, the vault dweler would almost have looked frightening. Almost. It was mainly because it was obvious that it was impossible to reason with her that Y/N let her go, not waiting for her tirade about great friendship and the need to stay together to run as far as possible.

If Cooper noticed them, she didn't give him time to really see her, nor to catch up with her or shoot her.

Y/N didn’t turn around to check. Not because she was afraid of him chasing her. But because she was afraid that not only would he not pursue her, but she would also see him with Lucy.

Because even though he had tortured her, insulted her, threatened her… He was in front of the fucking casino waiting for this girl. And it really hurt.

[snickerdoodlles]

No wonder this show became a hit. They really asked "you know what's better than one guy forced to give up something that it would break him to lose?" and gave us a whole bunch in different color shirts and said "Enjoy! :D"

(x, x)

right!!!! one of my favorite things about kinnporsche is how the show's like "here's some sexy mafia guys" except it's a TRICK, all the boys are at their sexy best when they're loving and domestic and caring for each other and get traumatized any time they actually act mafia. this show has its messy moments and goodness knows how their world works sometimes, but the writers had the most correct priorities when it comes to the emotional beats of the story.

Khun: the emotional journey of a deeply traumatized guy where we only see him in the aftermath, desperately clawing his way back to some sense of normality. how absolutely tender ep3 was with Porsche taking him to a new space, gently holding Khun's hand and asking him to stay with him and trust that he'll keep him safe, and he does, and we see Khun grow into a fiercer protector who can chase after the people he cares about past his walls and defend his home when its security is compromised.

Kinn: he wasn't a cold mafia boss softened by love, he was always a bleeding heart who's kindness was mercilessly beaten out of him. he falls in love so fast and so hard and it's so good watching his past traumas rear their ugly heads but him letting go of his old ghosts and clawing his way past them anyways, because he so desperately wants love and wants to love. and like? what a baller move that is for his character? he's a mafia boss, and a merciless one at that, but he also wants to be soft and cute and a good brother and boyfriend and all his people safe while living in and facilitating his violent and blood soaked world. the wonderful contradiction you are Kinn <333

Kim: the boy who tries to sacrifice everything for his and their greater happiness except it just makes him all the more miserable because this show really said there is no glory in what you give up or destroy, only what you shelter and protect. he's a self-saboteur but you can't help but root for him all the more because of it. he's just so scared to care, of that being used to trap him or anyone else, yet he's falling face first into his own schemes because he loves so much and so deep.

and just. Porsche, carving himself to pieces trying not to lose anything. Chay, who will twist himself into knots trying to hold everything he sacrificed for. Vegas, who tries to drive everything away before it can abandon him and shattering when it goes. Pete, who repressed and ignored all his wants and discontent until it shattered him.

i just. i love these boys. i'm obsessed with these boys. kp had a lot of balls to juggle and a bananas premise to do it in, but they nailed all the big emotions so good, i'm still mashing potatoes over them two years later.

[not-terezi-pyrope]

There's a recurring issue that keeps happening in fantasy discourse that keeps happening to creators where including monsters in your worldbuilding gets distorted into a sort of fascist intent as people get gradually lore desensitised to said monsters and they become more and more a "mundane" or "natural" part of the fictional world in people's minds.

Here's how it works, from my observation.

The monster, as a concept, is an ancient mainstay of all fiction as it is a mainstay of the human psyche, representing primal fears and the abstract (unrealistic!) horror of the other. It has carved out an important role in media as an element that is broadly understood to be a thrilling antagonistic force that is removed from anything in the real world.

An author wants to write a story about heroes who regularly encounter and fight multiple monsters, because this is mechanically important for the type of media or narrative (maybe a video game world needs many creatures to fight, the high fantasy protagonist needs a "monster force" to threaten the world, the ghost hunter type hero needs various ghosts and ghouls to fight off each week.

The story gets released into the world and people become used to the monsters existing, to the extent that they begin to lose the narrative lens of the monster in their minds. They begin to treat the otherworldly monster as an element of the world, and then the idea of the monster as a purely antagonistic or evil force begins to sound absurd, as it is for any type of being in the real world, especially if the monster is intelligent. People get interested in subverting these elements of the monster, and derivative works including the type of monster begin to explore stories in which the monsters are actually neutral/good, but misunderstood, actors, due to their monstrous appearance or similar.

This interpretation of the monster as another kind of person, or benign animal, becomes widespread, with the monster solidified as a concrete part of the world in a way that is divorced from their conception as an unrealistic, otherworldly threat.

People look back at the original source work, and go, "hey! Why was the author so intent on displaying this group of creature as inherently gruesome and evil? This sounds like fascism!" And it makes sense why they think that, except that they have forgotten that said author was writing about a type of monster instead of an analogy for a human group or race. As such, with enough time and reinterpretation, people can find grounds to accuse authors of fascism for the crime of merely writing about monsters, which kind of sucks as a thing to do, in my opinion.

I think the Tolkien/D&D style Orc is the prototypical example of this, although there are many others, really it happens to some extent with any sort of "monster species" where there is more than one horror creature in your world. This is not to say that you can't interrogate issues with how certain monsters are portrayed - why evil orcs are portrayed with darker skin colours sometimes, for example, or... Pretty much everything going on with a lot of goblin-esque creatures, but I think it's important to remember that this is a different sort of criticism from, for instance, "Tolkien and the D&D people believe that certain types of being are inherent evil and need to be wiped out".

Because we can't forget that they were not writing a real type of person or creature, but a type of monster, and monsters are understood to be an unrealistic, otherworldly narrative contrivance. You have problems making them fit into the real world with a just mindset because they do not exist in the real world, they exist as monsters, and were written with this understanding that there is a common understanding of what that means and how it should be understood.

I feel like people need to keep that in mind in their analysis, else pretty much any creative can be smeared retrospectively for writing about monsters whatsoever. I think monsters are pretty cool in fiction and important to the human psyche, and think that they have a crucial place, as long as we remember the lens through which they should be considered in their conception, which is inherently outside of material reality.

That's also not to say we shouldn't subvert and interrogate and adapt monster tropes either, but doing so doesn't mean throwing out the original ideas as having gone rotten.

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

A How-To Guide to Ask Your Girlfriend to Marry You: Advice from Carey Fangbattle

The first step to this is to get a girlfriend. This may sound daunting, but it is doable! You might look back on your past attempts in this arena and cringe; it’s easy enough to say do not cringe, kill the thing that cringes. It’s another story when confronting yourself with the veritable trauma-trove of stinkers you shackled yourself with in the past. Breathe. Ask the cool girl at work to come spar with you. At best, it’s the perfect kindling for some nice sexual tension. At worst, you’re still sparring (and when you’re good at being hard to hit, it’s nice to have a challenge). 

Taking it slow is cool! You can keep sparring and hitting the gym and become increasingly obvious that you want to maybe go for coffee sometime. And then, while out for coffee, if you suddenly remember you don't drink coffee, DO NOT PANIC. Tea is cool. You ever tried a Faerun Fog? It's like a latte but with tea. It's fine.

You can also try inviting her back to your place to watch a movie. Be sure to place the bowl of popcorn in such a way that would make accidental hand brushes inevitable. 

Keep dropping hints that you're gay. Maybe she didn't notice. 

Repeat substeps 1-3.

Get assigned to go on a work trip with her now that the flirtation has really ensued. Find the shittiest, draftiest tavern you can (there's not a lot of money in the job). Now, you might be asking: how many beds were there? And the answer is two, but don't despair! Because if you're cold-blooded, eventually she's going to get tired of your teeth chattering and will invite you to share her bed anyway! 

Wake up in her arms. Super platonic like. 

Oh, that actually worked? You now have a girlfriend? Great job! Never doubted you for a moment! 

Now, you can go on some more dates! Have you tried the new wine and pottery place? It seems pretty cool.

Avoid your coworker at said wine and pottery place

Let her know that the whole being a reptile thing does make certain things different but! it's cool and fine and doesn’t take very much getting used to.

She's very enthusiastic and a quick learner. Lucky you.

This next step is also vital, sorry. You have to befriend this absolute himbo of a man. Neither of you consciously make an effort, you're just drawn together.

Hmm, politely turn him down after he hits on you.

Shit, that's not at all what was happening, cool cool cool. 

He's cool about it though. And he has skills! And he wants to learn your skills!!

Have a heart to heart conversation with your girlfriend. This will happen organically after a long day at work. You're both going to be exhausted in every sense of the word. After all, you just had to attend the funeral of a friend. 

She'll tell you she had wanted to use a powerful magic item while on a mission a while back.

Recall that the terms of your employment require that you apprehend or kill members of your organization tempted to do just that. 

Be so brave and not cry about what this could mean for you both one day.

…cry a little

Decide you want to marry this woman.

Drop the hint to your best friend that you want to marry this woman.

Your best friend will carve a beautiful ring for your (hopefully) future fiancé.

Keep the ring in your pocket. 

Try to figure out when to pop the question.

Watch the color fade from the world.

Lose your best friend.

Mourn him.

Discover your best friend was an alien from another plane of existence.

Discover that he didn't actually die.

Asshole, who keeps that kind of thing from a best friend!

Nearly lose the love of your life in the fray of battle.

Lose your shit.

Survive the apocalypse.

Mourn your friends.

And finally, when the dust has settled and you're finally back together in your bed, wince when you realize the ring box is digging into your hip. 

Shift your weight and be weird for a minute 

She's going to laugh a little. This is good. She loves you, after all. 

Forget every single romantic notion you've ever come up with and tell her instead that you'd like to spend every near-apocalypse with her for as long as you both shall live.

She'll say yes, yes, ten thousand times yes.

She'll cry. 

You'll cry. 

And now you're engaged!

Start planning the wedding. 

…Good luck

[good-soupmens]

Ik the good omens fandom has different takes on God as a character, but I like the idea that she DOES have an ineffable plan, and Heaven is doing their absolute worst job carrying it out.

Most angels never talk to God, and they're usually selfish, they don't do the right thing (only what they're told), and it's even possible they're working under a corrupt power (like the Metatron). I like that theory because Metatron IS the barrier between God and the angels. He could easily lie to them and change plans, and we the audience know that "friendly old man metatron" swindling Aziraphale is not what he seems.

But from the beginning, we see inconsistency. Crowley falls from heaven after asking questions/hanging out with the wrong group while Aziraphale is allowed to lie about the flaming sword and change Heaven's plans. God can see how much he cares about humans and the earth by his actions (Crowley being the same), which makes me think that him getting away with it is intentional, not inconsistent or neglectful. ESPECIALLY if Aziraphale and Crowley run heaven and hell respectively in season 3. They have the power to change things, just like they stopped the world from ending the first time. I think Crowley and Aziraphale ARE the ineffable plan.

Their love could bridge the gap between opposing forces in a way that it couldn't if they were both angels. After all, both heaven and hell think they're doing the better thing while they're both not. Crowley and Aziraphale are the best of both sides.

If bringing them together was God's plan, it'd be a powerful story for queer Christians!! A lot of us have been hurt by the church, but we hold on to God's love, which doesn't fail us. We stay in a religion with a history of fighting queerness not because we're all brainwashed, but because we wholeheartedly believe in a God that loves us. Sometimes I see good omens' heaven as an analogy for toxic churches, and I'd love nothing more than for Aziraphale to realize heaven is working against God. Not to mention God using a gay couple to save the world/save heaven from corruption?? I'd kill for that storyline

Secondly, Aziraphale's devotion wouldn't have been for nothing. If God was awful the whole time, it defeats the times he and Crowley reached out, and the moment in the GOs1 finale where Crowley says, "what if you're going AGAINST God's ineffable plan?" to Gabriel and Beelzebub. (It'd almost defeat the purpose of her being the quirky narrator following their story, too.)

Even Crowley, never fooled by "heaven is all good" calls for God in his time of need ("God listening? Show me an ineffable plan.") (Possibly when he reaches to the sky in order to stop time) (Calling for God before Satan in the burning bookshop) (Looking up and muttering "God" after realizing Aziraphale is going to leave him in s2)

Lastly, after the trauma that both Crowley and Aziraphale went through, with Crowley falling and Aziraphale coming to terms with heaven's corruption (and both being mistreated by their side) it'd be nice to have been for a reason. They have every right to grieve and be angry for all that they went through, and the centuries that they weren't supposed to love each other, but I believe the series will end on a positive, sweet note, like the rainbow after a storm.

Like Job, they're losing almost everything (their relationship as it was, the bookshop, and the life they carved out), but they have each other. I think they'll lose everything to save EVERYONE, and in the end, the reward will top the pain. No holding back, no forces hunting them down, just them together after a PAINFULLY long time with everything they'd wanted.

We know that God doesn't get around to answering many questions, but her speech to Job was in part to say "trust me"

She laid the foundations of the earth. She made every living thing. Job couldn't see past the destruction of his life, but she has a plan. Job is a valuable human being, but he doesn't have the power and knowledge of God. God will share her plan when he can make a whale. Otherwise, he can trust that "Most things are fine in the end"

*Aziraphale voice* That's ineffable!

[604to647]

Safest with You - Ch. 15 (The BBQ)

7K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: You and Din attend a very special Fett Family BBQ hosted by the Damerons and you grow closer to the clan.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). F!oral, semi public car sex, unprotected PiV, rough-ish sex, established relationship, pet names as usual (pretty bird, baby, etc.), light daddy kink (really just a nickname).

A/N: Din's back! This is mainly a world building chapter with some heat at the end 🤭; it's not perfect but I wanted to put it out and get back into the groove of this story again. Thank you to everyone who waited patiently while I took a little posting break for this series. I missed them a lot and hope you're ready to jump back in it with me!

Series Masterlist

“Do you think we should have brought anything else?”

“One item should be good, pretty bird.  Lisa always makes too much food anyways,” says Din, looking down at the casserole dish full of garlic knots that you’re holding.

“Okay.  I just always feel like more food is better than less food,” you say, unsure.

“I think that's enough garlic knots to feed an army, sweetheart.”

“But Mayfeld asked for them!”

Din stops you at the end of the walkway leading up to the Dameron house and plants a soft kiss to your lips, “Thank you for feeding Miggs, baby.  If his mouth is full of your garlic knots, then we don’t have to hear him talk as much.”

“Din!”

He laughs and takes your hand as you head up to the front of the house, “Come on, admit it.  Mayfeld is your least favourite Mando.”

“He is not!” you’re scandalized by the accusation.

“Okay... who is your least favourite Mando then?”

Looking at Din with a look of mock annoyance, you jest, “Sometimes, it’s YOU.”  You swerve the hand that drops yours in an attempt to at swat of your bum. 

Letting yourselves in through the front door, you follow the chorus of voices to the kitchen; spinning as you walk through the foyer, you take in the splendor of the Dameron residence.  Not sure what you expected the house of an heir to a mob empire to look like, but you suppose this is as close to anything you might have imagined.  The house is fairly grand and seems to boast an inordinate number of chandeliers; dark carved wood and marble line the floors and walls - it looks like a good place to set a live action game of Clue.  When you round the corner to the kitchen, you’re struck by two things:

1) Din was right, Lisa made too much food.  Nearly all the counter top space is covered with plates and platters filled with meats, salads, breads, pastas.  You count eight charcuterie boards – they might be delineated by cheese region.  There are warming trays that have their bright blue butane flames lit underneath, already full of steaming dishes.  The breakfast nook seems to have been converted into some kind of dessert station with a 3-tiered buttercream iced cake at its centre.

2) Poe is being yelled at.

Din leans over to whisper in your ear, “Yes, it’s always like this.”

Poe spies you and Din and must decide that this is the distraction he’s been waiting for, because he gestures at his wife to turn around and welcome her guests.  You meet Lisa halfway, somewhere between the cocktail shrimp and the gazpacho; after hugging you and taking the garlic knots off your hands, she sighs and asks, dejectedly, “You wouldn’t happen to have Caesar salad dressing in your purse, would you?”

“Not today, sorry,” you quip.

“We can use another dressing!” Poe is holding his head in his hands.

“No,” grits Lisa through her teeth, “we cannot. It was requested.”

She says the last word with heavy emphasis; you take it that Poe was supposed to procure the Caesar salad dressing.  Din looks at you with an expression somewhere between amusement and a grimace, then mime points at the empty plates before giving Lisa a friendly squeeze of the shoulder.

Not letting him escape quite so easily, Lisa directs her question at Din but keeps her eyes fixed upon her husband, “Din.  Please remind Poe how very important it is that we accommodate the literal one food request that our very special guests made for today’s BBQ?”

Oh.  That’s why the Caesar salad is a big deal.  Although, you’ve been told, Fett family BBQs are a regular festive occurrence, this particular iteration was going to be more than the usual casual get-together.  Din had already given you the heads up that a few members of the Pyke Syndicate would be in attendance tonight and for a very special reason: Boba’s niece (by which sibling, you embarrassingly could not recall.  Boba seems to have a lot of siblings) had gotten herself engaged to Rikard Pyke, son of the head of the Syndicate.  It could have all been very Montague and Capulet-esque, except that young folks tend to more pragmatic than their elders gave them credit for; there was no secret relationship or ignoring the realities of their families – the happy couple openly announced their decision to date years ago after connecting at some unsuspecting mutual friend’s birthday party and had been inseparable ever since.  They weathered all of their respective families’ strong attempts to discourage the relationship, some deeming it impractical if not downright dangerous, with grace and unwavering resolve.  Cassandra and Rikard simply ignored all the naysayers and family politics and proceeded as two people in love would under normal, non-mob related circumstances:  they courted, they moved together, they intended to marry.  Tonight would be your first time meeting them, but you’re already predisposed to liking them.  Everyone in both families seemed to love them quite well and Din’s opinion was that they seem to be very much in love, a nice couple indeed.  “Rikard has a good head on his shoulders.  Seems like a good kid,” he had said.  When you chucked that he said it as if he hadn’t done a deep background check on the poor kid, Din had simply shrugged, looking sheepish.  The happy couple, however, were not the special guests to which Lisa was referring. 

In an effort to support the engaged couple, the Fetts and Pykes have been playing nice, knowing (and perhaps in some cases, resigned to the idea) that their families were soon to be connected by marriage.  You’ve been told that tonight, a few members of the Pyke Syndicate would be attending the BBQ as Cassandra and Boba’s special guests.  An extension of trust, a gesture of good faith, a coming together of brethren.  And apparently, they wanted Caesar salad.

Din attempts to hand Lisa an empty plate, perhaps to encourage her to eat as a distraction, but Poe quickly snatches it out of Din’s hand, likely afraid of Lisa throwing it at his head.  It’s not often you side with Poe, but you think he might be on to something.  “Does it have to be a specific type of Caesar dressing?” you ask Lisa, drawing her attention away from Poe.

“No,” she sighs, “they just asked for Caesar salad.  I would make one but I don’t have all the ingredients.”

“I can make a simplified Caesar vinaigrette? We can even make it a little spicy if you want,” you offer; it’s actually a fairly easy recipe - people who have tasted it always marvel that it doesn’t contain any anchovies, “Why don’t I make a batch?  You can taste it and see if it works?”

Lisa looks torn between wanting to kiss you and not wanting to let her husband off the hook so easily, but eventually the need to get things done wins out.  When Lisa turns to the fridge to get you the parmesan and elephant garlic you ask for, Poe mouths ‘I love you’ at you before escaping out the back door.  Din brings you a glass of wine before leaving with his own tower of food. 

You make quick work of the dressing, all while listening to Lisa vent about her husband’s inability to remember the simplest tasks; you nod at her sympathetically which seems to calm her down significantly, “Oh, I’m so sorry for venting.  I’m just so stressed out!  This barbeque has to go well!  The wedding is in a few short months and there is still so much I have to do!”

“You’re planning the wedding?” you ask, somewhat shocked.

Lisa nods, “I have help, of course, but Boba and Rikard’s dad, Lom, decided that it might be easier to keep the peace if someone other than the parents or higher-ups was in charge of the planning.  Someone more neutral,” she rolls her eyes, “You know, if you had started dating Din a few months earlier, it might have been you!”

You both giggle uncontrollably at this. 

Lisa is giving your vinaigrette the thumbs up when Fennec comes in, carrying a little white pit bull in her arms.  Lisa looks like she wants to say something about dogs in her kitchen, but thinks the better of it; you, on the other hand, greet Fennec warmly and Mochi with scritches and kisses. 

“Everything okay in here?” asks Fennec, “The Mods say that the Pykes are about 25 minutes away.”

You grin at the mention of the Mods.  While you haven’t met any of Fennec’s personal team of spies yet, you’re terribly curious about them.  Where the Mandos handled physical security, which could sometimes include on-site surveillance and reconnaissance, the Mods were straight up digital sleuths; they could dig up online dirt on anyone and no one has ever been beyond their digital reach. Apparently able to hack into even the most secure systems, they never failed to locate and capture footage of even the most elusive of targets.  You once wondered if Fennec had them dig up info on you; it was probably their most boring assignment to date if she had.

Their stealthy online behaviour unmatched, the Mods were just as elusive in the real world, often hiding in plain sight and doing their jobs expertly, unnoticed by the crowds.  You’re not sure how they managed to blend in so well given that they were all supposedly gorgeous and impossibly stylish – which is how they had come to be nicknamed The Mods (short for “The Models”); a fun fact you learned when you asked if the name was somehow a play on the Mando moniker.  Your hysterical guess of “The Mondos?” had earned you a tickle attack from Din that took your sides the better part of an hour to recover from.  Nevertheless, they had all been at Boba’s birthday and you can’t say you noticed any of them; though perhaps with everyone at that party having been dressed up to the nines, you had a lesser chance than usual of spotting a Mod.  You’re going to be on the look out again tonight.

“Everything is perfect!” beams Lisa, spearing a few dressed romaine leaves and a crouton on a fork and holding it out to Fennec.  You giggle as you watch Mochi try to lap at the fork with his little tongue; booping him on his little nose to distract him while Fennec eats, you coo, “You can’t have that, Mochi – it has too much garlic.”

Fennec makes noises of approval as she chews, “Good.  Everyone is on high alert, but once our guests eat and get comfortable, hopefully things will relax.”

With Lisa satisfied, the three of you make up your plates to head out and join the others in the backyard.  Just before opening the backdoor, Fennec turns and shrugs at you, “Oh.  Mayfeld saw Din and asked about… garlic knots?”

You giggle while Lisa rolls her eyes.  “No problem,” you grab the dish with your free hand and Lisa holds the door open for you and her to join the lively scene together.  The backyard is huge – the stairs from the deck descend to a large patio area, currently home to several L-shape formations of patio furniture, one of which is arranged around a fancy gas fire pit.  Several barbeques sit on the border of the patio and lawn, heat waves and smoke emanating from the food being grilled; Brian and Poe currently doing their best grill master impressions.  The expansive rolling lawn is littered with tables and chairs, ending only where you can see a pool filled with laughing and splashing children.  The entire backyard is bordered by a beautiful flower garden that wafts a sweet, sticky floral scent atop the aroma of cooked food.  There are dogs everywhere and you wish you had brought Al.

It's around one of the tables on the lawn that you find Din sitting with Boba and some Mandos, talking probably in a manner probably more serious than you would expect for a BBQ, but that doesn’t stop him from pulling you into his lap when you approach and encouraging you to stay and eat with a squeeze of your waist.  You hand the dish of garlic knots to Mayfeld who is already making the grabby hands gesture at you; when he’s got a firm grip on the casserole dish, Paz reaches out and smacks him on the back of the head, without breaking from what he’s saying to Boba, “… Peli says she’s okay.  Had to talk her down from staying behind with a baseball bat though.  We got it patched up before coming over.”

You look wide eyed at Din, worried.  Paz sees your expression as well and with a nod from Boba, loops you in, “Just a little vandalism, Lil’ Lady.  Someone just broke the knob off the drycleaner’s front door so Peli thought she was trapped inside before remembering she has a back door too.”

Nodding, you try to make a face like you’re relieved it’s ‘just a little vandalism’, but that must have been scary for Peli.  You know about the flare up of these types of incidents and other similar skirmishes from Din, of course, but you’re mainly removed from it all except for what Din tells you.  But Peli’s is close.  You know her.  The low hum of something… something like escalation feels like it’s just around the corner. 

“Peli is okay, pretty bird.  Not letting her stay with a baseball bat is safer for everyone, really,” Din smiles gently at you.  You grin at the image of Peli brandishing a baseball bat with her excitable mannerisms and think you agree; a pensive look crosses your face shortly after however, “It’s so close to the gym, though.”

Boba nods, “Too close.  The gym is safe – no one would be stupid enough to come near it.  But those nearby may be targets just because of proximity.  Paz – I trust you and Din to draw up patrol plans.”  Paz and Din nod - both men realizing, as well, the significance of Boba feeling confident enough to speak on security matters in front of you.  The implication is lost on you though, as you continue to eat Lisa’s delicious pasta salad while Din draws circles on your thigh, grinning proudly. 

Boba shifts topics, “Ok, when the Pykes get here, I want the perimeter already covered and everyone in flank positions, but discreetly.  This is supposed to be a fun time, alright?”

Everyone around the table nods, Bo and Paz get up to prepare, but everyone else remains, eating and casually chatting until Fennec announces, “They’re here,” after getting a notification on her phone.

Man, the Mods are good, you think, as Poe and Lisa disappear into the house even before the front doorbell chimes.  Poe’s exuberant voice can be heard from the backyard getting closer and closer until the kitchen door opens and he and Lisa step out, followed by six strangers.  The first two must be Cassandra and Rikard, the happy couple; they’re both beautiful and their easy-going smiles as they wave and greet everyone give you the sense that they’re the ones really grounding this entire, very unique, situation.  Behind them are four men, ages ranging from mid-20s to Boba’s age, each holding a plate loaded heavily with food.  With amusement, you notice the abundance of Caesar salad on each of their plates.

You feel Din’s lips by your ear, as he quietly acquaints you with tonight’s special guests. “The youngest one is Gorak – that’s Rikard’s cousin.  Kind of a little hothead, dabbles a bit in the boxing circuit.  He’s not bad, but no discipline, so we don’t see him in fights often.  The two twins are the uncles, Mok and Dokk; they head up some business lines for the Pykes that… Boba isn’t involved in.  There's no business conflict, so they’ve always been friendly.  The tall one in the back, that’s Marg, he’s like the consigliere – the Fennec to Rikard’s father.  He’s going to be here on behalf of the parents.”

“Rikard’s parents didn’t want to come?” you ask, curious.

“It’s not that.  It was decided they shouldn’t attend; if they did, it might look like business, like the Families were coming together for more than a barbeque.  Could make some other players nervous.  Sometimes the perception of an action means more than the actual intent.”

Oh, you think you see.  You suppose you have a lot to learn about this world. 

Fennec is right, the initial moments of everyone coming together is sort of awkward and tense, but after everyone’s got some food in their stomachs, things start to relax and the vibes in the backyard mellow once again.  All of this is helped along by Lisa’s excellent hostessing and Poe’s charm. 

Din introduces you to Cassandra and Rikard, and you’re immediately taken with them.  They’re smart, funny, and just incredibly down to earth.  You can see why this is the couple that could lead the two Families to put down their pitchforks.  They’re both junior associates at a law firm downtown; it’s not a firm any of your clients use but you mention that you have a friend, Jen, who practices family law at another firm, and the three of you trade some funny case anecdotes.  When the conversation turns to wedding planning, Din and Rikard excuse themselves while you, Lisa and Cass (as she now insists you call her) join some others on the lawn.

Cass is stressed.  Wedding planning is no joke and time consuming - time she doesn’t have a lot of; you remember your days as a junior at your firm and the hours being indeed relentless.  Even with Lisa and her aunties’ help, you can see she’s feeling at a bit of a loss.  You don’t want to volunteer Rory’s expertise, but you do offer to do some research on some vendors, figuring you can always ask Rory if your research results are up to snuff.  Cass says she wishes she was marrying you.

When Cass’s mom notes that you wore a lovely white dress to Boba’s birthday, you mention the name of Rory’s bridal boutique and all the women collectively swoon.  Apparently, they haven’t even bothered to try and shop there due to the exclusivity, but know all the best designs are there.  You very noncommittally say you’ll ask around to see if there are any openings, and find yourself in the middle of a very exuberant and high-pitched, squealing group hug.  Straining your neck out from the tangle of arms, you see Din and Paz looking over laughing.  Din is giving you a “What’s going on?” gesture with his hands while smiling broadly.  You smile back and mouth, “Help!” with good humour.

After the children are put to bed or taken home early, the drinks start to flow and the party hits a new level.  Someone brought cigars (Mayfeld?) and Boba and the Pyke men all partake, furling a light haze of smoke that hangs around the patio lantern lights.  You enjoy your wine while helping Lisa cleanup, periodically being pulled into side conversations with Cass or Mandos you know.  As much as you can, you curl up in Din’s lap and listen to him joke and chat with his friends.  It’s turned out to be a wonderful evening, despite you still not having spotted any of the Mods.

“I think they’re made up,” you whisper to Din, jokingly.

“No, no, they’re very real, they just live in the wires,” laughs Din, “like the Matrix.”

“Oh!  Well, if they look like Keanu and Carrie Ann Moss, then it’s no wonder they’re called the Models,” you say dreamily.

“Keanu, eh?  Is that your type?” Din nudges you ear with his nose teasingly.

“He’s everyone type,” you grin, still with a far-off look.

Din pretends to push you off his lap, “Well if that’s the case, then –” but he’s interrupted by raised voices coming from the middle of the lawn.  The two of you look over and you see Woves and Gorak facing each other, standing bodies rigid in aggressive stances, their lawn chairs tipped over backwards behind them. 

You can’t even process what they’re yelling about, just that the volume is increasing and the tone is getting sharper.  Koska comes to stand by Woves, her look murderous.  You see Jimmy and Brian inching closer.  Mok, Dokk and Marg have already come to stand behind Gorak, backing him up.  Dogs everywhere are barking.

Din gently slides you off his lap, then moves you behind him before walking towards the commotion; he extends his arm behind him as if to ask you to stay put.  You look around: Lisa looks panic stricken, Poe is standing with Cass and Rikard, all three of them looking at a loss, Boba remains sitting with Fennec.  Remembering your little lesson about interpreted actions from Din earlier this evening, you understand why: any move Boba makes will be perceived as an official move by the Family, and it will embolden the Mandos, likely turning a small altercation into an official first strike from the Fetts.  If he were to enter the fray, the situation would escalate no matter what.  As it is, the situation is escalating all well on its own - the Pykes are outnumbered and surrounded, their hackles up. 

Boba catches your eye and gives you a little nod and your eyes soften in comprehension.  Every step that an official Fett family member takes right now counts as a move against the Pykes, but you’re not official.  You’re just you.  You follow Din and see him hovering with Paz in Woves’ periphery, both men holding their shoulders taut and their fists clenched.  You slip between them easily and slide your hand over Din’s fist, his hand relaxes instinctively and opens to hold yours.  You look up at him with a gentle expression while giving his hand a reassuring squeeze and watch as the tension melts from his handsome features and rolls off his body.  He seems to calm and understand the situation at your touch.  Your other arm links through Paz’s and he looks down at you, surprised at your appearance.  You watch as his expression and stance also soften under your calm hands.  He and Din look at each other, comprehension passing between them and they turn in unison and walk away.  You continue to move closer to the action, picking up your casserole dish which has a lone three garlic knots remaining, and you gently push it into Mayfeld’s hands as you come up next to him; at your encouraging smile, he also seems to come to – grinning back and trotting off in the opposite direction while stuffing his face.  Suddenly you’re not the only figure that’s weaving between the figures still locked the stand-off; Cass and Rikard have come over to pat the arms of the uncle twins, telling them that this isn’t anything to get worked up about.  Poe throws his arm around Jimmy's shoulders in a playful manner, and you hear Lisa’s voice call from the deck, “I’m turning on this chocolate fountain now, and I expect every person here to help me clear this dessert station!”

There’s a beat of silence before Marg calls out, “Is there any more Caesar salad?”  Everyone laughs and just like that, the tension is broken.  Even Gorak and Woves stand down, and although they don’t make nice, they both turn to head in with everyone else; Marg’s steady hand on Gorak’s shoulder keeping him at a distance from the Mando.

Din’s waiting for you at the base of the stairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as you file up the stairs with everyone else; you nuzzle you head a little into Din’s shoulder and half jokingly say, “Is this really a good time to be giving everyone fruit skewered on pointy sticks?”

Din turns when he hears a belly roaring laugh at your joke coming from one of the Pyke uncles, and looks down to see you turn and give the man a heart stopping smile and wink.  He can’t believe it - you cheeky flirt, he thinks, making a rival family member fall in love with you.

Inside, you load up two dessert plates for yourself and Din and bring them to a side counter where he’s chatting quietly with Boba.  You’re almost hesitant to interrupt but when you slide the heavy plates onto the marble, Boba smiles big at you.  He hands you Mochi and then places both his hands on your shoulders and leans in to kiss your forehead, “You did good, my dear.”

You scrunch up your face in mild embarrassment, “Oh, I mean… it’s okay…” not sure what to say so you just start feeding Mochi strawberries.  Boba looks at Din and reiterates, “She did good.”

“Yeah,” Din echos softly, his eyes watching you with a mixture of pride and love.

---

After stuffing your faces with dessert, you and Din escape to the backyard for a private moment and to avoid Lisa’s attempts to force more food on your plates.  Finding the seats around the roaring fire pit empty, you sit with your back against the corner piece, legs draped over Din’s as he pulls you close.  Foreheads pressed together, he kisses you gently and sweetly, not wanting things to get too heated should the two of you be interrupted.

“Thank you, pretty bird,” says Din quietly.

“For what?”

Din looks thoughtful, even though he’s the one that brought it up, “I don’t know how you do it.  You bring the calm.”

You confess and joke simultaneously, “Do I really?  I have to admit, I don't always feel very calm. Are you sure I don't bring the chaos?”

Din pinches your thigh with love, “I’m serious, baby.  Somehow you melt away all the stress and make me see clearer.  Not just me either, saw you do the same thing to Paz tonight.”

You give him a little kiss and nuzzle his nose, whispering conspiratorially, “... you make it sound like I have powers.”

“Whatever it is, you bring me back to myself when I need it the most.  I love you, pretty girl.”

“I love you too, Din.  I love that I can do that for you, soothe you and bring a sense of calm.  You do that for me too, you know?  You’re my rock, baby.”

Din presses his lips to your, beckoning you to open up to him and when you do, he lightly strokes your tongue with his, eliciting a low groan from the back of your throat that you think might be too scandalous for this barbeque.  Pulling away slightly, you nibble a little on Din’s lower lip before tucking yourself into your favourite nook under his jaw and shyly bring up something you’ve been thinking about for a while, “You know, Din… if you’re ever stressed or have had a hard day, and you need something more than a calming touch, you can… use me?”

“Hmmmm?” Din looks down at you, not sure if he’s understanding.

Feeling timid under his piercing gaze, you press on but keep your face pressed to Din’s neck so you don’t make eye contact with him, “Like… if you’re frustrated, and you need to take it out on some… one.  I can take it.  Let me absorb all the bad… and like you said, melt it away.”

You feel Din’s hard swallow before he gives a little cough, “Pretty bird, are you saying you want me to take out my frustrations by fucking them into you?”

You nod, “If you need to, Din.  You can use me for stress relief.”  Finally having the courage to look up at him, you find Din's eyes warm and loving as he whispers just one phrase, “Dream girl,” before descending on your mouth again.

Your kissing is sensual and open, a connection between two people who have no secrets and can be their purest, most vulnerable selves with each other.  Din’s touch is tender and reverent and you worship him right back, letting him know you’re there and you can be whatever he needs, whenever he needs it - you love him so much.  The two of you don’t break apart for a long time, not even when people start spilling back into the backyard. 

---

The evening ends an hour or so later with everyone leaving on pleasant terms.  You’re thanked again for both the salad dressing and your help with the upcoming wedding.  A final toast is given by Boba to the happy couple and it warms your heart deeply to see two people so in love and so steadfast in their commitment to face and conquer adversity together.  The cheers elicited are joyous and genuine, the evening a great success.

Walking back to Din’s truck, hand in hand, you’re sated with good food and drinks, carrying the festive feel of the evening with you as you hum a little tune to yourself.  Din trails a little behind you, filled with a surge of pride for all that you are. 

And that you’re his. 

He’s parked about fifteen cars away from the Dameron residence, a little past the last house on this block where the road rounds into a large turnabout bordered with lush trees and other flora and fauna meticulously maintained by the neighbourhood HOA.  He hadn’t meant to park so far but now he’s glad he’s got you away from the prying eyes of Poe’s neighbours and their porch cams. 

While you may currently be carefree and lighthearted, Din is full of deep emotion.  He’s overwhelmingly proud, in love, and awestruck.  His head is full of you.  You, you, you.  His admiration isn’t new: you’re sweet and funny, smart and kind - he’s always been proud just to know someone like you, and even prouder to be with you, to be the one you choose.  But tonight is different, it’s a different type of esteem – one that threatens to explode out of his chest.  You.  You’re it for him.  He never thought he would find someone like you.  Someone who could fit so seamlessly into his life, into his world, and make both better.  You helped.  You were sweet and kind and giving to everyone.  You brought calm.  You made things good.  And you were his. 

He had believed you all those months ago when said you wouldn’t judge him or his family, but you did more than that: you accepted them as your own too.  Yes, you did it for him, but it was really just who you are.  Loving.  Giving.  You brought calm to all their chaos.  You made things brighter.  You made them stronger.  Him better.  He loves you so much right now he thinks he’s going to burn up.

As soon as you reach his truck, Din grabs you by the waist and spins you so you’re facing him and he pushes you into the side of the car, arm bracing the back window to cushion your head.

“Di-!”

His lips put a stop to your words as they crash against yours.  Normally so gentle and asking of permission, Din’s mouth is an unstoppable force tonight, kissing you as if there’s an overflowing pressure building inside him and kissing you is his one release valve.  An unashamed moan works its way up from your throat, escaping only when Din moves his aggressive kisses to your jaw and neck, leaving you opened-mouthed and panting.

“Oooohh, fuck!  Din, baby, what are you doing? Oh- god, that feels so good,” eyes closed, you’re already arching into him, pulling him closer to you by the back of his neck.

Din’s hand that isn’t cradling your head is on a frantic journey down your body.  He needs you now.  The current state of his feelings is running too deep, he can’t seem to articulate it to you or even himself - he has to show you.  Triumphantly, he finds the tie to your dress and pulls, causing half of the front of your dress to fall open, “Din!  We’re out in the open!”

Clawing down your partially exposed body, clamouring to find the inside tie that separate him from your soft body, Din pauses only to pull you away from the car so he can unlock the door; as soon as it opens, he walks you backwards and hops you up onto the seat, scooting you back so your legs dangle out the door. 

“There,” Din says huskily, as he finds the little knot on the right inside seam of your dress and tugs so it unfurls, “you aren’t out in the open anymore.”  He spreads apart the fabric of your dress so that you’re presented to him in your pretty pink mesh and ruffles lingerie set; he sucks in his breath. 

“Just for you, daddy,” you coo.  You knew Din wouldn’t be expecting something so flirty and naughty under the dress you had picked for what was supposed to be a casual and wholesome family event.

“Fuck.”  With his big mitt of a hand, Din pushes you down and lowers himself on top of you, nipping at your breasts and teething at your nipples through the soft sheer fabric of your bra.  He’s not gentle; he has something to declare tonight, and soft and sweet just won’t do the job.  His hands paw at your tits while he continues to tug and twist with his mouth; you’re writhing and whimpering beneath him, body set alight - the thought flashes through your arousal muddled mind that you might actually come just from nipple play alone tonight.

Then Din’s gone, mouth and hands traveling down your body, bending his knees and bracing them on the baseboard of his truck, Din kisses your navel and trails his nose down the front of your panties, “Mmm, so fucking sweet, pretty girl.”

“Din!  Pleas-please,” you cry out, turned on out of your mind by the debauched imagery of your bare legs hanging out of the car while Din presses his face to your cunt; you need him to touch you.

“You need daddy’s tongue, baby?”

You can only mewl and nod.

Din isn’t in the mood to tease tonight, he’s too pent up with near paralyzing feelings of veneration for you – he’s ready to worship.  Pulling back slightly so he’s face to face with the darkened spot on your panties, he hooks them to the side to take in your glistening pussy, watching it want and ache for him for just a moment before he dives in.

He devours you.  Tongue licking and stroking your slit, Din swirls the sticky mess already pooled into his mouth and stuffs it back into your cunt with his open mouth kisses.  You shudder and grab onto Din’s hair as he fucks his tongue into you, pressing him deeper as your hips start to move all on their own.

“Fuck – yes, ride my face, pretty bird.”

“Ngh – Daddy! Feels so good.  Love how your mouth feels on my needy pussy,” you moan as softly as you can so the sound doesn’t carry out the open car door.

As your hips start to buck a little harder, Din’s hands move back up your body and start worrying your nipples again; still sensitive from his attentions earlier, you gasp and arch your back, grazing your clit against Din’s nose.  You let loose a high-pitched whine, eyes flying open, “Daddy!  Right there!”

Grinning so hard you can feel it, Din continues to feast on your dripping hole but angles his face up so that his strong aquiline nose nudges your throbbing clit again.  Rewarded when your grasp on his brown curls tighten, he starts to prod your bud in a pattern, alternating between pressing and releasing, and drawing sloppy circles with the tip of his nose.  When he feels your legs start to shake and your walls start to clamp down on his tongue, Din speeds up his attentions on your bundle of nerves, burrowing his nose in deep and rubbing vigorously, shaking his entire head.  Your hands release Din’s hair at the onslaught and fly up to cover your face, as if you can somehow hide from what’s coming; when Din’s hands pull up on your nipples, you crest and scream – tumbling over the edge and letting yourself be carried away by the waves of your orgasm.

Arm now thrown over your eyes, you’re too focused on catching your breath to feel Din pulling your ass past the edge of the car seat and turning you over so your mouth is pressed into the warm leather.

Only after the tip toes of your shoes touch the asphalt does Din flips the skirt of your dress over your back, and that’s when you register the cool breeze of the night air hitting your ass.

Din spoons your bent over body and murmurs deep in your ear, “Gonna fuck you now, bunny.  Not going to be gentle, okay?”

Your eyes are still closed as you nod into the seat and whisper, “Okay, daddy.”

Din takes out his cock, already hard and weeping with precum, and slaps it against your creamy pussy - once, twice, three times; each slap causing you to give a little jump and shudder in anticipation of the incoming intrusion.

Chuckling darkly, Din notches the tip at your entrance and pushes in as he folds his body over yours, holding you close and pinning you down as he bottoms out.

As promised, it’s not gentle; but here, in the backseat of his truck, where his chest is flattened against your back and his face pressed to your hair, it’s intimate.  Rough and hard.  Loving and full of feeling.

Din’s voice is low and gruff in your ear - words of praise and all his overwhelming feelings spill out as he ruts into you at a demanding pace.

“Do you know how perfect you are, pretty bird?”

“You’re everything.” 

“My everything.”

He drives into you over and over, punching the air out of your lungs each time.  Whenever you inhale, Din captures your lips with his immediately after – as if trying to steal these breaths as well.  Fervent kisses the only break from his ongoing ramblings of praise:

“So proud you’re my girl.”

“You’re so good to me.  So good to my family.”

Thrust.  Thrust.  Slap.  Slap.

“You know how much Boba trusts you?  Trusts my perfect girl?  Talking about Mando business in front of you.” 

Thrust.

“You’re one of us, baby.” 

Slap. 

“My girl, welcomed into the fold.  Fuck – I’m so proud.”

The squelching noises of your wet cunt being punished reverberate through the truck’s cabin, accompanied by the percussion of slapping skin and an obscene harmony of grunts and moans.  You can only hope that your sinful symphony is confined to the car and not travelling through the otherwise silent neighbourhood.

“Fucking saving Poe’s ass and the entire BBQ with that fucking salad dressing.”

Sqlch. 

“You don’t even know how important you are and the things you do are.  You impressed the fucking Pykes, pretty girl.”

Sqlch. 

“Helping with the wedding?  You’re so sweet, so fucking sweet…”

Fwop.  Fwop.

Din’s weight continues to pin you down and crush your lungs in the best way possible.  Between the panting from the pounding your pussy is taking and the way your clit is twitching against the seam on the edge of the leather seats as Din ruts into you, you can hardly take a proper breath; the lack of oxygen is leaving you dizzy and light headed – you’re quickly barrelling towards oblivion again.

“You don’t even know, you don’t even know…”

“Perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect…”

Thrust.  Huff.  Thrust.  Huff.

“You don’t just take care of me, you take care of my family… you accept my family.”

Thrust.  Thrust.

Din’s hips start to stutter, he’s close, so close. 

“You’re the only one.  The only one who can do what you do.”

Huff.

“You prevented that fight.”

Thrust.  Huff.

“You have me wrapped around your little finger, baby.”

You can barely draw enough breath to chant, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy...

“Not just me.  Paz. All the Mandos.”

Slap. Slap.

“Sexiest, most powerful woman there tonight.  Every night.”

Thrust.  Thrust.

“Pretty bird, what did I do to deserve you?”

Slap.  Slap.

“Don’t deserve you.”

Thrust.

“But you’re mine.”

Din’s babbling praise ends with the growl of that last, possessive proclamation and the contrast of his tone, the sheer power and darkness that laces the word ‘mine’ compared to the honey-dripped praise that’s been pouring from his mouth the whole time he rails you, snaps the tightly coiled band in your core and you come, clenching hard on Din’s length with a force that sends him straight to the moon.  He grunts and pants as he spills his seed deep, claiming you and clawing all he’s professed to love tonight for his own.

After lifting off of you to allow your breathing to even, Din wipes the sweat off his brow and looks around to make sure that your activities haven’t attracted the attention of any of Poe’s nosy neighbours.  Satisfied that the two of you are still alone, Din presses butterfly kisses down your spine before gently turning you over and helping you right your underwear and retying your dress the best he can.  You’re hot and tired, still drunk on the mind-blowing orgasm brought on by Din’s rough handling and his heavy praise.

Tenderly kissing you, Din murmurs, “Do you want to just lay down in the back seat, sweetheart?  You can sleep while I drive home.”

You shake your head drowsily, “No, I want to ride up front with you.  I like it when you hold my hand when you drive.” You’re smiling so sweetly at him, Din thinks his heart might explode.  He’s just laid his heart bare, practically smothering you with it and letting his all-consuming love burn you up, and you still want more of his touch.

Grinning like a fool, he buckles you into the front seat of his truck, “I love you, pretty bird.”

“I love you more, Din,” you purr back, eyes half closed, a soft, sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

After he closes your door, on his way to the driver’s side, he shakes his head to himself, Impossible.

[kalak]

Hate how luke is treated sometimes. Some of yall need to rewatch the ot. He's whiny in anh. But that boy is not shy nor afraid to speak his mind. He would not 1. Stutter 2. Be afraid to take charge 3. Be indecisive. He's bitchy is what he is, he's bitchy and polite and also a bit wide eyed, but he's not a fucking shyboy.

And hate how he's so stripped of autonomy in some fics, never the hero of his own story, never the person who breaks out of his own trauma, the one who takes charge of his own choices - always apologizing, always needing to be rescued, to be babied and calmed down and 'healed' by someone 'stronger' than him; and why is he so feminized? And not in a gnc way either - in a way that fits the traditional housewife stereotype, never speaking out of turn, never doing anything by his own will, just being a pretty thing to look at that also melts the heart of whomever with his shy softboi-ness, wearing fem clothing and makeup to please others, not himself, always wearing his mother's clothes not his own that he wants to wear,

Like. A big part of his character is his autonomy. Him seeing the light in darth vader is not a moment of weakness. He isn't being softhearted, he isn't suddenly 'redeeming' a big bad by being so sunshine, so good and kind and a little cinnamon roll. He is saying fuck it, I don't care what my jedi teachers said, I'm rejecting what the jedi said and what the sith said and paving my own path. If he was such a doormat, he would have caved and just stuttered into the paths others have carved out for him. But he doesn't do that, he uses his own obstinate will to choose his own fate, it's not because he's a 'cinnamon roll' that he succeeded in rotj, it's because he was a true jedi who trusted the light even when others didn't, being one hell of a stubborn bitch - his biggest character moment was his will, not his sunshine personality or wtv.

Why is it that his trauma is only used to make him more of a stuttering doormat? To be babied and infantilized and woobified? Why is it that him being a good person is so mistranslated into him believing that everyone's good? This guy is an active war participant. Christ, he's killed an entire death star's worth of sentients without even blinking, he would not hesitate to kill someone who's clearly evil. He knows that there's evil in this world. He knows it too well, but he isn't afraid to face it. He isn't naive, nor ignorant, he's a stubborn bitch who faces the Horrors!! Stop mischaracterizing him. Please.

[netherfeildren]

Joel

A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: The thought sounds on the anvil of your mind every night at four am on the dot, the song of grasshoppers and slumbering, fatherless children singing around you; I am lost, and if I read a little bit confusing, it is only because I am confused amidst the battleground of my grief, and it is difficult to find my way back now that he is not here to guide me.

A/N: this was only written for myself, but i’ve decided to share with you, as well. if you’re a fear of god reader please know that this isn’t part of my official story line, and again — only an exercise for myself, but as this is written about birdie i’ve decided to include it as a part of the birdie’s house anthology. i apologize for any confusion or emotional turmoil this might cause, but rest assured that i’m desperately hoping to have something else up for birdie and joel for his birthday and that i plan to continue to write for them after that as well.

Content Warnings: Character death; Grief/Mourning; Description of death/injury; Unreliable narrators

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.1K

Read on AO3

JOEL

The billboard said “The End Is Near”

I turned around, there was nothing there

Yeah, I guess the end is here

Phoebe Bridgers, I Know the End

The week before it happened, you watched a pack of wolves take down a moose. Old and stalwart and with a sort of strength only an animal that stands apart from all others in the hierarchy of nature can hold. Something unrelenting about a creature like that, that was made all the more shocking for the way the wolves had surrounded the old thing, tricked and felled the beast that for so long had stood solitary and unmoving. 

There were so many things you knew about Joel after all these years. He was a father, a husband, a brother, a friend. Once he’d been a monster. Everything about him had been red. He’d tried not to cause harm. He’d failed more than he’d succeeded. 

He had loved you. You think, more than any creature had loved another in all of man’s history. Or… at least sometimes it had felt like that. He had made you feel like that. 

He is killed in the seventh year of your life together. Only seven little years which seem like nothing in the face of everything. Nothing in the face of the destruction of the whole world, and then the rebirth of it right here in this farm house in Wyoming, but which you know, no matter what they might seem like in the aftermath, were really everything, the only time that has ever mattered. 

You remember that sometimes when you’d look around the kitchen table, the girls sitting around laughing and screeching and raucous with so much joy it seemed imaginary and untouchable, it felt like the whole world was sat existing around that oak table he’d made for you. The whole world right here at our kitchen table, Joel. 

You remember the last time you heard his voice, right before he went out into the frigid snow to look for Ellie: Don’t you love me, Birdie bird?

Oh, shut up. And then whispered right into the reddened sea shell of his ear, Here is what I see in your eyes right now: myself, reflected back at me – more love than has ever existed before in all history. And then his laugh – you’re laughing and when you laugh I want to carve the face of the world in your image. Lena zooming by your legs as you kiss for the last time, a blue ribbon in her hair. 

Half a century from now, no one will remember us, but I will never forget you. 

Remember the first time we met? Bated breath and racing heart, and the sound of the rest of your life ringing in your ears. 

Remember the stitches in your palm? The first time I took you inside of me and all the times thereafter? When you pulled our first daughter from my body – and then the two others? Her first birthday? The countless birthdays after that? Remember the endless happiness so intense it was almost painful sometimes? Remember how much I love you?

But of course, he cannot. He’s not here anymore, and nothing hurts worse than the memory of joy when you’re living through grief. The thought sounds on the anvil of your mind every night at four am on the dot, the song of grasshoppers and slumbering, fatherless children singing around you; I am lost, and if I read a little bit confusing, it is only because I am confused amidst the battleground of my grief, and it is difficult to find my way back now that he is not here to guide me. 

They’d hurt him so badly. Fractured him in a way that not even your hands could mend, your years of study and practice futile in the face of such destruction. He’d fought hard, he’d tried to get away. This is the least comforting thing you could ever imagine. 

What does it do to a person to be confronted with the inequity of their purpose? To have worked tirelessly for so many years only to fail when the moment was most dire. 

Fracture of a different but equally devastating nature. And that moment of final realization, that there was nothing to be done – his bones had carried him for so long, you rest now, we’ll be okay, whispered into his mangled ear, half a chunk missing, savaged. You did good, Joel. You did good, my love. 

The sound of Ellie’s voice telling herself over and over and over again that he was okay; he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay. 

And she’d said to you: I wasted so much time being angry at him, for what? For loving me too much? For keeping me alive? For making a decision that now, with the clarity of age and a child of my own, I would have made exactly the same way? I wish I could walk in his shoes through that hospital all those years ago. I’d take his exact same steps – not a single pace different. And now he’s dead. And all that anger was for nothing. And our reconciliation feels so fraught, so meaningless in the face of all that time now. No matter that we’d had years after to be together, to be a family. All I can focus on now is the time lost, the sight of his crushed skull, the night I pushed him away before you, his face full of pain and regret. And the sound of his screams at the end. 

Ellie tells you: I remember the sound of his screams better than anything else. The sound of him screaming out for me, for you Birdie – Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. Begging for help, but actually, I’m not sure, she says. I’m not sure if that really happened or if my nightmares imagined it. 

[I still think of you on your birthday. I’m sorry for everything, she thinks, when she lays in the grass with her sisters and looks for shapes in the clouds without him now. I only see you in the spaces between them. And she asks God why He didn’t work harder to save him. And He spits in her face and asks why she didn’t do the same.]

So, there are still our children. There is still Ellie. This family you’ve gifted me. The whole world abandoned here at our kitchen table. How can death exist when that exists? How can your death exist when they’re still here?

Don’t stop to think. Don’t interrupt the scream. 

And you tell yourself, no this wasn’t supposed to happen, but the universe laughs and grips you by the throat; the gladiator scream goes on. Salt the earth, there’s nothing to return to. 

And yet… that isn’t true either. Four little faces look up at you. Three sets of his eyes. 

You were furious at the sun the day after he died. How could it just continue to rise as if nothing had happened?

And after all that, it is like this: You scream for seven days and seven nights.

You don’t get out of bed for thirty days. 

You cry every single night for a year. 

This is different. A strange and terrified sort of place. What does it mean to lose the basis of your entire existence?

And Ellie? Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. What is Ellie going to do without him? How is she going to be okay? The sound of her cries: Don’t let me be alone. Please, God, don’t let me be alone. I never wanted to end up alone. You need to make sure she’s okay, you need to take care of her the way that he would, the way that he’d want you to.

Ellie loses her mind for a little bit. After your thirty days in bed, she calls her turn, tells you and Dina that she’s leaving, that she’s going. That she’ll bring you back a vengeance you could never want and lay it at your feet, and you cup her chin gentle in your palm, and ask, What does it matter now, honey? Connie’s voice ringing in your memory. He’s gone now, what difference would it make?

She tells you that he would have done it for her, and you cannot refute such a claim. He would. He’d do much worse. He’d turn himself back into that monster we both know he had inside of him.

“So I need to do this.”

And you tell her: “I’m begging you not to. Me, who belonged to him, who knew him in a way no one else in the whole world did. I’m asking you not to. I’m still here. The girls are still here. We need you. We need you as a reminder of him.”

“You’ll remember him anyways,” she tells you, which is true.

“But you’ll make the memory all the better,” And so she does not go, for a time.

Ellie stays, and you have a funeral surrounded by the people of Jackson who respected a man who was good. A man who took himself for a monster for so long, even though he never said it out loud, but you knew, you saw. All that time apart, all that fear, fear, fear, the very fear of God struck into his heart, afraid of what he was, of what the world and a little girl with green eyes more than thirty years ago had made him into, but then, look at what we’d turned around and made together. 

And you whisper to the apparition of him in your dreams: Joel if you were a monster, surely it was some sort of divine monstrosity. 

So many people leave remembrances at the gate of the farm, the whole of Jackson. His brother, holding you up gripped beneath the elbows so as to not frighten your children, and Ellie is crying but trying to pretend she’s not, which somehow makes it worse than if she were to throw herself at the base of his coffin and howl. 

You give her his jacket after that, and she smells like him all the time until the day she doesn't. Until the day it’s been so long since the last time that he was alive that his scent fades and leaves forever. She wears that jacket everywhere, to work, to hunt, to bed. Leaving her wife, leaving her family, leaving her sisters, leaving you because eventually she does – leave, and she wears his jacket. An inevitability like so many other things in life, you’re unable to keep her forever, and for a time she does go. 

And you will never forget him, you will never move on, you will never stop telling your daughters about him. He lives on in them. And you wonder why it is that no one ever talks about the physically intimate aspect of grief? Of missing your person and wanting them and needing them, and your body physically craving relief from that singular person and never being able to achieve it fully ever again to completion like he could give it to you because he’s just not here. 

He was, in every way, all that anyone could ever be. 

I cried every single day for a year. The day I stopped, I put him inside of a drawer within myself and was never able to move myself to tears again. 

Seven years since then, and you go to his grave for what you tell yourself will be the last time, recognize the lie for what it is, a single slab of carved stone, and you think, he doesn’t belong here, even still after all these years, and yet this is the only place he will ever be again. 

He should have been made into a redwood, the tallest thing in the entire world. Let him be a tree. You’d climb and climb and climb, like that night with Beth, so long ago you can barely remember the sound of her voice most days. You’d climb, and he’d protect you one more time like he had so many times before. 

Joel, years ago, when we were first married, I had a strange dream: I’d had to walk down a staircase that led far beneath the earth. As I traversed it, I had to move through all of our happiest memories, the births of our daughters, the birthdays and celebrations and the long nights together, dinners, breakfasts and laughter, lazy afternoons at the lake, in bed together, still endlessly fascinated with each other despite all the times we’d found ourselves in that exact position. But when I reached the end, I’d be able to come upon our worst moment, see what it was in preparation, perhaps, for what would come to pass. 

I feel as though I have finally reached the bottom of that staircase, and part of me would like nothing more than to have never begun the journey down, but had I not, then I would have not lived through all the rest of it. And in the end, that was worth everything else.

That last night again, in my memory: Don’t you love me, Birdie bird? 

Close your eyes, he whispers, it’ll be worth it, the last taste of his mouth. 

My eyes are still closed.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[x-liv25-jamieswife]

if you can, do you mind doing some toby and avery hcs??

toby and avery head canons

of course, i'd love to!! i'm literally so obsessed with them, and their story literally makes me sob. hope you like them <3. @catapparently helped.

i honestly may have read a fic about this on ao3, but toby got avery a music box that played her mom singing this lullaby when someone opened it. she cried for hours in his arms.

avery blames herself for what happened to toby and the blakes, and sometimes calls him to apologize profusely (even though he's already forgiven her). he assures her he still loves her and that she means the world to him.

they don't call or see each other often except for at galas and events that the blakes drag him to. they always sneak away (with the help of the hawthornes) so they have time to talk.

hannah would sometimes tell toby that they were going to be at like a bowling alley that day or smth, and he'd do his best to show up and watch her play and have fun. he would tear up at the life he wanted but could never have.

he walked her down the aisle on her wedding day. she originally didn't want anyone to do it because she doesn't like the idea of your parent 'giving you away to someone', but when she realized who toby was and what he meant to her, that changed.

they visit hannah's grave together and just cry in each others arms. they'll tell each other what they miss most from the life they had before with her.

toby tells her about all the wild things hannah would say to him and how much she hated him at first. avery loves hearing him talk about her mother because he always sounds so in love.

toby will mail her little puzzles that he carved for her to solve. she always sends him picks of it when she's done.

avery regularly goes back to the spot where they used to eat after their chess games/where they used to play chess to feel closer to him.

toby calls her horrible girl and princess, and, when she has kids, he starts calling them horrible boy and princeps (princess in latin according to google translate) (i hc that aj have a daughter and a son)

toby gave avery the talk not because she needed it but bc he saw it as a classic father/daughter experience that he wanted to have with her.

toby wishes he was less of a coward when he was younger and actually took part in avery' life. he regrets not seeing her grow, take her first steps, her first day of school etc..

avery knows this and will sometimes send him videos her mom took of her when she was younger (we know she used to send him postcards sometimes but its not the same)

for his birthday, avery will head over to the blake's house (or wherever he's currently living), threaten the people who answer the door to let her in, and will spend a few minutes with him before she's forced to leave.

she sometimes gifts him things that used to belong to her mother

toby tried to teach her how to carve wood, but she could never get the hang of it. she tries her best and gifts him her attempts even if they suck. toby finds it very sweet and adorable.

avery has a really nice voice but doesn't like to sing bc it reminds her of her mom on her death bed (she used to ask avery to sing her her favorite songs before she died). toby loves her voice though so sometimes she'll suck it up and record a voice message of her singing.

they will send each other songs that remind them of the other.

toby has the best relationship advice (even though he's never really been in a relationship except for with hannah). when she's having trouble with jamie (very rare), she'll go to him IF possible (i literally say this in every post for like avery and grayson or nash, but i think it fits toby and avery best)

toby has an insta account avery doesn't know about that he uses to like and comment on each and every one of her posts.

toby watches all of the broadcasted events she attends, all of her interviews, etc. he's her biggest fan.

he knows she loves sushi so sometimes he'll order her some and get it delivered to her house on days where she's told him she's swamped with work.

avery's kids call him grandpa even though he's not actually their grandpa.

they love sending each other cryptic messages for the other to figure out.

they usually call each other late at night bc that's when the blakes are less likely to catch him. jamie will leave the room when this happens and let them talk.

after vincent blake died, he was more free to do whatever he wanted so he started visiting her more often. not all the time though because eve was still a pain in the ass.

avery has a bad habit of going to bed way to late and waking up way to early so toby will text to make sure she's getting sleep ('are you heading to bed, princess' or 'i hope you aren't still awake, horrible girl')

toby actually swears a lot and avery finds it hilarious. he starts to swear even more bc it makes her laugh.

toby loves sightseeing and will always be taking pictures of his favorite places (he travels a lot bc of the blakes). he sends her all of these pictures

toby tries to be cool and texts like gen z, and avery finds it absolutely traumatizing. she begs him to stop but it just eggs him on.

when avery wakes up from nightmares and has a panic attack, but doesn't want to wake up jamie, she'll call toby. he'll tell her to breathe with him and then will ask her if she's ok in a soft voice. then they'll hang up. she never talks about her nightmares and he never asks. this is literally what happens every time

toby is always sending her memes and dad jokes. she finds them embarrassing but cute at the same time.