#and you know i'd say the same shit if we were talking fic

[oogaboogaspookyman]

Buzi fic let's muthafuckin gooooooooooo

B belongs to @ilovejoll !

[REDACTED] belongs to me!

[GOOD TEAM]

Back to that fuckin' camp... Great.

It's dark, it's rank, it's got a rancid, sinister and genuinely discomforting and dark aura, it's the place where one of her traumatic moments have transpired.

Uzi killed and ate her classmates here.

All this for a sighting...

And yet the four walked, around and about, searching like born hunters...

...

That's funny.

Uzi, N, V, and B (don't say anything about the names), they all walked and searched every nook and cranny, whatever cabin they found it's searched, because of this one Solver drone a group encountered that was, and Uzi quotes during the walk to the camp, "abnormally friggin' tall and chuckled a lot"

One guy even reportedly went missing after this encounter.

This new threat must be destroyed, there shall not be a season 2 of this bullshit.

Thud.

"I don't think it's here, weirdo" B spoke. Weirdo. Fuck's sake.

"It's Uzi, strawberry, and i'm sure if we look harder we'll find it, we already got traces of the guy so they must be here!" Uzi was confident after said traces were found... And N didn't seem to know when to quit being optimistic and supportive of Uzi, seriously the moment they got together it's like the entire planet was doomed to deal with these two dorks!

One of those dorks is your brother. You care about him. Do it for him. B sighed at the thought.

"We'll go a little further, and if we find it we kill it and we all go home, but if we don't..." B sounded threatening there, especially getting closer and whispering the next words in her sound receptor.

"You're dead to me. Having wasted our time."

Hot. That's not me saying it, i only say her thoughts out loud

"We'll find the weird analog horror freak, babe! I hate it when she's right, believe me, but we did find traces of this weirdo being around and we still find more!" V popped up from outta nowhere the interrupt the moment of intimacy intense mutual hatred, and showed off a piece of paper in her hand "Like this note i caught in a cabin!"

V flipped the note around, showing off... Something???

Uzi and N felt shivers run down their spine as V showed off the note.

"Haha! That's not ominous at all nope!" N and Uzi said in unison, perfectly. They took note of this.

"Jinx!"

V gagged at the sight of the Nuzi duo chuckling and giggling like little kids. B just glared at Uzi like she was a bad influence...

If it's of any consolation, they bother me too

"You don't get to talk, little shit" V growled at Uzi's tail.

Suddenly they stumble upon a strange... Cave??? In the camp?? At this time of year, at this time of day, in this part of the planet, localized entirely within this camp??

I had some fun while i could, it seems. Smiley face

"Shut" Uzi then squinted, as if it's going to make comprehending easier, and...

[PROCESSING WUTEVR THIS IS]

[◻️◻️◻️◻️◻️_______]

Yes it's a cave! A very ominous, red, fleshy cave that destroyed an entire cabin, turning it into a gruesome wooden outer layer for itself and thus taking it's place!

"aaAAHAHAHAa OKAY UZI UHHH... DO WE ENTER OR DO WE BURN IT ALL DOWN" N chuckled with lots of fear in his voice.

"If we burn the cave it's going to burn the entire forest too, and as much as i'd love that it's very important and i know there's others who love this forest as much as i hate it" Uzi sounds so smart when she explains things, it made N's core flutter... Aside from beating a little too fast at the sight of the cave and the general aura of the camp.

FIND ME

FIGHT ME

HOW WELL DO YOU FARE

Uzi turned around fast.

Oh i know this one!

She grimaced at this, hearing a robotic male voice coming from... Pretty much nowhere and at the same time as if it's behind her, and looked at everyone else to verify that she's not crazy.

N, V, and B all look just as unsettled. She's not crazy then.

"We're going home, gang, fuck this and fuck everyone" B began walking away while holding up two middle fingers.

Something was wrapped around their leg.

Catch

It's Uzi's fucking tail.

"We don't know what this is, it could be something worse than... It, and if that's the case, then we have to put a stop to it... As much as i hate this, it has to be done"

B hates when Uzi is right... They groaned "FINE let's get this over with" as they walked back to the area and swapped their hands with claws...

Let's go down in the belly of the beast...

Haha, Uzi scolded you

"She didn't scold me, freak" B growled at Uzi's tail. Y'know- the moment this thing began to speak, they knew it meant something terrible was coming. (Whether i mean they as in the group or B alone is up to you lmao)

Gross.

It's all wet, squishy, bloody flesh from top to bottom.

Massive, disgusting, grotesque.

This cave is nothing but blood and gore.

As the group walked, something began to pulsate from the ground Uzi walked on...

"GAH ROBO CHRIST!!" It blew up and blood landed on her face and clothes.

V could only giggle. Of course she'd giggle.

"Bite me, what if this happened to you!"

"I'd lick it off, period. Likely tastier than you~"

Uzi just. Glared and made a face that spelled out Why Are You Like This™

Gross, gross, gross, fucking gross.

Giggle

"Quiet you!" Uzi hissed at her own tail. You look crazy rn lol

Gurgling from further away..?

Uh oh spaghetti-os

"What the..??" B knew it meant something was wrong but they couldn't quite put a finger on it...

Until a spot in the ground began to pulsate, as if something was trying to get out and make itself known.

"Holy- V WATCH OUT!" B yelled as she tackled V out of the radius.

A tendril bursts from the ground, the spot that was pulsating before, and attempts to grab whatever was unfortunate enough to end up in it's clutches.

That being B.

"N GET OUTTA THERE!!" And Uzi, as she tackled the frozen in fear N out of it's reach.

B and Uzi are grabbed by tendrils, and right after dragged into the depths of the flesh cave, screaming.

"UZI!!!" N screams, fear in his voice and his heart beating at it's fastest, meanwhile V is quiet, in shock from what she just witnessed...

They've both lost people they care about...

"Ow... Robo god my head..." Uzi said under her breath, slowly getting up from a rough fall...

"Uzi..? Are you okay..?" She heard a familiar voice speak to her, a worried tone in their voice... B???

"No way you're telling me that, strawberry... Yeah i'm fine, i've been through much worse..." Uzi got up and dusted herself off.

B sighed "Let's get this over with before any of us die here, no bonding things, capiche?"

"Alright alright, no need to get pissy over caring about me~" she said smugly before–

"I care because N cares, if he didn't you'd be dead meat the moment we met. He's my brother and a fucking ray of sunshine, so you better behave."

Woah

"..." Uzi didn't know what to feel or think of this... It hit way too hard to really know what to feel... Maybe something like sadness? Something similar...

But she's not a feelings person, she's an edgy tough fighter that became GOD some time ago! She's not gonna let that persona fall apart now!

"Gee alright..." was all she could muster, seeing no other choice of words to respond... Whatever that was.

B swapped their left hand with a flashlight, looking for some sort of exit or way forward...

And a way forward there is. In the shape of a drone.

A freakishly tall drone with a blank, empty visor, also a tattered, dark blue robe and grey spiky hair. It's him.

A song began, somewhere. A very corrupted, broken song, making the sight of him standing all the more sinister.

Excited. Here we go~. Smiley face

You found me!

I'm so glad!

And now

He crouched, going from standing tall to crawling on all fours.

We get to play!

Yay!

Every spoken word, he moved like his body was made of a rubber hose, at times even twitching and shaking.

My name is Pen, and you are Serial Designation B and Uzi Doorman

How does he know all that?!

"Wha- wha- wh- what are you?!" Uzi stammered from the sheer terror, whipping out her railgun as B showed off their right hand, the huge steel claws, and the red nanite acid tail, preparing themself to strike the moment Pen made any move... And subconciously using the other hand to put it in front of Uzi, protecting her.

What am i? Ahhh... Good question there, miss Doorman!

I'm a host of the Absolute Solver, it seems...

His head twitched and shook for a short moment...

And i sense quite a lot of it, too, coming from

He crawled closer, his body clicking like clockwork, somehow not getting sliced and diced by B... Turns out, they're frozen in fear too, shaking.

You

Miss Doorman

His blank, empty, dark visor stared into Uzi's core...

But enough chit chat!

He quickly shifted and thrashed about back away from the two.

Let's get started with the games!

Let's have some fun!

Let's play together!

Just us three!

It's going to be so much fun!

As Pen lifted a hand...

"NO!"

SLASH...

Ah

My hand

B cut it off

Turns out, B did indeed swing forward and cut off one of Pen's hands.

That's something!

Why the fuck does he act like it's nothing

B lunged forward, and got smacked away by the remaining hand of Pen, and said hand is blasted into oblivion by Uzi's railgun. Well. More like whole arm.

"Shit i missed!" She hissed, as she did indeed miss! You missed! How could you miss, he was three feet in front of you!

Rude

Uzi is grabbed by the previously chopped off hand and thrown away from himself like a kid's toy, sending her railgun away from it's owner.

Where did that hand come from?? Can he regenerate?!

No matter, it's a fight he's looking for then it's a fight he'll get...

B and Uzi stand back up to have a go again and let out a war cry as they run straight towards Pen.

LET'S PLAY, FREAK

It's a battle against just another liar.

When Pen is engaged in combat, all he does is scramble, thrash about, climb and crawl around like a spider and lunge forward when they're both lined up, causing both B and Uzi to get tackled and taken down.

When he is down, suddenly the room goes dark and both B and Uzi are grabbed and thrown away like plushies. And yet they keep getting back up to try again.

He likes to fuck with his prey, it seems...

At least it means Pen can be defeated.

Uzi, having landed conviniently perfectly from a throw, aimed her railgun at Pen once more, this time for the core. Which was hard to do, as his entire body moved like he was one rubber hose, thrashing about wildly and bending and shifting and whipping.

"Fuck!" Uzi shouted, which caused Pen to hear her cuss and grab her from afar as he threw B away.

Language, miss Doorman

I don't appreciate that kind of tone

I think i should punish you for that

And i know just what to do

Uh oh spaghetti-os.

"DO NOT TOUCH HER!"

SLASH...

B flew into the scene and chopped off the arm Uzi was trapped in, and suddenly it felt like time slowed down.

Oh holy shit.

The sight of B, in the air having chopped off one of Pen's arms, the one that held Uzi in his grasp, their hair flying in the wind of the momentum. That long, silver, fluffy, absolutely gorgeous hair.

...

B looked at her, apparently taking advantage of time having slowed down, and smiled so sincerely..? Why???

"[I gotcha]" their screen displayed.

She nodded and smiled back, as she fell and landed on her feet, and raised her railgun once more.

"B! Restrain him for me!"

"Copy that." Woah they love dropping that deep voice card don't they.

B, SOME-FUCKING-HOW, swapped their right hand for the laser and cut Pen's limbs off with it in the air in a half-moon swipe, and soon after they manage to pin him to the wall with their tail to his head.

Oh

Well

We had a good run

Well played, duo

See you another day

Bt Ofm kpplfc pm bs sgf kjsskf ovqokf hjqk, bjnjmh gfq spz bs gjt dpqf, gf efks, epq pmdf jm gjt kjef, xgpkf.

Boom

"Thanks for saving my ass back there..."

"It's nothing... Really, it's nothing, it means nothing-"

"Oh my robo GOD B COULD YOU STOP WITH THE TSUNDERE SHIT" B got startled at the sudden yelling from Uzi. They feel scolded now.

"You saved me and i saved you, we saved each other, because we both care about N and apparently each other too- if it's of any consolation i didn't want this either but does it look like i have control over my feelings?! No! No i don't!"

B looked on as Uzi went on her crazy tangent about feelings and reppression and so on so forth, essentially scolding them, and at some point...

"Okay i get it, now quiet! Christ you can be so annoying sometimes..."

...

...

...

Sigh

"Thanks, i guess... We made a good team..."

...

Uzi could only smile at that. They're right, they do make a good team...

"Yeah..."

"UZI!!!!!!"

Here comes big brother

UH OH SPAGHETTI-OS.

One mighty tackle hug full of love from a worried and happy N took her down once and for all! The evil is defeated! (No it's not, i'm being goofy here lol)

And now it's B's turn in getting taken down, from the small yet strong and feisty V, running full speed at B to give a tackle hug too, causing them both to fall down. V then proceeded to kiss the everloving fUCK out of B because god damn she missed them.

"Woag............" Is all B could muster.

"Are you okay Zi?! Are you hurt?! Traumatized?! Did someone try to do bonding things with you that wasn't B?!"

"I'm okay N i'm fine, heheh-" Uzi chuckled and then fell into a giggle fit when N began nuzzling into her neck.

...

Uzi looked at B, who was smiling at her once more. Surprised, then another sincere smile too.

[You did great]

[So did u]

[Thanks]

[Same]

[mermaidsirennikita]

People are ridiculously entitled and it’s genuinely so disheartening. Books are someone’s ART. You don’t just get to alter a name in someone else’s creative work. (I’m appalled people out there think this is remotely acceptable - writers are not court jesters nor do they exist to please everyone - no human being nor their creative work does, in fact!) Thanks for putting your various responses out there! Here’s hoping people learn to respect and appreciate artists and creators once again

Quoth Nora Roberts:

I am not here to be a slave to certain reader’s wants, needs, whims. Again, I write what I write, and these are MY characters, in my books. Not yours. They are yours to enjoy or not, but they belong to me, they come from me...

You don’t have to agree, but I’m not writing for your particular point of view. Again, I’ve explained my reasons for this. I won’t do so again. My characters, my books, my decision. If you want something else, read something else.

And yes, I said that, too. Blast away, it changes nothing. I am not obliged to meet an individual’s demands.

So.

First off:

If you're really super chill about the idea of being able to change what writers write just because you didn't like a detail you think is small and irrelevant, I would sincerely encourage you to read La Nora's full thoughts on similar issues... and yeah, I'm gonna equate something as "small" as a name with what Nora's talking about here. Because it is ALL the author's domain. I've never personally subscribed to the idea that a work "isn't yours anymore" once it's out in the world. The way people interpret and interact with it isn't yours, sure. But it's still your creation, and you should be the only person with control over the content.

... and sometimes, I, as a reader, don't like what authors do with their content. I get it. I don't like that Lisa Kleypas edited her work years after publishing it, because I'm big on the "own what you wrote originally even if it's uncomfy" train... (for the most part--editing the fetishization of Cam and Kev would've made sense to me). And I don't think there's anything wrong with readers pointing out problematic shit in a writer's work, offering critique in an open forum, as Smart Bitches, Trashy books did when reading Hello, Stranger, which I speculate may have prompted some of Lisa's edits.

But! I can't say that it would ever be my right as a reader to, say, use future technology to tell my reading device "edit out the times Cam says shit that reads super fetishized". It's just kind of repellent to me to imagine rewriting someone's work in any way without their permission. Fuck, I don't even like the idea of estates releasing sequels or revised versions of books unless the author indicated that such was in their wishes in their will. (See: the TWO official Gone with the Wind sequels/prequels/whatever authorized by Margaret Mitchell's estate.)

We, as readers, have our lanes. The writers have theirs. And sometimes, as writers, they do tiny things or BIG things in their lanes that we dislike. (I love Tiffany Reisz's Original Sinners series, for the most part. I really, REALLY hate the most recent book in the series. HATE. IT. But the only thing I can do about that shit is just pretend that book never happened, which I actually can fairly efficiently because I do in fact control what my brain does. Or, seek out books that give me what that series didn't with that most recent book. Sierra Simone's do a bangin' job.) But you know... Not only do I not think it is safe for me to merge into their lane... I don't want writers to feel like they have to submit to demand and give away pieces of their work in order to keep selling.

(And honestly? For the vast majority, I don't think it would make enough of a difference anyway--writers are often sold bills of goods with new strategies or tech. "This will change the way you sell books". Most writers won't ever be able to write full time anyway, and I find the way that this fantasy that you'll be able to do otherwise with THIS TECH optimizing your writing time, or THIS SUBSCRIPTION increasing the eyeballs that will see your book... Scammy. Not all of it's bad! But the selling strategy that you'll make more money... If you're selling on KU, if five extra people buy your book you're still making pennies, so it's gotta be more than one thing that converges to create the sale, and a lot of that, I gotta say, is word of mouth and people just LIKING YOUR SHIT. And I'd argue that they're more likely to like your shit if you're invested as a writer.)

Second:

No need to thank me! I honestly think that the majority of readers do appreciate what writers do (or don't feel either way about it and just read like people have always read lol) but I don't know. I can't really tell what it is--the sort of "fandom" that's been created around books (and like, author fan clubs and such have always existed, but obviously the accessibility is so different), new tech developing very rapidly when for centuries books were relatively stagnant technologically speaking, the fanficification of EVERY type of media it feels like... But the sense of entitlement that certain readers feel does seem to have grown. Or maybe it's simply become more visible. I mean, Nora Roberts has from the dawn of her writing career taken off had fans that can communicate with her, and I'm sure many have written letters like "Go give these characters a baby :(".

My biggest thing is always going to be this: some books ain't gonna be for you. There are books that sound so Caroline. I read them, and for whatever reason--writing style, one character choice, something ephemeral I can't name--they aren't. Everyone else loves these books. I'd love to love these books. I'd love to discuss these books. I'm not in the party. And that's FINE. Not every party is going to be a party I'm down for! One of my best friends loooooves Tessa Bailey and Tessa-like contemporaries. Tessa, by and large, doesn't work for me. So my friend and I can't discuss a lot of books in depth. Do I wish historicals worked for her so that I could nerd out with her? Sure! But I can't make something that doesn't work for her work for her, and I can't make Tessa's books work for me.

And I know that people will be like "it's just a name bitch", but... it's a slippery slope to me, just like ALL of AI and AI-related tech has been a slippery slope. Like, y'all said AI wasn't gonna be a big deal and would just make things easier, and people are now selling AI-written books under their names. Everyone said that authors would have control over how AI interacted with their books, and books are being scraped for AI on the daily.

I do not want anyone to have final control over what is and isn't in a book but the person who wrote the book. I do not want writers to feel like they need to cede any amount of control over the copy in that book over to readers in order to succeed.

And I honestly think it would be a lot healthier for everyone involved if we as readers (viewers, general audiences) just accepted that we don't get everything we want, and creatives are not here to dance to our tune. They are people, and they want to tell the stories they want to tell. Your power? Is in your dollar. If you don't like that shit, don't buy it. If you don't want to support it... don't! Fuck, if you want to talk shit on the internet about how the most recent book in the series was absolutely not for you, that's your right, too.

I don't want you fucking with a single word on the page, though. Feel free to go write your own shit--prosper! But that part of what Nora said that rings true to me most is "they come from me". These books come from writers. You have them because of those writers. So, I don't know, dude. Just take what's there, and if you dislike it, spit it out and move on to the thing you will like. Authors aren't churn factories to produce what you want, and ROMANCE as a genre, however commercial it is and however much it does have that One Rule that defines it as a genre... Is still something that writers should be allowed to experiment with. That's the work writers put in. The work readers put in? Finding shit that works for us. And I'm telling you... With a little practice, it ain't hard. How do y'all think I have all these books to recommend? Lmao

[ariestrxsh]

*˖ ݁𖥔.𓀏·:*¨༺ .♱.✮.♱. ༻¨*:·𓀏.𖥔 ݁ ˖*

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, pure filth, rough unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, humiliation, ripping clothing, mean!matt, roughdom!matt, cuckhold!matt, bratty!reader

📝 author's note: 📝 this is the second part of this fic. you can read part one here. 💖 storyline will be hard to follow if you don't read them in order.

✍️ Summary: ✍️ After Matt loses a bet to his brother, Chris, he has to watch Chris have his way with you, his girlfriend. Once he sees how much you are enjoying Chris' company, he has to remind you who really owns you.

*˖ ݁𖥔.𓀏·:*¨༺ .♱.✮.♱. ༻¨*:·𓀏.𖥔 ݁ ˖*

she thinks of me part two

"You've been dreaming about fucking Chris, huh? Is that so?" Matt gruffly asked me as he pulled out his meat.

Was this really happening? I'd always wanted to know what it would be like to be hate fucked by Matt. I nodded slowly while I looked back at him as I was on the bed on my hands and knees like he'd ordered. "You like making a fucking fool out of me, you dirty little slut? The deal was that you were gonna fuck Chris, not that you were gonna like it, cum all over his cock, and then tell him this pussy belongs to him," he growled through gritted teeth while he roughly shoved his rod into me. I gasped.

"I bet you'd fuck him again given the chance," Matt said, jackhammering into me harder than he ever had before. "Answer me!" He yelled. I nodded at him, which caused him to shove my face into the pillow and thrust harder and faster. "Mmm, you're such a little slut. I can't believe all that shit you were saying to my brother. I bet if you could have us both at the same time, you would, wouldn't you?" He breathlessly grunted while he continued to pound into me with the force of a thousand suns.

I loved the way he was talking to me, and I'd do and say anything to keep it going. "Yes, please," I moaned, and I meant it, but Matt could barely hear me since my voice was muffled by the pillow. "What was that, slut? Speak up," Matt grunted as he grabbed me by my hair and lifted my head, so that his lips were practically touching my earlobe. "Yes, please!" I repeated.

The only thing better than Matt sexually punishing me would be if Chris joined him and fucked me in the same aggressive manner.

"Cheap little whore," he rasped into my ear, and he threw my head back down as he chuckled at how pathetic I was. I felt myself tighten around him as my first orgasm tore through me. An involuntary yelp passed through my lips as I relaxed into my climax and fell limp beneath Matt's vengeful touch. He didn't slow down his strokes one bit.

"Chris could never fuck you like I could fuck you," Matt said through clenched teeth, and he was right. Regardless of how animalistic, hedonistic, and passionate Chris was when he fucked me and no matter how much I loved it, Matt was topping it. But without having watched Chris fuck me, Matt never would have been able to tap into this level of anger and passion, and neither of us could deny it.

"Please punish me for cumming all over your brother's cock, Matt. I'm such a naughty little whore," I cried out as my second orgasm brewed within me. "Tell me who owns this pussy, and you better not give me any fucking wrong answers," Matt threatened me, baring his teeth. "It's yours, Matt! My pussy is all yours!" I cried out as I clenched around him once more.

I couldn't hold myself up anymore. I gave into futility while Matt continued taking what was his. "That's right. I'll just have to fuck the idea of him out of your head, and then we better not have this misunderstanding again," Matt responded in a deep growl. The way his voice echoed throughout my being sent me over the edge one last time, and this had an effect on Matt this time, causing him to bust inside of me. He filled me with his liquid and grunted loudly as he delivered a few last powerful thrusts.

I was completely spent. After climaxing four times back to back, I was an absolute mess. I must have laid there, not moving, for about five minutes after Matt was done, just taking in the experience. He got dressed, left the room, and didn't say anything.

That was undeniably the best sex we'd ever had in the two years we'd been together, and I'm sure Matt had to leave to go process the experience as well, because I could tell he was actually mad. He was definitely the jealous type and possessive, but he also definitely got off on watching Chris fuck me, and we could all tell, and I'm sure it was fucking with his head.

Did he love watching me with Chris? Did he hate it? Does he love to hate it? It was all very complicated and intricate.

All I knew was, I needed to fuck Chris again or at least make it known to Matt that I wanted to fuck Chris again, because now that I'd had angry, hateful, and violently good sex with Matt, I could never go back.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Matt and I didn't talk about the incident for several days. He was even rather cold and short with me for the first twenty-four hours after it happened, but things seemed to slowly return to normal. "Meet me at my house in an hour. I wanna have a special date night with you," Matt texted me. My face lit up. I loved when Matt would plan dates for us, and I wanted to surprise him, too. I put on a red laced teddy underneath my oversized sweater. Seeing me in red lingerie would always drive Matt crazy. I did my makeup, grabbed my overnight bag (just in case), and headed out the door.

The autumn leaves were dwindling from the branches on the trees outside as fall slowly turned to winter, and the air was growing cooler. The sun was starting to set earlier and earlier, so I was surprised when I went out to my car and had to turn on my headlights even though it was only 6 p.m. I made my way to Matt's house, taking all the backroads to avoid red lights, but also because the scenery was prettier. I had an indie folk playlist playing softly in the background as I took in the view and passed through Halloween-decorated neighborhoods.

Finally arriving at the Sturniolo household, I realized Matt's car wasn't there yet, but I'd just use the key Matt has given me for our six month anniversary. He even had it decorated for me with rhinestones. I checked my phone after I shut off my car and saw that Matt had texted again. "Sorry, traffic. Running about 15 min late," it read.

I slowly turned the key in the lock and let myself in. The house was quiet and mostly dark, so I assumed I was the only person there. I started to stroll to the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water when I heard a faint whimper, and as I approached Chris' room and noticed a soft light pouring into the hall from his bedroom, I realized he was home, and the sounds were coming from him. I slowly approached the slightly open door and peeked in.

I took in the glorious sight of Chris sprawled out on his bed, laying halfway under his blanket with his hard member in one hand and in the other, my black panties from the other day, just like I'd imagined when he'd shoved them into his pocket. The lighting was dim, but I could see everything I needed to see.

He had a delighted expression on his face. He was smiling but biting his lip, and every few strokes, he'd release his bottom lip from his teeth, throw his head back, and open his mouth further to let out a moan. He intently stared down at his cock. His tumescent head slowly leaked with a bit of pre-cum, and his hand was gliding slowly but skillfully up and down his length.

I felt a warm, wet sensation forming between my legs while I peered in at him. It was so hot to watch Chris in such a vulnerable state, completely unaware that he had an audience.

"Take that cock, princess," he grumbled under his breath. "Yeah, you like having Matt watch us?" I was so flattered to have made my way into Christopher Sturniolo's sexual fantasies. I couldn't get enough of the sight I was taking in. He was so thorough and methodical, paying special attention to the tip, running the pads of his fingers over the glistening slit, stroking the backside of his cock almost as if tracing his veins. "That's it, pretty girl. Cum all over my cock," he whispered to himself in between his delicious moaning sounds.

I mindlessly started rubbing myself over my clothes, applying pressure against my mound with my palm. I bit my lip to keep my whines stifled. I watched as Chris started bucking his hips up towards his clenched fist, and I could tell by his movements, the expression of pleasure he wore on his face, the sounds spilling from his mouth, and the irregular pattern of his breath that he was starting to lose control.

I was so entranced by what I was witnessing that I didn't hear Matt come in through the front door or feel him come up behind me. Suddenly, Chris reached his breaking point. His sticky, white matter ejected from the tip of his cock like a geyser or a water fountain, and I admired the way it shot onto his bare stomach, a bit of it pooling into his belly button and leaving his hip bones covered in a sheen of his own fluid while he tightly gripped my panties in his other fist.

"Hey, Chris, shut your fucking door while you're jerking it, freak!" Matt's voice boomed behind me, and before Matt pulled the door closed, Chris made eye contact with me for a fraction of a second and the way I was reaching between my own legs for some relief while I watched him with a shocked but aroused look on my face. His beautiful blue eyes were glazed over, and he shot me a smirk that silently asked me, so, did you like watching me cum to the thought of you? I could tell by his demeanor that he liked that I had been peeping in on him. The view was taken away from me by Matt closing the crack in the door angrily.

"So, you like watching my brother play with his cock, huh? Why didn't you go help him, you little slut?" Matt inquired in a condescending tone while his warm breath lingered on the back of my ear. I turned around wide-eyed with my jaw hanging open, not sure what to say. He pulled my sweater off of me, pulled down my pants, and left me standing in the hallway outside of Chris' bedroom in nothing but my red lingerie I'd put on for Matt. His frustrated expression morphed into a primal one. "You look so fuckable in this," Matt growled, "but I can't devour you in it."

He tore my lingerie off of me, literally ripping it with his bare hands, and I gasped. He unzipped his pants, pulled his cock out, and spun me around. After pushing me up against Chris' shut bedroom door, he plunged his hard package into me. I gasped and let out a yelp as he started fucking me with incredible vigor.

"Mmmm, so wet. Is that from watching Chris beat his meat?" Matt cooed. "Yes," I whimpered. "Yeah, I bet you wanna fuck him again," Matt chuckled, wrapping his tattooed arm around my neck to hold me still. "More than anything," I cried out while he slammed into my pussy over and over. I found myself simultaneously humiliated and extremely turned on by the fact that Chris could hear everything from the other side of the door and that he couldn't even really leave until we were finished. I wondered if Chris could be stroking himself towards another climax while he listened to Matt punishing me right outside his room.

"You little fucking brat. You can't stay away from him, can you?" Matt whimpered into my ear while he began to fuck me even more fervently. With every thrust, Matt brought me closer to the brink of orgasm. "Don't stop. I'm so close," I cried out, practically clawing at the door. "I'll only let you cum if you tell Chris who owns this pussy," Matt menacingly whispered. "You, Matt. My pussy is all yours!" I wailed as my body trembled, and I started to rhythmically spasm around Matt's dick. "That's it. Good girl," Matt cooed while I finished on him.

Seconds later, Matt was grunting, filling me with his essence and slowing down his thrusts. He let out a mean chuckle as he pulled himself out of me, and when he did this, a few drops of his cum leaked out of me and onto the floor. "You can come out now, Chris. Thanks for letting us use your door," Matt laughed, zipping up his pants and walking towards the kitchen.

Chris emerged from his room with a flushed look on his face while I balanced myself against the doorframe, trying to catch my breath. He looked me up and down while I stood completely naked in front of him, and I looked him up and down, noticing how red and swollen his lips were from him biting them and the outline of his hard on in his sweatpants.

"Listen, I'm not trying to get between you and Matt," Chris told me in a hushed voice. "Well, please try, because the more jealous he gets of the way we interact, the better our sex is," I whispered while I looked into his dreamy blue eyes. He bit his lip.

"Did you like watching me? Because I fucking loved listening to you," his voice grew deeper and quieter. I licked my lips at him and slowly nodded, "I loved every second of it." I bent down to pick my clothes and my torn lingerie up off the floor, feeling Chris' eyes watching me, and I strode off towards the kitchen to talk to Matt. Chris trailed behind me.

part three posted here 💖

taglist: @ariithereyet @bsturnzmtt @sofieeeeex @ribread03 @fratbrochrisgf @sturniolo-girl @strnlxlqve @sturnzluv @gwennybenny @theeternaloptimistt @sleepysturniolo @hearts4thetr1pl3ts @witchofthehour @slutforsturnioloss

[natailiatulls07]

I have to say, your Charles fics where he is/acts like a father are my favorite (the marguerite series and now the recent one) i'd love to keep seeing more ❤

Jules Bianchi x Daughter!reader

Charles Leclerc x little sister!reader

Summary - It's his home race, his family are there and his win; All through Marguerites eyes

Warning - Mention of Herve Leclerc's death, mention of alcohol

A/n - I'm back oops! Sorry I haven't posted in a month, to cut a long story short alot of shit happened in my life and I took an unexpected break lol. Also @nikfigueiredo thank you babes <333

(The blue bold text is Sky f1 commentary)

Marguerite

-

26.05.2024

The atmosphere in Ferrari hospitality was tense. Well everywhere was tense but espercially in Ferrari. Charles Leclerc was leading the Monaco Grand Prix, leading his home race.

Somewhere special to him and his loved one. He grew up on these streets and to win is something he and his late had grown up dreaming.

"There's his family watching on; Alexandra is partner, Pascale is mother and of course his adopted little sister Y/n, who is the daughter of the late Jules Bianchi."

I could feel the Sky camera panning towards me and the rest of the family but I was too stressed. Alexandra was stood beside me and I didn't need to look away from the large screen to know that she was fiddling nervously with her bracelets, much like how I was fidgeting with long strands of my hair.

I watched as the laps ticked closer to 78, one by one slowly. It was really an out of body experience. Part of me knew there was people around but I couldn't care less for them, keeping focused on Charlie.

"And for the first time in 93 years, this favoured race is won by one of their own. Charles Leclerc wins the Monaco Grand Prix to achieve his dream; Victory in his home race!"

Only then did I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Once again the Sky camera is focused on me and Alexandra, but we don't care.

A soft touch shocks me out of my awe and whipping my head around, I see Alexandra looking at me with a excited smile.

"He did! Oh Marguerite, he did!" Her voice is surprisingly smoothing compared to the rest of hospitality. I just echo that same smile before wrapping my arms around her neck as I let out a shaky breath.

Behind Alexandra stand Pascale who captures my eyes, she has small tears on the edge of her water line. It wasn't hard to understand why she had tears in her eyes. I remember the day that we were told Herve Leclerc passed away, of course I was young but I could vividly remember it.

Pulling away from the hug, I feel a sudden surge of energy and excitement. In completely contrast to during the race, I start bouncing on my feet and laughing eagerly.

Turning to random people on our way out of the Ferrari hospitality. "Charlie won the race! His home race!" In return I would get sweet smile and laughs of joy.

-

"We can see Y/n Bianchi once again, I think she definitely rivaling Charles Leclerc in excitement right now. Not that long ago, we saw her excitedly talking to Jenson which was a funny thing to watch!"

We make it down to the track in time for the podium. Most of our trip down to the track was spent with Pascale and/or Alexandra pulling me away from restlessly talking to people about his win.

I look up at the podium, I watch as Carlos, Oscar and then Charles all make their ways to their respective steps. We watch as they are handed their trophies and as Prince Albert gives Charlie multiple thrilled hugs.

During the Monegasque national athems, I notice how his eyes floats down to us. Instantly the smiles on both mine and his face widens, finally feeling joy together. After the first athem, I join the Ferrari crew and staff in happily singing the Italian national athems.

"You know we need to get Y/n on to do something with the Sky f1 team because she seems like a sweet young lady and we know that fans her age love her!"

-

Whilst waiting for the team debriefing to finish; Me, Alexandra, Pascale, Arthur, Lorenzo and his girlfriend, Charlotte, were all given the now empty Ferrari hospitality to relax.

"Can you believe?! Oh I'm so happy for him!" Unlike everyone, I couldn't hold in my excitement and I was frantically bouncing in my spot between Charlotte and Alexandra. It didn't help that I was running on close to no sleep and some random energy drink.

Everyone just laughed shaking their heads softly. "Oh my god! We need to celebrate! Maybe even my first ever drink!?" I look over towards Pascale, she was practically like a grandmother to me.

She just laughs, giving me a knowning look before replying to me. "That's up to Charlie, don't ask me..."

"Up to me? What's up to me?" His voice comes out of no where, we all quickly turn to face the entrance and there he was stood still in racing suit.

I don't wait a second before rushing over to him and jumping into a hug, something we haven't done in a few years. "You did it! You did it!" I can feel the rumble of his laughter as his arms tighten around me. "I'm so proud of you!" I whisper gently.

Unknown to me, everyone in the room is tearing up. All so proud of Charlie but just in awe of the sweet moment between him and the most loving teenage ever.

"Also can I have my first drink tonight whilst we celebrate? Please!" With a pout on my face, I look up to his face but as soon as he shakes his head with a smirk, my pout turns into a frown and everyone around us just laughs knowingly.

-

[joelscruff]

one thing i'm missing (joel miller/reader) PART TWO

thank you so much for the love on the first part!! ♥ PART ONE | ao3 summary: you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming. rating: 18+ explicit (this part is not explicit but this fic will be) warnings: (for future parts) smut, age difference (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 50s), praise kink - will add more as fic progresses word count: about 3.9k

That whole day you'd kept waiting for Joel to mention it, say absolutely anything in allusion to what the two of you had shared that morning, but he didn't. And in turn, neither did you. It was like it had never happened; he didn't look at you differently or talk to you differently, which you guess in most ways you were grateful for. The last thing you wanted was for him to suddenly start acting like there was something weird going on, but there was something going on. The way he'd looked at you, the way his fingers had stroked the skin of your back, you knew it wasn't just nothing.

The only thing that had changed was Joel's stamina; after such a good sleep, he'd recovered greatly in just one night and now seemed to be able to travel further without as many stops. In just one day you'd all managed to double your travel time, which even managed to put a smile on Ellie's face.

“I'm glad you're feeling better,” she'd said to Joel that afternoon, beaming proudly at the miracle she'd helped him achieve, “It was weird not having you around for so long.”

He'd smiled back at her and your heart had stuttered at the familiarity of it, recalling the look he'd given you that morning, “I knew I'd be back,”he'd said it stiltedly, like he was talking in a foreign accent. You'd both stared at him in confusion and he'd sighed exasperatedly, “Terminator. Movie from the 80s.”

“Ohhh,” you and Ellie had both chorused, and he'd rolled his eyes.

You'd set up camp again that night and had hoped that Ellie's change in demeanour might warrant her sleeping closer to the fire, closer to you and Joel, but it didn't. In fact, she'd ended up setting down her sleeping bag even further away than the night before. You and Joel both acknowledged it but didn't say anything to her, not wanting to push her boundaries.

“I'm worried about her,” you'd said quietly when it was just the two of you.

“I know, me too,” he'd sighed, “Kept thinkin' that maybe tonight would be different – she was so normal today, wasn't she?���

“She was,” you agreed, “I thought the same thing.”

“Guess it's gonna take time,” he muttered, poking at the fire absentmindedly, “luckily we got no shortage of that, huh?” his eyes met yours and you felt that familiar flutter in the base of your stomach before he turned his attention back to the fire.

Joel took first watch. Neither of you had acknowledged the period of time in which you both slept last night, so by proxy Joel hadn't given you any shit for not waking him up for his turn. You set your sleeping bag up a few feet from the fire where he sat, painfully aware of the fact that he could see every move you made. You realized quickly that in your nervousness, or maybe because all you could think of was last night, you'd laid it wide and flat against the ground like it was a duvet. Like it wasn't just you sleeping under it tonight.

“You'll freeze like that,” he'd said quietly behind you, and you'd tried not to show the disappointment you felt was written all over your body language.

“Right,” you'd muttered, and zipped the bag back up, slipping inside of it and shutting your eyes tight once you were situated.

Of course he's not gonna get in with you, you idiot. It was a one-time thing. He's probably already forgotten it even happened.

You tried to sleep but failed miserably. Your thoughts wouldn't shut up, reminding you over and over again that Joel was right there, only a few feet away, and yet you couldn't have felt further away from him. You longed for the feeling of his arms around you again, that warmth you'd shared together, the feeling of his hot skin against the palm of your hand. You couldn't stop replaying that moment over and over, when he'd looked down at you and smiled so softly and tenderly, looked at you like you were the only person that existed to him.

You felt a gentle nudge to your shoulder and you opened your eyes to see Joel kneeling over you, extending the rifle toward your still form, “Sorry,” he'd said quietly, “it's your turn.”

“It's okay, I wasn't asleep,” you whispered, taking the rifle from him and sitting up.

His brow furrowed at your words but he didn't say anything else, just got up from his crouch and walked over to where he'd set up his blanket. You felt the urge to tell him he'd freeze, use his own words against him, but you knew it wouldn't achieve anything.

Your watch was uneventful, spent mostly throwing grass into the fire and watching the embers dance in the darkness. You couldn't get your mind to focus on anything else but Joel, who you periodically peered over at to make sure wasn't freezing to death. He was still, but the expression on his face was anything but peaceful and you very much doubted he was even asleep.

Around the time you knew you were supposed to alert him for his watch, you hesitated. A new thought had crossed your mind and you began to twist it around in your head, weighing the pros and cons. After a few moments of deep thought, you got up and walked over to Joel. He was shivering a little bit now, not much but it was obvious he wasn't comfortable.

Fuck it, you'd thought to yourself, then grabbed your sleeping bag and started to unzip it. Hearing the noise, Joel – who (you were right) was wide awake – opened his eyes and saw you standing there. You met his gaze but neither of you said anything. He'd watched as you carefully laid down beside him, not close enough that you were touching because you still weren't sure how he'd react, but so both of you were underneath the new layer of warmth together. You waited for him to tell you to move or for him to scramble out from under the material and start his watch, but he didn't. He just kept looking at you, expression unreadable. It was like an unspoken challenge, who would speak first, and you were both winning.

With one last look at him, you'd closed your eyes, willing yourself to believe that he would stay.

-

The sound of Joel snoring woke you up in the early hours of the morning, not because it was obnoxious but because it was directly in your ear. Your eyes snapped open and you realized you were now lying on your side facing the trees. You could feel him at your back, pressed into you solidly with his arms wrapped around your middle; he was spooning you.

Swallowing out of nervousness you looked down at his hands, curled around your midsection, and felt a hot pang of recognition as reality began to sink in; he hadn't gotten up for his watch, he'd stayed with you and fallen asleep. He'd wanted you there. You closed your eyes and found yourself choking back the sudden emotions you felt bubbling to the surface. Joel wanted you. He wanted you.

He snored again and you couldn't help but smile, feeling his warm breath at the nape of your neck, the tip of his nose bumping gently against the skin there. You could feel his beard against the top of your shoulder blade and you shivered unconsciously, leaning further back into his touch, feeling the hint of his lips brush against your skin. You closed your eyes and sighed contentedly, and seconds later you'd fallen back to sleep.

When you woke again, he was gone. You rolled over with a frown, searching for him, only to see both he and Ellie sitting at the fire eating breakfast. You looked down and realized that Joel had put his blanket back in his pack and wrapped your sleeping bag around you, making it seem like you'd slept by yourself all night. If he'd been alone at the fire you would have been confused, hurt, but seeing Ellie sitting there made it make sense; he didn't want her to know, and honestly neither did you.

You'd sat up and stretched, then extricated yourself from the sleeping bag and shuffled over to the two of them. Ellie hadn't said anything, bleary eyed and clearly still half asleep as she munched on whatever canned perishable they'd cooked up, but Joel had looked at you and graced you with a gorgeous half smile, eyes meeting yours.

“Mornin',” he'd said softly, “Sleep good?”

You'd smiled back and sat beside Ellie, reaching for a fork, “Really good, you?”

His eyes, dark and deep but shining in the morning sun, held your gaze as he replied, “Can't complain.”

After that, neither of you slept alone.

The following night, Joel had spread his blanket out on the ground and you'd wordlessly placed your sleeping bag on top of it; he didn't object. You both abandoned the idea of a second watch, confident that you were far enough away from any civilization that no one was going to sneak up on you in the night. After checking the perimeter and making sure Ellie was fast asleep, you'd crawled under the sleeping bag where Joel lay still and inched in beside him. You didn't make eye contact, nerves twisting inside your belly as you shuffled even closer to him and wound your arm around his torso, placing your head on his chest. In response, he'd tilted his head toward yours, nosing the crown of it and sighing contentedly, his hands coming up to trail gently along your back.

“Night,” you'd breathed, nuzzling into the warmth of his coat, focusing on the feeling of being held by him.

“G'night,” he'd murmured in response, and you'd both fallen asleep within minutes.

Every morning was the same in some ways but different in others. Sometimes he'd be spooning you from behind again, and you could always tell when he was awake versus when he was asleep by the way he nuzzled against you. When he was asleep he was uninhibited, mouth open against your skin and arms a dead weight around your body, solid and comfortable. When he was awake he was more reserved, keeping his face shrouded in your jacket instead of your neck, fingers consciously fluttering around your middle like he wasn't sure exactly what to do with them.

Admittedly you'd pretend to be asleep for longer periods so you could bask in the feeling of him holding you so close; whenever he realized you were awake he would always pull away, not out of embarrassment or regret but because he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable. This much was clear by the way he touched you when he thought you were asleep, so careful and gentle, soft and sweet. Like you were some precious thing he had to be extremely careful with or you'd break apart. He was never trying to get away from you, only trying to get you closer.

But neither of you said anything, never spoke a word about it to each other. It simply became a part of the routine. You weren't sure if there was some unspoken rule that talking about it would make it weird or make it go away, but you weren't going to risk it and neither was Joel. What happened at night and in the early mornings was just between the two of you, quiet and secret. Ellie was none the wiser; she was still keeping her distance at night and though you were still concerned about it, you had to admit that you were slightly thankful for her sudden desire for independence. Without it, you doubted you'd be waking up in Joel's embrace every morning.

Your favorite part of those mornings, of those moments, was when Joel would look at you. Somehow, though neither of you had spoken a word about what was going on, that one look he'd give you in the early hours when the sun was just barely cresting the trees was everything. His eyes would meet yours in a silent whisper, a cosmic spark that you could feel in your bones. They were so brown and so soft – you could remember first meeting him and being frightened by the coldness of his stare, laughable now. The man who looked at you now was kind and gentle, the aged lines that painted his face no longer seeming intimidating or such a big deal – he was a lot older than you, but so what? He'd blink slowly, no longer because he was tired but because he was so relaxed, and oftentimes his eyes would involuntarily close again and he'd fall back into a quiet and easy sleep.

You'd live in that brief moment for the rest of the day, holding the image at the front of your mind until you were back in his arms again. Rinse. Repeat. You still weren't sure what any of it meant to him, but you'd begun to realize what it meant to you; the mere thought of not having those moments anymore or losing whatever it was the two of you shared frightened you. You'd begun to need him so much more than you had before and you couldn't help but wonder if he was starting to feel that same need.

-

It had been about two weeks since the events with David. Joel was doing much better but still hadn't returned to his regular travel pace, leaving you all still hiking through the Colorado wilderness. You'd both had to make a pretty tough decision in regard to whether you'd travel by roads and through small abandoned communities or stick to the secluded safety of the forest. Arguably you'd get to your destination faster by road, but safety had become a much higher priority ever since Joel's close call, not to mention Ellie had obviously become extremely wary of other people. The last thing you needed was to run into another group – or worse, a cult like David's. Besides, sleeping deep in the forest meant less need for frequent watches, which meant more good sleeps for both you and Joel that kept you well rested and alert... among other things.

The sun had started setting when Ellie first saw the sign, running ahead with a wide eyed expression and extending her arm out to point to the faded wooden letters.

“'Evergreen Haven Hideaway'”, she read aloud “Come for a relaxing soak in our hot springs'” she turned around to look at you and Joel, a confused expression on her face, “What are hot springs?”

“Holy shit,” you'd muttered breathlessly, jogging forward a bit to catch up to Ellie and peer at the sign, “They're like natural outdoor baths, the water stays really warm even when it's cold outside.”

“Baths?” she'd looked at you incredulously, “Like we could actually get clean here?”

“Well, without soap we can't do much, but being submerged in water that's not gonna make us freeze to death sounds good to me.”

“Hold on,” Joel had caught up to you, expression serious, “Look at the other sign.”

Your eyes scanned ahead of you and you noticed another wooden sign that had fallen down into the dirt, half covered by plant growth: Cabins and Campground for All Ages.

“This ain't just a hot spring, it's a resort.”

Your face visibly fell and Ellie raised an eyebrow, “So?”

“So,” Joel sighed, looking around suspiciously as if he half expected to see someone emerge from the treeline, “That last place where everything went down, that was a resort too. Albeit much larger and not secluded, but still a resort.”

At the mention of David's compound, Ellie's expression changed, her eyes suddenly cold and hard. You watched as she clenched her left hand into a fist, then swiftly turned around to face away from you and Joel so you couldn't see her face.

“Nothing could be worse than that place,” she said stoically, evenly.

You and Joel looked at each other, sharing a glance that echoed the exact same sentiment: she wasn't going to take no for an answer, not anymore.

Sighing, Joel shook the rifle off his shoulder and checked the rounds. You pulled out your handgun and did the same thing, biting your lip. You were both running out of bullets, not to mention food, and you both knew that an opportunity like this to find some supplies wasn't going to come along again any time soon. Hearing the rattle of artillery, Ellie spun back around. Her cold expression was suddenly replaced with a wide smile when she saw what you were doing.

“Fuck yeah!” she said excitedly, slipping her backpack off and digging through it to find her gun, “Hot springs!”

“Hot springs,” you repeated with a smile, eyeing Joel.

He nodded but his expression was still serious, “Hot springs.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

oh hello, I am here for my first beloved hype fic: someone who cares! prompt: "do you remember when we first met?"

I'll leave the rest to you and your gigantic, perfect brain <333

Lex!! 😍 Thank you so much for all your support and for giving this little universe so much love. These two were the starting point of my Steddie obsession AND of my fanfic journey, and they'll always hold a special place in my heart. Hope you'll enjoy their wedding day!

Perfect, somehow

Rated: G

Words: 986

Tags: No UD AU; Modern AU, Steve is Dustin’s dad; Established relationship; Wedding day; Eddie Munson is a sweetheart; Steve Harrington needs a hug

Notes: Set in the same universe as Someone who cares

Steve is staring out at the rain and the soggy decorations dangling sadly from the branches of the apple tree when he hears the bedroom door open.

“Hey Robs,” he sighs, fiddling with the flimsy zipper of the dry cleaner bag. “Do you think it’s too late to reschedule the whole thing? I know Eddie will be disappointed, but-” 

“Disappointed?” says a voice behind him. A very familiar, very male voice that is distinctly not Robin’s. “I think the word you’re looking for is fucking livid, honey.” 

“What the fuck?” Steve yelps, whirling around so suddenly he nearly topples. “I told Dustin to get Robin!” 

Eddie shrugs - or at least Steve thinks he does. It’s a bit hard to say with only his head poking into the room, the rest of him still hidden behind the half-open door. “She’s downstairs talking to the caterer. Can I come in or what? Dustin said, and I quote, Dad looks like he’s about to puke on his ugly-ass shoes.” 

Steve’s gaze flicks down to his tan leather slippers. He bought them especially for today, to have something to go with his cream suit. 

“It’s bad luck to see each other before the ceremony,” he mutters. 

“Yeah right,” Eddie snorts and steps into the room. The mumble of voices from downstairs dims as he shuts the door behind him. “Except from what you just said, you’d rather not have a ceremony at all.” 

“That’s not true,” Steve blurts. “Of course I wanna- … oh shit, you look amazing.” 

Eddie smiles - the boyish and dimpled one that was one of the first things Steve fell in love with - playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. Black, just like his shirt and tie and pants. His hair has been tamed into a braid, the first stubborn strands already escaping and curling around his face. 

“Thanks,” he says, black leather shoes nervously scuffing on the bedroom floor. “You only get married once, huh? If you still wanna. Marry me, that is.” 

Steve groans. The dry cleaner bag, still clutched in his clammy hands, crinkles as he flops down on the bed. 

“Of course I wanna marry you. I wanna marry you so fucking badly, you have no idea!” 

Eddie’s brow wrinkles. “Then what’s the problem?” 

“What’s the problem?” Steve blurts, gesturing frantically at the curtain of rain behind the windowpane. “I wanted this to be perfect, and now? Weather forecast says it won’t stop raining until tomorrow, and even if it did, the yard’s a fucking mud field. And as if that wasn’t enough, the fucking dry cleaner ruined my suit jacket.” 

He unzips the bag, shaking the mess inside at Eddie’s face. Those pretty brown eyes grow large. 

“Whoa,” Eddie mutters. “Please tell me you demanded your money back.” 

Steve doesn't reply, just continues to stare at him with the same glum expression. Eddie’s eyes go soft and he huffs a laugh. 

“Hey,” he says, plucking the bag from Steve’s hands and tossing it over a chair. Then, he plops down on the mattress beside him, knee to knee, and links their fingers. “Do you remember when we first met?” 

“Huh?” Steve blinks. “Yes, of course, why do you-” 

“I was one failed rent payment away from sleeping on the curb,” Eddie interrupts him, smile wide and happy. “The power company had cut me off weeks ago, and besides, I had pawned my laptop, so I hand wrote my application for that job you'd posted. Not that I thought I'd get it, but I was sort of grasping at straws, y’know?” 

His smile is warm and fond when he looks at Steve.

“That apartment building of yours was so fucking fancy. And then you barged out of that stupid, pompous penthouse and I thought shit, not only is he filthy rich, he's also disgustingly hot on top? Gimme a break, that's just unfair.” 

Steve scoffs, heat prickling at the base of his neck. “C'mon now, I was a mess. My father was breathing down my back at work, I felt like I was failing as a dad. The bags under my eyes were probably reaching my knees.” 

Eddie laughs, loud and carefree and Steve loves him. Loves him so fucking much, wants to spend the rest of his life listening to that laugh. Still can't believe he'll get to. 

“Okay, one: you looked like a fucking dream, baby. And two: I think we can agree we both weren't in the best of places, each in his own way. Right?” 

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, agreed.” 

Eddie's fingers squeeze his, the touch warm and familiar. The shape of his hand. The warm metal of his rings. Skulls and crosses, and the plain silver one Steve gave him on the day he proposed to him. “And still here we are, huh?” 

Steve takes a moment to let this sink in. Here they are. The man he loves and him, with the family they chose downstairs, ready to build a future together. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Here we are, I guess.” 

“So, what d’you say?” Eddie hums, lifting their entwined hands to kiss Steve’s knuckles. “You wanna get married?” 

Steve can't help it, he laughs. “Hell yeah, let's do it.” 

“Yesss,” Eddie cheers, jumping off the bed and punching at the air. “Let's fucking go!” 

Then, he starts unlacing his shoes. He's taken off his socks and is rolling up his pants before Steve finds his words again. 

“Erm, Eddie? What are you doing?” 

Eddie, just in the process of shrugging out of his suit jacket, shoots him a toothy grin. “What we do best, love. I'm making it work.”

They say their vows ankle-deep in mud, with the wind blowing rain under their umbrella and ruining their hair. It's nothing like Steve ever imagined his wedding day to be. It's all he never knew he wanted. 

And damn if that isn't its own kind of perfect. 

More celebration ficlets!

[fairydares]

loook i get why the idea of riding the "anti/pro" fandom disk horse makes people gag a little in their mouth and try to opt out entirely, but here's why i went from feeling exactly the same way to taking a firm profiction stance. I've been meaning to make this post for a while.

~10 years ago, I posted a fic for the first time and it got its own harassment campaign. The fic wasn't even sexual, and wasn't going to be (it remains incomplete). It was accurately rated T on fanfiction.net. Anyone in the Fairy Tail fandom will understand this: I literally got harassed for writing a "Lucy leaves the guild" fic💀.

After many nice comments, someone left a pretty nasty one. Hurt, I messaged them back. They acted super attacked that I'd responded (lmao) and after we argued, threatened to "rip my shitty story apart in the comments section" if I responded again. I told them "go ahead lol."

They went ahead.

Now know that it was a relatively small harassment campaign, but at the time, it was devastating. Right around then, I wound up in the hospital. After I got out, I went to excitedly check my fic, and found several reviews saying things I wouldn't repeat to my worst enemy. I was suicide-baited more than once, told "thank fuck you finally abandoned this shitty story, dumb cunt," stuff like that.

There were several accounts involved, and I can't say for sure, but I suspect at least a couple different people were involved, though probably at least half of it was one person.

All the other comments were screeching about how I hadn't updated, mostly. "NO UPDAAATEE WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS TO MEEEE??!!!" was one that stood out after I'd been miserable in a hospital for an extended period of time.

Idk what people think is going on when FT fic authors write this trope, and frankly I don't give a fuck. Because while I was partly writing the story out of some young, cringe feminist rage, I also did genuinely have a real story I was compelled to tell. I was inspired by another, popular fic I loved which used the trope to talk about how trying to shoulder our burdens alone really just hurts both ourselves and everyone who cares about us.

My own story was ultimately going to have similar themes, with more focus on strength, what it means, and in what contexts earning and having it actually matters. In retrospect, no wonder I wound up in hot water, because at the time "Lucy vs. Strength vs. Misogyny" was the FT fandom's Designated Nonsensically Activist Debate™. But that's partly why i wanted to write about it; engaging with the fandom had gotten me thinking about it 🤷‍♂️

Not too long after that, FFNet oh-so-benevolently granted us the ability to delete comments from our own stories (they never took my reports seriously at all, afaik). I deleted all or most of the harassers' comments (may still be a one or two up, and i'm fairly sure there's a couple comments defending my fic from the harassment) without saving screenshots, which I really regret now. I was just so mortified and full of self-loathing about the whole thing that i wanted to forget it completely. Something that had brought me joy at a very lonely, vulnerable period of my life had turned so negative, and i couldn't even tell the people closest to me about it without being made fun of for writing anime fan fiction.

I didn't understand why this happened at the time, but--after a period of trying to forget/bid out of it all with a slight anti lean (a common approach I see people use, and one which I'm not proud of adopting)--I just had to figure out What the Fuck Even Happened There. And I'm telling you, after years of reflecting, wrestling with both sides, and educating myself, that this "status quo of harassment" culture which pervades fandom goes way deeper than you think and comes out of a way darker well than you probably realize. An astonishing amount of this is, quite literally, TERF shit and evangelical shit.

Trying to be in fandom and take a stance of, "Anti/Pro shit? Ew, I'm Not Touching that," is like swimming in a heavily polluted river and being like, "Poison? Cringe. Not me lol."

You might be lucky enough to be in a less-polluted part of the river (AKA a relatively non-toxic fandom, in which case good for you!)...but tbh this rhetoric and peer-signalling will still seep in.

I can't stress enough that pro-fiction, AKA "proship", is the normal, leftist-about-art-and-sex opinion. Pro-ship is against all the horrible things you're against; in fact, pro-ship isn't trivializing real trauma by equating it with fictional trauma, or trying to apply literal evangelical/radfem solutions--which are proven not to prevent or help. Profiction/proship is literally just saying, "Fiction is fiction, reality is reality, and the two don't have a 1:1 relationship. And historically, trying to censor just things we've decided are bad has done nothing but get LGBTQ+ and POCs censored. Therefore, depictions of illegal things shouldn't be censored." That's it. "Proshippers all ship problematic ships," is a brazen lie. Many of them share other fans' disgust for those ships, they just don't believe in censoring fic authors over it.

It is also taking a stand against harassment because--and I hope my own story has helped drive this home--as with all groups who adopt ingroup/outgroup thinking, antis are defined by their tactics, not actual stances on real, serious issues. What happened to me was absolutely a result of anti, "it's okay to 'bully out' anything I just don't like" mindset pervading fandom. In a way, this was the mindset's final form. They didn't even feel the need to cite a reason the trope was "bad" or "wrong"; it annoyed them, and they viewed their own feelings as a valid enough pathway for policing to go right ahead and do so.

In the interest of offering solutions instead of just bitching about problems, I might make a "how to know if you've bought into these types of views"-type post sometime. Also might come back to this and provide some sources/citation.

[joanvisitsrome]

stars between us - ch.3 - h.c

Here's chapter 3! I'm looking to do a one-shot or two before continuing this further. I'm always taking requests for anyone in my Masterlist. Comment on this post if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this fic!

Summary: The first day of the two-day camping trip with Hazel. I'd recommend the song "how soon is now?" by the Smiths, for at least the beginning of this chapter.

Contains: overwhelming amount of fluff, sad hazel, mean!pj, slight angst, a wee bit of flirting, mention of weed/drugs

To say that you were scared awake is an understatement. PJ quite literally BLASTED a horn into you and Hazel’s ear the next morning. You jolt awake, not realizing you were still holding Hazel’s hand. However, in your jolt, you squeeze it. You then realize that Hazel got very close to you in her sleep last night. You let go of her hand under the covers and rub your eyes.

“Morning Haze.” you said sleepily.

“Morning,” she replied in a raspy voice.

“Gee, aren’t you guys tired! What, were you guys finger-fucking each other all night?” PJ interrupts. All you and Hazel do is give her an annoyed look, as you had barely woken up and were already done with her shit.

“PJ, just because two people slept in the same bed and are tired waking up, does not mean they fucked each other,” Brittany points out.

“Okay, okay. Jesus.”

You and Hazel begrudgingly get out of bed, knowing that staff would be knocking at the cabin’s door to wake everyone up soon. You both got changed into comfortable outfits for the day. Today on the trip, everyone would be picking up trash, planting flowers, and hiking.

“Your shirt is very pretty,” Hazel says as you’re fixing your hair.

“Oh, thanks!” you smile at the unexpected compliment.

“What flowers are those?” Hazel motions to the flowers on your shirt.

“Oh these? They’re irises.”

“Are those your favorite flowers?”

“No, they’re tulips. Do you have a favorite flower?”

“Actually, yeah. They’re daisies.” Hazel smiles, looking at you with her gorgeous blue eyes. You nod, internally reminding yourself to keep that in mind.

“Alright, are you ready to go to breakfast?” you ask Hazel. She nods, and stands up. She looks at you for a second, contemplating something. She shakes out of it though.

“Yeah! Let’s go!”

“Wait, Hazel, I need to talk to you.” you hear from PJ from the corner of the room.

“You can go without me. I’ll meet you there.”

“Are you sure? I can wait, I don’t mind.”

“No, no. Just save a plate of breakfast for me, okay?” You give her a thumbs up and leave the cabin, closing the door behind you. Mid-walk to the tables, you remember that you forgot your book. You make your way back, but hear your name being said in the voices you hear when you’re at the door.

“She probably doesn’t like you Hazel. Look at her, she’s friends with the cheerleaders.” you hear from PJ.

“How is that different from Josie and Isabel?” you hear from Hazel.

“Well Isabel was gay. Your new little friend is not.”

“Well we don’t exactly know that yet. Plus, I want to get to know her. Not stick my tongue down her throat.”

“I’m just saying, don’t get disappointed if she doesn’t hang out with you after this weekend.” after that you hear silence. You hear footsteps, which cause you to scramble away from the door. However, you still need your book. You approach the door again, opening it, and seeing Hazel waiting there, her eyes swimming with tears.

“Hey.” she says quietly, a small break in her voice.

“Hazel. Are you okay?” you put your hand on her shoulder. She nods her head, although you know damn well that that’s a lie.

“Let’s go somewhere else.” You lead Hazel outside, and go about fifteen feet away from the cabin, near some trees.

“Can you explain to me what’s wrong?” Hazel tries to calm down, but keeps on crying. You put your arm around her shoulder and rub her arm soothingly. “Talk to me. Let me know what’s going on.”

Hazel’s breathing becomes less erratic and she’s able to catch a breath. She leans her back against the tree.

“I guess, uh, PJ doesn’t really think that you and I are really friends. She told me that you’re just being nice to me because I’m really clingy, and that like I haven’t stopped being around you since the bus ride.”

“Well, you’ve told me once, and I’m seeing once again, PJ is an asshole. Why are you even listening to her in the first place?”

“I, um, don’t know. She’s known me for a really long time, and I feel like I have to trust her.”

“You can know someone for all your life and not trust them. Haze, I can tell you right now that that’s not true. I’m really excited to spend the day with you today. I mean it. I could’ve just tagged along with Brittany and Isabel today, but I chose to hang out with you. Because you’re cool. And I like you.” Hazel immediately hugs you after you say that. You hug her back. When you two pull away, you teach her a trick to make her eyes less red after crying. The two of you go to the breakfast table and grab two bagels. You sit at a table and make plans for the day.

“What do you want to do today, Hazel?”

“I definitely want to go hiking. Some people were saying there was a waterfall somewhere.”

“I bet we could go while picking up trash.”

“We also need to find a time to look at the stars. I’m not letting myself forget today.”

“I’m hoping the skies are clear tonight.” 

The two of you finish up your breakfast and grab gloves and bags to pick up trash. The morning is quite tiring, but you and Hazel’s chatter and jokes help brighten it. Hazel ends up being very funny, leaving you laughing hysterically. For lunch, you eat with everyone in the cabin.

“I’m glad to see that you and Hazel have become friends,” Isabel admitted.

“Me too. I’m really glad you told me a bit about her. I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to talk to her. But I’m glad I did.” Just then, PJ bounds up to the table, her hands pounding on it, causing the five of you sitting to go quiet.

“I have weed for tonight.”

“PJ, none of us like smoking.” Josie points out.

“THAT is why I thought ahead. I got us edibles.”

“And how did you get them?” Brittany asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I gave some old man I came across while planting some flowers like ten dollars.” All of you, being young, dumb teenagers, shrugged it off. The rest of the day was declared free time by the staff, as you all had fulfilled your requirements for the trip.

“Do you want to go on that hike?” you asked Hazel. She nodded, and the two of you left the table to begin your hike. You somehow both still had things to talk about while trying to find the waterfall Hazel had been talking about earlier.

“Oh my god, Hazel! There’s daisies!” you grab her hand to pull her over to the field of daisies nearby. She happily runs with you, picking a few. You do as well, and the two of you stick a few handfuls into your backpack. Eventually, the two of you to get to the waterfall. You both sit down.

“Can I see the daisies we picked?” Hazel asks. You nod, and watch her begin to make a daisy crown with them. She puts one on your head, before you ask her to teach you how to make one. She teaches you, and you put one on her head as well.

“We look absolutely stunning in these.” you say dramatically, putting your wrist up to your forehead.

“You definitely do. You look like the fairy flower princess.” Hazel says, without contemplation.

“And who said there couldn’t be two fairy flower princesses?” you smile and look at Hazel, who looks at you too. Your eye contact with her stays for a few (very long) seconds before the two of you resume talking.

“Are you going to do the edibles PJ brought later?” Hazel asks.

“Maybe. I don’t really know if I’m being honest. I don’t exactly trust PJ’s source.”

“I’ll do them if you do them.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll let you know if I plan on doing any.” The two of you decide to head back, as you were both quite tired from the day, and really just wanted to take it easy for the rest of it. You were looking forward to reading your astronomy book for a bit before stargazing with Hazel, but you were greeted by all the girls in the cabin in a circle, and PJ waving at the two of you.

“Who’s ready for some truth or dare? Huh?”

taglist: @at1nyzen @slaughtercarrie @sophia2414

[hanckocks-dagger]

oh, the night's so blue

masterlist

John hancock x f!reader

Description: After a drunken one night stand with your boss and mayor, you'd planned on hiding out in your room for several months. Those plans get delayed when Nate, general of the Minutemen and your childhood friend, asks you to join him on a quest in the west of the Commonwealth.

Tags: Drunken one night stand, Hancock is a pining simp, and a slut. Reader is not SoSu, has afab characteristics and is referred to with she/her pronouns through the story. No y/n

Warnings: Smut! Drunk sex, consentual but I'll throw in the dubcon tag anyway, talk of violence, guns and drugs a lá Fallout ofc

Word count: 6.1K

Notes: So this is a one-shot that sort of feeds into an idea I've had in my head for a while, of a reader that knew Nate from before the bombs, who either ended up in Vault 111 as well or something similar, but got out about a year before Nate did. This might end up turning into a series of semi-connected one-shots or I might just cut it off here, but I definitely have some other ideas for this story rolling around in my head. More story focused than some of my other fics, delving a bit more into what actually living in the game's story would be like, but of course a hefty dose of our lovely Hancock. But I really like Nate, and I didn't want to make the reader the Sole Survivor so we could see the two of them interact. Also my Nate build is usually high charisma, high strength and low intelligence (idiot savant perk ofc), so he's a bit of a himbo <3 my fav type of man.

Also just a small and totally irrelevant thing, but I headcanon Nate/the sole survivor as choosing not to smoke, just because the player isn’t able to smoke in the game. Just a fun tidbit I threw in there. Also, I’m a smoker and I have friends who aren’t and the relentless back and forth teasing is always fun. They all vape anyway, so it’s just a race for who gets cancer first lmao. 

Cross posted on my ao3!

"What's the status on the top shelf stuff?" You yelled out from the back room, wiping drops of sweat from your forehead before they could drop into your eyes. Sure, the new beer tap was ingenious, making the closest thing to actual fresh beer since you'd come out on this side of the cryo-chamber, but goddamn were the canisters heavy.

"Almost out of moonshine, luv," Charlie called from the bar, tinny cockney accent carrying through the open space.

That was fine, you could drop by and speak to Vadim tomorrow before opening, as long as Hancock could supply the caps and lend you some help to carry the bottles back.

"Anything else?" You grunted, heaving a full canister back out to the front, bending down to connect the pipes.

"I think you should start carrying some Fireball, I know how much you used to like it," A new voice spoke up from the other side of the bar, startling you into banging your head on the underside of the bartop. You cursed, shooting to your feet, finding a ginning, familiar face on the other side.

"Nate!"

He said your name back with the same amount of enthusiasm, slouched in one of the barstools, familiar bright blue vault suit looking a little worse for wear.

"When did you get in? How did you get in?" You asked, eyes flitting about. Sure enough, there in the background, spread over one of the couches was mayor Hancock, speaking with a smiling Magnolia and a broody looking MacReady.

"Just landed in town, figured I'd come say hi before crashing at the Rexford."

"Well, shit," You breathed, wiping your sweaty hands on a dishrag, "Can I get you a drink? I want to hear about this oh-so-secret mission you were on."

"Sure, I'll take a beer."

You fished over a clean-ish looking glass, gave it a quick wipe for good measure, and poured. The movements were practiced, muscle memory from a lifetime ago taking over as you tilted the glass, filled it, flicked the spout the other way for some top foam. You slid it over the bar, accepting Nate’s smile as payment. 

You grabbed yourself a glass, calling out to Charlie as you filled the glass with ice, “I’m calling it a night, just leave me a list of whatever needs to be done in the morning.

You poured yourself some of the top shelf stuff, nothing good by pre-war standards, but nowadays it was rare and mostly didn't taste like it was 200 years old.

You stepped around the bar, planning on planting yourself on a stool next to Nate, but he was already rising to his feet, heading for the rest of the group.Hiding your awkwardness, you trailed after him. You knew MacReady tangentially, sometimes bringing him drinks into the backroom, keeping an eye out for disagreements and sometimes running up to get Ham when things were getting out of hand. Magnolia was your coworker of course, and there was plenty to talk about after long shifts, but she was– technically speaking– about twenty years your senior, and married to her job in a way you weren't.

Then there was Mayor Hancock. A charming flirt at the best of times, happy to stand up for you on the job, as the owner of the bar, after all, but there was always something about him you never managed to crack, never straying away from genial small talk. Small talk, of course, these days, meant discussing the last Super Mutant raid, or let him rattle off about his favorite chems. As you approached, he tipped his hat at you and you responded with a little curtsy, using your free hand to tug on your apron like a skirt. 

You fell onto the couch beside Nate, stirring your drink with a finger, using your other hand to untie the apron around your waist. Being off your feet felt good. There were no clocks in the Third Rail, and no windows, so your sense of time tended to get a bit skewed, but seeing as Ham usually tossed out the stragglers by 5 am and you'd had a mess and a half to clean up, you assumed it must be closing in on dawn. A rough 12 hour shift made your liquor feel earned, as you sipped at it, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

"So," You said, catching Nate's attention before he could get sucked into the others' conversation, "What was the notorious General of the Minutemen up to this week? Liberating some more settlements?"

"Mmm, actually doing some work for the Railroad," His tone went hushed, unnecessary and strangely endearing, as everyone in the bar knew and was at least non-committal about their activities.

"Ahh," You replied, matching his tone. "Did it go well?"

"It went fantastically. I brought my own team in," He motioned with his beer toward Hancock and MacCready, "But we ended up getting some help from another agent, too. And, man, what a lady," he went a bit starry eyed, making you laugh.

"Got a little crush, Nathaniel?"

He snorted, and you spotted the tinge of red in his cheeks with glee. 

"Nothing like that, but what a powerhouse. You should have seen her, mowing them down with a minigun."

"Don't sell yourself short, Nate, I've seen you in Power Armor before. Unstoppable force and all that."

Ever humble, Nate's cheeks turned rosier, and he glanced down at his drink. You watched his Adam's apple bob, the shy smile that graced his features.

To put him out of his misery, you turned to the group at large, "So, does this mean you've returned our beloved mayor back, or are you heading out again?"

Hancock's attention snapped up from MacReady so he could grin at you, "What, you missed me doll?"

"Well, you do sign my paychecks," You smiled back at him, then remembered, "Oh, yeah, speaking of, I have to go over to Diamond City tomorrow to get more of Bobrov's best, maybe I can steal Nate to help me ferry it all back."

He hummed, "What d'ya say, brother? 100 caps to keep my favorite employee safe?"

From behind the bar, Charlie gave his best impression of a grunt, "I resent that, mayor!"

"'M sorry, Charlie, you just don't have her charm."

"Or her tits," Magnolia chimed in, twirling an unlit cigarette in her fingers as she smirked at you.

You flushed, eyes flitting around, finally landing on Hancock and MacReady's empty glasses, "Refills, boys?"

"Thought you'd clocked out," MacReady said, even as he handed over his glass. "Well, I'm the club's ambassador even after hours, gotta keep the reputation up."

"You best not be giving free drinks to every sorry brother that walks in here," Hancock called after you as you stepped behind the bar.

"Mm, no," You sing-songed back, "Only my favorites."

The night passed easily. You stayed by Nate’s sidelistening to him tell tales of the people he'd been meeting, the farm he recruited for the minutemen last week. He didn't delve too far into this last mission, always the good soldier who followed orders. You spent about twenty minutes trying to guess his secret Railroad code name.

"Mmmm, buttercup."

"Not even close."

"Sugar bomb?"

The look of offense he gave you was so scathing it had you spitting out half your beer over the table, doubled over in laughter as he complained.

"It relates to my prowess as an agent, not some pre-war pet name!"

"Fine, fine, uhhhh. Striker? Shadow? Tank?"

"Honestly, these are terrible. Never open a baby naming business."

"Uhm, excuse you," You said, taking a sip of beer to try and reduce the heat in your cheeks, "I would make excellent raider names. Chainsaw, evil-eye, uhhhhh," You cast your eyes around, searching for inspiration, "Ricky."

"Ricky?" MacReady asked, eyebrows knit in confusion, "What's wrong with Ricky?"

"Dunno," You shrugged, "Doesn't he just sound like an asshole?" You put on an air, repeated 'Ricky' in an ominous voice, which got MacReady and Nate to crack up again.

Magnolia vanished up to the surface after a bit of flirting with Hancock, insisting on her beauty sleep. As was your usual, you whistled after her, calling lewd, joking comments as she walked up the steps. As was her usual, she gave you a scowl and the middle finger.

"Ehhh, I'll get her to crack one of these days," You murmured into your beer, that tipsy, never ending giddy smile stuck on your lips. You caught Hancock's eye where he sat, now alone on the couch, spread eagle with his gangly limbs. When he spotted you, he gave you a grin, cigarette in his teeth.

Suddenly you desperately wanted a smoke. You patted your own pockets, found that you'd left them at home. You cursed the you from the morning for whatever logic had made that choice, suddenly desperate for nicotine.

Your head, resting against the back of the couch, lolled to look over at Nate. Who, of course, didn't and had never smoked. Goody-two-shoes.

So, you clambered to your feet, ignoring the ache that made itself apparent, and collapsed over besides Hancock.

"Does the good mayor have some cigarettes to share?" You asked, hand on his knee, leaning in close to be heard over a playful argument MacReady and Nate had started.

Hancock's smile got wider somehow, those deep dark eyes crinkling at the corner, giving the appearance of crow's feet.

"For you? Always." He dug around in the deep pocket's of that crazy coat, pulling out a cigarette case. Instead of handing you one, though, he plucked the one from his mouth and stuck it into yours.

Brain slowed by a long shift and plenty of alcohol, it took a moment for the action to catch up with, fingers rising slowly to pluck at the cigarette. You blinked at him, but he seemed unphased, pulling out another cigarette from his case and lighting it.

You leant back in the couch as your brain caught up on his move, staring blankly at a gesturing Nate, MacReady equally engrossed, somehow having missed the interaction that now had your brain reeling. Hancock's arm was stretched out behind you, tantalizingly close, fingers almost tickling the hairs at the back of you neck. You felt the chill of goosebumps, shook off the urge to shiver.

You puffed at the cigarette instead, slowly sinking back in the couch, reverting back to the sort of talk you were used to with the mayor, "How'd you like the trip? Nice to get out of the city?"

Hancock took it in stride, as he did everything, "Oh, yeah. Makes you forget what's out there, staying too long in these walls."

You hummed your assent. You stuck to Goodneighbor because you wanted to stay alive. The furthest you'd ventured in the last year was scoping out that brewery for the Rexford. But Hancock was a ghoul, and even so was more careless with safety than anyone else you knew. Getting out of the city, with only yourself and the stars as company... it was a romantic idea.

"So, what, we're gonna become the Railroad's home base now?" You teased,

"Not exactly," Hancock replied, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, "But Nate knows his shit, and he trusts them. They're doing good, dontcha think?"

You considered this, rolling it around in your liquor soaked brain, "I guess it depends on whether you think the synths are just robots or... y'know, slaves being put through just as much pain as we are."

Hancock nodded, eyes trained on you, expression curious. For all his flirting, Hancock was easily one of the more respectable men you'd met, always willing to listen, even if he was usually a bit too out of his mind to interpret it. He was whip-smart, too, when he was sober enough to put a thought together.

"I suppose it depends on if you believe in the soul. Do you, Mayor Hancock?" Some deep-seated, long ago buried urge reared his head. You remembered being a kid, sitting in a diner with high-school friends, batting your eyelashes at a crush of yours, a coy smile on your face, trying for a sultry voice and missing it by a mile. But now you were about two hundred years older, and had a few years of experience under your back.

So when you looked at Hancock through lidded eyes, purposely hollowed your cheek as you sucked on your cigarette, the one that had been in his mouth before yours, you could appreciate his reaction. The widening of his eyes, the way the hand behind your head seemed to move just a bit closer, the minute shift of his hips as his body turned further towards you.

"I think I'm a bit too sober for those kinds of questions," He snickered. Being a Ghoul made determining age difficult, but sometimes you were sure Hancock was young, younger than you even, the way he carried himself, the carelessness of a teenager.

You smiled back, soft, put your cigarette out in an ashtray on the table, picking up your glass instead.

Hancock said your name, sultry, and that hand finally brushed your shoulder, a gentle, teasing touch.

You answered with a smile, a tilted, " John," followed by a sip from your drink, one you concentrated all your effort into drinking as normally as you could. If you let your tongue slide over your lips to catch the lingering taste, well, no one had to know.

"You know," You said, voice hushed as if you were revealing a great secret, "I feel like I don't know you well enough. You haven't been around enough since you hired me."

"I knew I left the bar in good hands," As if to prove his point, his fingers teased over your bare forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Maybe, I should- ah- give you a tour of the Old State House sometime."

The innuendo was painfully obvious, accompanied by a lecherous wink, but you felt your face flush anyway, ridiculously charmed by his brazenness.

Charlie ended up kicking the four of you out, insisting on sweeping before the sun came up. On the way up the stairs, conspicuously a few steps behind Nate and MacReady, the two of you got a bit too handsy, after you'd spent the last couple of minutes petting the velvet of his coat, hypnotized by the luxurious softness of the ancient costume, as Hancock rattled off history facts about Boston, some of which you'd half remembered from history class.

"Found the old fucker's diary in a closet on the second floor," He'd said, as your fingers traced down his arms, across his chest, barely disguised fascination. You wanted to steal his hat, tuck it onto your hair, flick it the way Hancock often did.

"That old bastard was– was kinkier than you could ever imagine," His voice stuttered as your fingers traced near his navel, studying the stitching on the waistcoats he wore.

"Oh yeah?" You snickered, loose enough with drinks to lose your impulse control chasing after whatever felt good in the moment. Mostly that had been cigarettes, but now it was the idea of kissing him, of feeling that mouth on you, anywhere.

"The mayor of Goodneighbor," You breathed, smoothing out his collar, "Keeping himself busy with five hundred year old porn."

Hancock laughed with you.

Outside, the two of you stumbled apart, leaning against the brick wall to share a cigarette, Nate and MacReady somehow still talking, even if Nate was shooting you curious glances and MacReady smirked every time your eyes passed over him.

Eventually, though, when a too loud sentence awoke a grumbling drifted who threatened to hurl a bottle at Nate, it was time to call it a night.

Nate clapped Hancock on the shoulder and kissed your cheek, which got him a punch on the arm, a bit harder than you meant to with the alcohol in your system. He took it like a champ, of course, calling out, "Have fun!" As he rounded the corner towards the Rexford.

MacReady vanished with a tip of his cap, leaving you with smoke in your mouth and the morning sun in your eyes.

"You want to take that tour now, doll?" The brush of a teasing hand over your lower back.

You thought about your dusty apartment, of waking up in a few hours to repeat the same shift for the millionth time. A cold bed, empty.

"Yeah," You breathed, hand catching on the fluttering sash around Hancock's waist, setting a firm pace and tugging him along with you like a dog on his leash. His hands found your hips before you even made it to the door, pinning you against the old wood to kiss you, deep and warm and wet. Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, till you stood hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest.

Somehow, one of you got the door open, falling through the door, walking each other in an embrace towards the staircase. The kiss deepened, Hancock licked into your mouth as you bumped into the banister, struggled to keep your balance.You let him lead, pushing you backwards up the stairs, hands always gentle, ready to catch you if you tripped.

It was a drunken fumble, your shirt rucked up, trying to get all his stupid buttons unbuttoned as you staggered to the stairs, his lips suddenly attached to your neck.

His hands moved to your exposed waist as you reached the second floor, greedy hands moving over the expanse of skin. You huffed against his mouth, finding it unfair as you struggled to even get under his ridiculous fucking shirt, finally managing to sneak a hand under it, nails gently scratching against rough skin. You weren't exactly versed in Ghoul anatomy, but you'd heard enough complaining from drifters at the bar about the lack of feeling in their skin to know you'd have to push a little deeper, press a little harder. Sure enough, as Hancock lead you stumbling towards his bedroom, you pushed your hand up to his chest, pressing down into the meat of one of his shoulders, you received a deep groan against your mouth.

Then suddenly you were in the Mayor's bedroom. Clean enough, by the wasteland standards. Strewn with chems, as you'd anticipated, but the bed looked as clean as you could be.

Hancock had ended up behind you, hands sneaking around to your ass, your collar pushed to the side so he could kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder. It felt... nice. Soft. Softer than you'd anticipated from him. It sent an ache through you, not to your core, though electricity tingled, desperate for attention you hadn't provided it with in years. The ache was in your heart, extending out to your lungs, stealing your breath the way his kisses had, as he gently guided you towards the bed.

You spun around in his arms to capture his lips again, nipping at his bottom lips, hands moving to his waist, sneaking down into his waistband. The two of you danced around the room, lips locked, hands moving as clothes were unbuttoned, tossed to the side, shoes pulled off.

Then you were naked, falling onto a surprisingly plush mattress, as Hancock dropped his coat onto the back of his desk chair, pants unbuttoned and half falling off his skinny hips. He left the hat on, even as he stripped everything else off, and it made you huff a quiet, airy giggle. He grinned back at you, always happy to be happy, as he crawled on top of you, bracketing you between his legs.

His dick was the same as the rest of him, scarred and pocked, but you found you didn't mind in the slightest as your hands wandered downwards, teasingly gentle touches running over him, drawing out airy breaths and groans.

You were quick to guide him into you, pulling him down for a kiss when he entered you, sending shocks of burning pain through you, uncomfortable but manageable. Still, he noticed, unfocused eyes blinking down at you, a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong," You breathed, even through the tension of your muscles, "Just– uh– been a while. Gimme a moment."

He seemed unsure for a moment, looking as if he wanted to pull out, but you forced a calm through your muscles, slowly feeling him inch his way further inside, until the two of you were hip to hip. You breathed through the sting, shutting your eyes and guiding his face to your neck, happy when he got the hint and nipped at your skin. Your breath got shaky when he found a perfect spit by the junction of your neck and your shoulder, feeling his teeth sink into the flesh, soothed quickly with his tongue, with his spit-slick lips.

"Okay," You breathed eventually, one hand holding the back of his neck, the other clutching at the muscle on his back, "You can move."

"Are you–"

"Hancock," You said, voice firm. In a more sober state, his caution would touch you, but you were desperate to feel the drag of him, to feel his hips working. "I'm a big girl, it's okay. You can move."

He bent down to kiss you as he slowly pulled his hips back. With conscious effort to keep your muscles calm, your side of the kiss was a bit half hearted, but you gasped into his mouth as he pushed back in, the stretch not painful but, "So fucking perfect," You breathed, "Just like that."

Hancock was amazingly receptive, somehow cataloging every moan and twitch, and he had you pushed into the mattress within minutes, gasping and shaking beneath him. His hips drove into you at a perfect pace, his mouth moving to your tits, gentle bites at the soft skin, pulling your nipples into his mouth to flick at them with his tongue. Your whispered words of direction quickly dissolving into moans and gasps of his name.

Almost the exact second the thought of your clit popped into your head, his fingers were there, moving tight circles, pressure just the right side of too hard. You arched into him, a moan so loud it would have made you self conscious if you weren't too focused on driving him deeper, getting him closer, getting as much of his skin on you as you could.

Your orgasm approached with mounting tension in your muscled, strangled cries of more, harder, "Please, John."

You came with a strangled cry, every muscle in your body tensing and then going completely limp, gasps of air as your peak faded, replaced by a pleasant buzzing sensations. John's pace slowed as you shook, hands leaving your clit to grab at your hips, pull you towards him as he chased his own release. You were happy to let him, your hands exploring him leisurely, gripping at his biceps, his shoulders, wrapping around his neck to guide him into another kiss.

You could tell when he got close, the way his hips jerked, thrusts growing rushed and sloppy, desperate, the way his breath quickened, the way his dark eyes seemed to darken even further. At the last moment, he pulled out, wrapping his hand around his cock, haphazard pace the same as he fucked into his fist, a few more pumps and he came over your stomach. You tensed under the surprising heat of it, but relished the soft groan that escaped his mouth, head tilted back, mouth open,

He half collapsed on top of you, breathing against your mouth, only his arms holding him from falling into you. With every inhale, his expanding chest brushed against your breasts, every touch sending electric shots through you.

He collapsed beside you, still panting, one arm curling around your chest, just under your tits, pulling you into his side. "Just– give me a second, I'll get you something to clean up."

"Mmm," You breathed, relishing the heat of him, positive he was warmer than a normal person, the way it radiated off him, heating your skin at the contact points, "Don't worry about it. Deal with it in the morning." Your words were slurring, eyelids heavy.

"Mmm," Hancock agreed, tucking his face into your shoulder. He held you tight, like little kids held onto teddy bears. It was... nice. Unfamiliar to you, but, as you buried your head into the soft pillow, you supposed it was something you wouldn't mind getting used to.

You woke with a start, unfamiliar footsteps thudding above your head. It took a moment to reorient yourself, to recognize the walls you were blinking at, the hand tucked around your waist, the soft snores in your ear. Your head thudded, your mouth dry as a desert, tasting like cigarettes and whiskey. 

"Shit," You whispered, slowly extracting yourself from Hancock's warm arms, getting to your feet. Stark naked. Your pants were slung over a chair, one sock still in the pant leg, the other tossed onto a desk, surrounded by several tins of mentats and empty jet canisters.

"Fuck," You breathed, hopping around trying to get your socks on. One of your boots was on its side, halfway under the bed. Your shirt was hanging on the fucking doorknob and you tugged it on, ignoring the stale smell of sweat and alcohol that clung to it from last night’s shift.

You swept the room, but couldn't for the life of you find your underwear. The thought of leaving them somewhere was mortifying, but when Hancock shifted in the bed, you decided not to risk staying. You pulled your boots on, leaving them unlaced as you crept over the ancient floorboards. Seeing as Hancock was managing to sleep through the ruckus of the drifters on the top floor, you doubted the creak of the house would wake him, but you were still extra cautious as you cracked the bedroom doors open, just enough for you to slip through and rush down the staircase, pointedly not looking at any of the Neighborhood Watch.

Out in the semi-fresh morning air, you took a deep breath, mumbling another curse to yourself as you began a quick jog home, trying to avoid any knowing glances as you rounded a corner and shouldered the door to your apartment building open.

Shower, underwear, find Nate, get him to ask Hancock for the caps while you cowered in the background with sunglasses and a baseball cap over a dark hoodie. Fuck.

The shower was cold, obviously, and you counted your blessings for having running water at all, even if it was a bit too irradiated for comfort. You did your best to scrub fast, hands brushing through sweaty, greasy hair, soaping the necessary areas. You very pointedly did not linger on the dried, flaking cum on your stomach, exorcizing it with a washcloth and curses.

You were busy drying your hair with your dirty shirt, because whenever the water lingered too long it left an uncomfortable sheen over your hair and smelled a bit like a bog. A knock sounded at the door, sending ice through your veins, a response equivalent to the roar of a Deathclaw or the clicking of a Mirelurk.

For a moment, you contemplated crawling onto the rusty fire-escape outside your living room window and walking into downtown Boston to let some Super Mutants eat you.

Instead, though, you stepped over to the door, moments quiet as you contemplated what the fuck you were going to say. Last night was a mistake. You're my boss. I haven't had sex in two years and I'm sorry for leading you on, can I please have my panties back?

Another knock startled you out of your thoughts, fast and panicked, followed by the call of your name from a voice that definitely did not belong to Hancock.

You opened the door to a panting Nate, already back in his suit and armor, gun tossed over his shoulder.

"Nate?"

"Hey! Have fun last night?"

You flushed, even though his expression was nothing but kind; curious and happy for you, like a good friend should be.

"Uh. What's with the get up?" You deflected, which Nate took in stride.

"Distress call from the Minutemen, they asked me to head out west to Graygarden."

"The... farm run by robots?"

"Oh, that's what it is?"

"Wh- Never mind. What are you doing there?"

"Something about the water supply and Super Mutants. I'm leaving in a few minutes"

"Okay, that's fine, I'll drag someone else with me to Diamond City, no stress."

"No, I want you to come with me."

You blinked, hand tensing on the door frame, "Nate I'm not a fighter."

"Yes you are," He said, looking so genuinely confused it made your heart seize a bit, "We fought together. At Anchorage. Did you forget?"

"No, I didn't–" You swallowed. 

After returning home, witnessing massacre after massacre, you'd sworn to yourself you wouldn't get involved in that kind of shit. Even after the world ended, you'd managed to keep that promise. At night, alone in your cold bed, you could still hear the hissing of sentry bots, the creaking of power armor, the whistling of bullets. "I don't do that anymore, Nate."

Nate pulled one of his more serious faces, a rare sight for a man with seemingly endless drive and relentless optimism, even after losing more than you could imagine.

"Look. I understand what you're feeling–" You took a breath to interrupt him, because his blind patriotism had driven him forward when you'd lagged behind, weighed down by the blood on your hands. Nate pushed forward, "I know you don't believe me, but I really do. And nothing helped me heal those wounds like helping people."

"Helping robots." Your voice was flat.

"Who provide food for over a dozen settlements. You'd be doing good."

You bit your lip, casting your eyes over your apartment to avoid the earnest look in Nate's eyes. Sure, you were... content in your life. Goodneighbor was as safe as any settlement could be, you had steady income, some sort of purpose. But you remembered the day Nate had walked into the Third Rail with Nick Valentine on his heels, bleary eyed, vault suit still pristine. The way your heart had sung, the way an aching loneliness you'd felt since coming off the ice had faded.

Was this what the rest of your life would be? Slinging drinks, small talk with coworkers and bar patrons, waiting for the next time Nate would walk in through the doors like some yearning wife waiting for her husband to return from war?

Besides, you weren't going to be able from Hancock in his own fucking town, not for long.

You shut your eyes, feeling the phantom weight of a gun in your hands.

"Fuck. Fine."

The smile on Nate's face was like a kid's at Christmas.

"Great! I'll meet you at the front entrance in..." He glanced down at his pip-boy, "Thirty minutes?"

"Okay."

And he was off, leaving you standing in your doorway, blinking at nothing wondering what the fuck you'd agreed to.

Under your bed there were some loose floorboards you'd been using to store the important things. Your spare caps, your vault suit and pip-boy, your 10mm pistol and your combat shotgun. The former was familiar to you, used centuries ago in a war no one understood anymore. You'd grabbed it on your stumbling way out of the vault, and it was a good thing to or you would have gotten gored by some very territorial mole rats before even making it to a settlement. The shotgun had been stolen, in your trek to downtown Boston, taken off a raider you'd knocked out with a lead pipe. He'd clearly made some adjustments to it, with a hair trigger, less recoil than expected and a scope you'd never needed to use. You'd been meaning to sell it since you'd gotten in, but it had ended up in the floorboards where you'd simply hoped it would stay unless you were strapped for cash.

A knapsack was quickly filled with everything you needed, a change of clothes, a portable water purifier, all the food that would go to waste if you didn't take it with you. You tucked some spare caps into a hidden inside pocket, wrapping them in cloth to keep them from rattling. Your spare 10mm ammo, a few packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a flashlight.

The pistol was strapped into a thigh holster, a gun belt held your shotgun rounds. The shotgun went around your shoulder. They felt heavier than you remembered them being, their weight an oppressive reminder with every step you took out of your apartment. You'd need to let Charlie know you wouldn't be in for a while, and you'd need to stop by KL-E-0's for some spare parts. Easy enough, it was just the matter of avoiding certain tricorn-hat wearing mayors.

You kept your head down as you made your way through the street. You cut a more imposing figure with your armor, with the glint of weapons. People moved out of your way as you jogged towards the Third Rail, sliding in through the door like a mouse darting into its burrow.

You rattled like a tin can chime as you walked down the steps to the bar, announcing your approach before you could be seen, a cat with a bell. You were skittish, pausing at the last step to peek into the lounge, trying to spot a red coat, a familiar smile. Coast was clear.

"That the new uniform, then?" Charlie's voice nearly sent you flying, a squeak leaving you as the Mr. Handy suddenly appeared in view. The three eyes didn't exactly convey emotion well, but you could hear the dry amusement in his tone, maybe a hint of judgement.

"No, I uh–" You shook yourself, loosening the cotton in your brain, "Nate asked me to accompany him on a mission. Shouldn't take more than a week."

"Seven days and I'll file a missing person's report." Dry, dry, dry.

"Right," You breathed, gripping the banister like a life line, "Right. I appreciate the uh– The thought, Charlie. I'll see you around." Saliva filled your mouth, and you had a second to panic about throwing up on the floor as your stomach rolled, before the feeling faded.

Charlie didn't dignify you with a response, going right back to... whatever it was he did when the bar was closed, so you turned around, rattling right back up the stairs. First vacation in two years.

Again, you kept your head down as you walked through the alley towards Kill or Be Killed, pointedly avoiding letting your gaze slip to the Old State House, like the building itself would summon him. Something burned in your chest, not quite shame, but the next thing to it. In another life, you would've considered chewing on a baby aspirin, kept the landline in view, ready to dial 911, if you were having a heart attack. Now, though, you shrugged it off, grabbing your canteen and taking a greedy drink, washing away the cigarette taste that still lingered in your mouth.

KL-E-0 was in her usual place, piercing red eye landing on you.

"Well, don't you look dressed to kill."

You'd wondered, sometimes, if she had been especially programmed to sound so sultry, or if it was just her natural charm.

"Heading out for a while," You dug your bag of caps out of your pocket, placing it on the table as your eyes roamed over the wares available, "Think you could spare some grenades and shotgun shells?"

"Let's get you outfitted, killer."

The word left a sour taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cigarettes. You made it through the trade quickly, enough ammo to last you several encounters, enough grenades to get you through a couple rough spots. You left with your pockets lighter, your bandolier, pack and shoulders weighed down.

"Have fun, baby."

"Yeah, thanks, Kleo."

Nate was standing by the entrance, a respectable distance from the Neighborhood Watch, a focused frown on his face as he fiddled with his Pip-boy. He looked up when you approached, frown turning to a bright smile.

"So," you said, shouldering your gun, "Ready to head off?"

"Not quite, we're still waiting on the rest of the party. You know how he is, always fashionably late."

You didn't manage to get out your confused "Who?" Before a familiar hand was clapping Nate on the shoulder, saying, "So! Ready to get this show on the road?"

Fuck.

Notes: This is so insanely self indulgent it’s crazy, but I do hope you enjoyed at least a little <3

[cordelia-noir]

I have a DBDA prompt for you, if you're interested! I realized earlier today that in episode 5, when Crystal says something like "All three of us lost our lives to boys who went too far, that's a really shitty thing to have in common," she isn't referring to the boys, but to Maren and Shelby! She doesn't actually know the specifics of how the boys died! So my prompt is: what if Charles or Edwin had replied with something like "That makes the five of us, actually," leading into briefly sharing exactly how they died. ✨Trauma Bonding✨

This is definitely more of a gen prompt, but I thought I'd share anyway, in case it peaked your interest 😆 no worries either way, and happy writing!! Hope you feel better soon :D

I’m not sure if I agree with that reading of the scene. In context, I do think that Crystal is referring to her and boys, but the angst! I love this idea for a fic, so here we go!

Read on AO3

“All three of us lost our lives to boys who went too far, that's a really shitty thing to have in common,” Crystal said, glancing back at the police station where Maren had just confessed to her crimes. 

Edwin looked away and swallowed, though by all reasonable metrics he shouldn't need to. 

“I suppose that the same could be said of Maren and Shelby as well,” he said, still looking away, across the street and into the trees. “Though I agree that it is not a club in which I would like to see new members.”

Crystal shook her head.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked, looking between the two boys. “I was talking about Maren and Shelby, who are you talking about?”

Charles gave a short little laugh, though it didn’t sound even as joyful as his usual, self-deprecating laughs. 

“Well, I guess that’s all five of us, huh?” Charles said, clapping Edwin on the back. Edwin didn’t react at all, just kept staring into the distance. 

Crystal opened her mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the right words. When words did finally come out, she was pretty sure that they were still the wrong ones. 

“Wait, how the fuck did you two die?”

Charles looked surprised. 

“Well I died of internal bleeding and hypothermia and Edwin got summoned to hell on a technicality, you know that.”

“Yeah, but neither of those things involve assholes who went too far,” Crystal said, willing it to be true.

Edwin huffed a laugh and turned to start walking toward The Tongue and Tail. Charles and Crystal followed mutely.

“Five boys from my school summoned a demon to “scare me”,” Edwin said, raising his gloved hands to do some frankly unnecessary air quotes, “While they tied me to a table and called me things I’d rather not repeat.”

“Jesus,” Crystal breathed.

“Though I suppose it’s different,” Ediwn continued, undeterred, “since they were also taken to hell, they ruined their own lives as well.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Crystal said when it was clear that Edwin was done speaking for the moment. “But what happened to you, Charles?”

“Some other boys beat me up and chased me into a lake,” Charles said with a shrug.

“In February,” Edwin added, “After saving another boy from a similar fate.”

“Shit,” Crystal said softly. “No wonder you had such little patience for my drama with David.”

That got Edwin to stop walking and do a dramatic turn back to face her. 

“I have dealt with many demons, Crystal,” Edwin said earnestly, “And while David is not particularly powerful, he is remarkably tenacious, even for his kind. I… regret being so dismissive of his actions toward you. I fear that my experiences have made me somewhat numb to the difficulties and I failed to take into consideration what it must be like to be going through it all for the first time.”

Charles moved closer to Edwin so that their shoulders bumped against one another. Crystal wondered vaguely if this was the compromise they’d come to over the years considering Edwin’s general aversion to hugs.

“Well,” she said, stepping up to Edwin’s other side and using her shoulder to bump his arm the same way Charles had. “It’s still a really shitty thing for us all to have in common.”

“Quite,” Edwin agreed. “Well I think that’s quite enough emotion for one day. I am unaccustomed to it. Shall we continue with our work then?”

[sky-kenobye]

Fic idea that I've been obsessing over in the last couple of days:

TLDR: Obi-Wan gets dumped on his wedding day, Anakin suggests they get married instead to save Obi-Wan the humiliation (and money), he agrees, they get married and nobody realises the stunt they pulled (except for the few people they told), and they both realise that actually it's great to be married to each other and that they wouldn't have it any other way, and probably get their happily ever after.

(A lot more details under the cut for those who are interested!)

Obi-Wan is getting married to someone (I was thinking Satine at first but I don't want to bash on her just because she's in the way of my ship so let's say an original character 🤷), Anakin is his best man, and it's a kinda big and traditional wedding and they did the 'you can't see your bride until the ceremony' stuff, so Obi-Wan is already at the city hall(?), while the bride will be coming later, just before the start of the ceremony.

It's less than an hour before the start and some early guests are already getting there. One of the bride's guest (Padmé?) is arriving when she gets a phone call from the bride, telling her that the wedding is canceled, sorry for calling at the last minute but she had to call all the guests and she was the last one. At the same time Anakin is coming out of the building for whatever reason and Padmé is like 'wdym it's canceled? The best man is here, and I can see other guests!'. The bride kinda panicks and hangs up, and Padmé flags Anakin down to ask what's going on.

He's also baffled because Obi-Wan didn't say it was cancelled, he's ready to get married and everything and he saw him about 10 seconds ago. They try to call the bride back but she doesn't answer, then they try to call another guest of the bride that Padmé knows. She answers and they learn that apparently the bride called in the morning and said that Obi-Wan had cancelled the wedding and dumped her at the last minute and they were each calling their half of the guests to tell them not to show up (which is clearly a bunch of lies from the bride).

They go and explain all of this to Obi-Wan who's confused and angry and heartbroken. He manages to get on the phone with the bride who properly dumps him, and by that time there's very little time before the ceremony was supposed to start. Most of the (Obi-Wan's) guests are there, and it's kind of (very) humiliating to have to go in front of all these people that he knows and tell them "wedding cancelled, I've been dumped, you can go home", and on top of that it wasn't a super cheap wedding so that sucks, and the catering is already ready so he'll have to throw away a ton of food? Not a great situation.

So Anakin has an idea: what if they get married instead? It's crazy so Obi-Wan tries to argue against it:

We can't get fake married! Then let's get real married!

People will still know I've been dumped and I'm pathetically trying to save face! None of the bride's guests will be there so i doubt it.

It was still her name on the wedding announcement. Okay then, maybe she dumped you like idk a month ago and I took the opportunity to declare my secret love for you!

And we got married less than a month later? It's hard and expensive as shit to cancel a wedding on such a short notice so we took the opportunity! It's not so unrealistic for me and I could probably convince you to do it.

But then we'll be married. Yeah, so? There are worst things in the world.

Obi-Wan is skeptical but not saying no yet, and Padmé is like 'honestly coming from anybody else I'd think they lost it, but from you two? I can see it. Not even sure I'd be all that surprised tbh'.

Obi-Wan's not having a great time and getting married to Anakin sounds a thousand times better than telling people what actually happened so he says fuck it let's do it.

They form a quick battle plan: Obi-Wan will go talk to the officiant to change the bride's name to anakin's (is it legally possible in any country? Probably not but let's pretend it is and that the marriage is still valid), Anakin will find them new best men/women (probably quinlan for obi-wan and ahsoka for anakin? Or padmé since she's already in the loop) and brief them on the situation, and Padmé will find a ring that fits Anakin (she borrows one of the guest's, maybe Owen Lars'?).

Only a few minutes late, they come out in front of all the guests, do a quick speech explaining the unexpected change (with a few lies of course), and the ceremony begins. Everything goes smoothly, Obi-Wan improvises very moving (and actually 100% honest) wedding vows, Anakin is crying and forgot they needed wedding vows but manages to put a few sentences together which are equally as honest as Obi-Wan's and make people cry too (they think he forgot his vows because of the emotion). They put the rings on each other, kiss and all of that, and when they leave the building they're both beaming so wide that it doesn't occur to anybody to be suspicious, the grooms look so happy and in love!

Then it's time for the reception and everybody has a great time, the grooms have a very sweet first dance, and they're all over each other the entire evening, how adorable! And if they disappear for a little while (Obi-Wan may be happy to get married to Anakin but he still just got dumped, so he may want to have a few minutes to breath in a quiet corner and get a good hug) then everybody assumes they're making out in a closet or something. Owen laughs at them for forgetting the rings (which is what he assumes is the reason they needed his ring), and they get a lot of friendly ribbing for 'keeping their wedding a secret' from pretty much everybody.

And maybe after a few drink they do really disappear to make out and decide that marrying your best friend that you've always kind of been into without ever admitting it is pretty amazing actually.

[shesmore-shoebill]

we've talked about the scenarios where angela would lose her composure at seeing amanda (s&b outfit and billion dollar gf dress as examples) in the rpf world we've collectively built, but now i wanna know what specific scenarios about angela amanda would completely lose her cool/have a reaction from? (raspy voice like in the tapple video? seeing angela's tattoo? could be anything!)

Oh, fucking love this question, thank you for it. Lets see.

2 things: 1 Eternal disclaimer about this all being in RPF universe/my own hc's about characterization I've decided on, not the actual people. And 2 This is not an exhaustive list of the ways I think this could go/the only ways these can work, Im just tossing out fun options that come to mind that I find internally consistent.

Okay logistically, anything to make Amanda uncharacteristically lose her shit over Angela has to be at least slightly uncommon/unexpected. So as much as I'd like to say something like "Angela in a tank top /sleeveless shirt", stuff that happens regularly needs to have an extra edge to it to explain Amanda losing it this time and not the rest of the time. Or at least losing it more.

So that said:

- Raspy voice is so fucking fun, yes please. So much potential...

One possible route is Angela loses her voice semi-regularly (unfortunately) due to starkid and moon goon and also just regular yelling, and maybe Amanda thinks she's used to it, (and normally tries to offer her honey or checks to make sure she's fine). But she's used to Angela's being voice completely gone, and one day her voice is more raspy/rough instead of being gone gone, and Amanda's normal affectionate concern is completely bowled over by her 😳😳😳 reaction to it, because oh fuck. OR, Amanda is used to the raspy voice (so she thinks), but Angela makes a sex joke or a flirty joke In That Voice and Amanda is SLAMMED by the thought of the same comments/voice in a VERY different context and Completely Ceases To Function. Bonus if its on camera/during a shoot of some kind so Angela notices the initial reaction and plays it up for the bit and Amanda is just. Not volleying it back properly. Or is volleying it back with WAY too much energy and everyone else is in the room like. 😶👀. The tapple video... the tapple video with all tge sex jokes and angela's voice being gone could be a VERY fun starting point for a fic.

- Once again falling back to the thing I've been gleefully chattering about. Amanda being flustered by Angela being the one to initiate/flirt. Angela being really forward/aggressive with flirtation, or bring Very assertive with her flirting, or just. Commanding. I think Angela flirting aggressively when she's all decked out in some ridiculous costume or putting on a goofy voice or leaning into the absurdity is something Amanda is used to/can handle. But, lets say, Angela not in a completely ridiculous character, or Angela playing a character thats only a mildly exaggerated version of herself, and being very forward/flirtatious/assertive towards Amanda. And for Amanda its suddenly like Oh fuck oh god oh shit . Because it doesn't feel like a ridiculous character like Angelo or some mustachio'ed old man being horny, it feels like Angela leaning in and oozing confidence and dropping petnames and it should NOT be working on her but it VERY MUCH IS. So much potential. Sooo fucking funny.

- Angela dressing up hot. I haven't sorted out the most fun consistent headcanon I want for this but IF we were to lean into Angela not dressing up as often I think its. So fun. To have the alternate dynamic of Angela dresses up hot for an event (Shourtney engagement party?) and Amanda sees her and nearly fucking swallows her tongue and her self control falls out of a fucking window. I know that's the go-to Angela flustered by Amanda dynamic but I think it could be fun the other way too. 👀

- This might be. me. lmfao. shining through but if we went the tattoo route we could also go an Arms™ route.... tank top Angela.... I'd have to think about it, to explain why it ESPECIALLY gets to Amanda, and maybe the tattoo is why.

- If we want to lean into the more explicitly spicy options and kind of mirror the S&B Angela flustered headcanon..... Angela shows up wearing something like a choker or something and Amanda. finds herself thinking. Many things. Many many things.

- This idea has JUST come to me so I havent thought through the logistics of it yet but. Angela showing up with a hickey or something and Amanda should be professional and normal about it but. But. But. (this could be very funny, very horny, or angsty! Or all three!)

Pausing here bc this is getting long. But. I fucking love thinking about the hc's for this, thanks for this ask. and HEY HAPPY PRIDE lmfao.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hi! 😊

i wanna ask about the Death Master and Necromancer. there popular trope in fics where it's almost the same due to Harry' power. i personally don't like it bc of my interpretation of death in hp world... but what fo you think about it? are there differences and similarities between MoDs and Necromancers?

Hi!

Thanks for the ask as I love talking about my version of magical theory in the HP world!

So, I kinda mentioned it in my two other posts regarding the MOD, the Deathly Hallows, and the Peverells (here and here) but I don't think true necromancy exists in the world of Harry Potter.

Like, I think it's pretty telling that the most advanced form of "necromancy" we know of is creating Inferi. Inferi are just the dead bodies made to move as if alive, but they're not actually alive, they do not have a soul and I'd go on a limb and say most of them aren't properly embedded with human equivalent life, so even if you had their soul it wouldn't do shit.

But, from what we know from Nearly Headless Nick:

“He will not come back,” repeated Nick quietly. “He will have . . . gone on.” “What d’you mean, ‘gone on’?” said Harry quickly. “Gone on where? Listen — what happens when you die, anyway? Where do you go? Why doesn’t everyone come back? Why isn’t this place full of ghosts? Why — ?” “I cannot answer,” said Nick. “You’re dead, aren’t you?” said Harry exasperatedly. “Who can answer better than you?” “I was afraid of death,” said Nick. “I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn’t to have . . . Well, that is neither here nor there. . . . In fact, I am neither here nor there. . . .” He gave a small sad chuckle. “I know nothing of the secrets of death, Harry, for I chose my feeble imitation of life instead. I believe learned wizards study the matter in the Department of Mysteries —”

(OotP, 861)

It just seemed to me that when someone's dead, they're truly dead. That's it. They're gone, and they can't come back. The dead who move on are gone and you can't speak to them, not really.

I think we get the wrong impression about death in their world since we see a lot of really unique magical flukes. But that's what they are — super rare flukes. In general, people can't come back.

I mentioned it before, but I think the forms of Harry's parents that came from Voldemrot's wand were echoes of their life or spirit trapped in his wand, taken by the killing curse and not their actual souls. These moved on beyond the veil and can't come back. And even these echos of their spirit could only come from the twin cores situation, and I'd go on a limb and say that if these were any other brother wands, owned by any other two wizards, it wouldn't have happened.

I also mentioned in the posts linked above I believe the Resurrection Stone doesn't really bring back the dead. It creates figments based on memories of the dead taken from the stone user's mind, it doesn't actually recall the souls of the dead:

“We are part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”

(DH, 590)

I also think the whole afterlife King's Cross station isn't actually happening and it actually is just in Harry's head:

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?” Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright white mist was descending again, obscuring his figure. “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?

(DH, 610)

And I mentioned I think both Voldemort and Harry died for a moment there in the forest, but they both came back because Harry is the MoD.

I also mentioned in the first post I linked what I think the Master of Death is actually capable of and why. I summarised it as the MoD won't die until they choose to, and a person chosen to be the MoD would always choose to die. As death is voluntary for the MoD, Harry should be able to walk into the veil and survive, something no one else could do (unless they have The Invisibility Cloak, maybe, but I won't bet on it if you aren't the actual master of the cloak).

No dark wizard seems to have true power over the dead and those who have already passed on. The most they could do is bring back inferi, since these are the parts of the dead that are still present where magic can access them.

The MoD might be able to walk into the veil and take a soul out, thus bringing someone fully to life by merging their body, spirit, and soul. That being said, this magic would be pretty complicated if a long time passed since the death since I assume the soul would be harder to find beyond the veil the more time passed since they died. Additionally, you'll need to heal the body from any decay it may have gone through and you'll need to find a spirit. You'll need life to tie the body and soul together, so, you either use the life of the dead person (if they died very recently, it should be accessible as I mentioned with Horcrux creation) or if their own spirit isn't present, you'll need to kill someone else with an equal life essence to use instead.

(I think this magic could be performed by any powerful enough wizard, it's just the getting a soul back from beyond the veil part I don't think anyone aside from the MoD has a chance to do, since anyone else would just die)

I think any rando dark wizard, won't be able to do much with ghosts. They are caught in a state between life and death, so wizards operating on the side of life (random so-called necromancers) won't be able to access them fully since they aren't fully alive (for the record inferi are magically alive because they have life in them, they are made of salt and mercury, so they are accessible to magic). The MoD would also not be able to do much with ghosts either, since the MoD works in either the domain of death or life, not in the in-between ghosts occupy.

(We know wizards can't really trap Poltergeists or kill dementors, their magic just seems very limited when it comes to spirit beings. Even Boggarts can't really be killed)

But the big difference is if you want to fully bring someone to life, soul, and all, you need the MoD as any necromancer just won't be able to do it. I don't think the MoD could summon spirits from the beyond or anything though, he'd have to go into the veil in the Department of Mysteries (or a similar doorway) and search for a soul the hard way and even that wouldn't succeed for sure, but it's my best guess for if you want to accomplish a true resurrection for someone who hasn't made Horcruxes.

(Another aside, I don't think ghosts can be brought back to life. As I mentioned, they are caught in between, so they aren't properly souls anymore and would reject being bonded to a body and life the way a pure soul would allow).

Hope this makes sense.

[chapel-of-rizztual]

Hello! Love your fics! <3 I'm saving them all and read when I have my fic reading goblin time and you always deliver.

And I'm sure you've probably done something similar (?) in the past, but my memory ain't that good so I'mma shoot my shot... Maybe tired, angry-by-default Sodo teaching oh-wow-human-body Phantom how does fucking work and he just ends up fucking him himself, maybe weirdly softly (for Sodo)?

I'd love that, but if it's not your vibe, perfectly fine, will look forward to more fics from you!

You sent this weeks ago I’m so sorry it’s so late! I hope you like it 🫶

Trans Dew cunt, clit and pussy used for his anatomy.

Phantom goes flying past Dew, all but throwing his guitar at the poor guitar tech. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, the adrenaline from being on stage making him hyper, jumping around, Babbling away so Loudly he’s basically yelling. 

“Did you see how many people in the audience had paint just like papa? Wait, holy shit, did you see Mountain? He was so sweaty at the end, is he always like that? I can’t Imagine how hot he gets drumming for that long, I’m so glad I’m on guitar…”

Dew tunes him out with a sigh. Normally Phantom’s excitement would be something he shared, the stage adrenaline would be pumping through his veins just the same, but today he was tired. A bad nights sleep, he was still trying to get use to sleeping without Aether, paired with him triggering an old knee injury, had made him irritable. He was desperate to get out of the claustrophobic halls of the venue and into the hotel, into a hot bath and into the no doubt overly   Washed and stiff bedsheets. 

“Did you see Swiss vaping? Do you think we’d be allowed to on stage? Although I don’t think I’d have the time, you know? Hands are always busy.”

Dew rolls his eyes at the excited ghoul, briefly wondering how he was even breathing with how fast he was talking. 

“Oh, did you see that person in the audience crying? I hope they were good tears and not bad tears, I don’t think we were that shit for someone to be crying bad tears though. I hope anyway, it’s kinda hard to hear ourselves on stage, you know? So we might have been shit and not even known it? Do you think-“ 

“Phantom!” Dew snaps, maybe a little more harsh then he was intending. “Satan below, do you ever shut the fuck up?” 

Phantom laughs at him, throwing his head back. 

“Not really. You know, back in the pits my mother use to say-“ 

He gets cut off by Dew pining him up against the wall with a harsh glare. 

“I’m telling you now, shut the fuck up.” 

“B-but I-“ He’s cut off again by Dew pushing him harder onto the wall, pushing two fingers against his lips. 

“No. No more. You don’t get to say another word until I say you can.” 

Dew watches as Phantom’s eyes widen and deep blush creeps up over his cheeks and feels him nod under his hands. 

“Now, are you going to listen to me?” 

Phantom audibly gasps, nodding once again, the blush on his cheeks going down to his neck. 

Dew takes a step back, releasing Phantom from where he had him pinned, raising an eyebrow when Phantom doesn’t move, just says leaning against the wall, panting. 

“I knew you could listen, good boy.” Dew beams proudly at him. 

Phantom's eyes flutter at the praise, his breath hitching. 

Dews smile turns evil, looking at him like he was a mouse under the predatory gaze of a cat. It makes Phantom run hot, heat flushing through his body and swirling in his belly like lava. 

“Now, let’s see if you can listen again.” He brushes a few stay hairs from Phantom’s eyes. “I want you to go to my dressing room, undress, and lay down on the sofa, okay?” 

Phantom looks at him with big doe eyes and nods again, fumbling and tripping over his feet as he tries to get them to move.  Dew gives him a bored look, watching Phantom trip over the air. 

“Well move then. Hurry up!” 

Phantom stumbles down the hall, letting out a small a small squeak. 

“And don’t even think about touching yourself.” Dew calls after him. 

“Yes sir.” Phantom whimpers, so quietly Dew could hardly hear it. 

And yeah, maybe, Dew had said he wasn’t allowed to speak, but the way that ‘yes sir’ had heat pooling in his belly and slick dampening his underwear, maybe he could let him off with it. 

Dew gives it a handful of seconds, just enough time for Phantom to do what he said, before he follows. 

Walking into the dressing room he’s met with the sight of Phantom stretched out on the sofa, fully naked, just like he’d asked, his cock resting hard and proud between his narrow hips. Dew smiles and let’s out a proud chuff noticing Phantoms clothes are neatly folded on the floor next to the sofa. 

He runs a gentle finger up Phantom's, watching as his muscles twitch under the touch.

“Good boy, did everything I asked so well.” He praises. Phantom’s cock jumps at the praise, a sticky stream leaking from the tip and pooling on his belly. He his lip, watching Dew completely ignore his cock, his finger jumping from his thigh to his belly, scratching at the skin.  Phantom whines, belly fluttering at the touch, and he looks at Dew owlishly. He opens his mouth to spew but the look Dew give his has him snapping his jaw shut so loudly the sound of his teeth  clashing together echos around the room.  “Remember what I said, Phantom. Not a word.”  Phantom  nervously plays this his bottom lip with his finger. “But I-“  Dew cuts him off by grabbing his face, squeezing his cheeks just a touch on the painful side. “You can’t fucking listen, can you? I thought you’d be a good boy for me?” 

Phantom squeezes his eyes closed, desperately hoping that Dew doesn’t see the tears welling. 

Dew scoffs and squeezes his cheeks harder. 

“You’re going to cry now? This is your own fault, you just needed to keep your mouth closed, but you couldn’t even do that.” 

Phantom’s feels a lump in his throat rise, feeling his throat constrict as he tries to swallow down a sob. 

Dew watches as Phantom’s bottom lip wobbles and he takes a wobbly breath. 

“Satan, you’re pathetic.” 

“I’m sorry-Dew-sir-I’m trying.”

Dew shakes his head, releasing Phantom’s face from his grasp. 

“And you’re still not fucking listening to me.” He click his tongue. “I should leave you here, leave you naked and hard for someone to find and you’ll have to explain to them that you weren’t good enough for me to fuck.” 

There are tears leaking steadily down Phantom’s cheeks and he lets out a hiccuped breath. The calmness in Dew’s voice sets him on edge, it would be easier if he was yelling and throwing him around the room, but the calm and collected look on his face made it hard to guess his next move.

To his surprise, Dew shimmies out of his jeans and underwear, leaving him completely naked from the waist down. Phantom can’t help licking his lips at the sight of Dew’s bare pussy, folds glistening with slick in the low light. 

Dew straddles his chest, thumb running over Phantom’s saliva wet bottom lip. 

“Open your mouth. It shouldn’t be hard for you seeing as you’ve not shut it since we got off stage.” 

Phantom mouth drops open without him even thinking about it. “If you do a good job and make me cum, maybe I’ll sit somewhere else and let you cum.” 

With that, Dew plants himself on Phantom’s open mouth. He sits, fully sits, no hovering, on his face, like he means nothing to him. Phantom can’t help but moan as the salty, tangy, taste of Dew’s cunt hits his tongue, surrounds his senses, suffocates him. 

Phantom grabs at Dew’s thighs, pulling him further into his face as Dew starts rolling his hip down, riding his face. He moans, unable to help himself, feeling his cock twitching on his belly as Dew uses him. He laps at Dew’s entrance, feeling slick coat his tongue and moans again into Dews cunt at the taste. 

Dew fists at Phantom’s hair, pulling hard, watching as Phantom’s eyes roll back, feeling him moan into his pussy. He can’t help moaning himself, feeling Phantom licking onto him with a strong tongue. It’s wet and mess, Phantoms making slick sucking sounds, he can feel spit soaking his thighs. 

He rolls his hips down harder, his clit bumping against Phantom’s nose and they both moan in unison, the sound vibrating right through Dew, making him moan again, throwing his head back. 

“That’s it, just like that, good boy.” 

Phantom moans onto his cunt again, his eyes fluttering shut and he grabs harder at Dew’s thighs, pulling him onto his face even harder. Dew ride his face not caring if Phantom can breathe, grinding his clit into his nose as Phantom licks into him, moaning each time Dew grinds down into him.  “That it, I’m so close, baby.” Dew pants, his hips rolling down faster, desperately grinding his entire cunt into his face.

“Keep going, just like that, I’m gunna-I’m gunna cum.” Dew moans, high pitched and feminine,and it goes straight to Phantom’s cock, more pre leaking from the tip and pooling on his already messy belly.   He pulls at his hair harder, pulling his face into his pussy and he pants. “Yes, yes, im-oh- I’m cumming-cumming-ah-“ 

He moans, more screams, and he cums, gushing all over Phantom’s face.  Phantom feels him tighten around his tongue and this whole body shakes as his face gets soaks with Dews release. He tries to lick up as much as he can, creating a wet slurping sound. Dew comes down, his moans dying down as his thighs stop shaking and let’s out a laugh, throwing his head back. 

“I need to use your mouth more often.” He pants, climbing off with shaky legs. He pulls his underwear and jeans pack on, looking down at Phantom. 

Phantom looks at him with wide, wet eyes, his whole face soaked with Dew’s release. It drips from his chin and his lips and he lick his lips, moaning a little at the taste. 

“What? Dew-you said I could- after you-after I made you-“

 “Oh sweetheart.” Dew fake pouts down at him. “I said maybe.” 

[starrylayle]

Marauders Fandom > "There is no canon !!" and other rhetorics

Guess who's back in their marauders phase after 2-3 years of being dormant lmao?? ((spoiler its me lol)). Anyways, a lot has changed since 2021 in this fandom so I just wanted to talk about the direction i think it's going.

I remember in 2020-21 the fandom started to boom in popularity on tiktok --> esp with the rise wolfstar + atyd. I remember people were so suprised with remus' characterization as 'rougher around the edges' instead of the 'soft boi' thing, and how that influenced the new wolfstar dynamic. [Just want to add that the atyd characterisation is much more complex than this and its one of my fave fics --> I'm more talking about the fandom at large's reaction to this)

And since fandom is incapable of having two nuanced and characters who are not stark opposites,, their roles were basically reversed and now Remus is the toxic dom alpha male and sirius is the cute girlyboy twink --- which um,,, the oc-ification is so real its embarrassing but whatever (omg don't even get me started on jegulus 💀)). I just assumed these would stay as headcanons. But now we have people saying, that 'we barely know anything abt the marauders in canon' or 'isn't the whole point of fandom to make shit up?' which i have sO many issues with so let me just try and compile my thoughts into dot points for the sake of coherency.

'we barely know anything abt the marauders in canon' ---> First of all, Remus, Sirius and Severus are fully fleshed out characters in the og series -- why do you think people would care enough to create an entire fandom based on their backstories if they were 2d flat characters in canon?? Like bffr. I saw a post on here (forgot who it was by, let me know if u know!) that said, 'I didn't cry over sirius' death in OotP just for ppl to say that we know nothing abt him in canon'. Like, its just mind-boggling to me lol.

'isn't the whole point of fandom to make shit up?' --> Ok y'all. For a fandom to work, there have to be some guidelines, some kind of source material, some point of reference so people can build upon it and make content. I think we can all agree on that. One reason why HP is such a popular place for fandom is the world-building and potential plots/storylines. I see some people argue that jk rowling was a shit writer anyways so might as well contradict everything she says. Now, I don't disagree with that point in particular, Jo is a pretty mediocre writer and a terrible person. HOWEVERrr, I'd argue that it is a lot more fascinating when people expand or work on the concepts in HP. JK Rowling has a lot of great ideas but executes them terribly -- I love when fic writes do this, which prolly explain why I love atyd as it is still very much canon compliant but executes themes on class, disability and queerness that jkr could barely do in subtext. This doesn''t mean I only think canon compliant fics are valid. That's not the case! I think as long as the charcterization is consistent to the character and the particular circumstances/world they're in, its fine! In fact, I love seeing how the same character would function if in a different place! I also love seeing explorations of the magic and magic systems in aus or fix it fics (or even canon compliant ones) that still fit in with the canonnical system that we know.

I guess what I'm trying to say I wish the marauders fandom explored the world and charcterizations more deeply instead of creating shallow oc-fied version of the characters that fit into whatever's trending -- like just write your own book or smth lol -- booktok will eat it up i promise.

Also, kinda related kinda not but um,,, why are we romanticising fascists -- like babe no evan rosier is not your babygirl he canonnoically tortured multiple ppl and became a death eater soo... not saying that I wouldn't want an exploration of his character or even a relationship with barty -- (who's not some cool dairk-haired edgelord but a actually a cowardly fascist murderer with blond hair -- yes the blond hair is important) -- I'd just want them to be portrayed as the not morally good people they are. Like,, if u want to oc-ify a character like pick someone whos not a death eater or has little info on them like dirk cresswell or frank longbottom,,, or ya know,, one of the MANY female characters in the fandom ((This fandom also has a problem with women and sapphic ships in general but that's a whole other issue lol).

I know this 'babygirlification' of death eaters doesn't mean to do this, but it also ends up watering down the themes of oppression, bigotry, etc and leaves us with not nearly as complex characters. Also one of the issues I had with the og HP world is that JK will introduce concepts like wizard racism and slavery and then just like,, not really do anything about it or just have half-arsed redemption arcs whilst not ever actually exploring the root of the issue. And now i feel like the fandom is following in those footsteps unfortunately.

Anyways, i've been rambling for too long so I'll just leave it here. Sorry if this came off as mean spirited in anyway,, I just have a lot of thoughts™ and my family is sick of hearing them lol. These opinions are not set in stone however so I'd love to hear your thoughts on this subject! At the end of the day this is fandom and we're supposed to have fun -- so yeah !! thanks for reading if you made it this far!

[pearwaldorf]

we need to talk about Rahaeli

This is slightly tangential to the dumpster fire that is OTW, but it is something I think is important to also take into consideration.

If you're following the comments on the OTW announcement posts, you may have seen reference to Rahaeli (Twitter) aka synedochic (DW) aka Denise. She is a co-founder of Dreamwidth, where FFA is hosted.

Denise is a Fandom Elder, in both the descriptive and derogatory senses of the term. She's been around forever, since the pre-Livejournal days. She has no hesitations about throwing around that Fandom Elder status, in the same way somebody like Franzeska or astolat or anybody else in the clique that founded OTW would.

Perspective from older fans is absolutely valuable, I want to emphasize. You want people who were there to explain why we are concerned about restrictions on explicit/queer/legal but "morally objectionable" fanwork, or how younger fans embrace purity rhetoric. But it's different the way Fandom Elders wield it, the implicit assumption that because they are older and have Seen Some Shit, they automatically have some sort of wisdom to transmit to the young'uns.

Denise knows a great deal about social media moderation, anti-harassment measures, and the legal obligations surrounding the discovery of CSEM/CSAM* on sites you're responsible for administrating. That expertise is extremely valuable when explaining to people why/how everything with OTW is very very concerning.

She also knows fandom very well, and exactly how to calibrate her words to push buttons. I remember her meltdown about Cohost, another social media site that looked like a viable competitor to Dreamwidth at the time. Here is a summary of it I wrote at the time.

I'd like to get into criticism of the part of that Twitter thread where she throws a random non-sequitur into an already extremely long thread. (I know this is already a long post, please bear with me.)

At this point, she's gone on about OTW, their gross neglect of volunteers, Rebecca Tushnet, and a bunch of other stuff for like three or four screens. They are all things we should rightly be appalled by, so we're on her side for saying things that need to be said. We are probably also getting a little tired and not reading things as closely as we should. I think this is absolutely deliberate.

She then pivots the thread to EndOTWRacism (hereafter EOR) with what seems like an offhand comment about how she doesn't agree with their goals. She wrongly characterizes the end goal of EOR's campaign as a desire to moderate fic on AO3. This is patently false and is explicitly stated on their call for action under What Do We Want. They want AO3 to come up with anti-harassment policies and content policies for abusive and racist fics (what some people would characterize as troll fics), which are clearly written to degrade and harm fans of color**. We are not talking about fics with bigoted stereotypes or racist characterization.

EOR links heavily to work by Stitchmediamix, a well-known and outspoken Black anti-racist advocate in fandom. They write a column about race and fandom for Teen Vogue, and have been the target of incredible amounts of harassment. Denise thinks it's biased and kinda weird EOR does this.

The reason EOR relies so heavily on Stitch's work (and that of Dr. Rukmini Pande) is because very few people actually write about this stuff. It's horrible, thankless work that doesn't get you good attention but needs to be discussed anyways. (Acafandom, such as that which gets published in OTW's journal Transformative Works and Cultures, is racist as fuck, but that's a whole other topic.)

Here we see yet another impossible standard white fans are never held to, the one where non-white (but especially Black) fans must be ideologically pure with no lapses in temper or frustration. Whomst among us would be able to respond with perfect grace every single time they were set upon by racist mobs?

We depart from the Twitter thread here because Denise has made a statement on Dreamwidth about why she included all the stuff about Stitch when she was making a critique of EOR. The summary of the post is basically "A bunch of people told me stuff, I saw screenshots, but I won't even share redacted ones, so just trust me OK?"

I don't know Stitch (we have corresponded exactly once) or follow their work***, but I feel like if there were actual evidence they send harassment towards other fans surely it would have come up on FFA by now. The nonnies don't like them over there, and I suspect anything that proves they have actually done anything of the sort would be like throwing chum to piranhas.

Probably the most galling bit of Denise's post is this:

Under no circumstances should anyone use my writing, my own arguments, or my repetition of the concerns of the fans of color who have reached out to me, as an excuse to engage in racist harassment of Stitch or of anyone involved in the EndOTWRacism protest.

She knows exactly what she's doing. It's like dangling a steak in front of a hungry dog and telling it "Please don't lunge towards it because I'm telling you not to."

The second most galling bit is the way she, a white woman with a great deal of institutional power, justfies pointing even more racist harassment towards a Black fan known for continued anti-racist activism even though it makes their life hell and calls it solidarity.

Fuck that noise. As Dr. Pande says, there are many ways to discuss incidents like this without identifying individuals. Denise could have posted a person's account, in their own words, of their harassment experience. Even in an attempt to demonstrate faux solidarity she denies POC fans a voice.

I am glad Denise can contribute her technical and legal expertise to explaining precisely how the OTW has been negligent in their responsibilities to their volunteers and how they are noncompliant with important laws regarding extremely harmful material. I regret she has undermined this important work with unnecessary detours into racism and incitement of harassment.

I am extremely angry about having to make this post. It's another pile of shit on top of an already giant dumpster fire. But apparently upholding racism and white supremacy is still something people in fandom are going to do, even as an important organization within it burns down around our ears.

--

*There is a difference (cw: duh) between the terms! I did not know this until yesterday.

**I'm not getting into definitions or hair-splitting about this because it's not the point of this post.

***If you are interested in actually reading Stitch's work, here is a great place to start.