#because you believe they were the original intent and you like them better

[firestorm09890]

there’s this one character analysis on Zexion that said he was terrified the whole time he was in the organization and how it’s easy to see in how he acts during his conversation with Xigbar and in his relationships with others in the group that cited a passage from one of the kh short stories talking about how Zexion’s hated Vexen ever since he was human

…except later on in that exact same scene of that short story he has that aforementioned talk with Xigbar and his thoughts are mostly along the lines of “Xigbar is condescending but he’s more obnoxious than anything and I wish he would shut up because his nonsense is wasting my time” which is… not what I’d describe as “acting afraid”

and I just

homie you can’t cite something for an argument when the very source you cited also refutes it

[avocad1s]

The Gnosis Can Wait

Requested By: No one. Original work.

CW: 5.0 spoilers below this line!!! 5.0 spoilers below this line! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

Summary: After his battle with Mavuika, Capitano was left injured. He retreats wanting to replan his strategy when he runs into you, the Creator, who had just descended to Teyvat.

Note: So how are you all liking Natlan? As of right now I think it’s okay only because I want to return to Fontaine 😞

Capitano wasn’t used to the taste of defeat.

As number one in the Fatui harbingers and the strongest amongst them no doubt, he is used to winning every match he partakes in. Or for his opponents to concede before the battle even begins.

Yet he doesn’t take it to heart, he knows the outcomes of every battle can differ in many different ways and he isn’t arrogant about his strength.

Mavuika was a God after all. Even though his power rivals hers, he knew he would have to best her with a foolproof strategy and it seemed barging in wasn’t the right one. She was a worthy opponent.

Capitano returns to his camp, the pain in his chest still burning from the small wound Mavuika left on him. He can wait, once his wound heals then he will strike her again, only this time he won’t miss. At least he has an ally in his pocket keeping him up to date on all the politics within Natlan.

“My lord,” Capitano’s right hand, Rezanov begins while bowing. “We found footprints nearby. We believe someone might stumble into camp soon…”

Capitano lets out a sigh underneath his mask, “how many people?”

“We believe only one, there’s only one track of footprints.”

Only one person? Nothing really to worry about. Unless this person is returning to tell the Archon his location.

“Find them and bring them here.” He orders and Rezanov nods and quickly takes off.

———

Okay… don’t freak out. Don’t freak out…

You just woke up in Genshin Impact.

You remember waiting impatiently by your PC for the newest update to the game, but you must’ve fallen asleep while waiting. Now you were dreaming about the it? Jeez, even in your own dreams you thought about the game. You really needed to touch grass. (lol jk jk luv you all)

You were dreaming about Natlan… a nation that you haven’t even played yet. You couldn’t have had a dream about your favorite nation? Or meeting all your favorite characters?

But everything felt so real. Even after watching the trailer and the leaks you’ve seen online, there’s no way you could know such detail about the nation. Maybe it was just your mind filling in the gaps…

“Stop right there!”

You turn around and your blood runs immediately cold. It was two fatui skirmishers and one fatui agent. You don’t even know the amount of times you’ve killed these enemies for their drops or just for the fun of it.

So this is how you die… at least this is better than falling into the claws of Childe, who you’d beat up anytime you built a new character.

“Our lord the Captain will deal with you, come with us with no fight.”

Scratch that. This was much, much worse…

“Wait… isn’t that…?” One of them whispered.

They put down their weapons, looks of remorse on their faces.

“Your Grace… please for give our imprudence we had no idea it was you…” Rezanov. “Please come with us, the Captain would be delighted to see you.”

Right… you’ve read fanfics like this before. Believing you’re their Creator… you wonder if your blood was gold. Perhaps you could check later. For now, you were going to follow them, it’s not like Capitano has appeared in the game you can get a first time look at him.

You follow the trio deeper into the forest, a small fireplace in the distance, you could only assume the Captain would be there.

“My lord, we found who was trailing around camp. Their Grace has decided to bless us with their presence on Teyvat once more.”

Capitano turns around and say nothing for what felt like forever. Even with the helmet, you knew he was staring intently at you.

“Your Grace.” He finally says, his voice much softer than you ever expected. “I am honored to be in your presence.”

He approached, towering over you.

“You three. Fetch Their Grace some food—“ he looks down at you once more. “And a change of clothes.”

You feel embarrassment creep up your neck. What’s wrong with your pajamas? Could he tell they weren’t from this word?

He holds out his hand, and you take it being able to feel the warmth underneath the glove. This dream was much realer than you thought…

Capitano leads you to his large tent holding the flaps open so you could enter. “We weren’t expecting your arrival so I apologize for the lack of preparations…”

You shake your head, “everything is fine.” Not like you’d be here forever…

“You can have my tent You Grace, I will camp outside.” He adds.

You furrow your eyebrows, “this tent is big enough for two people, can’t we just share it?”

Capitano doesn’t say nothing for a moment, you fear you’ve might’ve offended him with your offer but it was the complete opposite. Capitano felt as if he was on top of the world, to share a camp with the Creator? To be able to protect you? To see your sleeping face…

He feels his cheeks grow crimson and he is eternally grateful for his helmet. “Of course, if that’s what you wish Your Grace…”

The flaps to the tent open and Rezanov enters the tent. “My lord, we've received word that the Pyro Archon has lost much of her power.”

“Although your injury complicates things, this is most certainly the opportune time to seize the Gnosis...”

Capitano was slightly irritated with his subordinate’s unwarranted entry but he wouldn’t do anything yet, not while you were right in front of him.

“The Gnosis can wait, we have more important matters…” he replies, his focus never leaving you.

© avocad1s 2024

Note: Capitano was the highlight of Natlan for me. Sorry but i’m a Fatui Harbinger glazer 😞 why’d they make them so fine? It’s not fair… Now here’s to hoping my man is playable, saving all my primos for him so he better not disappoint.

Edit: I know Mavuika isn’t a God but I’m thinking Capitano wouldn’t know that since she’s the only one of the Seven that isn’t a one which is where I went with this fic

[messiahzzz]

i have seen several posts around that addressed how discouraging gale from taking the crown of karsus is “keeping him from realizing his true potential.” that tara is merely upset at his choice, instead of being utterly devastated at the loss of her little love. that it’s not a bad ending per se because to get there he didn’t need to sacrifice 7000 innocent souls in the process. gale isn’t continuing the cycle of abuse either, he still appears to love tav and does come back for them to offer them ascension. he wants them to be equal, so it can’t possibly be an unhealthy dynamic, right?

but what of gale himself, his own convictions, values, and everything he holds dear? everything flawed and human that shaped him into the person he is?

player: are you saying you want to ascend? claim godhood?

gale: no, not like that. i don't want to join them. i want to better them. a god's powers, paired with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart.

gale’s motivation for acquiring godhood is that he will able to aid mortals in a way no other god has ever done before. he won’t hide behind pretense nor require blind devotion of his followers. he will understand and be able to empathize. he wholeheartedly believes that he will be different - he will act.

gale: [..] the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind ao. so let us act ourselves.

gale believes that by becoming a god he will kill two birds with one stone: aid mortals and acquire enough power to quash any of his insecurities and enemies in the process. that by ridding himself of every perceived flaw he'll finally feel like he will have enough to offer - maybe, just maybe he'll even be content. his flaws are merely holding him back from becoming the best version of himself, and by ridding himself of everything fallible, he will be whole. maybe this is what all of his suffering has led up to. maybe the orb chose him. maybe the reason he had to endure all the pain, isolation, and excruciating loneliness was so that he could realize that he was meant for something even greater. after all, power feeds ambition. and what is more powerful than a god? his convictions were certainly naive, he possesses enough knowledge to know better. don't get me wrong, part of him definitely wants to spite mystra a lil. but his intentions at that time were mostly pure. a reflection of his self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy.

player: this is wrong, gale. that power will corrupt you, even if you can seize it.

gale: it won't, i swear to you. it's merely a tool - a means to an end.

once we meet gale at the party in his new godlike form, it is apparent that even with all the power at his fingertips, he has reached no greater knowledge about himself. his insecurities are still as present as before, he merely is less subtle in his compensation - repeatedly highlighting his grandeur and how dull life on faerun is compared to the wonders of elysium. it is also genuinely crushing to see how little he thinks of himself even now.

gale: i was nothing. a drifting dust mote of a wizard, abandoned by my goddess, my powers lost, my reputation destroyed. and look at me now. i'm their proof.

any perceived dismissal of his Greatness™ is met with immediate disdain.

gale: a bold decision to treat a divine being with such cold indifference.

nodecontext: aloof, annoyed you weren't impressed with him

gale: you mortals do love to live dangerously, don't you?

nodecontext: the slightest hint of a threat - you've probably made an enemy here today. or at least, you've lost a friend.

he is still desperate to impress. emphasizing what an honor it is that a new-born god chose to bless their little soiree with his presence. gaze upon all his divine glory! gale has now become the embodiment of everything he criticized about the gods. his original intentions and plans are discarded and long forgotten. he assuages his erstwhile companions by telling them to simply pray to him, in case they should ever require aid. if they're lucky and their ambition pleases him, he might even deliver.

player: what does the 'god of ambition' offer to his followers?

gale: i 'offer' them nothing. i inspire them to seize their destinies for themselves.

player: interesting, so you help mortals help themselves?

gale: precisely. though that isn't to say i'm averse to the odd bit of direct encouragement.

gale: [..] my aims are set a little higher than offering cursory blessings to just any half-decent spellcaster.

gale: regardless, ethical quandaries are more the remit of my mortal devotees. they do love to talk, and faerun is starting to listen.

aiding "any half-decent spellcaster" is unbefitting of his status. he isn't concerned with questions of ethics and morality either. deeming such matters beneath his divine capabilities.

once gale has ascended and established his domain, what remains of the gale we knew? what of his mortal heart?

minthara: your ambition is not cruel, but you fear that if you indulge it, you will lose yourself in the mysteries of the weave and unravel the world.

minthara: you are afraid of so many things, and it is that fear that keeps you true to yourself.

gale did lose himself and ultimately became one of his biggest fears. considering that his existence as a being of pure ambition leads him to constantly seek out greater heights, it isn't farfetched to believe that raphael's prediction will indeed come true.

player[astarion]: ambition? finally, a god i can get behind...

gale: i assure you, this is merely the prelude to a far grander vision. elysium's in for something of a shake-up.

all that remains of gale is a thin veneer of the person he used to be. what he presents is a hollow echo of the old gale. he does retain some of his mannerisms and quirks, but he is definitely a lot colder and more condescending. if his personality already changed that drastically after a duration of only 6 months, what will he inevitability turn into when he has eternity at his disposal?

essentially, you are aiding gale in the eradication of himself. eradicating everything about him that made him into the loveable, charismatic, awkward, kind, buoyant person he was. everything about him that he perceived as defective, flawed, and lesser-than. before, his hubris was merely an expression of his own discontentment and low self-worth, but now he is hubris incarnate. all of his worst qualities have been amplified.

gale: i am ambition incarnate. as indistinguishable from that most potent sensation as mystra herself is from the weave. and word is spreading.

nodecontext: palpable, almost unsettling excitement from him - hint of megalomania

he put his trust in tav, trusting their judgment and relying on them to nudge him in the right direction. after all, they had plenty of opportunities to show him that they are an ally worth following and confiding in. but in the end, the prospect of what he could be, the things he could give them, the enemies he could yet conquer, won over the desire to simply accept him and help him rebuild a life on solid ground. tav denied him the unconditional love he craves most out of their own selfish desires.

tara: you were looking out for him. i expected better of you.

as i've already mentioned, gale desires nothing more than to be seen, accepted, loved, and valued. having a partner who wholeheartedly supports and believes in him is enough to make him feel content. most importantly - he just wants to live. to enjoy life with everything it has to offer. his ambition can’t be quenched because he hungers still. believing that only by acquiring more power will he finally be enough and reach said acceptance.

we see in his good ending that his own contentment was even able to influence and (temporarily) sate the orb's ever-present hunger:

gale: [..] or perhaps the orb's hunger was fuelled by my own, and my contentment influences it in much the same way.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

it is devastating that he doesn't reach the same feeling of fulfillment if he chooses to pursue godhood, and is instead compelled to continuously surpass his own accomplishments. not being granted rest or reprieve.

gale: i achieved everything we hoped i would, and still i'm not good enough for you?

gale pursuing godhood isn't evidence that he "has been evil all along" or that he "just waited to be unleashed" either. we can't diminish tav's influence in this outcome, they are after all an extension of the player. able to steer every companion toward a path of redemption or to enable them in their worst traits. fandom has already established that by letting astarion ascend you are actively supporting him in becoming the very thing he despises most, putting your own ambitions and idea of what you want him to be above his healing, this is no different.

tara: the gale i knew wasn't like this. he recognised his mistakes. he was contrite. all he wanted to do was live.

tara: unfortunately, he fell into company that turned his gaze towards foolishness. yes, i mean you.

player: gale is his own man, tara.

tara: false. he was mine. though now he belongs only to his own pride.

yes, the epilogue cutscene is beautiful and there is something bittersweet and romantic about his love for tav being one of the few emotions that remained a constant throughout the past 6 months. he didn't need to come back for them, but he did cause he loves them still. no matter how warped his definition of love may be now. while it is abundantly clear that tav ranks lower on his priority list than they did before, his commitment remains.

gale fears isolation, hoping to never return to the time when he was hopeless and alone, stuck inside his tower. by heading in this direction he is once again creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

tara: [..] if i pretended you hadn't turned tail on every lesson you set out to learn, i'd have no right to call myself your friend.

morena may as well have already resigned herself to her son’s death. elminster partly blames himself. for his lapse in judgment, as well as being the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place. mourning the kind, bright-eyed boy who cried at the scorched roses in his neighbor's garden. tara won't be here anymore to care and look out for him either. he has lost his oldest and dearest friend, the one who witnessed his downfall from grace and never left his side. who believed him to be the finest mind AND the finest wizard she's ever had the pleasure to know. who was certain that he’d find a way out of any crisis no matter the circumstances. ...and if tav declines his offer to ascend with him? what does he have left?

gale: yes, i am rather radiant, aren't i?

tara: don't flatter yourself, gale. you've debased yourself in ways i could never have fathomed.

tara: goodbye gale, i hope the heavens are worth it.

gale’s godhood ending deals with the loss of humanity, the loss of oneself, and everything one holds dear. it is a devastating and bone-chilling narrative. it is a tragedy.

gale: i hope you don't think less of me. great ambition should not come at the expense of what you already hold dear. i see that now.

if gale could see himself, he would be horrified at the losses he deemed necessary to get here. he would be horrified at what he’s become.

[navybrat817]

The Dad Diaries: Welcome Home

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky reflects on the first night with his son home and puts his thoughts to paper.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Fluff, reflecting, first time dad, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a dad, okay?).

A/N: Welcome to The Dad Diaries! This AU will focus on Bucky and his relationship with his son (and you!) ❤️ Thanks to the beautiful @whisperlullaby for giving this intro a look and assuring me it wasn't garbage, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky stared intently at the open blank journal that sat in the middle of his office desk. He had picked up the pen a few minutes ago, but hadn’t written a single word. Why did he feel stuck? Better yet, what was he thinking by doing this? Reading often came easy to him, but writing? That was something else entirely.

It was also something he wanted to do.

He ran a hand over his face with a sigh and wondered if he should call it a night, crawl into bed with you, and try tomorrow. No, he didn’t want to push it off before he even began. Glancing at the monitor, he heard your voice in his head, a memory of something you told him in the early stages of dating:

The best writing comes from the heart. Write what you and your heart love because no one knows that story better than you.

Bucky had plenty of stories to tell. How he became a hero and a good man after years of pain and darkness. Or how he fell in love with you and became your husband.

And his newest adventure of becoming a father.

He wasn’t sure how to be a dad yet, but he knew he loved his son. That was more than enough to start. And with a smile tugging at his lips, he put the pen to paper.

Hey, Nugget,

My name is James Buchanan Barnes. Most people call me Bucky. Your mom calls me her husband and I’m the luckiest man in the world for that, especially since she gave me the greatest gift I could ever ask for: you.

Your name is James, too. Your mom doesn't know if we’ll call you Jamie or JJ, but I have a feeling you'll hear a bit of both. And one day, I’ll get to hear you call me Dad. Or Dada or Daddy or Papa.

Whatever makes you happy.

He paused in his writing when he thought he heard something on the monitor. His eyes flickered to the screen again and he breathed a little easier when he saw that his baby was still sleeping soundly in the middle of the crib. It wouldn’t stop him from checking on him later, just to be on the safe side.

I’m so glad you’re home. In fact, tonight is your first night in the nursery. I hope you like it here. To quote Ralph Waldo Emerson: “A house is made with walls and beams: a home is built with love and dreams.”

Yeah, your old man likes to read. Maybe you will, too. I even have an original copy of The Hobbit and would love to give it to you when you're older.

Books lined the far wall of Bucky’s office, many of them worn from the amount of times he read them. He made sure Jamie’s room had a reading nook, too. It was one of the only things he asked for when the two of you designed the nursery.

I hope you get enough sleep tonight. Your mom, too. You both did great at the hospital and deserve all the rest you can get.

Would you believe me if I said I was a nervous wreck when I brought your mom in, but tried not to let it show? People call me strong, but I don’t think I ever witnessed true strength until I saw how steady of a rock she was. She blew me away, which didn't surprise me. She amazes me every day.

Hearing your first cry stopped my heart and brought tears of joy to my eyes. After nine months of waiting and talking to your mom’s stomach, you were finally here. And seeing her hold you made me fall in love all over again.

Sorry if that sounds sappy, but it’s true. She looked right at me with happy tears in her eyes and said, “Bucky, look! Look at what we made! It's our little Nugget!” and my heart swelled. She insisted on calling you that and it rubbed off on me. Believe me when I say that you are the luckiest baby in the world to have the mother that you do.

He stopped writing again to glance at his wedding band, smiling all over again. He thought your love filled his heart before, but it overflowed now. It warmed him like nothing else ever could.

You’re probably wondering why I’m writing this since a lot of time will pass by the time you read this. Sometimes I may write to remember things I’m afraid I’ll forget. Other days I’ll write to reflect and get the words out when my mind is too loud. But my hope is that this will be a gift to you.

A bond for the two of us.

As you grow, I’ll fill the pages with the memories of you and our family. I’ll tell you about my past and how it shaped me into the man I am today. How your mom and I met and how I somehow convinced her to fall in love with me. And I’ll be sure to tell you about the day she told me we were going to have you and how that news changed my life for the better.

He swallowed the lump in his throat before he continued.

I also plan to fill this with your milestones. Like your first smile. Is it selfish if I hope to see it first? If not me, your mom. She’d love that. Your first step. Being selfish again, but I hope it’s me you walk toward so I can pick you up and tell you how proud I am. And your first word. I hope it’s Mama.

Though I won’t object if you say Dada.

Bucky chuckled as he imagined the look of betrayal on your beautiful face if your son said “Dada” first instead of “Mama”.

I’m sure some days I’ll have more to say than others. If I’m lucky, I can pass on life lessons and words of wisdom. Some days though I may not say the right thing and I know I’ll stumble along the way as I figure out how to be the best dad to you. I say “best” and not “perfect” because perfection doesn’t exist. Except for you and your mom.

The beauty of it is that I don’t have to go it alone. I’ll have your mom by my side to help guide and protect you and to watch you flourish. And my hope is that you know as you look through the pages how much we love you.

Even on days I may not get it right, I’m your dad, you’re my son, and you’ll always have a home with me and a place in my heart.

I’ll write more when I can, Nugget. Until then, I love you.

Always,

Dad

Bucky set the pen down as he exhaled. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't have to be. It was a start. As long as he put his heart into his words, it would shine from the pages.

And he couldn't wait for all the adventures he’d have with his little Nugget.

I hope you lovelies are excited to take this journey with Bucky. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[holdmymallowsweet]

What are you doing here? 01

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC Word count: 4328, properly tagged on AO3

Chapter summary: Falling right between the awkwardness of their first encounter outside the Undercroft and their jaunt into the Scriptorium, Ominis and the new fifth year have an innocuous little meet up in the library. 

a/n: I’ve always wondered why Mc would offer to talk to Ominis about the Scriptorium, when their last interaction outside the Undercroft was so hostile, and I figured there could have been another conversation in between- not anything deep or meaningful, just a little chat that made it clear that they don’t hate each other. So that’s what this is, and although it’s now the first chapter/prologue of a slow-burn longfic, it was originally a oneshot and can still be read as such, if you prefer. Enjoy! And many, many thanks to @myokk for encouraging me to finally post this, you're the best ❤️

Masterlist || Chapter 02

Chapter 01 - Invitation

Sending her that letter might have been a mistake.

Ominis Gaunt had been sitting in the library for hours now, waiting for someone who, he now realised, in all likelihood would not come.

“I heard you running around aimlessly in the defence against the dark arts tower again today. If you enjoy my company that much, perhaps you would like to join me in the library this evening. I’ll wait.”

It was supposed to be a playful way of telling her he was not angry anymore, a sort of peace offering after he had yelled at her outside the Undercroft. 

It was only after he’d sent the letter that he realised it probably sounded presumptuous and rude beyond belief. Words on parchment couldn’t tell the reader what tone of voice they’d like to be read in, at least not until someone invented a spell for that, but it was too late to take it back.

He sighed. Honestly, he could not remember what possessed him to write the blasted thing in the first place. It had been a whim, a result of his frustration and loneliness when he heard he’d be spending another evening alone because Sebastian had gotten himself detention again. He was not usually that bold, and she was practically a stranger.

They did happen to share a best friend in Sebastian though, so one could hardly blame him for trying to get to know her. In fact, it might be long overdue.

At least that was the excuse he’d use if anyone asked. Or the one he told himself, to be honest.

The truth was, she intrigued him. It took him some time to realise it, but now that he did, he couldn’t let go of the feeling. If Sebastian was to be believed, she was curious about him too, or at least she had been, for a fleeting moment- before his temper got the better of him and he took his frustrations about Sebastian’s betrayal out on her.

Ominis sighed again and ran his hand through his hair.

Someone from across the table shushed him, and his face twitched in slight annoyance.

Oh, he really hoped they’d be gone by the time she showed up, whoever they were.

If she showed up.

By now, it seemed more likely that he’d stay here sulking by his lonesome until it was time to walk back to the dungeons, perhaps facing a bemused Sebastian who’d already know where he’d been. The two of them seemed incapable of keeping secrets from one another, after all.

That would ultimately be the proper punishment for his unreasonable jealousy, her rejection delivered by his best friend.

He’d come to the library with every intention of writing the assigned essay for Herbology, determined not to care too much about whether she’d take him up on his invitation, but it was a lost cause. His self-spelling quill wouldn’t work properly unless he concentrated on the precise words he wanted to put on the parchment, but with his head filled with thoughts of the new fifth year and the undefined nature of whatever relationship they did or didn’t have, all he had managed to write so far was an embarrassing mess.

Ominis considered writing with his own hand, but thought better of it. He could, of course. He’d make notes or short letters without his enchanted quill regularly, but writing an entire essay without being able to tell when the lines would inadvertently run into one another was a daunting task. He’d have to use twice as much parchment as anyone else, and he already felt sorry for Professor Garlick, if she’d have to decipher the mess.

Finally, he decided to just give it up. The door opened, and once again, he strained his ears. He was able to recognize her footsteps by now. Not her, just some unfortunate chap getting chewed out by Madam Scribner for returning his books late.

He was starting to feel ridiculous.

It felt like hours since he’d hurried through the castle, almost slipping on the wet fallen leaves covering the stairs when he left the owlery. Heart thumping with excitement, he’d even made sure to sit at a table where he would, hopefully, be seen by her as soon as she walked in, but far enough away from the librarian to have a conversation without being reprimanded for disturbing the peace and quiet.

Actually, if he hadn’t been so concerned that she might not see him and leave, or that he might miss her coming in, he would have preferred a table in the farthest corner on the second floor, away from prying eyes. She was still the talk of the school and gathered attention wherever she went, and “What is she doing with Gaunt?” was not something he wanted to hear whispered in the corridors.

Thankfully, it was one of the last warm and sunny days before the autumn chill fully set in, so most students were happy to make the most of it and took their work outside. Even Cressida Blume still seemed determined to let Madam Scribner forget her face (not that she would), and he hadn’t heard any other classmate of theirs either. 

Sebastian’s detention was pointless busy work as usual- scrubbing or cleaning or something of the sort. Truthfully, Ominis had ceased to pay attention when his friend complained about his punishments long ago. Whatever it was, it kept him far away from the library- no one was foolish enough to try and “punish” Sebastian by letting him get his hands on even more books.

Not that it mattered whether they knew the curious onlookers or not. She was still the object of everyone’s interest and admiration, and with the way things were going, that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon. Not while she was so eager and endearing, always willing to drop everything the second someone needed something from her.

Right, it wasn’t like her to deny a request from a fellow student. She’d usually jump at the chance to do someone a favour, even if it came from someone she’d never seen before, even if it was much more bothersome than studying in the library for an hour or two.

So why wasn’t she here?

She wouldn’t have shown anyone his letter, would she? Unless she didn’t have to, if the owl reached her at an inopportune time, Merlin knows who else might have read it over her shoulder.

Ominis could imagine it, them sitting in a circle in the Hufflepuff girl’s dormitory, passing his letter around, seemingly teasing her about it in a playful attempt to get her to be wary of him. Until her curiosity would get the better of her and she’d ask them why precisely they found him so disagreeable. He shuddered. 

According to Sebastian, she already knew. She knew, and didn’t care. 

According to Sebastian, she also felt apologetic and regretful about their last encounter, much like him.

And if that was the truth- he couldn’t be entirely sure it was, but if it was, why wasn’t she here? Ominis tapped his quill against the parchment, piercing tiny holes into it and probably soaking the table underneath with ink. 

He was slowly but surely getting annoyed now. If she was as regretful about invading the Undercroft as Sebastian had made it seem, she should have pounced at the chance to meet up with him and make things right.

Of course, that had been weeks ago, so she might have gotten over it by now. Still, he wasn’t good enough for her to at least show up and quietly do her homework on the opposite side of the table? It wasn’t as if she didn’t have any work to do. She always did, with all the extra assignments the Professors threw at her to help her catch up, and even if by some miracle she didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt her to simply study, for once.

She could have come. Ominis frowned. Unless she actually couldn’t.

Notorious troublemaker and rule breaker that she was, he’d often half jokingly wondered when her recklessness would come to bite her in the arse, only it wasn’t unthinkable, was it?

Her duelling skills didn’t make her invincible, it was entirely possible that she was lying dead, or dying, somewhere on the cold forest floor. Small animals and insects already crawling under her robes and the scarf she always insisted on wearing, slowly devouring her corpse while a confused owl pecked at her, trying to get her cold hands to take his stupid, embarrassing letter. 

Ominis took a deep, steadying breath in an attempt to squash the slowly rising dread.

Stop it. She was  fine, she had other things to do, or she thought she was in trouble with him again and didn’t feel like being chastised and insulted all evening. It was annoying that she didn’t even want to find out what he wanted from her- nothing, really, except perhaps a chance to clear the air- but he had no right to complain, he was the one who messed things up.

And his annoyance was merely a way to mask his fear of rejection.

He slumped down, his forehead hitting the table with a soft thud. Ears filled with the sounds of soft footsteps, turned pages and scratching quills, ink from his quill staining his fingertips but nothing to really occupy his mind in her stead.

Why couldn’t he have spent a few more minutes to rewrite that letter, although one could barely call it a letter- the note, why couldn’t he have tried to sound a bit more friendly and inviting? Then again, even a second longer might have caused him to rethink the whole thing, keeping him from sending it at all.

All things considered, that would have been a blessing in disguise, saving him from making an absolute fool of himself.

He’d heard it countless times from the Sallow twins, trying to console him in his moments of self-doubt; that he was a good person, a good friend, that he was fun to be with, but it’s not like she’d ever seen that side of him.

The two of them would make an odd, unlikely combination, but he wanted to get to know her, be near her. His invitation had been a final act of desperation- or perhaps insanity- a desire to hold on to the strange but comforting, tender feeling that rose in his chest whenever he heard her voice in class or her footsteps in the hallways nowadays.

At the very least, he wanted to make sure there was no lingering resentment between them.

The library door opened again, and the next sound to reach his ears suddenly made his head feel blissfully empty. 

It was her voice, and he instantly straightened his back and cocked his head to the side to listen better as she greeted the librarian.

She made her way through the library, with eager steps, drawing closer until he could smell her signature scent, then until he could hear her breathing. Ominis noticed she was slightly out of breath.

Had she been in a hurry?

To meet him?

In spite of the confusion, the sick feeling inside him dissolved almost instantly, all thoughts of why she made him wait only to show up hours later forgotten. She cared. She cared at least enough to give him a bit of her time.

“Hello, Ominis,” she said.

He knew she wasn’t one for formalities, calling all of her classmates by their first name without invitation. 

What surprised him more was the lack of any bitterness or trepidation he’d expected to hear in her voice, instead, she sounded cheerful, excited, almost.

“There you are. Care to sit down?” he replied, trying his best to sound unbothered while ignoring the sudden flutter of nervousness in his stomach. The scraping of the chair from across the table told him she did.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, I’m really sorry.”

Are you?

She sounded genuinely apologetic. Suddenly he realised, with another bout of nerves, that this would be the first time they actually had a proper conversation. Without any shouting. She was here for no other reason than to spend time with him, and more importantly, because he asked her to.

Ominis took perhaps a bit too long to answer, but she didn’t seem to notice. It sounded like she was busy taking her textbooks out.

“It’s all right. It’s not like I was just wasting time waiting for you, I was quite busy.” It was almost not a ridiculous lie, considering he’d been busy indeed, desperately craving her company, making a mess of his homework, hoping she’d care enough to show up. He hoped she wouldn’t think too hard about the messy, half empty parchments littering the table. 

It wouldn’t be fair to be upset about it. After all, he invited her on short notice and they never agreed on a time to meet.

“I left as soon as I got your owl, but it took me a while to get here,” she sighed, casually pushing aside his mess on the table to make space for her own.

Why? Where have you been?

Obviously not on school grounds.

“Why would that be?” he said, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

“I was near Aranshire.”

“Aranshire? What were you up to over there?” He raised his eyebrow. He knew it was one of the Hamlets, the one close to Hogsmeade station, if he wasn’t mistaken, but he couldn’t judge exactly how far away from the castle it was.

Oh, he had a bad feeling about this, and she, ever so perceptive, noticed.

“Nothing to be concerned about.” she said airily.

She doesn’t trust me.

Ominis knew he shouldn’t hold it against her. They barely knew each other, after all, and yet he couldn’t help the tiny stab of annoyance as she was lying to him yet again. If it had been Sebastian, she would have told him. 

Then again, Sebastian had never threatened to get her in trouble with the Headmaster.

“Anyway, on my way back something came up and I looked a bit dishevelled by the end of it, and it took me a while to sort that out. That’s why I’m late. I really am sorry.”

“You looked… dishevelled?”

She hummed in agreement, taking a moment to shuffle around pieces of parchment before answering properly. “Just a bit.”

“You do know I wouldn’t be able to tell,” he said with a smirk.

She laughed, and Ominis was almost disturbed by how much he liked the sound of it.

“Fair enough, I suppose, but others would, and I wouldn‘t want to give anyone a reason to stare, or… talk more about me than they already do.”

Ominis tensed. He’d always been aware and annoyed at how much the entire school seemed to gossip about her, but he’d never considered that she’d know, or how she felt about it. There was an odd sort of undertone in her voice.

He wondered yet again how much she knew, or guessed, about the things others said behind his back, when they thought he was out of earshot, always underestimating his hearing. They were careful when Sebastian was close, but they had no reason to hold back when it was just her.

So was she concerned about what the others might say if they saw them together? For her sake, or for his? He was beginning to feel sick again.

“Why did you look ‘a bit dishevelled’ in the first place?” he asked in an attempt to return to the original subject, and perhaps lighten the mood a bit.

“Well…” she hesitated for a moment. “I had a run in with some spiders.”

Oh no.

“Really, nothing to be concerned about.” She added quickly when he furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to say something.

If he had to guess, this wasn’t the first time something like that had happened- in fact he knew it wasn’t. Dragons, Trolls, Dark Wizards, now this- and Merlin knew what else in between. She almost seemed to enjoy it, always roaming around, curious to see what else she could take on.

That recklessness made him uneasy. He had spent the last four years with another one like that, and the two of them being best friends felt like pouring oil in a fire.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. Nothing a bath and a Wiggenweld potion couldn’t fix,” she reassured him.

So you did get hurt.

Ominis frowned. He couldn’t smell any blood, and didn’t hear any strange whispers when she came in. She also didn’t sound as if she was in any pain, so she most likely wasn’t lying when she said she was fine now. Her having just taken a bath also explained why the scent of her soap was slightly stronger than usual and not mixed with the earthy, piney smell of the forest that always clung to her when she’d been roaming around the highlands.

“Are you all right?” she asked suddenly.

The question caught Ominis by surprise. “Certainly. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seem a bit tense. If there’s anything I can help you with…”

Even without sight, he could guess she was pausing to look at him expectantly. Merlin, did she think that’s why he asked her to meet him?

“No, I…” There were a lot of things he would have liked to say to her, and yet he couldn’t seem to find the right words.

He had to say something, though, because the silence between them as she waited for Ominis to finish his sentence was starting to feel oppressive.

“I’m fine,” he finally said, suddenly feeling self-conscious about how much he was stressing over what, to her, was a casual conversation she had with dozens of others on an average day.

For Merlin’s sake, they were classmates sitting in the library, making smalltalk.

Time to change the subject.

“Really though, what were you doing out there?” He tried his luck again.

“Just the usual.”

Ominis barely managed to suppress a frustrated sigh. “Which would be…?”

She seemed to consider him for a moment. The building frustration from her annoyingly vague answers must have been evident, and Ominis thought for a split second that he’d pushed too far.

“Nothing too exciting. Chatting to some of the locals. Looking for good spots to collect potion ingredients, that sort of thing.”

“Sharp must be very proud of you.”

She laughed that melodic, infuriatingly infectious laugh of hers, and Ominis was both relieved and grateful that the atmosphere lightened considerably again, even as the annoying git who shushed him earlier made a disapproving noise. If she’d heard it, she’d decided to ignore it, and Ominis was more than happy to follow her lead.

“I’m not doing it to please Professor Sharp, I quite enjoy potion making- unlike some of us,” she teased.

“I don’t-“

“Don’t bother denying it, it’s not like I’m imagining the sour look on your face every time I look at you during Potions.”

So she hadn’t been ignoring him, even after everything that had happened. His insides squirmed pleasantly. Perhaps she was still curious about him, after all.

Ominis cleared his throat.

“So, had any success in finding those potion ingredients?” he asked, awkwardly attempting to keep the conversation going.

“Hmm. I’m running out of Horklump juice, but there weren’t any around. I did find some Ashwinder eggs though, at an abandoned poacher camp nearby,” she rambled on absentmindedly, still shuffling around her pieces of parchment. “I’ve always been curious about them, you know. I’d like to see one someday.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. They’re dangerous criminals, you know.”

She held back a laugh. “I meant an Ashwinder- as in the creature, not the poachers. I’ve seen quite enough of them.” 

“...it was a joke.”

She giggled. “I’ve been thinking about how I always collect their eggs as potion ingredients, but I’ve never actually seen one,” she mused.

Well, they weren’t exactly the sociable sort, even for snakes.

Ominis had met an Ashwinder once, in the gardens behind his family home, after it had slithered out of an abandoned fire his older brother had been playing around with before he’d wandered off, bored. Excited to have someone to talk to, someone who he’d hoped wouldn’t either dismiss him or use the opportunity for some casual cruelty, Ominis had bent down to greet the little snake. It had told him to sod off and slithered away to lay its eggs. Back then, he’d been sulking the whole day over it.

The corners of his lips twitched upwards.

Shame, he thought ruefully. There he actually had a somewhat funny story about the very thing she was interested in, and he couldn’t even tell her. Not without revealing secrets about himself that he’d rather keep tightly guarded.

“Have you ever heard one?” She inquired.

Ominis stiffened instantly. So much for his tightly guarded secrets. He really would have to wring Sebastian’s neck one of these days. “What do you mean by that?”

“I only meant, well…,” she answered sheepishly, “… you obviously wouldn’t have seen one, and I know you have good hearing. Sorry, did I say something wrong?” She was obviously taken aback.

“No, of course not. I’m sorry.” He relaxed. So Sebastian hadn’t told her that, at least. He cleared his throat. “You would have to be lucky to see one. They are born from unattended magical fires and only live for about an hour, barely long enough to lay their eggs.”

“Ah.” She was fumbling with her quill, running her fingers along the feathered edges, from the sound of it, seemingly deep in thought, and thankfully not angry at him for snapping at her. “If they’re born from fires, what are they laying eggs for?”

“I think that’s a question better asked of Professor Howin,” Ominis replied. “You’re the one taking Beasts class, not me.”

“So… could I just make a fire somewhere, ‘unattend’ it and wait for one to come out?”

He gave her an amused snort, not sure if she was being serious. “Are you taking a page out of Peeve’s book, trying to burn down the castle?” Brows furrowed, he still flashed her a warm smile as she had a fit of giggles, and a pleasant warmth spread through his body.

“Perhaps I should take a page out of Peeve’s book, that’d make us even,” she said.

Ominis was waiting for her to explain that rather puzzling statement, but she didn’t.

“Meaning…?”

“Never mind.”

He brushed it off. This was all he’d wanted, sitting together, having a pleasant conversation, laughing about each other’s jokes. And yet it didn’t feel quite right, there was still a wall between them, made up of secrecy and lies.

She finally seemed to have started on her work, the scratching of her quill adding to the symphony of the rustling paper and soft hums and whispers surrounding them.

Apologise for yelling at her about the Undercroft.

Ominis wanted to, he really did, and if he was ever going to, now was the time- but he was still embarrassed just thinking about it and he didn’t want to ruin their first decent conversation by reminding her of how horrible he’d been. It might have been easier to talk about if she was the one to bring it up, and he quietly wondered why she didn’t.

Through the ambient sounds, he heard Madam Scribner get up from behind her desk, about to make a final pass through her sacred halls. Reminding students not to leave a mess, picking unwilling volunteers to tidy the mess of the ones who didn’t listen amongst the stragglers who couldn’t flee fast enough, he was almost tempted to make sure it’d be the two of them.

It wouldn’t be fair, though.

Based on her account of how she’d spent her evening so far and his own idle contemplations, they’d both need to dedicate the remaining hours of the day to schoolwork, and she’d already dropped her previous plans as soon as she received his owl- a courtesy far beyond anything he deserved.

They were out of time.

“We should probably leave.”

There she was, slipping through his fingers again. If only she’d arrived half an hour earlier, maybe he could have gathered his nerve and apologised, at least.

“Wait, weren’t we going to do our homework? I haven��t even started, to be honest.”

Ominis smirked. “The library is about to close, you know. I’ve been here for hours before you came in.” Not that he’d been very productive in that time.

“Oh.” She sounded defeated- and perhaps even a bit disappointed?

That might have been wishful thinking on his part.

“I guess I’ll head back to the common room then. If I’m lucky, Adelaide’s still up and I can copy from her.”

He let out a small chuckle. “Cheating on our assignments, are we?”

“Oh, well. I can’t always be a saint,” she said cheekily.

For a second, Ominis had the urge to walk her back to her common room, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her. It felt like it would be too much, walking around the castle with her, giving others the opportunity to make assumptions about a relationship that he himself didn’t yet fully understand. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said instead. He gathered his things, ignoring the growing regret and guilt.

“See you, Ominis. And… if you enjoyed my company enough, perhaps we could do this again?”

He felt his cheeks grow hot. “Sure.”

She laughed. “Cheers.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Her scent and her laughter still lingered and he was left wondering what, if anything, this little get together had accomplished.

Ominis could not have known this would be their last proper conversation before the three of them entered the Scriptorium.

more a/n: Before the Scriptorium though, the next chapter will be a little trip down memory lane, featuring the earful Sebastian got for showing her the Undercroft. It’s finally here! I started working on this a while ago, so if you’ve read this far, thank you! Like I kind of hinted at in the beginning, the concept of this fic is basically “what could they have been up to ‘off-screen’, if canon events stay exactly the same” (up to and including the fact that no one ever mentions mc’s name, we’ll see if I live to regret this decision), and I don’t know if that’s interesting to anyone but myself, but I’d be happy if anyone wants to be along for the ride.  Writing from Ominis’ pov is a challenge and I try my best to keep in mind that he’s blind when describing things (so don’t expect visual descriptions of anything, ever), but hopefully without constantly drawing attention to it, I hope I managed to do that respectfully and realistically. That said, if anything feels off to you or you have questions, feel free to let me know. And finally, English is not my first language. I proofread and edit everything I write to hell and back but if I still misspelt anything or obviously misused a word, let me know so I can fix it (just be nice about it). There’s a lot more I wanted to put in the authors’ notes but I think it’s already rambly enough, so I’ll leave it at that. Until next time? (I’ve written a few chapters ahead and I’ll try to upload regularly, but realistically, I probably won’t manage it more frequently than once every 1.5 to 2 weeks)

[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 5}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: Another overnight patrol, an asked favor, a miscommunication, a fleeting moment of pleasure and it all comes crumbling down. Even worse than you had anticipated, the allure of being a part of something bigger than yourself blinding you into believing it was finally within reach.

Word Count: 10.3k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, mild injuries, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, adult content, teasing, yearning, protective joel, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, size kink unlocked in reader, (girl, i feel you), reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: holy shit, i am so sorry for the mix up with the original content. i'm so emotionally drained from today that i didn't realize it wasn't the final version of the chapter that i uploaded. but it's fixed, all scenes are complete and as they should be.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

It was your fault, you realized. As you set about searching for something you remembered seeing in the house when you had first been assigned to it and moved in with Aiden. It had been one of those things that you stared at in disbelief, startling manic, nearly hysterical laughter that had turned into tears and uneven breaths. So ridiculous to have come across it over a decade after the end of the world.

A pack of index cards.

Index cards. Who needed index cards at the end of the world, when language was all people had. Skills like writing, reading, all faded away and dormant reflexes that could be called upon if and when needed.

It hadn’t mattered if you could write, had the ability to write or read when you were running for your life from Infected and humans, crashing through the remains of what was once a town or city, crashing through snapping and unforgiving forests, crashing through unforgiving open land in the hopes that you weren’t spotted a mile away by someone trying to protect what was theirs or looking for targets.

It was your fault he had pulled away to the point of beginning his…thing with Marsha. The way you had run from him, run from what you had both shared. But it didn’t mean anything, he was...Joel was…an important part of the settlement. Integrated far better than you ever had the chance to and you would just ruin it for him. He had to understand that because he too, hadn’t tried to bring it up.

Gathering them and a few of the cookbooks you had, you settled at the kitchen table. Taking the time to flip through the recipes to find simple ones that could be adapted to the more limited means the settlement could produce. Eager to find ones that Joel wouldn’t find too challenging and would like the end result of.

Just as your pen hit the paper, a knock sounded on your door. Sighing, you set it down and made your way across the front of your home to find Tommy with a crying bundle in his hands.

“Maria left me with ‘im for the day to handle some council business and he won’t stop cryin’.” He looked like he was about to burst into tears himself, but you didn’t say as much. Knowing firsthand how draining it was to look after a newborn.

“Well, good morning to you too.” You said as the man shouldered his way past you and took up half of the couch, an old backpack swinging from his elbow.

“You said to come to you for anything we needed, and I need your help.”

“How do you know I’m not bad with babies, huh? Maybe they hate me and I’m one of those women who don’t like them?”

“But you’re not. Right?” His curls were a frizzled mess, his eyes telling of his sleepless night as they widened and regarded you almost desperately. Rocking the bundle in his arms gently, holding it close, But his arms looked angled weird, totally not in a natural hold. “Joel always said I was too anxious around Sarah when she was super little and that’s why she cried for him for hours until she tired herself out. But he’s busy workin’ on finishing up that new roof before the snow really starts to come down.”

You did know who Sarah was. It had been a rather slow and somber conversation between you and Joel one day in the middle of summer. You had only been going out on patrols with him for a few months at that point. Him and Tommy focusing on getting as much done around the town upon his return, taking longer than usual to add a newcomer to the roster.

He had asked after you, if you lived alone. You had answered yes, saying you lost everyone in the initial chaos of the outbreak. Your city too densely packed for a chance to return home, the only chance at survival had been to immediately flee. He had told you something similar, that he had lost everything but his brother in the wake of the virus. You hadn’t asked after who, but he had told you of his daughter. His biological daughter with a wet chuckle at how she was too kind for this world anyway. You had looked away from his tears, knowing even back then that he needed to speak otherwise it would eat him from the inside out. To think of her constantly and not be able to talk about her must’ve hurt just as much as losing her. Mentions of her sprinkled future conversations and you were glad he trusted you with that part of himself.

 But you weren’t sure if Tommy knew you did beyond her name as chalk on a blackboard memorial in his living room.

“I’m good with babies,” You assured the man beside you. Slipping a full bottle from the side of the pack and asked him to dap it to your wrist. You licked up the milky liquid, immediately pinpointing the issue.

“It’s too bland, a little sugar mixed in won’t do any harm. But I prefer maple since it’s got the same qualities of honey but less of the local pollen. Both will help build immunity to the blooms come spring time.” Standing up, you carefully moved the baby to rest along your front, head on your shoulder and moved into the kitchen. The cap had been unscrewed by a watching Tommy and you stirred in a bit of maple syrup that had been collected outside the gates.

The bundle in your arms was still crying, though not as high a volume as when Tommy had first entered the house. Softly hushing and cooing to try and calm him. The second you touched the bottle of sweetened milk to his little lips, he quieted down and began to sip.

“Oh, thank god.” Tommy’s head was in his hands, elbows atop his knees. You settled beside him once again, smiling over at the older man. “Olive, if this is too much, I promise-“

“It’s okay, really.” You let him rest a wide palm on your knee, his fingers caressing the bare skin there as your dress skirt allowed for them to show. His eyes wide and beseeching, making sure you were really okay before he sunk into the cushions. “I’ve made peace with it a long time ago…”

It was his fault. The thought consumed him as he inspected the planks of olive wood, having brought them into the house after the first heavy coat of frost that covered the whole town after a particularly chilly night. He recalled having woken up, shivering as he yanked on a pair of thick socks and searched through the closets in the house for a spare blanket to throw over his bed. How he wondered if you were warm enough in your own bed as he donned his boots unlaced and jacket unzipped to drape another blanket he had taken from the closet over a passed out Ellie in her little studio.

And then he had wondered what type of clothing you wore to bed. When you had answered the door in your robe, it hadn’t looked like you had anything on underneath it aside from maybe underwear and a tank top. Not enough to keep your skin from the chill that tended to seep in through the panes of the windows all around Jackson, despite the blessing of functioning heaters.

He hadn’t gone after you, his attention being called away. You had run off, too startled by being interrupted and most likely embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment. But…it had been such a good moment until it had been shattered.

You had shown up at his door in a long dress, the skirt flowing down to your knees, thick fabric around your legs to combat the ever-present chill in the air. There was a whicker basket, handle draped over your forearm. That paired with your worn boots and wide brimmed had had been such a lovely image to open his front door to.

It had been hard not to stare at you and you talked and guided Ellie through dinner, faint music drifting into the kitchen from the living room as he set about cleaning up after each step and setting the table. It was all so domestic and he wanted for more nights like it. Just you and him and Ellie.

Sighing, you made sure to lock the front door behind you. Apron bundled up beneath your armpit and thrown in the general direction of the laundry room door on the other side of the kitchen. Filling and setting a kettle over the stove, you stood and looked out your kitchen window for a moment, taking in the fluffy snow that had attempted to stick as the dark, moody sky brought it over the town. It was still early, the sunrise more than likely about to occur, but it hidden in the overcast.

You shifted your gaze over the counters, logging the ingredients you had on hand for a possible breakfast even if you weren’t terribly hungry at the moment. When they landed on the broken mixing spoon that had decided to crack and splinter last night under your soapy hands as you cleaned up over dinner, you moved to rummage in the hall closet. The scrape of untreated wood along the floor sent a chill up your spine as your fingers closed around what you were searching for.

The thick slab of wood is covered with an old flat sheet. It had been from a tree last year, one that had lost a main branch in the same winds that had taken a whole one from your collection.

It was beautiful. Rich in color, the grain so detailed and curling in beautiful swirls. Burl added layers and looking pretty as it was set just so in the cut. You had kept it, unable to burn it for the soil. The thought of asking Joel to make you a set of cooking utensils had been in the back of your mind for nearly the entire time he had been here. But now with the crop of cutting boards artfully crafted, you were tempted to ask him to make of those from the hefty source in your hands.

But he hadn’t offered you one, hadn’t so much as mentioned that he had begun to make more and more ever since that first one he had been ‘trying out the idea’ in Tommy’s kitchen. You were hesitant to bring it up, but with the holidays only a couple weeks away…you were curious to see his reaction to the request.

You didn’t ask anything of anyone. Not even when you first got here, had taken the time to acclimate to the way life was led here within the settlement. Community, social circles, job detail, patrol. All of it had been taken in stride, and you worked for everything in your possession. Joel did too. You admired him for it.

A few moments later, you were rapping your knuckles against the man’s front door.

Ellie comes around the side, hearing it from her separate garage. She had looked frustrated, then curious, then excited.

“Hey, Olive,” She walks up to you, noticing the wood in your hands. “The old man’s not home, he went to help out with the lil guy.”

“O-oh, okay. I’ll just come back, I guess.” But when you began to inch closer to the porch steps, she ascended them with a small smile.

“Nah, come hang with me until he gets back.” She brushed past you with a soft touch to your arm. A key slid into the lock and then you were hesitantly following her into the house. “Feel free to make some of that god awful coffee you two enjoy so much, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

You saw her dip off down the hall, the sound of her rustling through something behind an open door allowing you the privacy to make up your mind on the offer of coffee as you stood on the threshold to the kitchen. With a determined push, you set about to search for the coffee grounds and mugs. He had only two, one with a detailed owl and another more simple one. It was a plain white one that was hefty and looked like it belonged in the full hands of diner waitress. 

It transported you back to late nights and early mornings surrounded by ruckus laughter and inside jokes, the scent of pancakes and bacon cooking on a flattop and the jingle of a bell to signal overflowing plates were ready to be dug into.

“What’s that in the cloth?” Ellie’s curiosity piqued by the bundle you had set down atop the kitchen table, her long thin fingers slowly unwrapping it. With a nod from you, she did so completely. Her eyebrows shot up, thoughts swirling behind her keen eyes. They flicked to the back room just on the other side of the kitchen wall. Her bottom lip was taken between her teeth and she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“I know it’s silly, but…” You couldn’t help but feel nervous admitting it out loud, that you wanted to ask Joel to take some of his sparse free time for a personal project. You poured yourself a steaming cup of the finished coffee, searching for the sugar cannister. “This has been drying for nearly a year and I was gonna ask Joel-“

“Gonna ask Joel what?” His voice sounded from the doorway into the kitchen, startling you both. You rushed to put yourself between him and the table, a poor attempt to hide the plank of wood from his curious eyes. He looked tired, no doubt having been up more than resting all last night if he had been over at Tommy and Maria’s.

Taking that as her queue to leave, Ellie bolted out the back door with a hollered goodbye.

“Oh, um. Hi,” You waved slightly at him, unsure of how he would take to coming home to his house and finding you in his kitchen. Even if Ellie had said it would be okay. You were nervous, knowing that asking for something was a tricky thing. Even if he was so willing to give to others; his time, his attention, his skills. “I ha-have this.”

Moving out of the way as he crept closer on heavy feet, you allowed him to see the olive wood you had hauled over here.

“I-I was wondering i-if you’d be able to make a set of cooking utensils out of this? But I understand if you’re too busy, or don’t want to work with the dense wood, or don’t have the time-“

"Of course, sweetheart. I’ll try my best for you." And just like that he melted all your worries away and a smile pulled at your lips.

He easily moved the chunk of wood from the kitchen to his workspace. The muscles of his arms bulging beneath his flannel, the muscles of his shoulders straining at the fabric over his broad shoulders. All for your viewing pleasure as you followed behind him. The room was smaller than you expected, on his ground floor, just down the hall from the kitchen. But it was such a reflection on who he was.

The main desk had a comfortable looking chair, thick cushion on the seat. Atop it was an open book, propped up on a few stacked behind it and open to a stunning photograph of a deer. In the center was a partially carved figurine of the deer in the photo, shavings around it and tools lined up in a half circle around the back of it.

“How many pieces did you want?” He carefully bent his knees and lowered the wood to the ground, atop a tarp that several long pieces of lumber were set on and leaning against the wall. Blocks of wood beside them and lined up against the wall almost like bricks.

“Oh, um, just however many you can manage.” The crack of his knees as he straightened worried you, but it happened to you more and more so you understood it wasn’t really painful so much as uncomfortable most of the time. 

"The cutting boards all around town...” Trailing off as a familiar scent caught your attention through the general smell of lumber, you moved toward the pile of wooden planks lined up along the wall like books atop a work table. There were many shades and types of wood, all different steps of being sanded down or stained, shavings nestled in a waste bucket beneath. Tools scattered over the surface and small cannisters of sealant and paint stacked neatly beside them. Two of the planks of wood were light, ashy and your attention honed in on them as you moved toward the table. “It was kinda my idea and I was wondering if-"

"Sweetheart, I can't make you one." You startled at the boom of his voice so close, blocking your view from the stack of them as he moved to stand in front of you. The hand that had been reaching out with the intention of caressing them fell back to your side.

"Oh, um, okay." You cast your eyes down, taking in the worn leather of his boots. Of yours. There were so many of them, easily two handfuls and yet he wasn’t willing to share one with you. But everyone else around town seemed to be worthy and you couldn’t help but wonder why you weren’t. You were friends, he had said it himself. But then…but then you had kissed him and fled.

No question as to why flowed from you. You were used to not being included, but you had to admit that it stung coming from him. In an attempt to mask it you tried to smile but you weren’t sure if it actually showed. Your chest ached, body feeling like it wasn’t yours. Like you were looking down on it as it stood in that workspace with the man who sought solace within it. Like you had intruded, and shame bubbled up for having made yourself comfortable where you shouldn’t have.

"Can't find a sealant that would hold up to those knives we found. You'd just cause damage to it."

"Okay, but-“ You tried to backtrack, to apologize for being so curious.

"No, Olive. I don't have one for you, so please quit askin'."

You didn’t say anything, your voice stuck in your throat. Turning and walking away from him without looking up, afraid to see his expression. You faintly heard his voice calling after you, but you ignored it, it was far away. It was as if you were down in a tunnel, like you had tipped over and fell down into one the second Joel had turned you down.

You wanted to move past it, to gloss over it, to stay and enjoy in the time he had been willing to give you on his one day free from responsibilities. But you couldn’t, your chest felt like it had caved in, like you were hollow, like you would never be able to break into the social graces of the settlement. Marked with the death of someone who had, someone who kept messing up and making it easy for people to turn you away.

He thinks about how hurt you looked when he tried to ward you off from the stack of cutting boards he had practiced designs on and different shapes. berating himself for being so harsh when he had been scared you would see the wood he had taken from you without your knowledge. You had been reaching for the planks made from it, drawn to them as if they were magnetized.

The way in which you had shut down, his soothing words after denying you falling on deaf ears as you turned and simply walked away from him. He had been under the impression you wanted to spend the day with him. You had been an unexpected guest but not an unwelcome one. It had been nice to return to his home to find you there, comfortable enough to have put on a pot of coffee and the errant scent of that woodsy, floral perfume that seemed to be a part of your skin from tending to the trees in your yard.

But you had just turned and walked away.

He watched you go, not liking the way you had shrunk into yourself at his denial. He had tried to be soft with it, you couldn’t know that you had been asking after the one thing he wanted to keep a secret from you. That you had given him the idea and he was practicing and making so many different prototypes all to ensure that when it came time to craft yours, that he would be able to do so easily.

He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face, sighing out as he dressed for patrol. His alarm had gone off an hour ago but he had already been awake, sleep evading him as the moment from the other day played in his mind’s eye over and over again.

Settling on the musty cushions beside you, the memory of the last time he had done so puffed up along with a cloud of dust. It had been a long day. Clearing the village and finding a place to hole up in for the night.

“I’ll take the first watch, try ‘n get some rest.” He murmured low, taking in the way you were already curling your legs up underneath your body on the other end of the couch. The scarf around your neck pulled up for you to bury your face into it, hands in their gloves and secure in the pockets of your coat.

You didn’t think you even responded, the cold of the day draining you and making sleep too alluring a respite even with the broad man beside you and all alone for the first time in a while.

Bird calls woke you up hours later, signaling the start of a new day. The warmth of sleeping was a lull to the chill you knew awaited outside, but you pressed into the bed further, burrowing even more into the lump of blankets you tended to scrunch up beside you.

But the lump shifted and your eyes flew open to find a different setting than you dark bedroom. You weren’t asleep in your bed, you were sunk into a decrepit couch and pressed into Joel’s right side, having sought out his warmth in the cold house. He was asleep too, his eyes closed despite his body still seated up with his feet resting on the ground.

You couldn’t help but rest your cheek on his shoulder, taking comfort in how close and warm he was, even if it had been an instinctual move to begin with.

He was so handsome. Beautiful. From the scar across the bridge of his nose, the one at his temple, to the freckles that littered his tan skin. Wrinkles relaxed as he slept, his plush lips parted slightly. His body sunk into the fabric where he had settled last night, long and lean. His mass so large you had shifted in your sleep to press up against him, partially on him to share the small couch and steal his warmth. His neck bent back a little as his head lulled onto the back cushions.

Your eyes roved down the strong column of his neck, catching on the way his adam’s apple jutted out and you resisted the urge to lean in and nip at it.

His hands, dear god, his hands. They were slack in his lap, his entire body completely lax as he slept slumped beside you. Veins and freckles decorated the skin, mind running with the idea of them tight around different parts of your body. How they would feel wrapped around your hips, your breasts, your neck…

You couldn’t help but reach out and lay a hand atop one of his, your palm over the back of his. Your stomach fluttered, the heat settling low. Your own hand looked so small, atop his. The difference so startling.

“Mm, good mornin’,” Joel’s gravelly rumble made you jump, realizing you had gripped two of his fingers in your hand. He jostled the hand in your grip and you felt heat flood your cheeks at being caught touching him. When you moved to take it back, he curled his fingers, catching your hand and pulling it up to his lips where he pressed his lips to the back of it. “Don’t act all shy now, sweetheart.”

You throb.

The gusset of your underwear suddenly dampens as you clench around nothing.

“I-I don’t know what came over me, you were sleeping and I shouldn’t ha-have-“ Trying to tamp down your less than friendly thoughts, the allure you felt wash over you at his sleepy timbre, to backtrack away from what could end up being another thing to have him avoiding you around the settlement.

But he surprised you, emboldened by the hazy thoughts displayed in the parting of your own lips, the heat he could feel rolling off of you, the pressure you tried to relieve between your legs with a clench of your thighs together. And then his thick, sleep coated words turned sultry, pitched low and velvet.

“Thinkin’ about my hands on ya, huh? Sweet little thing, what was it?” He guided your hand to cup his cheek and then rest against his neck. “Thinkin’ about my hands here?”

When he squeezed your hand around it, you felt faint for the way your blood was rushing and thundering loud in your ears.

“N- no.” You swallowed, voice breathy and pitched low as you struggled to find words.

“No? What about…” He moved your hand to his chest, right in the middle of his ribcage. His heart was thundering beneath the flannel, mirroring your own. “Here?”

Your breath hitched as he moved it further, not giving you the chance to answer this time. Down ,down, down past the hem of his shirt beneath his jacket to the denim of his jeans. Pressing your palm down atop the zipper, you could feel the long line of him, hot and semi-hard. It twitched at the pressure, and you couldn’t help the whimper that fell from your lips. Eyes having been dragged down along with your clasped hands.

“What about here?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear as his question was pressed close, nose brushing sensitive skin just behind it. Mustache and beard lightly scraping against you, causing you to shiver and press down your hand more firmly. He groaned out, the sound burrowing deep into you. He twitched again beneath your palm and all the air in your lungs whooshed out.

And then he was dipping his head to capture your lips in a hard kiss. His tongue trailed over the seam of your lips, and you let him in without a thought. Pleasure flared from the heat that had taken hold of your entire body, the air crackling with the need for him to be closer, to be pressed to you completely, pressed inside of you completely. Body buzzing, needing more more more from him you shift to cup his cheek with your other hand.

When he speaks next, his voice is all soft. Southern twang breathy and so close as his lips graze yours, his forehead pressed to your own. The press of hot skin only a prelude to what you hoped was more…

“Sweetheart, I-“

The sudden creak of the back door opening cut the tension of the room and your stomach filled with dread. Joel’s hands became almost painful on you as both your heads whipped around to stare at the kitchen threshold, waiting with bated breath for the intruding source to walk through it.

He was up off the couch in a second, his handgun in his palm and he stalked silently toward the kitchen, leaving you on the couch to reach for your own. But your attention was pulled to the front door of the house just as he disappeared through the threshold.

Two shadows crept into the house and your ducked down to avoid being seen immediately.

There were sounds of a scuffle in the kitchen and you took the opportunity to sneak around the couch in a crouch and stand with the gun trained on the larger figure of the two just on the other side of it.

“Drop your gun or I shoot.” You kicked his legs apart, hand patting him down as he listened to your command. He didn’t have any other weapons on him and the woman a few feet away didn’t visibly have any, her clothing tight around her middle, large jacket draping over her to keep her swollen middle warm.

You took your eyes off of her for one second to kick the gun away and behind you when she lunged. A shiny piece of something glinted in her hand and you shouted out as it cut across your own middle.

Grunting, you elbowed the man in the ribs, winding him and sending him to crumple to the ground in pain. You kicked out and wrapped your foot around one of the woman’s legs and tugged her close, ignoring the sensation of that same piece of whatever it was in her grip as it tore into your jacket sleeve.

You smacked her hand against the wall behind her, being mindful of her stomach and was about to wrap your hands around her neck when the man wheezed out a pleading cry.

“Don’t hurt her, please!” He tired to catch is breath, but you didn’t break your focus away from the woman you had pinned down. A wave of nausea rose over you, the only indication before you collapsed, blood soaking the front of your shirt in a dark, wet patch.

“Shit, I think you cut her too deep.” The man crawled over to you, his hands pressing down to try and staunch the flow. The woman fell to her knees beside him, her hands reaching out to grip one of your arms. The clatter of the weapon she had used was loud and you looked over to it. It was a piece of dirty glass.

“I-I didn’t me-mean to hurt you so badly! I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck, okay, go to my pack.” They shared a confused look, but the fact that they hadn’t run off with yours and Joel’s supplies to their remorse at hurting you told you they were good people. “Go! There’s a spare shirt, we need it to put over the wound.”

Just as she bent to dig into the pack by the couch, Joel’s quiet steps and low threat called as he entered the room.

“Get your hands off of her and step back.”

“Wait! They aren’t Infected!” You panted, voice sharp despite the effort it was taking to breath as your middle burned, knowing the man’s instincts had taken over completely. His steps measured. His gun raised. His reasoning marred by the sight of you bleeding on the floor.

“They hurt you.” His honeyed drawl gone, replaced with an air of authority that demanded attention, all dark, rich molasses sticking everyone in place.

“It was an accident, Joel, please. They…they have a baby on the way. We have to take them back.”

“That true?” He kept the shot gun aimed at the man hovering over you, the blood shining on his hands making his nerves twitch. But his eyes landed on the woman who had been rummaging through your bag for first aid supplies. She slowly stood from her crouch, revealing her swollen belly.

He ordered them both to take a seat on the couch, telling them he would deal with them once he tended to you, letting them know that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if they tried something. He then kneeled down on the ground beside you, one of his large hands going over yours holding the wad of fabric to your middle, the other going to cup your cheek.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” His eyes bore into you, stern edge to them. You were visibly shaking, skin looking sallow and sweat beading at your temple. He carefully moved your hands aside, eyes flicking from your pained expression to the injury as he slowly lifted the fabric you had pressed to it. And then the hem of your sweater and tank top underneath.

Lips a grim line and eyes dark as he took in the still bleeding injury. His brow furrowed deeper as a thick rivulet ran down your side to spill onto the floor and Joel cursed under his breath. The gash was a few inches long across your stomach, to the left of your belly button, rimmed and irritated red. Angry and no doubt already infected if the shard of dirtied glass abandoned beside you was any indication. Your blood stained it, the woman’s fingertips pressed into it in smeared, red marks.

“Shit, it’s already starting to get infected.”

You managed a weak nod, both in response to his question and muttered worries fighting off the tears as he pressed around the wound, trying to get a gauge of how deep it was. You held back a whimper at the prodding, bottom lip firmly between your teeth.

“Joel, there’s gau-gauze in my pack.”

“Find it and toss it to me, quick.” He raised a threatening look to the pair on the couch, their heads turned and watching everything play out. Worried that if you were to bleed out, the man wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate or leave them here to their own devices.

The woman rushed to dig into your pack once more, fingers finding the crinkling plastic wrapped around the sterile gauze. She tossed it to Joel, the hand that had moved down from your cheek to rest over your heart on your chest reached out to snag it from the air. He ripped it open with his teeth and urged your hands to hold it down atop the wound.

You could only watch through hazy eyes as he shucked off his jacket and then his flannel. With a smooth motion he removed his t-shirt, his most base layer. With his chest on full display, the dark hair over his chest and trailing down from his belly button you startled at the sound of ripping fabric. The knife he kept holstered on the back of his waist out of is sheath as he used it to cut a thick strip from the hem of his shirt. He gently urged you to lift up from the ground for him to wind it around your back and tie it securely over the wound.

Slipping two fingers below it to ensure it was tight enough to keep pressure but not overly so as to cause more problems. It felt a thousand times better already, your nausea waning as the blood stopped flowing from your body. But you would definitely need stitches and antibiotics once back inside the gates. Once he was sure the wound was okay for the moment, he took both your hands in his, a slight tremor to them. His thumbs rubbing soothingly across the backs of them.

“Okay, you’re okay,” He murmured. He leaned down to press his forehead to yours. Breathing in deep and your lashes fluttered as he sighed out. His eyes were clenched shut and he took a moment to ground himself before he pulled back and peppered chaste kisses over your face. Your forehead, each of your cheeks, the tip of your nose. The edges of your mouth.

“I’m okay,” You promised, unable to ignore how shaky his breathing was so close. A nervous giggle sounded from you, unable to tamp it down as your head swam. “But maybe you should put your clothes back on before you freeze.”

“Can’t lose you, sweetheart.” The whispered sentiment washed over you, leaving you warm and light in the chest for a completely different reason. Only when you nodded in understanding, did he reach over for his flannel and shrug it back over his broad shoulders. The buttons closed up with deft fingers as he watched you take a mental stock of your body and how it felt. You said up just as his jacket was pulled back into place over the flannel.

“Good thing ‘m not goin’ anywhere then, huh?” His wet chuckle was the only response you got before he helped you to stand. He guided you over the couch with an arm around your shoulders, silently demanding that the pair move from the cushions to make room for you. Making sure you were comfortable with both packs beside you before he turned his attention to the people who had injured you.

A nurse took you in quickly, insisting someone else would do a thorough check on the brother and sister you and Joel had brought to them once leaving the horses at the stables. The backup shirt you had taken along with you in your pack tied to your abdomen with a scrap of fabric from the bottom of Joel’s undershirt. It was better than nothing, better than bleeding out.

You had insisted that the woman, Callie carefully got up on Lowry for the trip back. Joel had been worried about them sharing a horse together, the very real possibility of them taking off on it at the forefront of his mind. But you had assured him that they could be trusted. That they could’ve taken both your packs and left you to bleed out on the floor.

That was how you had found yourself once again sharing a horse with Joel for an entire day. The feel of his body pressed close to your back so different from when he had tried to keep his distance. His hands secure around your waist and resting atop the saddle horn. You tried not to let it distract you, carrying on casual conversation with them to get a feel for who they were. Every so often, when you grunted at particularly hard hoofbeats or a rough jostle, his right hand would press against your roughly patched wound.

Stitches, the nurse had said. At least four of them.

Joel was outside the hall, waiting for you to be released. He looked up from the notepad in his hands when you exited the room, brown eyes tired. You couldn’t read his thoughts, though you were too tired to begin to think what that could mean.

“Hey, what’d they say?” He surged up, the notebook going back into his pocket, the worn fabric snug around it. He retrieved the coat and sweater he had kept for you when the nurse had asked you to remove all outer layers.

You lifted the torn tank top, allowing him to see the clean, bright white bandage that had been taped over the injury. The fait outline of stitches could be seen through it. Two of his fingers brushed against it, almost tenderly.

“No painkillers, those are only for serious cases.” You let him help you put the sweater back on, his hands holding the head opening side for you to slid it on, gently tugging the fabric into place around your sore arms. “They gave me a shot of antibiotics and a pack of fresh gauze. Gotta come in next week to get the stitches looked at.”

“I’m so sorry.” He murmured as he held the coat up for your to slip your arms into. When you turned around to face him again, he pulled you to him in a loose embrace. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Joel, it’s okay. We’re okay. I promise.” You leaned up, mindful of the new pull on your middle, and pressed your lips to his cheek. Sighing at the soft pressure, he walked alongside you out of the building.

Since there wasn’t anything they could give you for the pain,  you just wanted to lay in bed and rest. But you also wanted to try and find a reason to get out of the house later. Swallowing down your fear of rejection, knowing he was the one person who wouldn’t do that to you, you asked him for a drink later in the evening.

But he didn’t look up from the paper in his hands as he walked out the front door with you, scribbling something down on a page that only had two previous lines of script. The chill of the wind breezing past you both as you repeated your question in slightly louder volume, sure he just hadn’t heard you. You knew he was hard of hearing in his right ear and that was the side you were on. But what you didn’t expect was his haphazard response. So at odds with the tenderness and care he had shown you throughout the day.

"Huh? Oh uh, I can't tonight. Sorry, I'll see ya, Olive." And then he's off without so much as a glance your way, leaving you standing outside the infirmary. It left you more than a little concerned, whiplash at the sudden shift from intimate, to protective, to nothing so much as a glance all from the same man.

It’s early, the sun not even showing signs of rising. Snow drifted down, a perfect morning. You were humming to yourself, mentally planning out the meals you could make. A breakfast casserole that would allow for the use of root vegetables, eggs, some of the goat cheese that had been made perhaps. You were minding your own business, enjoying the walk to the mess hall and the kitchen that would allow you to work and forget the hollow feeling that hadn’t left you all last night. It was easier feeling nothing other than the faint pull of stitches on your abdomen.

You catch a figure walking out of a front door further down the street. The figure broad but their steps light as they descended the porch to Marsha’s house.

Oh.

It was Joel.

He didn’t have a utility belt, he didn’t have a toolbox, he didn’t have anything that indicated he had been there to repair something.

It was Joel Miller, leaving Marsha’s house. Far too early to mean anything other than the fact that he had spent the night inside, with her. Guess that's why he had turned down your offer for an evening with you. He already had someone to share drinks with, someone to spend his time with.

Turning, you tried not to follow his figure as he began to walk down the street, facing away from you.

You could only think that it was because of the way you had run the other night. Because of the way you two kept giving into yearning touches only for the moment to be yanked away. Three times now, far too much trouble for someone as busy as him. Someone with a life like he led as he cared for his family and the repairs that were needed around the settlement. You were desperate, for company, for attention, for him. It must’ve not settled well with him to realize how much you wanted him and that it never seemed to work out in his favor, only friend or not.

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t the reason. He was such an understanding man, and he wouldn’t put the blame on you. But the fact of the matter was that he was willingly spending his time with Marsha.

He wasn’t sure where you had disappeared to, your house dark safe for the light over the stoop light up in a warm tone. He had a box in his hands, something he had rifled through his, Ellie’s, and Tommy’s homes for to fit the finished set of wooden utensils you had asked him to make.

He had taken his time, sneaking glances at the ones in your kitchen when he dropped you off after patrol one morning and you offered him a light lunch. You had made grilled sandwiches, pairing them with some steamed vegetables that were beginning to wilt in the cold air of the house. You ran the heat on a good middle range, to ensure it didn’t get too stuffy and begin to take a toll on the record collection in the living room or the books you kept on every surface and crammed lovingly into the many bookshelves you had.

You seemed to favor spoons, though he did catch sight of a few rather flat spatulas. He had inspected the wood thoroughly before he even thought of measuring it. Admiring the way the dried wood looked and taking notes down on the pad of paper he kept on him at all times. Compared it to the two planks he had, noting the different feel and heft of them versus the completely dry specimen you had brought to him.

He let his thoughts wander as he took a seat on the cold concrete steps of your stoop. Opting to wait for your return for a few moments, hoping that you would return soon as evening had fallen, the set having set a few hours ago. He didn’t recall you mentioned evening shifts at the mess hall, opting for the mornings that you enjoyed. Something about the quiet of the town, less lonely than the nights, had been a quiet admittance. He had been too shocked to respond, you must’ve taken his silence as the end of the conversation. You had turned quiet alongside him, the only sound for the rest of the route back to the gates had been the hooves along the ground.

It struck him now, that you had been admitting even early on how lonely you were. How the town choosing to not interact with you had hurt, had been hurting you. A warning even then, that you were sensitive to the dynamic and went along with it even if you didn’t agree with it. You were such a lovely person. Kind hearted, giving, caring, and he loathed that people like Marsha perpetuated the agenda against you.

She was relentless in her attention on him and he was getting a little annoyed with it. But he was being cordial, the exact word you had used to describe the woman. He had finished the last of her shelving the other day. He had worked overnight to get it fitted and fastened to the wall. Securing it with bolts and weight holding supports, wanting to be done with the project that had been more of a coercion of his skills. She was a manipulator and he had played into her hands just like she had wanted.

He felt like a fool, knowing he had agreed to do it for your sake and out of a need to protect you.

Then he realized there were two people who allowed you into their lives. That spoke fondly of you, invited you to dinner, allowed you shares of what they could get the last of in down on main street.

Standing, he hoped to find you among his family. Making his way his way to Tommy’s, Maria was the one to answer the door. A finger to her lips to signal him to keep quiet as she slipped out the door to join him on the porch.

“They’re both sleeping, it took an hour to get him down and then of course Tommy slumped over.” She didn’t seem upset, but the news allowed for Joel to realize you weren’t here either. Clocking his silence and the box in his hand, she cocked her head up a little to examine his features. “Everything okay, Joel? Olive didn’t pull her stitches already, did she?”

“Yeah, everythin’ is okay. I’m actually looking for her. Have you seen her today?” He shuffled on his feet, aware of how they ached as the cold settled in to stay for the season.

“She’s at the bar, came by with dinner for us on her way out.” Maria explained, watching his closely. Able to pick up on his agitation. It was odd when she compared it to the almost forces nonchalance you had exhibited earlier.

“Can you hold onto this for me, I’ll be back to get it tomorrow.” He thrusted the box into the woman’s hands and was making off down the street before she could even respond.

The bar is a cacophony of sounds, of laughter, of conversation, the clink of glasses being lifted and then placed back on tables. The gurgle of more drinks being poured, of ice tinkling in glasses, all of it was so nice to just sit in and enjoy. Even if you were alone on your stool.

"Another round?" You disguised the clenching of your hand around your empty glass, the voice right behind you. His voice, the charming drawl pitched low and so so close.

“I don’t think we should be drinking with each other.” You shifted away from him, not wanting him to think you were open to spending time with him after his rejection, after his secret of seeing Marsha was exposed to you in the form of his leaving her house far too early for any reason than having stayed the night, for the way you had wanted to say yes to spending time with him but it hurt too much. For the way that it was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to lean up and kiss him, to run your hand down his arm or back in a soothing caress. “I’m waiting for someone.”

His brow furrowed as he regarded you, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a deep pull from the amber liquid inside. He sat down atop the stool beside you despite your words. His glass settled on the bar top, now empty. Your eyes were focused on the melting ice, not able to look at the man who was giving you his attention.

“What’s that?” He huffed, almost chuckled as he believed you were just joking, teasing him like you tended to do sometimes while out on patrol. But you weren’t, both of you seated at the long bar of the Tipsy Bison on the main street in town. When you still didn’t raise your eyes to him, he realized you weren’t, that you were turning him down and away.

“Tell me the real reason,” He leaned close, pivoting the seat of the stool so you faced him. Your insides whooshed with the movement. With the way he demanded your attention, with the entirety of his focus on you almost breaking your resolve to remain professional. Aware of all the eyes constantly watching you, judging you; all the eyes on him constantly watching for entirely different reasons, fawning over him.

“Because I like you.” You admitted, unable to deny him the truth. You could only lift your eyes as high as his lips, which was a mistake as you recalled the feel of them. They were so soft, so plush and you never had the chance to gently nip at his bottom one…

“Well, I like you too, Olive.” His nose brushed your cheek, moving impossibly close, his thumbs digging into your thighs as he held to the stool.

“No, I like you, Joel. And this isn’t a good idea.” You pulled back, aware that you were both in a very public place. That the looks focused on you both, your intimacy, combined with soft murmurs of voices that could be saying anything. Making notions in their minds that he was associated with you, that he spent time with you enough to feel comfortable engaging in this type of behavior. And that was bad, it was so bad for people to associate him with you. It would cause people to question him after everything he did for the town. It would begin to erase all the good he had provided.  “Joel, people are looking.”

“Don’t worry about them, just focus on me.” Your eyes snapped to his, taking in the way the brown of them was alight from the sconces around the bar. There was no hesitancy in them, no remorse. Only adoration and your stomach swooped, your heart fluttered. But you tried your best to resist.

“That’s not a good idea either.” You whispered.

“You thinkin’ of doin’ somthin’ to me?”

“M-maybe.” The admittance rolls off your tongue, his lips close enough that he can taste it.

“Sweetheart, I’d let ya if that’s what you wanted.”

“N-no.” It took everything in you to deny him, to deny the tension that pulled your muscles tight in every part of your body.

“No?” He leaned back, taking your words and heeding them, sensing that you meant them, even if it was a stuttered, breathy response.

“I don’t want to, I mean I do, but- this” You motioned between the two of you, how little space there was between your bodies. His body pivoted toward you and his hands still partially around the denim of your thighs. “Isn’t a good idea.”

His eyes roamed over you, seeing the nerves and truth of your demeanor. You did like him, and it was becoming a problem. He didn’t need a younger woman fawning over him, the friendly rapport riddled with holes. Of temptations that were tamped down by his unwillingness to share his craft with you, the time he had been spending with Marsha, the pull of his attention in so many directions, especially with the holiday hurtling toward the town tomorrow.

“We’re hardly friends, Miller. You barely started acknowledging me outside of patrol.” You reached for your drink so you’d be less likely to cup his face in your hands and throw caution to the wind.

“What makes you think I haven’t been tryin’ to keep my hands to myself, bein’ around you?” His voice tipped low, to avoid being overheard despite the closeness he had initiated. Closing your eyes at the visual, you shook you head as your throat bobbed with the sip you had taken from your drink.

“Because you don’t like me that way.” You scoffed, beginning to lean away from him. “You didn’t even get me anything for the holiday…You’re with Marsha.”

“Didn’t get your name in swap.”

“Oh.” And all the fight you had in you crumbled at his simple words. The reassurance in his voice that drowned out the hum of the environment all around you.

“But I thought - Ellie was asking so many questions I figured she was doin’ the work for you.”

“Maybe she got you?” He tapped the lip of his glass as the bartender wandered close, signaling for another when the man got the chance. His hand going back to your leg in a second.

“N-no. She got Jesse. Whoever got me most likely tossed the scrap of paper and picked another.”

“Marsha and I are just friendly, it’s nothing beyond that. Olive, I swear to –“

Someone cleared their throat unnervingly close. You both turned away from each other to face the person who had decided to break the currents flowing between your bodies, tension thick in the air with their approach.

Marsha. With a wrapped gift in her hand and a yearning look for Joel. Her attention solely on him.

“So much for just being friendly, huh, Miller?” You set your drink down, glass nearly empty and pushed off from your stool. The drag of his large hands over the tops of your thighs not registering as you quickly took off. Leaving him to the woman who seemed to be a constant companion as of late. Better company for him, you though begrudgingly as you made your way through the snow-covered streets and back to the safety of your home.

Sighing, you picked up the wrapped bundle of recipe cards. Joel’s gift.

The one you had spent hours pouring over, making sure your writing was neat and legible, the cursive loops delicately over the lines on the thick cardstock. You had debated whether or not he would be able to read the script, knowing how he squinted at certain things. No doubt needing glasses in his older age, an item you always kept a keen eye out for should it end up being a perfect match for him.

Your heart panged, the fleeting image of him tucked in bed beside you with a book or manual in his hands and a pair of reading glasses perched on his aquiline nose. His scruff catching the light of a soft bedside lamp and the silver sparkling. His curls damp from an evening shower, the scent of him so clean and pure beside you as you lay tucked in the other side. It hurt. It hurt to think you would never get to experience that, experience him in every simple, mundane way.

With a long-suffering huff, you reached for some of the dried leaves you kept from the trees when you last preened them. Fastening it to the top of the bundle with a piece of twine. You don’t write Joel’s nor yours. He would know it was from you from the writing inside, from the olive twig. A parting gift, you guessed.

This would be the last thing you would offer him before drawing back to your solemn life. He had brought color and life and laughter into it, but the hurt wasn’t worth it. Your heart and body aching for a man who had too much to lose.

You faintly heard soft voices trailing along the dark streets, the light fixtures doing their best to illuminate the way for any one who was out at the late hour. The sky dark with the added overcast that hadn’t waned during the day. Making everything feel pressed down and low, condensing the world to make it feel almost suffocating. Snow soft as it descended. Maybe it was just you, sensitive to the weather and things around you in your anxiety as you turned down the street Joel’s house was nestled on. Just as you turned the corner, feet scuffing on the weathered gravel packed down to create solid paths in the broken asphalt you collided with something hard and lost your balance. The built up snow making it hard to catch yourself.

The scrunch of paper you had wrapped the gift in was loud, ripping at the drag of thick fabric that made up someone’s coat. The index cards fly up into the air as you landed heavily on your side. Through the sounds of the fluttering paper, there was a gasp pitched high that gave way to delirious giggles and a grunt pitched low. Your own indignant noise floating amidst it all, the pull of your stitches uncomfortable.

“My apologies, didn’t see you the- Olive?”

You had run into Joel’s broad back, his front now facing you as the cards rained down to scatter all over the corner. Snow dampening them instantly upon contact, blurring the ink you had taken the time to put down to them.

Behind him was a bright-eyed Marsha, her hands holding tight to one of his. She looked flushed, no doubt from the drinks she had indulged in, leaning heavily into him. And Joel…he looked shocked as he stared down at your fallen form. Either unaware or uncaring of how the woman he was with tried to burrow into his side.

They had been the ones whose voices you heard. But what had they been doing just standing still in the middle of the street….and then it hit you. They had probably been kissing or sharing in casual touches as they walked back from the bar to one of their homes for the evening and your stomach lurched, dropping out from under you.

Joel detached from her, intending to reach down and help you back up. But you didn’t want him touching you with the same hands that had been soft just an hour ago, the same hands that had been touching her with the same intent.

“Don’t!”

“Just tryin’ to help you up,” He backed off immediately, his eyes alert, not used to you raising your voice nor the heat behind your tone. Especially toward him, the hurt making you unable to tamp it down to a polite tone. Tears burned behind your own eyes, in your throat. The perfect match to your insides feeling like they have just been set in a mixer.

“Don’t need your help,” You pushed up from the ground, legs tingling as you fought the urge to run from the awkward and tense scene. And then you realized you could. You did.

Leaving the two alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by white spots of paper all around, the wrapping that had been around them crumpled on the ground. The dried olive leaves that had been fastened to it with twine lay abandoned at their feet.

You ran all the way back to your house, the front door slamming behind you and the lock loud in the silence that followed. Your back thumped against the wood of it, sliding down until your bottom hit the floor.

And you let yourself break down, crying into your hands. Hating how you had begun to believe that your life was going to change, that Joel was going to be something good in your life. And deep down, underneath all the hurt and anger, you still believed he was. Even if he wasn’t meant to be anything other than a patrol partner.

previous chapter || next chapter

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

taglist: @merz-8 @morning-star-joy @joelsgreys @orcasoul @sawymredfox @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag @pascalpvnk @picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @littlemisspascal @joeloverture @joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @idontknowyou-12345 @corazondebeskar @honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @fluff-lover @hiroikegawa @dugiioh @persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @communism-bitches @formulafun @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc @ohhellotherebumblebee

[miniwheat77]

By Nature, She’s Naughty. (141 x Reader.)

THIS IS THE GANGBANG VERSION TO "LUST". I ADDED A TINY BIT MORE BACKSTORY BECAUSE I WANTED TO XD

You can find the original mutual masturbation story here

!CW! NSFW, smut, gang bang, rough sex, overstimulation, squirting, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex, 141 being great at aftercare, (lemme know if I missed any)

(Summary): 141 finds out how wild Y/N was in her youth.

I’m referring to Captain Price as John and Soap as Johnny just in case there’s any confusion.

The hot cup of coffee to your lips settles the boiling anger flowing through you. An annoyed sigh leaves your lips and you hear a laugh behind you. "Something funny John?" You spin around and send him a glare. "No, not at all sweetheart." He raises his hands in surrender. "Thought so." You roll your eyes. Everyone slowly begins to file into the meeting room. Sitting around the massive Oak table for their next assignment. "Y/N, what are you doing here?" Gaz asks. "On the next assignment with you guys." You smile. "Tread carefully boys, she's grouchy when she's woken up too early." You raise the cup of coffee. "This right here will save you all from your impending doom." You joke.

"For someone so young you think you'd be able to run on much less sleep." Soap laughs. "Yeah, I partied all of the youngness out of me. Believe it or not." You laugh. Soap tilts his head. "Partier huh? You'll have to tell us about it sometime." He winks. You roll your eyes. "Yeah right, I barely remember any of it. Cocaine is a hell of a drug." You kick your feet up on the table, only for Captain Price to immediately shove them off. "Wait, really?"

"For legal reasons I'm not answering that." You smirk. John rolls his eyes. "I've heard the stories from Laswell. She's done some pretty crazy shit." You smile at him. He had no issues selling you out. "I know Laswell did some pretty crazy stuff too so she better be careful telling you my business." You laugh. "You too Captain, she's told me about all kinds of things." You send him a wink, making him shake his head in retaliation. "Anyways." He clears his throat. "Onto this next mission." He starts.

—

The wind blew harshly against your clothes. The mask you wore helped shield your skin from the harsh sand beating against you. "This sucks." You roll your eyes. "Not too bad actually. Better sand than bullets." Gaz shrugs. "Yeah, if you're a pussy." You wink. He rolls his eyes. "Takes one to know one." He nudges you. "Pay attention." Your Captain snaps. "Yes sir." You salute him sarcastically but he can't see it. You really shouldn't be giving him this much attitude but you are. "I'm beginning to think we're lost Captain." Soap says. "Yeah, me too." He rolls his eyes. "Seems like Laswell sent us on a death run. You do something to piss her off Captain?" You joke. "Hope not. If I did, none of us are leaving here." He laughs. "So all of those people back there, what do you think they were?" Gaz asks. "Not sure, I just hope there isn't any more of them." He continues. "Don't think so. Looked more like a wannabe group of Al Qatala. Not many weapons, not very guarded buildings." You shrug. "True."

Finally, after a few hours of walking, you find yourself walking upon an old abandoned house. The inside was caved in a little bit, only two rooms were still intact, the living area and the kitchen. Sand had flooded the inside and you were each left crammed into one room. Captain Price was in the living area on the radio with Laswell, and the rest were crowding the kitchen, looking to see what they could find. When his conversation was over, he makes his way into the kitchen. "Laswell sent us in the wrong direction by accident. Thinks it was intentional because Al Qatala is leading us the wrong direction because they're doing something they're not supposed to be doing." Everyone nods. "Exfil can't get to us until morning so settle in."

Those were your Captain’s instruction, so everyone did. You took up one small corner of the living area. There was an old couch, and everyone had set up around you, almost in a circle. All you had was a sleeping bag and an emergency blanket for comfort so you laid them both out. It was still too warm so you were sitting on top of it. You tried getting comfortable but it was a little hard. Everyone had a couple emergency MRE’s and first aid kits. You tended to your wounds, patched up, and ate one of the MRE’s.

“I don’t have sweats or extra clothes in my bag so you’ll all just have to be okay with me sleeping in my boxers.” Soap calls out.

“That’s fine, no one cares.” You reply. “Use a buddy system if you have to go outside for any reason.” Your captain calls. He’s laying on his own sleeping bag a couple feet from you. Soap starts removing his clothes, tucking them near his bag and laying down. The room fills with an awkward silence and everyone shifts uncomfortably. It was clear no one would be getting much rest tonight. A deep sigh brings everyone out of their own thoughts. “Maybe we should do something. Like.. play a game.” Soap says. “What, like one of those ridiculous games we played in grade school?” You laugh. “You got any better ideas?” Soap rolls his eyes. “Not really. I’m in.” You shrug.

“Truth or dare?”

“Can’t really do many dares, Soap.” You laugh. He smiles. “Alright alright, truth or truth?” You laugh, sitting up in your sleeping bag. Everyone follows suit. “I think I seen some old bottles of vodka in the kitchen. Maybe we can do a drinking game like never have I ever.” Gaz suggests. You nod your head, standing up. “Captain could probably pick out good liquor. He’d be able to tell which is good to drink and what’s bad.” You smile. “Damn right little lady.” John pushes past you, you follow him into the dingy kitchen and he opens up a couple cupboards, finding 2 unopened bottles of liquor. Gin and Vodka. “Alright. We’ll just pass around the bottle.” You nod your head. “Before we start I’m ditching my clothes too.” You complain. They were dirty and had blood all over them. “Yeah me too.” Gaz complains. Pretty soon everyone is just sitting in their undergarments. Most of you were pretty beat up. Bandages and cuts and bruises all over.

Each of you form a circle and John picks up a bottle.

“Alright so.. if you don’t already know, never have I ever works like this. Someone asks a question, and if you’ve done it, you drink, if you haven’t, you don’t.” You explain. Everyone nods.

“Alright, I’ll go first. A warm up question.” Gaz sits up. “Never have I ever… been stuck in a dingy house in the middle of a desert.”

Each of you pass around the bottles of liquor.

“Bloody hell that is shite.” Captain Price flinches. He lowers the bottle of gin from his lips and shivers. “Steamin Jesus that is horrible.” Soap laughs, passing the bottle of vodka to you. You take it, tipping it back. Flinching as you set it down. The burn coursing through you. “Alright. Soap, your turn.” Soap laughs. “Alright uh..” he pauses, thinking to himself. “Never have I ever gotten into a fight.”

Everyone passes around the bottles again.

This goes on for a few more times and everyone is starting to feel buzzed, loosening up. “Okay, Y/N.”

“Never have I ever had a dirty dream about someone in this room.” You smile. “Ooooh. That’s a good one.” Gaz laughs. Your captain, Soap, and Ghost each take a drink.

The game goes on like this until most of the liquor is gone. Everyone had been targeting you, trying to figure out what exactly you had done as a teenager. They dug deep to figure out just how wild you'd been in your youth.

Eventually everyone settles into their own little worlds. Playing on their phones, reading. Or just relaxing. The same tension is still thick in the room, everyone can read it. “Alright. I hate this. Let’s try something else.” Your Captain says, sitting up. “What do you mean?” Gaz laughs, taking a breath. “I was thinking we find another way to relieve some tension.”

“What, a gang bang?” Gaz jokes. “Hate to break it to you cap, but I don’t think poor Y/N could handle that.” Your mouth props open and your cheeks burn. “I like your taste Garrick, but that’s not what I meant. I mean.. similar. But.. less hands on.” Ghost pulls off his mask, this wasn’t the first time you’d each seen his face. “Are you suggesting we.. touch ourselves?” Soap asks. John nods his head. Everyone steals glances at each other. "What makes you think I wouldn't be able to handle it, Kyle?" You smirk at Gaz, his eyes widening. "I just assumed. You talk a big game but don't have the will to back it up." He shrugs. You pick up the bottle of Vodka, tipping what's left in the bottle back. Swallowing it all down and setting it back down. You wipe your lips off and send him another evil smile. "Try me Garrick." You cross your arms. "You know what. I think we should. Fuck the attitude right out of her." Ghost smirks. One of the only things he's said all day. "Yeah, she has been giving everyone attitude all day." Soap glances at you. Right now is where you began to get nervous. It was four against one right now. You were for sure losing no matter what. The thought of all four of them using you to pleasure themselves makes butterflies swarm in your stomach. "Earth to Y/N." your Captain waves in your face. "Y-yeah, sorry. What?"

"You want to do it or not?" He smiles. "Uh.. yeah. Yeah I do."

"It's going to be a lot." He smiles. "I know."

"Before we start, I want to make a safe word." You nod your head at his suggestion. "Okay. How about 'Stop'?" Gaz suggests. "Sounds good. You know how a safe word works, right sugar?" He asks. You nod your head. "Alright. Let's get started." His hands wrapping around your thighs and tugging you toward him, laying on your back on the ground as he eagerly pulls your panties down your legs. Revealing your most delicate parts to everyone in the room. On show for them and fuel for whatever filthy fantasies are going through each of their heads right now. Your bra is next, Ghost unclasping it almost too quickly, incriminating himself just a little bit with the move. Your Captain decides to take it easier on you in the start. Helping stretch you out and prep you. He spits on his fingers, opening you up. A moan leaves your lips and you prop yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. You notice Kyle is now fully naked, moving to your left. He pushes your chest down so that you're laying on your back. "Relax." He smiles. Simon joins your other side, Johnny at your head. "You're gonna be a good girl for us right?" Johnny smirks. You nod your head, having no real response to that. This was happening, really happening. "Nothing smart to say?" John says. You smile, but say nothing. You think about saying something sarcastic but choose not to, considering it looked like he was going first. Your smile fades when you feel the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance, disappearing between your folds. Your eyes shut tightly, a moan leaving your lips. "Shit, stretching her a lot Cap." Kyle laughs. "Yeah, probably should've stretched her a little more huh." He laughs. "Oh fuck!" A whine leaving your lips as you clutch at Johnny and Kyle’s thighs. Kyle laughs. Hand moving up the shaft of his cock, slicking it up with his spit. Johnny's fingertips glide over your cheeks and you tilt your head back to look up at him. "Fuck.. Look so pretty looking up at me like that sweetheart." He smiles. He moves his hips forward, cock nudging at your mouth and nose. You waste no time, taking him into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the tip. "Oh fuck!" he gasps, hips jerking back.

He relaxes a second, only just now realizing how long it'd been since he had done this. You reach upward, wrapping your hands around his thighs and forcing him to stay still as you took him down further. By now, John was fucking into you. He wasn't going too fast, giving you even more time to adjust to his size. Once you're sure Johnny will stay still, you reach your hands out. You can hear the squelch of Simon and Kyle jerking off, so you stop them, taking them into your hands. "Shit, maybe I was wrong." Kyle laughs. “Maybe you can take it.” He groans. Thrusting his hips into your hand. You moan around Johnny, John sliding right into your spongy spot, he’s got a death grip on your thighs and your hips buck. “Fuck.. like when you moan around my cock like that sweetheart.” Johnny glides his hand over your throat. He takes hold of you, holding you still so that he can thrust into your mouth, trying not to be too rough. John moans out, feeling you tighten around him. “Fuck.. so fucking tight.” He moans. He relaxes himself. He’s worked up, approaching his orgasm too fast for his liking. He slows his thrusts, pinning your hips to the ground and taking slow deep thrusts into you. “She’s fucking tight-“ he groans. “So fucking good.” He tilts his head down, watching his cock disappear inside of you. “Doing so good for us Princess. So much better than I thought you would.” Kyle laughs, fingertips gliding over your chest at an attempt to soothe you. Your heart was pounding and your skin was bright red and warm. Already so worked up. He lets out a deep chuckle. A taunt. “She’s good at this too.” Johnny groans out, tilting his head back too look at the ceiling. Having to force himself to think about something other than your lips around him. “Got a lot of experience hm? Little slut.” Johnny swats your breast, earning a moan from you. You squirm when he squeezes it, fingertip gliding over your nipple. John felt himself growing closer and closer to the edge of his orgasm. Working through it. “Fuck- fuck.” He gasps. He groans. You’re wet around him, soaking the base of his cock. He admires it.

Johnny slides out of your mouth for just a second, and you gasp in a breath of air, followed by a “I’m gonna cum!” Before Johnny holds you still. “Fuck- me too.” John groans. “Me too.” Johnny’s eyes roll back. Kyle chuckles. “Gonna make them both cum sweetheart. Such a filthy fucking girl. Fucking your Captain and sucking your Sergeant off too.” Kyle leans down, attaching his lips to your nipple, lowering a hand to rub at your clit. He’s running quick circles over it, and you cry out around Johnny’s cock, nearly choking when he ruts his hips into you, pushing himself as far into your throat as you could take and cumming deep inside your throat. John pulls out of you quickly, earning a mewl from you at the loss of your orgasm. Pumping his cock quickly until he coats his hand and your stomach in a layer of his cum. When he cums, it’s sexy. He doesn’t try to hide how good he’s feeling, panting, groaning. When all of their hands are off of you, and Johnny has slid out of your mouth, you’re panting hard. Eyes are watering and your skin is beat red. “How are you doing sweetheart? Can you take it?” Your Captain smirks. Your nod your head lazily and he laughs at this. So pathetic and used already and they’d only just begun. Kyle swaps spots with John, and Simon trades with Johnny. Giving himself a minute before he fucks you. You jerk his cock lazily, same with John. They were both sensitive as they’d just climaxed. Taking this as a moment to relax. “See if I can’t make you cum hm? I know how bad you want it.” Kyle smiles. You lay back, hair damp with sweat as you look up at Simon, forcing your eyes not to widen at his massive size. A deep chuckle leaves his lips, causing chills to raise on your skin. “S’alright, no need to be nervous.” His deep voice puts you in a trance and you look up at him. “Such a pretty girl hm? If you can’t take it all, that’s alright. Just as long as you try f’me.” He smiles. You take a deep breath, adjusting the way you’re laying for a second, opening your legs up for Kyle. He bites his lip at this. Still ready for more.

He wonders if you’ll still be by the end of this.

Kyle’s tip pokes at your entrance and he’s a little more rough than your Captain, starting in fast. The sound of his hips slapping into yours echoes throughout the room, cries leaving your lips at the intensity until Simon leans forward. You swallow down the moans, opening your mouth for him. You’re ready for it, and his thick cock glides into your mouth. You release John and Johnny, forming a death grip on the sleeping bag beneath you. You suck hard at Simons cock as he fucks your throat, breasts bouncing with every hard thrust Kyle takes. “Want this pussy cumming on my cock.” Kyle growls. He’s holding both of your thighs tightly, hips hammering into yours. John rubs gentle circles on your clit, Johnny leaning forward to suck at one of your nipples, fingers gliding over the other. You’re crying out around Simon and he’s struggling to keep himself together. You’re sucking hard and the vibrations from your moans feel so good. He lowers one of his hands, fingers rolling his balls around, stimulating himself even more. Kyle’s teeth are gritted, John was right. You’re wrapped tightly around him, your body naturally milking his cock. You were made for this. Made for pleasuring them. You’re swallowing down gags, you don’t want them to notice your weakness, not even for a second. Simon grits his own teeth, clutching your hands over the sleeping bag. He’s mumbling to you. The others can’t hear it too well, but you can. Strings of moans and curses are leaving his lips. “Such a good girl.. like sucking my big cock, don’t you?” He chuckles when you moan around him. Knowing you can’t answer his questions. He’s stretching at your lips. A sting that you find yourself loving. “Mmm… doing so good. Getting me so close.” Simon releases your hands, you return them to pump at the others’ cocks. Earning groans from both of them. So sensitive, yet still ready for more. He’s more rough than he intends to be, holding you still by your hair and fucking himself into your throat. Watching you turn a deep shade of crimson, choking on his cock. “Oh fuck- just a- just a second longer sweet girl. Take my cock. Take it- Agh!” Simons hips buck, cumming down your throat just as Johnny had earlier. “Jesus LT-“ Johnny laughs. You take in a deep breath when he pulls away, the color fading from your face from having your air cut off. You’re panting, the black dots that had clouded your vision are slowly starting to disappear, the numbness in your body felt amazing, the buzzing in your head blocked everything out. The only thing you seemed to be able to feel was Kyle’s hips slamming into yours.

You’re moaning out, cries and whimpers leaving your lips each time he hammers into your cervix. You prop yourself up, eyes burning into Kyle’s as he fucks into you. He bites his lip hard, hips not stopping for even a second. You reach your hand down, rubbing at your clit, maybe a little harder than you intend. “Fuck.. think she’s about to cum.” John laughs. “She likes that, look at her.” Your hips buck up, eyes rolling back as your body lurches forward. Kyle tilts his head back, “fuck I’m gonna cum.” Kyle’s thrusts slow, and he’s taking hard thrusts into you, riding out your orgasm. When you fingers drop from your clit to clutch the sleeping bag, John replaces them. Earning a few cries from you at the overstimulation. “Oh- fuck!” Kyle gasps out. He slides out of you too, coating your stomach in his cum just like his Captain had. It was time for the next rotation. You were worn out, eyes heavy. Body numb and throbbing. Beads of sweat coated your body and your heart thumped through you. The room buzzed and felt way hotter than earlier. “Need another drink before I fuck her. Johnny is next.” Simon growls, standing up. He was last, and was by far going to be the biggest, you were nervous thinking about it.

Johnny swaps with Kyle, John moving up by your head. It was his turn to feel those pretty lips wrapped around him. “How about we try something else sweetheart?” Johnny smiles. “On your hands and knees f’me baby.” He pats your thigh. You listen, legs wobbling as you move. “Are you alright, Princess?” John asks. You nod your head. John smiles. “No more attitude out of you Hm?” He pushes your hair out of your face, a gasp leaving your lips as Johnny slides into you, grasping hold of your hips as he starts fucking you. John laughs, leaning in to press his forehead to yours. He smiles. Eyes looking into yours. “Am I a good girl Captain?” You smile. “Yeah, doing so good for us.” John’s cock is rock hard again, hearing you say that. Asking if you’re a good girl. It makes him want to bust right there. “Are you ready for more baby? Ready to taste my cock?” You nod your head eagerly. “Such a good girl for me.” He groans out as you lower yourself. He lifts himself up onto his knees, cock level with your mouth. You take him into you, body jolting with each thrust Johnny takes. Kyle squeezes at your breasts, fingertips gliding over your skin to soothe you like he had done before. He knew they were overwhelming you. But you were almost done, and you were proving him wrong. So so wrong. Johnny’s head is tilted back, hearing your moans have been muffled by his Captain’s cock. His cock was overstimulated, but he was still going. The sensitivity makes the sex feel so much better. So much more intense as your body clenches down onto him, relaxing. You can feel another knot building in your stomach, and Johnny can tell. The way you’re clenching around him sells you out. Kyle is running circles over your clit steadily, even with the shaking from Johnny’s thrusts. Simon sits on the couch, bottle of Gin in hand. He’s watching. Your body is so stimulated. Mouth full of cock, cock buried in your pussy. Nipples and clit being stimulated. Your hands are clutching at the ground beneath you. You’re fighting off another orgasm, he can tell from where he’s sitting. If Johnny doesn’t make you cum, Simon would. By the way Johnny’s thrusts are getting sloppy, he’s not going to get you to another. A smile plays at Simons lips. He was about to make you see another fucking world.

Sure, he was a little cocky about it. But he was waiting to go last for a good reason. He’d stretch you more and wanted you to be completely ready.

You swallow down every last bit of cum that your Captain has to give. His hips buck into you, and you try hard not to gag. He relaxes, your head hanging as you cry out. Johnny’s thrusts are sloppy and you know he won’t be able to make you finish, you’re too overwhelmed. Johnny releases a loud gasp, sliding out of you just in time as he pumps his cock hard, orgasm spilling out onto your backside. You collapse onto your stomach, body weak and numb. Kyle laughs. “M’tapping out sweetheart. You’re all Simons now.” Simon stands up from the couch, setting down the empty bottle of gin. He kneels down by your legs, helping you roll into your back. Chuckling at how weak you are. “You remember our safe word right honey?” He smirks. You nod your head weakly. “What is it?”

“Stop.” You croak. He smiles, “can you take more?” You nod your head weakly. “Just lay back and relax. They’re going to take care of you.” You nod your head. A sigh leaves your lips as you lay back. Simon folds one of your legs over the other until you’re on your side. He lifts one of your legs higher, spitting on his hand and rubbing it over your pulsing entrance. As fucked out as you are, you’re still desperate to cum again. Simon starts to glide into you and your mouth falls open. “Oh my god!” You suck in a harsh breath. “It’s okay sweetheart.” John rubs a hand over your hair. They’re all watching Simon stretch you. “Stretching me so much-“ a sob leaves your lips. Simon bites down on his lip, trying not to thrust right into you until you’re crying. Tears start to slide down your face, so overstimulated. But it feels so good. Better than anything you’ve ever felt before. “Ah-“ you move your leg until you’re laying on your back again, pushing down onto Simon, and he groans when he prods at your cervix, bottoming out into you. “Someone’s eager.” He chuckles. When he takes his first thrust, your head falls back into John’s lap. He chuckles, “you’ve got a safe word baby. Don’t forget.” You shake your head. Earning a smile from him. “Doing so good for Simon baby. So good.” He chuckles, running his fingers through your damp hair. He draws his hips back, thrusting into you again. A moan leaving your lips. They didn’t get to hear too much of it before. Your mouth was full. Your moans are perfect and they egg Simon on. He starts to be a little more rough, hips hammering into yours until your body is jumping with each one he takes. Simon won’t last long, but that doesn’t matter.

Because neither will you.

His thick cock brushes right up against your spongy spot, and your eyes roll back. Shutting tightly. “Ah! S-Simon- feels weird.” You whimper, “S’okay baby. Just let it happen.” John breathes, they all know what’s coming, stealing glances at each other with a smile. Your body began to shake, cries leaving your lips. You try to squirm but John holds you tight. Johnny moves forward, rubbing circles over your overstimulated nub. “A-Ah! I’m going to-“ a cry leaves your lips and Simon fucks you through it, body jerking hard as you reach your high, your arousal squirting out around Simon, fluids coating Simon as a scream leaves your lips. Simon groans, still fucking into you as he reaches his own high. “So fucking good. Fucking tight around me.” He grits his teeth. He knows he should pull out, but he doesn’t. “Agh- can’t fucking stop,” he growls. He takes a tight hold on your hips, burying his cock as deep as it’ll go and reaching his orgasm. Filling you to the hilt with his spunk.

Your body gives out completely, panting. You’re drenched in sweat and coated in bodily fluids. Most not even yours. Simon moans when he sees his cum spill back out of you. Pumping out with each pulse from your pussy. John let’s go of you, giving you a moment to relax. They all stand up, admiring their work. “I was wrong, she could take it.” Kyle laughs. Each of them standing around you like a pack of wolves, that’d just devoured their prey. Your eyes are heavy and don’t stay open for long. You fall asleep quickly, still nude and coated in fluid.

“Let’s clean her up, everyone else has clothes so she can sleep with Johnny.” They nod their heads, making a mutual agreement. You didn’t have back up clothes and neither did Johnny, which meant you could keep each other warm through the night. It was the desert. It would get freezing. With whatever wipes and clothes they didn’t need, they cleaned your skin off, using a damn cloth to wipe your face off before using it for the rest of your body, even between your legs so that you didn’t feel uncomfortable. They helped put your undergarments back on so that you wouldn’t wake up naked, and discarded your ruined emergency blanket with a mutual agreement to gift you another when they returned. “I found an extra hoodie in my bag, let’s put it on her too.” Gaz passes it to Johnny. He moves your body to slide it onto you. “M’gonna take her bra back off than. That can’t be comfortable. She complains about them every time she’s around.” Johnny laughs. “True.” He tucks your bra into your bag and unzips your sleeping bag for more warmth over the both of you.

He forces you awake for just a second for a drink of water and after, you’re fast asleep again. Johnny gets settled with you, pulling you into him so that the both of you are warm. Once everyone settles in, they turn their lights off.

The next morning, Johnny is shaking you awake. “Exfil is a mile out lass. Cmon.” You nod your head, going to stand up. Your legs buckle underneath you and Johnny laughs as he catches you. “Just sit there for a minute yeah?” He smiles. “Simon, I’ll take your bag. You get her.” He nods his head, moving closer. He passes Johnny his bag, kneeling down in front of you. You climb onto his back and he’s lifting you up. He has a hold of your thighs, your arms wrapped around his front. You were riding piggyback on him. They cover your bottom half with an emergency blanket, luckily Gaz’s hoodie was long and covered you as well. “Alright. One mile. Let’s do this.” They all nod.

You rest your head on Simons back, eyes growing heavy once again.

ask and you shall receive my babies XD

@shroomje @mothcelestial @lillianastuff

[thenewgirl76]

I'll Make You Believe

While the whole "asking a ghost how they died is the worst taboo ever, so don't do it or you'll be in a world of hurt" headcanon is always fun to implement to either create temporary conflict or simply move the story along, I think it'd work just as well on both ends if it was only a minor offense.

Like if you were to ask a once living ecto being how they died the most negative response you'd get would either be some variation of "None of your business puny mortal" or an explanation using the most vividly graphic, stomach turning details as an act of petty revenge as well as insurance you never ask again.

So what could possibly be a way more serious, far more dangerous no-no when it comes to ghosts instead? Well, how about stating ghosts don't exist/there's no such things as ghosts? The reason why being you're invalidating the trauma they've experienced in their last moments.

Makes no difference whether you were aware of this or not. If they find out or worse, it's said to their face? You better hope they'll settle for beating you black-and-blue. Because the alternative is becoming a ghost yourself by the time they're done with you.

Now in dpxyj fics when Danny interacts with Wally and the whole "ghost are/aren't real" argument between them comes into play it's usually depicted as a trivial disagreement. But what if you were to make it more angsty by inserting this take on lack of ghostly etiquette?

Let's say after getting to know his teammates better Danny starts talking about his origins (in vague detail) and exploits, only to eventually be interrupted by Kid Flash declaring that he can't possibly be a ghost as they don't exist. And Robin, Aqualad, Miss Martian, and Superboy all become quite alarmed watching Danny go from easygoing to looking ready to beat Kid Flash to a pulp, as he's now fighting back his ghostly nature. To avoid giving in to the urge he abruptly leaves with a dismissive attitude, much to KF's confusion.

From there it spirals. KF, not realizing he's poking a hornets nest continuing to voice his skepticism whenever the opportunity comes up and each time Danny barely manages to keep it together. Until one day Danny in an explosive rage snatches up KF and in a tone colder than ice tells him he knows what he is, what he went through to reach that state, and that he has no need to justify any of it to him.

Then he leaves once more before he really loses it. Before going after him Miss Martian informs KF of how Danny opened his mind to her and that for his sake she hopes he never shares those memories of what he went through with him. Feeling bad now, KF tries to apologize once Danny returns. Which results in failure again and again since Danny keeps giving him the cold shoulder.

After having yet another apology disregarded KF, in mounting frustration blurts out that he wishes he understood what has Danny so convinced he's a ghost, unaware a certain wish twisting genie he was warned about had been invisibly lurking in the vicinity the instant Danny was elsewhere. Along with the rest of the regulars, as soon as KF's denials had spread to the Ghost Zone Desiree was on the warpath, intent on showing just how real ghosts truly were. By sheer spite and determination she beat everyone else to him, just in time to hear him say the forbidden word, presenting her with the perfect means of retribution.

With a "So you have wished it so shall it be" KF is magically transported to an underwater submarine, occupied by Black Manta. Unable to run as freely without potentially damaging the sub and causing it to flood, the fight upon his unexpected arrival is drawn out to the point KF starts to feel his hyper metabolism weakening him. It's when he's close to dying of starvation that one of the more incompetent goons sends him crashing into the stash of ectoplasm Manta had smuggled with the intent of using it to pollute the waters of Aquaman's Kingdom. The last thing KF sees before blacking out is Desiree looming over him with a smirk of satisfaction.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

What is it with this Targaryens are blood supremacists bullshit?

Let’s make some things clear right now:

1. Targaryen blood is superior. It’s not some sort of twisted Nazi belief, like some people make it out to be. It’s actual fact.

Sue the Targaryens for constantly pointing that out and lacking modesty. It doesn’t make it less true.

Their blood gives them godly features and the ability to ride dragons. The hypocrisy of Andals never ceases to amaze me: they have a tendency to complain about how Targaryens have ‘queer customs’ but what actually bothers them is that they choose to keep their ‘superior blood’ within their family and not share it with others. Andals criticize Targaryens for being different and yet trample over one another for a chance to marry into their family so that their offspring would have godly features and ride dragons. If Targaryens are so “bad”, then why don’t Andals keep to themselves too?

2. When did it become an actual problem to want to stick to your own kind?

Valyrians are not originally from Westeros. Their home was destroyed. They found another home, of people who constantly judge them and look at them differently despite hundreds of years after conquest.

Despite the many flaws in the show, there is something that actually stuck with me: when Daemon said, “Valyria is gone. We don’t belong anywhere.”

This actually broke my heart a little and got me thinking: how many Targaryens actually felt like strangers in their own home despite having been born and raised there?

I mean, Andals constantly treat them differently and yet blame them for wanting to stick to their own Valyrian kind (Targaryens, Velaryons and Celtigars).

The Conquest in itself is no excuse. The Kingdoms were divided and at constant war with one another, which destroyed the smallfolk. The Targaryens took away their individual powers, united the Kingdoms and gave the people a better chance at peace. The Andals are pissed because they lost their autonomy? Well, considering what they used that autonomy for, they shouldn’t have had it in the first place.

I applaud the Targaryens for taking charge and conquering Westeros for a better future. I mean, do you honestly believe that they would have been accepted in Westeros if they hadn’t? That they would have showed up with their dragons, asked to be a part of the Andals’ world and they would have been accepted with hugs and kisses? Don’t make me laugh. They would have never survived if the Andals kept control of Westeros.

And do keep in mind that if their intentions were actually bad, the Targaryens would have turned Westeros into the new Valyria. They didn’t do that though, did they? They even accepted and converted to their faith.

3. Valyrians are actually attracted to their own kind. So what? It’s their custom and nature. It’s the one thing they asked for. The only exception. To be able to keep their traditions of marrying within their family, not only in order to keep their blood pure for the purpose of controlling dragons, but also because they feel comfortable with one another. They connect with one another. They don’t want to lose ties with their true home, with their history, language, culture etc.

Andals will never be able to understand Valyrians. It’s called having a connection with someone. It can be both physical and emotional (like it was with Daemon and Rhaenyra). Why is that such a crime?

Targaryens are constantly criticized for wanting to stick to their own kind, yet the Andals have been treating them like strangers for hundreds of years simply because they are different.

Who is the blood supremacist here?

Who are the ones who constantly discriminate and create the division lines? Answer: the Andals.

[sincerelywhistler]

🪐 SAIPH 🪐

(they/xe/it)

Many moons ago, before more canon demon races were revealed, I had introduced my psychosis demon OC, Saiph. Since that time, a lot has changed with how I wanted their character to look, act, behave, etc...

💫 REINTRODUCTION TIME 💫

Facts about Saiph:

• Saiph, meaning 'sword', is a star located in the constellation of Orion

• Saiph is also selectively mute! They’ll communicate telepathically only if truly necessary

• Their original dorky Serenity Daemon personality, pre-sovereign tampering (read below), shows itself much more once they satiate their hunger/post-feeding

• Xe have a special interest in planets and celestial bodies so much so that xer “nest” is in an abandoned observatory, cloaked behind a ward so that it isn’t at risk of humans rediscovering it

• Saiph is one of the more gentle of the Psychosis Daemons, however still incredibly dangerous, especially when hungry bro they’ll fucking kill you

• Why, yes! After they feed, they do feel guilty for being a literal murderer once it’s said and done! Only for The Hunger to take hold again and then they don’t care who they gotta kill, so long as they get to eat! It’s tragic!

• The kind of mf that curiously cocks it’s head when listing to you speak

• NO SHOES !! FEELS YUCK !!

• They’ll make sure that the last thing you see before you die are the stars sparkling above, the ones of which they believe all living things have come from. It’s their inner conscious’s twisted version of showing it’s prey mercy during their final moments

Here's how the inner-workings of how my Psychosis Daemons work:

• Psychosis demons, also referred to as Nightcrawlers, feed from the inherent feelings of delirium, psychosis (obvi), and hysteria

• This is a hostile sub-class of daemon, though not necessarily by choice

• The Sovereigns toyed and experimented with Serenity Daemons in a similar vein to how they once did with Concubi, corrupting and warping the peace-seekers into its antithesis— into something so violently obsessed and aggressive in finding their picture of perfect and 'divine serenity' that they spiraled and drove themselves into an enraged madness

• Thus classifies them as a sub-class to Serenity Daemons, so they get to keep the (a) in their Daemon title. Nightcrawlers did not coalesce— they were forged, making them only a handful in numbers and very old beings

• They were initially experimented on with the intent of being forged into unrelenting weapons for the Sovereigns to use during the Cacophony

• Psychosis Daemons often appear to look starved and malnourished, their physical bodies reflecting how that their dietary demands are hardly ever satiated

• The shape of their horns represent sharks teeth, because the teeth of a shark are angled inwards in such a way that it's nearly impossible for prey to pull free from its jaws once bitten. Once these Daemons have its grip on you, you’re done for.

• There are so very few existing Nightcrawlers that they used to be practically considered a myth until modern Department technology was able to better track and contain them for research purposes. D.U.M.P. has aptly given this subclass its name, as the majority of documented Nightcrawler feeding patterns display nocturnal behavior

• Saiph's kind is extremely patient and meticulous when picking their meals, so rather than feeding from a gathering of people in a single passing go, this race modifies one single human's memory by implementing overwhelming senses of deja-vu and confusion into their minds. This piques their curiosity, which then lures the human into the Daemon’s “nest” while kept in a trance-like delusion

• They literally stalk their prey before Getting You

• Nightcrawlers keep their prey around for the rest of the duration of the human's life as a thrall of sorts, because the further into delirium the person strays, the stronger the emotions these demons can feed from

• The human's worsening psychosis provides such a substantial amount of emotions that only one person is needed to feed, a 'mate-for-life' type of relationship. However, between their aggressive feeding habits, tendency to push the human mind too far, as well as the intensity and obsessive frequency at which they feed, the person's life is often cut extremely short. Then the cycle begins again.

Pinterest Board

Spotify Playlist

[yukishirostar]

So people are talking about a post in the Zolu tag by a certain tumblr user in regards to their issues with Zolu as a ship. They shall be unnamed because i dont wish to bring attention to them and instead just want to focus on their arguments because they're not the first people to make some of these points and so this is also an opportunity for me to talk about these things (a tweet is going around on Twitter containing these screenshots with the username so you can find it there if you need to anyway).

The way this person dismisses the relationship between Zoro and Luffy as a result of needing to pair gay Zoro with someone is too laughable, they must be very fit in order to be able to do these mental gymnastics. I believe that many people who are going on about the Zolu scenes in the OPLA were already Zolu shippers who were familiar with the original story and are enjoying the moments because they were well, really good Zolu moments? And there is actually, shockingly, many good Zolu moments in the original story too which is why many people ship them. Wild, I know.

Then there's 'straight-washed Sanji'. Equally if not more of a bizarre thing to believe. I might make some people mad especially the Sanji stans out there who constantly insist on the 'repressed queer' narrative with his character, but Sanji is written pretty explicitly to be seen as a cisgender and heterosexual character. The way you say with your whole chest that Luffy is 'canonically' aroace but don't acknowledge that Sanji is 'canonically' cishet is beyond hypocritical. If you believe Sanji looking like a 'misogynistic straight man' is different from the way he is written in canon then maybe you should go back and reread/rewatch series with your eyes open this time. If you wish to headcanon him with the frankly offensive repressed bisexual/transgender cliché then go ahead, but that is clearly not the intention Oda has with his character.

There's also the fact that aroace people can uh. Be in relationships. Get married. Have children. Did it occur to you that many people who ship Zolu ship them as an ace couple or-

First thing I want to say here, as a trans man who is 'mlm', can other dudes stop with this idea that women or fem-aligned individuals enjoying homosexual relationships between two men is inherently fetishising or that as a masc-aligned individual your enjoyment of a ship is morally superior in some way. Stop pulling out your 'mlm/ transmasc / cis gay' card in order to justify why your ship is superior. Its cringe af.

But if we are to insist that 'cishet female gaze fetishising mlm' is going on then ironically Zosan fits that the better than any ship in the fandom. It being by far the most popular mlm ship means there is likely a higher proportion of people who identify as cishet women who ship it. Its also the classic 'two men who dislike/hate eachother and have a toxic relationship but hot sexual tension' slash/yaoi stereotype. Majority of Zosan I've come across is depicting Zoro as the masculine male man in the relationship while Sanji the effeminate twink that Sanji stans project themselves onto and they go crazy for the bickering that is apparently reminiscent to them of a toxic heterosexual marriage. Meanwhile every Zolu/Luzo shipper I've interacted with has been some flavour of queer and Zolu is closest to the 'falling in love with your same sex bestie' narrative that the majority if not every non-heterosexual person has experienced at least once in their lifetime. This is just my personal view of course, but I think noting a difference in perspective on this topic is interesting and reveals that at the end of the day this is totally subjective and based purely on anecdotes.

Also it's just a very weird point here that apparently OP has 'plenty of varied queer rep' (it actually doesn't have that many canonical queer characters in relation to its cast size but anyway) and other media doesn't so shipping aroace characters in gay relationships is valid in those but not in One Piece … HUH???? So you're saying if One Piece had 'less' queer rep, then Zolu would be fine to ship? Idek my brain hurts.

"I have black friends so I'll speak for the black community and get offended for them" (btw this person then proceeded to block aroace people who had issues with their depiction of aroace people).

Also if we're talking canonical depictions, the only thing Zoro has been canonically depicted as is also aroace, equally if not moreso than Luffy. So by your own rules, you can't ship a cishet (sanji) with an aroace (zoro), therefore Zosan is now invalid. Stop erasing Zoro's aroace identity bigot.

'Categorically wrong' makes me laugh. I don't ship Zoro and Nami but like, people can ship what they want to??

'The general public is aware enough of gay people and how to spot them these days' uh... firstly this sounds very homophobic. Secondly the general public (cishet ppl) are famously bad at recognising queerness even when its in flashing lights before them. Thirdly you make it sound like Zoro was going around on roller skates and booty shorts listening to YMCA and Madonna in the show. I do agree he was gay-coded but it was mostly because he had sexual tension with every man he interacted with, not for the strange reasons you pointed out...

Its kinda the elephant in the room too but like. These are just headcanons. You can have multiple headcanons and interpretations of a character's sexuality. I can see Zoro as aroace virgin one day and a gay h*e the next. I'm actually allowed, legally, to do that.

The way they think shipping Zolu is harmful to aroace representation when BOTH characters are closest to being canonically aroace than anything yet ship Zosan, label being anti-Zolu as some kind of pro-ace activism, and then proceeded to block aroace people for criticising their incorrect depiction of what being aroace is...

This was a lot of words to say that you don't like a ship. Just say you don't like it, and it gets in the way of the ship you like, instead of writing a virtue signalling essay to justify your reasoning. Please.

They had some more to say on future posts I'll just pick my favourite bits

They really have this narrative that Zolu is only popular because of OPLA and can't fathom that its just a popular ship in general and always has been huh. And they couldn't make it more obvious that they're totally salty about it ranking in the top 100 most popular tumblr ships, lmao.

Your classic case of 'self-identifying ally who speaks over the people they are supposed allies of'. Its a general rule that you feel the need to declare yourself an ally you're probably not an ally, actual allies know they need to just shut up and do the work. Saying 'this character's aroace' and 'I have aroace friends' actually isn't what allyship is, thats just accepting that ace people exist which is like... the baseline.

Calling a wholesome loving ship like Zolu an icky ship is a severe consequence of online brain (this person is 26 years old btw)

[khattikeri]

prefacing this post by saying this is not a ship bashing post; i like all these ships; i am musing on my own personal preferences

i think the reason why i like wangxian and bingqiu just a little bit more than hualian boils down to the misunderstandings, with the sex scenes of their respective stories being insights into those misunderstandings.

in mdzs, lan wangji and wei wuxian's misunderstandings come about because 1) they were acquainted but not seriously close friends 2) they had to deal with a massive war and its aftermath. lan wangji was worried for wei wuxian's personal safety and had romantic feelings for him. wei wuxian was slowly led to believe over time that lan wangji didn't really like him much and wanted to harm him just like everyone else in spite of wei wuxian's righteous actions.

combined with their respective upbringings as a respectable second son and the dubiously accepted son of a servant who always has to watch his own back, there's a lot for them to untangle after the death and resurrection and feelings realization! but the moment they do realize that they're mutually in love, they jump on the chance to stay together, no more miscommunication, no waiting, no more turning away from each other again.

and the respective sex scene: you explicitly see the peerless illustrious hanguang-jun lan wangji straining, apologetic and still openly nervous during his and wei wuxian's first time. because they didn't talk things out! they were too excited! they were too happy and intent to have each other after all those years of pain so they rushed into it without really discussing anything beforehand. so lan wangji doesn't actually know if wei wuxian is going nooooo~ in a sexy way or if wei wuxian actually seriously wants lan wangji to stop. it's flawed and they work out each other's preferences later on, but they both enjoyed themselves and continue to do so even in future sex scenes.

in svsss, shen qingqiu and luo binghe's misunderstandings come about because 1) former is a modern day transmigrator compelled to not reveal anything about the story or what he actually feels for any of the characters 2) the latter is desperate to understand the former's contradictory actions and to not be abandoned.

combined with several miscommunications and hasty assumptions (e.x. luo binghe thinking that shen qingqiu must've harmed him because he despised luo binghe's half-demon ancestry; shen qingqiu thinking that luo binghe intends to torture him the way he tortured the original story's counterpart shen qingqiu) and you get a fascinating and heartrending dynamic where they clearly adore each other and are dismayed at the idea that it's inevitable for the other one to despise them and want to hurt them. things clear up because they show each other their devotion and intent to stay.

and the respective sex scene: their first time isn't even written to be titillating! they're still in the middle of battle. luo binghe's mind is being overpowered by the demonic sword xin mo, so even though shen qingqiu is okay with dual cultivation/sex to pacify the sword's lust for conquering, it's extremely rough and unpleasant. it is violent and painful and leaves shen shingqiu so battered he looks like he's been assaulted, which horrifies luo binghe when he finally regains his senses.

they're distraught as hell! it traumatizes them both! and yet in spite of that and in spite of their fears of being hurt they want to stay with each other and they actively choose to keep being with each other. they improve their communication and clearly seem to understand each other's quirks and sexual preferences better in the extras and after marriage.

versus in tgcf: xie lian and hua cheng got along with each other from day 1. there was a spark the moment xie lian met san lang on the back of that ox cart. they talked for ages and were endeared to each other basically immediately! even during the ghost bride mission where they didn't really speak to one another, xie lian clearly felt a connection to the mysterious groom who gently and safely led him through the blood rain.

through all their present-day adventures and the final battle, even when they separate by choice or by force of circumstance, hua cheng and xie lian don't ever have a serious falling out. hua cheng is loyal to the bone and xie lian is also deeply drawn to hua cheng; both their respective insecurities are treated seriously and with sincerity by the other. there may be some confusion about each other's feelings, but even that isn't twisted to the point that they completely misconstrue each other's intentions and characters.

there isn't a central misunderstanding or miscommunication between hualian the way wangxian or bingqiu had; just a mutual past to be unraveled, and the looming question of if xie lian will actually act upon his feelings/the fact that he's attracted to and in love with hua cheng.

and the respective sex scene: we don't have any explicit sex scenes due to censorship. everything is in xie lian's rather selective point of view (and he's the type who hides certain details from readers for entire volumes on end!) so the most we get is the skimmed summary: xie lian really enjoyed it and hua cheng is kind of rough. just the implication that hua cheng was naturally amazing and satisfied xie lian fully, without any particularly humanizing aspects or awkward/upsetting first time moments.

of course tgcf is a beautiful story and a lovely romance in its own right, but personally, i found mdzs and svsss's main pairings more compelling because of the misunderstandings and how the sex scenes tied into the characters' personalities and overall relationship arcs.

[evilbihan]

Might be the only one but honestly I wanted to hear what Bi Han had planned out for the future of the Lin Kuei. Let's hear the sexy iceman's ideas damn it, not just "Oh it's madness and evil", maybe they're good policies.

Bi-Han's plans for the Lin Kuei

You're definitely not the only one because I agree, they should have at least heard Bi-Han out on his ideas, because from what we know of his plans so far, they're anything but evil. In fact, they prove he's a smart visionary who has his clan's best interests at heart.

Beware of spoilers if you keep reading:

Bi-Han's version of the cyber initiative is nothing like the original from the old timeline. The Lin Kuei are not being turned into cyborgs against their will. They're wearing futuristic suits of armor designed by Sektor in combat and (people seem to often forget that) this is something they do willingly. The Lin Kuei support Bi-Han's ideas and visions. Can someone tell me what's so horrible and evil about a suit of armor created to protect the person on the inside and give them an advantage in battle? Bi-Han is literally just a good leader looking out for his people, not some tyrant or madman forcing his own ideals onto others, unlike Kuai Liang.

Yes, he was willing to ally with Shang Tsung and benefit off of the soul stealers, but his intentions were never evil. His methods are questionable and wrong at times, but all he wants is to make the Lin Kuei stronger, to have them take their rightful place among Earthrealm's nations and given that they've protected the realm for generations, I'd hardly say that's greedy or too much to ask for. He also only wants a part of Earthrealm, not to conquer all of it or even other realms. Bi-Han said that he has no interest in Outworld's throne. His actions are not inspired by madness, just by frustration and a deep sence of justice as well as a desire for freedom.

SPOILERS: According to datamined leaks, Liu Kang himself will admit that there's nothing wrong with Bi-Han's ambitions in the story dlc. Bi-Han's new policies for the Lin Kuei are good, we're only lead to believe they're evil because that is the lie Kuai Liang is trying to sell us and everyone else in the story. He falsly condemns Bi-Han's plans for the Lin Kuei's future as something vile and wrong, only because they conflict with his own beliefs and his obsession with tradition. Because Kuai Liang is Scorpion and we're supposed to root for him, a good amount of the audience buys into that false narrative. It's also worth mentioning that, while Bi-Han is willing to go to war to give the Lin Kuei a better future, he's trying to do so without sacrificing the lives of any Lin Kuei if it can be avoided. His efforts in trying to find a way to build an army of either magical soldiers or mechanical suits of armor shows that he's trying to protect his Lin Kuei, not shed their blood in pursuit of his own goals.

There's not that much known about what else Bi-Han's visions for his clan's future include, but we do know that he wants the Lin Kuei to be independent, strong and, preferrably, neutral. He also wants them to keep up with modern technology and to have their skills and strength be acknowledged by allies and foes alike.

Sub-Zero: You want peace? Let us be. Liu Kang: The Lin Kuei's sins aren't easily forgiven.

As we can see, Bi-Han is not particularly interested in a war. He wants the Lin Kuei to be left alone. Bi-Han is a good grandmaster and a good man and that's a hill I will all too happily die on.

[xxnomadsxx]

I can only imagine your Branch giving the most disturbing gifts to show he cares. Ex:

Floyd: Oh man, I always worried Velvet and Veneer are gonna come back at some point

Branch: *Man, I wanna make him feel better hmm*

Cue the next day:

Branch: Here Floyd, this should make you feel safer (Man is covered in BLOOD and holding an even bloodier box) 😊

Floyd (about to pass out): Oh thanks B… what is it??

Branch: Velvet and Veneers vocal cords 😁 (He genuinely believes this will make him feel better)

Floyd: Oh… thank you Branch (He doesn’t want to reject the gift since it is one of the only occasions Branch has shown any of the brother’s affection)

His gifts only get worst from there. The brothers one time mention what happened to the Bergen that ate Grandma??? Branch puts Chef’s skeleton up in display for them to see that there’s nothing to worry about and that she’s been avenged. Meanwhile , BroZone: 🧍🧍🧍🧍

Poppy mentions that Creek betrayed the entire Troll kingdom??? Oh yeah, he tells the hilarious story about the time he was roasted alive and eaten by the village and even offers Poppy a tuff of his hair as proof.

He associates threats being eliminated as comforting and so he believes proof of that are the best gifts, he has good intentions but wtf he’s gotta work on better love languages.

anyways yeah BroZone loses their shit every time this happens but don’t have the heart to tell Branch to stop since it’s one of his main ways to show he cares about them and they’ll take anything at this point.

Honestly no one in the village is good at getting appropriate gifts ESPECIALLY Branch (he’s been living with the feral trolls(?) for years and their love language is violence) so you’re gonna have to forgive them on their very gruesome gifts.

All these situations are basically canon now because the idea is just so funny to me that Branch just pulled out all these corpse parts just to be like “don’t worry you’re safe😁”. Every time he does this his brother are just going through every emotion. It’s sweet that he did the gesture for them but also terrifying when you actually think about it (when he’s left the room, at least two of them puked and Floyd passed out four times) When Floyd is given the vocal cords as a gift the only thing keeping him conscious is the adoration that his baby brother got him a gift, but once Branch left the room, he immediately put the box in the closet and proceeded to puke on the floor. (Originally Branch got the vocal cords after he found out velvet and veneer took Floyd, but I find the idea of him going back for round two just so he can get a trophy for Floyd to tell him he was “safe” even better)

When he showed the skeleton to the brothers they were just too shocked to actually understand what was happening and kind of just went numb for a few minutes, all they could do was force themselves to focus on how happy Branch was so they wouldn’t have a meltdown.(when they later registered what they saw they just cried) When Poppy brought up how angry she is at Creek and how mad she is that he up and left again instead of staying to face his problems!! Branch laughed and said “OH, don’t worry we handled it😁” and he pulled out a tuff of Creeks hair, and hilariously explained the “funny story” of Creeks demise.

Everyone at this point just stops talking about people they don’t like out of fear that Branch Is just gonna come out with their body at any second. They like the gestures of the gift. It’s just the fact that they’re basically just corpse parts in a box that is handed to them with a smile 😊 saying, “I hope you like it” (he eventually stops when explained how messed up it is)

[trans-jon-rights]

What is the Magnus Protocol ?

(And how does it tie in with the Magnus Institute ?)

With MAGP 19 being the bombshell it was, I think we might have enough information to at least draft up the beginning of a theory.

So what could it be ?

I suppose it might be just that, a Protocol of containment. To contain Newton's creation and whatever happened in London*. Still enacted to this day by the government, the O.I.A.R and Starkwall**. And maybe it is the reason why the Institute burned.

*I suspect what happened in London to be the Great Fire of London, which did help stop a plague and happened 18 years before the letter was written.

**As mentioned in MAGP 4

So with that we have the more concrete stuff set up, I think we can go into the slightly more crack theory, because I've had too much coffee and my brain is going to explode.

Albertus Magnus was a German alchemist from the 13th century. He was very interested in stones, and believed they held power, as stated in his work 'De Mineralibus'. There were also numerous rumours that he achieved immortality using the philosopher's stone, which was a huge achievement in alchemy (basically the ultimate goal).

His work inspired numerous others, including :

Metals and Materials

The Secrets of Chemistry

The Origin of Metals

The Origins of Compounds

Doesn't this remind you of something ?

The case also refers to Wilhelm Homberg, though I couldn't find much on him other than he was an alchemist, and that he looked to create the philosopher's stone as well (which confirms that whatever Newton found, it was about that).

Anyway.

Let's consider this. Sam confirmed in the latest episode that it at least somewhat related to alchemy. And look at this from MAGP 9 :

They were looking for catalysts. Even better, they had an entire department dedicated to them ! Maybe I'm totally wrong, but the direct synonym of it in my native language (un catalyste) is something that was used in alchemy, at least to my knowledge.

So yeah, we know it has to do with alchemy. I've yet to found it again, but I recall tumblr user @misfitmagpie did this very extensive post about alchemical symbols on the logo of the show, and others on more alchemical stuff if you are interested.

But it is very obvious the Institute studied alchemy, looking for something. I do have a theory as to why they studied it, but its not about the Protocol, so we'll hold that thought for slightly later.

To me, the Protocol is something meant to regulate things, and was enabled by the government. But the government might have at some point considered the Institute dangerous, much like Robert Hooke did with Newton's experiment, and decided to destroy it. Usually the destructions involve fire. Newton's lab did burn down, and the mentionned previous iteration was likely to be the Great Fire of London in 1666.

(It is also notable that, although irrelevant to the current theory, the charity shop in MAGP 7 did burn down as well, which would further strengthen the idea that Starkwall is the current enabler of the Protocol for the government)

What else burned ? The Magnus Institute.

The very same Institute that was invested in alchemy, and that I am uninclined to believe was well intentioned.

And here I'd like to introduce you to something. The Franciscans.

Those guys held the belief that the Antichrist was coming and that the philosopher's stone was essential to stop it.

There's also a concept of balance (something something Robert Smirke something something) involved which dictates that for an Antichrist there needs to be a Christ.

And the Institute did research on children, measuring their development, empathy and compliance. Whether they were looking for the Christ or the Antichrist is unsure, (though seeing that high empathy level children were rejected speaks for itself) but they were looking for something.

So here, I could conclude. Say that the Institute was looking for the philosopher's stone, and the Antichrist, and that the Protocol was used to destroy them. But there's more.

Do you remember MAG 140 ? In this episode, Basira says this about Maxwell Rayner :

And here I have a fun fact for you. Did you know that Albertus Magnus wasn't originally named like this ? His name was Albertus the Great, and he became 'Magnus' after his death (Magnus meaning 'The Great' in Latin).

So what if ?

What if Jonah discovered Albertus' old works, and decided to follow them, resulting in an imperfect immortality like in TMA, and founding his Institute to further his research it and access a perfect one ?

And maybe he succeeded, and then decided that he wanted more, and tried to find the Antichrist. Finding use for the child would be easy, and he could hold it as a Damocles sword up everyone's head.

Then, he almost found them, and the Protocol was executed. That would give us a potential identity for [ERROR], being either Jonah or the child that yhey couldn't destroy. If it is Jonah, that would explain why he was following Alice, if she was indeed Connor Dyer (and Alex confirmed that she was trans mtf, so the possibility is more than likely). But also, considering [ERROR] I voiced by a woman, I rather think it might be the child.

I don't believe Albertus to be Jonah, mostly because if he already had access to immortality that early, why wait so long to look for the child. Though Jonah being a relative would explain the origin of his last name and how he found Albertus' old works.

In short, I believe the Magnus Protocol to be a Protocol of containment/destruction of knowledge by fire, related but not only limited to alchemy. It was used in 1999 to stop the researches conducted at the Magnus Institute. These researches were looking for an Antichrist, and conducted by the maybe immortal Jonah Magnus, who had discovered the secret to eternal life and the philosopher's stone exploiting the work of Albertus Magnus.

I am going insane.

Please send opinions and corrections ! I am far from an expert, I'm just a sleep deprived guy who did some research so don't hesitate to correct me ! You won't come out as rude and I won't be offended I promise.

[goingbuggy]

thank you, you’re the best. I will keep it short.

I wrote this to someone because I disagree with shuggy being great story in canon. But I thought longer and it turned out into more thoughts. First I do enjoy shuggy. I like them more as brothers and I like crocbug more. But I do like shuggy art sometimes.

Most of the story of shuggy is buggy being constantly angry at shanks. Every scene is just him being bitter, while shanks is chill. He’s angry because he’s not like shanks and blames himself for it. But shanks can’t help with that. It’s not abusive but you know how some DC fan are saying how joker is not harley LI but her origin story? I think it’s shuggy. Shanks is buggy begging. The have this bond but it’s over and not useful. What is left is buggy obsession which has to end. It’s without shanks reaction.

And both of those characters have more interesting and impactful relationships with other characters around them. Mostly shanks. He has people around him that are not jealous of him and are EQUAL. And buggy been replaced I think on purpose. Benn Beckman is there to be this close support that buggy could never be. Mihawk is rival, like buggy was in younger years but he’s meaningful to challenge shanks with respect and push him forward. Both of them make shanks better and fill those roles buggy couldn’t.

Buggy is just starting his bonds. He now has cross guild. And we know they’re gonna be for buggy in the future.

What do you think? I read OP many times and I think it does make sense and that is how the story will go. But you can call me out if you disagree. I respect you.

Woah, this is a long one! I just want to say, firstly, that you are entitled to your interpretations of Shanks and Buggy's relationship. However, I think you are going about this in a strange way. A bond is not measured by its usefulness, and claiming that Buggy has been "replaced" shows that you are viewing their dynamic from a distanced, almost utilitarian perspective; this isn't wrong, per se, but you are talking about characters who are meant to be people. And most people are irrational, emotional creatures who don't view their friendships as something profitable or disadvantageous. Buggy cannot be replaced by anyone, because Buggy is not a role to be filled in Shanks' life. Buggy was always just Buggy to Shanks. They were not friends because they only saw each other as useful. I think their interactions during the Wano flashback show that pretty clearly.

To address your point about Shanks and Buggy not being equals, though, I think this is a topic Oda has intentionally laid out, as it directly relates to Buggy's narrative. Buggy is someone who yearns to be seen as an equal -- just look at his reaction in Marineford when Whitebeard addresses him. (The blush is so cute, lmao.)

Buggy's insecurities are also the reason I believe he chose not to follow Shanks; my post here elaborates, but to sum it up neatly, Buggy immediately assumed he'd be working "under" Shanks, when Shanks only asked for Buggy to stay by his side. I truly think Shanks has always viewed Buggy as his equal -- it's just a matter of Buggy realizing that.

At this point in the story, they are more balanced than ever: both emperors with massive influence, albeit in different ways. As Buggy says himself, they are "on equal footing again." So, when you say their relationship has been unequal in parts, I don't disagree -- but that's not a flaw. That's intentional. It's an explicit aspect of the way their dynamic is written. It's a major source of their miscommunication.

Cross Guild is also currently a relationship in Buggy's life, but we don't exactly know where it's going. I would absolutely love it if Mihawk and Crocodile began to believe in Buggy and support him -- mostly because it would be hilarious -- but as of now, it is nowhere near a genuine bond. It is strictly business, and ironically, deeply unequal in terms of power dynamics. Buggy has only flipped the script on them recently, starting in chapter 1082, so we have to wait and see how that progresses.

At the end of the day, it's your opinion -- you can view Buggy's relationship with Shanks as uninteresting, and that's totally fine! But the lens with which you view their dynamic could use some adjusting. Your complaints stem from personal tastes, not fundamental problems with Shanks and Buggy's narrative.