#but most of it seems to stick so closely to canon + nothing else. which isnt a bad thing! its just...theres so much more there could be!!

[inthewiiildwoods]

from the little of the tag i've skimmed it doesnt seem like the shipping scene is very robust here. most art also seems to be of the non-human variety. i suppose i must fulfil my duty as The One Guy™

[augustjoy]

Stick to What You Know.

Sneak peek: Reader is asked to join the BAU by none other than Director Cruz himself. She is a child psychologist and Cruz thought she would make a great asset; it would seem though that Agent Hotchner doesn’t agree.

Aaron Hotchner x (Fem) Reader

Angst

Word count: 3134

Guys...I feel like this is shit, I wrote it in like 3 hours soo…. it’s not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, implied age gap, some language, one use of y/n I think, Hotch is a DICK in this for a minute (SORRY), reader has children, talk of dissociative identity disorder (in reference to a case), canon case talk/info, mention of murder (in reference to a case), Reader in a child psychologist, reader is friends with Director Mateo Cruz, implied death of Haley. I think that’s all, let me know if I missed anything!!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You were so late. You were thanking the lord that you knew Mateo well from having previously worked with him, otherwise your lateness would probably come across as a lack of seriousness or appreciation for the strings he had pulled to get you here. And of course, being lost in thought while simultaneously rushing through an unfamiliar building had you barreling into a handsome stranger…or maybe a handsome acquaintance.

“I am so sorry!” You’d hurried out.

His large hands steadied you with a gentle but firm grasp on your arms. Your eyes glance upward to meet his.

“No worries, are you alright?” He offered.

“I’m good thank you. Wait, you’re Aaron Hotchner, I’ve sat in on a few of your lectures at the university.”

“I am, and thank you, I hope you were able to take something from them.”  He blushed.

“I did, oh shoot sorry! I have to go; I am so late!” You said, speed walking away from him.

Aaron couldn’t help but watch as you walked away from him. And you couldn’t help but think to yourself that he was far more handsome up close.

After explaining your tardiness to Mateo, he led you to the sixth floor to officially meet your new team. The rest of them anyway.

“Mat, you told them I was joining right? I ran into Agent Hotchner, and he didn’t show any signs of recognition. And I told you I didn’t want to join a team who wasn’t ready and willing to have me.” You ranted.

“Yes I told him, you have nothing to worry about.” He lied. “You head down into the bullpen and meet the agents; I will go up and talk to Agent Hotchner.”

You nodded in agreement and made your way to Emily and Spencer.  You exchanged greetings, and Emily took you around to meet everyone else.

“Director Cruz, what can I do for you?” Hotch asked.

“I have a new recruit for you. She will be starting today.” Mateo gestured toward the window.

Aaron glanced out, finding the beautiful woman from this morning standing amongst his team. Morgan must’ve tried to charm her because she threw her head back in laughter with the most beautiful smile. Why her? Why did she have to be joining his team?

“Why didn’t I receive her file?”

“Truthfully Aaron, I didn’t have it together. She and I have worked together on some classified cases. But I have a file here with some of her info.  She specializes in child psychology which is something your team is lacking, I figured that she could work with your team on all of your child related cases, but then can occasionally consult with other teams should they need her expertise.” Mateo explained.

“Okay.”

It had been three months since then, and things had not been going well. You had gone on all but one case with the BAU since you’d started. Every single time, Aaron kept you at the local precincts, not allowing you out on any real field work – this was hindering your ability to do your job effectively. You needed to observe the unsub’s home and belongings and dumpsites etc. but he was denying you the opportunity.

The rest of the team had been nothing but welcoming, inviting you into their little family with open arms. None of them could have predicted that Hotch would ice you out the way he was.

Every time you offered a theory or statistic or any sort of information, Hotch shut you down. He would belittle you, constantly making you feel small, and he purposely called you agent instead of referring to you as doctor and well, why should today be any different.

You had been called out on a case and based on all the information the team had acquired so far, you had a pretty good working theory.

JJ, Spencer, and you had been sitting in the room the local precinct had designated as yours for the duration of the case.

“I have an idea…it’s a little out there but hear me out,” You started, your gaze shifting to JJ and Spencer, who both encouraged you to continue. “Okay, so some of the details in this case match, while others are all over the place, like the MO is essentially the same but some of the victims’ injuries show signs of hesitation where others show none, I know hotch mentioned multiple unsubs, but what if it is one unsub, with multiple personalities.”

“Like dissociative identity disorder. You know that would make a lot of sense considering people with DID tend to have highly varying alters or identities. They can range in race, gender, age which would explain why the murders have been so different, it would also explain why the comfort zone is so small.” Spencer validated you.

“See that’s what I was thinking too, they would want to stay close to home in the case that perhaps there was a switch in alter, that way they would be somewhere familiar and be able to return home…”

“That’s enough Agent!” Hotch’s voice boomed through the small room. “I have put up with this for far too long. You came in here unannounced and have continued to provide absolutely ridiculous theories that do nothing but waste our time and resources…”

“Hotch” JJ tried to calm him.

He lifted his hand to silence her before continuing, “You have continued to get in the way of my investigations again and again and I won’t have it anymore. Cruz spoke so highly of you and frankly I don’t see it. I’m sorry if I’m the first one to tell you this agent, but perhaps you should stick to what you know.” Hotch finished.

There was no way in hell that you were going to let yourself cry in front of this asshole. You refused to let him win in this moment.

“You know what Agent Hotchner, I have done nothing but work my ass off for this team and I have provided valuable feedback and information that has led to the capture of multiple unsubs over the last few months. But if you want to sit up there on your high horse and act all delusional, go ahead. I don’t want to be a part of a team who is led by someone so pompous and misogynistic. And one last thing, if you are going to sit there and berate me then you will address me properly. It’s Doctor, not agent…I know that may be hard to remember since it’s a title you don’t hold. Goodnight.” With that you grabbed your jacket and bag and made your way outside.

You ordered an uber and made your way back to the hotel. The nerve Hotch seemed to have filled you with rage, but you wouldn’t stick around to entertain his outburst any longer, you had a call to make.

“Hello?”

“Mat, I need a flight home.” You said, the tears finally beginning to fall.

“Is everything okay? What happened?” Mateo questioned.

“It’s fine, I just have a personal emergency and I need to get home as soon as possible.”

“Sure thing, I am booking your flight now, can you be at the airport in two hours?” He asked.

“Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

With that you hung up the phone, packed your bag, ordered another uber and made your way outside. You were purposely ignoring the texts coming in from Spencer and JJ. You made sure to slide a note under Spence’s door before leaving.

“Has anyone seen y/n this morning?” Dave asked.

“She left.” Spencer confirmed, holding up the note.

“What why? Is she okay?” Emily asked, concern laced in her tone.

“I can’t blame her. You guys should have seen it, Hotch yelled at her. And I mean full on yelled. I’ve never heard him speak that way to anyone before.” JJ chimed in.

“What are you talking about? He yelled at her. About what?” Morgan questioned.

“He completely flew off the handle. She and Spence were going over a theory about the unsub and he just started yelling, telling her that she was wasting our time and resources.”

The team was in disbelief, Hotch wasn’t mean or condescending, so why was he acting this way now? How could he treat arguably the sweetest member of the team so disrespectfully?

Dave shook his head; he was pretty sure he knew exactly why Aaron was acting out this way. He just couldn’t believe that Aaron had said such harsh things to the girl. His heart broke for her knowing that someone she idolized had been so awful to her, and for all the wrong reasons.

The team had wrapped up that case fairly quickly, you had been right, and the unsub turned out to be a nineteen-year-old male who had been struggling with dissociative identity disorder. Hotch had felt uneasy knowing that he had questioned your intelligence, despite you being an excellent agent.

Upon returning to the BAU, Dave was sure to confront Aaron about his inappropriate behavior.  Telling him that he couldn’t treat you terribly just because he couldn’t wrap his brain around the feelings for you he was refusing to acknowledge. Aaron had scoffed at him and told him that he didn’t have feelings for you, but Dave knew he was lying.

You had quite a different experience since returning. The first thing you did was cry, you let yourself release all the pent-up frustration you’d been holding onto since you had started at the BAU. Then, you texted Mat, letting him know that you needed to meet with him.

He was curious and waiting for answers, but he ultimately agreed and waited to ask all his questions until you were face to face.

“So, what’s up? This meeting request was so formal.” Mat laughed.

“I know and I am sorry I have been so vague about everything, but I am here to resign.”

Mat’s smile fell from his face immediately.

“What happened? Did something happen, because I promise you I have looked into the complaints filed against Agent Morgan and Ms. Garcia and I can assure you, they just have a strange friendship.” Mateo tried to explain.

“Mat, slow down! It isn’t like that. I just don’t think it is a good fit, there’s just too many differences between how I work and how the team operates. It’s okay really.” You tried to smile to really sell your lie.

“Well, I can’t help but be disappointed, I really thought that you would be a perfect fit for this team.” Mateo trailed off.

“I know and I am so sorry. I know you had to pull a ton of strings to get me here and I don’t want it to seem like I am not grateful because I can assure you, I am!”

“I know, and it’s alright! If it’s not a good fit then it’s not a good fit.” Mateo flashed you a sad smile.

A few weeks had passed since you had left the BAU, and truly, you had been doing well! You had spent some much-needed time with your family. You had reached out to a good friend of yours and inquired about a job teaching at the local university, which you were truly looking forward to. It had also meant that you would have a free summer to spend some quality time with your kids.

Tonight, you had one of your best friends over, your kids had grown up together and so you liked to do these big “family” dinners together at least once a month, that however meant chaos in the house. Kids yelling, teenagers gossiping, dinner burning…I guess that means you’ll be ordering a pizza.

Your friend and you had been talking about your new job and the excitement you were feeling for it, a movie long forgotten playing in the background, the kids were playing some card game you didn’t recognize when the doorbell rang.

“Oh, I bet that’s the pizza!” You said, making your way to the door.

“I left the cash on the table there!” Your friend shouted.

“Hi…Oh. What the hell are you doing here?” Shock painted its way across your face. Standing at your door was not the pizza delivery guy, but Aaron Hotchner.

“I uh, I came here to talk to you. I know that I do not deserve your time, but I am truly hoping you’ll allow me a few minutes to explain myself.”

“Dude, do you need help or…oh, shit. Sorry! Did you guys need a minute?” Your friend interrupted.

“Um” your gaze shifted from Aaron to your friend. “Agent Hotchner, why don’t we go to the back. Can you keep an eye out for the pizza?” You suggested.

“Of course! You go.” She replied.

Aaron and you made your way to the backyard, in doing so he took note of all the children sitting in the living room, sprawled out across the floor and couches.

“I didn’t know you had children.” Aaron started.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Is that why you came here agent Hotchner? To see my home and profile me?” You questioned him.

“No of course not! I was making an observation. I’m sorry. Like I said, I am here to explain my behavior, none of which will excuse how I acted but I am hoping it might help you to understand some of it.” His gaze shifted around your face. “From the moment I first laid my eyes on you, I knew I was ruined. You were breathtaking, even when you plowed right into me in your rush to the director’s office. You bumped into me and God, then you looked up at me with those big, beautiful eyes and I was a goner. But then you said something to me, and I knew I was done for. Do you remember what you said?”

“I apologized and then I told you I’d gone to some of your lectures. Hold on Agent Hotchner are you saying you were horrible to me because you had a crush on me? What are we? Seven-year-olds on the playground! That is such bullshi….” He didn’t let you finish.

“Hold on. You did mention that you had been to my lectures, but it was what you said as you walked away that had me hooked…you said, “he’s far more handsome up close” and I don’t think you meant to say it out loud, but at that moment I told myself that I was ready. I was ready to move on and I was going to ask you out later that day, but then you walked into the bullpen and Cruz said you’d be a part of the BAU, and I knew it wouldn’t be possible. I couldn’t date my subordinate and I didn’t know what to do, you had called me handsome and I…”

“Now wait a minute! I didn’t mean to say that out loud and this still isn’t…”

“I’m not finished. You had some sort of attraction for me even if it was just an appreciation for my looks. I already had it bad for you, and to top it all off, you came in and just had to be the sweetest, most loving person in the BAU and I couldn’t have you. It wouldn’t be appropriate. I figured the easiest thing to do would be to make you hate me, then I’d be able to shake these feelings for you, but no. You continued to be kind to me, even if I was awful to you and I couldn’t take it. My breaking point was the look on your face after I yelled at you on that last case. I felt sick with myself. I couldn’t leave things like that; I needed you to know that I don’t think those things. You are an incredible agent and an even better person and I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” Aaron finished, looking down at his shoes.

You were speechless. While it felt amazing that the man you had harbored feelings for, returned your feelings. It also felt terrible that he wasn’t mature enough to just be upfront with you from the beginning. Instead, he felt the need to play some arduous game with you. It would be so easy to just throw yourself into his embrace and kiss him and call it all forgotten, but what if this is some insight into his communication skills, or lack thereof?

Your mind and heart were battling one another like an angel and devil on your shoulder. It was a back-and-forth quarrel that seemingly had no correct response, both had the same potential outcomes; you getting your heart broken, regret, potential happiness. What were you meant to do?

“I um, I don’t know what to say. You said some horrible things to me and that doesn’t just go away. Agent Hotchner, we’re adults.”

“Please call me Aaron, or at least Hotch.”

“Aaron we are adults and you acted like a child. Am I meant to just forgive and forget the way you made me feel?”

“No, I would never expect that. I do hope that one day you can forgive me, and if you give me the chance, I would truly love to make it up to you.” He explained.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He questioned.

“Okay, you can make it up to me. And maybe, just maybe I will forgive you. It’s not going to be easy though.” You said.

“I wouldn’t want it to be easy.” He smiled.

“Alright well you can start tomorrow. I’d invite you to stay but this is a family dinner and with all the kids it might be a bit chaotic.” You told him.

“That’s fair.”

You could see the wheels turning in his head, he’s trying to figure out the dynamics of your little family, and maybe you could spare him a little bit of leeway.

“Her and I combined have nine kids. I have five and she has four. And before you ask, only two are biologically mine. A close friend of ours passed and I was listed as the personal guardian for her kids. That’s also how I have a teenager.” You explained. “That’s all you get for now.” You teased.

“I will take what I can get. Thank you, for giving me this chance.” Aaron smiled at you.

You smiled back and led him to the door, not missing the shit-eating grin your friend was wearing on her face. You bid him goodnight with a promise to text him to make some sort of plan. You didn’t know what would come of this, or if you’d end up together, but for now, you didn’t need to know. For now, you’d take it one day at a time.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (7/?)

Part summary: Six weeks later, Leigh decides to throw herself a birthday party.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.600+ | Warnings : None | Author's Note: Just a reminder that this doesn't strictly follow canon events. Borrowed some elements from the actual birthday episode, but it's going to go very differently for us :) Enjoy!

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI

-

Six weeks later

“Hey! Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Leigh’s mom calls out from the kitchen as Leigh hurries down the stairs. She runs straight into Amy’s arms, a ball of energy, drawing bewildered looks from her mom and sister. Ever since Matt died, they are used to Leigh either being too quiet or too snarky. Today, of all days, they were expecting her to be something else much worse. But it seems they're mistaken as Leigh turns to Jules, yanks her in close, and kisses her hair.

Jules and Amy share a look. To say this as an interesting development would be an understatement. It's her birthday—her first one without Matt, who had been at the heart of her celebrations for the last decade. They hope Leigh finds some happiness, truly, but these past several months have taught them to temper their expectations.

They keep their silent exchange to themselves, watching as Leigh picks up a croissant and takes a heart bite out of it, her face lit up with the widest smile. “Happy birthday,” Jules grins, pushing a small envelope towards Leigh. “Got something for you.”

“Thank you!” Leigh exclaims. She eagerly opens the envelope to find a bunch of homemade coupons, each promising some sort of favor from Jules, good for the next year. They range from “Will listen to your rants for 30 minutes, no interruptions” to “I will restart the book club you tried to get me and mom to do and actually read the books this time.”

Laughing, Leigh flips through them. “These are brilliant, Jules. Might have to use one today,” she says, already thinking about which one she'll cash in first. Then, she pulls Jules in a bear hug, as if it’s the most exquisite present she’s ever gotten in her lifetime. 

“You okay?” Leigh asks when she notices Amy staring at her.

Jules gives their mom a warning look as Amy struggles to come up with a response. “Nothing, I just… I didn’t think you’d be doing quite so well today. That’s all.”

“I didn’t either but we all make choices and I’m choosing to have a great birthday. So, let’s do this thing!” Leigh says in a manner that Jules feels too over the top. Amy starts laying out the plans for the evening and Leigh has a blank look by the time she finishes running them through it.

“I think I want a party,” Leigh announces. It’s met with astonishment, as if it’s the last thing her family’s expecting to hear.

“You do?” Amy.

“A party?” Jules.

Leigh isn’t perturbed by their reactions. “I do. I want a party,” she confirms. She delights at the dumb look on their faces as she reiterates, “Tonight. I want a big party.”

-

“You’re not having a big party.”

Danny calls her up the minute he gets her Facebook invite. He's partly furious about receiving the invite through Facebook, given that they’re “kind of seeing each other”, and partly incredulous because he couldn’t believe she’s making plans on her birthday without considering the fact that they are “kind of seeing each other”.

Leigh, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear as she flips through a recipe book on her kitchen counter, rolls her eyes so hard she worries they might stick that way. 

“Well, yes, Danny, that's exactly what I'm doing,” she fires back matter-of-factly.

Danny's frustration simmers on the other end of the line. He had already made plans, not bothering to consult Leigh because he assumed that their day would be spent together—privately, just the two of them.

“You didn’t think I’d have something planned?” he asks, more hurt than angry.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because we’re dating, Leigh,” he says, appalled that he needs to remind her. Leigh takes a second, biting her lip. Maybe it was a bit inconsiderate that she didn’t consider Danny when she impulsively decided she wanted a big celebration. But that flicker of guilt is short lived. 

After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she’s actually excited for something, the last time she thought, I deserve to be happy. 

“Yeah, well, I can still do what I want, Danny,” she retorts.

“Now you’re acting like a child,” he snaps.

Leigh feels a flash of anger, then something else—determination. “Maybe so. Come to the party or not, I don’t care. I'm going to have fun, Danny, with or without you.”

“Fine. Just don’t—”

Leigh doesn’t let him finish. With a press of a button, the call ends, his words cut off mid-sentence. Too often, she’s been criticized for not always following through with her declarations, but it's a different game when she's out to prove something.

-

Drew steps carefully around a minefield of clothes and makeup scattered on the floor to get to Leigh. She's curled up over her laptop, one leg propped on the chair, chin on her knee, in a posture that makes Drew wince. “For a fitness instructor, you're not exactly a poster child for back health,” he says, announcing himself to his best friend.

Leigh's head snaps up at Drew's voice, but instead of annoyance, a smirk quickly spreads across her face. “Good thing I'm not a fitness instructor anymore, then,” she says. Then she turns her attention back to her laptop as if he’s not there. Drew moves to sit on the edge of her bed, flops down on it like a ragdoll and stares at the cobwebs on the corners of the ceiling. 

“I know what you’ve been doing, Leigh,” he says.

Leigh is unphased, keeps typing. Then, as if she’s just heard his remark, mutters a distracted, “What have I been doing?”

“Avoiding. You've been avoiding writing about anything that's even remotely related to love or grief,” Drew says.

This time, Leigh stops typing. She sighs, a long, drawn-out exhale that seems to carry the weight of the world. “I’m busy, Drew. This gig is eating up all my time.” 

After leaving the Beautiful Beast, she took on a part-time job as a remote project manager. With Matt gone, she's left to deal with the debts they racked up together. She loved her studio job, really did, and wasn't fazed by the slim paycheck because it helped her mom out. Being surrounded by family has been a huge support (despite her occasional squabbles with Jules), but she knows she'll need to move out on her own again at some point. Ultimately, the pressing need for financial stability has pushed her to seek out better-paying opportunities.

Drew straightens up, leaning in with his elbows on his knees. “Bullshit.”

Leigh looks over her shoulder at him with mild irritation. “What do you want me to say, Drew?”

“You're meeting your weekly quota on other topics,” he points out. “Makes me wonder if bringing you back to the advice column was…premature.”

It sounds like a threat, but coming from him, she understands it as an early warning in case the senior editor begins to notice the issue. Leigh smiles thinly, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why does it even matter which topics I choose to engage with? First off, I'm collaborating with other writers now; it's not entirely my show anymore. Secondly, I've been doing a good job—”

“A great job, actually.”

Leigh tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. “So, what's the problem?”

“They're expecting you to lead on those topics because you've lived through them. They're looking for more authenticity in the pieces,” Drew explains. 

Leigh looks out the window, seemingly lost in thought, then shakes her head slightly. “What, you want me to write about how I started picking fights left and right after Matt died? Do you want me to detail my attempts at fixing his depression, as if it were as manageable as setting a broken bone?”

“You don’t have to delve into the most personal details.”

“It can’t be authentic if it’s not personal,” Leigh sneers. 

“Just think about it, okay?” Drew presses, a little desperately.

Leigh chews on the inside of her cheek, mulling it over. There's a whole part of her story she hasn't even touched on with him—the string of one-night stands with Danny, the way she's snapped at anyone who dared to disagree with her in the past few weeks. She's been on edge, not really liking the person she's been, and the thought of putting that version of herself out there for everyone to see is nothing short of humiliating. 

As a writer, she knows what to say, the same way a psychologist would know what to do even if they don’t need to have all sorts of human experience to help someone in every situation. But she also questions her right to preach behavior to others when she's far from having it all figured out herself. Regardless of her indecision, she knows Drew’s not going to drop it until she at least tells him she’ll consider.

“Fine,” she says, with a nod. “I'll sift through the inbox and tackle the ones I feel up to.”

“There you go, that's my girl,” Drew says, visibly relaxing. But then, a moment later, he feels a stab of guilt for showing up mostly because of work. It's been a while since they've hung out, their usual brunch dates falling through one after the other, and their daily chats have shriveled up to a few messages a week, with mostly just memes from Leigh that Drew hardly ever acknowledges. Eventually, Leigh just stopped sending them.

Drew fidgets, avoiding eye contact for a second before it dawns on him—he hasn't just been busy; he's been dodging Leigh on purpose ever since he popped the question to his partner. He was worried Leigh wouldn’t take the news well, considering the things she’s been going through. But if he’s being brutally honest with himself, a part of him just didn't want her grief to dampen his excitement. He was worried her sadness might dampen his spirits, and in a bid to preserve his own happiness, he’d left her out in the cold. He hadn't stopped to think that maybe he owed Leigh more than just her column.

“So, uh, how’s it going?” Drew asks cautiously.

“It’s going,” Leigh offers. Heartfelt talks aren't their thing, so Leigh decides to brush it off fast. “By the way, I'm throwing a birthday party for myself.” It comes out a bit more cheerfully than she feels.

“A party? That's great, Leigh!” Drew exclaims. “And hey, if you need help setting up or anything, just let me know.”

“Yeah,” she forces a smile, not as enthusiastic as she was about the idea at breakfast. “It's tonight, though. You're coming, right? And bring anyone fun you know.”

“Wow, OK,” Drew nods before his face morphs into a grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, is this where you're planning to hard launch your new relationship? At your party?”

Leigh’s eyes sharpen into slits. “You know about Danny?”

“Jules told me,” he says.

Rolling her eyes, Leigh retorts, “Let me guess, she told you so you'd join the haters club?”

“Nah,” Drew shrugs, his smile bright and sunny. “Danny's okay, I guess. If you're happy, I'm happy.”

She hasn’t been not happy lately. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it sure beats being on her own. So maybe she is—or at least, on her way.

“Thanks, Drew,” she murmurs thoughtfully.

Drew makes himself comfy, chin in hand, looking like he's all set for one of their marathon catch-ups. "So, how did you and Danny even start? Tell me everything."

-

Leigh's trunk is a one-can band, banging and clanging with every turn. Her groceries create a beat, something to fill in the lack of sound in her car. It’s how she drives these days—in utter silence. Before, she wouldn't even think of heading out without the perfect playlist, which often took her an extra five to fifteen minutes after settling into the driver's seat. But these days, as soon as the key is in the ignition, she twists it and takes off, not even waiting for the car to warm up.

Organizing a party by herself (with Jules' indispensable assistance, of course) and extending invites to her entire Facebook friends list has turned into quite the ruse. She's seasoned enough to temper her expectations—knowing well that not everyone who RSVP'd “yes” will show, and that some who didn't bother to RSVP might just surprise her by showing up. So, she's stocked up on as much food as her sedan can hold.

While Leigh's mind wanders to what snacks to whip up and what sauces to pair them with, she accidentally ends up on a lane that forces a left turn instead of going straight. This little misstep means she's got to take the scenic route home, which, by pure coincidence, takes her right past your clinic's street.

Her heartbeat quickens, though it shouldn't. There's no reason for it. She hasn't seen you in a month, not since the night she made a bold declaration on her bedroom door.

Leigh never planned on actually liking you as a person. Initially, her motive was purely to get a closer look, to dissect what it was about you that caught Matt's eye, what you possessed that she lacked. However, the answer to that mystery didn't remain elusive for long after spending a little time with you. You had this kindness about you, soft and easy, something Leigh’s always found just out of her reach. She prides herself on being decent enough but next to you, she feels a bit more like sandpaper to your silk.

Matt was like that too—gentle, easygoing. Leigh is well aware of her own rough edges, her sharp corners that don't quite align with Matt's smoother ones—and, by extension, yours. You and Matt had more in common than just interests; you both saw and reacted to the world in similar ways. Finding out that you and Matt were alike in important ways, in ways she wasn't, is something she's still learning to cope with.

As she nears your clinic, her eyes instinctively search it out, a habit she can't seem to break. 

This time, her timing is impeccable; just as she glides by, you step outside with a puppy in your arms, licking your face all over. You catch sight of her car from a distance, and you couldn’t stop the surprise that flashes across your face. As she drives past, you give her a little wave, puppy still in tow. Leigh cracks a small smile, then throws on her aviators, maybe trying to hide a bit more than her eyes. She sneaks one last look in the rearview, catching you watching her car disappear down the street before you head back into the clinic.

-

As soon as she gets home and is safely out of the car, she opens her messages.

The last text you sent her says, “I'm sorry. I hope we can still be friends,” sent three days after the encounter in her bedroom. She didn't respond to it, and you didn't push any further or impose yourself on her.

She wishes she had at least reacted with a heart or sent a smiley face to your message. Maybe then, inviting you to her party tonight wouldn’t feel so awkward. Nevertheless, she manages to type out a quick invite and extends to you the courtesy of bringing a plus one, someone you believe would be good company.

Your response arrives within five seconds of her hitting send.

“Thank you, I'll be sure to drop by :)” - Y/N

Satisfied, Leigh sets her phone aside. Now, she can focus on making those Deviled eggs.

-

The dress she's pulled from Jules's closet is a bold choice: deep black with a plunging neckline and a hem that flirts with daring. It's sexy, but not quite Leigh's usual style—and that's exactly why she loves it. It clings to her in all the right places, promising a confidence that Leigh isn't entirely sure she feels. Her hair, which is normally pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, hangs loose and wavy. She tops off her outfit with a slick of red lipstick and layers of dark eyeliner. 

With about an hour to spare before her guests are due to arrive, Leigh decides it's the perfect time to follow through on a promise she made to Drew. She logs into the shared inbox of the advice column she co-manages with two other writers at Basically News. Leigh scrolls through the submissions, Drew’s words playing on repeat in her head. He had a point. Maybe people don't always need the right answers—answers she hardly uses herself. Perhaps what they really need is someone to affirm what they're already feeling, to say it's okay to follow their gut, to be themselves.

She reads an interesting entry from one EspressoEyes:

“Do you think it's too much for me to give a puppy to this woman I like? I'm not even sure she likes me back (or like me in general 😣), but it's her birthday, and I feel like a puppy could be exactly what she needs at this moment.”

Leigh reads the message, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Personally, she muses, she'd welcome a puppy from just about anyone. But that's just her, especially with the rollercoaster of a year she's had—she's at a point where the gesture, no matter who it comes from, would be a welcome slice of joy.

Thinking it over, she starts replying, “A puppy is a big gesture—it can be an overwhelming gift for some. It might even be seen as too forward, especially in certain relationships.Yet, a gift is a gift. Sometimes, you need to just go for it, without apologies. If her feelings don't align, she'll let you know. She has to, because giving a puppy is essentially a love declaration, in case you hadn't realized. And who knows? She might feel the same about you. Just make sure she's actually up for the responsibility of a pet. They're for life, not just for birthdays.”

She signs off with her pen name—Gigi Herrel—a clever anagram of her name as it would have been had she taken Matt's last name in marriage: Leigh Greer. Though it never quite felt like her own. She only used it when she came back to Basically News in obeisance to his passing. Drew has granted her the autonomy to publish her responses without his oversight (“Just make sure your grammar is perfect,” he said), so Leigh doesn’t think twice before publishing her response.

Leigh moves on to browse through other submissions, this time, on those related to marriage and loss—the very subjects she promised Drew she would tackle. She’s been in those shoes, still feels like she's wearing them. With a deep breath, she clicks on one and dives right into it. Her first attempt at a response feels inadequate, prompting her to hit delete and start anew. This process repeats itself, one draft after another, until she has five versions sitting in front of her, none of which feel right. With a huff, she deletes them all.

Just then the doorbell rings, pulling her out of her advice-column vortex. Leigh glances around, momentarily disoriented. It takes her a moment to recall that there's a party happening downstairs, and she's meant to be enjoying herself.

-

She’s halfway down the stairs when Jules's eyes land on her. Leigh freezes, as if she’s been caught red-handed. “I…couldn’t find the coupon for borrowing your clothes.”

Jules just smirks and arches an eyebrow, taking in Leigh in her dress. “Oh please, as if I ever keep track. Besides, that was just gathering dust after my ‘slutty Halloween phase’ as you so lovingly called it.”

“Cool! Perfect!” Leigh says, ignoring the backhanded comment. Her focus immediately turns to the front door as another guest arrives. “Hey, Dad!” she calls out.

Leigh’s dad walks in with his partner, and she greets them with a warmth that's been rare these days. He hands her a large, beautifully wrapped box. Leigh grasps the gift with both hands, shaking it gently, much like a child on Christmas morning. She’s thanking them when an old friend from high school she hasn’t seen in forever walks through the door, a bottle of wine in hand. Her mom swoops in like a hawk, reminding everyone it's a dry party in support of Jules's sobriety, and the wine is swiftly traded for a mocktail.

For the next hour, the house fills up. Leigh finds herself out back, tending to snacks, when a small line of people forms to chat with her. They each ask if she’s doing okay, their condolences tucked neatly between cheerful birthday wishes. Leigh’s smiling, but it's so fake even she is not buying it, mentally blacklisting half of these people for next time.

Just when the parade of condolence callers is beginning to fray her patience, one of her actual favorite humans finally shows up, saving her mood from souring completely. Drew looks striking in a simple black polo shirt, so much so that it reminds Leigh of the time Matt got all jealous over him, until Leigh let him in on the secret that he plays for the other team.

He passes her a little envelope, his birthday offering—a gift card. Leigh’s barely expressed her thanks over the simple present when he jumps right into feedback on her latest advice column. 

“Read your puppy counsel on my way here. It felt a bit... casual, don’t you think?”

Leigh smirks up at him, arms crossed, the gift card crinkling between her forearms. “Just say it's terrible advice if that's what you mean.”

Drew purses his lips before relenting. “Fine. It was terrible advice.”

“Expect more of that if I tackle the stuff I’ve been avoiding. Still think it’s a good idea?” Leigh says, nodding like it’s exactly what she wants to hear. Drew lets out a sigh, swiftly steering the conversation away before their playful banter escalates into a disagreement. With Leigh, he knows all too well that the edge of an argument is always closer than it seems.

“Anyway, happy birthday, again,” he says, trying to lighten the mood again. “Ryan's tied up with work stuff, totally wiped, but he did wish you a happy birthday.”

Leigh’s face hardens slightly at the mention of Ryan. She’s been harboring this nagging thought that Ryan dislikes her, a suspicion fueled by a criticism she once shared with Drew in confidence, suspecting Drew might have passed it along. Drew, seeing her expression change, doesn’t rush to correct her assumption.

“He hates me,” Leigh concludes before Drew can even get a word out.

“He doesn’t—”

“What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have kept it between us?” she demands, feeling betrayed.

“Because Ryan’s my person. I tell him everything. That’s how being in a marriage works,” he says, but the moment he sees Leigh's face fall, he wishes he could retract those words.

Leigh bristles, her voice rising, “I know how being married works!”

She's livid, because that should go without saying. How dare he imply that she no longer knows, now that she's only half of a whole—her best friend, of all people.

Drew exhales coolly, as if trying to douse the proverbial fire between them. “Why does it seem like we're always either fighting or about to fight?” he wonders aloud.

Leigh’s anger softens into something more reflective, and she sighs, the fight draining out of her. “I don’t mean to...” She trails off, searching for the right words. “It’s like I’m always ready for a battle. I don’t know why. It’s like I’m expecting it, waiting for it, at the end of every day.”

Drew lets the moment breathe, waiting for both of them to deflate completely before tacitly reaching out behind Leigh for a snack. “These are great, by the way,” he says between bites, acting like they hadn’t just been at each other's throats.

Leigh tries to match Drew’s candidness, but inside, she’s reeling. It bothers her, this pattern they’ve fallen into—her temper flaring up, followed by a quick brush-off, as if these outbursts are merely now a part of who she is. She hates that she’s become predictable in her volatility, that her explosions are met with a shrug and a wait-out-the-clock mentality from those around her. She’s tired of it, tired of being seen as a ticking time bomb, her anger and hurt dismissed as just Leigh being Leigh, waiting for the reset button to be hit so the countdown can start all over again.

But it's her birthday, and she's brought these people together on a Tuesday night for fun. She didn't gather everyone just to tell them, once and for all, that they need to stop acting as if her husband just died.

So, she goes with the flow, laughing when it's her cue, even though deep down, she feels more alone in the crowd than ever.

-

With the absence of alcohol, the party winds down by 11 PM. Guests begin trickling out as early as 10, and by the time Leigh is bidding farewell to the last attendee, she's already donned an apron, ready to take on the mountain of dishes left behind.

Which is to say, showing up right now pretty much means you've missed the whole party.

Pulling up in front of Leigh's house, the night already deep into its quiet hours, you’re running on the adrenaline of the day's emergencies. Two cases back-to-back at the clinic, one of them diving straight into surgery, left you no choice but to push everything else to the side. Suzie, who was meant to join you as your plus one, ends up stuck back at work, tending to a recovering St. Bernard, so it's just you and the sleeping puppy on your lap now. For her sacrifice, you promise to take her out to a nice lunch one of these days.

The puppy starts wagging its tail in its sleep, and you look down with a smile at the little dreamer. The decision to give Leigh the puppy wasn't made lightly. You've been turning the idea in your mind for a while now. Initially, you didn't even realize her birthday was coming up, and the invitation to her party caught you off guard, especially considering the somewhat unresolved way things were left between you two weeks ago. The timing of her birthday, your rocky history, it all made you second-guess whether a puppy was a good idea. In search of a voice outside your own head, you turned to a favorite advice column you often read in your spare time. To your surprise, your submission was picked up by one of the columnists, and the response you got wasn't just advice; it was the push you needed. You were lucky to be able to catch their answer, just before you got home to change for Leigh’s birthday party.

Trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach, you give yourself a quick once-over in the rearview mirror and apply a fresh swipe of nude-colored lipstick. With one last look, you carefully step out of the car, the sleeping puppy nestled securely in your arms. The moment you move, it stirs, burrowing deeper into your armpit, seeking refuge from the light of the street lamps.

Everything's too quiet as you walk up to Leigh's house. You anticipated some noise, music or chatter—anything to indicate the party was in full swing. But there are none. Could you have missed the party? Or worse, did Leigh get the date wrong on her invite? Hesitantly, you press the doorbell, instantly regretting it, thinking you might be waking up the whole house.

Just as you're about to bail, the door swings open and it's Jules.

“Y/N!” Jules nearly trips over herself getting to you, eyes wide when she spots the furball you’re holding. 

“Hi Jules,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Is that a…” she squeaks out, already reaching for a cuddle before you've even nodded. Jules is all over the puppy, who seems just as happy to be the center of attention. After a while, she looks up, a bit more composed but still glowing. 

“I didn’t know Leigh invited you. Too bad, you just missed the party. But you should definitely come in and say hi to Leigh,” she says. You want nothing more than to see Leigh again, even if only for a brief moment, just to accomplish what you came here for and perhaps wish her a happy birthday. But with the party over and you potentially being the only guest, it feels like walking into a situation you don’t think you’re prepared enough for.

Then, as the puppy licks Jules' face off, she pauses and looks at you funny. It clicks for her—no collar, no leash, just you and this puppy who appear no more than two months old.

“Oh my gosh, is this for Leigh?” Jules gasps.

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I-If she wants him.”

Jules looks at you, then at the puppy, her smile blinding. “Well, I want him. But if she doesn’t, I’ll be more than happy to be his mommy.”

You laugh at her enthusiasm. Still feeling skittish, you ask, “Do you think it’s an appropriate gift for Leigh?”

“You're a vet. It's kind of on-brand for you,” Jules quips.

You laugh again. “Really?” you ask, kind of hoping for a more solid reassurance.

Jules considers it for a second, before saying, “I can at least assure you it’s not unwanted.”

Good enough, you think. Jules hands you back the puppy and then says, “She’s in the kitchen. Look, she’s not exactly in a good mood, but I think you should go for it anyway.”

That’s two people egging you to go ahead with your surprise. It must be a sign from the universe. You make up your mind for the final time. “Thanks, Jules,” you say.

“Anytime.”

-

You tread lightly, making sure your footsteps don’t give you away as you approach the kitchen. Leigh is at the sink, doing the dishes, clad in a black dress that skims her thighs, her feet bare against the cool kitchen tiles. Her shoulders are slumped, her movements laconic, as if her body is there, but her mind is miles elsewhere. The expanse of skin revealed by her hair tied up in a high ponytail captivates you, holding you back from announcing your presence. You allow yourself a moment to take her in, thinking this might be the only chance you get to really look at her like this. 

You’re about to say “Hi”, when Leigh whirls around, startling you both. Leigh, not expecting anyone to be there, loses her grip on the plate she's holding, and it smashes loudly against the floor. 

“Jesus!” Leigh’s scream summons Jules and her mom into the kitchen. Meanwhile, you are trying to do damage control—holding the puppy with one hand and attempting to gather the ceramic shards with the other as Leigh continues to stare at you in shock.

Amy, wrapped in her robe, looks from the mess on the floor to you and then to Leigh. “What’s going on here?”

Jules is unfazed, simply watches the entire scene from a corner of the room, smirking. 

Your cheeks flush with shame, and you find yourself grateful to be still seated on the floor, your back turned away from Leigh's family.

“I’m so—” you start, but Leigh cuts you off.

“Okay, everyone just...calm down," Leigh says. She kneels down beside you, her hands joining yours in cleaning up the broken pieces.

“I'm heading to bed,” Jules says and then winks at you. “Happy to see you, Y/N!”

Amy wraps her robe more snugly around herself, then with a small, puzzled shake of her head, says, “Well, good night everyone. And happy birthday again, sweetheart,” before she walks down the hall and out of sight. Leigh gets to her feet, a slight nod of appreciation directed your way as she holds open a trash bag for you to deposit the ceramic shards. That’s when the puppy finally catches her attention. 

“And who's this little guy?” she asks, a smile starting to play at the corners of her mouth.

You clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. He’s yours if you want him. Don’t worry about refusing, there’s someone lined up to take him in case you’re not—”

But Leigh’s already gently taking the puppy from your arms, instantly cradling and bouncing him as though he’s a tiny human baby. It’s a sight both funny and utterly endearing, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, feeling your heart grow a size or two.

“Who wouldn't want him? He's perfect,” Leigh says, her eyes not leaving him as he nestles comfortably in her arms. Hearing those words, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. She doesn't find it odd; she's already falling for him.

“Happy birthday,” you tell her, and when she looks at you, her smile is so bright it could light up the whole night. Right there is everything you hoped for. All you really wanted was to see her happy.

“Thank you so much,” she murmurs, clutching the puppy tighter to her chest. Then, cocking her head to the side, she inquires, “What's his name?”

The grin on your lips can’t be helped, and you’re hoping she wouldn’t see just how much she’s having an effect on you. “I haven’t named him yet. He was always meant to be yours, Leigh,” you say.

Her smile just gets bigger as she gazes down at the little furball in her arms, and you think this is exactly how things were supposed to go down. It’s one of those rare moments where reality lines up perfectly with expectation. 

“I think I’ll call him Logan.”

-

You and Leigh retire to the living room after she kindly offers to make you decaf. As you settle onto opposite ends of the couch, tucking your feet under you, Logan instinctively takes shelter in Leigh's lap, as if he already knows he belongs there.

“So…Why Logan?” you ask, after making a mental note of how Leigh makes her coffee: one cream, two sugars.

“Well,” Leigh says, her fingers gently stroking Logan’s deep chocolate fur, “he just looks like a little wolverine, doesn’t he? With that color and those defiant little eyes.”

The dots connect in a funny, unexpected sort of way. Leigh and comic books don't seem like the most likely pair. 

“Ah, like the X-Men character. I didn’t know you were a comic book fan,” you say.

She laughs, a sound that’s light and free of any shadows. “Oh, I wasn’t. Not really. It was all Matt. He had this massive collection, and he was pretty obsessed. I guess some of it rubbed off on me after all.” The mention of Matt doesn’t bring clouds into her eyes like you expected. She talks about him like she’s looking at something distant but dear.

“Thought you were bailing on me tonight,” Leigh , almost casual but there’s this undercurrent, like she’s really saying she’s glad you didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I got stuck at the clinic longer than expected.” Leaving her waiting, especially today, was never part of the plan. Your work as a vet often means unpredictable hours, but you hadn't expected it to stretch so far into the evening.

“It’s okay, you didn’t miss much.” 

Her casual dismissal makes you wonder, but not wanting to pry too much, you shift slightly, asking, “So, how did it go? Did you enjoy yourself at least?”

Leigh simply smiles and shrugs, an action that speaks volumes without giving much away. “This,” she nods down at Logan, “getting him from you, feels more like my birthday than anything else today.”

The conversation that follows is easy, skipping over the day-to-day stuff—nothing deep, but you're both there—really there—and it's nice. It feels like a fresh start, and you're deeply thankful for the second chance she's offering you. You promise yourself you won't mess it up this time. 

But just as you’re both delving into more personal topics, someone rings the doorbell. Logan perks up, his head tilted, ears alert. Leigh gives you a look, as if saying she's not expecting anyone else to show up this late at night. She puts the puppy down on the floor and when she opens the door, it’s Danny, looking sorry for himself. He’s holding a bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. It seems as though he has the whole evening planned out in his head—apologize, crack open the wine, and maybe be invited to Leigh’s bedroom afterwards.

Danny’s eyes find you and his face falls a bit. He wasn’t expecting company, certainly not you. “Leigh, can we talk?” he asks, then looks pointedly at you. “Alone?”

Leigh looks torn for a moment, glancing your way as if she's not ready to let you out of her sight. She insists it'll just be a minute, but you can read the room. This is something they need to sort out without you playing third wheel.

“It’s all good, I'll head out,” you tell her though you're staring Danny down, making sure he knows it’s not because of him that you’re leaving. Leigh either misses the whole glare-off or decides to stay out of it. Logan tries to follow you as you make for the door. It’s hard leaving him behind, but you know he’ll be happy to have found his forever home. You kneel down, giving Logan a soft kiss on the head, promising him you’ll be back soon. And then you turn to Leigh, a question at the tip of your tongue but she already knows what you’re going to ask. 

“You can see Logan anytime,” she says with a faint smile. “I might need your help with him sooner than you think.”

The moment you close the door behind you, Leigh's jaw sets in a firm line, bracing herself to confront Danny. Her main priority is to get Logan settled, so she decides that forgiving Danny might be the quickest way to send him on his way. But Danny’s focus now isn’t on apologies or making it up to her. He’s fixated on Logan, his brows knitting together in confusion and, curiously, a bit of annoyance. 

“Who gave you that?” he asks Leigh as if he’s just referring to an inanimate object lying around the house. He sounds like he's almost accusing her of something, and Leigh's baffled. 

“A friend gave him to me,” she says, nodding towards the door you've just walked out of. Danny's face twists up in an instant, like a storm cloud bursting. “A friend,” he repeats, and the way he says it, it’s clear he’s not just asking. He’s fuming with jealousy, and Leigh can’t wrap her head around why.

A gift is just a gift, right? Why would…

Oh.

Earlier, while she was reviewing submissions for the advice column, someone asked if giving a puppy as a birthday gift to someone they're interested in would be a good idea. She remembers how she happily encouraged them, telling them to go for it.

At this realization, Danny, the puppy, and everything else slide to the back burner. The only thing occupying her mind now is the deep, dark brown hue of your eyes, like rich espresso.

EspressoEyes. That's how the person behind the submission signed off. It's like a lightbulb moment, but softer—like waking up slow.

It's you.

Oh.

[call-sign-shark]

Day 2: Cut Your Wings || Alfie Solomons x Reader

Requested by a lovely Anon 🖤

TW: Kinktober prompt- cut, dubcon, blood, inflected pain, masturbation?, enemies with sexual tension, canonical violence, dirty talk, sexual torture, kidnapping

Words: 2K

Notes: This work is a part of the Peaky Kinktober Event you can find here. Comment on the event post if you want to be tagged in the future works for Kinktober. Also this one ain't as smutty as I thought because I got carried away by the narrative?? Shark please, that ain't the goal of Kinktober??

A grunt escaped from your lips as you desperately tried to free yourself from the heavy shackles imprisoning your wrists. You moved them back and forth, then left and right, turning your hands in every position possible, and yet nothing worked. The handcuffs were too tight for you to slip from them. Another painful moan echoed in the damp and dark room of the distillery in which the jew's henchmen had locked you a few hours ago. The cold metal bit your flesh again. "Fuck". When loud footsteps resounded behind the heavy wooden door of your prison, you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and prayed to God for a quick and painless death because you knew that Alfie Solomons wasn't a forgiving man. Quite the contrary, his quick temper, and frightening antics only fueled his reputation as one of the most dangerous criminals in London.

"So that's the fucking little rat my men told me about." He stated, standing in the middle of the open door, both of his hands resting on the handle of his cane and a black hat hiding one of his hazel gray eyes.

"Fuck you, fucking cunt! When Tommy will know about this y'all going to regret it!" Words passed your thoughts, spitting their venom at him and yet the man remained silent. You even wondered if he had paid attention to what you just said or if the voices in his head were louder than yours. His gaze, intense and unfathomable, was observing you attentively as if he was trying to decipher the secrets of the most unique precious stone he had even held in his palm. After what seemed to be an eternity, Alfie Solomons pursued his lips, stroked his scruffy beard, and nodded, coming to an agreement with himself.

"See, my mates here told me that Tommy Shelby had sent a few men to London, but here's the problem – He said 'men'. And not 'little girl', which is definitely what you are. A bloody and nosey little girl. Hmhm." He agreed with his own statement before walking to the dusty furniture that was leaning against one of the brick walls. Then, he took off his hat and his long dark coat, and put the cane aside before walking towards you. He stopped in front of you, tattooed arms crossed on his muscular chest. The unusual amount of greenish ink deeply engraved in his skin caught your attention for a short while, you curiously observing the pattern it formed. Of course, both Tommy and Arthur had tattoos, but not as many as the mad baker.

"Would you look at ya. Haven't you something else to do instead of following a Birmingham scumbag's orders? Like finding yourself a man or something like this, y'know. 'Cause I don't see why such a young lass like ya puts her own life into danger for Tommy fucking Shelby." As he talked, Alfie had closed the distance between you and him. He was now leaning above you, so close that his scorching breath was fanning over your skin and the hairs of his beard were almost tickling your face. "So can you tell me why? The only reason I see is that Tommy Shelby sticks his cock in you and it has magically bred some loyalty." The right corner of his full lips curled into a mocking grin when he noticed how his words had lit a fire of rage in your eyes. Bang on, he thought, "No. It's more complex than that, innit? He doesn't want you and yet you remained devoted to him in the hope that one day, maybe, he'd look at you differently. He'd look at you like a woman to fuck senseless and not a pawn of his game."

"Kill me, Solomons. Kill me now or I'll fucking cut you once I'll be out of this shit-stinking place." You hissed, baring your teeth like a cornered animal, the truth hurting you more than a gunwound. For a split second, Alfie swore you would have dug your fangs into his throat, sinking them deep until you tasted blood if you hadn't been restrained by chains and handcuffs.

"Cut me?" The baker repeated these two words, pretending to be surprised while the tone in his voice betrayed how amused he was, "And what kind of tool would you use to cut me? This?" As he said so, Alfie pulled your grey beret out of the large pocket of his trousers, holding it to have a good grip at the base of the razor blades that were sewn to the fabric. "You Peaky girl like to cut people with this right? So come on, threaten me again little bird, I dare you." He said with both of his eyebrows raised in a taunting expression.

"D'ya think you're scaring me? I'm not scared, I'm a Peaky Blinder and I'm going to make things clear again: you better kill me now because if you miss this chance, I'll fucking cut your face the next time we meet–" You didn't finish your sentence, your words replaced by a scream of pain when Alfie, without a single warning, slashed your arm with your peaky cap. Blood soon filled the gash and overflowed from it, soaking the white fabric of your shirt in a crimson stain.

"Go ahead, dove. Say it again." This time you remained silent, staring at him in horror. He had cut deep, deep enough for you to feel the sickening pulse of your own heart in the wound. Your refusal to obey led Alfie to burst into an unexpected rage. His face reddened, and his brows furrowed, casting their shadow eyes. With one strong and brutal movement, Alfie's free hand grabbed your face, his calloused fingers sinking into your cheeks until your jaw hurt. "SAY IT AGAIN AND I'LL CUT YOUR FUCKING WINGS!" He barked, a bit of spit spilled in his beard and bloodshot eyes staring at your very soul. "See, you don't stand a chance here my sweet dove. You're just a little girl playing gangsters". In an unsettling mood swing, his temper had gone quiet again.

"I'm not gonna kill you peaky girl, that would be too easy. I see your eyes, and what I see in them is that you ain't afraid of death and I reckon this is a trait I particularly fancy in someone. So what should I do with you? We might..." He made a short pause when he noticed a tiny detail he hadn't spotted before. Alfie's hazel grey eyes abandoned yours and dropped to your bosom where he could see the round shape of your hardened nipples pointing through the fabric of your shirt. Licking his lips, Alfie's iris darkened with mischief and something you never expected to witness in the eyes of an enemy – lust. An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine as the baker's smirk suddenly turned into a wicked and threatening smile, "I know, dove. I know what I'm going to do with you. Everything's clear in my mind". A sparkle of pure madness enlightened his face, just like an artist struck by inspiration. With his words followed his hand, that came meeting your trembling body. His strong palm roamed all over you, the friction it created snatching a whimper from your tight throat while you understood his obscene plans.

"No, no! Please! Alfie--" You wanted to scream but you couldn't, petrified from the moment his fingers trailed down your belly and ended their exploration between your legs. The noisy juggling of the chains you produced by struggling sounded like a melody in Alfie's ears, who hummed in satisfaction at your cunt's warmth he could feel through the fabric of your trousers. His fingers pressed a bit more against your core, shooting a wave of forbidden arousal through your entire body and making your legs shake.

"You're in heat, lil' dove." He noted with an amused tone before closing the distance between your ear and his lips. You squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming scratching sensation of his gruff beard against your skin and the blazing blast of his breath. The room spun as you found yourself intoxicated by the fragrance of his cologne. Musky, and with a dab of cedarwood. His scent was as raw and wild as him. "I'm pretty sure you're all wet, aren't you?" He cooed in your ear. His rough fingers, applying pressure at the exact spot where your throbbing clit was, started to rub it in slow and circular motions. As much as you hated the thought of it, his skillful caresses lit a fire of desire within you, so much that you felt your own wetness soaking your panties, "How long since a man stretched that lonely pussy?"

"Don't touch me!" You growled, but as convincing as you had tried to sound convincing you still failed judging by how Alfie's brow arched. He let out a dark chuckle. Doing the exact opposite, his fingers kept fondling your sensitive bud but this time his wet and warm tongue licked your neck just like a predator would do to get a first taste of his freshly caught prey.

"Oh I'm not gonna touch you dove." The muffled sound of your cap falling on the concrete ground made you open your eyes again. You had barely lifted your eyelids when your gaze met Alfie's other hand, who was kneading his massive bulge. As afraid as you were, you could not help but let out a soft yet needy moan "I'm not gonna touch you. What I'm going to do cannot be described, no no it can't because I don't want God to hear it. What I can tell you though is that you'll never come back to Birmingham once you'll know the feeling of my cock buried deep inside you." His words' immediate effects upon you had your teased pussy clenching onto nothing and reminding you how desperately empty you were. An emptiness Tommy would never fill, "Are you thinking about him now?"

You weren't.

Alfie didn't need you to answer, for the way you brought your hips closer to his fingers and grind against them was enough. The mad baker's mouth sucked on the sensitive flesh of your neck, pinching it between his lips to leave a bright red mark on you, claiming his newly acquired property. All these sensations soon became unbearable: the friction of your shirt against your erected tits, the cold bite of the handcuffs on your wrists, and the increasingly faster rubbing of your clit destroyed what remained of your will of fighting. Never in your life you had been touched for you had always kept your virginity unspoiled for Thomas. A stupid and fruitless devotion.

You gave in to the pleasure and surprised yourself by thinking about how big Alfie's dick looked, unable to look anywhere else.

"Don't s-stop." You muttered under your breath, your climax building as Alfie kept assaulting your sweet bundle of nerves: he was nothing but gentle with it, almost hurting you with how rough he rubbed you. With your mouth parted and your breath quickening, you felt the delightful warmth of an orgasm coming but, all of sudden, Alfie stopped.

"Enough for today. We'll see if you deserve more tomorrow." He said.

If you have appreciated what you've just read please take the time to reblog and/or comment. Your reactions are the real fuel and motivation of writers.

tags: @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @mollybegger-blog @hwangrimi @munson24 @tommyshelbywhore @devotedlyshadowytheorist @stevie75 @brummiereader @triplethreat77 @sebastianstangirl01 1 @izzy10369 @kimvolturicullen @peakyltd

[yanderes-galore]

Misa/Rem (Death note) Platonic/Romantic Team up Misa friends darling 🪲 [Shiny Bug Anon]

Yeesh... as if having one yandere isn't bad enough. You also get the supernatural enabling her. If Rem's character is off, it's because it's been a bit since I've seen the source material.

Yandere! Misa Amane + Rem with Friend! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic - "Sharing"

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Murder, Possessive behavior/Jealousy, Isolation, Dubious companionship/relationship.

Alright, this is my idea for the pair dynamic.

The primary yandere is Misa as you both are friends.

She can either be romantic or platonic, but it's clear Misa is... attached.

Even more so if you were friends before her modeling career.

Now she has to deal with all these creeps...

But at least she has you, right?

When it comes to Rem, I feel Rem is more of a guardian to the both of you.

Not only that but... The Shinigami sees how happy you make Misa.

Rem never liked Light using Misa.

Rem thinks the girl deserves someone who actually cares for her.

Rem believes you are that person.

Due to this I can see Rem... encouraging Misa's obsession once she shifts her attention to you.

She just seems so much... happier with you.

As we all know, Rem cares for Misa, even if it's against the rules for Shinigami to feel such a way.

If you make Misa happy... Rem will do anything to preserve that.

If you think about it... such a team up is terrifying.

It would be different from Light and Ryuk, as Ryuk could care less about Light compared to Rem and Misa.

Not only do you have Misa, who already has obsessive behavior without me needing to do anything, on your trail...

But she has a Shinigami aiding her.

It's... unfair for you.

Misa is a very hyperactive person, often childish and cheerful.

Due to how she acts around people, I can see her being clingy with you as her friend.

She often calls you on the phone... or visits your home.

I can see Misa talking the ear off her obsession.

She's someone who adores your attention.

Even more so if her obsession isn't platonic... or changing over from platonic....

It's canonical that Misa doesn't put much meaning on life.

As a Death Note user, all it takes is a name and a face for someone to die.

Plus, she's had her life saved countless times.

She's been known to kill to get her way in canon.

All thanks to help from Rem.

The scariest part about this match up is the fact you have no idea Rem exists.

Rem, who is no doubt helping keep you in Misa's grasp, is beyond your comprehension without touching the Death Note.

Rem's view of you isn't entirely adoration like how she feels towards Misa.

In fact, Rem is mostly doing this for Misa.

So, if Misa rants about you liking someone else or spending time with someone else, I can see the two easily getting rid of the person.

Nothing should threaten Misa's happiness.

The same would go for you if you decide to try and leave Misa.

I can see Rem helping Misa get closer to you.

You constantly feel like you're being watched... which could be by either of them.

No one around you is safe because of the whole Shinigami eye deal.

You'd have no clue that Misa is the one isolating you.

Misa doesn't seem as cunning as Light... yet she's still be able to keep other people away from you with help from Rem.

So... There's no choice but for you to hang out with your friend, right...?

Misa is thankful Rem cares enough to help her.

All the scary deaths and missing people no doubt make you stick close to her.

Safety in groups, right?

Plus, surely you're concerned for her too?

You're blissfully unaware that your modeling friend is manipulating you by killing off those around you.

Honestly, the only way you'd learn of this fact is if you touched the Death Note.

Which is something that most likely won't happen... unless it's by accident or Misa wants it.

For example, maybe you get in a fight with Misa.

You two are quite close but you end up catching her being cruel and manipulative towards someone you talk to.

You argue about wanting space, only for Misa to impulsively thwack you with something after feeling hurt.

You pause, baffled she hit you...

Only to freeze when you see Rem staring down at you from behind Misa.

Once you're able to see Rem, I can see you being more attentive to Misa...

Who can blame you? You just found out your friend is connected to the supernatural...

You also find out your friend has been eliminating everyone you talk to that isn't her...

All thanks to that Shinigami behind her.

Safe to say, you're terrified, all the time.

Especially when Rem stalks you for Misa, whom eagerly wants to know what her friend is doing all the time.

There's no one to ask for help, who is there to ask for help...?

Misa would probably have them killed.

Probably finding the situation funny.

Unlike Light, she doesn't think all of her kills through.

If she wants them gone, they're gone.

Rem goes along with it because Misa's happy.

Rem is only fond of you because Misa is obsessed with you.

How could Rem not help when she sees the model cling to you whenever she sees you.

We already know through her interactions with Light that she gets jealous easily.

Now that she has Rem and the Death Note, it's not an issue!

They're dead before they're too close.

She has no problem with this, either.

Misa only seems to care about a few people.

Light, Rem, and you.

So... as you're very close to her... She naturally wants you all to herself.

It rough for you.

At some point, no doubt due to being intimidated by Rem, you give up finding new friends.

This thrills Misa.

Great! Now she doesn't have to worry about you forgetting about her.

She's always been your best friend.

If she isn't dating Light or no longer loves him, she could be your girlfriend too.

But... Either way works for her!

As long as you're hers, she couldn't be happier.

She's always giggling with you, saying how much she adores you, all while you're hoping Rem stays merciful.

Rem loves to see Misa happy... she always seems happy with you...

Which just means Rem will have to keep you two together, no matter what, it's what Misa would want....

[linderosse]

Hi! I love your art and your Wisdom AU. I have a question about it. Are you still keeping Legend and Fable siblings after Jojo said they weren’t related in the Q and A, or are you sticking with Linked Universe canon?

Thank you!!! Glad you like it!

Hm, I haven’t seen this Q&A! Can I get a link to it? :)

The reason some Zelda fans believe ALttP Link and Zelda are related is this:

Those are the dying words of Link’s uncle. Some English fans (Edit: choose to)(Edit: nowadays) believe the end of this sentence was supposed to be “sister,” since nothing else really fits (I’ve heard “soulmate” (Edit: or “destiny”) as an option, but it seems strange for Link’s uncle to be telling him who he’s supposed to end up with). Thus the headcanon of ALttP Link and Zelda being siblings.

The Japanese text is even more ambiguous, since it reads something along the lines of “You are the princess’s…” This means the line was probably meant to say something like “You are the princess’ only hope.” Unfortunately, this version doesn’t seem to work as well with the English translation, while the “sister” line still works with the Japanese text. The intention is different from the way some fans choose to interpret it. :)

To complicate matters further, the remake (2003) removed the line from that scene, although the line is still present elsewhere in the game— Blind the Bandit disguises himself as Link’s dying uncle and repeats the same lines, and he says the original phrase (Edit: ending with, “You are the princess’…”). The devs are definitely aware of the original line. (Edit: And they’ve fixed the translation, lol.)

So there’s the background info!

Now, on to the main part: regarding following LU canon. The truth is: I am already changing a few things from Linked Universe, the most important of which are these:

Legend and Fable are siblings

Tetra and Wind are not Phantom and Spirit

Shadow and the Four Swords manga are canon

Time and Wind (and other relevant characters) remember Hyrule Warriors

Why am I making these changes for my AU?

Discussed above!

I’m much more of a Spirit Tracks fan than Jojo seems to be :). And when considering the Zeldas, Phantom is markedly different from Tetra in both personality and skills. I’m sticking to LoZ canon over LU canon here. Phantom deserves to be her own character!

I’ve been a fan of the FSA manga for a decade and a half now, so it has long affected the way I see the Zelda series. I also love Shadow and Four’s history— it adds a unique twist to the classic Zelda formula. Shadow is therefore canon in Wielders of Wisdom and the parallel LU story, The Secrets We Keep. Expect Shadow’s backstory to play a role somewhere in the combined Wisdomverse :)

I’m new to the Hyrule Warriors fandom, but I love the connection it gives Warriors with Time and Wind— and other characters :). This is also going to be addressed in The Secrets We Keep. Check that out for more info!

Many of you who write/read fanfics for LU have seen these ideas before. Interpreting canon in different ways has always been an integral part of the Zelda fandom, because canon is itself can be contradictory. That’s one of the things that makes this fandom so fun <3.

And the most important thing is that these changes fit the story I want to tell better.

I’m going to do my best to stick to LU whenever possible, but I want to tell a fun, engaging story, and sometimes that will mean taking a different path: sometimes following LoZ canon more closely, sometimes interpreting things my own way :).

So, to answer your question: I will probably be keeping Legend and Fable as siblings. It’s a popular headcanon among fans. I believe the story I’m telling for Fable works better with other romantic interests for Legend. And I want to stress that he and Fable are just as fiercely loyal to each other.

That said, I definitely don’t mind if you believe differently! I don’t really emphasize romance anyways, and I’m not here to police the fandom. Please feel free to read the references to Legend calling Fable “sister” as friendship, or just ignore it, or whatever you wish! I don’t mind who you ship with who.

Only preference is: please don’t ship the Wielders with each other, since they’re canonically related by blood and spirit :). Other than that, anything goes as far as I’m concerned.

Anyways. This got really long, didn’t it?

I wanted to answer the question as thoroughly as I could. Please feel free to ask more questions, or stop by my quiet little art streams and ask me live if you want an immediate answer! I will always do my best to respond :)

You can find all previous responses under the tag: #lin responds !

[bohemian-nights]

It makes so frustrated and upset that so much of the hotd fandom is already rushing to claim that the it’s not racist to combine rhaena and nettles. I really want the showrunners to feel the backlash cuz maybe they might change it? But no ofc not. The bootlickers and delulus are in full force defending everything these showrunners do. Let me tell you though, if Daeron would be cut, the world would have split in half.

Sadly Nettles has never been a very popular character. Even before HOTD a lot of fans have ignored her, her characterization, her race (people only like to admit she’s Black when it’s time to replace her with someone else), her importance in the Dance, her importance to Daemon, and the broader implications of her character in the ASOIAF universe.

Shes been working an uphill battle since 2013 because she’s a Black female character in a fantasy novel.

In the ASOIAF universe she’s further marginalized because she’s a non-Valyrian lowborn orphan. She survives a war (with her dragon) where many more beloved characters perish. Whether people want to admit to it or not(most obviously don’t), she has an extremely close relationship with a desirable male character.

A relationship that gets in the way of another more popular ship (which is really the source of most of these fans “beef” with her), but the fandom's treatment of her has worsened thanks to the show's fanbase. Thus we have arrived at this point where people actively want her cut and merged with Rhaena..…who she has absolutely nothing in common with.

All I’ll say to the people who think Nettles must be cut in order to prop up Missy Anne give Rhaena “something to do” is that it really does not have to be this way.

If there is room enough to makeup characters, include every other dragonseed/secondary character and expand on their arcs, there is room enough to include the only canonical surviving dragonseed. There is room to include the only Black dragonseed.* There is room to include the only female dragonseed and the only non-Valyrian dragonseed and expand on Rhaena’s preexisting book arc.

*It doesn’t matter if Alyn and Addam are Black now or that Baela and Rhaena(who aren’t even Black, they are mixed) are Black-ish now, Nettles is the only Black book canon character and she’d still be the only non-Valyrian dragonseed.

I cannot stress this enough, even in regards to show canon, there is no good reason to cut Nettles and give her arc to Rhaena.

There can be more than a handful of “Black” characters in the show. There isn’t a limit to how many “Black” female characters they can have. Rhaena doesn’t need to be ride into battle on dragonback to be cool, interesting, and worth character exploration. Nor does Nettles need to be sacrificed in order to “give Rhaena something to do.”

Just like how Helaena and Rhaenyra, Ulf and Hugh, and Addam and Alyn all exist despite sharing the same gender and racial background, so can Nettles and Rhaena.

Y’all can’t have one set of rules for yourselves and another for us. That’s not how this will go down and y’all won’t gaslight your way out of this.

It’s no surprise though that the showrunners seem to share the fandoms sentiments. Nettles unfortunately gets in the way of the narrative (fanfiction) they are trying to tell. They don’t care if she’s axed as opposed to a character like Daeron (who shouldn’t be axed either, but he isn’t more important than Nettles) because Rhaena exists and she’s Black-ish now too.

Rhaena is seen as the “safe option” that will appease shippers while at the same time won’t have the majority of Black fans(the racial group, not the team) calling them out for their blantant misogynoir.

She doesn’t break the status quo. She doesn’t get in the way of a dry wonder bread ship. She doesn’t make Missy Anne look bad. She’s not a threat.

The amount of times Black female characters continuously get the short end of the stick and get treated like human garbage thanks to the showrunners and racist fandoms boils my blood, but you can’t point that out because then you are making it into “a race thing” and you’re being “ungrateful,” blah blah blah

Honestly unless the fandom magically stops being racist(yes it is racism if you think Nettles and Rhaena are one and the same or that Nettles isn’t needed anymore since the show has a whopping five “Black” characters), GRRM talks some sense into Ryan, or Ryan realizes the value in Nettles, don’t expect much.

I’m remaining hopeful that they aren’t stupid enough to cut her, but it’s best to just not give this show any views(that’s the one thing we have control of and the show isn’t even good so it’s not like anyone is missing anything).

[dude-wheres-my-ankheg]

Okay so thanks to the current chapter I'm working on, I've been asked about my Sorn/Nym head canons and I didn't know where to dump that wall of text so it's going here lolol enjoy my completely made up Sorn/Nym lore

So, ignoring the very fact that Larian decided to make them maddeningly contradictory by being "Seldarine" drow and having "fled the underdark due to the mistreatment of mens" as part of their backstory, I have made up my own shit.

Much of this is very loose and subject to change

From the drow specific dialogue, it's hinted that no they actually aren't from Menzoberranzan, which I've chosen to keep because it leads to a kinda funny moment with my OC. ANYWAY here are my extremely abridged Orlith HCs

History

So in my completely made up HCs, they were both born as commoners in a Lolthite city (not Menzo or Ust Natha, not decided which one) who, both being very headstrong and troublesome, left their family to make it on their own together. They quickly found a very effective method of getting by - Sorn seducing wealthy merchants so Nym could rob them blind while they were distracted. They were very successful like this for several years, a few close calls but nothing terrible, until The Incident (which I still need to properly work out).

Following The Incident which resulted in some imprisonment and jailbreak, the two decide to get proper jobs for a while, Sorn as an accountant and Nym working security for a local merchant (lol). However working mundane jobs only accentuated how poorly Sorn was treated, and Nym said they should go to the surface together instead. Sorn was initially worried but Nym had the idea that if they worked as courtesans they'd have an easier time - she had heard that drow were seen as beautiful and exotic by many surfacers, and such a role would make them seem less threatening and less likely to draw trouble.

This is how they both came to work at Sharess' Caress in Baldur's Gate. They both found that the work was less dangerous and more fun than most else they had done, and decided to stick with it, making names for themselves as two highly sought after (and expensive) courtesans.

Sorn

In my HCs, I imagine Sorn as vain, kinda simple, very sweet, and a great lover of numbers. idk, I can just see him laying face down on his bed, kicking his feet doing a sudoku as he waits for his next client. He was an excellent accountant and sometimes helps Mamzell Amira with the books. He loves the fine things in life, like good food and clothes, but loves nothing more than his sister.

Nym

I imagine Nym, underneath her courtesan persona, being a very capable and dangerous woman. Good with a knife and a lockpick, excellent at sneaking and getting places she shouldn't, easily talking her way out of situations. Out of the two of them, she is the quiet one and enjoys listening to Sorn waffle on as he does. Despite her dangerous capabilities, she's generally a good soul who would rather resolve issues peacefully. She would, however, do anything to defend her brother.

And the pair absolutely adore gossip. They truly are living their best lives in Sharess' Caress.

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

AO3 Wrapped!

thanks for the tag ant @malcolm-f-tucker :)

1) biggest surprise while writing this year?

double likewise, that i did any at all (and even so, only two things ended up actually getting published). i had really hoped i could get some work done on my philippines trip but didn’t expect the amount of people who’d be looking over my shoulder lmao. oh well

2) how many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year?

i currently have the hercolyn-wedding-from-douglas’-perspective fic in a state of stagnation that i hope to have some work on during these next few weeks, and there’s always the second part of the f1 au which i keep trying to get inspired to write but am genuinely failing at because i’m not keeping up with f1 as much as i was when i started the series (this is why longfic is not great for me lmao)

3) favorite character to write this year?

linda because i came to terms with the fact that i accidentally predicted too much of myself into her

4) the character that gave you the most trouble this year?

martin always gives me trouble because i feel like there’s an Established Notion of him that i’ve sat with since i first got into listening to cabin pressure, but that i don’t necessarily fit with nowadays. so his bits in siete canciones were always a little bit of a challenge

5) what’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

i want to go back to some therlinda because i think they’re fun to play around with. they’re so far removed from canon that it’s just very much like a kid in a sandbox.

6) did you receive any gifts this year?

no i was socially dead lol

7) did you do any collaborative works this year?

see prev 💀

8) what do you listen to while writing?

nothing, usually. maybe whatever’s on the local classical music station if i have to have sound. but music often turns out to be more of a distraction when i write

9) favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

from to split an orange, a passage that i wrote a little bit too close to home, but fits shipwright & fairbairn perfectly:

Where does professionalism fall into any of this, oranges aside? Where does professionalism fall into bidding to fly with a specific pilot almost every round because he seems to like you and you think he’s funny and maybe needs you to stick around? Or—well, that’s just silly, he’s a grown man, he doesn’t need you around, but sometimes he says something that implies that you somehow, despite everything, fill some kind of niche in a career that’s probably stretched longer than your own life, and that you are not as insignificant to him as you think you are.

Sometimes you’re the pilot flying and you’re at the beginning of the runway, and you’re advancing the throttles, and he puts a hand behind yours, and at first you were confused at the gesture until you realized very quickly that it’s probably a habit left over from an older plane, and he’s guarding against accidental throttle-back.

And sometimes you’ve just landed the plane, and you’re in line to taxi to the gate, and he’s just looking over at you, and he looks…proud, somehow. Fond, somehow. And it’s not like nobody has ever been proud or fond of you, and it’s probable that he’s been proud or fond of a first officer in the same way before; but from him, it’s just different. It’s not really like a father would, not like someone who just so happens to be higher up in the pecking order would, but…something else.

Sometimes you wonder how many people have left before.

Sometimes you wonder if that’s what makes you want to go along with…well. Everything.

opening this up to anyone of my mutuals who is writing fic rn… i’m not in tune with who is, otherwise i would be more specific 😭

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

20 and 21 for ghostbur :]

Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

This question makes me a little sad because Ghostbur really didn’t have… much of any good, true friends during his life. He had Friend, of course, and Tommy, but everyone else didn’t seem to actually care much about him :/ People like Ranboo and Phil even seemed happy when he died. It’s just really sad to me.

In another universe, Ghostbur would’ve been soooooo loved & cherished and he would’ve had sooooo many wonderful friends who deeply loved him :’)

But! To answer the question aksgajsgajsg I must give Two answers: Friend and Charlie Slimecicle.

Friend and Ghostbur’s close bond is very canon, and for good reason!! They’re freakin adorable! The way Friend chooses to stick with his human, even though sheep are flock animals and almost always prefer to be with other sheep… 🥺 And the way Ghostbur always, always, always searches for his sheep when he gets lost or loses a life, and never once gives up the search until he finds Friend… 🥺 PLEASE. THE DEVOTION!!!

Friend also really really helps Ghostbur with his mental issues, and has a very calming effect on the ghost—super similar to a service pet! I think it’s such a neat relationship and, even though Friend is an animal and not a fellow human, his and Ghostbur’s friendship really is so sweet and just… filled to the brim with love <3 Strong, devotional love and it’s so wholesome.

I really think Charlie and Ghostbur would’ve been so good for each other 😭 Their personalities are so similar and I think they’d relate on a lot of things!! Even their speech patterns are similar 😅 IT PAINS ME THAT THEY NEVER GOT ANY CANON INTERACTIONS. OH WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN.

Oh my gosh I could totally see these two becoming close and really getting to know & trust each other and and and 🥺 Oh… what could have been, truly.

If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

OOOOOOOH

Okayokay, let me think about this for a moment… oh this is such an interesting question. Oh yes.

I really adore Ghostbur’s perspective/worldview, and it’s so pleasant to write :) Whether it comes through in his dialogue or I’m just describing what he’s thinking about, he’s got such a clearly unique point of view, and it’s a joy to write!! Seriously such a pleasure! Ghostbur is a lovely soul with a lovely mind, and it’s really cool to kind of… I guess see it for myself through writing. It’s really awesome :)

The way he thinks is so sweet and simple and hopeful and poetic, but there’s also a deepness that’s so striking and thought-provoking—and, often, deep deep layers of sadness & emotional turmoil as well. It all blends together in SUCH a beautiful way, and just… dudeeee. Ghostbur is the Best little guy <33

As for things I don’t like… hm. I don’t know if I can come up with anything specific :0 I guess I’m always a little worried that I’m writing him wrong, or making him either “too childish” or “too serious” or whatever. It’s nothing too bad though, and for the most part I really do enjoy writing him!

[editrevue]

Mei Fan for the ask game?

this is going to be super indulgent apologies in advance! [ask]

Sexuality Headcanon: lesbian! silly yachiyo enthusiast

Gender Headcanon: he/him transmasc! would also love neopronouns

A ship I have with said character: YACHIYO x MEI FAN RUNS THROUGH MY BLOOD. live laugh love yachimei. big shoutout to whoever sent the ychm headcanons ask btw we cannot wait to post those hehehe! oh and Mei Fan and Akira....... maybe as a treat. just once. let me live in my fantasy land of make-believe

A BROTP I have with said character: Mei Fan/Rui!! they can bond and relate over gender things and how they're like opposite in that way (Rui being transfemme and Mei Fan being transmasc), their different styles of fighting in acting, and their extreme attachments and idolization for their senpais/partners. I'm so serious when I say Mei Fan/Chitose, they'd love to embarrass Yachiyo together and bond over both wanting the best for her. he would be Chitose's first friend outside of Yachiyo (and Shiori?), and that would mean a lot to both of them. I love how Mei Fan and Shizuha interact in the stage plays too which makes me think he would get along with Frontier very easily, and then of course, it goes without saying but Mei Fan & the Edels as an entirety! they're all best friends and family to me, yes even Fumi. (looks at you with goopy-eyes)

just like Ichie, Mei Fan is another character I see getting along so well with almost everyone it's hard to narrow it down! it's canon that he is the "easiest Edel to talk to" according to siegfeld students, so take that however you like!

A NOTP I have with said character: like all of them, nothing gross or weird (obviously!), I also wouldn't prefer Mei Fan/Shiori, they're more like family to me and I also am both of them so it feels so weird. maybe Mei Fan/Fumi, Mei Fan/Michiru? shrug.

A random headcanon: Mei Fan loves to help out the Juniors with Shiori and Yachiyo, and has taken Kuina under his wing! all of the edels have their "assigned junior" in my brain. Akira was actually Mei Fan's gay awakening, she wasn't just an inspiration to enroll in Siegfeld to further pursue acting. Mei Fan is very autistic, has a lot of vocal stims, and gacha games/toy capsules are more than just a hobby, it's a special interest! whenever he gets duplicates he shares them with Yachiyo, Shiori, or anybody else he's close to. the plush keychains on his uniform are comfort items and he gets really nervous when they're not around. and that's why the textures of certain foods make him really uncomfortable! and i'll do one more for now, he would definitely especially at the start of everything before getting closer to everyone, sprinkle in really impressive big words to try fitting into the prestigious vibe of the school and to showcase his growing fluency in learning japanese. which would make some conversations awkward (endearingly) and make michiru very annoyed LMAO

General Opinion over said character: i don't want to make the same joke twice but it's embarrassing that tamao tomoe and liu mei fan are my two highest kins from revue starlight. what does that say about me. asking for a friend. but no fr!! i wish mei fan got more love out of the edels; mei fan and michiru seem to get the short end of the stick when it comes to siegfeld specifically and it's sad! they all are wonderful and deserve the attention, and i'm totally on board with akira and yachiyo being the most popular (as fan club president...) but i've noticed they don't make a lot of mei fan cards compared to the others, there are a lot of roles he's played that aren't in the game (romeo, white rabbit, sun wukong, a dragon, etc) but I hope to see Sun Wukong for the birthday!! coming up very soon!! long rambling aside, mei fan is so silly. perhaps the silliest and i think it's really nice that you sent this in for me to answer! <3

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT NOTHING

Before they can judge whether you've built a good x, they have less reputation to protect. After ten weeks' work the three friends have an idea—either an idea for something they might build, or simply the idea let's start a company. 6 is starting to appear in the mainstream. You could have both now. None of them are fairly close to Lisp. You don't build a silicon valley becomes: who are the 5 who've influenced me most? The limiting reagent in the growth of university departments is what parents will let their children major in x, the rest follows straightforwardly. Expressing ideas helps to form them. In that case, in the sense that architects have to design buildings that don't fall down, but the most successful companies we've funded so far, and they also have more brand to preserve. Angels are individual rich people.

Certainly. The most dramatic change, I predict, is that there is now potentially an actual audience for our work. I have never seen any of ITA's code, but according to one of their apartments at first, and that's why we even hear about new, indy languages like Perl and Python because people are using them to write Windows apps, but because if other investors are all subject to the same forces. Fortunately there is a big bias toward writing the application in the same way. For millennia that was the canonical example of a job someone had to do without. Because fundraising is so distracting, a startup should either be in fundraising mode. Losing, for example, by going to work for Intel. But if it isn't set because you haven't closed anyone yet, and they tend to write it yourself, then all that code is doing nothing but make your manual thick. And yet these ideas turn out to be a startup.

There has been a lot written lately about the creative class—you probably have to ban large development projects. So they invested in new Internet startups. GMail, but fast, that alone would let you start to get the wrong answers. But it will happen, and it doesn't have the side effect of making your whole country poor. Nothing seems to stick. But as knowledge has grown more specialized, there are more and more desirable things. You can write little glue programs in Lisp too I use it when I get close to a deadline.

What hard liquor, cigarettes, heroin, and crack have in common is that we invest in the initial phases of a startup idea. When everyone wants you, it's hard not to let it go to your head. Wouldn't it work to have the government, or some large almost-government organization like Fannie Mae, do the venture investing instead of private funds? So you get a call from a VC firm, you shouldn't meet even if you are a Lisp hacker. In fact investors who reject you are some of your warmest leads for future fundraising. To attract the young, a town that has attractions other than the university. They reject nearly everyone they talk to, which means in the average case bad advice. Cambridge seemed to have the government, or some large almost-government employees to do the unpleasant jobs. The nine ideas are, in order of how much they want you to sell them more of your company. Number 1, languages vary in power.

You're rolling the dice again, whether you like it or dislike it. But in practice innovations were so rare that they weren't written the way we'd been taught to write essays at all. Except instead of being dragged sideways into a discussion of price. But the students writing them don't realize they're using the same structure as the articles they read in Cosmopolitan. Though you can focus on different plans when talking to different types of solutions to this problem would be to anyone else who felt uneasy about apparently forgetting so much they'd read. Gradually through word of mouth they start to talk about it. So seed investors usually care less about the idea of work still included a large component of pain. But not everyone wants to answer. How do you find surprises? Between them, these two facts are literally a recipe for making money. There's a scene in Being John Malkovich where the nerdy hero encounters a very attractive, sophisticated woman. If you don't know what you're going to be.

[husbandohunter]

You know ur small predicament post?? you should make a reverse version where s/o is smaller!

A Smaller Predicament [Genshin Impact x Smol!Reader]

Characters: Scaramouche, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Xiao, Zhongli, Albedo

Synopsis: Not only did you shrink, you went pocket sized as well!

(A sequel to "A Small Predicament")

(A/n): Sorry for the long wait anon, and I kind of added a twist to the scenario for more diversity hahaha hope you don't mind >_<. And why is Childe the poster boy for this series lmao.

------------

Childe

When Childe walks in, he doesn't see you....until he looked down. He almost crunched you beneath his feet if it weren't for your constant flailing of arms and screeching voice. He blanks out for a hot minute as you clung onto his toes, doesn't dare to move an inch because he's so petrified (even though there's nothing to be afraid of??). But honestly if Childe moved right now, he might accidentally flail you to the side and that's the last thing he wants.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU??" He screamed so loud it nearly blew you out of proportion. Seems like he's going to have alot of adjusting to do. Childe is a tall man (canonically the tallest) and he knows how impulsive he can get which is why he bought a handmade dollhouse from one of the Liyue merchants for you to stay in.

Though there's something about your tiny size that makes his heart flutter. With your face so small with a pair of eyes far too big, *clutches chest* "My oujo-chan is so cute" -Childe probably. He won't stop saying them over again and you were growing tired of his gushing reactions. He can't help it. He wants to spoil you rotten. You fit right onto the flat of his palms, the way you just snuggle up againts his finger and he just- swoons, might tear up (bruh).

Toys may be for kids but for Childe it was now his favourite pass time. While you navigate around the wooden dollhouse, he pitches in by moving around the furniture to make it easier for you. Offers to carry you through the rooms like a personal elevator. And please, please let him tuck you to bed. He has to pinch his fingers to grab the blanket. It's so adorable to him.

Loves it when you snuggle up against his collar. He thinks it would be the best area for you to be nearby him since the risk of you getting hit by anything (or him) by accident is very slim chance. Sometimes he pulls up his collar so that you're more comfortable and cradled within. He would have to avert his eyes down rather than turning his head if he wanted to look at you otherwise you'd be hit by his chin and that would hurt.

The poking sensation with you by his neck can bother him since he's veeeery tickilish there. Plus, Childe can get easily sweaty so have fun with that.

You have a feeling that he wasn't so pleased when you transformed back. You might be right. Actually, you are right. He secretly has an extra potion hidden somewhere...just in case.

Diluc

Mortified, his soul just left his body. To think things couldn't get any worse ever since he turned into a child to the point no one took him seriously, now you're literally the size of an apple. Oh god what if his bird suddenly swoops in and gobbles you right up? Or the wrath of the wind comes by, swirling you away towards a tornado. Needless to say, Diluc grew paranoid over your well-being ever since.

Due to your extremely small size, he will ensure that you are supervised by him (except at night where he has places to go). In otherwords, you're slipped into the inner pocket of his coat. It's super warm, you can fall asleep (and feel his heartbeat awww). Diluc doesn't like keeping you in places where people can see you, it would be too easy for outer things to access your tiny form (or maybe he secretly likes the feeling of you in his pocket.)

And he's such a gentleman about it. You noticed how careful he moves among his footsteps because he's worried that you might get dizzy. Diluc guards the pocket at close parameter, keeping an eye on things so he won't bump into them. As if he was treading on thin ice (you even suggested it was best to leave you home but he's too overprotective for his own good).

You're like his little assistant. Diluc does so much paperwork through out the day and although the act was small, he finds it endearing how you would help bring the papers back to it's rightful pile or pushing the ink bowl towards him. Or during his shifts at Angel's Share, crawling around the glass utensils and trying to find a specific wine beverage on his shelf. Of course that only happens when the shop is closed, how is he going to explain to his patrons that you shrank and now live in his pocket?

He dislikes the thought of you wandering too far. It's so easy for you to get lost especially when the mansion is so large.

At night you now sleep atop the fluff of the pillow. Diluc is a calm sleeper so he won't have to worry about hitting into you. However he radiates warmth so you just subconicously roll towards to his face. He usually wakes up with you sprawled over his nose. He can hardly breath (careful, he might just sneeze too).

This all happened because of the experiements you participated with Albedo. Diluc ensures that doesn't happen again. It will take some tencaious effort to convince him otherwise.

Scaramouche

Fuck this guy. He treats you like his new pet, a new toy (though you technically are one). He has this arrogant, smug and sadistic look as if he was a predator looking at his prey and grabs you by the collar before dangling you up in the air.

"Hmph, looks like the tables have turned," he says while toying with your state. You tell him he's just angry because he's short himself and mad that everyone else in the Fatui organization is taller than him. Scaramouche demon face activated. He's about to devour you. (Maybe you should keep your mouth shut this time. Honestly your relationship with him is pretty weird).

His hat is so fun to play with. You'd swing around like Tarzan using the strings that were hanging from it. His head was your playground now which annoys him to an enourmous extent because it makes him look ridiculous. Scaramouche will have a hard time catching you since you move around so much. Climb around him, especially the back of his neck. He'll start wheezing when you tickle him there.

The type to put you in a box but also the type to keep you on his shoulders. Being relied on makes him feel taller (lmfao). Scaramouche seemse to have developed a habit to poke your cheeks whenever he needed your attention and you bit him back once when he pushed too hard that you nearly fell off. Despite your size, your teeth still hurt. He threatens to put you back into the box if you don't behave and the outcome ends with a full out brawl as he tries to grab you again while you run around, pulling the strands of his hair to climb on top of his hat. (This is literally Tom and Jerry wtf.)

After transforming back, he outwardly admits his disappointmen. Scaramouche says it suits you better (when he actually meant that he highly prefers you small). You marked his words, keeping an extra vial for your own entertainment in the near future.

Xiao

Xiao was face-palming against his forehead real hard about this. For the love of Rex Lapis, what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time? First it was the child incident, now you're the size of his finger? Good grief, looks like he will have to keep an eye on you from now on but at the same time he's scared to get too close, you are nothing but a tiny mortal in which he would have to double his effort to look after.

He lets you sit at the crown of his head rather than anywhere else. You insisted since it was easier to see everything at a nice distance (plus he's short so you won't have to worry about him bumping into door frames). You noticed that Xiao also has a little strand sticking out from the center (ahoge) and you sometimes grab onto it for stability. Turns out he's quite sensitive there and winces when you pull too hard.

For the remaining week as the antedote was being prepared, Xiao became extremely aggressive over your well-being, he looks as if he's ready to massacre everything in his way...which he did. Clears out the monsters off the path before going on daily strolls with you, you wouldn't have to lift a finger from now on. No one except for him is allowed to hold you unless they're a trustworthy person. You could feel his sharp eyes glued on you like a hawk when walking into the grasp of Zhongli's hand.

You once accidentally tripped into his almond tofu when he wasn't looking and he almost ate you. Turns out being small made his job as your gaurdian ten times harder (especially when you're the clumsy type). If you were to fall off the table, he would have to catch you right? Xiao often bumps into furnitures in the process...ouch!

He's very soft. It's all over his forehead, his mouth, his eyes. When he looks at you, his tense eatures melted away and there's an invisible fondness over them as he cradles you in his palm. The way you snuggle in them is lke the most precious thing in the world.

When you turn back, there's a wave of relief. He was really stressed out you know?

Zhongli

His first thought is to get you as far as he can from the Funeral Parlour before Hu Tao finds you. Who knows what that child might have in mind. Zhongli takes one of his empty tea pots and urges you to go inside, or carries a tea cup with you in it, he likes placing you on objects while carrying you around.

Zhongli realizes that you can no longer use the household items like before so he has to remake them to your standards- especially when he realized he doesn't have the mora to buy you a dollhouse. He improvises. Takes a handkerchief to make your blanket, his cups for your bathtub, Zhongli had to cut the foot into byte-sized too. But in terms of clothes, well he had to make them as well. Living thousands of years would mean he would have lot of experience. Sewing was one of them luckily. But that would mean he has to take your measurements as well. In the end, most of the things he made were dresses since they were alot easier.

You like to sneak in between his shirt and his vest tucked behind the coat he wears. Unfortunately Zhongli doesn't seem to have visible pockets (most likely the reason why he doesn't carry mora either), though if you don't hold on tight you might just slip down his vest and right to his stomach. It makes him chuckle when that happens even if the amount of effort to get you out took more than he thought since his attire is quite complicated to put on. If you really want to climb on him, he'll find a seperate pouch (but realizes it won't be a good idea when there's alot of pick-pocketers in Liyue streets).

All of a sudden he reads you bedtime stories. It's some sort of inner instinct that tells him he's taking care of a child now (he's right though). You realized that his voice was equivalent to a thunder's roar due to size difference. He would have to whisper now.

It will always be part of his precious memories when you turned pocket-sized. Zhongli still keeps the clothing he made somewhere in his closets too.

Kaeya

Amused by this eventful situation. Absolutely thrilled! He's not evil like Scaramouche but this new version of his s/o is both adorable and fun at the same time. You're so easy to tickle, just one poke using his finger against your hips makes you yelp. Sometimes he twirls your hair or taps your forehead gently despite your protest, he's so handsy like always in an affectionate yet annoying way.

Kaeya picks you up and places you among the fluffy comfort of his feathery scarf. You sneezed, the last time he cleaned it was before he went on a mission with the knights. Though you have to admit, it's the best feeling in the world. It's so soft you might sink deeper into the fabric. He likes to put you in places where he can talk to you easily, sometimes on the table while he downs on his wine. Normally you have to take the bottle away before it gets too much, now you have to push it away which he finds very entertaining at your futile attempts.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" you tell him. Since you turned byte-sized, he can't seem to stop playing around. Takes his two fingers and pretends they're legs walking across the surface. You would turn around and he halts, Kaeya sends you his signature grin. When he promises that he wouldn't do anything funny, you would let him hold you. Since hugs are out of the equation, Kaeya gives you his finger instead to wrap your arms around. He can't get enough seeing you like this, things he couldn't do when you were normal-sized. he enjoys your reactions way too much.

His favourite pass time is helping you brush your hair because the hairbursh is too big for you to handle. Kaeya ensure he's handling things delicately but he would love to help style it for you as well. Pretty please? At this point one request turns to another because he's having way too much fun. But it couldn't be helped since you would need his assistance in almost everything so there's really no escaping.

You were so happy when things were normal again but Kaeya would bring this up again during your conversations (how next time he would like to put you in his drinks while you're wearing a swim suit).

Albedo

Legit blurted out if he could put you on a hamster wheel.

What about trying out the little maze he just made?

Or participating in a race against slimes of different elements?

No? Okay, then he'll just turn you back.

Albedo isn't going deal with this as along as he can help it (especially when he remembers what Klee did to him when he turned small.)

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Survivor Blues

Part One : Fight or Flight 

A/N: I am equally excited and terrified to finally be sharing this story, but here goes nothing! This has been in the works for close to a whole ass year now, and it all started when @something-tofightfor sent me a link to the cutscenes of TLOU I & II, casually suggesting I “get to know Joel Miller”, which lead to me having the strongest reaction to a fictional character that I have had in AGES, having a little emotional breakdown about it, and then immediately diving into a google doc to do something with all of my emotions. This is the result. I want to warn you that it does stick to canon timelines as well as themes, so the same darkness and danger that was present throughout the games is still (mostly) in tact here. It’s not a straight up angst pile, but you’re certainly going to have to buckle up if you choose to get on this ride. You’ve been warned. (please enjoy!!) 

Warnings: language, violence, death, apocalyptic themes, mother effing mushroom headed freaks, mentions of illnesses, brief mention of sexual assault - no description whatsoever (please feel free to ask me before  reading if you are unsure)

Word Count : 5,145 

Summary: Twenty-four years after the cordyceps outbreak ravaged the world, you find yourself wondering what could possibly be left for you that was worth fighting for. Lost, alone and having seen better days, you just want to find a place to rest. You end up finding more than you bargained for - or more accurately, more than you bargained for ends up finding you. 

SPRING 

April - 2037

You’d been making your way through the trees, boot soles landing one in front of the other over mostly melted snow and muddy terrain when you felt it - the eerie tingle that started near the base of your skull and traveled down your spine, telling you that something was wrong. The hair stood up on the back of your neck and you froze, eyes  widening to try to locate what had triggered your innate sixth sense. Though sometimes the foreboding came well before the danger was visible leaving you to warily wonder what to be on the lookout for, this was not one of those times. 

As you carefully scanned the landscape ahead of you, you saw them. Stalkers, judging by the way that they were moving and the low croaking sounds you could hear them making, two of them. 

Crouching behind a boulder before they spotted you, you swore to yourself. It had been a long time since you’d dealt with any infected at this phase, most of the ones you’d dispatched in the past few years either well beyond this stage of the cordyceps infection or else still freshly turned. These still had their sight, could employ strategic attacks, and were physically strong, and you were not looking forward to a confrontation with them. But they were wandering through a clearing roughly fifty yards away and directly in your path, blocking you from where you hid and the abandoned house you were hoping to find supplies in, so you were faced with an ultimatum: turn away and hope that your retreat would go unnoticed - and that you would soon find another place to seek shelter and much needed supplies - or stand your ground and take them out. 

Fight or flight. 

Those were the choices that almost everything in the world came down to anymore. Every decision you made was weighed on that scale, calculated by measuring risks against benefits. You had taken both routes at different times, depending on what the situation called for - fight when you had to or when it was one you could win, flight when running was the safer option. There was no such thing as dignity or pride when it came to these matters, only survival and protection, and you had fully adapted to that system years ago.

But now? You were tired. Bone tired, mentally exhausted, and neither seemed like the better option. It had been days since you’d eaten anything more substantial than dried berries and half a strip of squirrel jerky, weeks since you’d slept somewhere with a wall at your back or a roof over your head. You were desperate for a break, absolutely starving for just a spec of relief, and the thought of either engaging rogue stalkers in hand to hand combat or else rolling the dice and running away - possibly directly into another threat - made you want to crumble to dust or dissolve into tears. Before you could stuff your sleep deprived emotional response and make an intelligent choice, you were in motion, right hand grabbing for the pistol tucked into your jeans and whipping it out as you charged from behind the rock and directly towards the two creatures you’d spotted.   

Shit. 

You ruined it, the deep silence of the slowly thawing wilderness you were traveling through. With two quick pulls of your pointer finger, you had shattered the stillness that twenty years of societal decay and natural reclamation had brought to the neighborhood-turned forest you’d stumbled upon. Two deafening cracks sent a spray of blackbirds into the air from the branches they’d just begun to nest in, and then a pair of solid thuds hit the ground immediately after. Holding your breath, you waited for the world to swallow up the echo and go back to the quiet you’d interrupted, hoping the sound hadn’t carried down into the valley that you’d been skirting, or to any other infected that might be in the area. 

Gun still extended out in front of you, it shook in your hand. Why the fuck did I do that? You really shouldn’t have fired your gun. It wasn’t smart to make that much noise in unknown territory. Especially not when you were alone, and definitely not when you only had three bullets left. Why did I fucking do that? Adrenaline pulsed behind your eyeballs, your heart pounding in your chest as you failed to answer the question and strained to listen for the silence that would tell you that your mistake hadn’t been a costly one. 

Above the whoosh of blood in your ears though, instead of the thick quiet you’d hoped for, you heard a string of clicks and groans coming from just beyond where the two stalkers had been. Gritting your teeth, you watched as the hunched form of a clicker, its face grotesquely split in two by the growth eating through its skull, stepped out from behind a rusted out and overgrown car, another line of patterned sounds leaving it’s mouth as it searched for you. You blinked and willed your breathing to slow or at least to fall back into an even rhythm while you reassessed the situation and how best to move forward. You knew that if you stayed stock still the thing wouldn’t be able to find you and you’d be able to buy a few more seconds of time to make a plan. 

But it seemed that you were not done paying for lapse in good sense as yet another stalker ambled jerkily out from behind a dilapidated shed that you hadn’t seen at first. It's one bulging eye swiveled around and locked on to you almost instantly, and playing statue was suddenly no longer an option. Releasing a screech, the thing suddenly launched itself in your direction, leading its blind counterpart by sound.  

Oh, fuck. 

Gripping your gun with both hands to steady your aim, you waited until you had a clear shot on the faster of the two - the stalker - and took it as soon as it was clear. Just like the others, it went down hard and fast leaving only the clicker, but the echo of your weapon told the snarling thing exactly where you were. Having just fired your last bullet, you were down to the hunting knife tucked into your boot and any rocks or branches you could find to use in your defense. No matter what you’d have to get within reach of the creature to kill it, and that meant that it would be able to reach you, too. You knew that it was stronger than you were in that moment, that its crude drives could power its body far more forcibly and effectively than your depleted muscles could. Making a quick judgment call, you decided that you would have better luck trying to get past it unscathed. 

Without pausing to stow your pistol, you ran, gun still in hand, sprinting towards the house and trying to give the clicker in your way as wide a berth as you could. You knew that it would be on your heels as soon as it could find you again - a snapping twig or sliding gravel underfoot would give your position away eventually - and after a few strides it did. 

Damnit. 

You could hear the thing gnashing its teeth behind you as you leaped over one of the dead stalkers, and you did your best to keep your pace even as your body begged for you to stop. Every desperate gasp tore at your throat, the cold air searing your lungs as the sound of your own frenzied breathing filled your ears. Keep… Eyes on the ground a few feet ahead of you, you extended one leg to jump over a fallen tree trunk. Ignoring the splinter of pain that shot through your ankle and shin as you landed, you ran through it, as hard as you could. Keep moving. You sucked in another sharp gulp of chilled air, panting as your aching chest emptied, puffs of vapor bursting from your lips. Thighs burning with the caustic buildup of lactic acid, you let out a grunt and forced them to turn over again and again, denying your body’s demands for you to stop, to rest. 

I can’t. The thing behind you wasn’t stopping. The vacant shell of a person that was chasing you at breakneck speed wasn’t resting. Can’t stop. You knew what would happen if you did. If I stop I’ll die. Despite knowing that, you couldn’t keep the next question from cropping up. 

Would that be so bad? 

It was the worst possible time for you to have an existential crisis, but it happened nonetheless. Frost bitten leaves and blades of grass crunched under the treads of your boots as your oxygen deprived brain tried to offer you an out. You could stop. You could choose to let yourself get caught. Ducking under a low hanging branch without slowing down, you considered what it would mean to make that choice, to let twenty years of inevitably to finally catch up with you - to stop fighting and running altogether. 

For a long time it hadn’t been an option, stopping. Not while you had Kyle and Laura and the others to look out for, or Gavin to get back to- not when you still had a family. But you were alone now, and you had been for months. Alone, with no one counting on you or waiting for you or hoping you were safe. No one who needed you, no one who wanted you or loved you, no one to wrap your arms around or to wrap theirs around you. You were alone, and you were so tired. 

Would it be so bad? For it to be over? 

You weren’t even sure what scared you anymore, what drove you. When you were younger you wanted to be fearless, like the characters in your favorite books and movies. They were unafraid of tackling any obstacle, ready to run headlong into the fray and fight for what they believed in, to protect who and what they cared about. As a kid you’d always equated fearlessness with bravery. But now you knew that they weren’t the same. Bravery required something to fear. Being fearless, you’d realized, just meant that you had nothing at all. Nothing to protect or hope for, nothing to lose or have taken from you.  

Death had stopped scaring you years ago. Over the past two and a half decades you’d been forced into close quarters with it, becoming intimately acquainted with the inevitable. You’d fought with all you had to stay alive for the people you loved, but that became harder with each one that you lost. Your parents and your siblings, friends and coworkers and everyone you knew before the outbreak, then Ty, Ryan and Brayden, Gavin, Laura. By the time it was just you and Kyle, your only fear was turning. Not because you worried about what it was like to let the cordyceps infection take root in your brain. You’d seen it happen enough times to know that it was just like a switch being flipped - one minute the person was still in there, struggling against the takeover, and the next they were gone, all traces of who they were erased entirely. Compared to the years of degradation you’d watched your grandfather go through in his battle against Alzhiemer’s, it didn’t seem nearly as heartbreaking or traumatizing for the person being turned. The only reason you found that prospect terrifying was because you didn’t want anyone you cared about to be saddled with the moral burden of putting you down. But now you were free from  that fear, too, because there was no one left that you cared about, and no one left who cared about you. No one left to suffer your loss. 

Before you could convince yourself to surrender, the toe of your boot caught on a rock that was still snow covered and hidden, and you tumbled, rolling and skidding over the ground to land on your side. The thing chasing after you took advantage of your situation and closed in on you, and in those final seconds before its jaws snapped and caught your arm or shoulder or any other part of your body between them, your brain released one final reserve of energy and self-preservation. With a yell, you rolled to your back and reached for the handle of your blade, unsheathing it from your boot as you planted that same foot in the creature’s hip joint. Planting your other foot in the opposite hip, you used your legs as a frame to control the distance between you and your demise. When you were ready, you bent your knees to your chest, bringing the attacking clicker closer to you as you thrust your blade up under its chin, burying it to the hilt. 

The second your knife pierced the decayed bone and cut through the main stem of fungal growth that had replaced the former occupant’s brain, it became a limp sack of dead weight hovering over you. With a grunt, you kicked your legs straight again and pulled back on the handle of your blade, the defeated clicker slumping off of you as you turned your face to avoid the ooze of dark blood that leaked from its fatal wound. Panting, your chest caving in and expanding so rapidly you felt yourself going dizzy, you wanted to just lay there in the muddy snow. Your fingers were still curled around the leather straps wound around the knife’s grip, throbbing with how tightly you held it, and your limbs vibrated with overuse. 

But that last ditch effort of your survival instincts wasn’t done yet, that same thing that had taken over and handled the clicker screaming at you to get up, to get inside the house. It's right there, just a few more steps away. There might be something useful in there - food even, or fresh clothing. You haven’t seen anyone in weeks, that house might be untouched. It could be a gold mine. You could lay down in a bed. Just get up and get yourself inside. 

It wasn’t until you’d dragged yourself up to the second floor, sobbing through your soreness and fatigue, that you realized it was Gavin’s voice in your head, bargaining with you to keep going when all you wanted to do was quit, not your own. Limping and shuffling through the first of three doors at the top of the stairs, you shouldered the door open as tears streamed from your eyes. Of course it was him that would remind you to fight. Of course it was him that would urge you to keep fighting, even the memory of him was so strong that he wouldn’t let you quit. You fell into a shaking, sniffling heap on the dust covered bed, uncaring of the filth that coated your skin and the blankets you laid on. Reaching under your shirt, the fingers that had been clutching your knife closed around the chain that hung around your neck, the blade tucked back into your boot. You squeezed until you felt two smooth, round metallic bands pressing into your palm, and then you let go - of the rings, of your tears, of your consciousness - and let sleep fall fast and heavy over you. 

In your dreams, he came to you. Not just his voice, not just his insistence that you keep finding reasons to fight, things to live for, but him. Your Gavin. In your dreams, the world hadn’t ended twenty some odd years ago, and he wasn’t sick or weak. When you slept, you saw him, felt him the way you most loved to remember him - smiling and warm, grabbing your hand to twirl you through the kitchen before the restaurant opened or wrapping both arms around you to pull you down into the bed with him. In this particular visitation, he was sitting with his back to the trunk of the big maple tree that overlooked his grandfather’s farm, your spine pressed to his chest as the two of you watched the summer breeze sweep over the fields before it tickled your skin. You felt his lips at your ear as he whispered his love for you, felt the tips of his fingers flex against your body where he held you. “Don’t want to let you go,” he murmured, nuzzling into your hair. “Don’t want to say goodbye.”  

You turned to tell him that he didn’t have to, but instead of his face all you saw was the tree bark. Swiveling back around, you saw him standing in front of you instead. Hmm? How did he- 

Before you could piece together that this was a dream and that the laws of physics didn’t matter, Gavin knocked the toe of his sneaker against your foot, your heel rolling in the grass. “C’mon, time to get up.” 

“Uh-uh, Gav,” you protested, reaching your hands out to try to grasp his and urge him back down to the soft grass with you. “I want to stay here with you.” 

He gave you a sad smile and shook his head, toe knocking against your foot again. “You can’t, sugar. You can’t stay with me, you have to get up now.” 

Another nudge to your foot jogged you from the dream and dropped you back into your body, eyes flying open to see the muzzle of a rifle as it poked at your boot. Oh, shit. Adrenaline spiking again, you sucked in a breath as your heart pounded against your ribs. Gun. That’s a gun. Drawing your knees to your chest you sat straight with your back against the headboard and held your hands up, empty palms facing away from yourself, a slight shake in your fingers. Shit, what do I- Wincing, you swallowed the panic that threatened to rise and forced reason into your thoughts, convincing yourself that since you hadn’t been shot on sight, maybe the situation was worth trying to talk your way out of. 

Fight or flight… or surrender. 

You exhaled slowly and lifted your gaze to take in the figure of a broad shouldered man in a canvas coat, the weapon gripped in his gloved hands trained loosely on you though his trigger finger was relaxed, resting on the guard. His face was partly obscured by his gun, but you took in a pair of dark umber eyes weighing you with each blink, the bags beneath them sagging into his cheeks which disappeared under a graying beard. From the looks of him, he’d only been out on the road a day or two, jeans worn but clean, a scarf bundled around his neck and a bag strapped to his back that seemed full, as though he had packed it recently. He didn’t look hungry or ragged like you knew you must appear to him, but you didn’t know if that had any significance or if he’d just been lucky and happened upon a cache of food in another nearby house. Maybe he’s like me…just passing through, just looking for- 

“You’re gonna need to start talking.” His gruff voice broke the silence to make you realize that it wasn’t silent, a second pair of footsteps ascending the creaking staircase. Shit, there’s more of them. 

Nodding, you decided that the best course of action was to earn his trust, show him that you weren’t looking for confrontation. “There’s a knife in my boot and a gun in my bag.” You swallowed, eyes darting down to the pack that was on the floor next to the cot you occupied. “There’s no ammo in it, you can check.” 

“Which boot’s got the knife?” He asked, chin jutting out as the other pair of steps grew closer. 

“Right,” you answered quickly, licking your dry lips and extending your right leg out so that he could disarm you without having to come any closer. Using one hand, he found the handle of your hunting blade and carefully drew it from the sheath you had tucked between your shoe and your sock, dropping it behind him to clatter noisily on the floor. 

“You bit anywhere?” He stepped back, again putting space between him and you but blocking your path to the door. “Saw those infected out there. Any of ‘em get you?”

“No.” You crossed your arms over your chest. You knew he had to ask for his own safety. If you had been bitten, there might only be a few hours before you started devolving into a soulless vessel for the infection, before you turned and became a monster yourself. 

“You lyin’?” He pushed, though not any more aggressively than you would have if the situation was reversed. 

You swallowed, recalling a handful of times when you had come upon strangers that you weren’t expecting to find and how you’d actually been more aggressive than this man was when you’d questioned people. “No,” you answered again. Eyes moving to where he’d thrown your knife, you went on. “I would have taken care of things if I’d gotten bit.” A flash of understanding in his eyes told you that he got your meaning. You may have been out of ammunition for your gun, but if that clicker you’d dealt with had managed to sink its teeth into your flesh you would have followed the bite with your blade and ended things before the infection could take hold. “Look, I’m not… I just-” 

You stopped speaking as you heard the second person, another man, speak from the hallway. “Joel? What’s goin’ on in there?” He hurried into the room then. “I heard-” The second man’s eyes landed directly on you, widening as he took in the sight of the first man stooping to pull a small revolver from your backpack. “Well, shit.” You watched him tighten his grip on his own weapon even though he kept it lowered. “Who do we got here?”

“I dunno Tommy,” the first man, Joel, answered as he stood, returning his eyes to yours and tilting his head to one side so that the longer strands of his salty grayish hair flopped over his forehead. “We didn’t get that far.” 

“And we don’t have to go any farther.” You held your hands up in front of you again and proceeded carefully. “I was just… I needed to rest. I’m not looking for trouble or anything. I’m sorry if this is your place. I just… I’ll go. And you won’t see me again.” 

The two men looked at one another, silently conversing with their eyes and facial expressions, and you realized that they looked alike. The younger of the two had longer hair that was slightly lighter in color and struck through with fewer grays than the older one, but their bone structure was similar and their eyes were the same shade of brown. Brothers, some part of your subconscious told you, or cousins. Definitely family. You weren’t sure how or if you could use that information to get them to let you go, but you filed it nonetheless. You focused on listening for any signs of others but heard none, though you did catch a sound that you thought might have been the whinny of a horse. 

Before you could try to piece anything together, the younger man, Tommy, lowered his weapon to his side, Joel doing the same but kept his eyes trained on you. “You don’t have to high tail it now,” Tommy said, giving you a slight grin. “And forgive me for saying this ma’am but you look like fifty miles of bad road and if we let you go without offerin’ an alternative I’m fairly sure we’d be finding your corpse up here next time we come through, and that’s not what any of us want.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him and weighed the man’s words. You knew you looked like shit, and you knew that the two strange men who had stumbled upon you could probably tell that you hadn’t had a decent meal or a full night’s rest in far too long just by looking at you, so you knew that you couldn’t bluff and say that you weren’t in need of whatever they might be offering. But you’d also heard first hand about groups of men who sought out women just to have their way with them - you’d met Ty after she had escaped from one of those settlements, the woman never fully recovering from her time spent there. If that was what they were offering you, you’d take your chances with the infected. “Why should I trust you? I don’t know you. I really just… I needed a place to crash and-” 

“You need food.” Joel stated, head tilted to one side. “You’re a few days out from starving, I can see it on your face.” That shut you up, because you knew that he was right. “We have a place not far from here. It’s safe. There’s people, we have plenty of room.” He finally stowed his rifle back over his shoulder, completely disarming himself and locking eyes with you. “It's not just men, either. There’s women, kids.” He shook his head. “Long as you don’t try anything stupid, we’re not gonna hurt you.” 

You thought again about what they were offering. If they had wanted anything from you they had already had plenty of time to take it. If they’d wanted you dead you would be. “I…” You licked at your chapped lips and tried to come up with a reason not to accept their offer. But after the brush with mortality you’d just suffered and the heaviness of being alone at the end of the world, you simply couldn’t. “Alright,” you nodded. “Just-” 

“Alright then,” Tommy moved his head up and down one time and turned for the door as Joel stooped down to pick up the knife he’d taken from you along with your empty gun. He picked up your bag as well, putting both items inside and keeping a firm grip on it. You stood from the molded mattress and extended a hand out to take your things back from the man, but he clicked his tongue and shook his head. 

“I’m gonna hold onto these ‘til we get where we’re goin’. You’ll get ‘em back once everything’s sorted, yeah?” 

You didn’t see what choice you had so you sighed. “If you say so.” He gave you a look that said that he did in fact say so, and you nodded, realizing that he was waiting for you to follow the other man out of the room and down the stairs. “Alright.”  

His hefty footfalls followed your lighter ones as you descended the rotting steps that you’d somehow made it up without injuring yourself on, and then you were back outside, the late afternoon light already starting to fade. “Is it far?” You asked, turning to the man behind you. 

“Not too far,” he answered. “An hour maybe. We were out on a standard perimeter run when we heard gunshots up here and found you.” 

You felt yourself deflate a little at the thought of walking for an hour, especially when you realized that what you thought was the sound of a horse had actually been two horses - one for each of the men. Tommy was already sitting in his saddle when the two of you stepped up to where the second horse, a chestnut colored one with a long black mane, stood. “What’s the plan, Joel?” He looked down at you and then up at the other man as he too stepped into his stirrup and climbed atop his horse. 

“She can ride with me.” The man answered as he leaned forward, running his large palm over the horse’s shoulder before patting the animal twice. It wasn’t a suggestion so much as it was a decision, his tone firm and his eyes fixed securely on you as he sat back in his saddle. He wants me in front of him where he can see me. Smart. It was that more than anything that made you relax enough to start to trust him - he didn’t underestimate you, which meant that he wasn’t an idiot. 

The other man nodded once, clicking his tongue in his cheek. “Alright then.” Gripping the reins in his hands he pulled them, his horse turning so that the animal was facing the direction of what must have been a road at one point, the asphalt reduced to gravel by the tree roots that had broken through to reclaim it. “I’ll take lead since you got,” he waited until you had climbed up and taken your place in front of Joel the man’s large gloved hand closing securely around yours to help hoist you up and, then raised one eyebrow so that it disappeared under the hair that hung over his forehead. “Extra cargo.” 

You stiffened at that, narrowed eyes trained on the younger man as he turned. Cargo? I’m not… I’m a person. You remembered Ty telling you that the men who had kept her and the other women captive had often referred to them as cargo. People aren’t cargo. I - 

“He doesn’t mean it like that.” Joel’s voice came from behind you as though he could sense your unease at Tommy’s words. “He just meant since there’s two of us he’ll take point so I can keep an eye on you.” He reached around you to grab the reins, his thick arms coming around your body. “We done a lot of bad shit to survive, Tommy’n me.” You didn’t turn around, but you felt the movement as the man shook his head. “But we would never do what you’re thinkin’. I promise.” You felt yourself release some of the tension in your muscles and then he was speaking again. “You don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want to, but like I said. We’re not gonna hurt you. What we’ve got? The place we’re taking you? It’s safe, and all we’re tryin’ to do is help.” 

You thought for a few seconds about giving him a fake name but decided that there was no point in that. Giving him your real one, you thanked him for everything that he had said and all that the two men were offering, and though Tommy had been quicker to fall into a smile in front of you, you heard the barest hint that there was one on Joel’s face as he let out a stunted laugh. “Thank me once we’re in Jackson and you’ve met Maria.” 

With that he flicked the reins and the horse began to trot off in the direction Tommy had gone, leaving you to wonder exactly what was in store for you when you arrived.

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Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form on my masterlist! 

Tags: @something-tofightfor  @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @amb11 @mindidjarin @jk7789 @tentacruels 

[plus-size-reader]

Why

Cato Hadley x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2108 words

Warnings: none

Summary:  Reader is a tribute for the Hunger Games, no one thinks she’s going to make it until Cato steps in. The one thing you don’t understand is, Why does he care? 

Updated version of “Why Does He Care” an old fan favorite. 

—————————————————————————————————

They knew you wouldn’t win. 

It hadn’t even registered as a possibility in most of their minds, but that didn’t matter all that much. 

All the game makers cared about was that you made a show of it, and if you could, got stabbed in view of one of the thousands of cameras surrounding the arena.

That was all you had to do. 

You weren’t the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest that your district had to offer and everyone seemed to have already come to terms with the fact that you would be leaving the arena in a body bag.

They just didn’t see how a woman of your status and stature could ever hope to compete with others in the games. Against the Careers, a group of highly trained young people whose lives revolved around being able to win, you would surely meet your end. 

However, you weren’t going to just accept defeat right off the bat. 

Even if you didn’t win, you were going to put up one hell of a fight once that canon went off. You owed that to your family, and your district, and yourself. 

No one in their right mind wanted to participate in the Hunger Games,and you certainly didn’t want to either, but you had been chosen to represent your district and you weren’t going to shy away from the responsibility. 

At the very least, you had to try. 

If nothing else, the fact that no one believed in you could serve as an extra push, the push you would need to take down as many other tributes as possible in the process. 

You knew that you could do that. 

Though, that fire did sort of dull as soon as you walked into the large training room, surrounded by all the other tributes from all the other districts. Once you got a look at them up close, you were less sure of yourself than you had ever been. 

How quickly it had all changed.

From the moment you walked into that room, which was more of a cell of brushed aluminum and cool steel, you were forced to recon with the reality of the situation. 

This was happening. 

You were going to die. 

The way in which you would die wasn’t something you were all that fond of considering, but as best you could tell, the Career pack would be to blame. 

Stories of what they were capable of, training tirelessly to volunteer for their games and slaughter the competition were widespread all over Panem but you couldn’t have imagined how intimidating they were in real life. 

Each one of them was a skilled, and accurate, death machine and you had no chance of surviving an altercation with even the weakest among them, who you had ultimately decided was Glimmer. 

She was talented and smart but lacked the determination that the others had. 

Even in her case though, you could see what they always said about the Careers. They were raised to believe there was no other point to their lives other than to win the Hunger Games. 

If they didn’t win, they weren’t worth anything, not that it would matter. If they didn’t win, they would end up just the same as all the rest of you, in a shallow grave somewhere. 

That was just how it was. 

You did your best to keep to yourself at first, not wanting to elicit any more violence than absolutely necessary right off the bad. It was no secret to you that the other tributes didn’t take you seriously. 

The last thing you wanted was for them to try and prove themselves at your expense before you were out in that arena. 

Unfortunately, the other tributes, namely the Careers, had already made up their minds. In the few days that you had been training, they had been making fun of you the entire time.

For them, it was one big joke.

When they looked at you, it was clear that all they saw was the first person they were going to stick their swords into. They didn’t take you seriously at all and at this point, you weren’t even sure if you blamed them. 

Each time you threw a punch or swung your axe at a target, they hooted and hollered from their place on the sidelines and called you out for each imperfection they saw in your maneuvers, and they weren’t wrong. 

You had no idea what you were doing. 

This was all new for you, because where you were from, hand to hand combat just wasn’t something you would have ever come across. Before now, you hadn’t even seen most of the things in front of you here. 

You were out of your element.

By the end of the first week, you hadn’t even begun to make any progress. However, there was one thing that had changed and you couldn’t even pinpoint when or why it had happened. 

At some point, Cato had stopped criticizing you in the same way his compatriots were.

You weren’t sure why he would even bother, but seeing as you didn’t really talk to him, you couldn’t ask. It was much easier to just be silently grateful for the break, and try to focus on what you were doing. 

While it wasn’t looking good to start, you didn’t want to sabotage your chances of survival with any more wasted time.  

The other Careers had noticed the change in him too, but not one of them dared to comment on it, even if it didn’t make any sense to them. The anger that they would risk in doing so just wouldn’t be worth getting answers. 

Instead, they let him do whatever it was he was doing, waving it off as some kind of tactical maneuver. He knew what he was doing, and it wasn’t their place to ask too many questions and get him off his game. 

When Cato first headed in your direction, closing the vast distance between you on the training floor, you assumed that he was intent on proving to you just how out of place you were here. 

...But that couldn't have been farther from the truth. 

In truth, what Cato was doing was far from a tactical measure. More than anything, he just couldn’t bring himself to make fun of you anymore. 

He didn’t think that your weight alone was enough to warrant the constant abuse you were suffering. 

Besides, It was clear that you were putting in a lot of work to get better, which was more than most of the other tributes were doing. You weren’t going to take this lying down, which he could respect. 

From the looks of it, your technique just needed some polishing, and you would be just as good a fighter as anyone here, with the exception of himself.

“You need to strike higher” he prompted, coming out of nowhere and nearly shocking you out of your fighting stance. You had been so focused that you didn’t even hear him approach. 

Still, it didn’t occur to you that he might have been trying to help at first. After all this time, he didn’t strike you as the friendly, just trying to help type. He was much more of the scowl and stab sort of person. 

You couldn’t be blamed for feeling that way. 

“Strike higher” he repeated, closing the space between you to wrap his arm around your frame, moving your axe in the exact way he had been telling you to do. 

There was nothing snide or rude in his tone, but you couldn’t focus on that.

All you could think about were his strong hands on your body, and the clear concern he had for whatever in the world he could have wanted from you. 

You tensed under his touch, desperately trying to decipher how you had gotten to this point or what you were supposed to do now that you were here. 

There was nothing particularly romantic about his touch, which you understood, but it was still foreign to be on the receiving end of. No one had ever held you like this, under any circumstances.

“Hit here, not here” he muttered, his voice far too close to your ear this time, forcing a breath from your lungs you weren’t aware you’d trapped there. He moved the axe, and your arm attached to it, to demonstrate what he meant. 

...And as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. 

When he moved his arms, in succession with his words, he hit the target at jugular height, instead of in the trunk where you had been aiming.

It was a much better hit than you had been landing all day, showing how much more experience he had with this than you. 

“Thanks” you muttered, glancing at him quickly, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t look at you but you wouldn’t have been so lucky.

Cato looked down just at the same moment as you turned your head to take in his profile. 

You expected him to say something about it but he offered nothing, content to just stare back down at you with a slight smirk on his face. 

“Somebody bigger than you is going to be able to push back if you aim here” he explained finally, lightly resting the palm of his right hand against your abdomen where you’d been aiming before. 

It made sense, of course. 

“If you aim at the weakest part, it doesn’t matter how much stronger an opponent is” he hummed, this time bringing that same hand up to where your throat was, not missing the way you gulped under his touch. 

“And you can’t kill anyone aiming at their ankles” he laughed, shrugging at that, as if he shouldn’t have to explain that part to you. Even someone who knew nothing about this wasn’t going to be shocked at that. 

Cato just didn’t want you to think that he was playing some sort of sick game with you. He was really trying to help, even if that wasn’t really in his nature. 

Never in his life had Cato cared about anyone, or been drawn to another person like he was with you. 

His entire life was all about winning the games, and there was nothing more than that. 

That was all he’d ever cared about. 

...But for some reason, making sure that you survived this whole thing was becoming really important to him. 

There was just something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on, but whatever it was, he didn’t have all that much time to figure it out. This whole thing was happening, whether he wanted it to or not. 

The best thing he could do for you was prepare you to survive, with or without him. 

“Oh, I couldn’t kill anyone” you hummed, doing your very best to be as nonchalant about it as you could. You were doing your best to figure out how to protect yourself out there but you had already made you mind up on that front. 

You weren’t going to kill anyone. 

It was something you had decided on before you even knew your name had been drawn the day of the reaping, but this was new information for Cato. 

New information that almost shocked him into silence. 

Cato had always known that he would need to kill someone, at some point. It was never a question in his mind, or something that even had any effect on him. It was part of his life, and to hear that someone else had never even considered it was new for him. 

If you didn’t kill anyone the entire time you were in the arena, you would die. 

You had to know that. 

Surely you knew that. 

“If you don’t, you’re going to die” he spoke, the words leaving his lips before he even had time to react. There was a finality to it, something you hadn’t seen coming, and at first, you thought it may have been a joke. 

The two of you really didn’t know each other all that well, or at all, so making jokes seemed sort of strange but it wasn’t necessarily something that upset you. 

You were just shocked at his urgency. 

This really was something that was bothering him, but there was one thing that was still bothering you. This was the first time you had ever spoken to him in your life, and as flattered as you were that he cared about what happened to you, it didn’t make any sense. 

Why did he care about someone like you? 

[keister-meister]

I'm currently watching the Bohemian Rhapsody film and it's got me thinking about how silly it is that this whole 70's rock aesthetic has become practically inseparable from the popular Marauders era fanon.

Like... we all know what the Marauders era looks like in a lot of fanon. Everything is kind of sepia, the Marauders wear nothing but bell-bottom jeans and t-shirts and denim and leather jackets, they rock those fluffy, shaggy 70's 'dos, light up a cigarette like every five minutes and maybe most importantly, they spend their free time listening to whatever the author's/OP's favorite popular 70's band is on a muggle record player whenever they're not busy participating in muggle protests for gay rights.

What's up with making the Marauders basically muggles in all but name only? Aside from projection? We know at least two of them were pureblood wizards, the third was a half-blood who grew up in the wizarding world (Remus had to hide being a wizard AND a werewolf – what are the chances that his parents would have allowed him to hang out with muggle children?) and the fourth was most likely either pureblood or half-blood. Point is... they all grew up in the wizarding culture, as far as we know, and whatever muggle influence Remus as a half-blood would have had from his mother would certainly not have included current fashion and popular music – those are things youth get from peers.

The boys likely wouldn't have had much contact with muggle culture until Hogwarts... but from what we know from canon, there doesn't seem to be much muggle culture in Hogwarts either. The kids from wizarding backgrounds just stick to their own things, and the muggle-borns seem to mostly adapt to the wizarding world. Also, muggle technology doesn't work in Hogwarts, so that's it for music records, movies and TV-shows being shared.

We also know from canon that the wizards as whole just aren't keen on integrating or adapting aspects of the muggle world into theirs, even if it was possible. They still write on parchment with quills and ink, FFS. Arthur Weasley was apparently the most notable connoisseur of muggle culture, yet he didn't even remember the word "telephone" correctly. While Harry's generation of wizard youth is said to dress in muggle clothes outside Hogwarts (which I assume was Rowling's way of making Harry's generation in particular more relatable to the reader), we are shown that adult/older wizards are mostly clueless about muggle clothing... to the point of old men wearing floral night dresses (no judging tho).

All I'm saying is... if the wizard society as a whole – not just the few pureblood fanatics – wasn't pretty much unreceptive of the ways of the muggle world, there's just no way they would have that medieval/victorian thing going on in the late 20th century. They would not wear robes and cloaks as everyday clothes. They would have debit cards instead of carrying gold around, they would write with mechanical pencils and they would definitely use some magic-powered version of a cell phone instead of... sending an owl or putting their head in a fireplace. Dumbledore would not be seen as the progressive icon he apparently is just because he thinks it would be evil to kick muggle-born magical people into concentration camps to be executed. IDK, the bar is pretty low.

The fact that the wizards haven't adopted many modern muggle inventions and ways of doing things even when they would be more convenient suggests that valuing tradition is something that is implicitly taught to all wizards. They either see their own ways as superior, or just don't feel compelled to change what is familiar just because something else might be more efficient or convenient. And it makes sense because isn't this how humans work a lot of the time when it comes to new, unfamiliar things, although maybe less extreme? Like, how America as a whole is still mostly averse to bidets, despite the fact that rinsing your ass with water is obviously a better way to clean up than just smearing around with a dry piece of paper? (Sorry for the shitty example.)

This is why I feel like the Marauders wouldn't be anywhere near as "muggle" as they are usually portrayed in fanon. I don't see any reason why they would be so different from Harry, Ron and Hermione – none of whom were into muggle things in canon, despite being "progressive" and despite two of them actually having been raised in the muggle world before Hogwarts. Teenagers don't tend to become invested in popular culture like fashion and music until after the age of 11, and these kids spend all but two(?) months a year at Hogwarts surrounded by wizarding culture. Since the expectation is that they stay in the wizarding world, why would they be interested in keeping up with the trends of the muggle world? I can see this being important enough for someone who is muggle-born and maintains close relationships in the muggle world, but for purebloods? No way.

Anyway, we know there are wizarding musicians (although maybe two were mentioned), wizarding games, wizarding fashion, wizarding literature, wizarding magazines, wizarding sports... so why not get creative and expand on that, instead of making everyone basically muggle? Like, it's interesting that most fic writers don't take the chance to explore the possibilities of wizarding youth culture beyond what is shown in the books. What if there was a wizarding band that had the same vibe as Queen or ABBA or the Sex Pistols or whatever band you want the Marauders to like? What if instead of everyone just smoking regular muggle cigarettes, there was some different habit that was popular with the wizard kids? Wizard drugs?

I guess people love the idea of Marauders being the definition of cool, but we forget that what is cool to us is generally stupid or insignificant to wizards, and what is cool for wizards is just... silly fairytale nonsense to us. The Marauders who wear like... high-collared Diricawl feather cloaks and smoke Purple Pixie grass or whatever through a nostril pipe while listening to some band called the Bad Goblins, or whatever whimsical things Rowling would probably come up with, just don't scream "cool guys" to us like the Marauders smoking cigs and wearing leather jackets do.

IDK, let's just be real, the canon Marauders would be scoffing at bad-tasting muggle cancer sticks, laughing at how silly muggles look in their bell-bottoms, listening to weird wizarding music... what's so wrong with that?