#in him. something that's not happening at all in the canon book

[tideswept]

Anakin really IS the prettiest of pretty boys. And when his obliviousness isn't enough to stop admirers from making a move on him, for sure, Obi-Wan is there to deal with them himself. Maybe he used to think it was funny, and would even use it to his advantage in negotiations, but when he starts getting requests from politicians and princes asking for some time with his pretty Padawan... bad enough he has to let Anakin meet with Palpatine!

Dearest nonnie;

I would like to slide over [1] piece of cheesecake with a handwritten love note as a napkin, I adore this so much. ♥

but fr fr how could this not have actually happened in canon? FETCH ME THE BOOKS. I bet Anakin was kind of all gangly and not much to look at and then something just snapped into place over the span of a single month and Obi-Wan didn't notice because it's still just Anakin, after all, why would he notice? He's too close to see the forest for the trees. Maybe if he'd had a little more time it wouldn't have caught him so off-guard, but the next time they're around other people, Anakin is getting stared at, and he can't figure out why, not until a waitress accidentally dumps hot tea all over the table because she can't keep her eyes off his padawan.

And now Obi-Wan is thinking shit, because he didn't really prepare for this, he's been operating on one-Anakin-related-catastrophe at a time, he didn't have an opportunity to consider the whole what if my padawan turns out to be ridiculously pretty? potential issue.

And who is he going to ask for guidance on how to deal with this? The Council? Stars, no.

Then it just keeps getting worse year by year, and he's so thankful that Anakin decided to follow him and use the same terrible hairstyle which at least cuts down on some of the leering, and he tries not to feel too bad about dangling Anakin like bait a few times, it's not like he'll actually let anyone put a finger (or tentacle or antenna or claw) on him. It's just another tool at the Negotiator's disposal.

He's got this under control. Absolutely not an issue.

(It's an issue.)

[tiredsunrisesmeta]

Damen's Trauma, Akielos, & Cultural Community

I've been thinking about Damen's trauma & the ways he changes because of it and how it connects to his cultural identity: Damen's trauma & experiences in Vere under Laurent do come to strain & complicate his relationship with his past, his country, & his countrymen. His realization of Akielon violence on the border, his growing horror at slavery, his questioning of his father's rule, his acceptance of Kastor's duplicity, his anger at Jokaste's betrayal & his disagreeing with Nikandros's misguided exasperation & confusion at his choices in Kings Rising are some examples of this.

Another conflict ofc is the famous "a kingdom or this" conflict. His singular, unique love for Laurent clashes with his loyalty to his role as king, his country & its customs as particularly illustrated by Damen's actions at the Kingsmeet. An even earlier example, happens in Prince's Gambit after Damen kills an Akielon soldier to protect Laurent. He asks Laurent: "Don't try to use me against my own people." This conflict between his loyalty to Akielos & his loyalty to Laurent is already present relatively early in Damen & Laurent's association. Thankfully, Damen never truly has to choose because Laurent honors Damen's request. 

But despite these many conflicts, I believe Damen's trauma & its resulting emotional transformation ultimately brings him closer to Akielos, not farther from it. Because of his experiences in Vere, Damen is at the crossroads of his past & future self as well as at the crossroads of Akielos as he knew it & Akielos as it will become under his rule. Yet, despite this transformation into a new Damen & a new Akielos, Damen's past & the relationships he had, including their good & bad parts, aren't something he ever completely sheds or ever really needs to.

There's a framing of Damen's character arc that could focus on how Damen's trauma has so fundamentally changed him it puts some kind of uncrossable emotional distance between him and his past life including everyone he knew in Akielos. In this framing, his trauma reveals fundamental truths that he can no longer reconcile. Kastor is not a good brother (& never truly loved him), Theomedes is not someone worthy of Damen's hero worship (& never truly loved him), Jokaste chose herself over him (& never truly loved him), Nikandros no longer understands him (& maybe never did). 

There's a truth to all these observations. Though interpretations vary widely, of course. I, for example, disagree that any of those characters never truly loved Damen. I also think Nikandros understood the old Damen and is capable of eventually understanding the new Damen as well. Nevertheless, this framing of Damen's character arc & past relationships, at its harshest and most extreme, essentially isolates Damen from all his significant loved ones that are Akielon, and not literally (by death or literal distance like in canon) but spiritually.

In this framing, Damen's transformation essentially causes him to "outgrow" these past connections & both the personal & cultural significance they once carried for him. But I think the books refute that framing. While there is strain in Damen's relationship to Akielos & Akielons there is never an outright cutting or diminishing of these bonds & this identity. Many parts of Damen have changed but this does not cause an emotional gulf & disconnect that Damen does not at least try to bridge.

Until the very end, Damen desperately wants to forgive Kastor & keep him as his brother. Until the very end, he trusts Kastor when he should not. Damen, despite his very real wounded rage and new self protective hardness when it comes to Jokaste, nevertheless starts to understand Jokaste's motivations. Damen accepts he does not want to rule as his father did, but he still loves his father & cherishes his father's love for him, and he is not punished for this. Laurent comes to symbolize this by being the one to comfort Damen as he finally lets himself mourn his father. Despite all Theomedes did that ultimately caused the death of Auguste & the destruction of Laurent's life as he knew it, Laurent & the narrative do not punish or disapprove of Damen's grief for his father. Even Damen does not punish himself for it. Laurent also embodies this same empathy when he encourages Damen to bury Kastor in the royal crypt, accepting Damen's true personal wishes no matter how they might come across politically.

Now to Nikandros. It is true that Nikandros does not and can not understand so much of what has changed in Damen when they meet again in Kings Rising. Him & Damen clash on many things, including Laurent, plans & strategy, and bed slaves. Part of this is because Nikandros symbolizes Akielos as it was before Damen was taken from it. Akielos, as it would be if Damen had never left it. Like a rock left in a garden & returned to after many years. This symbolic connection between Nikandros & Akielos is illustrated in Nikandros's introduction in KR: "Damen took in Nikandros's familiar, classically Akielon features, his dark hair and brows, his olive face and straight Akielon nose." Nikandros is the quintessential Akielon. In many ways, he symbolizes home to Damen.

But the familiarity of Nikandros's Akielon face & demeanor are contrasted with Damen's thoughts of his own transformation after his traumatic experience in Vere. Damen thinks "The self that he had been striving to return to was gone." 

Nikandros is Akielos as Damen knew it before his father's death & subsequent enslavement & abuse. And Damen can no longer be in perfect harmony with the Akielos he once knew because he is no longer the Damen he once was. Yet this distance is not meant to be seen as insurmountable because Nikandros is not an unchanging rock, despite his relatively rigid ways. He accepts Damen's changes & decisions, befuddled, disapproving sometimes, exasperated, yes, but he accepts them nonetheless. So as Akielos will change under Damen's leadership, so too will Nikandros. Nikandros (the last remaining Akielon loved one still actively in Damen's life) will stay at Damen's (and Laurent's) side helping transform the new kingdom alongside him. 

So yes, Damen's trauma and experiences in these books has deeply changed him. Has made him more empathetic to the lives & struggles of the lowest castes of society, made him less jingoistic, more critical of his country's practices, made him more discerning of duplicity. It has also caused him shame and continued mental distress & suffering. It's caused him to repress his emotions even more than he already did (something Laurent tries to help him work through in the Summer Palace). It's caused him to harden himself in some ways. But his trauma has not made him incapable of deeply connecting to his past. The new Damen is not one made bereft of Akielon community, connection or identity because of his trauma. Nor is he someone who can only be made whole again by Laurent or Laurent's community.

It's not as if this is an interpretation people actually have of course. It's more that I think Damen completely disconnected from his roots is the natural endgame of the framing of Damen's trauma & transformation that I outlined above. Which is why Nikandros & his continuing friendship with Damen is absolutely integral to Damen & to Damen's story & character arc in Captive Prince. Nikandros embodies Akielos in many ways. All that it was, is & could & will be for Damen.

As an aside: I also find it interesting how this maintaining of the softer parts of Damen (despite his trauma), the parts that allow him to make & maintain connections, affects his relationships with the Veretians in his life. Not just Laurent, either. If Damen's trauma did manifest as insurmountable emotional disconnect or irreconcilable rage, what would his relationships with Jord, Paschal, Ancel, & Berenger look like (in canon & post-canon)? These characters either actively participated in his abuse or watched & did nothing to stop it. Yet, Damen's internal monologue affords them empathy, understanding, comradery, & even in some cases his own guilt at not being truthful about his identity with them. It offers them that when it could have offered them complete contempt or fraught disconnection. This is morally neutral. Damen's internal forgiveness is not necessarily an unquestionable good. It's just who Damen is.

There's a few fics that tackle the possible manifestations of Damen's trauma in relation to these characters, but it seems relatively less explored ground. But I think it's interesting to consider the similarities between Damen's reactions to the Veretians & Akielons in his life.

It's fascinating that Damen's capacity to forgive is mostly reserved for people that have hurt him & not others. (Kastor is one exception to this since Kastor has killed their father & killed most of the people in Damen's household. But, Damen's personal forgiveness is tempered with his understanding that Kastor can not go unpunished. Though I'd still argue house arrest in Ios is exceptionally generous and almost laughably lenient). He can be quite morally stringent about anyone who "hits someone who can't hit back" except if the person getting hit is himself 🤔. There's probably so much I could say, if I put my mind to it, about Damen's capacity to ignore and/or forgive violence done against him, starting all the way back to when Kastor stabs him at 13 to Laurent's abuse to Ancel's assault. But that's definitely for another time!

[vickyvicarious]

“I made a mistake, Kemp, a huge mistake, in carrying this thing through alone. I have wasted strength, time, opportunities. Alone—it is wonderful how little a man can do alone! To rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end. “What I want, Kemp, is a goal-keeper, a helper, and a hiding-place, an arrangement whereby I can sleep and eat and rest in peace, and unsuspected. I must have a confederate. With a confederate, with food and rest—a thousand things are possible. “Hitherto I have gone on vague lines. We have to consider all that invisibility means, all that it does not mean. It means little advantage for eavesdropping and so forth—one makes sounds. It’s of little help—a little help perhaps—in housebreaking and so forth. Once you’ve caught me you could easily imprison me. But on the other hand I am hard to catch. This invisibility, in fact, is only good in two cases: It’s useful in getting away, it’s useful in approaching. It’s particularly useful, therefore, in killing. I can walk round a man, whatever weapon he has, choose my point, strike as I like. Dodge as I like. Escape as I like.” Kemp’s hand went to his moustache. Was that a movement downstairs? “And it is killing we must do, Kemp.” “It is killing we must do,” repeated Kemp. “I’m listening to your plan, Griffin, but I’m not agreeing, mind. Why killing?” “Not wanton killing, but a judicious slaying. The point is, they know there is an Invisible Man—as well as we know there is an Invisible Man. And that Invisible Man, Kemp, must now establish a Reign of Terror. Yes; no doubt it’s startling. But I mean it. A Reign of Terror. He must take some town like your Burdock and terrify and dominate it. He must issue his orders. He can do that in a thousand ways—scraps of paper thrust under doors would suffice. And all who disobey his orders he must kill, and kill all who would defend them.”

There's so much going on in this conversation. First, the obvious irony of Griffin telling Kemp how he understands now that he needs a helper he can trust, while Kemp is trying to ensure he gets caught in the next few minutes. Griffin saying that he will be easily imprisoned once caught but that he's hard to catch, as Kemp frets over whether they will be able to catch him now. That's pretty obvious, and both funny and also sad. It's perfectly understandable for Kemp to want Griffin to be caught even before he talks about this plan, but it sucks that Griffin's sincerity is just completely bouncing off him. Griffin is for the first time trying to make a connection with someone (something that could potentially turn this situation around) but he's been rejected from the start.

But there's also... what is Griffin talking about? This goes from 'yeah, Griffin, you shouldn't be going it alone' to 'no Griffin not like that holy shit' real damn fast. And it's really interesting in the context of the rest of his behavior, because... this really doesn't seem to match it throughout most of the book so far.

Griffin has used plenty of violence before now. He defaults to threats or physical harm when he feels too vulnerable or powerless. But while he's been reckless and careless with it, there has never really been premeditated malice to anything he does. He's not scheming evil upon others. He's mostly reacting, again, often in what seems a kind of panic. When he gets most violent, at least. He has done harmful things with forethought, but those are mostly limited to theft, and are informed by selfishness and a lack of consideration/awareness of potential consequences.

He also has been consistently motivated by curing his invisibility. He wants his resources back, and privacy/freedom to work in order to do just that. He very quickly decided making himself invisible was a shortsighted mistake, as he encountered drawback after drawback in the immediate aftermath. He also wasn't motivated by any particular single goal of seizing power when he made himself invisible. He was deeply depressed and clinging to 'seeing it through', and then panicked when he came into conflict with his landlord. His paranoia about his invention was intense, but that too is linked to him seeking control over his own life, not others' as such.

So then, why this turnaround? Well, last chapter he said this:

"I had one hope. It was a half idea! I have it still. It is a full blown idea now. A way of getting back! Of restoring what I have done. When I choose. When I have done all I mean to do invisibly."

So, now it seems Griffin's motivation has shifted. He no longer wants immediate relief from invisibility. Instead, he wants to do things while invisible first. He wants to establish a Reign of Terror, to take over a town by utilizing his invisibility in the only way he can see it being of practical use: murder and the spreading of fear. But he says that as a 'must' as 'judicious'. So it's still not for the pleasure of it. Then, why?

First, I frankly don't believe Griffin is actually capable of enforcing the kind of siege he describes here. Physically maybe (depending on how unprepared others are), but emotionally I don't think he could keep it up. He'd collapse, he'd succumb to the guilt he clearly does feel at times. When he's not in a constant state of high emotion (largely fear, which with Griffin transitions seamlessly into rage) he wouldn't be able to keep murdering people so coldly and logically. He can of course work himself up over time, and can hold a grudge, which might be enough to get him started enacting this plan, but I don't believe he could see it through all the way. Still enough to do monstrous things, of course, just not enough to be effective at establishing his goal. (And even that shows his typical lack of forethought. Does he think that no one else would help them? That this town would just succumb to him in total isolation?)

But why does he even want it? I think it actually reflects all his same motivations until now. He feels cornered and he reacts badly, lashing out at others. As the rejection builds all around him, as his options dwindle, as his fear and helplessness grow - he consistently reacts by escalating and proving everyone's worst assumptions about him correct. And right now, even though he has found Kemp and thinks he can mostly trust him, it's not enough to make him feel safe. There are lots of people actively hunting him, now. And he can't just stay in Kemp's rooms forever. He would hate the idea, would feel imprisoned. He doesn't think much of stealing from others, but absolutely hates being stolen from (and he has so little, that the loss feels correspondingly huger), especially something like his books which contain the key to freeing him. So being here is a brief reprieve but he's still deeply afraid. And that makes him deeply angry. And so he wants revenge, he wants to punish them (in general, who make him feel afraid - and Marvel in particular, who has 'betrayed' him).

He also quite likely knows even with his idea it will take an unknown but likely significant amount more time to perfect his cure. So even if all he wanted was to be cured, he would need a safe place to work until then. And the tension is so high right now, his fear of being betrayed is so strong, that I don't think he believes it would be possible to do the necessary work unless he has the town cowed under his invisible heel.

“I don’t agree to this, Griffin,” he said. “Understand me, I don’t agree to this. Why dream of playing a game against the race? How can you hope to gain happiness? Don’t be a lone wolf. Publish your results; take the world—take the nation at least—into your confidence. Think what you might do with a million helpers—”

This line is also key. Kemp urges Griffin to confide in others. All his considerations of the usefulness of invisibility were from the perspective of a lone man against a cruel world. Very selfish and very assuming of a hostile environment. This too is reflected in Griffin's treatment of the few people he has reached out to - Marvel and Kemp. In both cases, he seeks understanding and sympathy. But he also seeks it at metaphorical gunpoint, by threatening them with what he could invisibly do to harm them. It's because as much as he may pour out his heart to Kemp here, he doesn't fully trust him. He doesn't fully trust anyone. By collaborating with them, all he is doing is giving them power over him, and that means they have power to hurt him. So instead he clings to his own power to hurt them first.

In Griffin's eyes, there is no such thing as an equal relationship. There is such thing as trust rewarded, or even given freely. And so in order to ensure his own safety he has to be the one in charge. He has to convince Kemp that they will both reap great rewards, he has to be able to hurt him and get away should anything fall through.

It all ties in perfectly with his backstory of being an outsider (albino, not socially adept at all), and being poor (in many ways powerless). And of course, it is such a self-fulfilling prophecy of terrible outcomes. If you only give violence, you're only getting violence in return. Someone has to let their guard down first, someone has to be willing to trust and be vulnerable for things to ever change. But Griffin is convinced that would be a mistake to ever fully do. And as much as I want to tell him he's wrong, his experiences corroborate that view. Everywhere he goes, he's experienced rejection and hate, or nosiness and distrust at best, no matter how much he tries to be on his best behavior. Every time he even partially lets down his guard or reaches out to others, they turn on him. And of course so much of that is because of the way he never fully relaxes, the way he always keeps a threat hanging over their heads, but he's not gonna see that. All he's gonna see is that he's been right all along. That he truly is in this alone. That he has to be selfish and he has to hit first and hit harder because he is outnumbered and if they catch him he won't be able to get away.

[dimonds456]

can someone just take Mike's twitter account away from him already. i'm so fucking tired.

like dude just shut the fuck up.

Anyway. I vote we just ignore him forever actually and we do whatever we want with canon now. These two don't deserve it. And no I'm not just talking about this incident.

There's more. [x]

LOTS MORE. [x]

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

you know if we do accept the last epilogue-esque sequence as a sort of dream/wish of ted's and therefore not necessarily canon, very funny if we then simply go "yeah, trent's book is called 'the lasso way' actually. he didn't change that. nope."

[puhpandas]

I keep thinking about how on earth they would canonize ggy bc like. at this point if they have to sacrifice Gregory screentime of just him to make something we already know actually canon, I would rather just take the screentime, but on the other hand they have to canonize it if they want to do anything at all with that plotline, and that makes me wonder if theyll stick with it as canon in the games at all or just leave it as background knowledge if u read the book 😭

[caterpillarinacave]

Do you have thoughts about Baby Henry and his Great Aunt Matilda?

Oh BOY do I.

I could literally go on and on forever but I should redirect you to this entire fic which is basically a coherent, carefully constructed, novel of those thoughts:

(Those with an astute eye will notice that I call Matilda Henry’s aunt, as in his fathers sister, as opposed to his great aunt. Maybe this is due to the copious amounts of inheritance fuckery brought up in the first chapter. Maybe I forgot because rereading nothing but shadows makes me sad. Maybe I can make it work and I’m going with it.) 

[tossawary]

Rewatched the Howl's Moving Castle movie (fantastic animated movie, definitely inspired by more than an adaptation of the book) while doing something else and I was struck this time by the fact that the Prince (Turniphead the Scarecrow) says that he intends to go tell his king to call off the war, but THEN he intends on COMING BACK to Ingary to shoot his shot with Sophie again because (as he says to the flirtatious Witch of the Wastes) "hearts change".

And maybe he will come back to make Sophie an offer of marriage and then leave again when he's turned down, but I imagined for a moment that the Prince (who is possibly the movie's version of Prince Justin, so let's call him Justin) might just... move back into Howl's house without asking and stay there. There are several cases of precedent for this. Also, as Turniphead, he's shown several times helping Sophie with laundry, or playing with Markl, or helping the Witch of the Wastes move around, and Sophie deserves that kind of help around the house! Howl isn't going to reliably do chores.

And you know what? I think Howl would be into that shit. There's something very Wynne-Jonesian about it all still. It's tempting to write a post-canon fic about this situation from the movie with an extra dash of flavoring from the books. Like:

This is the infamous wizard Howl Pendragon/Jenkins, a vain draft-dodging flirt who likes to build moving castles to evade taxes too. The beautifully angry young woman with the silver hair over there is his wife, Sophie Hatter, who may or may not be an extremely powerful witch, but right now she's dusting and do not get in her way. This is Calcifer, the fire demon who used to have Howl's heart and is arguably his other life partner and also might be in love with Sophie, and this is arguably kind of actually his house. The old lady smoking a cigar over there is Howl's ex-girlfriend and former nemesis, the Witch of the Wastes, who now lives in their house. This is Markl, Howl's apprentice, kind of his kid, and there is no explanation of where he comes from or what happened to his parents. The dog used to be(?) the Royal Wizard's spy (Howl used to be her apprentice and potential successor) but now he also just lives here. And that's Prince Justin of Strangia, Sophie's house-boyfriend. Don't listen to the propaganda, he wasn't kidnapped by a heart-eating wizard; he used to be a cursed scarecrow and now he wants to be here to help Sophie do laundry. He's trying to homewreck and Howl thinks it's both funny and hot.

[teddybeartoji]

toji is a cat dad. the cat looks so fucking tiny next to him that it's a little comical actually. they spend every morning together – the cat twirls around and between his legs as he's grabbing the food, quietly meowing and purring. toji smiles softly to himself at the little thing's neediness. so cute.

the cat also just loves to follow toji around the apartment. always. he goes to the bathroom? the cat goes to the bathroom. he's cooking in the kitchen? the cat is in the kitchen. he's asleep in the bed? the cat is in the bed. (big man toji stomping around the house with the smallest cat in the world running after him.......... guys i'm melting i'm dying)

ok but he was a little weirded out by the cat's need to be in the bathroom with him lmao. like he's taking a piss and he looks over his shoulder only to find the little kitten just staring up at him with big eyes😭😭😭 toji grumbles under his breath and tries to ignore him but then he ends up looking over his shoulder again, hoping that he left but no. he's still there. sitting like :3 😭😭😭😭

"yer fuckin' weird..." is what toji tells him as he places the cat on the bathroom counter and he just gets a cute meow back as a reply. the cat watches him brush his teeth and toji has to fight the thing because he's now in the sink????? toji needs to spit out the toothpaste but the critter is getting comfortable in the bowl and he actually feels bad abt pushing him away... wahh he's so soft actually guys i can't do this anymore.

if the cat happens to be a big meower, toji's definitely talking back to him. he literally goes "what're ya yappin' about, lil man? 🤨🤨" while looking at the tiny creature. but he loves it, he thinks it's so funny. he picks the little guy up and just stares at him up close O.O (plss the cat is literally like the size of his palm i'm dying it's so cute).

he also likes to carry the cat on his shoulder. i think every cat would actually love toji so much, this is also canon here you cannot argue with me. and i think they'd all find him very comforting? and i think they'd love to sleep on him. so whenever he's cooking and the cat paws at his legs, he just picks him up and places him on his shoulder.

he once did that when shiu was over and he was just ????????? like man what are you doing put the damn cat down ????????? and toji just went. "no. he wants to see." with a blank face. to him it's very obvious. c'mon, the cat is so little, he has no idea what's happening up here, ofc he wants to see??????? smh shiu do better😒😒😒

oh and this was definitely just a stray cat he took in btw. after a long day at work, he was just walking home with a cig between his lips when he heard the teeeniest tiniest little meow coming from behind the dumpster in an alley. and well... the curiosity got the best of him and he went to check it out aaand lo and behold!!!!!!! itty bitty kitty!!!!

big eyes peering up at him behind a thrash bag, he just knew he couldn't leave the poor thing there. he reached out his hand, letting the kitty smell him and he almost dropped his cig when he actually leaned into his touch immediately!!!! that's his baby now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he held the cat to his chest as he made his way home and he even stopped by a little corner store to buy him something to eat. the cashier did look at him with a raised brow bc what the fuck this massive man is holding the smallest cat in the world, but toji didn't mind. he didn't care. the cat slept on his back that very same night.

ALSO. thank u @kentophilia for putting this idea in my head ily<33 during the late hours of the day, toji lays in bed while reading his book with his glasses on – the cat stands on his chest with a determined face. he's already purring even though toji hasn't even done anything. he's just soo comforting and the cat just loves him soooo much okay:((((( toji lowers his book to look at the thing before scratching the top of his head and smiling to himself when the cat closes his eyes and purrs even louder.

the cat ends up trying to make biscuits on him and that makes toji yelp lmao. the tiny little claws dig into his warm skin as the he kneads toji like he's a piece of dough. purring and content – toji doesn't have it in him to make him stop either. it's not like it actually hurts, he was just caught off-guard. he didn't get scared by a cat btw, he didn't. in the end, he keeps reading his book with his one hand while petting the creature with the other. this is their routine. they're family!!!!!!!

anyway. he loves his little kitty cat with all his heart and he would literally kill for him:33333

[zaldritzosrose]

Lessons Well Learned (Jace x Twin!Reader x Aegon)

Summary: Jace was a good husband, a loving husband. He adored you from inside and out. But he knew you all to well. He knew you wanted more than sweet and gentle. And who better to ask than a man known for his carnal nature?

(Sort of follow on to Lessons In Pleasure, the 'lessons' reference that fic but this can also be a standalone read.)

TW: Minors DNI, She/Her pronouns, afab reader, Jace being the softest of husbands, Aegon being Aegon, fingering, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, threesome, p in v sex, Aegon now showing Jace how to fuck, canon-typical incest, twin/targcest, they are happy families in this.

Reader is Jace's twin therefore shares features but is not explicitly described.

Words: 4926

THANK YOU again to @legitalicat for not only trusting me with this idea, hope it lives up to expectation!

The news of the betrothal to your twin brother was a welcome one. Your mother, Rhaenyra, was now Queen on the passing of your grandsire, Viserys. With Jace being the eldest child, he was made heir to the throne after your mother. The Great Houses were already in talks with your mother about marriage alliances and the like, those being saved for your younger siblings, your aunt and your uncles.

You and Jace, however, were meant for each other. It had been planned that way for the longest time. Your mother and father, Harwin, were smart enough to see that neither of you would accept a marriage to another. It had taken minor convincing on from Rhaenyra to Harwin to accept such an uncommon pairing, but even he could see past the blood relation to the bond the two of you shared.

The wedding happened just after the two of your turned eighteen, and it had been a few months since your first night together as man and wife. Before you had wed, neither you nor Jace had any experience in the ways of pleasure. Agreeing to save such things for the other, and for your wedding night.

When that night came, there was nerves – as expected – but you both simply let the feelings take over. Not forcing anything more than you were comfortable with and it worked.

For a time.

You had been married to Jace for months now. You were happy, comfortable. You assumed Jace felt the same.

In public, he was as protective and affectionate as he had always been. A hand on the small of your back. Or a hand on your thigh during dinner. When you were alone, he was attentive, loving. Did a little part of you want for more? Maybe. You would sit at tea with other ladies, listening to stories of how their husbands tended to their needs. Or how the men in the books they read would worship their women, bringing them to pleasures you could scarcely imagine. But you said nothing.

You did not want to make Jace feel inadequate, or that he was disappointing you. But he noticed. He always noticed. The way you would seem lost in your thoughts when you lay together, the small and passing look of disappointment when he was as soft and gentle as he always was.

At first, he was lost on what to do. He first went to the library, searching for the novels he knew existed. Maybe you had read them, like your friends at tea did? Maybe that was what had changed your feelings?

Reading them gave him ideas, but how would he know if that was what you wanted? He was afraid of embarrassing you, and himself, by asking. With his literary knowledge in mind, he went to the one person he hoped would help.

Aegon. His uncle was known, once, for his licentious ways. Now a married man himself, it was no secret that he and his wife had a more than satisfying carnal relationship. Who else could help Jace now?

The knock to Aegon’s door was not something he expected. The person on the other side was someone he expected even less.

“Nephew? To what do I owe this pleasure?” Aegon asked, returning to his chair and picking his wine back up.

Jace followed him inside and Aegon quickly noticed the nervous energy that seemed to roll off the younger prince.

“I need your…help.” Jace forced the words out. Mentally preparing himself for the mocking that would likely follow.

Aegon gestured for him to sit, curiosity turning to confusion. People did not often come to him for help. His relationship with Jace was better than it had been but having him need his assistance was still surprising.

“Help? With what exactly?”

Jace glanced at the wine on the table, pouring himself a glass and hoping it would calm his nerves. The tart liquid was never something he enjoyed, but the soft buzz it gave his mind was welcome. Aegon watched him intently, knowing whatever he was here for was causing him serious internal conflict.

“Whatever it is…”

But Jace was quick to interrupt.

“I will say this quickly and I ask you save your mocking until I am done, please.” Jace’s words were hurried, the nervous taking over again but Aegon nodded and waited.

“Now, I am not saying I do not know how to…satisfy my wife. But…”

Aegon stifled a chuckle, sipping his wine and letting Jace continue.

“But I fear she wants for something…different…to what I usually give.”

Jace averted his gaze as he finished speaking, not being able to bear the amused look Aegon was likely giving him. Aegon, while amused, could feel just how serious this was. It would have taken a lot for Jace to come to him, and despite the urge to mock him endlessly, Aegon felt the need to help.

“Has she told you? Voiced such things?” the elder asked and Jace simply shook his head.

“I just…know. I always know with her.”

It made sense. They were twins, more intrinsically entwined than most couples could be. Only one thought came to Aegon’s mind. The chaotic voice in his head told him to tell the entire truth in what he was about to say, but he imagined Jace would not want to know his father had fucked his aunt.

“And you want to change? What do you believe she wants?” Aegon needed to be sure that whatever he suggested would be something his nephew would accept. It was a line he had never thought to cross.

Jace was silent for a moment. As a lover and husband, he was always soft and gentle. Slow, taking his time to bring you as much pleasure as he could. Never asking the same in return. But maybe that was the problem? Was he too gentle? Too soft? Did you want something more like the depraved lovers from the books in the library?

“That is the problem, I do not know for certain. I just know what I do is not…enough.”

Now that hit a nerve with Aegon. Far too similar to how he felt when his own wife had sought outside help. That she wanted more than what he gave. That she wanted different. And the look on Jace’s face was much how he felt when Harwin had entered his chamber that evening.

“You wonder if she seeks something more…carnal. Or dare I say, depraved?” Aegon asked, watching Jace’s expression for any emotion either way.

The younger prince only nodded. It had been his first thought. That you wanted him to be rougher, not less loving, but just a little…more.

Aegon hummed in response. His suggestion could still go either way.

“I can sit here all day and describe all the ways to pleasure a woman, nephew, but I would wager it would not be enough.”

Jace finally met his gaze, and he saw far less mocking than he expected. If anything, Aegon seemed sincere.

“I will help, but I need you to be…open minded. I was once in the same situation as you, though it was a little more of a surprise to me. And I had help the way I will help you.”

As much as he wanted to, Aegon could not bring himself to reveal that Harwin had been the one to help. He had a distinct feeling that Jace knowing his father had bedded his aunt and now Aegon was repeating those lessons with him, would not go down well.

Jace frowned. Was Aegon suggesting what he thought he was? And it seemed his expression was enough to have Aegon explaining further.

“If you agree, I can…show you. As I was shown. But I would not do so without your permission.”

Jace nodded. So, it was exactly as he assumed. Part of him held a curiosity for where Aegon’s lessons had come from, but that could be something handled later. The question was, did he want it? Bringing Aegon into his marriage verbally was one thing. But physically? That was something else.

But despite his reservations, Jace knew he had little other option.

“I fear it is my only option, I have exhausted all others. How exactly will we do this?”

Aegon had run the situation past his wife first, knowing she would have something to say on the matter. And he had not expected just how enthusiastically she gave her permission. He had thought to question it, but there were some things he simply did not need to know.

Between them, uncle and nephew decided when Aegon would come to Jace’s marital chambers. The whole situation would remain a surprise to you, until a knock came too late in the evening for visitors.

But what surprised you more was the speed at which your husband went to the door. Ignoring your questions as he tugged the door open and hurriedly spoke to the person on the other side. You could have sworn you were hearing Aegon’s voice, but why was your uncle here so late in the evening?

Your question was answered when Jace returned, Aegon in tow. You looked between the two men with a raised brow.

“Am I missing something?”

Aegon only smirked as Jace went to your side quickly, whispering an explanation as your uncle turned to help himself to the nearby wine.

“And you suggested this, uncle?” you asked, bringing Aegon’s attention back to you.

He only nodded, swallowing his wine and smiling. You turned back to Jace. He did not seem upset, which gave you less to worry about. If anything, he seemed the most comfortable he had been for a while.

You were quiet for a moment. Part of you wondered what Jace had said to Aegon to make him both suggest and agree to it. Another part of you did not need to know. You had heard from your aunt about the change in Aegon, though she had not given more details when you pressed for them. And you were curious to see what the lessons here would be.

You looked back to Jace, finding him doing nothing but staring at you. Waiting.

“You went to him for this?”

You needed to hear it from him. To know what you suspected to be true.

“I did. I knew you wanted something more from me, and I feared you would not tell me if I asked.” Jace replied softly, those brown eyes you loved verging on pup like sadness.

“You always know, my love, I both hate and love that about you.” You smiled, a hand resting on his jaw as you pressed your lips to his.

You almost forgot Aegon was even in the room. Looking past your husband to see him now lounging on your plush couch, wine in hand as he smiled at you both. It should annoy you, how smug he looked. Like he knew something you did not.

“So, what exactly is the plan here?” you asked, to both of them really.

The men looked between each other. Clearly, this had been discussed sometime before Aegon came here tonight. That gave you comfort, in a strange way.

“Aegon will join us, help me be a different kind of lover. Not as…gentle or soft.” Jace explained and Aegon nodded in agreement.

Aegon had something of his own to add, however. He had considered a few things before he arrived. Jace had agreed to his involvement, but what if you did not?

“I will do nothing you do not want, sweet niece. I will not touch you unless you give me permission to now.”

That was surprising. Though you had heard many stories about how, despite his depravities, Aegon was a man of consent. It was now all resting on what you said next. A final look at Jace helped you decide.

“You have permission to do as you please, uncle.”

Now that was near akin to poking a bear. The look on Aegon’s face should have filled you with dread. But it did the opposite.

“I will instruct your husband first, show it myself if I must. Either way, this night will be nothing short of ultimate pleasure for us all.” Aegon said, his voice rougher and lower than you had ever heard it.

Aegon came to stand at Jace’s shoulder, where your husband remained knelt at your side as you sat on the bed. Having both men staring at you so intently had your skin heating and your cheeks blushed pink.

“Begin as you normally would,” Aegon instructed and Jace almost pounced on you.

The anticipation had almost been too much for him and his kiss was hungrier than you had ever experienced from him before. Pushing you back onto the bed and planting himself atop you. Your head caged between his forearms as he pushed his tongue into your waiting mouth.

It was like having an audience was already spurring him on. Making him want to work harder to impress Aegon before they had even begun. Your hands already tangled in his brown curls as one of his hands trailed its way to your waist. You could not help but roll your hips up into him, needing him to kiss you harder and touch you more.

Aegon could see your need and he knew that having Jace give in too soon would end this sooner than he would like.

“Take your time, nephew, make her desperate for your touch, for your kiss.” Aegon called over, eyes roaming over the two of you as Jace began to trail his kiss away from your lips.

Your gentle moans had Aegon leaning in, wine still in hand as he watched the way your hands seemed to restlessly grip whichever part of Jace you could find. Soon, the younger prince had your nightgown bunched up your thighs, not quite revealing your bare flesh.

“Please…Jace, please…” you pleaded, trying to push Jace’s head lower but he would not budge.

You sat up on your elbows, eyes wide as he turned to look at Aegon. Your gaze followed his and you realised he would only act on Aegon’s instruction. Which gave you an idea. If there was one thing few knew of Jace, it was his jealousy. Especially when it came to you. If Aegon was here to teach and if Jace was to hurry up and touch you, you knew you had to act.

“Will you not join us yet, uncle?”

Your hands carded through Jace’s hair, keeping his where he was as he littered kisses across your hips and stomach. You could feel him tense a little under your hand and you tried again to Aegon to do something, say something.

But Aegon remained where he was, though you could easily see the growing bulge under the fabric of his breeches. His hand now rested just to the side, close enough for him to begin to palm over it.

“In good time, niece.”

But he did lean in, eyes trained solely on the expanse of bare skin that Jace was revealing as he moved down your body. Your attention was soon returned to Jace as he lowered himself down and kissed down your thighs. Your lower half now bared entirely. You canted your hips up towards his face, but Jace did not give in. He remained teasing, kissing his way back up your body as he removed your nightgown entirely. Your body soon dropping back flat to the bed, eyes closed in pleasure.

His lips soon met yours again and you made quick work of his shirt before your hands dropped to the laces of his breeches, trying to remove them but soon being stopped by Jace’s hands over yours.

You could hear the soft footsteps of Aegon as he approached the bed, expecting him to move Jace away and begin the next instruction. When he did not, you leaned back up on your elbows to see what was happening. Aegon was clad now in only his trousers and nothing more. Having kicked off his boots and discarded his shirt between the couch and the bed. You chose not to question it, watching as your uncle settled himself next to Jace on the bed.

“Now, the best way to teach is to show…”

Aegon could have done as Harwin had done for him. He could have had Jace sit aside and shown him what to do from start to end. But that brought him little joy in thinking of it. The idea of showing Jace in real time, guiding him to pleasure you, had a burning heat settling in his stomach.

Jace did not expect Aegon’s hand to wrap around his wrist, but he did not push him away. Aegon was the teacher now, Jace a mere student and he would follow the lessons intently. Jace let his uncle guide his hand, not stopping Aegon when he laced their fingers together and trailed their joined hands over your body. Only stopping when they reached your breasts, Aegon urging Jace to begin to massage and squeeze your soft flesh.

You could not help the moans that left you. With Aegon’s help, Jace’s touch was more forceful than it usually was. Not painful, but the strength behind it was a welcome change.

The joined hands moved down your body, the combined heat making your arch towards them. It excited more than you expected, and you were already wondering where the night would go next.

A soft gasp left you when the familiar feel of Jace’s palm cupped your mound, the slight roughness making your roll your hips again. Jace glanced at Aegon, the elder waiting for approval before he did what he had planned.

“Watch what I do, then copy when it is your turn.”

Aegon gently dipped a single digit passed your folds and you could barely contain the moan, the roll of your eyes at the feeling. His fingers were a little thicker than Jace’s, rougher too. He had not removed his rings either, the cool metal sending a shiver down your spine.

“Relax, I will go slow, then your husband will take over.”

You nodded, a faint whimper leaving you as Aegon pushed deeper. His finger soon hitting the sweet spot deep inside and curling over it again and again. Jace watched intently. He had used his fingers on your before, but what intrigued him was just how Aegon moved. His palm flat against your pearl, adding friction as his finger moved in and out.

Aegon kept his eyes on you, watching for signs any signs of discomfort. When he saw only pleasure, he slowly slid another finger inside, smirking as your back arched and you sighed out a moan. Your slick already coated his fingers and part of him knew he should pull back and let Jace bring you to your peak, but the selfish side wanted to feel it for himself. His own wife had told him to, in her words, ‘do whatever it took to please’ and he was prepared to do just that.

He sped up his rhythm, your moans rising in volume to match the speed of his fingers and Jace could only watch in awe as you came, and came hard, around Aegon’s fingers. But when he did not stop, your hand reached out and grasped Aegon’s wrist to slow him down.

You were panting, unable to form words but Aegon did as you bid as slowed until he stopped.

“Your wife is quite lucky, uncle…” you breathed out, a small smile on your lips as Aegon chuckled.

“Your turn, nephew,” Aegon offered, turning to Jace and guiding his hand to the position he had just been in himself.

Aegon kept hold of his wrist until he was happy with how Jace’s hand was settled against you. The elder knew he would need verbal instruction and the words once said to him were all he could think to say.

“My best advice will always be, to listen. If she moans and pulls you close, keep going.”

Jace nodded, holding your gaze as he began to move his fingers in and out of you. Already sensitive from your previous peak, you were quickly panting Jace’s name as he brought you back up towards the edge of pleasure.

“Oh…Jace…keep going please…”

Your back was arching already and Jace made sure to remember Aegon’s words as he listened to your words and kept his pace, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. You welcomed his kiss, tangling your hands back into his hair and letting him swallow your moans.

Aegon could barely contain his own arousal, watching the way your skin flushed pink, how Jace’s arm flexed as he thrust his fingers harder and harder. His own hand not shy as he palmed himself over the fabric of his clothes, matching Jace’s rhythm just enough to have his cock twitching but not to make himself come. He was a man of varied tastes, even married, but even he did not expect to quite enjoy himself much.

“Have you licked her before, nephew? Let yourself taste her?”

Jace did not need to look at Aegon to know he was aroused, the rough tone of his voice enough to betray him. Jace nodded, keeping the rhythm of his hand as steady as he could.

“Good, add your tongue while your fingers stay inside.”

When Jace hesitated, Aegon moved to sit beside his nephew again. Urging Jace to tilt his palm away from your skin but to keep his fingers buried inside.

“Keep your fingers moving and watch.”

Aegon leaned down, his thumb spreading your folds slightly and exposing the swollen flesh of your pearl to his waiting tongue. He was gentle, soft licks of the tip of his tongue in the same rhythm as Jace’s fingers. Your moans increased in volume again, torn between incoherence and chants of Jace’s name.

But your hand soon laced in Aegon’s hair, keeping him close as he groaned at the feel of your fingers against his scalp. Jace could feel your walls clench around his fingers, and he wanted nothing more than to taste you himself. Aegon had you peaking again and as he pulled away, he put a hand to Jace’s neck and pushed him down to continue where he had left off.

The overstimulation was bordering on too much. But the second Jace’s tongue swiped over your pearl, you had your thighs spread to welcome him.

“Such beautiful sounds you make, niece. Do you not agree, nephew?”

Aegon chuckled as both of you moaned in response to his praise. The entire scene was the most depravity he had experienced for a while on balance, and he was not about to let it end.

Your hands were tight in Jace’s hair as you peaked again, your thighs closing around your husband’s head. Aegon was quick to hold them open, letting Jace lap up everything you gave him without interruption.

“Please…please…” Your voice was soft as you tried to push Jace away, the sensations too much now.

Aegon’s hands massaged your thighs as Jace sat up, both men looking at you with an intensity that had your stomach tightening with desire.

“Now a question for you, sweet one, have you ever ridden your husband?”

It was Jace’s turn to blush now. It was something that had been talked about between you, different positions that supposedly added to pleasure. But nothing had ever come of it.

“No, we have talked but…” Your breath was still too heavy to speak, four peaks and counting almost exhausting you.

Before tonight, Jace would be able to at best pull two peaks from your body. This was more pleasure than you had ever felt.

Aegon let out a disapproving hum. His lips curled into a smirk.

“Hmm, that will not do. There is nothing more satisfying than having your woman ride you like her dragon…”

With shaky limbs, you pushed yourself to sitting, watching as Jace laid back and made quick work of the rest of his clothing. It did not surprise you that Aegon did the same. Nothing was going to surprise you anymore, you wagered.

Aegon helped you straddle Jace, his grip on your hips gentle as he settled himself directly behind you. Your back against his soft chest and his hands resting on your hips.

“Take your time…” Aegon cooed, taking a little control as one hand reached around your front.

Jace sat up sharply as he felt Aegon’s hand grip his cock, the feeling exciting him a little more than he anticipated combined with the heat of your core hovering over him. Aegon was gentle, lining the younger prince’s cock up with your entrance. His other hand began to urge you to sink down, his grip a little tighter as you slowly took Jace down to his base.

Your head fell back on Aegon’s shoulder without thinking, Aegon’s other hand soon releasing Jace’s cock and returning to your hips. He gave you time to adjust, letting your body rest back against him.

“Put your hands over mine,” Aegon ordered softly, and Jace complied quickly.

Aegon moved you gently into a steady rhythm, knowing the angle would be a lot to take for the first time. He helped you roll your hips slowly, keeping you steady against his chest.

He could not resist pressing kisses to your shoulder, his own cock strained against your back.

Jace groaned at each roll of your hips, his cock already twitching in both anticipation and the sweet friction of your flesh against his. But he wanted more, he needed more. Slow and gentle was not what he had planned for tonight.

His eyes met Aegon’s, and the two men came to a silent agreement. The time for slow and gentle was done.

“Seems your husband wants something more, my darling, if you are willing?” Aegon whispered against your neck, and you could only moan in response.

Aegon began to roll your hips faster, almost bouncing you up and down on Jace’s cock. He continued to grip on to you, his lips a little more forceful on your neck and shoulders as you began to move of your own accord. Aegon made to pull away, but you surprised him by holding on to his arm and keeping him close.

Jace’s grip tightened as his release tightened in his stomach, his body tense as he helped your hips move up and down.

“I told you it felt good, did I not?” Aegon chuckled, his hands moving from your hips to your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh in his hands and revelling in the moan of his name that you finally released.

You subconsciously angled your hips, your body working on instinct to add the much-needed friction to your pearl as you let the pleasure take over you. Your hips soon losing rhythm as your release quickly found you. Your moans interspersed with chants of both men’s names as your slick coated Jace’s cock and the coarse hairs at his base.

“Gods…yes…” you sighed out as Jace began to slam his hips up into you.

Aegon added quickly to the stimulation with his fingers circling your swollen nub as you hurried towards another peak. You had lost count by now, the combination of overstimulation and the need for more pleasure had your mind a haze of incoherent thought. You felt Aegon’s other hand leave you and before disappointment could find you, you felt the movement of what you could only assume was him tugging furiously at his own cock.

Your hands rested on Jace’s chest, your husband slamming his hips as best he could up into your waiting core, chasing his pleasure with grunts and moans that you could not ever remember hearing from him before.

Jace came with a strained moan, holding your body down tight against his as you felt the warmth of his seed coat your walls. Soon, more warmth found your back and rear as Aegon quickly followed suit.

The three of you were silent as you let the highs wash over you. Yet none of you felt awkward or uncomfortable. The sheer exhaustion the only thing any of you felt.

Jace was the first to speak.

“Thank you, Aegon…” he whispered, and the elder only hummed in response.

Jace tugged you down to rest against his chest, letting his softening cock slip from your folds and rest between you.

Aegon slipped from the bed, grabbing two damp cloths, one for you and Jace and one for himself. He stood by the bed, cleaning his cock as Jace set about cleaning himself and you up.

Your head remained nestled against Jace’s chest; your breath finally slowed enough to speak. The two men locked eyes, a mutual sense of gratitude and understanding settling between them.

The elder smirked, tossing his cloth to the side.

“Should you need more lessons, nephew, you know where to find me. And I am sure I could even convince my wife to join us…” His tone seemed to be in jest, but the both of you knew he was serious.

And you both had to admit, the offer was not as off putting as it probably should have been. Aegon dressed himself and made for the door, looking back and bidding the pair of you goodnight. Maybe one day he would tell Jace where his lessons had come from.

But now was not the time.

Tags: (all the Jace, Aegon and combination girlies I can remember!)

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @elaratyrell

@khaleesihel @milked-by-Aegon @connorsui

@sylasthegrim @anjelicawrites @arcielee

@saintaegon @bucknastysbabe @tumblin-theworldaway

if i forgot anyone i'm sorry!!! or if you want tagging in the future let me know!

[sunderwight]

Moshang AU where Airplane transmigrates into a demon NPC from one of the fanservice clans he created, rather than into Shang Qinghua.

So basically, there was a point in time where a lot of PIDW chapters were just Luo Binghe running around propelled by political plots and rebellions from the demon kingdoms, and most of that actually just ended up being Luo Binghe collecting wives with cute animal ears and tails and various abilities that Airplane used all of once and then completely forgot about. They covered the usual bases of the sexy cat girls, sexy fox girls, sexy bunny girls, sexy bird girls with wings, etc, before moving into more, erm, niche animal hybrid demon territory.

Which is all a roundabout way of explaining Cute Hamster Boy Shang Qinghua in his faithful-to-canon clan of Hamster Demons, whose primary skills include cute squeaking noises and digging abilities.

In the process of making his braindead written-in-a-panic-at-3-am "world building" on this front actually function in a real version of the setting, there has got to be a way for the otherwise-unremarkable fanservice demon tribes to actually survive the incredibly hostile environment which Airplane otherwise described, though. Like yeah sure when you're writing a book you can just say in one breath that the demon realms are incredibly brutal and cutthroat, and then in the next that this tribe of bunny girls with no visible skills at self-defense has existed here for thousands of years, but if you actually tried to set that up in some kind of a simulation the bunny girls wouldn't last one year, let alone one thousand.

In that case of Airplane's hamster tribe, their digging skills are so supernaturally prodigious that they are able to construct massive underground fortifications in otherwise hostile terrain. But that still doesn't solve all of their problems, because they still need to acquire food, and for that they mostly do have to go up to the surface. Some of their weakness is mitigated by sheer numbers -- they have a lot of kids to offset the high mortality rate. However, to further increase the survival rates, the hamster demons also try and make contracts with some of the local liege lords or ruling clans whenever they expand into a new territory. In exchange for protection, they send some of their extraneous family members out as servants, to either cement alliances through marriage (that high fertility is helpful and was indeed the crux of Wife #whatever's acquisition in canon) or to work as diggers or even high-level architects.

As the like, twelfth son of the Hamster Demon chieftain, this is Airplane's fate. On the one hand he's highly positioned enough to get an education, and his plot knowledge helps a lot. On the other hand, he's not high enough in the hierarchy to be kept around, so it's either go work for some other clan or else risk his neck doing missions on the hostile and deadly surface. Neither seems great, but Airplane would rather try his luck as a sycophant than a warrior.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on his mood when he thinks about it) when Airplane reaches sixteen years of age, it's around the same time that the Hamster clan's tunnels have expanded towards the Northern Desert. Airplane ends up being part of the "hiii~ pleasedon'tkillus let's be friends~" tribute to Mobei Jun's father.

Mobei Jun's father tosses him to Mobei Jun, so Airplane dutifully latches onto him in order to avoid being eaten by any of the other retainers. Airplane has been educated in various subterranean building skills and is under the impression that he's been given to MBJ in order to build him his own palace or something?

Everyone else assumes that the Hamster demon is a concubine.

Mobei Jun also thinks that's what he's been given, but he's too busy bristling in teenage offense at being given a concubine by his father to actually consider taking Airplane to bed. So when Airplane starts doing other things for him, he just sort of bemusedly lets it happen.

Gradually it becomes apparent that Airplane himself isn't interested in being a concubine. No. Clearly, this Hamster is gunning for future empress of the Northern Desert! How else would one explain all the lengths he's going to not only to win Mobei Jun's favor, but to secure his position and ensure his future rule? The system also wants Airplane to ensure the Abyss plot arc happens in the future, too, which means Airplane helps Mobei Jun win and instigate conflicts against the righteous cultivation sects too.

Obviously, Airplane wants power. Mobei Jun knows that if he gets an heir off of Airplane that will be that, the wily minx will use any children to secure his position, and MBJ is not convinced he could control himself well enough to prevent that sort of eventually. Airplane is fiendishly attractive, and he clearly knows it, and Mobei Jun is not sure if he wants to accept what increasingly seems to be the inevitable. He won't be a ladder for someone else's ambitions! But... as long as Airplane remains loyal to him, he will consider it. Even if Airplane never harbors any true affection for him, and simply considers him a means to an end. If, by the time he ascends the Hamster has not betrayed him or tried to elevate himself by flipping over this uncle's side, or seduced any of his other relatives or any of the highly-placed lords all salivating to steal MBJ's would-be empress, then Mobei Jun will grant his wish and make him the second most powerful demon in the North.

Airplane, meanwhile, just wants a snack and a nap. Maybe if he builds a secure enough fortress and amasses enough of an intelligence network and hoards a few advantages for himself, and figures out how to stop pissing off MBJ, he'll survive long enough to retire. Somehow.

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Is it so hard to ask that sabo follow his dream he had when he was a kid? IS IT??????

Also, his boat was commissioned from Franky! And he did a great job :)

Design talk:

Im gonna start with just sharing his canon designs

Colors:

Something i want to call attention to is the blue and black in his design.

When he was young, Sabo wore his heart on his sleeve. He had a dream for himself and was taking steps to complete it. Likewise, that blue on his coat is on full display its bright and vibrant and saturated. But also theres that dark blue, almost black, thats underneath it thats being hidden by that coat, the pants, and his tattered cravat. Likewise again, Sabo is hiding his darker side. He has secrets he doesn’t want his brothers to know of and he lets his aspirations and relationships he has with them outshine his past.

In his present design, that blue that was representative of his dreams, is now the one being hidden. Its covered by a complete black coat, a representative of the darkness in his life that now is drives him. This color switch up is symbolic for how he’s put off his dreams and kept it locked up (belt), while choosing instead to pursue a life of darkness for the greater good.

Also, these pictures of young sabo and young adult sabo, you can visually see how less saturated it is. The blue is duller of the coat/undershirt and even more-so with the pants. You can see how he’s much less vibrant than how he was.

In my Post-Story idea, what happens leading up to it is that Sabo succeeds in taking down the world government and after he’s sure the world can move on without him, he goes sailing alone as a pirate to write a book about the world, like he’s always wanted to do. Also, Luffy returns his straw hat to shanks.

So in my design, sabo wears a vibrant blue coat again. He’s living his dream and has nothing holding him back from doing it. The black is still used, and its not being covered, but its on his pants and his gloves. He still has that darkness, but he doesn’t use it as protection or as something to hide, rather as something he moves forwards and progresses with. He will never forget what pain and hardship he went through and he’s not trying to. However, whats underneath all the layers is not darkness or dreams, and its not necessarily being hidden either, its light. Not BRIGHT, but light. Mellow and calm. The settled true nature of a healed man.

I took more colors from his child design than i did with his young adult (YA) one, too. I wanted to show how he’s reconnecting with his younger self by bringing them through to his Post-Story look!

Also, since his journal is his dream, it is blue, as well.

———

Items of Clothing:

In both of his canon designs, there is a sense of properness. A top hat, cravat, tailcoat, etc etc.. Its all properness. But more than that, its the idea of responsibility.

Whether he acts responsible or not isn’t what matters in his case, instead its that he wants to look responsible. He wants this because a) he was a little kid who wanted to grow up too fast and be taken seriously, and b) because he has an incredible amount of responsibility being the second in command of the revolutionary army.

To further prove that, I would like to point out his silly little cravat. I love his cravat. But how the hell is that practical for his line of work? Sabo is concerned with being practical, hence his baggy/movable pants and leather gloves. Additionally, just the waist/trench coat, belt, top hat combo would suffice for a proper looking person, but it’s taken excessively with the cravat. The cravat is purely for appearances.

Further symbolism with his cravat, i think, is that this appearance is visually choking him. Its wrapped tightly around his neck when he was a child and when he was most under control of a much higher power. However, when he’s a YA, it’s a lot looser. He’s got some agency, but he’s still being suffocated by responsibilities.

On with my design.

I took away his cravat. Im sorry but it is SYMBOLIC!!!!!!! He is not worried anymore with appearances, he is Free.

I took away his top hat but not his goggles, too. I think that after Luffy gives back the straw hat, Sabo forgoes his hat as well. In solidarity, maybe. If you think about it, the top hat isnt what makes his hat so special, its the goggles. So i got rid of the hat and kept The Goggs. Although it is sad that they are no longer Hatted, as that is one of the beautiful appeals of ASL, they are no longer ASL.

I wanted to keep aspects of his YA design, since even though it is very perforative, its still a style that he’s stuck with since childhood, so he’s gotta like it in some capacity. I just tried to make everything look a lot looser/open on him.

Lastly, i gave him a bit of a beard cuz i think he deserves it.

———

Alright! If you got this far, thanks so much for reading my insane ramblings!!!! I fr feel like this rn 👇

Visually, sabo’s design is not too complex, at least not when you look at him next to Ace, but theres a lot of depth to it. I didnt even think of half of these notes before i started typing this up, its just the more time i look at it, the more i noticed!

[yyokkki]

The Prefect's Laugh

Dropping this monstrosity i wrote in September 2023 because I feel like I'm never going to leave this fandom.

First Years x gn! Prefect

Warning: I haven't played chapter 7, Prefect has a distinct personality so it doesn't really count as x reader but some people could find them relatable, a jumble of canon and non-canon events, mild cursing?

Divider by @saradika

It wasn’t that the Prefect never smiled. In fact, they may have smiled a little too often. It could be as simple as a wordless greeting or as complex as a way to cope with fear, but there was one particular expression the first years saw only once in a blue moon. The smile that comes alongside a fit of laughter.

The first time Ace saw the infamous Ramshackle Prefect smile like that was not too long after they had first met. It was a day or two after Heartslabyul’s housewarden overblotted and they’d finally gotten the rose garden in order.

While chatting about that day’s happenings, a rather embarrassing detail was brought up (embarrassing to Ace at least).

“Can we, like, NOT talk about this anymore??”

“I mean, the housewarden was really going in on you and you just stood there and took it but as soon as he said those things about the Prefect’s parents you didn’t even hold back. It’s weirdly sweet of him, right?”

Deuce looked towards the Prefect for their input to which they replied by fervently nodding their head.

“Wow, who could’ve guessed that maybe THE Ace Trappola cares about his friends??”

“…Honestly would’ve believed you more if you said you did it just to prove you could.”

“Pfft-“

Ace’s head whipped to the side, and he stared at the blooming smile on the Prefect’s face. Crinkled eyes, a hand in front of their mouth and slightly flushed cheeks as they tried to hold in their chuckles.

He wanted to make a snarky comment, something like, ‘I’ve been trying to make you laugh for the past two weeks and THIS Is what makes you break?’

Instead, what came out of his mouth was… Silence.

Maybe the new expression was too shocking as he just stared, five parts confusion, three parts embarrassment, two parts bashfulness. The most he could get out of them even with the most well-crafted jokes were slight smirks and yet something Deuce said without even intending to be funny made them crack.

He felt wronged.

And flustered.

…Shit, why are they kinda cute.

Going back to before the overblot, a day that Deuce personally considers more traumatising than his own housewarden’s mental breakdown.

Sorrowfully gazing upon the carnage of eggshells, whites and yolks jumbled up in the plastic bag branded with the words, Mr. S’ Mystery Shop, Deuce gave out another wistful sigh.

“I just hope those chicks can rest in peace.”

“…You know those eggs don't hatch into chickens, right?”

Shocked, flabbergasted, gobsmacked, stunned, stupefied, bowled-over; all words that could be used to describe Deuce Spade’s current state of mind.

“Wh- WHAT??? YOU’RE KIDDING.”

While Deuce was having an epiphany about the eggshell-shocking revelation, he noticed the Prefect’s slightly hunched over back and trembling frame. He was about to go comfort them when he saw their face…

And heard their laughter, ringing out like the sound of wind chimes swaying with the summer breeze, despite it being mid-September.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING???”

He looked at them with five parts feelings of betrayal, three parts despair and two parts anger. He was so offended that he immediately stormed off with the grocery bags in hand, huffing and puffing as he went on his unmerry way.

It wasn’t until later that the Prefect started feeling guilty about their reaction to the incident. It kind of felt like telling a little kid Santa wasn’t real…

They apologised, got him a book about the evolution of egg production, hugged it out and all was forgiven.

It wasn’t until much much later that Deuce Spade realised, he had only seen the Prefect laugh a handful of times, that incident taking up one of the spaces.

It had grown to become one of his favourite sounds in the world.

Jack Howl was never one for bad jokes or witty banter. Whenever he and the Prefect stood together, besides looking like a sturdy tree next to a swaying flower, they didn’t look friendly- much less like friends.

Only the two of them understood the solidarity that came with the silence. They were each others go-to when the other first years got too rowdy.

Truly the mom and dad of the group.

They would occasionally engage in conversation. Somehow when they were together, asking about each other’s day would lead to which parts of home they missed most now that they were away or embarrassing childhood memories, they hadn’t told anyone else about.

It was on a day like any other, a long while after the deep sea overblot.

Jack and the Prefect had finally started speaking to each other comfortably, yet most of their time together was spent just existing in the same room, doing their own thing.

It wasn’t awkward, at least not to the Prefect. But they had to ask just in case.

“Hey, do you ever feel like we don’t really talk when we hang out?”

“…Well, we are at the library.”

“I mean at other places too.”

Jack looked up from his notes, glancing at the Prefect with a little apprehension tracing his features.

“Why? You find it weird?”

“No, I like it a lot, just- I’m not used to it you know? Whether it’s the friends I’ve made here or my friends from back home they’ve never been the type to let the room stay quiet for over five seconds.”

They shifted slightly to cast an inquisitive glance over at him, “I can’t tell if you mind or not.”

Against his very own will, Jack’s tail started flowing slightly. So, they like being around him?

“I feel the same as you. I like our time together.”

Realising he sounded a little too soft, he immediately started backpedalling.

“Not that that means anything. I enjoy spending time with many people, doesn’t make you special.”

After finishing his piece, Jack looked back down at his notes, playing it cool. His tail, however, betrayed his feelings.

"Pfhaha, so cute, it’s like a helicopter-“

“…”

Not knowing how to defend himself, Jack got up to sit across the Ramshackle Prefect, blocking their view of his tail but giving him the perfect angle to catch all their expressions.

…It may be a little too late for him.

It all started with a godforsaken game of PG rated chicken.

Epel Felmier didn’t know whose dumb idea it was to hold a competition like this among all the first years but damn was he killin’ it.

It was almost too easy. It made him feel conflicted. Should he be happy that he’d somehow reached the finals? Or mad that it’s all cause of his face and build?? Either way, the prize was too good to pass up so he was gonna win.

So far he’d been flyin’ through with direct eye contact and a smile or two if his opponents were tougher but the final round had been filling him with a weird sense of dread, so he decided to prepare a little somethin’ special this time.

He doubted he’d have to use it though; he didn’t think very highly of the kids at NRC in this specific department…

That being until he got a text from the organiser telling him who his opponent was, that being: the Ramshackle Prefect.

Well shit.

He knew they never judged anybody, including him, for their appearance, and he’d always appreciated them for that. But in this context, it would make ‘em a tough nut to crack.

Not even mentioning, they knew his weakness when he didn’t have theirs.

He immediately pulled down their chat and started typing ferociously.

‘you. me. ramshackle lounge. after school. please?’ And send.

Might as well get a practise round in to scope the waters.

Luckily, the Prefect considered him a friend and wasn’t overly cautious, so not long after the text was sent an ‘ok’ was promptly sent back.

As soon as school let out, Epel ran into the Prefect in the mirror chamber, and they embarked towards Ramshackle dorm together.

He’d informed them of his intentions while on the way, so they got started after arriving.

First, he tried his usual techniques despite knowing they wouldn’t work. As expected, the Prefect didn’t so much as flinch.

Then they smiled warmly at him.

“Your training has been working out really well, I can see a little more definition on your arms. How do you even do it? What you lack in a natural constitution is already being made up for by your will and perseverence! It's really rare to find people like you out there.”

Shit, a genuine compliment about his mental and physical growth! That’s critical damage, how could they be so dirty, using his weakness against him?

Well, if that’s how they’re gonna play it.

Epel held up his two hands in front of him, forming a heart with his fingers.

The Prefect looked unfazed. They just smiled at him, mockingly (Epel’s perception).

Fine. He’s been left with no choice but to pull out his secret weapon.

“I-If you were a fruit, you’d be a FINEAPPLE!” Absolutely humiliating.

But also absolutely effective.

The Prefect’s mask started cracking at its seams.

“F-fineapple? I never thought I'd ever hear you say anything like that- Pfft hehe-“

He'd won, but his face was as red as his namesake as the visage of his Prefect’s tinted cheeks and choked back giggles entered his heart.

On the day of the competition, he lost miserably. The Prefect ended up passing the prize onto him, claiming they were only participating for fun, but he wasn’t really upset.

It’s for the best that no one else sees that face anyways.

Sebek Zigvolt’s sole purpose for living is to serve his young master as a reliable retainer.

In order to be reliable, he must excel in both academics and athletics. Athletics weren’t worth mentioning and he found all academic subjects easy enough.

All except for art, that is.

Making use of a medium to place your creative vision onto a surface sounded simple, yet the product had never lived up to his expectations, creating a habit of casting fire spells to burn the causes of his shame.

After yet another round of sweeping up the ashes of a canvas, he’d decided enough was enough. As unbecoming as it was, a good retainer would ask for help when he really needed it.

And he really really needed it.

His next course of action was to head over to the staff room and inquire with the Art professor for private lessons, only to be told that she had no empty slots in her schedule.

“If you don’t mind learning from another student, I recommend asking the Ramshackle Prefect to tutor you. They’re one of the best among their peers and I’ve seen them offering help to other students during my classes so I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

That magicless human? He’d only ever spoken two or three sentences to them, and he couldn’t stand the uncouth beast following them around every hour of the day, but if they truly were one of the best…

Thus started a deal he would come to regret in the future.

The Prefect wasn’t a bad teacher. They’d gotten him to start on the basics before even thinking of the elaborate portraits he’d always been hellbent on doing.

Once he’d finally grasped the techniques needed, he immediately jumped onto the opportunity to paint his young master, using one of his sacred wallet sized photos as reference. The Prefect stood beside him the whole time, pointing out mistakes and fixing any parts he deemed unsatisfactory.

The only qualm he had was that they’d protested to his idea to paint a wall sized mural, stating that it was too advanced.

With a beautiful portrait in tow, he returned and hung it up near his shrine. It couldn’t compare to his young master’s radiance but it had been the best thing he’d ever painted and he was felling pleased with himself.

An idea came over him. He wouldn’t have been able to do this without their help after all…

And that was what led to him showing up at Ramshackle outside of lesson hours with a small canvas nervously clenched in his hands.

“Human. It didn’t turn out as well without your guidance, but this is a little token of appreciation for your help these past few weeks.” He pushed the portrait into the Prefects hands, ready to accept criticism.

“…”

“Human..?”

“…Pffhehe-, I never expected you to do something so heartfelt for a ‘dumb human’. Heh, I guess I really grew on you!”

“Why are you laughing?! ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME??”

If he had his sword on him he would be unsheathing it right now.

“No, no, thanks man, I love it.”

The brightest and most genuine smile he’d ever seen from them blossomed.

He felt his face burn and his heartbeat rise to an abnormal degree as the Prefect’s warm gaze felt as though it were boring into him.

…I must inquire with Master Lilia what hex this human has placed upon me. Right this instant!

[chimaerakitten]

I think one of the big strengths of fanfiction as a medium is that it can, on average, assume the reader has a way higher degree of familiarity with canon than like…canon can. If you’re in the Star Wars AO3 tag you probably like Star Wars enough to remember more things about it than the average Star Wars-enjoying-ten-year-old. Which makes it way easier for fanwriter a to get to the juicy stuff and really engage with the worldbuilding or minor characters without having to spell out like. Who Wedge Antilles is for everyone who forgot or never noticed him in the first place. You could write a book about Wedge in the old EU because EU readers could also be assumed to be serious fans, but you can’t make a new canon Disney+ show about him. Those cost money to make and are intended for a broader audience.

And all this means that like. A good fic writer can and often will surpass canon when it comes to like. Thematic resonance and stuff, because they can really dig into something. Star Trek 2009 gave Kirk a new, more generic tragic backstory because it couldn’t expect the average moviegoer to be familiar with Kirk’s old, way more interesting tragic backstory. (Frankly, I’m not sure jj abrams knew about TOS Kirk’s backstory) whereas I have read a LOT of well-written, interesting, deeply resonant fanfic examinations of Tarsus IV, and what it means for Kirk’s character that he’s a genocide survivor. Star Trek 2009 answers the question “why did Kirk cheat on the kobayashi maru?” With “‘cause his dad crashed a spaceship when he was a baby.” A close examination of TOS canon implies the answer is “because he lived through a real-life Kobayashi that did have a win option, but which wasn’t taken.” BUT—and this is significant—even the TOS canon movies can’t really assume knowledge of the full TOS tv show, so that implication is never examined or made explicit. Instead it’s fanfic (and maybe spin off novels? Idk I’ve only read 2 trek books, if there’s one out there that covers this that would be really cool) where we get dives into that thread, where Kirk gets a commendation for original thinking because he can look a testing board in the eye and say “I’ve seen what happens when someone is entrenched in this kind of thinking, and I cannot let it happen to me. I understand the lesson, but it’s not hypothetical anymore and it never will be. I did what I had to do.” And that’s interesting! That’s meaningful! That can’t happen in a summer blockbuster. But it can happen in fic, easily, and that’s a strength of fic, I think.

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56, i know, i know but this is self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel (if you squint). reader has two sisters, the only physical description for them is their hair, which they can also braid as well as their style of clothing.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 8.4k

Jackson, Wyoming

Fall 2024

Joel had seen him around the community before. 

He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a good, kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from where he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in flaked gold lettering.

Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?

Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.

Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates or sweet cherub angels playing harps.

Joseph? Was that it? 

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name. 

It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and the truth of the matter was that he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole fucking community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around this place with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face. 

Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the opposite direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted. He wasn’t here to make friends.

In fact, the closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either. That’s a little too generous. Friend? No, more like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he was in need of a different kind of distraction.

But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of those reasons were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could he possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?

They’ve gotta be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark, chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in neat halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and worn, leather oxford shoes.

Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them. 

The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the last one. His breath audibly hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your mid twenties, if that. 

Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened. 

All three of you were beautiful beyond words—why the fuck did it have to be you who held over his interest?

“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”

She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah. 

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Didn’t know polygamy was a thing around here.”

His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing. 

“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He’s the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”

His daughters? He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man. They hardly looked anything like him.

“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the community. “So he ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort and with hope—”

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him. 

“Hope for what, Maria? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? That the end of the world is temporary?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”

“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless fuckin’ book known to man?”

“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches the primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching them numbers and basic literacy. Shows them how to start counting, reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”

“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath. 

“What was that?”

He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol. 

Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so blatantly that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her lips from Joel’s view and whispered something to you over her shoulder.

Shit. 

He’d been caught gawking.

He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late. 

Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head. 

Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man standing there with a gun slung over his shoulder.

Unsure of what else to do, Joel simply offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse. 

Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

“Is the preacher aware that his precious little daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “S’gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got no fuckin’ business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a whole lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel, that one. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”

Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her all too much, y’know? She tries to be the chaperone—it don’t always work out that way, though. Her halo ain’t exactly perfect either.”

“What ‘bout the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster. “Where does she fall on the scale between angel and devil?”

You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass. Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor of a glass of water instead.

“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s an absolute angel. She’s just ‘bout the sweetest fuckin’ thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s real good. Too good. Wouldn’t surprise me if the lord sent her down from heaven himself.”

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?” 

“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a generous swig. 

Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure and so innocent—untouched by anyone else—caused something to stir deep in his lower belly. 

“She’s the old man’s pride and joy,” Tommy continued, breaking into his train of thought. “Kind. Polite. Behaves. Doesn’t get herself into any kinda trouble—I mean look at her, she can’t even choke down a glass of whiskey. She’s just too good of a girl.”

Joel proceeded cautiously with his next question. “Any of them taken?” 

Surprised, Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t fuckin’ tell me—”

“No, I ain’t interested,” he interjected, rolling his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer. “They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice man and all, but when it comes to his daughters, he’s real strict. Not that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can fuckin’ believe that.”

Amused, Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”

Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Wasted. Oldest one ain’t exactly the Virgin Mary, either.”

“And the old man doesn’t know?”

“Nope. Ain’t nobody gonna snitch on grown women in their thirties.” Noticing the amused expression on Joel’s face, he adds, “By the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”

He smirked. “Which part?”

“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? S’best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”

“Look, if the wild one makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna turn her down. S’not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think ‘bout it—”

He held up his hands to stop him. “Relax. Was just a joke.”

“Right. M’sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh and waved a dismissive hand. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”

Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, s’not like I’ve gotta be up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door. 

As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head in understanding. You stood up and said something else to her, then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.

You were leaving. Alone. 

In the middle of the fucking night? While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?

She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself. 

Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly in his hand as he scanned the room.

Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like teenagers rather than grown men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before clumsily stumbling to his feet. 

Joel momentarily froze as soon as he realized what was happening. 

Kent was going after you. 

Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following suit.

Joel stepped out of the bar and into the night, the chilly evening air nipping at his face. He took a look around. 

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent. 

That couldn’t fucking be good. 

“Where the fuck did you two go,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

That’s when he heard it. 

The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled in between the bar and the commune’s mess hall. You’re pinned underneath Kent with your skirt bunched up around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed its way up your bare thigh. 

“Aw, c’mon now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a fucking virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She’s got no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me, y’know.”

Red.

It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. 

“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”

Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught in Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation. “I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”

The lie came straight through his chattering teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two. 

Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist. 

“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Answer me, darlin’,” he prompted. “You wanted this?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear. 

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him. Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and more so for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard. 

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes purple and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could still somehow see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face. 

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so fuckin’ generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now.”

Kent managed to scramble to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley. 

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more. 

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beaten him to death right in front of you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel caught your subtle flinch. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you. 

You hesitated for a split second, but accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet. 

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it. 

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, woodiness, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles wide open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “M’fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a whole lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest. 

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you. 

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spine.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face. 

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “Ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a fragile baby bird you wanted to take home and nurse back to health.

“That really ain’t necessary.”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours. 

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright then,” he relented. “I s’ppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards. 

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.” 

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling his weight from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “Just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” you teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church wasn’t some kind of joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you. 

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel finally agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the old mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?” 

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house. Not their church.” 

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep a set of keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin. 

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side. 

“This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps,” he admitted. 

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy, I promise.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship. 

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring. 

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls. 

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk. 

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“S’ppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered. 

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, it’d started throbbing with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar. 

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else. 

Above it, bolted onto the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it. 

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world. 

A fucking slab of carved wood. 

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” you recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense darlin’, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder. 

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands. A big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started digging through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“S’real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs and for a split second, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt. 

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers. 

“You really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the bare walls of the church. 

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because there’s still a part of me that thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger. 

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon our faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly. 

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel ‘bout all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words. 

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him. 

He was right, after all. 

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ ‘bout your dad?”

“What is it?” 

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he ain’t ever done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you, earning himself a perplexed stare. He continued to elaborate. “What I mean is, he ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Oh. That’s what he meant.

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart. Back in the day, I used to hear and see awful things on the news ‘bout—”

You were quick to cut him off. “Look, my father isn’t perfect, but he’s not like that. He’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s only because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.” 

It had been a statement, not a question. 

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone. 

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against the zipper of his jeans.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans. Somehow, it only made it worse. 

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say, “You said you might burn if you came inside the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“S’right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee. 

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest.  “Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables? 

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone. 

Want, sure. 

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther. 

But Joel didn’t just want you. 

He fucking needed you. 

And he didn’t know why.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain. 

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure ‘bout that, darlin’ girl?” 

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you. 

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek. 

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body. 

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it, babygirl? What do you want?”

“I—I want you to kiss me.” 

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours. 

You heard him chuckle softly. 

“Y’know, I’d expect better manners from a good girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“S’much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle. 

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town’s resident asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age. He was the one giving you your very first kiss. 

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones.

What the fuck had he been thinking? 

And what about you? 

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it. 

None. 

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench. 

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss. 

Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours. 

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you? 

He couldn’t. Simple as that. 

“You sure ‘bout this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself? 

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit. 

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further. 

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance. 

You breathed him deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat. 

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt. 

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline. 

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply and utter, “Mhm.”

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted to do was make a wrong move or move too fast and scare you off.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need—”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise. 

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you.”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt. 

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you. It was something else. 

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t. 

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s—that’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud. 

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around, sweet girl.” 

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle. 

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest. 

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t. 

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept over your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson. 

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God. 

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, babygirl.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it feels like when a man makes you his own?” 

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass?

He almost laughed at your expression. 

“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“Just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “M’gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a little while, alright? You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.

“Of course,” you breathed.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

[pretty-little-mind33]

BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH THEM!

(ft. aaron taylor johnson characters)

ask: Idk if you do headcanons like these and I don't quite know how to get my ask into words. So, fluff, and positions that reader is usually in with the boys that you write for. I don't mean sexual positions, or cuddling ones, or any specific, just positions.

warnings: briefly sexual (nothing major)

includes - in said order

~ James Potter - harry potter marauder's era (yes ik it's technically a fancast but 🥺 he's my baby)

~ Tangerine - bullet train

~ Dave Lizewski - kick-ass

~ Count Alexei Vronksy - anna karenina 2012

~ Tom Ryder - the fall guy

~ Pietro Maximoff - avengers: age of ultron

~ hope you like this! kinda turned into relationship headcanons with a theme! ~

• James's love languages are a mix of physical touch and acts of service which means he always has his hands on you in some form or another!

• Holding your hand while you walk? Check. Having an arm around your shoulder when you're sitting on the couch? Check. Playing with your fingers/hair when he's bored in class? Check.

• Basically, he's a koala and you're his favorite tree.

• He walks with his hand in yours, your fingers intertwined (just holding them is for the weak) and he'll stroke his thumb on your palm.

• When he becomes agitated and can't sit still anymore, he'll bounce all around you and you physically cannot get him off you. It's times like those that means you aren't the little spoon anymore—he is.

• (Bonus points if you scratch his head while you spoon)

• James gives the best piggy-back rides. THE B E S T. He'll hold your hands in front of him, making you laugh as he runs around the common room (annoying everyone else) and then drops you on the couch. If you're laughing so hard you're crying his mission was successful.

• He loves when you lie against him. Not necessarily for cuddles but just when you're tired, or you're reading a book and he's being used as a prop lmao. He likes feeling useful!

• When he picks you up, he likes having you wrapped around him—your arms around his neck, his on your ass!

• Not in a sexual way but he likes leaning against your boobs and using one as an stress-ball if he can. He thinks your boobs/stomach are the best pillows ever.

• If he's still criss-cross, you'll always find yourself in his lap, playing with his fingers as he mumbles sweet nothings in your ear or just casually has a conversation with his friends.

• When James is talking to you, since he's taller than you (make him any height lmao canon don't matter—have your fun, babes), he'll hold your chin to help you look up at him. He tells you he can listen to you better if he focuses on you like this.

• It's bullshit but you don't care.

• You love wrapping your arms around his strong torso, feeling his muscles under your hands.

• Overall, James can NEVER take his hands off you. You're just his favorite girl!

• Tough guy pretends he doesn't like physical touch—and yeah, most of the time he does hate it. He's kind of a germaphobe and a neat freak so having strangers touch him? He'd rather put a bullet through their skull.

• Only, you aren't a stranger. You're his partner—his lover.

• Tangerine's favorite place where he holds you is around your waist, griping lightly onto whatever you're dressed in and squeezes your flesh. As in to say I'm here, I'll always be here for you.

• His love language is 100% quality time and acts of service. He loves being around you. He likes touching you in small ways, like resting his chin on your shoulder when you cook, or holding your hand in public and overwhelming situations (like in a bus, or a plane, or even walking in a crowded street).

• He's silly and overprotective like that 🤭

• When you're at dinners with friends, he'll always sit next to you. Always. He's facing the door in case something happens, his hand lightly touching your thigh as the conversation continues.

• Big spoon!! His hand gently resting on your stomach, his lips near your ear as he snores only gently. The blankets are a mess all tangled around you both.

• Random but Tangerine 100% likes his room cold!! So, the more blankets the more he's warm and toasty and he can snuggle you!

• He likes picking you up bridal style. 1. So he's all cute and like a handsome prince saving the princess (which makes you swat him over the head because ew) and 2. simply to display his own strength lmao.

• You guys will play-fight often. It's not even training—even though it's disguised as training—it's just him chasing you around the house and attacking you with tickles, smooches, and love-bites!

• He doesn't give you piggy-back rides necessarily—instead, it's more like during those play-fighting times you'll jump on his back and hold an arm around his neck while you laugh.

• Tangerine isn't phased and will often simply shrug you off him and send you a glare (hiding a smirk).

• You like trimming his facial hair while you sit on his lap. He's sitting on the toilet seat, a bowl of hot water on the sink beside him and he has you on his lap, carefully holding his face in your hands as you shave him/trim him and use the water to wipe the shaving cream away.

• Constantly pretends to dislike your attention in a joking way, but genuinely loves when you shower him with love! He's love starved fr.

• Dave is similar to James in the sense that he loves touching you whenever he's around you. He loves nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck and leaving little kisses.

• He likes having his hand in yours when you walk around, or even if you're sitting and doing something—like watching a movie!

• His favorite position to be in when you're on the couch watching a movie is him sitting normally and you're tucked into his side, leaning on him. Poor lil dude sometimes forgets to watch the movie he's so enamored by you.

• When you're out grocery shopping, you like to stand on the cart with his arms around you from behind as he pushes the cart (if that makes sense! it's very cartoon-esque if you know what I mean) and he likes making funny impressions in your ear as you're pushed around the store.

• Dave likes making you laugh! Which means sometimes he settles for stupid jokes, but other times he gets into tickles you mercilessly when you're cuddling in bed. It's so bad you almost piss yourself and you have to push him off you.

• You retaliate—of course—almost breaking his glasses as he flops around the bed too much!

• Dave plays video-games, I feel like that's obvious and he likes when either you hang around him when he's playing or if you like sit in his lap and do your own thing, or watch along with him!

• Sometimes, he'll even let you eat his headphones so you can listen along and "play".

• If you're good at video games, you often take over hard levels for him and he doesn't at all feel threatened! Or maybe only once when Todd and Matry tease him about it but otherwise he likes that you're good at the games he isn't good at!

• Dave lets you try on his kick-ass mask! Which you find super fun and you have a blast, taking loads of cute selfies which you obviously can't show anyone!

• You make fun of him bc his mask is ugly (sorry 😃) but in a loving way because he pulls it off.

• Dave 🤝 peppering kisses all over you!

• Holds your bags for you (school, shopping, any bag) and he knows the side-walk rule! He also does that thing where if you bend over and there is something sharp, he's put his hand over the sharp corner (sometimes even subconsciously)

• DAVE LIZEWSKI IS SOO BOYFRIEND CORE 💞

• Alexei is obviously more formal given the time period and his social status. He grew up rich and well-educated, and he's a cavalry officer meaning he's well-trained in discipline! Which means, he's not a very obviously affectionate person in public!

• In other words—no PDA 🙂

• In public, he'll have his hand resting behind your back, he'll keep you close to him and he'll save all his dances with you but nothing more.

• In private? Oh, he's very affectionate.

• Neck and cheek kisses galore! Whenever he walks by you, he'll spin you around and then press a chaste kiss on your lips—complimenting you on your dress/hair.

• Sits close to you at dinners and he holds your hand under the table, stroking your thumb. It's intimate and private so he loves doing this!

• Alexei helps the maids with your corset and everything if he’s ready before you and he loves watching you put on your makeup and your jewelry. He finds it fascinating and he'll just sit on the bed and talk to you where your maids help you.

• Obviously, he loves going riding with Frou-Frou! He gifted you a horse so you could learn how to ride and you guys can go on picnics and ride around fields all cute 🥰

• While you have your own horse, he still wants you sitting in front of him on Frou-Frou most of the time, your back pressed to his chest as he takes control.

• Very very much into taking control on the relationship.

• He likes to dance with you! You'll have little dancing sessions in the parlor room and it's very very fun!

• Lights cigarettes for you! (like that scene in the movie, yk the one! I'm salivating!)

• OKAY TOM RYDER L O V E S TEASING.

• It's basically his love language! He's very much like a school boy who pulls girls hair in the playground because they like them…so immature at times 😀

• Still, he has his mature moments!

• Tom really likes having his arm around your waist, his palm flat on your stomach—claiming—as in saying you're his and only his.

• Say you're in a conversation with someone and Tom is around? Boom, he's by your side in seconds and he's holding you possessively. Fake smiles all around (yes, he's jealous)

• Tom likes taking you to his favorite restaurants (bonus points if it's fancy and he can see you all dressed up!) He'll pull out your chair and all that! Very gentlemanly when he wants to be!

• He likes laying his head on your lap when you're at home watching a movie or something. It's completely innocent and he especially loves when you play with his hair!

• You like to shower together—no further elaborations 🤫

• Back to the teasing—that means whenever he sees you on set, he'll make small comments or slap your ass and whistle. It can be seen as kinda hostile but you know he means well and you just flip him off if it really bothers you.

• Tom likes to assert his dominance, which means he'll do the thing if you're in the kitchen and he needs to walk by you, he'll lift you by your waist and manhandle you any way he wants.

• MANHANDLING IS HIS THING 😏

• Hand holding but it's his arm across your shoulder as you hold his hand. He likes doing this when you're walking around because he can be close to you!

• If you're a yapper, he'll always listen but he'll also get distracted so he does the humming thing and that's when you know you've lost him.

• You swat him on the back of the head if he's acting too dumb—which prompts him to chase you around and punish you with a thousand little kisses.

• Secretly a dork that acts all cool and shit 🙄

• Very sexual lmao. Horn-dog. Can making anything that isn't sexual—sexual. He'll grind against you unprompted and also pretend to fuck you from behind if ever you bend over!

• Big boob and ass guy so when he's cuddling with you, he'll need to hold onto one of the two or he'll whine like a child.

• "What? I'm just a guy, babe. I see 'em, I want 'em," is his favorite excuse 💞

• Pietro is hyper active and that means he loves doing active things with you: like running, or swimming, or any kind of sports.

• Super spontaneous so he'll just come home with a trip to go rock-climbing randomly and you're just 😀 huh, what?!

• Obviously because of his super-speed he loves to pick you up and have you in his arms while he runs. You guys can basically run everywhere lmao.

• Pietro likes when you dote on him when he's tired from running! He really likes when you play with his hair and make sure he stays hydrated because of all the exercise he inevitably does!

• He's BIG on being cared for 🤭 like treating his wounds after a mission!? He'll stay extremely still for that and grin so hard when you take care of him.

• BIG HUGGER! Fully wraps his entire arms around you like a teddy bear and kisses your neck!

• He's a competitive guy so he likes making up competitions with you. Who can eat more cherries in under a minutes? Who can find the weirdest looking plant in the store? Who can run faster to the pole (this one is plainly unfair) either way he finds random little games he likes to play with you.

• I think he's the little spoon 😌 he likes being cuddled.

• You both tease each other. DEF you're a prank couple (in the cute way not the psychotic youtuber way)!

• He's a jokester so making you laugh is his favorite pastime and his one goal.

• Bonus points if you snort out your water/drink if you do laugh. He likes seeing how embarrassed you become and it makes him want to kiss you even more!

• Very boyfriend core even if slightly immature