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auteurdelabre · 2 months

Text

So Much to Lose dark!Joel x f!Reader

rating: 18+

words: 4.6k

summary: After your explosive last patrol with Joel, you and Joel return to Teton Village.

tags: Enemies to EWB (enemies with benefits), slow burnish, oral (M receiving - no swallowing), Joel is emotionally stunted.

a/n: So strangely outta all my stories on the go, this one is the fic that plays in my head the most. I've written an outline, the final is already written out despite us havin' a bit of a ways to go to get these two seein' clearly. Reviews help me work, I don't get paid for this stuff, so if you wouldn't mind reviewing I'd really appreciate it!

masterlist here

Chapter 4 here

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Chapter 5: You still want this?

Jennifer sees you walk into the dining hall a short while later and calls you over with an exaggerated wave. The group she’s sitting with wave at you also. All of them are like Jennifer; young and pretty and smiley.

They set you a bit on edge with their intrigued gazes when you approach with your tray, taking a seat next to a tall man with an easy smile.Jennifer introduces you to everyone before doing the same for you.

“This is Peter, his wife Margaret,” a brunette couple at the end of the table give waves before going back to their chatting. “On your left is Lee and the guy to your right is Luke.”

The tall man – Luke – gives you a small nod and shy smile. “Nice to meet'cha.”

“He’s new like you,” Jennifer explains. “Just moved here last month. He used to be in construction.”

“Oh wow,” you say trying to feign interest and failing. Luke chews his food and gives an awkward nod at you before he starts to speak across the table to Peter.

You want to be engaged with the faces around the table, but your mind is still with Joel in the stable. You still can’t believe you told him you wanted him to fuck your mouth. That you verbally agreed to it. He gave you an out and you still said yes! What the fuck is wrong with you?

The rest of the group chats around you and you don’t mind the chatter. It fills the space normally punctuated with silence that you’re used to and it momentarily distracts you from your dilemma. You find you much prefer conversations with Ellie though – she has more interesting things to say on the whole.

Jennifer is obviously the leader of this group, weaving tales and telling jokes that has the rest of the table (including you) chuckling. When the rest of her friends finish their breakfasts and bid the two of you a good day, she waits until you are both alone before fixing you with a smile.

“Isn’t Luke nice?”

“Mhmm.”

Jennifer loves to talk and doesn't seem to mind that you don't. She likes regaling you with stories about folks living in the town. She's been settled in Jackson almost as long as Maria and Tommy and subsequently she has seen quite a bit.

"The Butcher used to date the lady that sorted the incoming items," she tells you over her tea. "But then she fell in love with the guy who works in weaponry. It was really messy for a bit."

You listen with fascination at the social milieu of the community you now inhabit. Being in Jennifer's orbit also means that others are starting to take notice of you. More people wave and give you passing greetings. You can only shyly nod and give mumbled hello’s in return.

This morning a tall man with patchy eyebrows gives you and Jennifer a nod, tilting his cowboy hat in your direction as he saunters past your table.

"That's Greg," Jennifer says with a voice low in secrecy. "We dated for a few months a year or so ago. Super nice guy but very clingy."

You suppress a smirk at this, amused at Jennifer's disgusted expression. Dating seems like something from a lifetime ago, almost juvenile in concept.

"You date a lot?" Jennifer asks as she sips her tea. "Before the outbreak, I mean."

"Nah," you shake your head. "Dating scared the shit outta me. I was always a really shy kid."

"I could see that," Jennifer muses. "You don't really talk much."

You shrug, feeling strangely embarrassed, as if this quiet observation is somehow a scathing criticism of character.

"What about around here?" Jennifer asks with playful lilt to her voice. It's asked in such a way that reminds you of slumber parties with giggling and strawberry lip-gloss. "Anyone catch your eye?"

"Not really."

You know that you answer too quickly but you also know that Jennifer won't follow up on it if you change the subject to her favorite topic: herself.

"What about you?" You take a bite of toast before casting your eyes over the crowd. "Got a lot to folks to choose from."

Jennifer glances around the bustling dining hall before wrinkling her nose up, obviously unimpressed with her choices presented.

"I'm gonna stick with Joel Miller," she nods to herself. "All the other guys here kinda pale in comparison."

Joel Miller.

"Might have you work cut out for you," you murmur. "Seems like a lot of work just to get him to be civil."

"I like a challenge," Jennifer winks at you. "And since you two are partner’s maybe you can introduce me sometime?"

Oh yeah, that'll go over well. You wish she’d drop this whole Joel thing. But then again because of it she’s being kind to you, she’s taken an interest. She’s introducing you to people, she’s helping to chase away the loneliness. You’re both getting something out of this, so why not continue?

Then again, its Joel.

"I think you should pick someone easier," you offer. "Plus if you go with him you'll be a stepmom to Ellie."

"I don't think she needs a stepmom," Jennifer laughs.

Your brows furrow and you go to reply when the girl of the hour walks into the dining hall. She sees you and waves before she walks over grab a tray of food. Her ponytail bobs behind her as she collects her breakfast items.

"She's so sweet," Jennifer tuts with what sounds like adoration when she witnesses this. You hold in a frown, not liking the condescending way Jennifer says it. It’s very likely she doesn’t mean it that way, but something about it irks you.

You watch Ellie saunter up to the end of your table, casting a look in your direction. You try to ignore her, remembering what Joel said you to earlier. He doesn’t want you interacting with Ellie, answering her questions.

He all but said you weren’t an influence he wants on his daughter. But it feels wrong to ignore her, wrong to pretend she isn’t standing beside you looking at you with beseeching eyes.

"Hi Ellie," Jennifer chirps as the girl stands awkwardly at the end of the table, looking at you. "Join us?"

Ellie shoots you a look that you can't quite read. You raise your eyes to hers and see the insecurity there and it breaks your heart. There’s no way you can turn her away. You motion to the table with your head that the invitation is indeed valid and she gives you a tight, relieved smile.

Ellie takes a seat next to you, tray clattering. You don’t miss the two milks on her tray and you hold in a smirk. Ellie begins to dig into her eggs and Jennifer is all warm smiles and sweet words for the sleepy teen.

"I heard that you're working on your baking," Jennifer offers abruptly, surprising both of you. You turn to look at Ellie, brow raised.

“You are?”

"Who told you that?" Ellie snaps, irritation laced in every letter. Her dark eyes are narrowed in obvious distaste for the blonde seated across from you.

"Oh uh, Rita in the kitchen mentioned it," Jennifer says with an uneasy laugh, eyes darting to you and then back to Ellie.

You think about Joel not wanting you to interfere, but this is something you know about. Baking is something you can actually bond with her about without making her long for the past.

"I didn't know you liked baking," you tell her. "If you want I can ask some of the-"

"Can we just drop it, please?" Ellie asks, cheeks burning. It's clearly something she didn't want other people knowing and you wince. You know the feeling of wanting something private for yourself.

"Of course," you nod.

The table lapses into a tense silence with Jennifer trying to smile at Ellie and the girl trying to look everywhere but at Jennifer. Ellie stabs a bit of sausage with her fork, the action almost violent. She’s tired and her hair is knotted in her ponytail. You wish you had a brush you could run through her thick tresses. Once a big sister, always a big sister you suppose.

"How's Joel?" Jennifer asks lightly, as if the answer isn't really a big deal. You want to roll your eyes at her lack of subtlety but Ellie beats you to it.

"S'fine."

Jennifer looks at you, silently begging for help, but you leave your eyes on your plate. If Jennifer wants to pursue this whole Joel thing she’ll do so without your help. While you’ll let her rope you into talking to Joel, there’s no way you’re going to bug Ellie about this.

"Doesn't he usually have meals with you?"

"Not breakfast usually," Ellie offers with a bored look on her face. "Only sometimes."

She remains tight-lipped for the rest of breakfast, sitting sullenly next to you as she eats. This cloudy disposition exits only when Jennifer announces she has plans with her friends and bids you both a farewell.

"She's such a phony," Ellie cites as the woman leaves the dining hall. "She doesn't give a shit about me. She just wants to know about Joel it’s so fucking obvious."

"I'm sure that's not true," you say without feeling. You feel a twist of guilt in your gut. Jennifer is nice to you and yeah, she’s a bit of an annoyance, but you don’t think she’s particularly harmful.

However as soon as the words leave your mouth Ellie stands abruptly, bristling. You give her a confused look.

"I told you I don't like liars."

She leaves her tray next to you, looking disgusted as she marches out of the hall, sure to go in the opposite direction of Jennifer.

///

The ride to Teton village that afternoon is a tense one punctuated by the occasional whinny from Midnight and Chestnut. You and Joel haven't spoken since your patrol shift started, not even a hello when you both mounted your horses.

Now you ride behind him a few paces, body bobbing along with Chestnut who seems to be reinvigorated after his re-shoeing.

The sky is a bright grey today, the chill of the weather deep in your bones. You're thankful for the warm clothes you've put on, including the red scarf hidden deep in the depths of your jacket. You know how much Joel hates it.

Your eyes drift to your patrol partner and his broad shoulders holding a backpack and gun.

You still want that mouth fucked dumb?

Your admission to Joel earlier makes your heart continue to thrum well after you've been riding for hours. Every turn of his head that showcases his severe profile sets your stomach jumping.

You wonder if he's going to say something about it. If he's going to jeer at you or worse, guide you both off to the side of the road and insist you suck him right there.

But he doesn't make any move to do so. He just continues on ahead of you atop of Midnight like some modern cowboy in a winter jacket.

How did Ellie get through to him?

This sticks out in your mind. Ellie is abrasive and loud and seems to be everything Joel would despise in another person. And yet, the brief times you’ve seen a look of tenderness he shares with her is something so loving it makes your heart crack. He’s her father in everything but blood. His daughter is gone. Is that why? Was there a daughter-sized hole in Joel desperate to be filled and Ellie fit the bill? The thought humanizes him in your eyes.

By the time you reach the village you almost pity Joel. A man who lost a daughter, desperate to take care of another living being. You wonder if there is a wife-shaped hole missing in him too. Would Jennifer fit that bill? Would he be happy if that empty spot was taken up by a beautiful blonde woman? If so a part of you wants to help.

You tie up your horses and Joel watches you unlock the door. He doesn't comment when your fingers tremble clumsily to punch in the code. He doesn't jeer when you stumble in over the floorboards. You watch him saunter ahead of you with the Thermos and your lunches and you observe him not as Joel Miller, asshole. You work to seperate his body from his person. He's a man, a strangely beautiful one in his ferocity and broad frame.

His body is graceful despite its bulk and your eyes rove the planes of his form as he makes his way ahead of you, bag and gun still draped over his shoulders. Is he attractive? Maybe. He isn’t hideous to you. But attractive is a hard thing to measure when you don’t really enjoy the person.

Joel disappears with his bag upstairs muttering that he'll be back and you go to the small back room to sign your names in the log. You feel confident doing it now, your fingers not trembling when you hold the pencil. You glance around the small room, looking at the boxes at the side. You pull them out, curious. Inside one are a few blankets. Inside the other are two pairs of boots. Another box yields a gun and a box of bullets.

Back up items you think, in case something happens.

Joel is still working away upstairs and so you take the opportunity to explore a bit of the old building, walking aimlessly from room to room. You walk into the room with the old couch covered in one of the blankets you recognize from Jackson City. It faces an ancient looking fireplace that holds dried wood and shavings to start a fire. This surprises you considering they don’t want attention drawn to the building.

You wander into the ancient bathroom that hasn't had running water for months, glancing at the shower free of mildew and the toilet that you don’t dare lift the lid off of. You make your way through the variety of other empty rooms, looking at portraits hung on the walls before you hear Joel's heavy boots coming back down the steps to your level.

You watch him return and wordlessly follow him to that small room in the back so he can glance over your log notes with an unreadable expression before pulling out the Thermos and bag of food from his backpack.

Lunch is consumed with you sitting across from one another at the warped table, noting that a quiet Joel is just as intimidating as a speaking one.

Your mind drifts to the window upstairs. The one that was broken last time. It's quiet which means that is what Joel must have been working on it earlier.

"Did you fix the window?"

"Patched it. When the right supplies come in we'll repair it properly." Joel bites into his sandwich, swallowing quickly. You wonder if he's always eaten this quickly or he's trying to speed things up.

"I don't know much about repair-"

"You won't be doing anything," Joel cuts in without looking at you. "I'll come out on a different day with a few others."

"Oh. Okay."

You lapse into silence again. Joel is a loud chewer you notice; another thing to add to the growing tally of ways he annoys you when he's not intimidating the hell out of you. You shrug off your jacket, finding it strangely warm in the small room.

You finish your lunch quickly, anxious about whether this is going to happen. Will Joel fuck your mouth? Will he make you ask for it? You don’t think you could even if you wanted. The thought is too intimidating.

As if reading your mind Joel wipes his crumby fingers along his jeans before clearing his throat. He sits facing you and you watch as his legs slowly widen.

That's when you realize it's going to follow the same pattern. In the same room and at his leisure. And despite the fact that you can't stand Joel and despite the fact that this is patrols, you feel your core tighten. He moves his tongue to his cheek, staring at you for so long you visibly falter, eyes dropping to your hands.

"You still want this?"

He says it so quietly you're not sure he said anything at all and it takes you a moment to understand what he's referencing. But then you know your answer, you know from the telltale pull below your navel and the way your nipples tighten under your sweater.

You lose your voice and find you can only nod shallowly. When you glance up after a beat to see Joel frown at your lack of a verbal response you sit up a little straighter in your chair.

"Yes."

Joel nods slowly, sucking at his teeth as he stares at you. Your thumb digs into the cuticle of your ring finger nervously.

No, not nervously; anticipatory.

You feel arousal begin to pool in your lower belly and you are made absurdly aware that you want this, that you want him. Not outside these stolen moments when he feels like the most frustrating person you know. Just when he promises a release from the loud world and its horrors.

"Gonna listen?”

His voice is firm, but hushed. You glance up the length of his body slowly, taking in the tapered waist and the long neck before and your eyes lock briefly before his. He holds his eyes on you before they flit to your shoulder. You finally nod, voice cracked.

"Yes."

He nods before surprising you by standing. He tilts his head, a silent follow me signal and you do as he walks out the door and into the room with the couch and fireplace. He leads you to the old sofa, the one that's been stripped of its fabric and left with what looks like a poorly tufted blanket over top. Likely an addition by one of the patrols but you can't understand why.

Joel eases onto it and it creaks as he settles himself. The air is gone from the room, leaving you breathless as you watch Joel unbuckle and then unbutton his jeans. You hold your breath as the zipper is pulled down and you see the flash of Joel's dark boxers underneath.

He beckons you closer with nothing more than his middle and pointer finger curling into his palm and you shuffle closer, approaching him slowly and warily as if he were a wounded animal.

And then it's like last time, only instead of angry, Joel just looks passive. As if this is something he did with all his former patrol partners.

Who knows, maybe he did.

You’re still wearing your red scarf and he takes it in his left fist before he tugs it gently, pulling you towards him. You stumble into the vee of his parted legs, looking down at him and swallowing. Despite the fact that you’re standing, you feel completely at his mercy.

He tilts his head, regarding you silently before he drops his hand from your scarf.

"On your knees," he says sibilant.

You sink to the floor between his legs without question. You don't hesitate. You hit your knees quickly, not caring that the floor is cold through the denim of your jeans. You don’t care if your eagerness is obvious.

Your hands tremble in equal measure anticipation and fear as they reach for Joel's boxers. As you did last time you pull him through the slit at the front, keeping the base of his cock still partially hidden. He seems to prefer that, letting you only see glimpses of him. You think you prefer that too. Still you feel your eyes widen a fraction at actually seeing his hard cock up close in your home. You'd only felt it that night on patrols.

“Stroke.”

You move your hand forward cautiously, waiting for your fingers to curl around his hard shaft. It twitches when you touch it. He raises an eyebrow slowly, his head tilting as his eyes move down to where you stroke him. He watches your hand move there, his tongue coming to drag over his lower lip. It glistens.

You swallow nervously, eyes on his cock as you tilt forward. You let yourself observe the bead of pre-come at the tip, the stiffness of his length. Without thinking you dip your face forward and run your lips from the base of his cock, grazing them to the tip. You’re rewarded with a quiet hiss from Joel.

“Lick.”

You do. Soft little kitten licks along the head tasting the salt of his pre-come. Joel breathes sharply through his nose at the sensation and when your eyes flick up they find his intensely staring down at you. A shiver goes through your body at the heavy desire reflected back to you. It emboldens you.

You don’t even wait for him to tell you to suck. Your parted mouth simply dips forward and circles the rosy head immediately. It stretches your lips, straining to take him. He's heavy on your tongue, thick in your mouth. You'd expected him to be rough, to thrust himself to the hilt but he's still. He's so still you're not sure he's okay with it.

With your mouth still full of him your eyes travel up his body to his face, brows raised in question. His face gives nothing away and you still, preparing to pull off of him when one large hand comes to the top of your head stopping you. He seems momentarily thrown, mouth curving into a frown. His hand goes to your neck and you wince in surprise when he unravels the red scarf from your neck.

"Close your eyes."

You do, letting them flutter shut. You don't say anything when he folds the scarf in half lengthwise before tying it around your eyes, securing it snugly at the back of your head. Your mouth is still stuffed with his cock, stretching your mouth almost painfully as you wait for him to knotting it at the back of your head.

If you opened your eyes you would see nothing but a murky red. As it is you see only the inside of your eyelids. You can smell the scent of sweat and soap and coffee. You feel disorientated kneeling there on the cold wood floor and you want to grip his thighs for purchase but don’t dare.

His heavy hand is still resting on the crown of your head and now you feel it slowly urging your mouth to take more of him. You hear Joel’s steady breathing.

"Keep goin’," Joel whispers and judging by the direction of his voice you think he must be looking down at you.

He pulls out slowly, his breath ragged.

"You want more?"

His cock is dragging along your bottom lip and you can imagine it glossy and reddened. He urges it onto your waiting tongue before slipping out again, teasing you. He doesn’t wait for you to answer before responding on your behalf.

“Yeah, you want more,” he says sliding his cock back, the head hitting the back of your throat.

You begin to suck him with vigor, bobbing your head along his length with gusto. You're rewarded with the low murmuring groan from him. You begin humming gently around him, .

It feels good, it feels so fucking good to have this again. To feel a cock in your mouth, to hear a man groaning above you as you take him deeper into your throat. He begins to thrust now, trusting that you can take him. His movements are quick, his hips jerking.

Your saliva coats him, his pelvis quickly inching towards you and then away, back and forth as he saws his cock between your lips.

It could be anyone, you tell yourself. You've just missed this so much. This connection, this lust, this palpable heat that makes Joel snap his hips and makes you respond in kind, tilting back and taking him until your nose brushes the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. He smells amazing, musky and masculine.

"Christ," he murmurs, eyes closing. "S'good."

You feel saliva begin to drool out the corners of your mouth as he thrusts more rapidly into you, hand still on the crown of your head.

"Yeah that's right," he says in a husky drawl. "That's fucking right."

You wonder how you look right now. Not in a performative way, but you wonder if you look in command of yourself. Like you're not secretly terrified. Or do you look scared? Maybe Joel likes that. You hope not.

You moan as he slides deeper into your throat. At the sound Joel withdraws, letting himself rest heavily on your tongue. His hips shift and he bobs his cock along your tongue, like an engine being primed.

"You like that," Joel says, slipping in and out between your lips. "Like me fucking your pretty mouth."

Never a question, always a statement. He's talking to hear himself talk, not because he actually wants to know if you like it. You continue to bob your head along his cock, your mind going blissfully blank.

"Gonna come," he suddenly announces from above you.

You moan approvingly, his length aching in your mouth as you slide the tip of your tongue to flick at the head of his cock, your mouth stretched full. You know this part, you anticipate this part. The rapid unravelling, you only wish your eyes weren’t covered. Watching Joel unravel on your tongue would be interesting.

"Gonna come," he grunts at you again, harsher this time.

When you continue sucking, his wide palm comes to press against your forehead, pushing you back harshly.

You pop off of him, falling back onto your elbows. You give a yelp before pushing up your blindfold and looking up at him in confusion. You've never had a man pull out, always tasted them salty and sharp over your tongue.

But Joel's eyes are closed and his wide hands are gripping his thickness, curving around the head, stroking furiously and it's only seconds before he lurches forward and comes with a ragged gasp in great warm ropes that spill over his knuckles and onto the wood floor.

You watch the steady dripping, the silent admission that Joel would rather his spend go there, onto the wood floor, because it's more deserving than your mouth.

Useless.

“I….” Joel croaks before licking his dried lips. His cheeks and neck are flushed with red. "I didn't know if you'd want it.”

“Oh.”

“Thought you were doing it ‘cuz you thought you had to."

"Oh."

You wish you could offer more than that. But you’re still in shock, still laying there on your back, propped up by your elbows in some strange tableau of relaxation.

His breathing starts to regulate before he stands abruptly. You look away, saying nothing as he moves to the washroom with the water canteen from his bag. You imagine he’s washing his hands the best he can.

You take a moment to stand, legs shaky and jaw sore. It’s been a while since you did that. And your surprised at how much you enjoyed it, considering the person the cock was attached to. When he exits moments later he’s tucked away and he tells you quietly that it’s time to head back.

Wordlessly you both gather your belongings and Joel locks up the place behind you both. You feel strangely unsettled, not because of what happened but because of how it ended. You feel somehow cheated.

You reach your tethered horses at the same time. You work on untying Chestnut, feeling Joel’s eyes on you as he does the same for Midnight.

"You like sucking cock?"

His voice is so nonchalant you could be talking about taxes or the weather.

"Sometimes," you say as you shrug. Your cheeks burn, despite the cool air.

The two of you mount your horses and head back. It’s not until a half hour has passed that you finally find the words you’d wanted to say earlier.

“I like it,” you say, face burning as you stroke Chestnut’s mane absently while you trot behind Joel and Midnight. “Uh, finishing in my mouth. I like that.”

Joel turns his head slightly until you can see his strong profile silhouetted in the setting sun. He gives you a half nod.

“Alright then.”

You say nothing more the rest of the ride back to Jackson City. Your horses take you back home, the path trod so many times before. Joel and you make no attempt at speaking more about your time, it seems pertinent it remain unspoken.

The secret stays in Teton village.

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taglist: @cosmic006533-blog1 @joeldjarin @elegantduckturtle @orcasoul @valkyreally @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @multiversed-daydreamer

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #dad joel miller #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel tlou #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel

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vibrantbirdy · 11 months

Note

Hiii. Firstly, I just want to say how much I LOVE your work. I think you’re fantastic!

I was hoping to request an Obi-Wan Kenobi x Senator or Princess female reader (always a sucker for this). Maybe Clone wars or pre- ending of Revenge of the Sith. Peppered with Obi-Wan denying his feelings for the sake of the Jedi code, and then confessing true emotions in the Kenobi series era. (gotta love angst with some feels after a whole lot of yearning).

Thank you so much 💙

Thank you so much for your kind words and this wonderful request. I was so excited to write for Obi-Wan as it's been years since I have, and it's really cool to write for him in the wake of the Kenobi series. So thank you for this lovely prompt and I hope this is the sort of thing you were looking for.

(Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first.)

(Masterlist of my fics can be found here.)

Title: Relics Fandom: Star Wars: The Skywalker Saga Setting: Pre the Phantom Menace to post the Kenobi Series. Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Minor Angst Warnings: mild/moderate sexuality; mild references to Reader family losses due to old age; mild references to the Empire being baddies and doing baddie things Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Princess Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.5k Author's Note: It's late and I need to proofread this properly, sorry for any mistakes in the mean time!

Summary: You and Obi-Wan Kenobi have a connection that spans decades as your lives intersect throughout the years. Will you find each other again in the most unlikely of places?

Now

Inevitably, the Empire discovered that you have been siphoning off funds to various Rebel factions across the Galaxy for years. As Queen of Vitis, you planned to stay on your home world and face the consequences of defying the Imperial tyrants with your people.

But your Bodyguard, loyal to a fault, had other ideas. The night before an Imperial delegation was set to arrive, your Captain of the Guard, Old Paltrum, hired a bounty hunter to abduct you from your chambers in the middle of the night and drop you off somewhere "safe." This apparently meant any random, obscure world in the Outer Rim of the mercenary's choosing.

Seemingly, the desert planet of Tatooine was the farthest flung rock in the Galaxy that the brute could think of.

At night, you dream of home. Of Vitis. A beautiful planet, full of lush forests and green meadows where wildflowers gleam through the grass like little jewels.

Too often, these dreams turn to nightmares and you watch, helpless, as the rivers run red with the blood of your people and the Imperial flag flies like Death's victory banner above the royal citadel.

You fear you'll forever be known as the Vitisian Queen who abandoned her subjects in their most desperate hour of need.

Tatooine is not like home. The heat during the day is a constant, inescapable blanket of oppression. No matter what you do, the sand works its way into your eyes, between your teeth, into your clothes and tracks its way all the way through the small one room home you managed to purchase with the few credits Paltrum obviously appropriated for you from the palace treasury. And you are always so thirsty, no matter how much water you consume.

Still, you have been on the desert planet for almost three months now, and despite your belligerent determination not to, you are beginning to settle and acclimatise. Slowly.

You like Tatooine best in the evening, just as dusk falls. It's cooler and there is a rare, strange beauty to be found as the twin suns set in the sky which turns from blood red to pink to purple and finally to a deep, midnight blue.

You make your living selling the clothing you make at the stall you have acquired in the market in Mos Eisley. It is mid-afternoon when you catch sight of a man you know walking across the far side of the square. You jump up from your stool, knocking it over in your haste and sending your weaving unravelling to the floor.

Ducking and weaving and apologising to the people you bump into, you track the man making his way across the market through the obstructions of clothing and clutter and trinkets hanging from the stalls of your neighbours' and your own.

Your heart leaps. It is him. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

What is he doing here? Of all places.

You want to run to him, to call out his name but something stops you.

He looks older. Of course he does, it's been over a decade since you last saw him. But that's not it.

The Obi-Wan you remember carried himself with a charismatic air of confidence which, on other men, could easily have been perceived as arrogance. But Kenobi was always able to temper this with his good humour and dignified manner.

Now, he looks downtrodden, smaller, as if he's been on Tatooine so long that the years have started to grind him into the sand. His once well kempt hair and beard are scruffy and his dirty, torn clothes are little more than rags.

You are suddenly struck by the idea that he might not want you to see him like this. Then, you think about what happened to the Jedi Order and the rumoured purge said to have been commanded by the Emperor himself.

Obi-Wan must be in exile or in hiding. Just like you.

With this revelation, you are paralysed by indecision. By the time you come to the realisation that you can't let this chance to reunite with him slip away, he is already gone.

***************************************************

30 years ago

The Republic have sent a diplomatic envoy to Vitis to discuss with leading politicians from the surrounding worlds the increasing Separatist pressure on the system's trade routes. The delegation of two Jedi, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his young apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, arrive at the Vitisian royal citadel early in the morning.

Although you really think you should be sitting at the table with the other delegates, you've reluctantly agreed with the wishes of your parents, the King and Queen, to show Obi-Wan the palace grounds and some of the countryside beyond.

He's a young man about your age, probably eighteen or nineteen. Upon first introduction, you get the distinct impression that he feels like he should be present at the discussions too. But, following a brief period of stilted conversation as you lead him through the palace and out into the lush gardens, it quickly becomes apparent that you and Obi-Wan just click. Any interest in trade or commerce is soon forgotten by both of you.

When he speaks, his pronunciation is clipped and proper, but his voice is full of a charming vitality. He has a graceful, purposeful physicality and moves his body with a self-assuredness many young men his age don't seem to possess quite yet. And he's handsome. He has an open, honest face with well-proportioned features, adored with two impossibly bright blue eyes. He has sandy coloured hair which, apart from a small pony tail at the back of his head and a long, thin braid that runs down behind his ear and to his chest, is cropped short.

As you walk through Vitis's lush, green surroundings together, the conversations flows easily. You notice that he has a perpetual, good-natured smirk on his face, as if he constantly has an amusing quip on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes he speaks these out loud and his blue eyes twinkle with mischief.

His little barbs are never unkind. In fact, you find it refreshing, the way he makes you think on your feet in an effort to fire out your own witty retorts.

One time, you're too slow to think of anything clever to say, so all you can think to do is to pull, gently, at the strange braid affixed to the side of his head.

"What's this?"

What's what?" He asks with mock ignorance, and you shove him playfully.

"It's my Padawan braid," he explains, "It signifies that I'm not yet a Jedi. Once I've completed the trials, I'll cut it off as part of the ceremony when I become a Knight."

"Oh," you say, faltering.

It all sounds rather meaningful and symbolic.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have..."

He smiles reassuringly.

"It's ok, I have a bad habit of tugging at it myself when I'm nervous."

Hours have passed and you've wandered all the way through the grounds as far as the great lake before either of you notice the time. You take the short cut back through the woods and past the gargantuan Whispering Tree, which stands sentinel like a great, leafy guardian on the border of the royal forest.

Obi-Wan stops to admire the tree, his eyes following its massive trunk and he cranes his neck in a futile attempt to try and get a glimpse of the top as it disappears into the canopy. The tree is putting on a magnificent show today. Its peculiar white leaves are dazzling in the sunlight and the pale silver bark shines like precious metal.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice filled with awe, "I've never seen a tree like it."

"It's called the Whispering Tree because of the noise it makes in the wind. It sounds like someone speaking. It's the only one left of its kind - a white Vitisian Birch. Traditionally, first born royal daughters are charged with its care," you run a hand against the smooth bark fondly," and that happens to be me."

Obi-Wan smiles almost absent-mindedly as he presses his palm against the tree and closes his eyes.

"Are you talking to it? Using the Force?" You ask, excitedly, "What's it saying?"

"That's not how it works," he chuckles, but he stops immediately as he sees your cheeks redden and realises that you're embarrassed.

"Uh, but if it could talk," he continues, earnestly, "It would say that it feels very lucky to have someone like you to care for it."

You beam widely at him and, unable to stop yourself, you lean in and plant an impulsive kiss on his lips. At first, he stiffens, his eyes wide in surprise, but then he seems to melt into you and you feel a thrill of excitement course through you as his lips start to move against yours.

"Obi-Wan!" A stern voice makes you both jump and you leap away from each other as if you've been electrocuted.

The tall figure of Obi-Wan's mentor is striding towards where you are standing at the tree line, his Jedi robes and long silver hair billowing in the breeze together making him seem even bigger and more imposing.

"Master Qui-Gon..."

"You were supposed to escort the Princess to dinner an hour ago!"

"I know, Master, I'm sorry..."

Obi-Wan starts to explain, but Qui-Gon Jinn cuts him off abruptly.

"I don't want to hear it."

Side by side, you and Obi-Wan traipse silently back to the palace behind Master Jinn. You find yourself having to scurry to keep up with his long strides, but Obi-Wan appears to be used to it.

He looks rather crestfallen following Qui-Gon's admonishment, and you reach out to touch the back of his hand lightly with your own. At first, he doesn't look at you, instead just allowing the corners of his mouth to lift slightly as he runs his knuckles back and forth against your own.

Then, you exchange a sheepish, secret smile, behind Master Jinn's back, before breaking the touch and you both return your gaze to the ground with suitably chastised expressions.

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

It becomes apparent over dinner that Master Jinn, mercifully, has not informed your parents of your little indiscretion with Obi-Wan. You don't know what story he has concocted to explain your tardiness, but you are grateful for it.

Over the course of the evening, as you observe him, you realise that Qui-Gon Jinn is a kind man. Although he appears slightly terse with Obi-Wan to begin with, his manner softens as time goes on and to you, the relationship between the two Jedi seems almost akin to that of father and son.

Although you still feel a guilty, watching the two Jedi helps soothe your worries that Obi-Wan might face some severe reprimand on account of your actions.

Soon, it is time to see the guests off and the Jedi delegation is last to leave. You take advantage of the long conversation Master Jinn and your father apparently couldn't possibly have finished over dinner to say goodbye to Obi-Wan.

"I'm sorry, did you get in trouble?" You say quickly and quietly into his ear as you give him a formal, chaste kiss farewell on the cheek. "Yes, but it was worth it," he whispers back and a wide, boyish grin spreads across his face as he pulls away.

You can't do anything other than return it, and you look at each other for just a moment longer before he gives you a courteous nod of his head.

"Goodbye, Princess."

"Goodbye, Obi-Wan."

********************************************************

Now

You next see Obi-Wan a few weeks after your first glimpse of him at the market.

You almost approach him this time, but again, something holds you back.

He is heading towards Mos Eisley's space port and he has a more purposeful stride to his walk than when you last saw him.

Yet it's still not the walk of the composed, dignified man you once knew. In fact, his sense of urgency seems alarmingly close to panic.

Presumably, he is going off-world for some reason. He's not carrying much with him.

You hope he'll be back.

******************************************************** 12 years ago You are arriving on Coruscant, the sprawling city covered planet at the heart of the Galaxy, the seat of the Republic's power. Your father has sent you to make a representation to the Senate to officially declare an end to Vitis's neutrality.

It's not what you or your people want. But the Separatists have been pushing in on Vitisian interests on all sides in the past several months, disrupting trade routes, placing droid garrisons on nearby worlds, even muscling in on mineral mining operations on several moons within the Vitisian system. There is now really is very little choice. Vitis needs the protection of the Republic.

As you step off your ship, Obi-Wan Kenobi, now a Jedi Master, strides across the landing platform to greet you. You are so high up it gives the impression that the Coruscant sun which hangs large and low and golden in the sky behind you is about to swallow you whole. There is a strong breeze, which catches your hair and sends the flowing train of your green travelling dress snaking into the air like an emerald river.

Obi-Wan has grown into a fine looking man, tall and broad shouldered. He is clothed in traditional Jedi attire, a long brown robe draped elegantly over a cream tunic, fawn pants, and knee length, brown leather boots. His sandy hair is neatly cropped at the back and sides, with more length on the top and he had grown a distinguished golden beard since you last saw him.

"Princess," he says with a warm smile, those piercing blue eyes of his just as full of life as you remember.

"Master Kenobi," you respond, beaming, as he stoops to kiss you on both cheeks.

You'd been concerned that, in the almost two decades since you last saw him, his long years at war in service to the Jedi might have dulled that bright spark you so admired in the young man you once knew.

But you needn't have worried. As he escorts you to your chambers within the accommodation wing of the grand Senate building, you find yourself falling back into easy, cheerful conversation with him, as if no time has passed at all.

Obi-Wan's youthful spirit is still present but it has evolved into a sort of refined, contained exuberance that sits elegantly on him. He is as quick to laughter as ever and the eloquent wit he possessed even as a boy is just as sharp.

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

You are sitting in the lavish parlour of the rooms you've been assigned. It is a fine suite, decorated in bright colours with a beautiful view out across Coruscant's endless cityscape. The arching floor to ceiling windows let in as much natural light at the metropolis' towering spires will allow.

Suddenly, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss Obi-Wan again, now that he has that dashing beard.

"Princess?"

Obi-Wan is standing at the sideboard, holding a steaming teapot and a glass mug out towards you. From the amused, questioning look on his face, you get the distinct impression that he has proffered the beverage more than once.

"I apologise, Master Jedi, I was parsecs away, yes please."

"Oh really?" he asks, conversationally as he drops into the lounge chair opposite you, and hands you the glass vessel across the low, marble table, "Where were you?"

"Well, I was actually thinking about when we first met, do you remember?"

It's not quite a lie.

"How could I forget?" He laughs, "Master Qui-Gon was furious with me."

A shadow of uncharacteristic sadness suddenly passes over his face.

Remembering the rumours you have heard of the violence of Qui-Gon Jinn's death at the hands of a mysterious, fearsome warrior, you put down your tea and reach across the table to take Obi-Wan's hands in yours.

"I was so very sorry to hear about Master Jinn, Obi-Wan," you say kindly.

"Thank you, it was a long time ago now."

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He squeezes your hands gently before he stands up.

"I'll let you get settled."

Obi-Wan makes for the door and as he reaches for the handle, he turns and grins at you disarmingly.

"It really is very good to see you again, Princess."

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

You had only planned to stay on Coruscant for a week. However, politics being as they are, you have ended up staying for much longer.

One day, during a gap in the Senate proceedings, Obi-Wan takes you to visit the magnificent Jedi Temple. He wants to show you the terraced garden, knowing that you are missing the greenery of Vitis.

It is a paradise. You can't believe that at the centre of this endless cityscape is this bubble of serenity. The variety of plants that are grown here, the vibrancy of the colours, the wonderful aroma of a hundred different blossoms all intermingled - it makes you giddy.

You and Obi-Wan stay in the gardens for hours strolling and conversing and sitting together, then strolling some more.

"Strange how so many years have gone by yet I feel as if no time at all has passed between us," you say plainly as soon as the thought pops into your head.

You don't mean it to sound quite so romantic, but then you realise you really don't mind if that's how Obi-Wan choses to interpret it.

"I feel the same," he agrees and you are surprised to see a hint of bashfulness in the smile he offers.

You allow the back of your hand to graze against his. He turns his head and raises his eyebrows at you, an amused smirk of recognition on his face. He runs his knuckles along yours as he once did so many years ago.

Unlike then, Obi-Wan allows his hand to stay resting against yours this time and you walk like that, not quite hand in hand, through the vast gardens of the Temple long after the sun starts to set and the descent of the cool, evening air releases the sweet, heady scent of Coruscanti night blossoms all around you.

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

The month you have spent on Coruscant has been stressful, busy, and filled with difficult negotiations and decisions which weigh heavily upon on you. Your father is in ailing health, ever since the death of your mother, and you know that soon you will be Queen. It is not a thought you relish, but now, at least, you know that when you take the oath to serve your people for the rest of your life as sovereign, you will be able to do so knowing you can hold your own on their behalf in the Rancor's den of the Republic Senate.

Yet, aside from all the worry, this has also been one of the happiest times of your life. When you are not working, and when he is not galivanting off-world on some Jedi business or another, you have spent every moment you can spare with Obi-Wan.

When the time finally comes to leave Coruscant, Obi-Wan volunteers to escort you back to Vitis. You'd sent Paltrum home weeks ago, poor old sod. City air has never agreed with him and you just knew his wife, Ina, would be worried sick about him.

As you finally land back on your home world, it is amid thunder and lightning. It is perhaps the most violent storm you've seen on Vitis in a decade.

You almost can't believe it when you and Obi-Wan step off the ship and see Old Paltrum soaked through, standing sentry at the palace doors.

"Paltrum, get inside, for the love of the Maker!" You scold the ancient Captain as you approach.

Obi-Wan is holding his cloak over your head in a valiant effort to keep you dry, but it is making not one bit of difference and you can feel the water seeping through your travelling clothes and into your bones.

"It's always been my job to watch for you, your Highness, I'm not about to stop now," Paltrum responds indignantly and you feel a pang of guilt for your rather patronising tone.

"I know, thank you, Captain," and you have to shout over the roar of the wind and the lashing rain, "It's late. I'll see my father in the morning, don't disturb him."

"As you wish, my lady," Paltrum says with a gracious nod, and you stifle a laugh as a deluge of water floods off the peak of his cap with the motion.

The Captain turns to Obi-Wan as he opens the huge, ornate doors to let you through.

"Master Kenobi, there are guest quarters ready for you in the east wing."

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

Obi-Wan does not go to the east wing. Instead, you lead him towards your own chambers. Someone, thankfully, has lit a fire in your sitting room and you both sit cross-legged on the rug on the floor as close as is possible next to the roaring flames.

You've each taken off your sodden outerwear. If possible, Obi-Wan looks even more dashing wet through, his light undershirt clinging to his muscled torso underneath.

Neither of you have spoken since you sat down and as you both watch the flames from the fire reflect in the other's eyes, a tension-filled silence fills the room and sets your heart racing until you think it might burst.

When you can bear it no longer and you see no point in prolonging further pretence, you grab Obi-Wan by the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. It is not like your first, so many years ago. This is a deep and passionate embrace, full of desire. He responds immediately to your touch this time, his lips crashing almost roughly against yours.

The Jedi's hands are round your waist, at the nape of your neck, the small of your back, tangled up in your hair, seemingly all at once. You start to unbutton the fastenings on his shirt, tearing at them with one hand, while the other travels urgently down his chest towards his abdomen.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan leaps to his feet and turns his back to you, his broad shoulders rising and falling rapidly. As you've seen him do so often in recent weeks, he brings a hand to his face and rubs his beard. You think this new habit has probably replaced the old one of tugging on his Padawan braid.

"Have I upset you?" you ask quietly, the sting of confusion and rejection, worrying its way under your skin.

"No, Princess," his voice is an earnest whisper as he sits back down in front of you, grasping your hands in his, "Never."

"I still dream of that kiss we shared all those years ago," he admits suddenly, his voice low and full of longing.

Obi-Wan cups your face gently in his hands and looks at you, brows furrowed with emotion, his gaze penetrating right through your soul and setting it aflame.

"Now, seeing you again after all these years, I dream of what it would be like to hold you, to share your life, to....share your bed. These past weeks, I have yearned for you, you must know that."

Your foreheads are touching now, your nose presses into his face, and your fingers are suddenly entwined in his wet, golden hair. You can feel his heart raging against his chest as if it is fighting to escape, just as your own is.

"Obi-Wan..." you say, open-mouthed against his cheek, breathless with need for him.

He closes his eyes and brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn't quite allow himself to kiss you. Instead, after a moment of breathing each other in and out, he pulls away gently.

"But that's all they are," his voice has returned to it's usual refined timbre, "I'm sorry, but they are just dreams. It's all I can allow them to be."

His words are like a thousand tiny knives to your heart and you can't help feeling how cruel it was of him to give you hope and then tear it away like that. You stand up sharply and walk to the window, gazing out onto the storm raging across Vitis, a mere spring shower compared to the tumult now roiling within you.

"You must understand, I have pledged my life to the Jedi Order..."

"You were a child when you made that pledge..." you scoff and you despise the bitterness in your own voice.

He walks across the room to join you and puts his hand on your shoulder.

"All the same. It is made. And now we are at war. I have obligations, I have responsibilities to the Order and to the Republic"

You turn to him and place your hands on his broad chest. His heartbeat has slowed and you know you are losing him. It's like he's flicked some internal switch and raised a barrier between you.

"Then let us have each other, just this once," you whisper urgently, emboldened by desire and the fear that this chance to love him as you've always wanted is slipping away forever.

Obi-Wan touches your face and smiles sadly.

"If we did, I would never be able to leave you again, not for a single moment. I would be your prisoner forever."

"Then stay," you plead through tears, even though you already know his answer, "Stay with me."

"I can't."

***********************************************

Now

Obi-Wan Kenobi is sitting on a wall in Mos Eisley's market place. You are pleased to see that he looks much more like his old self. His head is held high and there is a look of calm on his handsome face. The clothes he is wearing are much neater than before, almost reminiscent of his old Jedi robes, and he has tidied up his hair and beard.

You walk towards him, but he doesn't notice you. You don't say his name. Instead, you quietly sit down next to him and let the back of your hand rest against his. You feel the strong tendons there tense.

He doesn't look at you. His head drops, and his eyes close as if he couldn't stand for it not to be you. Lightly, he moves his hand so that his knuckles rub gently against yours.

"Hello old friend," you say.

"Princess."

The use of your old title sounds natural and right on his tongue and you hope he never stops using it.

Obi-Wan finally looks up at you and his eyes, still dazzling shards of icy blue, gleam with tears. You reach out and touch his face, his stubble pleasantly rough under your hand. You take in the lines around his eyes, deeper now, and the distinguished flecks of silver in his beard and hair. The sight of him is more beautiful, more familiar to you than you can bear.

"You still look the same," you say, your voice shaking slightly.

He smiles and turns his face to gently kiss the heel of your palm that is resting against his cheek.

"And you are more radiant than ever."

He helps you take down your market stall early for the day and you take him into your home where you speak for hours in hushed tones and tell each other everything of your lives in the years since you were last together.

Then, as the twin suns of Tatooine set behind your little domed house in the sand, you lead him to your bed.

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

You are curled up on your side against Obi-Wan's solid, warm chest. For the first time in years you feel safe, entwined in his strong arms, listening to the steady, sonorous rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I have always loved you," he whispers tenderly in your ear, tucking away a stray lock of hair back from your cheek.

"And I you," you say and you mean it.

Still, you can't help but smile sadly as you think of the last time you saw him that fateful night of the storm of Vitis before everything fell apart.

"But of course, you already knew that," you add.

"I am sorry, truly."

"Obi-Wan..." you start to interrupt, worried that your words sounded resentful.

"For all the wasted years," he continues.

He needs to say this, you realise. So you let him.

"If I'd known how the Republic would fall, how the Jedi Order would fail, how the Empire... Well, I never would have denied us this."

He brings his lips to your shoulder and traces a trail of kisses down your arm. His beard tickles.

"No one could have known, Obi-Wan. You did what you thought was right at the time. We all did. And now here we are together again. We made it back to each other. Two old relics of a past age."

"Oh come now, we're not that old," he quips, and you are happy to hear that his tone has lightened again.

You grin mischievously and wriggle out of his arms to push him down onto his back and roll on top of him.

"Prove it," you whisper, as you come to rest on his abdomen and lean down to kiss him on the nose.

His eyes widen in surprise and then in boyish delight as he grasps you firmly by your hips. "Again?!" he laughs and he throws his head back in mirth at his own joke, his eyes squeezing shut so that they crinkle beautifully at the corners.

It is a joyful, youthful, transcendental sound and suddenly, you are back under the Whispering Tree in the green meadows of Vitis with a young Jedi, an unwritten future together stretching out endlessly in front of you.

#obi wan x reader #obi wan x female reader #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x female reader #star wars fanfic #obi wan kenobi fanfiction

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pleasantangelpaper · 5 months

Text

To Run From the Sky (Part 1)

Hi!!! So, this fic is sort of a new thing I'm trying out on my wattpad. It's a William Afton x Reader that is a little angsty! I'm curious to know how tumblr will react to it, so here it is! Feel free to check out my wattpad account if you would like to read there! My user is the same on both platforms! :)

William Afton x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating

Just last month I was swimming in the clear waters of Malibu beach, and now I'm moving back in with my parents in Hurricane, Utah. Where did I go wrong? How could this have happened to me? I remember, but I still don't understand...

The air was cold for California as I navigated alleyways, weaving in between sheds and cars to find my friend and roommate, Bethany, who had invited me to her boyfriend's house party. Upon finally finding the house, by ear rather than eye, as crappy pop blared through the enormous living room sound system, I stumbled up the lawn, trying not to trip over various red solo cups. A few boys stood watch outside the door, joking around, and obviously getting very drunk. Walking past them, I entered the house. Loud music and bright lights flooded my senses, bringing me to a very alert state. "Bethany!" I yelled into the void of party-goers. No response was heard. I journeyed on through the group of people, pushing my way past several drunk guys. I then saw a familiar taller gentleman. "Stu!" I yelled at him. "Oh hey Y/N! Have you seen Bethany anywhere?" the puzzled man questioned. I sighed in discontent, "No, I'm looking for her too,". "Maybe you could go check my room? She might have went in there to sit down for a minute," Stu stated. I nodded my head and walked towards the spiral staircase that adorned his second floor balcony. Stu's house was quite lavish. As I found Stu's room I could hear some strange noises from inside. My brain told me to stay out of it, but my heart feared for Bethany. The door opened, and my throat closed. There was my boyfriend, Billy, and my best friend, Bethany, kissing. My mouth stayed open as tears filled my eyes. "How........ how could you do this to me...... how could either of you do this to me.....". The two struggled to find words as they pulled apart from one another. I stood heartbroken in the doorway. My tears started to drip off of my face, creating a puddle on Stu's floor. "Hey Y/N, was she in th-" Stu began to question before he noticed the tension in the room. "What happened?" he asked, a slight tinge of anger becoming evident in his voice. "Stu, baby, he just started kissing me, and I just couldn't fight back," " Bullshit, you kissed me first" The two argued at each other trying to come up with some sort of story that would get them out of trouble, but it was too late. Stu's eyes welled with tears as he screamed for them to get out of his house. I don't remember much after that. It all feels like a blur. I move out of the shared apartment I had with Bethany, and now I'm here, in Utah.

I set my last box down on the floor of my childhood bedroom. Waves of emotions hit me as I stare at the corkboard full of memories. Memories of Bethany and I before we had moved to California tainted the room. I felt my soul fill with rage. I tore down the pictures with tears in my eyes. As I fell to the ground, a soft knock was heard at my bedroom door. "Come in," I grumbled out to the unknown visitor. "How you doing, honey," my mother gently walked into the room, avoiding the pictures on the ground. I just silently cried as she patted my back. "Y'know, I hate to do this to you, but our neighbors, the Aftons, are coming over for dinner tonight, they've got a lot going on as well, and I wish we could reschedule, but this plan has been going on for some time now... we would love it if you would join us, dear," my mother spoke quietly as if any loud words or sudden movements would cause me to spiral again. I sniffled and wiped my tears with my cardigan sleeve, "Thanks mom, but I would rather finish unpacking first," "That's okay honey, take all the time you need,". And with that, my mother left and closed the door, leaving me to my own devices once again. I began to unpack the boxes around me, sorting what I could into the drawers of my old dresser, and organizing a desk space. I set up some stuffed animals on my bed to make it seem more inviting, and I fluffed the pillows that had gone untouched for some time now.

By the time I was finished, I glanced at the clock on my wall and noticed it was 10 o'clock. "I better get something to eat I guess," I spoke aloud to myself. The hallways were dark as I creeped down the wooden stairs to the kitchen. I noticed the smell of burnt coffee as I walked forward, but thought nothing of it, that is, until I noticed a figure that definitely was not either of my parents. "I just can't get this damn thing to work right," the man proclaimed. His purple button-up sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he prodded at buttons on the old coffee machine. His glasses were on the tip of his nose as he stuck his tongue out in thought, his brows furrowed in frustration. My cheeks turned a bit rosy as I stared at the attractive man in front of me. I finally put two and two together and noticed this man must be Mr. Afton. "Do you need any help, Mr. Afton?" I sheepishly spoke. The man spun around in surprise, "Oh! You must be Y/N, I had no idea anyone was still up, your parents told me that I could stay over for the night," he got quieter as the sentence went on, clearly embarrassed by needing a place to sleep. "Don't feel ashamed, I'm also freeloading here right now," I half-joked at my predicament. The older man's face softened as he turned his attention back to the old coffee maker. My family had had this coffee maker for as long as I had been alive. I walked over and grabbed the pot as I hit the button to brew. "Yeah... this thing is so old that if the pot isn't sitting in exactly one place it just doesn't go," I sighed at the fact that we were still using this thing. Mr. Afton chuckled at the piece of old tech and ran a hand through his hair. "Wow, that's something," he said in disbelief. Once the pot was done brewing, I pulled down two coffee mugs, one a pale blue with white bunnies dancing across it, and the other a pale yellow with the same design. "Sorry Mr. Afton, I think these bunny mugs are the only ones clean," I laughed a little at the cute designs in contrast to this grown man. "That's fine, I love bunnies," he smirked. "Also, please don't call me Mr. Afton, you'll make me feel older than I already do... call me William," he half-grunted at the statement. I giggled at him as I poured the cheap coffee into the cute bunny mugs, spilling a bit onto the peeling linoleum of the counter. I handed him the yellow mug in silence and took a sip of the warm drink. I noticed William make a face as he drank it. "Nothing like the taste of off-brand coffee made in a cheap old coffee maker, huh?" I joked. "Oh yeah nothing like it," he chuckled back. We stood with small conversation as we finished our drinks. The interaction made me smile, and I felt a bit warmer inside, like I wasn't alone in all of this. As we both finished off the coffee pot, I gently set our mugs in the sink. "Goodnight William," I said, as I walked towards the stairs. "Goodnight Y/N,"

#william afton #william afton x reader #springtrap #springtrap x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf #steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #william afton x you #william afton fluff #matthew lillard x reader

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fushiglow · 2 months

Note

It's like 3 am and I should be studying for the chemistry exam I have in a couple hours but my mind is far too preoccupied with the way you have weaved the definition of limiting in music (I think that's how it's called? Basically the definition in the first chapter) through the whole story. It really brings to life how the industry's trying to limit Gojo, and truly anyone who isn't fit for the public's taste into something palatable, easy to consume and pay for. And I absolutely love the fact that throughout the story there is the main theme of breaking away from the rules and the threshold (like the title), and I absolutely love how the title so beautifully encompasses everything one can find in the story.

Gods I love it and my mind is a mess right now but the story has me actually gnawing at the walls, either from the intricacies of the story, to how the characters act (which may I say are so beautifully crafted).

I just love it, thank you truly for creating it!!!

I LOVE YOU, ANON, YOU GET IT YOU GET IT 😭

I need you to know how loud I screamed when I saw this in my inbox, I have been waiting for this exact message since the day I published the first chapter!!

I thought long and hard about how to define limiting clearly at the start of the fic, but even so, I admit I've wondered at times whether this overarching metaphor is too esoteric. However, the purpose and mechanism of a limiter in music production (combined with the easter eggs about the infinite ratio and, obviously, "limitless") was too perfect for Gojo's character and the exact story I'm trying to tell, so I decided to trust my instincts.

I'm incredibly glad I did, because I have nothing to add — you encapsulated exactly what I'm doing with this metaphor in such a neat and succinct manner, and that gives me a lot of faith that I must be doing something right! I can't possibly articulate how wonderful this was to read, you have made my entire year ♥️ Thank you for making your way to my asks to share all of these kind words with me, I really hope to hear from you again in the future — I'm so keen to hear more about your interpretations! Really glad you're enjoying the fic too, thank you thank you thank you!!

#i'm gnawing at the walls too help #♥️#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #threshold fic #ask fushiglow

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tinnictheguardian · 6 months

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Head Canon: All the sons of Feanor had crafts

I have been reading a fair bit of Silmarillion fics, and I noticed that there were quite a few fics where Maedhros doesn't have a craft. Now this is a fair enough headcanon because only Curufin is explicitly said to take after his father. Also, Celegrom, Amras and Amrod are explicitly said to be hunters.

However, I believe that someone as aggressively Noldo as Feanor would insist all his sons specialise in some sort of craft. So here's my headcanon on which son of Feanor had which craft:

Maedhros - Woodworking, but obviously, he can't do it once he loses his hand

Maglor - musical instruments and weaving - he sings while he weaves

Celegrom - leatherworking to go with his hunting

Caranthir - painting, including paint and dye-making, also paper making and framing

Curufin - weaponsmithing and, before that, gold and silver smithing

Amrod and Amras - bone carving and furrier, again to go with them being great hunters

Also, I noticed that in a lot of fics, Noldo used quills, but I am pretty sure they had pens. I think this is an issue where people aren't sure how technologically advanced the Noldo are supposed to be. Certainly, Tolkien doesn't make it clear but I don't think it makes a lot of sense to assume that the Noldo would not have replaced quills with fountain pens in all the time they dwelt in Valinor. Especially since fountain pens can be true works of art!

I don't know. To me, there is something extremely Noldo elven about beautiful fountain pens and good quality ink products. Of course, the Noldo would start using quil once they are reduced to refugees following Nirnaeth Arnoediad. But before that, I think they used metal pens.

#maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amras #amrod #silmarillion

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seravphs · 10 months

Note

do you have any gojo/yuta fic recs??? i binged all of yours oop-

You have no idea how excited I was to get this ask 😁 Thank you both for reading all my Gojo/Yuuta fics and for giving me the opportunity to rave about fics I love!!

You can look through everything I've rec'd in my sera reads tag but it's not organized at all, so it won't be sorted by character or anything. There's probably a lot of Gojo in there though! I haven't read as much for Yuuta but I love him enough that there will probably be more in the future. Obviously check the byf/dni of everyone before you interact as well!

minors dni | if you like Gojo and Yuuta, @princess-okkotsu was a a Gojo girl before she was Yuuta's most ardent supporter so you might really like her work! She has a wip office romance about Gojo that I dream about every day so you should look forward to that because I am!

minors dni | @seoafin is completely unparalleled at what she does. Morgan does a fantastic job at weaving really poignant and human themes into her work without hitting you over the head with it. Ripverse is universally famous at this point but if you want to buddy read Dog Days Are Over with me I have reviews for it in my recs tag! Super recommend DDAO, along with all her other works. This is my review for chapter one. I'm reading chapter four right now! We can cry together 💜

minors dni | @mintmatcha is obviously well known for all the right reasons but my personal faves are vignettes and this unnamed thing for Gojo, both of which I have reviews for. Don't ask me about how I feel about vignettes because I can't go through that again, it's all in the tags I left. My favorite line from the unnamed fic is "If I were normal, I would have let you hold my hand." Doesn't that make you want to scream?

minors dni | @yeowchies Whet Your Appetite was sooo delicious. It does an absolutely incredible job of really making you feel the tension in the relationship, the push and pull dynamics, and the burgeoning attraction!

@shiinleaf I'm actually embarrassed that I don't think I've had the chance to read anything by Xin yet but this post she made makes me feel so insane, so feel free to peruse her masterlist!

@stellamancer I'm in the middle of reading and reviewing Niku's merman series Shine On The Sea now! I've had the privilege to listen to her thoughts on this fic in the dms, so even though I haven't read it yet, I know it's going to be good. She also has several wips for Gojo that I'm insane about - keep an eye out for this whenever she's ready! Isn't it so good?

@shotorus I haven't had the chance to read it yet but Sel said she wrote Do You Believe In Love with Teen Dad! Gojo in mind, so if you liked that universe of mine, I'm sure you'll like this too!

#I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THE FICS I READ which could not be more obvious from my rambling reviews in my recs tag #I probably missed a few people but again I review almost everything that I've enjoyed reading so you could probably find it in sera reads

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gunpowdercarousel · 6 months

Note

Do you have any other Lae'zel ships that you like?

Lae'zel/Karlach (Lae'lach) is pretty cute. Lae'zel would obviously be mad horny for Karlach because of how impressive of a warrior she is, while Karlach would think Lae'zel is cute and pretty and small and all sorts of things nobody has ever accused Lae'zel of being. I also like the idea of Lae'zel having to grapple with a slight inferiority complex, being smaller and weaker and - in ways - possibly less mighty of a warrior than Karlach. And then Karlach of course just thinks she's great no matter what, and just wants to cuddle.

Weirdly I can kind of get behind Lae'zel/Gale, though idk if I'd actually want it to get properly romantic. Basically I like the idea of Lae'zel having something of a crush on Gale and being like "Oh, he's such a mighty wizard, the way he channels the Weave could make mountains crumble!" and then... well, it's Gale. He's just a giant nerd. This one is mostly inspired by some of Lae'zel's lines about him, notably:

"Gale is positively voracious" in reference to his consumption of magic items. I seriously think she sounds kind of aroused, and I think it's hilarious to imagine her getting turned on from watching him consume magical items. Like even she didn't realize she has a thing for that, but then she sees it and feels something stir deep inside.

Also she references his 'immense talents' after Mystra tells him to blow himself up. So it's obvious she thinks highly of him, and I like the idea of her kinda 'wanting' him, but him being too oblivious to realize it. Because let's be honest, they're pretty much exact fucking opposites.

Other than that, I've seen Tav pairings that were cute. I think there's definitely a lot to explore with Lae'zel clashing with different types of people she's not used to. I'd honestly enjoy a fic that was Lae'zel getting rizzed up by a Tav that was just SUPER into her. I like the idea of someone ELSE being the one to take the initiative and Lae'zel not even really being able to comprehend it. Like "I thought everyone on this realm found my people ugly af, why is this one flirting with me so much?"

To that degree, I can see Wyll x Lae'zel. That definitely has the potential to be very cute.

Honestly, Lae'zel x most people can work in my opinion xD just grab your dolls and mash them together.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #lae'zel #ask #bae'zel #bg3

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anghraine · 7 months

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I just wanted to say that I love your pride and prejudice metas! A lot of them gave me a fresh perspective on the characters. My friend is a p&p 2005 fan, I'm partial to p&p 1995, and interacting with different opinions on the adaptations, characters, is my favorite part of fandom; and you're a particularly interesting, well-reasoned voice.

I particularly like your interpretation of Darcy because of the way you balance the good and bad. He just feels real, with his own flaws and family and values: but you also bring out the good, the reason why i love him as a character, so well. I enjoy fluffy happily ever after fics as much as the next p&p fan, but they tend to focus so heavily on his complete transformation into the perfect dreamboat that I think they tend to miss out on Darcy's actually valuable qualities.

Long, badly worded rant over! Just wanted to say that your blog is a highlight of my time spent on tumblr :)

Hi anon!

I know I got this a few days ago, but I wanted to reply at a time when I could really express my appreciation. I've revisited it a few times because it's so nice to hear!

I have strong feelings about Austen and P&P particularly, so I doubly appreciate the compliment of seeming well-reasoned. I try!

And thanks especially about Darcy, my eternal fave. It's genuinely important to me to engage with his faults—I don't want to go for the, oh, he's just shy and puts things badly sometimes, because I think that's not true and undercuts most of his character arc. But (obviously) I don't have much patience for hostile readings that skew the mirroring between him and Elizabeth into an unbalanced thing where he has and needed a total transformation while Elizabeth makes small adjustments at most.

Even setting aside the undercutting of Elizabeth's arc, I think the transformed!!!! Darcy narrative (from The Worst into flawless dreamboat, as you say) would be much more poorly-written than an arc that shows basic consistency of character as well as growth for the better. And I've always been deeply impressed by the ways in which P&P weaves together the persistence of some flaws and quirks as well as valuable qualities he's had all along (which the novel ultimately goes out of its way to underscore) alongside his growth as a person. It's a large part of what makes his arc so compelling IMO.

And I think it's his basic pre-existing integrity and strength of character that provide the fuel for his growth—it's all tied together in a way I find admirable both in terms of personality and in terms of Austen's craft. So that's what I'm often trying to get at, and it's very gratifying to hear that I am getting it across. Thanks again!

#anon replies #respuestas #nice things people say to me #austen blogging #austen fanwank #lady anne blogging #long post #ish?

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lyssified · 7 months

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HEY GUYS HERE'S PART 2 OF THE HEMINGWAY RANT ! ask and you shall recieve :)

you can read part 1 HERE and also read the trigger warnings there before you start, this one also has a lot of war trauma talk nothing too bad though

people that read the first one and I think wanted to be tagged in part 2: @mister3127 @crayonssmellgood @mack-anthology-of-noise @vampireboywife

okay welcome back to episode 2 of why the fuck am I hooked on the life of an american writer from the 1930s. so I have a couple more interesting facts about him because tbh this man was insane :D

so let's do a little compare and contrast game. hemingway grew up in the great lakes area and enjoyed big game hunting, solo fishing trips, had a father who was a doctor locally famous for performing c-sections whom he worshipped, was injured passing out cigarettes and chocolate to Italian soldiers in WW1, and spent time recovering in Milan

hemingway's most famous short stories are his Nick Adams stories. he created this character that he called Nick Adams and wrote stories about Nick's entire life. here are some things about nick: he grew up in the great lakes area and enjoyed big game hunting, solo fishing trips, had a father who was a doctor locally famous for performing c-sections whom he worshipped, was injured passing out cigarettes and chocolate to Italian soldiers in WW1, and spent time recovering in Milan. are we seeing the similarities???

so Hemingway was out here basically writing self insert war fic. most critiques will tell you that he based Nick Adams on himself, but they fail to tell you to what extent. like the similarities are INSANE. Nick Adams was literally Hemingway as a book character. and he very obviously wrote these stories as a coping mechanism for his war ptsd. the stories are often extremely plotless and sometimes rambling- you can tell it's just an expression of his brain to the point where while reading some of his work, my only thought was literally "go to therapy. talk this out with someone." like it might not help but also it might because some of these stories are insane.

the ones that I think best demonstrates this are "a way you'll never be" and "now I lay me," which you can read in THIS PDF, just ctrl+f for the titles. a way you'll never be is about Nick Adams being sent out to the front lines of Italy in American uniform to spread morale. he also has a head injury and also some mental issues and ends up going on a rant about grasshoppers to all the soldiers (because grasshoppers are significant in his childhood of fishing and whatnot) and just generally while you read it you can tell it was written by someone extremely mentally ill to the point where it's like. hard to read. "now I lay me" is a similar idea except this one is mainly about how Hemingway, for much of his life, could not sleep without another person in the room or a light on because he would get horrible nightmares. this one is pretty hard to read as well, and there's some dialogue at the end that makes very little sense out of context of the other Nick Adams stories.

essentially reading Nick Adams stories is like weaving a huge web of plot points and similarities of hemingway's life, and along the way you start learning the significance of things like trout and grasshoppers and the different representations of trauma and it all comes together in a huge pile of what the fuck did I just read please talk to someone about this, I am concerned and this seems really unhealthy. and also the wildest part is he literally did this, published these nick Adams stories, and people ATE THEM UP. they were like yesss hemingway another banger plotless ramble about war traumaaa!!! like people ATE UP his work. and even to this day I don't see anyone talking about how insane it was that he literally did this. someone please tell me i'm right about this I feel like a crazy person.

anyway on a happier note, to end part 2 I would love to tell my favourite Hemingway story.

so if you're familiar with f. Scott Fitzgerald (the guy who wrote great Gatsby), you might be surprised to learn that him and hemingway had a kind of love/hate/friends/kind of homoerotic but Hemingway was homophobic (read the Mother of a queen) relationship. they used to write letters to eachother and edit each other's work !! Hemingway once sent a draft of a story to F. Scott and F. Scott sent back 10 pages of edits. Hemingway sent a letter back that only said "kiss my ass." Hemingway also wrote a really sweet letter to F. Scott at one point that you can read HERE in which he wrote "you are twice as good now as you were at the time you think you were so marvellous," and also "anyway I’m damned fond of you" and then signed it "always your friend." which was cute. Hemingway also like. DESPISED f scott's wife with a passion. do with that what you will.

anyway here's the interesting part !! this is a pretty famous story that Hemingway wrote about later after it happened. so this one time hemingway and f. scott were having dinner in Paris and F. Scott expressed his concern that his dick was too small. so Hemingway said hey, come to the bathroom and we'll compare dick sizes don't worry. and then they did. and hemingway's response was "you're perfectly fine". so uh. here's some articles about that one time F. Scott Fizgerald and Ernest Hemingway compared dick sizes in a Paris bathroom...... 1 2

and YEAH !! thank you for reading part 2 of my insane Hemingway rants!!! hope yall learned something !!!

here's my list of recs of Hemingway stories if you're interested and want to read some of his shit, again all of them can be found HERE

so the 2 most entertaining reads are "the short happy life of francis macomber" and "the undefeated", those have the most plot, if you read short happy life please hmu send me an ask and tell me if you think margot was guilty or innocent

some concerning nick adams stories: "in another country", "a way you'll never be", "now i lay me", "big two-hearted river" parts 1 and 2

i wrote an essay on this one, it has some homophobic undertones: "the mother of a queen"

and finally my personal fave "a clean well-lighted place"

#lyss says things #rants and ramblings #ernest hemingway

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finniestoncrane · 2 years

Note

I just read one of your Oswald Cobblepot (from the 2022 movie) x reader fics and I need more 😭 May I request reader being flirted on while Oz is not around? She tries to politely put the guy down, but he won't get off her hair until Oz walks in and she clings to him to make a point that she is not interested. Would be great if you could add some comfort afterwards! Thank you so much and no pressure!

anon you're killing me this was such a good idea and it gave me all kinds of emotions while i wrote it u-u ily and pls come back for more and also i'm sorry it's so long i got carried away i just love him tho and here are more of my penguin fics

Daddy's Got You

Farrell!Penguin x Female!Reader, word count: 3.5k request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: use of force, tw for a tiny bit of non-con kissing, violence/beating (deserved), exhibitionism, pet names

Throngs of crowds surged in a strange unison to the music that played over the bass-boosted speakers. You weaved in and out of them, working your way to the bar, only briefly looking up from the floor where you carefully watched your step to see if Oz was in his office, if he was standing by the windows waiting for you to come in. Through the glass you could make out his form, sitting hunched over the desk. He was always so busy with work, and so stressed too. You could head straight up, maybe soothe him, relax him a little bit, but you knew how much he loved it when you brought him a drink. It felt like you were his wife, his stay-at-home little woman who lived to please him when you walked through the door with a glass of his favourite scotch. It was so much more personal than having one of the wait staff bring it, much more intimate.

At the bar, you hover back for a moment, not wanting to seem impatient. You might be the owner’s girlfriend, but you’re just a normal customer like everyone else. Oz didn’t see it like that, but you still did. It was strange to be suddenly whisked above your normal station in life, waited on and spoiled by Oswald Cobblepot, when just months before you had been applying for a minimum-wage, part-time job behind this same bar. And you still weren’t sure why he’d been so taken by you, but you were grateful, because the moment he stepped up to you, leaning against the varnished wood and puffing on his cigar, you developed an intense crush on him. It still didn’t feel believable that the feelings were reciprocated.

Smiling, warmed by the memories of your first meeting, your first date, and a lot of other firsts, you realised you’d been standing back for a while, and the bar was now a bit quieter. Approaching it, you made brief eye contact with a waiter at the other end who began walking towards you. You opened your mouth to speak, but a body suddenly appeared directly in front of you, hand out and reaching over the bar, snapping fingers and loud, brash words.

“Hey, little help! If you’re not too busy doing nothing, can I get a drink? Bourbon, if you can find the time.”

You eased to the side from behind them, catching the waiter’s eye and making a bit of a judgemental face at the man in front of you, shaking your head and gesturing to him so the waiter could serve his first. And although he tried to stifle his smile, the waiter laughed and held up one finger to you before starting on the small order for the asshole who cut in line. Which was a shame, because it obviously signalled to him that there was someone behind him, and he turned to speak, his face turning from blank and practised apology to an uneasy leer.

“Oh…oh! I’m sorry, were you in line?”

“Yes, I was. But it’s fine, I’m not in any huge rush.”

“I don’t believe that, girl like you always has someone waiting for her.”

“Ah, but they can wait patiently, unlike some.”

He leaned in, you tilted your head away from him, but it only exposed your neck for more of his body to move in towards.

“Hm, find it hard to believe anyone could wait patiently for you. Let me buy you a drink.”

You stepped back, turning your body completely away from him.

“That’s fine, it’s not necessary.”

“Wasn’t a question. Hey, you!” He snapped his fingers again. “Quicker with the bourbon, huh? And can I get a…what was it?”

“A scotch and a glass of champagne.”

“A scotch and a- you need two drinks?” You nodded, face blank. “Scotch and a glass of your finest champagne then!” He turned back to you. “You’re welcome. No need to say thanks, I’m sure you can show me your gratitude in some other way. Maybe give me your number?”

“Oh, no thank you. If that’s the case, let me just give you the money.”

“Hey, woah! Ok, maybe that was the wrong approach with a girl like you. Sorry. I’ve seen you around here though, and this is the first time I’ve been able to catch you before you disappear.”

“You’re in here a lot?”

“So are you.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, rolling your eyes as you turned back towards the bar, leaning your body on it. From the corner of your eye, you noticed him lean his body back, eyes wandering over your body, smirking at you as they gazed up and down over your slightly bent pose. You stood back up, soothing down your dress and coughing, trying to let him know politely that you were very aware of his staring.

“Listen, yeah, I’m in here a lot. And I notice you every time. I like your style, and some other things about you too.”

“I’m not interested, sorry.”

“Rude, at least let me make my case here.”

“I’m not being rude. I’d just rather not waste your time. Since you seem so busy.”

“Hey, come on, let me show you what you’ll be missing if you walk away from me.” He moved his hand towards yours, which rested on the bar. You pulled it back before he could make contact.

“Ok, I’ll just get my drinks later.”

“Woah, wait, where you going?”

He grabbed your arm as you walked off, trying to make it to the back of the building where the stairs to Oz’s office were. Snatching it back and shaking free you leaned into him to say some choice words, but chose not to. Instead, you swiftly turned and walked off, not realising he was still following behind until you were at the back of the room and encased in shadows, where the music was quiet enough that you could hear his footsteps, but not quiet enough that you noticed before it was too late. Before he had you cornered, unnoticeable to anyone else, too focused on dancing and drinking. Your back was up against the wall as he approached you, the knuckles of one hand gently trailing down your neck, while the palm of his other found your hip and snaked round to your lower back. You flinched as he leaned his face towards yours.

“Come on, don’t be like that.”

He dove forwards, his head between your neck and shoulder, kissing at the skin while his hands, one around your back and the other pressed on to your hip, held you against the wall, his body doing most of the work in keeping you pinned against it. His mouth, wet and hot, opened against your skin, teeth grazing against you as he forcefully made his way up to your cheek, closing in to your mouth before you were interrupted by someone close by clearing their throat. Looking to the side, you could see some figures, hard to tell in the shadows, but as they stepped closer you knew you could recognise one figure in particular. Oswald. And given that it was Oswald up front, it was a safe bet that the two figures behind him were his goons.

“Hate to break up a party, but what’s going on over here, kids?”

Without looking up from your neck, one hand mercifully left it’s grip on your body to shoo off the three men who stood at the bottom of the stairs.

“How about you lay off, buddy. We’re not bothering anyone.”

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness and you could read the look of solid irritation on Oz’s face, you stuttered some words out.

“I’m fine, it’s ok. It’s not what it looks like.”

“No sweet cheeks, I think this is exactly what it looks like.”

With a snap of his fingers, the two men who stood dutifully behind him, hands clasped in front of their hulking bodies, stepped forward and took an arm each of your assailant. A string of saliva trailed from your neck to his mouth, and your stomach lurched, mouth downturned in shame and disgust. As he was hauled up the stairs, Oz started up behind them, and you followed behind Oz, worried that he might be thinking the worst of you, not afraid for your life but afraid for your relationship, which you valued above everything else.

As you entered the office, your new ‘friend’ was being tossed to the ground, landing hard and smacking his back against a coffee table. The two goons separated off to the side, leaving space for Oswald to approach the pathetic loser who cringed on the floor.

“You mind telling me what was happening, son?”

Realisation flitted over his face, quickly followed by panic.

“Oh my god…y-you’re Oswald Cobblepot, I mean Mr. Cobblepot. Or Penguin? Sorry, Mr. Penguin?”

“How about sir for right now, eh?”

Oz shot a quick look at you, before motioning for the crumpled and significantly more nervous looking man on the floor to continue explaining himself before his audience.

“Yes, right s-sir. Well, sir, it was nothing really. She was flirting with at the bar.”

You scoffed, eyebrows furrowing as your upper lip turned up into a snarl, head shaking at his words. Oz looked at you, nodding slowly. He turned back and took a step forwards.

“Is that right then?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t know if she’s here grifting or not, but she was very willing up until you guys showed up. I didn’t get the wrong idea, I promise. She was all over me right before that!”

Oz took another step forwards, leaning over the man on the floor, smiling wide as he stood back up and moved back to you, standing protectively in front of you.

“No, see that’s not what happened.”

“Sir, I swear to you-”

“Oh, don’t make it worse for yourself kid. I saw you, watched the whole thing. She wasn’t interested in you, it was obvious even from up here.”

“You couldn’t hear though, she really was-”

Oz put his hand up, silencing the man with just the confidence and authority in the gesture.

“Don’t lie to me kid. I saw everything. Besides,” he brushed a loose strand of hair delicately behind your ear, “my princess would never do something like that to me, and especially not standing in my own club.”

“Oh fuck, oh god, Mr Cobblepot, Sir! I’m so sorry sir. I didn’t know, I had no idea!”

“So if you don’t know if she’s with someone, it’s ok for you to have her against a wall against her will? No class in dogs like you, none at all.”

With a snap of his fingers, Oz walked to his desk, sitting down in the leather desk chair, opening the bottom drawer and ushering you over. The goons began dealing severe blows to the man on the floor, who whimpered and pleaded until all he could muster were grunts and groans. Oz poured two drinks into crystal glasses, handing you one and gesturing for you to sit down in his lap.

“It’s not cold, baby, and it’s not your usual drink. But it’ll settle your nerves.”

He drank his entirely in one gulp, setting the glass down and turning his attentions to you completely, ignoring the yelps and thuds mere feet away from you both. You were the only thing that mattered to him the moment, in most moments. He held you close, checking over your neck where the stranger had been so aggressively kissing you. With his large, thick fingers, Oz held your chin and tilted your head in every angle to ensure there were no bruises, no marks he might have missed that would signify how swiftly the man on the floor might meet his end.

Satisfied that you were left unmarred by your encounter, he dropped your chin, hand moving instead to your cheek as he stared deep into your eyes.

“You ok, doll?”

“I’m fine, I’m ok.”

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry I didn’t see it happen faster. If I’d known he’d followed you I would have take him out back and shot him.”

“Ozzie, it’s ok. I’m ok.” You offered him a weak smile. You were telling the truth, you were fine. You could handle yourself. But you were still shaken, and something about being sat in his lap, the sincerity in his voice as he tried to reassure himself more than you that everything was ok, had you melting, desperate for him to hold you, considering how bad things might have been had he not been there to save you. He must have noticed the tiny, fleeting moment of fear that crossed behind your eyes, as he was suddenly wrapped around you tighter, holding you close to his chest as he offered a small kiss to your forehead, resting his chin on top of your head while you rested on his chest.

“Oh sweetheart, come here. Daddy’s got you now. We’ll make it all better huh?”

He tilted your head up to him again, where his lips met yours in a gentle and passionate embrace. You leant into it heavily, resting what felt like all of your body weight on his mouth alone, lips tingling against his, the breaths from his nose warming you under him. You opened your eyes, lips still against his, peppering tiny little finishing kisses, looking up to meet his eyes. But he was staring, unblinking at the bleeding and broken man on the floor. The goons had done their worst, and Oz nodded to the door, through which they left in silence.

“Oz?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Are you…ok?”

“I was just thinking we should show this asshole how you actually treat a woman? Might be a good finish to his punishment for him to see someone else take you like he so badly wanted to.”

Before you could ask him if he was sure, checking that he wasn’t just acting out of pure rage, his mouth was clamped over yours again, moaning deeply into you, the sheer volume alone vibrating through your chest as he stood you up, following you, hands around you and over you, fitful grabbing and squeezing on every curve, every part of you he could easily reach as you both stumbled over to the tall filing cabinet to the left of his desk.

Taking hold of your hips, he hoisted you up and on top of it, letting your legs dangle over the edge as he walked back to his desk, wheeling his chair over and sitting down in it in front of you. He lifted your legs up onto his knee, one at a time, taking off your shoes. With them both off, he kissed your ankle, trailing kisses all the way up your legs, onto your knee, straining to kiss at your inner thighs, his large palms on the tops of them as his fingers pushed back the hem of your dress, exposing more and more of you to him, and to the beaten and bloodied man who breathed heavily on the floor.

With one deep, longing kiss against the front of your panties, his groan sending tingles through your entire body, Oz turned away from you, his attention now with new enemy.

“I want you to sit there, squinting through those two black eyes you got, and watch me do what you will never get the chance at. I want you to watch me make her cum.”

He wheeled the chair to the side slightly, offering you in full view to the room, and pulled your pants to the side. The man on the floor turned his head, slowly and painfully, to the ground.

“Oh what, now you’re gonna show a modicum of respect? You look at me! Look me in the eyes you piece of shit.”

When he was certain that the man’s gaze was being held by his own, Oz slipped one large finger between your folds, teasing at your entrance. He pressed it in further and out again, completely, returning it with another one of his fingers, pressed in and exploring your cunt. Wet sounds filled the room as he inserted his digits up to the knuckles, his rings teasing at your lips, cold and hard compared to his warm and soft digits. He crooked them inside of you, pressuring spots that had you groaning under his touch, writing on the top of the cabinet and thrusting yourself into him. At a slight yelp, his fingers ring deep in you, he withdrew them completely, a small trail of your arousal following them. He brought his fingers up and to his face, inhaling at them the way he did his cigars before he lit them, and putting them completely in his mouth, sucking your slick off of it and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. Oz laughed, sneering at the man in the corner, turning his full attention to you. He shifted you forward on the surface, pressing his face against your pussy, at the perfect height to devour you. He pressed his palms against your thighs and rubbed them up, curving around your waist and taking your dress up with them, letting it sit at your waist as he lowered his hands again, fingers dipping into your panties and pulling them down and off, tucking them into the pocket of his suit jacket.

He pressed his face to you, slightly crooked nose making contact first, rubbing against you as his tongue pressed out and in between your lips, flicking up and down quickly, lapping at the already copious amounts of your juices. He moaned in pleasure, looking up at you as you ran your hands through the thinning hair on top of his head, fingers digging into the thicker hair at the sides to pull him closer into you, desperate for his touch and the sounds of approval. As if he was reading your thoughts, he pulled back slightly, licking your lips in between his words

“Baby, tell him how good I am. Tell him…mmm…how good Daddy feels…how nice his tongue is against your clit…how you would never want some disgusting low life…hmm…to touch you when you…oh…when you have Oswald Cobblepot to take care…of you.”

Through your breathy moans you managed to get some words out, stammered slowly as your body threatened to reach an early climax, the threats, the dramatic show of it all, the way his breath, how against you, warmed you from the pit of your stomach to your flushed red cheeks.

“Daddy you feel…so…good.”

“Yeah…god you taste so good for daddy…hmmm…he does it better than anyone else could, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, Daddy!”

“Tell him you’re mine, tell him you’re all mine.”

“You’re all mine Daddy…Please don’t stop! Make me cum, only you can. Please…please…”

At your begging, he flattened his tongue and pressed it into you, his self-satisfied laughter sending waves of pleasured sensations through your whole body. And with his tongue moving to circle your clit, he wrapped his mouth around you and sucked, pressing the bud between his teeth, feeling the different texture of the one golden one against you as he shook his head from side to side, moaning as he buried his face deeper between your thighs. One finger teased at you, legs spread and gaping, and before he had even worked it completely in you, you started screaming out his name, over and over again as you came. Barely any of you touched the cabinet, because Oz was there licking it up, ingesting every drop of you he had managed to tease you. As you shuddered, overstimulation threatening a scream from your lungs, he pulled back, smiling up at you and winking.

From his pocket, he pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief and wiped your cum from his chin, tucking it back in with your panties. He took your hand and helped you hop down from the cabinet, holding you when your legs, still shaking and weak from your orgasm, failed under you slightly. He kissed your forehead, holding you into him.

“Good girl.” He whispered it softly in your ear, a smile audible on his face, though your eyes were closed as you swayed on weak legs in a dream-like state. He held your hand in his and walked you out of the room, stopping before the man for a moment, where Oz spat down at him.

“That’s the only taste of her you’ll ever get, you fuckin’ dog.”

Outside of the door, Oz jabbed his thumb towards the room, sending his goons back in to finish the task at hand. He led you down the stairs, where you could hear the echoes of the pleading, begging him.

“Please Mr. penguin, sir! Please don’t-” but they were stopped abruptly by whatever horrific end was planned for him. Oz led you to the bar, one arm on your lower back, gently touching to guide you through the crowds, the bartenders already pouring drinks at the sight of him. He sat you down on a stool, hand on your knee and brushed your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek.

“You did the right thing trying to come to me Princess. You know Daddy’s here to protect you, always.” You placed your palm on his chest, and he placed his hand over yours, holding you close as he bent forward to kiss your forehead again, humming in pleasure just from having you near him.

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art-estrange · 10 months

Text

A Man After My Own Art (AMAMOA)

Prologue: Insert Pun Here

Professor!Pedro Pascal x Teaching Assistant!Reader

*DO NOT REPOST*

the idea is ultimatly mine however i do not own the concept/the person that is Pedro Pascal and major warning because this an AU he will be a littl OCC

Words: 642

Story Warnings: MDNI 18+ (mostly in the off chance that I choose to explore heavy themes later on. This will obviously be updated at a later time because this is my first fic and so far I only have this prologue and the first chapter fleshed out) Crocs(yes that has a warning, i’m kind of obsessed with wearing crocs and currently own 2 pairs hopefully more in the future)

Story Content Tags (most of this is mentioned in later chapters.): Meet-Cute, First person perspective, Age-gap(F28/late 20s x M40/early 40s/late 30s), Art references, new york nonsense written by a non-new yorker, spanish/spanglish, Lots of college technical talk, this was kinda based off a dream, crocs, College AU, AU where pedro isn't an actor/famous, slightly proofread… sorry for typos i'm trying guys😭😭😭

Story Summary: You (the reader) have moved to New York enrolled in NYU’s Graduate program, a dream you thought you’d never achieve in an apartment you thought you’d never have. Fate works in funny ways sometimes and you might find love in an unexpected place. You might not.

New York City, the big apple, the big easy, the city that never sleeps… and my new home. I moved from my, frankly, boring home in a shitty town, to the bustling sleepless chaos that is New York City, specifically Manhattan, for the job of my dreams. I've been working hard and have failed countless times trying to become an art professor for years now and finally after having flunked undergrad several times, racked up debt up to my ears, paid off all that debt, and saved up for my dream apartment, I’m finally a grad student. Bachelor's degree here I come! I stood in my studio loft, reminiscing about all the frustrating times I suffered through trying to make it while sitting in unnecessary classes like government and science because who REALLY needs that? Not an art major like me that's for sure!

I was uncomfortably reminded of the sweat dripping down my brow, boxes of my life surrounding me, “I better continue unpacking”. Its strange; a person's entire life can be packed away in a single box and not just any box… a series of boxes actually, old amazon boxes to be specific, a jarring reminder of the grasp capitalism has on me but who can blame me, I NEEDED the knick-knacks that originally came in those boxes, I DESERVED the little drinky-drinks that I can’t find in stores that only amazon sells.

I walk around and stop at the large windows facing the city, people down on the street going about their fast-paced lives with no clue that they’re being watched, like fish in a tank. I run my hand against the exposed brick of the living room wall, my crocs squeaking on the polished concrete flooring, I’ve finally made it. I can just imagine myself laying upon my couch when it gets delivered, the sun beaming in through the windows as I curl up in its warm glow much like a cat does. The thought of enjoying my time in my new home fills me with not only hope but a boost of serotonin. With all the commotion of moving and the excitement of being somewhere new, I forget that I haven’t eaten all day. Grumble Grumble My stomach echoes through the not yet furnished apartment “I think i should go get food.”

I break in the new shower, bust out the new towels and get ready to head out, struggling in the maze of boxes that is my new home. On the street, I weave through bodies getting home from the midday rush, speed walking new yorkers with their own stories and lives intertwining for just the second we pass each other on the street. The warm oranges and vibrant lavenders and pinks painting the sky much like oils do a canvas. Life truly does imitate art…at least that's how I think the saying goes.

I stumble across a food truck selling gyros and order my lunch…dinner?? Is it really lunch anymore if it's 6pm? Right as I'm getting out of line I walk into a wall, landing straight on my ass. “Are you ok?” spoke the wall in a soft voice, concern laced in its tone. I look up into soft brown eyes, slightly stunned. That WASN'T a wall. “Uhh..” I stammer and stutter as tan skin, fluffy bed swept hair, and large square framed glasses stare down at me waiting for a semblance of a response. “Number 45!!” 45…. My food! I scramble to get up, slightly bumping into the handsome stranger. “Sorry!” I yell out at him as I jog up to the counter and essentially run away with my tail tucked between my legs, sort of speak. As I walk home, I look back, the stranger's face seared into my mind. Hopefully I see him again, but knowing this city I probably won't.

A/N: I hope you guys like this i read it myself and was like "this is passible" LMAO sadly dont have anyone to test read before i post so if theres typos or grammar issues, i do apologize. If you are interested in getting tagged feel free to comment below. Just a heads up this is just a silly little fic with no set direction and now set date on when I'll be posting howevr because i have the majority of chapter 1 written I will be posting it in about a week or so. -Emery, Out!

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dashielldeveron · 4 months

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hello!! i cannot put into words how obsessed with your writing i am! i’m sure you get this all the time but everything from the dialogue to the plot development to the character dynamics is absolutely insane. Seriously if i could write even half as well my ego would be so high it’s a miracle that you are so humble. Your soulmate series is genuinely the best series i’ve ever read on any site! I don’t know if this is odd to say but you write every character like they genuinely are your soulmate. If you said that you know them personally and intimately i would fully believe you. Obviously i have no clue what you do for a living but if it’s not writing you should 100% consider it because the world would be so much better off with more of your work.

I am so devastatingly interested in the shigarki route that you’re writing. His character arc is so interesting and he’s so complex that i’m buzzing with excitement to see what angle you approach while writing for him. Actually with the latest manga chapters, it’s so interesting how the core villains of the series have been denied humanity in some way by the general public and how that’s contributed to how they view themselves and the world (Shigarki especially). You captured that turmoil soo fucking well with Dabi’s route. I just know Shigarki’s chapter is gonna be what kills me.

Please take care of yourself!

!!!!!

>/////< ohhhhhh you are so very kind!!! it really means a lot to me that you would type all of this out to let me know!!!! especially that enormous compliment that it feels like i know the characters, geez!!! i am weaving all of your kind words into a tapestry to hang on my wall so that i can see it and feel all warm.

shigaraki rambling under the cut :)

goddd yes shigaraki is such a little weirdo and i've been so conflicted about where to go with him!!! he's difficult to write, esp. bc fanon and canon are very different; a lot of fanon grounds his behaviour when he's still incel-blue-hair-immature-gamer guy, and he's.............not even really mean? esp. not to the league??? rude, yes, but AFO has trained him to think of himself as an authoritative figure of respect, so of course when dabi is shit-talking tomura like he's just some guy, tomura is gonna get upset about that. he's mostly........pretty polite. eerily calm. not easily scared or startled.

but like. if you read a shigaraki fic, it's expected that he's gonna throw you around or steal your underwear, or something. so i'm nervous that some people are gonna read his route and think he doesn't sound like himself!!! and maybe he doesn't, but i tried v hard; i've reread a bunch of the manga and rewatched some of the anime to take notes about his dialogue and inflection, but i get nervous that bc he's not matching with popular fanon stuff that people are gonna be like "this is just [other character] in a shigaraki hat." but i try. shigaraki is a tough dude to write.

i've been reading shigaraki as being objectified (not in a sexy sense but in a literal sense) in the manga for a long time, so it's validating and awful to see all of these characters just fucking announce that shigaraki is a thing. feels weird, especially bc so much of the manga has been moving towards a message of a kinder humanity, even though i'm not certain hori is pulling that off as clearly as it could be. i worry, but shig is gonna come back to being tenko at the end, i think. i hope this comes across in his route!!!!

and ohhhhhh you had better take care of yourself!!! bc if shigaraki's route is gonna kill you, your funeral will be tonight!!!! (bad metaphor aside: shig's route is gonna be posted tonight, provided my beta reader gets back to me soon.)

thaaaaaaaaank you so much for enjoying my silly fic!!!! i hope the rest of it meets your expectations!!!!! xx.

#dash it all

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whinlatter · 1 year

Text

author's note | chapter four: habitat 🍂🐾

here is the author's note for chapter four of Beasts! this chapter sees gin return to the skies and starts to explore flight and fear (and asks some tricky questions about the soul). come to watch an author who can neither throw nor catch a ball try and write about sports; stay for the henry viii cameo & the girls getting their arts and crafts on. ok all the usual writing notes, headcanons, fic/meta inspo recs are below…

….as is a ✨ sneak peek ✨ of chapter five (did someone say hinny seaside fluff?) 🐚🎣🌊

🏹 spoilers for this chapter under the cut! 🏹

[ habitat, n.: the natural environment in which an animal or plant usually lives ]

writing notes and headcanons:

on writing: this chapter was the toughest yet to write honestly - still feel i'm learning the ropes about pacing, foreshadowing and suggesting, and how to balance flashbacks with driving plot forward in the present. i've made my peace with how it turned out and was excited to put it out after a lot of revision, but damn did you know writing was hard who else knew this and didn't tell me hmmm! also i'm a fair weather writer and a chipper lil bean why am i writing all this sad shit. questions without answers

on quidditch: ah man i honestly love writing about quidditch (the metaphor potential!) re the muggleborns in quidditch issue - i know in PS/SS there’s talk of the first-years having multiple flying lessons, but it always seemed wild to me how obviously at a disadvantage muggleborn students would be at with confidence and practice on a broom (like, no shade to the weasley boys, who are clearly a talented bunch, but they do get to spend the first eleven years of their lives and every summer after that playing and practicing in their orchard - like, justice for dean thomas making it to be a reserve, honestly!) ginny is her father’s daughter, so reckon this is bit of a social justice issue for her, but in a sort of i-want-the-best-and-i’ll-find-it way (i also think she knows from playing on a team with ron that underconfidence doesn’t mean a lack of talent). much more to come on rina!

on souls: one of the things i had the most fun with in this chapter was the soul chat scene - a tricky topic for a teacher to broach, even under normal circumstances, but especially for this bunch of war-hardened teens, some of whom (ginny and hermione, but also all the azkaban survivors) have far too much first-hand experience with soul magic of the darkest kind. i’ve learnt so much from some truly fantastic metas and analyses of souls in hp (some shared below) and have always wanted to think and write about the soul-as-both-personality-and-conscience tension that runs throughout canon - in harry’s narration, other than in passing in conversation with dumbledore over horcruxes, we don’t get a ton of exploration of what a soul actually is. i intended to do it as a meta but honestly i’m having so much fun trying to weave these ideas and speculation into this fic, as well as use questions of souls and what makes you, you, as ginny herself goes through this unwanted process of self-examination and reflection as she’s knocked off course with her own sense of self

on molly and ginny’s letters and their relationship: a lot of what i want to use Beasts to explore are the relationships between different female characters, including mothers and daughters. a criticism often made of molly from her critics is often that she doesn’t really write to harry or any of her children when they’re at school. to that i say: here are all my headcanons defending molly weasley til the death! in canon, i think ron’s lingering jealousy of molly’s attachment to ginny and fears that she favours ginny (‘least loved always, by the mother who craved a daughter…’), and ginny’s constant conflict with molly over her coddling risks means we don’t always get to see a positive read on ginny and molly’s relationship. we also know, though, that ginny and molly both enter and end the series beside one another, and we saw molly become a killer to defend ginny from bellatrix. this is such an important relationship and i'm so excited to write about it in this piece. i just love the idea that ginny and molly are extremely close over the years, actually, despite their conflict, and that they were in regular contact throughout the school year in ways the boys just would never have been, making each other feel less lonely in their more solitary years.

on ginny and hermione: relevant to the above and honestly a bit of a soapbox issue/manifesto for this whole fic - it's really important to me to try to find a way to write friendship and conflict between two characters (especially female characters, and particularly female characters who have historically been at the centre of fandom shipping wars), while doing justice to both characters’ perspectives and not bashing either of them. i love both hermione and ginny as characters. i’m very interested in their friendship and both characters’ flaws and failings, and so getting to write this post-war year with both of them back at hogwarts, spending the most time together they ever have but also such different wartime experiences and perspectives is just *chef’s kiss*. we know their friendship is strong - hermione and ginny do appear in canon as people who have fun together and serve as each other’s confidants on key issues. but they’re also two strong-willed characters who canonically do fall out and must, by virtue of their characterisations, have certain faultlines running through their friendship. obvs they famously have that fantastic clash over harry and the sectumsempra curse in HBP that i’ve always been kind of obsessed with (ginny coming out swinging for harry, very strongly, rightly calling hermione out for being manipulative, but also immediately going mean in her response - the “oh, don't start acting as though you understand quidditch you'll only embarrass yourself” is, like, as iconic as it is devastating, lol) that scene remains a big jumping off point for thinking more broadly about their dynamic and relationship in this period of their lives. hermione can be tone-deaf and patronising sometimes, ginny can be angry, spiteful and childish - i want to write about that, and let both women be flawed and interesting and still worthy of respect and affection. (also i re-watched fleabag for this fic, because we're thinking about sisterhood here babyyy)

on parallels between harry and ginny as characters: writing this fic has just been me repeatedly finding 9000 more parallels between ginny and harry throughout the series i'd missed lol. this chapter i was thinking about how ginny is harry’s understudy in two quidditch finals (both of which she wins obvs), and again in the DA during DH (i know neville ends up as the only DA leader by the time of the battle of hogwarts, but i think we can tell from their canon characterisations and the deliberate parallel building between the golden and silver trios that ginny = harry, hermione = luna, and neville = ron. it’s also strongly implied in chapter 15 in DH through phineas nigellus’ testimony about the sword-stealing incident that it was ginny who was the DA ringleader and architect of that mission). now, here they are again, two captains, mirror images again. it’s just a throwaway line from angelina in this chapter (“you’re no harry” to ginny when she's trying out as seeker) but i’m having so much fun finding these parallels but trying to understand what that must have been like for ginny, to repeatedly be stepping into the shoes of the boy she loves and admires (soulmate shit, but also soul-searching shit, no?). even the way ginny is reacting to stuff in some of these scenes - hermione going to london and ginny doing her best not to sound openly jealous but failing - i was thinking about ron and the prefect badge all over again. ginny is not harry, crucially, and she has her own distinct characterisation and different responses, but they are enormously similar characters in ways i’m still learning about. (these guyyssssss honestly)

on seamus writing to ginny: have literally decided the seamus and ginny friendship arc from pebblysand’s the fault in faulty manufacturing is canon soooo that's what that is!

on the twins and ginny at muriel’s: firstly, i'm so sorry!!! secondly... i’ve had a version of that scene in my head for so so long and never knew how to use it. i briefly flirted with the idea of writing a fic about fred, george and ginny in hiding together with their parents at muriel’s and what those weeks were like for them, in what ended up being the last weeks of fred’s life. but honestly uh i cried writing that tiny vignette (and tbh welled up writing that last sentence jfc), so clearly i would not be able to get through writing that fic. their DH coins lighting up and the three of them being like woo we’re free from muriel’s we’re going to go fight let’s go? but it’s actually them going to fred’s death? i’m not ok!!!

on ginny’s card-making materials: canon compliant ginny weasley is an arts and crafts girlie. love u cute little loser girl! i see you with your sticky tape and gel pens! girls who make dumb crafts and inflict them on their friends representation!

reading list for chapter four:

on ginny and flying:

Little Sugar Men by DopeyTheDwarf @bluethepineapple

on ginny and hermione’s friendship:

I'll Be There by StarlingFlight

you were broken-hearted and the world was, too by celaenos

on souls:

The soul in the Harry Potter universe; a joint meta by @artemisia-black and @ashesandhackles

The Infinite Divide: A Study on Horcruxes and Souls in the Harry Potter Universe by @celestemagnoliathewriter

songs from the playlist particularly for this chapter:

and a sneak peek of chapter five because we need harry and gin to hang out again don't we? we've kept them apart enough 🌊🐚🎣

Of course, they get fish and chips by the sea, their new little ritual. Both of them hang off the counter, a little giddy, pointing at the notices stuck up on the wall ('Should we look for that man's cat, do you reckon? 'Gin, that cat's been missing since June, it's extremely dead'). Harry’s appalled by how much vinegar she makes the man at the shop put on her chips, grumbling as they leave the shop with the goods wrapped in warm newspaper paper. ‘I have to kiss you after you eat those, you know –’ ‘Have to?’ They perch up on the beach wall while she does battle with a ketchup sachet. He's cracking open a can of a suspicious-looking Muggle fizzy drink made by a man claiming to call himself Dr Pepper. ‘What do you mean, have to? Real hardship, is it? Great burden?' 'Yep.' He takes the ketchup sachet off her, tears it open, hands it back. 'It's tough work, but someone's got to do it.' 'How about I find myself someone else on this beach who's not such a baby and doesn't mind kissing a girl after she's had a bit of vinegar -' (She gets an unvinegared chip to the head for that one. He does let her share the fizzy drink, though it transpires he knows shamefully little about the identity of this Dr Pepper character.)

#whoops got on my soapbox again #what am i like #ginny and hermione's friendship matters ok!#and so does molly apologism #author's note #authors note #AN #beasts #writing #beasts fic #hinny #hermione granger #ginny weasley

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