#source: the books I swear this is canon

[itstimeforstarwars]

The first half of the next chapter is just getting all the readers caught up on what, exactly, Qui-Gon’s mission is, and then so far the second half is Cody having no idea what is going on.

#chit chat #no one has read the source material but fear not! #for i will summarize and also dramatize and even politicize! #andra is an environmentalist so u cannot escape the politicize sorry #i stuck mostly to canon except when i didn’t because a lot of the dialogue is meh so i changed it #and i aged up the wording and themes a bit so that this reads less like a book for 9yos #this story is probably at least a 12yo level now except for all the swear words #lmao

[me-and-your-husband]

if you lie down with me || e.w.

summary: there's one thing you and ellie don't have in common: immunity.

warnings: not beta read, swearing, blood, canon typical violence, death by suicide, ellie has concerning ideations, smut, oral, scissoring, multiple orgasms, angst!, crying during sex, arguing, probably more

word count: 6k

a/n: i know, i'm sorry for using this photo 😭 actually i'm sorry i wrote this entire thing

The end never feels like the end, does it? When you wake in the morning, the air is as fresh as the day before and the sun streams through the window at the same angle. You smile fondly at the incessant banging on your door, and at her urging tone when she tells you to get out of bed. “We have patrol,” she says, like she's said a thousand times before. What makes today any different? 

The gravel road feels the same as it crunches under your boots as she leads you to the gate. Her auburn hair shines the same in the light, the same way you've admired since you were fourteen and she had just settled in Jackson. 

You were helping out in the library, arms full of books stacked above your head. You struggled trying to keep them up with one hand and shelve them with the other. She noticed you from the corner, where she sat with a pile of beaten comics and a Walkman. “Need some help?” she asked, standing up from her spot on the ground. She took half the books from your pile and put them wherever you told her. After, when you asked her about the comics she was reading, her face lit up and she knew that you'd be a part of her life until death. Finally, someone was interested in knowing her. 

The friendly faces of the watchmen at the gate were the same as they were yesterday, a week ago, a month ago, a year. They waved at you and wished you good luck as you mounted your horse and rode alongside Ellie onto the trail. The way she shoved her pistol in her back pocket and slung her bow over her shoulders was always the same. The way your horse galloped evenly alongside Shimmer did not deviate from the norm. 

When she spoke up, her words were usual. 

“Look, babe. A hummingbird,” she said with glee, pointing to the frosty trees.

You smiled at her excitement. “Poor thing, it's so cold out.”

“Don't you remember?”

“Of course I remember, El,” you laughed. “How could I forget?”

How could you forget? It was a humid summer afternoon, shortly after Ellie had turned sixteen. You had snuck out of Jackson to explore a creek you had found the day prior on group patrol. You so badly wanted to show Ellie, to share every part of you with her. You didn't know what to call it, but you assumed it was just because you were really good friends. 

The soft rush of the water and the gentle breeze across your skin contrasted to the beating sun plastering your hair to your skin. You and Ellie sat with your backs against a wide oak, watching minnows skip through the water. 

“Do you think animals have feelings? Like us?” Ellie thought out loud. 

You hummed, “I do, but not as complicated as ours.” 

She nodded in agreement before her eyes drifted to the source of a new sound, a gentle humming. She saw the gentle bird sucking nectar from a flower, tapping your shoulder gently and pointing. 

“Look, a hummingbird,” she whispered.

“Woah!” You beamed, “I’ve only seen them in those nature books in the library. That's so cool. Did you know the sound actually comes from its wings?” 

As you watched the hummingbird, she watched you. “It’s really pretty.”

You agreed. She said your name, but looked away from you. 

“Yeah?”

“I think I like girls.”

You let the words settle in the air. 

“I think I do too.”

It was the first indication that something else could happen between you and her, something less platonic than you would've thought. After that, neither of you said anything about it, confident in the fact that something more could exist in the spaces between. 

It was the same confidence you had today as you followed her through the Wyoming woods, putting your trust in her. You took the same path almost every time you went out on patrol, knowing your way around, knowing the landmarks of the area. You knew you were getting close to the danger zone when you saw your favourite tree, the one you and Ellie would lean against by the creek, telling each other secrets into the night, crossing your heart to never tell another soul. Each of you knew that the other’s soul was the only one that mattered, anyways. 

It was just over a year ago that you’d both carved your initials into that tree, reminders of that early morning on patrol bringing a smile to your face. 

You had stopped for a moment to take a short break against the tree, letting your horses get some rest. Ellie leaned up against the tree as you pet Shimmer. The sun shone despite the snow and the brisk weather, illuminating your features gently. She admired the curve of your lips and the shape of your eyes, imagining her fingers tracing your skin under lamplight late at night. You looked up at her when your name tumbled from her lips. 

“Yeah?” You said, continuing to pet Shimmer.

“I like you.”

The air stilled and your hand faltered, breath hitching. But what if she didn’t mean it like that? 

You forced a laugh. “Well, I’d hope so. We’ve been friends for how long?”

“No, I…” she struggled for the right words. “I want to be more than friends. I like you. Like…romantically. And stuff.”

She played with her fingers, shuffling her feet back and forth in the snow, not meeting your gaze. 

“Ellie, look at me. Please,” you whispered. She raised her eyes to yours, but still kept her head low, not bringing it up until your hand cupped her jaw. She moved her hand on top of yours, trapping it there, wondering if it was just a dream. 

She closed her eyes tight when she saw you leaning in, praying that you weren't messing with her. When she finally felt your lips ghosting across hers, she leaned into you. Your touch was fire on her skin, leaving a red blush in its wake. She pressed your mouth to hers hungrily, never wanting this to end. 

“I like you too,” you mumbled against her lips. 

When you finally broke for air, chests heaving, you were both beaming. Ellie nervously reached into her pocket for her pocket knife, flicking it open. She held the blade against the bark of the tree, grabbing our hand and putting it on the hilt, sliding hers over top of it. 

She guided your hand as you carved your initials into the tree, trapping them inside of a heart. It was cliche, but it meant everything to you. 

It was the same tree that, a year later, you and Ellie passed on almost every patrol. The same tree that symbolized your everlasting love for each other. The same tree that stood since the dawn of your and Ellie’s time. 

You rode casually in comfortable silence until you got to the watchtower, negative memories plaguing both you and Ellie. The floorboards still held the echoes of your voices yelling, still soaked in your tears. 

Four months ago, when the rabbits were still brown and the path was clear of snow, you'd come through this watchtower to find two clickers. It caught you both off guard, as Jesse and Dina had just cleared it as safe the day before. 

Ellie, always being the hero, snuck up behind one, taking it out easily, and lunged at the other. The second one, however, pinned her to the ground, and she held it by the neck, its arms clawing hers. 

The sound of your pistol rang out as the body slumped on top of Ellie. She rolled it off and got up from the ground, chest heaving. 

“Well,” she said, brushing dirt from her jeans, “that was pretty close. Thanks.”

When you didn't respond, she turned to see you standing with your pistol still in both hands, brows furrowed as you watched the dead body of the clicker intently. She called your name. 

“What is it?”

You shook your head. 

“Come on, tell me-”

“Every fucking time, Ellie,” you said, shoving your pistol back in your pocket and turning away from her. “Why do you have to run head-first into danger like that every time?”

She didn't say anything, gaze on your back as she watched you turn back around. 

“What would I have done if you had gotten bit?” You said, voice a little watery. “Say something.”

She stumbled over her words, not knowing what to say. “I don't try to, you know, it’s just…” she sighed.

“You know, Ellie, sometimes I think that I value your life more than you do.”

The words hung in the air between you two, both of you knowing that you were right. Knowing that she could've been more, done so much more, saved so many people. But she was stripped of that. So what kind of meaning could she give to her life? What did she really have to live for? Before Joel, she never really had someone she knew would care if she died. Now she had you, and she didn't know how her recklessness would affect you. Now she did. 

“Okay, you're right. I’m too reckless. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll start thinking before I react,” she said, voice softening. 

You huffed, “I just worry about you, El. I don't know what I’d do without you.”

She hugged you tight, letting you nuzzle into her chest. She knew how you felt. Before you, she was hopeless. She didn't see a point in doing anything if her life couldn't be used by someone. What was it all for? Everything she'd struggled through? All she'd suffered? 

Now she knew that she was forced to experience it all so that she could end up with you. And she’d do it a million times over. 

She breathed your name. “I need to tell you something.”

You pulled away from her, “Well that's one way to start a conversation.”

She laughed nervously. “No, it's nothing bad. It's just…it might be hard to swallow.”

She gestured at an old, ratty chair. You sat and watched her intently. 

She took a deep breath, drawing it into her lungs and releasing it. “Do you remember why I got my tattoo?”

“Yeah, to cover up that chemical burn.”

“I lied,” she said. “That's not why I got the tattoo.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, silently begging her to go on. 

“When I was fourteen, I was bitten. On my arm.”

You sat back in your chair. 

“I waited and waited for my mind to go, for my body to go, for anything to happen, but it never did. So…I’m immune, or whatever,” she said, searching for a reaction. 

Seconds of silence passed. It was shattered with a laugh.

“That's a good one, Ellie. Real funny.”

“It’s true! Ask Joel. Tommy. Maria. They're the only ones who know…”

“And you expect me to believe this?”

“Just trust me. Please. It's all I ask, is for you to trust my word. Why would I lie to you about this?” She pleaded. 

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because Joel thinks it's dangerous for people to know. That's how we met, you know. He was hired to get me to the fireflies…they were going to make a cure,” she said, voice trailing off towards the end. 

“It didn't work, I take it?”

She shook her head. “Joel says they didn't need me.” Joel says. 

“Okay,” you said, making her look up at you. “I believe you. But that doesn't mean I’m fine with you running head-first into infected like that again. Just because you're…immune, doesn't mean you can't be torn apart. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said, crouching in front of you and putting her hands on your thighs. “God, I love you.”

You cleared out the watchtower and made your way back to the path. This part was one of your favourites, winding through the mountains. Your horses trotted casually beside each other. 

“Okay, okay, here's one: What do you say when a chef dies?” 

“Oh god, I don't know?”

“He pasta-way!” She said, giggling before she could even say the answer. 

Her laughter was contagious, sending it bubbling through your chest. “That's so bad that it's good.”

“Come on, just admit that I’m a top-notch comedian. If the world wouldn't have ended, I’d’ve been up there with Dave Chapelle.”

“Who’s Dave Chapelle?”

“I don't actually know. Some old ass comedian Joel told me about.”

You both laughed, smiles painted across your faces. However, the giggles subsided as you felt your horse start to shake slightly. 

“Woah, Shimmer, you okay girl?” Ellie said, patting her side. 

“Beau’s shaking too.”

“Maybe they’ve got…I don't know, a cold or something? Can horses even get colds?” You shrugged. “Maybe we should let them rest for a bit.”

You agreed, dismounting your horse and planting your feet on the ground. The shaking underneath you didn’t stop. You looked at Ellie, who looked at the mountain behind you. She yelled your name as you looked behind you.

A loud, grating noise sounded as you watched the earth of the mountain loosen from its side, rocks and boulders tumbling from it, falling in your direction. 

You hurriedly mounted your horses again, kicking their ribs to get them to go. You rode as fast as you could, attempting to beat the oncoming landslide. You'd never seen one before, only heard stories and read of them in books. You were about three quarters of the way through the mountain range when the land detached from the mountain and began to slide. 

“Go, go, go!” You yelled, Ellie a few feet ahead of you as her horse was younger than Beau. She glanced behind her every few seconds to make sure you were still there. 

The rocks falling created a settlement of dust around you, making it increasingly harder to breathe. You finally saw the green clearing outside of the mountain range. Almost there. 

The grating noise died, and you peered behind you to see the path completely covered in rubble. A few boulders still tumbled from the mountain, or whatever was left of it. 

“Watch out!” Ellie yelled. You looked to your right, seeing a massive boulder rolling down the mountain, coming right for you. 

You acted before you could think, much like Ellie, and propelled yourself forward off your horse as the boulder hit Beau and rolled atop of his body. You landed on the ground near Ellie, propping yourself up on your elbows to gawk at the sight. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered, running to Beau. His body was mangled, bones sticking out of the skin and blood painting the grass. You felt like vomiting. 

Ellie dismounted her horse, still shaking from the adrenaline, and put her hands on your shoulders, attempting to get you standing. 

“Wait,” you said, leaning back down, planting a teary kiss on Beau's muzzle. 

You stood, holding her tight. “Let's never come through here again.”

“Don't think we can, sweetheart,” she said, looking back at the obstruction. “Come on, we've gotta find a new way back home.”

She was about to help you mount Shimmer when you both froze in your tracks. A low, husky groan rung out through the air, scaring Shimmer. She ran into the clearing out of fright. 

“Shit,” Ellie breathed. 

“We’ll find her later. Come on, we have to go. It's either a bloater or a shambler, and I don't really want to stick around to find out.” 

You turned to leave when the ground shook again. You turned around, looking back at the mountain. It wasn't the mountain shaking this time. Spewing through the hole the landslide left like spiders were hundreds—if not thousands—of infected. Clickers, runners, stalkers, bloaters, shamblers. Everything. 

There was no way you were making it out of this unless you legged it now. 

In unison, you and Ellie started sprinting to your last checkpoint— the old cabin. You ran faster than you ever had before, the sounds of hungry infected hot on your heels. You couldn't feel your legs, the burning in your flesh too intense. When the cabin finally came into view, you couldn't even allow yourself a breath of relief. You and Ellie had your guns out, shooting behind you as you ran, picking off as many infected as you could. When you were close enough to the cabin, the idea hit you. You knew that the creaky boards of the cabin wouldn't hold that many infected off. You knew what you had to do. 

“Ellie, cover me!” You yelled as you slung your backpack off your shoulder and grabbed what you'd need. You grabbed an old bottle of whiskey you and Ellie had found at the watchtower and a rag. Stuffing the rag in the bottle, you lit it with your lighter. 

In the ten seconds it took you to do this, the infected crept closer and closer to you. Ellie tried picking off as many as she could, keeping them away from you. Until her magazine ran out. 

You threw the molotov in front of the hoard of infected. It exploded, creating a wall of fire between you and your death. 

Until a single clicker went at you from the side. The light of the fire flickered in your irises and cast an orange glow across your face, and you didn't even hear it creeping up amidst the roar of the flames. You didn't even hear Ellie yell your name. 

It tackled you to the ground before you could even turn your head all the way, talons scratching your arms and legs, sinking into your stomach. Its jaw was inches away from your neck, begging to gnaw on your jugular. In the struggle for your life, you couldn't even tell where you were and weren't hurt, what was bleeding and what wasn't. 

Blood gushed into your hair and eyes as you watched Ellie slice its head clean off with her pocketknife. The same one you'd carved your initials into that old oak with. 

Something inside of you rattled knowing that something could be used so innocently and yet so dangerously. 

Ellie picked you up from the ground and helped you limp into the cabin, reeds of grass tickling your wounds. When you entered, you stood in the centre of the room as she barricaded the entrances. 

“There,” she said, returning to you. You were both coming off adrenaline, suddenly feeling the ache in your bones to an indescribable extent. 

You put your hands on your knees and leaned on them, heaving a little. “Ellie. We were so close.”

She just nodded in understanding. Her eyes survey you from top to bottom. You had a scratch across your cheek, a few minor lacerations across your arms and chest, and a few on your legs. She couldn't see any bites. 

You brought your right arm up to run it shakily through your hair. That's when she saw it, brutal and bloody, painted into your skin like a brand. One that would decide your fate. Except that it had already been decided. 

The sight of the bite on your forearm turned her stomach. She blinked over and over again, hoping that she was seeing wrong. Maybe she was still coming off of adrenaline. “Your arm…” she breathed. 

“What?” You asked, confused. You looked over your left, then your right, and…oh. “Oh.”

The silence was deafening. It wasn't like you'd been badly injured, still with a sliver of possibility for recovery. No, this bite sealed your fate. 

In the next day, you were going to become something Ellie had to detest. Something she had to kill. 

You felt the bile rise in your throat just in time to grab a decayed flower pot. You choked out everything in your stomach and more.

Ellie grabbed her stomach as she felt her body start to shake, that feeling creeping up her spine again. Her breath felt like it was being siphoned out of her. She needed air, but her lungs would not take any in. She hyperventilated as she threw herself back against the wall, legs giving out. 

A sweat broke out across her body, knowing that she's losing you tonight. 

Her mind shoved memories into her vision that she swore to never bring up again. 

“There're a million ways we should've died before today. And a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight…for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes…or two days. We don't give that up.”

She remembers the small, impossible slice of hope in Riley’s eyes, one that she knew was futile. Riley was her first love. She thought they were both going to die. She felt…horrible. You would be her last love, though she knew only you were fated to die. She knew she would die too. 

Your voice calling her name broke her out of her fit. One look at you wiping your face and shaking was enough to make her want to break something, anything. 

“Ellie,” you called. She stood and began pacing, running her hands over her face. “Ellie, stop it.”

“There's gotta be…there has to…we need…” she babbled, still pacing. An idea clicked, “give me your arm.”

You held out your shaking arm to your lover, expecting her to inspect the area. Instead, she took out her pocket knife and pressed the blade into her hand without any hesitation. 

“Ellie! What the fuck?!” You said, trying to stop her hand from bleeding. 

“Give me your arm,” she said firmly, a major contrast from before. When you hesitated, her hard gaze met yours. Her eyes softened when she saw the fear in your eyes. “Please,” she whispered. 

You gave her your arm and let her rub her blood into the bite. 

She took your arm and rubbed the blood into the bite knowing it wouldn’t work. 

It wouldn't work on you. 

She knew that. 

She tried anyway.

As she massaged the blood as deep into the wound as she could get, all she could think about was that she would've been able to save you if they made the cure. Her life would've had meaning, so much meaning. She would've been able to cure you from this. But she was helpless, cursed to watch you suffer. 

“Ellie,” you said, putting your hand atop hers to get her to stop and look at you. She could see in your eyes that you just needed to be close to her in that moment. She needed it too, needed to be impossibly closer as to grip into you forever. 

She buried her head into your neck and you did the same, holding your breath. For if you breathed, time would pass. If time passed, you'd be gone. 

You don't know how long you held each other like that, but it was long enough that your legs nearly collapsed with exhaustion. You were the first to speak. 

“I need you to promise me something,” you whispered. 

Ellie knew what you were going to say before the words left your mouth. 

“No-” she began pulling away from you, but you squeezed her tighter. 

“When it starts to happen…when I can feel it, I’m going to take my gun-”

“Stop it-”

“-and I’m going to go outside. You’ll know it's over-”

“-Stop-”

“-when you hear it. Just promise me you won't look.”

“Stop, please,” she begs, tears brimming in her eyes again. She takes a step back from you and turns around. 

“Promise me.”

The words get caught in her throat. Her lip trembles. “Okay.”

Outside, rain starts to fall softly, tapping against the rotting wood of the cabin. 

She breaks the new silence. “I should've been there. I should've taken my rifle out, anything-”

“El, it's not your fault. Look at me,” you say. She looks at you over her shoulder. You nearly crumble at her red eyes and wet cheeks. “Never blame yourself. You hear me?”

She just squeezes her eyes shut, willing for this to all go away. 

You walk to her, putting your hands on her shoulders and leaning your forehead against her back. You tried not to look at the bite. 

“Ellie.”

“Yeah.”

“Will you give me one last good night?”

The soft pattering of the rain against the wood, trickling off the roof and into the ground. 

“Please?”

She says nothing, instead turning around and gently capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bloodied hands find her wet cheeks, noting that the tears haven't stopped. 

Ellie wanted to give you everything you wanted and more, and she had sworn she would from the moment she met you. If this was the last thing you ever asked from her, she would give it to you. 

But it was so unbelievably hard knowing that this time would be your last. 

She pushed you back against the wall, nearly devouring you. The salty mix of your tears and hers slipped into the kiss, but you didn't care. She moved her hand down to cup you where you wanted her.

You bucked your hips into the friction, already needing her. You began to undo your belt, but Ellie’s hand on your wrist stopped you. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” She said, voice gravelly. 

“Yes, El,” you said. “I don't know where I’ll be tomorrow, or…what I’ll be,” she let out a shaky breath, “but I know I want to be with you right now.”

She sniffled and nodded, getting on her knees to take your belt off. She threw it to the side, unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them down along with your panties. You opened your legs wider for her.

She ran two fingers through your slit before sinking one into your hole, tongue giving kitten licks to your folds. 

You could tell that she wasn't going to be as vocal as usual. 

You couldn't really blame her. 

You whimpered as she added another finger, pumping them in and out of you, filling the air with obscene sounds. She lapped at your cunt, trying her hardest to give you what you want. 

“Ellie, don't stop,” you moaned, whimpering when she used her other arm to hold your hips down against the wall. “Almost there.”

You could feel the coil tightening inside if you quickly, your climax coming in record time. You thought for a moment that it was because of how sensitive you were in this moment. 

You moaned wantonly and grabbed her hair as you came, her tongue working on your clit and her fingers scissoring you open. 

You expected her to stop, but she kept going. In fact, she added a third finger. 

You heard her moan into your pussy, looking down to find her grinding into the floor, a wet spot forming on her jeans. She was so messy, your juices coating her face, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair, rutting into nothing and moaning into your cunt. 

When the fabric of her jeans caught her clit just right, she took her mouth of your pussy, replacing it with her thumb instead, and leaned her forehead against your stomach. You came with her from the sensitivity, both of your moans filling the air, pleading for more. 

When she laid you down on a thin blanket from her backpack and undressed both of you, you noted the scared look in her eyes. The way she looked at you, drinking you in, knowing this would be your last time together. Some part of you wished that neither of you knew about the bite, that you didn't have to treat this so differently. That you could enjoy it. Enjoy your last moments together.

She threw her leg over yours, kissing you messily, yet softly, as she ground into you, folds slotting against each other. You both moaned each time your clits touched. 

As she grew closer to her climax, she buried her face into your neck. You tried to ignore the feeling of her tears trickling down and pooling at your nape. 

You came together. You moaned, but she cried out, more guttural than you'd ever heard from her. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you—!” she cried into your neck as she came. 

When you slowed down, she held you like that without words. 

“I love you too, Ellie,” you whispered, just loud enough for her to hear over the rain. 

You held each other as the sun set, through the night, and through the rain. 

The golden rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the walls and shudders, dancing across her bare body pressed into your side. Hours ago, her body had stopped shaking and her tears stopped spilling onto your chest, your hands running patterns across her skin lulling her into an exhausted sleep. 

Your eyes had never closed, however. You knew you wanted to be awake to feel it happening, to know when you were losing control over your body. For Ellie’s sake. 

The rain had stopped and the clouds were cleared. Birds sang outside and all the animals went about their day. You thought it strange that the world would continue on without you, that people will age and new ones will be born, that people will die and people will forget about you in time. Your impermanence had never struck you as hard as it did now. 

You felt the twitching in your feet first, unnoticeable at first, but is it crawled up your limbs, you knew it was happening. It happened over three or four hours, and once you felt your neck jerk the first time, you knew. 

Your blood didn't feel like your own anymore, like someone exsanguinated it and replaced it with jelly, slowing you down. Your vision wasn't gone, but you couldn't focus it on anything. It constantly sounded like you were underwater, drowning, gasping for air to no avail. 

Your eyes hardly left the woman in your arms, clinging to you even in sleep. You know she'd curse herself for falling asleep, but you were thankful for it. You were thankful that you could press a tearful kiss to her forehead before gently escaping her grasp, muffling your sobs behind your hand. You threw your shirt and jeans on quietly, dizzy, slipping your shoes on. Your world spun, your lungs burned, your head throbbed. 

You picked up your pistol, watching Ellie stir slightly in her sleep, creamy skin illuminated in the sun, her freckled face creased slightly with worry, even in sleep. You put the gun in your pocket. 

You tried, as silently as you could, to move the barricade from the door. You were thankful that she was a heavy sleeper. 

You were thankful that you didn't have to see the despair in her eyes when you said a forceful goodbye, thankful that you didn't have to convince her to let you go, thankful that your last memory of her was this, thankful that her last memory of you was bliss. 

Through your sobs, you squeezed through the door and shut it behind you, leaning your head against it, willing for this all to be a nightmare. It wasn't, because you started to feel something else take over your will. 

Before you could lose it completely, you forced yourself into a dense brush of greenery, somewhere you hoped she wouldn't look. 

You panted, sweating, trembling, as you took the pistol out of your pocket. It shook with your hand as you held it to your temple, bright eyes taking in all of the world that you could before it was gone. 

You squeezed them tightly, willing yourself to stop shaking. You conjured the image of your lover in your mind, her auburn hair, milky skin, pretty green eyes, and those familiar freckles. How could you ever forget her?

You took a breath in, and breathed out: “I love you.”

Ellie sat up in terror when she heard the sound of a single gunshot ring through the air, seeping in through the cracks of the window and underneath the door. It took her a moment to process what it was, reaching for her pistol next to her discarded clothes. When her fingertips brushed the gun, it settled in. She craned her head to look beside her, half expecting you to still be asleep. 

When she remembered what the sound of the gunshot meant, what you had made her promise, her lungs collapsed and she couldn't take any air in. Tears spilled from her eyes as she heaved, clawing at her chest for any relief. It didn't come. 

She knew it never would.

When Joel got word that you and Ellie still hadn't returned from patrol, he worried that you'd gotten stuck in the landslide. He pleaded with Tommy and Jesse to go out with him to search, knowing he wouldn't be at peace without knowing what happened. 

When the two agreed, they set off on horses to clear all of the checkpoints. It took an extra day to get around the mountain range that was blocked off by rubble. 

When they only had one more checkpoint to clear, Joel got increasingly worried. If you weren't here, where were you?

When the three men got to the cabin, they held their breath as they dismounted their horses. Joel tried pushing the door open, but the barricade stopped him. It took the three of them to open the door, pushing the barricade out of the way. 

The open door shed light on the figure against the back wall covered in a thin blanket, trembling. Joel let out the breath he was holding in when he saw Ellie. She was clutching your backpack to her chest, trying to keep any remaining part of you alive, hers. 

She had hardly noticed Joel pick her up and carry her to his horse, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, not ready to see the world without you in it. 

“Ellie,” Joel’s gruff voice intruded her thoughts, “where is she?”

Ellie’s words failed her. All she could do was point to her forearm, to the bite that only Joel and Tommy knew hid underneath the tattoo. 

She doesn't remember what happened after that. 

It was warmer now, the flowers blossoming and the green coming back to Jackson’s landscape. Ellie sat facing your headstone, wishing you could've seen it. Wishing she could've shown it to you. 

“It’s summer now,” she began. “We started planting these new flowers in your garden…Joel thinks you would've liked them. I think so too. They're really colourful…you know.”

She hesitated.

“Sometimes I wonder if you can hear me. Or if I’m just talking to myself like a crazy person. Joel says it's good for me. I don't know if I believe him.”

She played with her hands, tracing her tattoo. 

“I wish you were still here,” she whispered. Her eyes drifted over all the flowers left by your grave from all the people who loved you. 

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched a pretty red hummingbird land on your grave, searching for pollen in the flowers.

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x reader angst #tlou #the last of us #tlou 2 #the last of us 2 #lesbian

[undercoverpena]

ii. the borrowing of honey

joel miller x f!reader | chapter two of honey stained hands

Chapter summary: lifting his chin, he finds you already watching him. “What’d y’like me to call you?” Your hands pause, flour clinging to your palms, your hands. “I like that you call me Honey, Miller.”

wordcount: 3.9k warnings: no physical descriptions. joel calls you honey (ellie calls you bee - because you look after the bees). no use of y/n. typical canon-angst. brief mentions of reader handling some raiders (murder couple yesss). my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: doesn't matter how much time passes, i still get so nervous when it comes to sharing joel.

Your name is present on the tip of his tongue whenever he sees you.

It’s there when he watches you walk by; when he finds you in the centre of the sheep pen, Ellie and other kids circling you, listening attentively.

For Joel, what he likes the most, is the teeth showing when Ellie grins, when she moves closer to you, when it’s clear in the way her arms aren’t folded anymore, that she trusts you—this person, this neighbour of theirs.

Against all odds, he has also found your name coming to him with ease when he opens his door to you, the chill of the outside air mixing with the warmth of his home.

Your appearance, as always, knocking him off balance, especially when he spots that apron again—flecks of flour, a stripe of it against your cheek.

You don’t happen to have any honey, do you, neighbour?

From morning to night, it’s there, ready—hanging on the tip of his tongue.

He swears it’s as though your name has been scratched into him, etched into some space he hadn’t known was still there, existing, being.

A pull within him.

One that led him to your door the following day, a book in hand—one you’d lent Ellie and had been meaning to return—as he found you baking. All smooth movements, unbothered by him stopping by as you combined ingredients with your hands.

Hands he was unsure how they’d made it here. A question, that circles his brain in constant whirrs.

Because, until the scent of honey hit his nose, Joel wasn’t sure you could appear any sweeter.

“What y’baking?” he’d asked, nodding to the jar of honey open beside you—the one he’d given the day prior, the label scratched from his thumb picking at it as the two of you idly chatted. Talks of the day, whether he’d had any more run-ins with the animals.

Your lip tugged into your cheek, pausing in your crumbling to wipe your forearm across your brow. “Shortbread—but it’s only my third time making it.”

“Three times more than me.”

Snorting, you grinned. Large, unfazed—as though the world had never ended for you. “When you’re done fixing fences and homes, I can teach you.”

“Not sure I can learn much, honey.”

“I think you sell yourself short.”

Smirking, he nodded, mumbling a funny as he continued to watch, and admire. Paying attention to how your hands moved, how they rolled whatever you were making inside the bowl before you held up your dough.

You hadn’t shared much, just that you had learnt to bake when you were younger—something you’d begin doing when you couldn’t sleep. How the honey had been an easy (in terms of sourcing) replacement for sugar. That, you’d amassed too much once, so you shared your goods, left treats at the Tipsy Bison, took some to the shops that could spare some cheering up.

Joel didn’t share much either, just nodded to the questions you asked, whether he’d travelled far, whether he liked fixing porches and whether it was true a sheep had tried to eat his lace.

The main things that Joel learnt, was that you were too good for a person like him.

A person maybe years and years ago he’d have been able to entertain with witty stories and charisma. But both were few and far between now. That however you’d survived, however you’d made it here, had been likely on luck and not because you, like him—and likely others—had found themselves in the shadows of who they once were.

Then, he saw a different side.

Your name almost hangs from his lips when he watches you dismount weakly, almost stumbling—falling before you catch yourself.

There are snowflakes in your hair. Ellie had said the weather is ‘all fucked. Now, he can see it for himself. How drops from the clouds had clustered, clung to strands, it almost making you look innocent—like the version of you Joel had sculpted in his mind.

That is except for the scarlet splattered across your clothes and face—chunks of something mattered in your hair. It’s sticky, that much he can tell. It catches the sun's rays, reflecting across the parts that haven’t dried. Lit up further by the wild look in your eyes, the one that makes him realise, that for all your sweetness, there’s something uncaged inside you. A look, that is both a mix of haunting and adrenaline, thrumming in the depths where he’s usually basked in goodness.

The earlier thought, the one which had been irking him—festering in the back of his mind—wondering how something so kind had managed to survive, is now answered. It is on display, proudly there for him to see. You’d done well to drill it down, hide it deep inside of you, conceal it, but it was bellowing now, hammering its fists on your chest, all proud to be out, breathing, living.

Because you disguise it too, the monster. Thing so many of the people around the two of you aren’t. But a beast recognises another—and Joel sees yours.

There’s no mask or sheet big enough to hide it now. No way he can’t see where it’s stitched itself to the person you were before civilisation snapped in two and hell poured out from the core.

It’s that, he reasons, as to why he steps closer—tries to stabilise, soothe. Even if your body is calm, barely a shake in sight—no infliction as others come to your ‘aid’ that anything is even wrong—less so when the questions begin to rise.

You—a clever thing—wait until Tommy arrives. Letting him, and only him—guide you, lead you. Those who need to, follow, and Joel finds his feet carry him too. Joel finding a spot, remaining stood, just watching from the corner as you begin to share what had happened on patrol.

Your report is clinical, stiff. All to the point.

You speak it as though you were itemising, giving a list, and he suspects it isn’t because it’s a coping mechanism. It sounds normal from your tongue, loss—death. It’s all a matter of fact, with no emotion—no semblance of kindness or grief as you describe how your patrol partner was gutted in front of you. How they talked about you, not realising, not knowing…

He listens as your voice trails off then. Knowing, more than many of those who have been comfortable here for too long, what it is you’d left unsaid.

Then, you’d added Raiders. You chin lifting, eyes cold, unbothered, adding, low-level ones—as if there are grades to this shit.

“Do we need to send others out to deal with them?”

A valid question, asked by someone Joel has no fucking clue what his name is.

Instead of replying, your eyes flick to his. A momentary hold, a prolonged stare. It doesn’t claw at him to steal his breath or dig in to take a swipe at the fractured parts of him. It is just a stare—an almost cold one—as though he could have been replaced by anyone else in the room, and it would have been the same.

But you sought him out. You looked for him—stamping the answer into him. The one you say in a second or two, but makes him body relax before the rest of them can think of doing as much.

Because Joel knows this is you showing him who you are, the monster unwilling to be caged—the demon inside of you still breathing, snorting and spitting smoke.

“No,” you say, devoid of emotion. “I sorted it.”

Somehow, even after spending the night watching you bake, he doesn't doubt that for a second.

He knows something shifted, changed, the day after your patrol.

Something ebbing, flowing—commutated in the way he finds your eyes even through a sea of people. Mostly, he discovers that he doesn’t hate it when you find yourself beside him, sun in his eyes making him squint, you leaning close by as he repairs whatever is on the agenda.

The times begin to bleed into one. Something he’s distantly aware means something—even without Ellie pointing it out.

Because even she knows you, more than bits and bobs—more than someone who teaches them things. But intimately. You, who the kids have dubbed Bee likely due to the bees you’re often around and the honey that you tend to. Something that makes him smirk, a thing he struggles to hide.

He knows things have changed. Had known it the moment you stood giving a detailed account—letting another man’s blood dry on your face—that he had misunderstood you. Joel had made an assumption based on those he’d come across before, kind things—soft, pliable souls.

Now, he couldn't unsee the fire. The ferocious thing inside of you that you stuffed away and hid behind baking and tending to fucking bees.

“Didn’t realise you had access to all the honey, honey.” “You trying to flirt with me, Miller?” “No jus’… trying to figure out why you needed my honey.” “Maybe I thought yours would taste better.”

He was aware the idle chatter had turned flirty—more tinged in power, dominance. Who could make the other uncomfortable, snap or make the move first. Each day, the answer was different—sometimes him, sometimes you, oftentimes both.

Joel was old, worn—aching all over—but he didn’t like the idea of bowing, not after all he’d done to get here to begin with.

“I think you’re softening to me, Miller.” “You’re just my neighbour.” “Yeah, yeah. That’s what it is.”

A part of him reasons that he goes to the Bison to see if you’re okay, spotting you in the corner, at an empty table—a book open in your hands before you nod at him to join you. You tell him, quickly, he doesn’t have to make conversation, turning your attention back to the book, just no point sitting by yourself being ogled at.

Joel found he did talk.

First, about the book in your hand, and then questions about other things—the two of you floating them back and forth. Nothing major, nothing too deep. Enough to spark a smile or a laugh here or there.

No more pages of your book were read, not even as you eventually closed it—bidding him goodnight. He’d almost let you walk home alone, almost. A sudden emotion flared in him as he downed the drink and hurried after you.

Knowing you were safe mattered.

He repeated the sentiment over and over as though it was the only reason—or, better yet, the only one he wanted to believe, especially when the two of you stopped at the steps of your porch.

A goodnight rises, sitting on his tongue, but it never forms. Your eyes stare at him, shimmering, but you blink it away and replace it with a smirk. Because he’s sure if you were any other woman, you’d be jingling your keys and sending him all the signs. But you’re not like those women.

It’s the reason you’re the only one he doesn’t want to roll his eyes at when you speak.

“I’m not someone you should want to be more than friends with, Miller,” you say gently, shifting the book over your front.

“That so?”

Nodding, you flash him one of your usual smiles, dropping your eyes to the floor. “Yeah, I bite.”

Joel tells himself there’s plenty to do when he’s alone.

He can read—learn about space, study carpentry, maybe even just be, relax. He could pick at guitar strings until chords and melodies came back to him.

Instead, he finds himself in front of your door, knuckles out, hammering away at the wood until he hears you shouting for him to come in.

Fuck. The sight of you knocks into him, more prominent this time—more air stolen than just a gasp. Finding you hidden behind your kitchen counter, lips spreading into a smirk, he wants nothing more than to rid.

Powder streaking your cheek, your face free except for it—all bare, natural—the strap of your bra having fallen, all black—lace. The rest of it is hidden beneath a white vest top, your apron shielding the rest of your attire except your bare legs. Bruised, healed scars and thick woollen socks.

“You here to fix somethin’?”

He shouldn’t feel so much from just a smirk, but his mouth is dry, eyes glazing up and down your frame as you lick your lips.

“Or you here to see something?”

Lingering, he digs his hands into his jacket pockets, finding the usual leaning post of your doorframe—watching, secretly admiring but not admiring.

“Your silence doesn’t intimate me, Joel. If anything, it just allows me to talk more.”

Snorting, he shakes his head. “S’not what I’m doing.”

You stop mixing, hands hovering over the bowl, eyes narrowing, assessing, but smiling. “Right. Of course.”

He doesn’t like it. The tone. The way you let each letter fall from your tongue, laced in something he can’t quite work out. So, he steps closer, boots booming as he moves more into the kitchen.

“Whatever errand Tommy has you on, I’m fine. It’s only me here now, anyway.”

He nods. “Y’have someone else here then? Before.”

Before, even he hears how it moves around the room, pulsating, thickening. Your eyes drop back to the bowl, moving ingredients and making flour dust tinge in the air.

“A while ago, yes.”

For you, it’s curt—sharp. Another notch rallied against the evidence that sweet and fucking kind wasn't all there was to you.

Then you lift your eyes, devoid of all he’s used to in them. “I don’t need anything fixing, Joel.”

He stands. Loiters. A part of him wondering what you mean by fixing, because he suspects you don’t mean furniture, porches and doors. He suspects there’s more ravelled inside of you, a thing he wants to tug on, yank at—let it unspool out until he can digest it all, and consider, just maybe, if he can unspool his out too.

It’s why he’s unwilling to leave, more out of sheer stubbornness because, in truth, you’re the only one he doesn’t despise talking to. One of the few who don’t look at him with questions, with a scowl. A scarlet letter stitched into him, sewn by the things he’s done to breathe and survive.

So, he remains. Watching as your movements become more erratic, more charged. Your anger ploughed into the dough, it forming, thickening at your fingers as though your whispered hissed sweats were like enchantments getting it to form.

“No good comes from staying, Miller.”

He lifts his chin, brow raising. “That so?”

Nodding, you lightly smirk. “Yeah. Because then you’ll realise I’m not all that to be around, and it’ll mean you have to talk to another human.”

Moving to your side of the counter, he stares at the contents of the bowl. “Y’not too bad to be around.”

“Fuck, you flatter me, Joel.”

It’s there again. That sparkle, the shimmer. The glint in your eye that shoots down to his cock, the same one from the porch. The one he sees when he passes you in the street, and you tell him he’s looking good—

“Why d'the kids call you Bee?”

“Because I didn’t like that they called me miss, and you know, I’m often with the bees.”

Something uncurls inside of him—a fire partially ignoring, a fuse switched. A thing which made him feel both young and old all at once as he leaned, the scent of you mixed with whatever you were baking, all intoxicating—enough to burn the odour of decomposition from his memory for life. A smell that is so reminiscent of you, so genuine and real.

Lifting his chin, he finds you already watching him. “What’d y’like me to call you?”

Your hands pause, flour clinging to your palms, your hands. “I like that you call me Honey, Miller.”

Nodding, he smiles, folding his arms as he leans again—just like he had done over a week ago. “Honey, it is.”

He doesn’t just see you around, he begins to see you in his dreams, too.

Not frequently, but when he’s able to enjoy a night’s sleep not ruined and tainted with nightmares, you’re there. Sometimes fleeting, sometimes more present. A thing, an anchor—looping yourself around him, figuratively, literally. A different kind of heat on his cheeks when he wakes after those, a different fist to his chest as he tries to level his breathing.

He doesn’t show it when he’s awake. When the bitter chill in the air makes his hands rub together and your eyes find his over the top of Ellie’s head, her interest suddenly in bees is unsurprising. Joel has learn, that anything that stings, seems dangerous, or kicks, seems to get the kid intrigued.

Joel just smiles at you, burning a thank you into your eyes—for doing this for her, with her. Giving her something to chatter incessantly over food with him. But it’s the one you give him back that sticks in him, remaining with him until he closes his eyes—it’s another one added to the collection which you wear like an accessory when he dreams.

He likes that you’re there. In his newly formatted dreams—greeting him there too. Little flashes, soft smiles and alluring stares hide your monster and make his bury itself in his chest. Sometimes, you wear white, the picture of innocence—all pure and unbroken. Others, he finds you coated in scarlet, a beautiful oxymoron—his own real-life Carrie.

It’s why he misses your usual comment when you pass his house on the way to the pen. It’s why he looks out for you when he’s tending to some shop door—why Tommy finds him looking around when he’s packing up.

“Y’missing something—or someone?”

Shooting a look, he’s met with a snort, a grin.

“Get outta here, will you?”

Tommy just snorts louder, “She don’t work today—Bee.”

He almost shoots back that’s not your name. It all unfurled on his tongue, the weight of it sitting there. But he swallows it.

“Don’t know what y’mean.”

“Come off it, brother—you’re across the street from me. I see things.”

It lingers with him. Sticks. Clinging to him as he trudged back, Ellie hammered her feet down the stairs to greet him, a thousand and one things shooting out at him. Question after question—some he hears clearly, others get lost in the excitement. More names, more people she’s made friends with—

“So can I?”

“Can y’what?”

She shifts—shyness present, a look he’s not used to seeing on her. “Can I go watch the movie at theirs?”

All he can think is, that she looks like Sarah—that same permissive look that children adopt when talking to their parents.

The unease. The hoping—but not wanting to show too much. Just in case. As though by expecting, it’ll hurt more if he says no.

Not that he would. Not that he does.

Her chorus of thank you’s painting the house in glitter and gold, his smile challenging to hide as he puts away the toolbox—and removes his boots.

“I heard Bee’s at home.”

Turning his head, he knows he’s pulling a face. A mix of how do you know and what you getting at, all mushed and rolled into one.

Ellie just shrugs, that annoying knowing one that he remembers back when she cracked the radio. The look of deviousness and mischief swirling in her eyes and spreading to her lower face.

“Get outta here, kid.”

You bought him a batch of shortbread.

They’re encased in a tin—it’s small, circular. It’s old, likely restored as best as it could be from wherever it was taken from. But, the contents are new—sweet, rather perfect, even if your note attached had been describing them as anything but.

Joel hadn’t been here when it arrived, coming home to the lid already off, a small plate next to it, adorned in crumbs. He supposed if Ellie liked it, he would—and fuck did he.

“So, she just baking you things now?”

“Looks like it.”

He knows all of Ellie’s faces—each emotion stitched into it. A scowl here, a surprised look here. Tonight was a cross between sarcasm and, really, man.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Shifting his weight, he dips his chin. Staring, right over his nose as she holds her hands up, excusing herself, dashing up the stairs before signalling his lack of an answer with the slam of her door.

He could admit that each time he sees you, you flirt—that you’re still all kind, sweet. But, Joel knows there is an edge to it. Something simmering, bubbling. A current attempting to wrap itself around the two of you and pull you under—laced with flirtations, them prickling in the air.

It reaches a new height quickly, his fingers plucking at strings as you walk past. Your eyes glazed, the night heavy—a storm brewing in the air, something he can feel, half-expecting rain to fall down and do its usual cleanse of the soil, leaves and muck.

He had seen you pause, turning your frame to his porch. Climbing it, stopping yourself from stepping on the top step.

“Y’good, neighbour?”

He snorts. “You’re drunk.”

“Merry.” Your correction comes with a smirk. “Drunk makes me sound like I can’t handle it—and I can handle it.”

Sliding the guitar from his lap, he looks at you leaning, that same smirk. The one that’s been growing over the days, weeks. One that makes his blood boil and his jeans tighten.

“You know, if you ever feel like playing with something that sounds just as pretty, Miller, you let me know.”

Whatever retort he’d been about to give, fizzles, dies. It slides back down his throat as you throw up a wave, practically skipping down his steps. Not even looking back as you walk that bit further to your own place, before you’re out of view.

He should go in, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he watches your home, as you flick a light on as you move through your home—hidden by curtains and blinds.

Joel can’t hear anything, but a part of him wishes he could.

Wondering whether you sing to yourself, whether you’re clumsy—and you paint the air with fucks and shits. Whether you’re thinking about him…

Joel picks up the guitar again, calloused fingers ready to brush over strings.

But he just hears you. A ghostly echo of your statement, humming, swirling around the porch.

Leaning it against the side of the house, he stands, bones creaking, porch chair groaning, as he heads inside.

Needing another door and wall between you and your confession and the relief he needs to find to be able to look you in the eye tomorrow.

CHAPTER THREE ->

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[c-rowlesdraws]

I swear to God I'm not trying to yuck anybody's artistic yum, but Gollum eats babies. Like, that's not a metaphor or anything: Gollum literally and canonically steals and devours human infants whenever he gets the opportunity. He goes out of his way to enter homes to eat babies. He is a literal baby-eating boogieman

bold of you to think that learning this wouldn’t make me like him even more

but really, lol, like… I know that? I already know that about him, I am familiar with different retellings of the source material even if I’m only just now reading the books. And I like that he’s done plenty of horrible things— it makes him more complicated as a character, strengthens that blend of pity and revulsion the reader and also other characters are intended to feel for him. He’s not a real person where I’d consider having eaten a human baby or two an actual turn-off from enjoying their company.

Also iirc it was, like, just a phase for him— when he ate people it was usually orc.

#lotr #the lord of the rings #gollum #this character is a bad person WELL GOOD #catie talks #ask

[piosplayhouse]

Ayo thank you for your contribution to society and world culture through the SVSSS iceberg, now if you don’t mind can you please explain it? I’ve been in the fandom a while but I swear I’ve never heard of some of these

Sure! Explanations will be sorted under the cut:

SHEN YUAN TIER:

- all items in this tier are either surface level details from the source material or

- daily bingpup is a popular fandom meme (used in the metal gear sense lmfao) started by @ kamkamquats on Twitter that's pretty self explanatory: kam draws and posts a bingpup picture every day! The archive is available here.

I probably should have made this point just bingpup, as I believe his origins precede kam's art, but she certainly boosted his popularity significantly, and now her art and bingpup are canonized with the publishing of the 4th volume English translation of the novel, so I thought it was a fun point!

LUO BINGHE TIER:

- Feynite's au collection: an extremely popular collection of alternate universe fics written by legendary Scum Villain fic author Feynite.

- Scum Villain is a tragedy: an interpretation of the books that poses that from every other perspective besides Shen Yuan's, Scum Villain is an incredibly depressing tragedy.

- Luo Binghe is Airplane's self insert: "Don't asky why Luo Binghe wasn't the embodiment of [Airplane's] ideal man; Luo Binghe's use had primarily been to fulfill his desire to be a badass and get revenge, as well as his desire for wanton [this section has been censored]" (The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System volume 4, page 163).

- Shen Yuan died on his birthday: Shen Yuan's death date is never given in the original novels, but in the first scene of the donghua when he dies while at his computer, you can catch a glimpse at the date reading September 21st (both his birthday and the day svsss was published!)

- Shen Qingqiu's canon fursona: binghe compares sqq to a crane multiple times in the story but is depicted as a cat in fandom much more frequently, leading people to joke about how the fandom disregards his "canon" fursona in the same way bingpup is much more prevalent than sheep binghe.

- Shen Qingqiu can knit: there's official crossover Christmas merchandise that shows all of the mxtx couples participating in different holiday activities: wangxian are decorating a tree, hualian are baking cookies, and shen qingqiu is knitting a scarf for luo binghe.

- Luo Binghe's birthday: Luo Binghe is actually the only main mxtx character that doesn't have a canon birthday. He's noted in the books as being born on "the coldest days of the year", but it's debatable whether this is late December or early January, and there's no specific date from this that we can confirm is his birthday.

- sv manhua's indefinite hiatus: much to the excitement of starved fans, a Scum Villain manhua began publishing in 2019. It ran for a grand total of 3 wonderful weeks before being unceremoniously put on indefinite hiatus because of drama within the fanbase stemming from rumors that the artist/company drawing it actually hated scum villain. It has yet to return.

SHEN JIU TIER:

- Moshang's horrible first time: MXTX stated in a Q&A interview that neither Mobei-Jun nor Shang Qinghua enjoyed their first time having sex together.

- Shen Qingqiu invented maxi pads: the "scum villain pad commercial" is a commercial from the first season of the donghua depicting an exchange where Ning Yingying is self conscious about going out on her period because her sanitary supplies aren't cute, so Shen Qingqiu magics her up some maxi pads.

- Shen Yuan read mpreg yaoi: "#18 Peerless Cucumber [Expert]: Upthread, keep cool. This forum has a lot of Green JJ sisters 😎" (The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System volume 4, page 145). / "''Great Master' Liu! Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky didn't write a green Jinjiang mpreg novel!'" (The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System volume 4, page 295).

- Shen Jiu transmigrated into Shen Yuan: A somewhat popular theory in the fandom that when Shen Jiu died, he transmigrated into modern day Shen Yuan the same way Shen Yuan did to him.

- Cursed monkey island: Cursed monkey island is/was a private discord server made up of very og sv fans that was known for outputting somewhat dark/off-color/weird fics for each other, often with funny porn spoof names and niche concepts. The first fics from there were published in 2018, while the last fic in the collection seems to have been published in 2022, so they might still be active, but I'm not sure.

- Moshang has a 20 year age difference: Shang Qinghua died at at least age 20 (probably older) and since he transmigrated into a baby, he has 20 extra years of consciousness from his first life on the PIDW native characters, who he meets when they're both teenagers in the Airplane extras. Though physically the same age group, he would've been mentally somewhere around 30-40 years old at this point getting bullied by teenagers.

- The microwave: some of the first previews released for the donghua were static turnaround videos of the 3D models set to elevator music -- after these dropped, it was radio silence on the show's status for a long, long time. Fans called these previews "the microwave" because of the static rotation of the models and referred to the time it took for the donghua to come out as "defrosting it in the microwave". There's a fair amount of art/memes from this time period featuring the characters literally inside microwaves, even to the point where people made microwave-themed SV merch. When the donghua finally came out bingqiu were declared "free from the microwave" and a wave of fanart of them destroying microwave prisons emerged.

TIANLANG JUN TIER:

- Wangxian have read resentment of chunshan: in the mdzs audio drama extra episode "Accompanying you to sleep - Lan Wangji", Lan Wangji takes care of a drunk Wei Wuxian by getting him ready for bed. Towards the end of the episode, Wei Wuxian asks Lan Wangji to read him a bedtime story. Lan Wangji says he isn't good at telling stories and Wei Wuxian suggest he reads him The Resentment of Chunshan (bingqiu fanfiction). Unfortunately, Lan Wangji had never heard of it before and thereby could not ASMR it.

- Six Balls x Zhuzhi Lang: a rarepair (also called bamboo balls) written by the lovely Alex here.

- Shen Qingqiu has the protagonist halo: a theory/headcanon suggesting that when Shen Yuan transmigrated, the role of protagonist and subsequent protagonist halo left Luo Binghe and transferred onto him. Often used in angst canon divergences wherein due to the lack of a protagonist halo, Binghe dies from an event he otherwise would have survived because of his story invulnerability.

- Shen Yuan's sister found his dead body: an angst headcanon centering around the idea that Shen Yuan's sister found his dead body rotting in his apartment after he died- very good art made about this here!! (Gore/blood cw)

- Who is zhuzhi lang's dad: we all know zhuzhi-lang's dad was a big snake but what kind of big snake? How big? Why did his mom fuck him? all important questions heavily debated about in this fandom.

MOBEI JUN TIER:

- Every ship is cumplane: we already know Luo Binghe is Airplane's self insert, and Mobei-Jun's cold demeanor is somewhat reminiscent of Peerless Cucumber's tsundere wife-isms, making bingqiu and moshang arguable proto-cumplanes. However, we can go further and argue because Airplane created the entire world of PIDW, all of it in a way reflects him and his feelings, therefore meaning that because it loves Shen Qingqiu and Shen Qingqiu loves it back, every possible PIDW asset x sqq is cumplane in its basest form.

- Original donghua designs: the first pv for the donghua actually featured slightly different designs for bingqiu, which were then changed later in production! You can see the original ones here.

- PIDW is real: someone actually posted PIDW on jjwxc so you can get the real Shen Yuan experience.

SHANG QINGHUA TIER:

- Shen Yuan penetrated into the body of the scum villain: there is a listing for the svsss donghua on Amazon prime video (though no episodes are actually available) which features this banger summary:

 An ordinary youth, Shen Yuan, after reading the novel "Arrogant Gods and Demons' Journey", triggers the mysterious system so that he crosses into the book world and penetrates into the body of villain--Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu's disciple, Luo Binghe, is the main character of the novel.

- Airplane's foot fetish:

#and thats it! #svsss #svsss iceberg

[shares-a-vest]

@flufftober Spring Edition Day 1: New Beginnings

wc: 590 | Rated: T for Canon-Typical Swearing | cw: One mention of cigarettes

Tags: First Apartment, Moving In, Steddie Cat Dads, Robin Buckley, Erica Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Wayne Munson

Note: For the next two weeks, I'll be writing little ficlets within my Joanie Munson AU for this Spring Edition of Flufftober. Hopefully, I can fulfil each day – that's the goal anyway seeing as I couldn't participate too much last Flufftober. Nothing too elaborate, all stand-alone ficlets (as always) in this AU.

‘Steddie’s Tiny First Apartment’

Steve sets down the last moving box, placing it amongst the others. He stands upright and hums contentedly as he looks around the cramped, already messy, box-filled apartment.

His new beginning with Eddie.

Eddie who is coming up right behind him, so hot on his heels with excitement (and not a thing in hand) as he steps inside, he knocks square into him.

Steve yelps and stumbles forward.

But Eddie catches him, one hand on his polo sleeve, the other looping around his middle at break-neck speed.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” Eddie playfully warns, pulling them flush and bringing his other arm up to lock Steve firmly in an embrace.

“You ran into me,” he quips, giggling.

“We’re here,” Eddie sing-song whispers in his ear, a grin evident in his beaming, gleeful voice.

Steve nods, smiling as he leans into his partner’s touch.

He wants to stay like this – the two of them together.

In this place.

Their home.

“Cats incoming!” Robin announces, pushing through the doorway.

She bumps into them hard and Steve’s knee connects with a rather solid box, the contents of which gives a thud.

That one must be Box Number Twenty of Eddie’s books...

“Fuck – Rob!” he splutters, rubbing at the pain as Eddie continues holding onto him for dear life.

He watches on as he best friend tip-toes about, dodging boxes and knickknacks, misplaced furniture and random clothes, records and already-wilting houseplants as she cradles a very displeased – and freed from the confines of his cat carrier – Ozzy.

She only just makes it to the haphazardly placed thrifted couch when the demonic scamp leaps from her embrace with a bellowing meow! and scurries away.

“Why did you take him out of his carrier?” Eddie whines, practically shouting into Steve’s already-sensitive ears.

“That boy needs to roam free!” Robin argues, stretching her arms out wide and spinning around to make her point, “Besides, he started hissing at me in the car.”

She continues moving and almost runs off-kilter into Claudia Henderson’s old coffee table.

“Well, now he’s going to – ” Eddie begins, cut off with an elbow to the ribs as Dustin barges his way into the apartment.

“Precious cargo!” he yells, his voice reverberating around them as he carries Eddie’s DND folder and screen across his arms, keeping them steady and balanced with what looks like Herculean effort.

Erica follows not a second later, holding nothing but a purple string bag she swings about with abandon.

Steve can feel his eyes bulging out of his skull at the lack of assistance being carried out by two individuals who all but forced their way into the Beemer for the no-longer-final trip to Chicago.

But Steve doesn’t manage to get past open his mouth to complain because Eddie lets go of his steel-grip hold on him and launches himself clean over the aforementioned last box to snatch up the string bag.

He opens it up to expect the contents, mouths a count of his dice and brings the bag tight to his chest.

Eddie looks up and his face promptly drops as he looks over Steve’s shoulder – likely to the source of the sudden, strong scent of cigarettes.

“You were supposed to come back down to the truck, boy,” Wayne Munson grumbles, huffing away as he brings in a box labelled, ‘KITCHEN’.

Eddie begins muttering some excuse but Steve can’t find himself caring too much about the impending Munson Squabble.

Their new home could really use a collectable coffee mug or ten.

#fluffspring2024 #day 1 #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet #steddie as girl-dads #i'm already a touch late with day 1 but i've got a few written so i'll be back on track tomorrow

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment XIII

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape, alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts, swearing, illness, pregnancy, miscarriage, torture, sexual torture, medical stuff

Word Count: 3.7K

Part XII | Masterlist | Part XIV

A/N There will be medical stuff explained. I’m not a doctor so just pretend it makes sense

You felt like you had woken up in a strange environment 20 times in the last day and a half and you hoped this would be the last time you woke up like this.

As your eyes peeled open you were greeted with a harsh hospital light. You could feel someone holding your hand at your side. Turning your head you found Haymitch clasping your hand, head resting on the bed as he dozed off. You felt a smile tug at your lips seeing him so peaceful. You tried to reach over to stroke his hair with your free hand but whatever the doctors had done to you wouldn’t allow that as your abdomen cramped.

You returned to your previous position flat on your back with a hiss, stirring Haymitch. Which was impressive considering how deeply he used to sleep even when it wasn’t due him blacking out. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asked frantically, eyes moving around erratically searching for the cause of your pain.

“I’m fine,” you tried to calm him down. “Just a little sore from the surgery. Do you know what they did?”

“Just that they had to fix some internal bleeding. They said the doctor would be in to update us when you woke up,” he explained. He brushed some fingers through your hair. “God I’m so glad you’re okay. I know I’ll never be able to fix or make you forget what they did to you but I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Haymitch,” you scolded slightly, “it’s not your fault. I never once blamed you for this.” You lifted your hand to stroke down the side of his face. “I love you and I know you’d never put me in danger on purpose.”

“I never should’ve let you out of my sight,” he continued anyways. “Especially when I knew what was coming.”

Before you could protest once again the doctor came in. “Mrs. Abernathy,” he interrupted. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“Uh- yeah,” you agreed, pulling away slightly from your husband. “What happened?”

The doctor paused for a second, struggling with saying what he needed to say in a delicate way. “Well, um, your injuries were due to, what we believe to be, repetitive, violent rape and a not properly cared for miscarriage. We stitched up the source of the bleeding internally and those stitches will degrade safely within the body over time so no need to get them removed. And while the Capitol did remove the decaying cells from your miscarriage to prevent you from going into sepsis, your uterus and other vaginal structures were mostly scar tissue. I’m sorry to say that you’ll never be able to carry a pregnancy again.”

You were horrified. Horrified remembering everything you’ve faced, not just in the Capitol after the Quarter Quell but also for the years of abuse that you hadn’t realized was killing your body in more ways than you thought. You were also disappointed remembering the miscarriage you had and the news that you’d never be able to give Haymitch a family. And yet also strangely relieved?

You faintly heard him dismiss the doctor before facing you again. “Hey, Y/N? It’s okay. I know you wanted to have a baby but-” With his words you let the tears fall, sobs wracking your body.

It took you a second to be able to speak but when you could you said, “No, it’s not that. Of course I wanted to have our baby and I know it’s fucked up to say this but I’m relieved. I wasn’t able to admit it to myself until now but I couldn’t possibly have a baby in this fucked up world. Especially as we’re fighting a war that we could very well die in. Haymitch, I love you, and I would’ve loved our baby so much but I’m glad I don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way.”

Haymitch paused, stunned. He never knew you felt that way about your pregnancy. “Don’t worry. I’m relieved too.”

Your heart melted knowing that this man would do whatever and be whatever to make you happy. Since you still couldn’t really move, you tugged his collar, urging him to kiss you. He complied, leaning up to press his lips to yours in a deep kiss full of all of each others’ love. Your first kiss since the arena.

When Haymitch pulled away to breathe all he wanted was to crawl into bed and hold you tightly to his side like he had after your games. But the Capitol beds were much larger and you were more fragile than he had ever seen you so he opted instead to sit back down, clasping your hand once again.

A couple hours later you and Haymitch had both dozed off in the relative silence of the hospital wing of District 13. You were both startled awake by Johanna slamming the door open. “Ah, I see you two lovebirds are reunited in your perfect fucking bubble,” she sneered with a false smile.

“Ah, Johanna, nice to see you survived the games and the Capitol,” Haymitch groaned.

“Haymitch,” you scolded, rubbing your eyes. “Can you give us a second?” you asked him. He pursed his lips, reluctant to leave you again but agreed anyways, sending a look to Johanna as he exited the room. “How are you?”

She scoffed, fiddling with the IV bag she wheeled in. “How do you think?”

“Well considering you’re allowed to walk and you managed to give those doctors hell when we got back, I’m guessing not too bad.”

She chuckled at that. “All I want to do it carve the hearts out of Snow and all those Capitol bastards,” she growled. “I’m sure you feel the same. We could all hear everything as Snow let those guys-”

“Johanna,” you cut her off, not wanting to relive it.

“Sorry,” she said realizing your discomfort. “They tried to do it to me too. Again. I refused, nearly killed a guard in the process. Why didn’t you fight back while we were there? Not like they could’ve hurt you any worse.”

“When I first woke up there I had no clue where Haymitch was. No idea if he was in danger or not. Also I watched you and Peeta get dropped in your cells half dead every day. I figured *that was a better alternative to what you were going through.”

Johanna shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just us picking our poisons.”

“Have you seen Katniss? Or Annie? Or even Peeta?”

She looked surprised. “You haven’t heard?” Confused you shook your head no. “The Capitol fucked with Peeta’s brain. He’s basically terrified of Katniss and is trying to murder her. Anything about her sets him off.”

Your eyes widened. “What? They brainwashed him? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

She shrugged. “I’ve been trying to see you since they finished all their stupid little tests. You haven’t been awake in almost a day.”

Your eyes fluttered in astonishment as you realized that you had missed out on so much information. “Okay, where’s Katniss?”

“Recovering. Peeta was about to choke her to death before Haymitch and a few other guys got him off her.”

“And Annie? Finnick?”

Johanna shrugged once again. “She and Finnick are off somewhere. She’s fine. She was hardly touched while were were in the Capitol.”

“Good,” you breathed. Annie was the only one you hadn’t been able to see since three sides of your cage had been metal. You sometimes heard her screams but they were rare and as far as you could tell the guards hardly ever went into her cell.

Johanna scoffed. “She got nothing while Peeta and I were electrocuted and beaten half to death every day.”

“Johanna,” you scolded. “It’s not her fault. Besides she’s been through enough.”

“We’ve all been through enough. You, me, Haymitch, Finnick? We all got the worst of it after our games. Katniss got out her games scot-free and so did Peeta except now he’s paying for Katniss’-”

Her words were interrupted by Katniss as she closed the door behind her. You were shocked, you hadn’t even heard her come in. “You’re alive,” was all she said. You weren’t sure it was directed towards you or Johanna.

“So are you,” she answered, exiting the room.

It was Katniss’ turn to sit at your bedside, Haymitch following after. Her throat was badly bruised and her eyes looked bloodshot. From Peeta you realized. “Katniss,” you said softly, observing the haunted look in her eyes.

“Am I the reason you and the others got captured?” she asked, looking at both you and Haymitch.

“No,” you interrupted quickly. “Us getting captured was no one’s fault. All this shit isn’t your fault, you were just trying to save Prim.”

She opened her mouth to protest by Haymitch interrupted her. “Y/N, Coin wants you to talk to Peeta.”

“Who’s Coin?” you asked.

“Oh, right. There’s a lot to catch you up on. She’s the President of 13. And since Peeta’s mind has been altered, we’re hoping your face will offer some comfort since you were in the Capitol together.”

“Okay,” you agreed, eager to help the boy too good for this world. You tried to push yourself up only for Haymitch to rush to your side, pushing you down again.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he insisted. “You’re not cleared to walk yet. Let me find a wheelchair.”

“Haymitch,” you whined, “that’s humiliating.”

“Do you want me to carry you?”

“No, because that’ll be humiliating for the both of us when you drop me,” you joked. He gave you a sour look. “Fine,” you conceded.

Haymitch left, leaving you with Katniss once again. “District 12 is gone. The Capitol bombed it after the arena went out. I just thought you should know.”

You felt your expression physically drop. Everything you had ever known was just gone? The place you grew up, as shitty as it was? The people who had tried to help you when you lost everything? Your home with Haymitch? The place you had married yourselves? Just gone. You didn’t know what to say and neither did Katniss but your processing was interrupted by Haymitch’s return. “Is District 12 gone?” you blurted out, hoping Katniss was wrong.

He stopped dead in his tracks before sighing, nodding his head. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” he tried to comfort, coming back to your side. “Do you want me to tell Coin you’re not up to talking to Peeta?”

“No,” you answered quickly. “I’m fine. I can do this.” You felt so helpless now that your home was gone, you wanted to help someone. So you reluctantly let Haymitch wheel you towards what looked like a garage door. From there a medical assistant took you around the corner to a normal door and wheeled you into the brightest and whitest room you had ever seen. Strapped down to the bed was Peeta who looked at you with broken eyes. You nearly let out a sob realizing how frail and tormented he looked. “Peeta,” you said softly.

“Y/N,” he replied in the same manner.

“How are you feeling?” you asked.

“Where are we?” he dismissed your question. “This isn’t the Capitol.”

“We’re in District 13. Turns out it’s still a real place. We were rescued.”

“My family hasn’t come to see me.”

You felt a tear prick your eye as you remembered how poorly his family treated him in the first place. After he won the games and gave them more money they could possibly hope for they still refused to move into the home he won for them in Victor’s Village. “I’m sure we can-” you turned to find the assistant to ask them to bring his family but one shake of the head from him and you knew Peeta’s family hadn’t survived the bombing. “I’m so sorry, Peeta,” you cried, trying to take his hand gently. But he pulled his fingers just out of reach.

“There was an attack on 12,” he recalled. His empty, haunted expression slowly morphed into anger. “It’s Katniss. It’s because of Katniss.”

“It wasn’t because of her,” you insisted.

“Did she tell you to say that?”

“She didn’t tell me to say anything.”

“She’s a liar, Y/N,” he insisted. “It’s a trick.”

“What you’re saying isn’t real.”

A look of realization dawned over his face. “She sent you in here to talk to me. She and Haymitch.”

“No,” you began.

“Liar!” he suddenly yelled. “They’re liars! They left us in there!” You could faintly hear Haymitch’s yell to pull you out as the assistant began dragging you out of the room. You watched in horror as Peeta thrashed around on the bed screaming that Haymitch had abandoned you in the arena.

~

After another day you were cleared to try walking again. Before, rather than having a catheter placed (thank god), Haymitch would just carry you to the bathroom. An easier feat now that you barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. And as much as you appreciated it it was also infantilizing having to be carried to and from the bathroom by your husband.

As you swung your legs over the side of the bed you suddenly became afraid. You had been so eager to be able to walk again, wanting to regain some independence but now you were afraid to fail.

You glanced up at Haymitch who was nervously watching you. He had been reluctant when the doctor said you could try walking again, saying it was too early but you had a suspicion that he liked that you were so dependent on him for once. But you were itching for some self-worth so you slid off the bed, making hesitant contact with the floor. Once you began placing your weight on your legs you felt them shake slightly but nothing you couldn’t handle. Haymitch, however, was immediately at your side, taking our arm to hold your weight.

“Haymitch, I’m fine,” you insisted.

“I know but if you fall and tear your stitches-”

“I’m *fine,”  you insisted, a sense of finality in your voice.

“Okay,” he agreed, raising his free hand in surrender. He slowly released your other hand, allowing you to settle your weight on your legs. You felt a full ache in your hips and lower torso due to inactivity and the surgery but carried on nonetheless.

After a couple minutes of walking the shaking had gone away as your body quickly recovered it’s previous strength. “See?” you said smugly to your husband and your stride became more normal.

“You know we’re on the same team, right?”

“I still win,” you replied.

~

Unfortunately as soon as you were well enough to walk around they started forcing you into therapy.

“So, Y/N, how are you?” the therapist, Conrad, asked you, a gentle smile on his face.

“I’m fine,” you answered shortly. You knew he was just doing his job but you didn’t need therapy. You’ve been going through the same shit over and over again for the better part of a decade and were doing fine.

“Y/N, I understand you’ve just been freed from the prison Snow put you in long before he literally put you in a cell but you should still talk about it.” You didn’t say anything, just stared at him. “The Capitol also tried other, psychological torture. Starvation, sleep deprivation, that’s all in your file but I can tell they cut off your hair too.” You felt the urge to reach for your choppy hair but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Out of all the things they could do to you why do you think they chose to go after your hair?” You still refused to speak. “Y/N I can’t count this session or even end it if you don’t say anything.”

“So you’re bargaining for my compliance?” you challenged. “Just like they did with food and sleep?”

“No, I-”

“You wanna know about my hair? The Capitol guys didn’t like fucking a bag of bones that couldn’t stay awake long enough for them to make me beg them to stop as they hurt me. So they decided to continue to punish me by cutting off my hair while still keeping it long enough to keep me pretty.”

“Y/N, this is a safe space-”

“Why do you keep saying my name?” you yelled.

“To remind you that you’re human. You have worth and an identity. You’re not just your body.”

You rolled your eyes. “Trust me, I haven’t lost any self worth. I may have complied to survive and keep Haymitch alive but don’t think I let them turn me into a mindless slave.”

“Haymitch,” Conrad said, jotting a note. “Tell me about your relationship.”

“Why do we need to discuss him?”

“Because he seems to be the only thing you care about.”

“I care about other things,” you said defensively.

“But he’s the first you’ve mentioned by name that I didn’t bring up first. So tell me, what’s your relationship like in your most difficult times?”

“You wanna know what he’s like in the worst moments of my life? He was there for me. Do you think I’d be with him this long if he was an asshole?”

“Well he did mentor you and he was the only person in 12 who could possibly relate to you at the time.” You rolled your eyes, getting angry. “I think you should try to find an identity outside of your relationship.”

“I’m done. Tell the doctors to either get me a new therapist or stop sessions entirely. I’m not talking to someone who badmouths my husband.” And with that, you stormed out, heading to your and Haymitch’s dorm.

Haymitch had had his own dorm but since you were married they allowed you to have a two bunk dorm. You both had insisted that you wouldn’t need another bunk but they moved you anyways so the other bunk was just another seating area.

As you entered you found Haymitch sitting up on the bunk, reading. “Hey, how was-” But you ignored him, just climbing onto the bed, cuddling into his chest. He hummed, realizing what must’ve happened. “Hmm, that good huh?” he asked sarcastically.

~

You hadn’t been allowed to do much besides meet with Conrad. They had refused to get you a different counselor so you refused to be cooperative no matter how long he held you in his office.

The doctors also checked up on you frequently as rumors of invading the Capitol spread through 13. Katniss had gone out a couple times on “missions.” One of which was in 2 where she was shot. Fortunately Cinna had the foresight to make her suit one fit for combat so she was fine aside from a few bruised ribs.

When you went to visit her it was just after Johanna had. “You ever had the wind knocked out of you like that?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Never,” she admitted. “Everyone saw me just collapse like a dead body,” she groaned, covering her face.

“Well yes but everyone is eating up the ‘The Mockingjay survived a bullet’ thing.”

“You should’ve been the Mockingjay, or Johanna. Neither of you would’ve fallen.”

“Well I can believe that for Johanna but trust me, I’m not superhuman. Besides, men aren’t threatened by you once they’ve seen you naked,” you admitted.

Katniss hummed for a second, basking in the haunted look in your eye. “Well I think Haymitch is still pretty intimidated by Johanna.”

You laughed at the memory in the elevator. “Yeah well Johanna’s a little different.” You took a breath. “All those men who tried to destroy me… I just wanna put a knife through each and every one of their throats. I never let myself be angry at them because it would make the situation so much more unbearable but now… all I can picture is the life leaving them.”

“So why don’t you? You’re not the Mockingjay. Go to the Capitol with the others.”

“I’m not cleared to fight. Too many injuries. Besides Haymitch would insist of coming and he’s still getting used to being sober. He couldn’t fight.”

“I couldn’t bring Peeta out there either,” she admitted.

~

You stood at the edge of the dance floor, admiring Finnick and Annie’s first dance as a married couple. You were happy for them, they had been through so much it was nice to see them get their happy ending.

As the bridesmaids and groomsmen were called to the floor you reluctantly let Haymitch pull you to the dance floor along with Finnick, Annie, Katniss, Gale, and a few others. “So, you ever think about having a big wedding like this?” Haymitch asked you.

You gave him a look. “Getting married with a bunch of strangers in a bunker in the middle of a war? I much prefer our little elopement.”

Haymitch smiled. “Me too,” he said sweetly. “At least our wedding had booze.”

~

A/N sorry if the tone felt rushed. It’s hard to write about Mockingjay because it’s the most complicated book/movie and it focuses so heavily on Katniss and the things only Katniss can do so filling in the gaps is difficult

Part XII | Masterlist | Part XIV

#Haymitch #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #THG #The Hunger Games #the hunger games x reader

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

I really appreciate your continued emphasis on people being free to enjoy canon and fanon as they want while providing accurate canon information! All the asks and PSAs you've shared on that recently reminded me of a fic where sj actually WAS innocent, even wrt abuse. They had to make an a/n how it was their spin deviant from canon so it'd be great if they could stop getting nasty messages pls. I just think we should all foster a nicer fandom environment, so I love what you're doing~!

Yeah, I personally might be a book-canon purist, but I can certainly recognize that not everyone feels the same way-- and at the end of the day, it is fiction, what people want to do with canon and fanon is up to them and really has little to do with them as a person. I hold authorial intent in really high regard, but no need to bully those who don't, and who want to rearrange things.

Of course, for something like you mention, I would advise using some kind of tag to indicate that it's off-script. Especially since SJ's abuse of LBH is an integral part of the story the novel is telling, changing things like that changes the entire tone of things.

If a fic where the characters are intentionally OOC gets popular, then people will inevitably start going to that fic's portrayal and mixing that up with canon details (this is, probably, why there is so much apologism and denial of SJ's canonical abuse of LBH in this fandom, though it certainly wouldn't be the specific fic you're referencing alone and is probably a combination of many different factors). I personally don't like portrayals like this, but if a writer is changing it for their story, then who am I to judge or harrass them over it? The only issue comes when it spills over into the wider fandom perception, and you have people swearing left and right that SJ had nothing to do with the fake manual (he did) or didn't actually mean to abuse LBH or want him dead (he also did, and this can't just be contriubted to unreliable narrator since it comes from his own perspective in the extras). So I think an a/n at the beginning is a good idea in situations like these. If writers don't want to spoil things, just simply tag that the character is OOC compared to canon-- no need to go into specifics, and readers will know going in that the portrayal isn't meant to be a take on canon or aligning with it.

No one knows how popular their fic will become, after all, and if it gets into the wider fandom space without proper context, things like "Shen Jiu was just treating LBH normally for the time period, he wasn't abusive, LBH was just a self-obsessed person trying to demonize him" become mainstream, widely held beliefs.

Of course, this is what my blog is for, hopefully rerouting some of those ideas, pointing back to the sources where the divergence happened, so that people can see that while they may enjoy this canon-divergent depiction, that they shouldn't bring it into canon-based analysis. I think sourcing fanon is very important for this reason-- better than just saying "you're wrong" is being able to say "this is where the idea came from."

At the end of the day, a deliberately off-script, ooc portrayal should be tagged as such and AO3 provides those tags for a reason. There's nothing inherently wrong with writing characters OOC to change a story. People can write what they want! It's the writer's job to make relevant information known, and the reader's job to filter it out and just not read things they don't like. I'm so particular that I put down probably 80 percent of fics I read before I even get through the first few chapters. That's just me though! I'm a canon snob! Other people have no issues and that's fine.

As long as things aren't skewing into abuse apologism in regards to the canon-universe, there's literally no reason I can't just ignore things I don't like, and there's no reason other people can't do the same with things they don't like.

Anyway, don't harrass artists and writers in the fandom. If you feel it absolutely necessary to leave a comment in regards to an OOC character portrayal, don't be mean about it, just say something like "<Character Name> seems to be a bit OOC here, is this intentional?" but even then, it's really not necessary to come into someone else's space like that. Make your own posts, write your own fics.

There is no reason to assume malice when there are other explanations. This is hard with topics like abuse apologism, but people also need to remember that this is fiction. SJ was abusive in canon, but he's still not a real person, and if someone wants to write a version of him where he's not abusive, then that portrayal can easily be treated as a version from an alternate universe where things were different. This is not the same as saying a person in real life isn't abusive, because in this case, it's not apologism-- it's literally a different universe where the rules of the original canon don't apply. In fictional and fandom spaces, it's a lot easier and better off to just give people the benefit of the doubt.

As long as you're not claiming that his canon behavior wasn't abusive (since that's about behaviors now, and not just a fictional story), it literally doesn't matter what people write in fanfic.

Authors, tag your fics with everything you'd like your readers to be aware of, because when a reader opens up a fic they're probably expecting the characters to follow canon unless stated otherwise.

Readers, read the portrayals and stories you like. Don't read the ones you don't. If something isn't tagged correctly, and you find out you don't like it after reading, just close the fic and stop reading.

No one should ever be harassing anyone else over fandom for any reason.

#answered #psa #if it's going to be a discussion on character analysis #then people can have civil debates while providing sources #it's possible to argue without it being harassment or bullying #no need to attack people there either #but definitely no reason to just not read a fic you don't like #you know what i'll put this one in the tags #svsss #shen jiu

[whoxeology]

⛧☾༺♰Restless♰༻☽⛧

WARNINGS: Mentions of past relationship with Luke, Spoilers for Ep 8 PJO, Angst, Cliffhanger, very much so not canonically accurate, not proofread

W.C: 0.7

A/N: I have not read the books only knowledge I have of PJO is from the movies, TV series, and multiple fics I have read. With that being said this is purely for fun. You are more than welcome to disagree and leave feedback.

A/N: I kinda fell out of my PJO phase after the last episode but I wrote like right after the last episode dropped and forgot to post it 🧍🏻......... its here now 🤗

Again. Again. Again. Again. You continue to hit the dummy over and over again. The wooden sword dug into your palm as it hit the stuffed mannequin. You had hoped that training would help take things off your mind but the events from last night played over and over in your head. It was like a broken record or a taunting little kid annoying and making you bubble with anger.

You weren't supposed to be there. You were supposed to be with Annabeth watching Clarrissa. Annabeth had disappeared and you were left alone with the target. She had made a snarky comment about if you wanted to make friendship bracelets with her since you seem to be glued to her ass. She and you weren’t friends mainly because of how rude she was to Percy. Her comment made you realize that she wasn't Percy's friend and that meant that the prophecy couldn't have been about her. 

You had rushed to find Percy and Luke. You couldn’t believe your thoughts you didn't want to think that Luke, amazing boyfriend Luke, your Luke could be the traitor. You had hidden in the treeline just a few feet from Percy and Luke. Everything seemed to be okay which made your chest loosen up a bit. Then you heard it. 

“I didn’t think you’d give ’em to Grover to wear.” 

“How long have they been doing that? '' Percy’s voice pulled you from your mind. The loud clank of the sword could be heard as it made contact with the dummy. Actually, dummy would be an overstatement at this point. This was just a bag of straw on a pole with a face on it. A face that awfully resembled Luke's. The hitting got harder the pole holding the bag of straw was shaking with every hit. 

“Since this morning, they couldn't sleep and as soon as the curfew was over they got up and immediately came here” Annabeth spoke. You knew it was her. She's been periodically checking in on you since you got here. 

“Have they eaten or drunk anything at all? It's nearly 100 degrees out here” When was the last time you ate or drank anything. The subtle grumble in your stomach reminded you that it had in fact been a while. You ignored it fueled by anger the hunger faded. 

The once loose feeling tightened by a lot. Your chest felt as if you had been hit full force by a bull. Your hands shook as you reached for your sword. The sword Luke had gifted you. Tears spilled from your eyes leaving wet trails down your face and a salt ting on your lips. It was Luke all along. How could your Luke do this? Everything you thought you knew about him. Gone. 

“I am your friend.” 

The loud crack of your sword drew you from your thoughts. You had broken the wooden sword in half. The large blade splinted jaggedly down the middle. Tossing it aside you hastily pulled out your sword. The beautiful golden glimmer on the handle reminds you of Luke. You swung at the dummy and you swung hard. The harsh bangs were heard throughout the camp. 

“She’s going to end up breaking the poor dummy”  Percy tried to joke to ease the tension in the air. You didn’t acknowledge the joke still hitting the dummy as if it was Luke all over again. 

“Better the dummy than us” Annabeth muttered barely loud enough for you to hear. You swear Luke had said the exact same thing to you when you had pissed off Clarrissa. The memory of you and him laughing turned sour in your mind. A loud almost thunder-sounding crack echoed throughout the camp. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at the source. The source was you. You had hit the dummy so hard you had cracked it in half.  

You were panting hard. Sweat covered your entire body as your shirt stuck to your back uncomfortably and your bare thighs stuck together the shorts you wore in hopes of keeping you cool failing. Your fingertips were white from how hard you had been gripping your sword. The blood-red gems leave imprints on your palms. 

You were still thinking of last night. 

“Are you okay you don’t look so good?” You could hear his voice. It was fuzzy and spun around in your head. You turned to face him. To tell him you were fine. You spun around fast only to be met with two Percy Jacksons. 

“Huh?” was all you said as your sword slipped from your grasp and you fell to the side. Head hitting the land before it all went black. 

 “Percy, none of this was meant to betray you”

#pjo x reader #writing #luke castellan #percy x reader #pjo movies #luke castellan x you #PJO spolier #Pjo #PJO fandom #PJO tv show #PJO show #PJO show spoliers #pjo series #percy jackson spoilers #pjo spoilers #annabeth chase #grover underwood #percy jackon and the olympians #MJ Writes #MJ Stories #Whoxeology's story #Whoxeology writes #Whoxeology #🎀 Whoxeology Writes

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

The latest bad take on Amazon's Rings of Power is, “Rings of Power doesn’t contradict Tolkien’s canon, because there is no such thing as canon.”

I’ve seen more and more Rings of Power fans claiming that the show doesn’t go against canon because there are different versions of canon anyway, between The Silmarillion and the History of Middle-earth, and The Silmarillion wasn’t published by Tolkien, but by his son. They’re basically saying, “Canon? What canon?” And I just... No. The idea that “the show doesn’t go against canon because canon is so wishy-washy anyway” is SUCH a false argument to make.

Yes, Christopher Tolkien edited and published The Silmarillion after his father’s death. And yes, there are multiple conflicting versions of stories in The Silmarillion and HoMe. But that doesn’t mean there’s no such thing as being faithful to Tolkien’s stories. A lot of the choices Amazon has made in the show are completely wrong and would be wrong in any Tolkien adaptation.

The characterizations are totally off base. For heaven’s sake, hobbits wouldn’t abandon their own people on a journey. Elrond wouldn’t swear an oath like that. And the Númenoreans don’t hate Elves because Elves are stealing their jobs, they envy them for their immortality—it’s kind of the main theme of the Akallabêth. And, in the show, Galadriel—whose people were literally victims of the First Kinslaying—tries to steal a boat??? I mean, hello??????? Amazon hasn’t even tried to stay faithful Tolkien’s characterizations. Yes, adaptations usually take liberties with the source material, but holy shit.

And the very framing of fundamental issues is completely wrong. In the show, going to Valinor is portrayed as some sort of reward for valor in battle, which is not how it works in Tolkien’s books. The show also compressed the entire Second Age into a much shorter span of time, which is absurd and completely goes against what Tolkien wrote. The show glosses over the First Kinslaying, of course (I know it’s because they don’t have the rights, but it’s still their fault for mangling the story and themes), which makes it seem like the return of the Noldor to Middle-earth was some sort of righteous war, and it wasn’t. The list goes on and on.

And they can’t get basic details right, either. Obviously, the short-haired Elves are one example of this; so is the emblem that resembles a Fëanorian star on Galadriel’s armor. And it’s astounding how poorly the showrunners seem to understand the nuances of Tolkien’s names and constructed languages.

Tolkien was a linguist, and the languages he invented were extremely important to him and to his stories. So what did Amazon do? They completely ignored the internal logic of Tolkien’s secondary world. In The Silmarillion, Ar-Pharazôn banned Quenya in Númenor—but Amazon’s version of the character names his son a Quenya name. In the show, characters call Galadriel “Galadriel” even in Valinor, despite it being a Sindarin name given to her by her husband, Celeborn. It is anachronistic and inaccurate to refer to her by that name before Celeborn gives it to her, especially during the Years of the Trees when she didn’t even speak Sindarin. The show also gave one of the hobbits a Dwarven name, Nori, for no apparent reason. There are many more examples like this.

Amazon has also invented some things out of thin air that have no basis in Tolkien’s works at all. I understand that they had to invent original characters and storylines for this show. Inventing original characters could, in theory, work alongside canon instead of contradicting it, even though those characters aren’t found in Tolkien’s books. But mithril containing the light of a silmaril? What? And what’s with that weird bit where Amazon Elrond and Amazon Celebrimbor are talking about the silmarils and they say Morgoth cried when he looked at them and almost repented??? What the hell??? It makes no sense.

This is by no means an exhaustive list. The people who created this show have many many, many choices that completely fly in the face of Tolkien’s characterizations, worldbuilding, languages, and themes. (I haven’t watched Rings of Power and I don’t intend to, but this information is widely available if you read reviews and episode synopses.)

The show is also poorly written and ugly to look at, but that’s beside the point. The point of this post is just to say that no, just because there are multiple, conflicting versions of canon in The Silmarillion and HoMe doesn’t mean Amazon gets free reign to trample all over Tolkien’s stories. There is such a thing as making a faithful Tolkien adaptation, and this isn’t it.

#rings of power #anti rings of power #my writing

[aroaceleovaldez]

the show chb logo was also ripped from fandom, like in the past decade all the official chb shirt had the logo without the circle and then the fandom started doing and the show went for it, sorry your tags reminded me of that

[Link to post/tags in question]

Yeah, I know Delphi Strawberry Service has done more circular-based CHB shirt designs for ages, and I've seen the more circular-based designs floating around for awhile. I think Magicbysab's circular-based CHB shirt designs also predate the show design? Those are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head. I understand on a level that if they did base it off fandom designs, particularly if they're basing anything on widespread fanon or fandom-based concepts, it can be difficult to pin down credit or may even seen unnecessary. But if they're going to be doing that I feel like at least they could hire like, a fandom consultant of sorts? Instead of just ripping off from the fandom, hire someone from the community who produces that already so at least there's some recognition and acknowledgement of where it originated.

Heck, in some instances if you ask around in the fandom it's not hard to pinpoint who specifically popularized certain concepts! I could talk for ages about Cherryandsisters being a driving force behind photokinesis!Will, or Saberghatz with plague!Will (tbh between the two they spearheaded a ton of early Will/Solangelo fanon), and I swear Drksanctuary alone is behind like 50% of Alabaster fanon, etc etc etc. People in the fandom know these things! Heck, we know ReadRiordan company knows how to do that kind of thing! They commissioned Viria for the official art, and the UK Riordan newsletter reaches out to fans all the time to feature their work (with credit, they're one of the better ones)! Though in Rick's book tours he did showcase Viria's art (at least with credit) without asking before she got commissioned, and during the Tower of Nero book tours they actually straight up stole a solangelo edit from Pervysloth with completely zero credit (link is to my canon url readriordan parody blog).

I think it doesn't help as well that Rick and his editor allegedly use the fandom wiki in place of a series bible. The PJO wiki is notorious for putting inaccurate information or fanon onto pages at random and having no sources. (What I wouldn't give for the PJO wiki to have frequent book/page sources a la Warrior Cats wiki...) There are what, now almost 18 books in the main series alone? Of an extremely renowned best-selling series that's 20 years old and now being adapted for TV? And they STILL don't have a series bible? That's like, step 1 of writing a series. This kind of reliance of the fandom for resources and concepts definitely isn't new for them.

It just feels so bizarre as to what it says about how the ReadRiordan company views the fandom and the creatives within it. I understand that trying to figure out how to give credit to the concept of "CHB shirt design, but circular!" is difficult, if you even can find out who did that first or popularized it. But if you're going to rip things from fandom, at least find somebody to try and credit? Show that you put in even the tiniest amount of effort? And if you get it wrong and people know, they'll correct you and that's that! But ReadRiordan just keeps trying to actively obscure these kinds of things, even with their own media, not ripped from the fandom, which makes it feel all the worse when it gets pointed out. And a lot of the time the whole reason those concepts get popular is because they're filtered through big names in the fandom! The fandom is a community! We know these people! We can point to them and explain exactly what they popularized! Remember how Velinxi popularized long haired Piper with the heart-shaped flyaways? Goodness only knows how many fandom designs are heavily influenced by Viria and Minuiko and Burdge (and Indigonite and Fuocogo and Ikimaru and Thecottonproject and Joker-ace and Sixofclovers and Vikingmera and Saber and Cherry and and and-). If you are in the community this stuff is easy to find. But Rick and the ReadRiordan company clearly being ~5 years behind with fanon pretty obviously tells me that they're not in the community at all, and aren't bothering trying.

#riordanverse #pjo #readriordan #pjo tv crit #rr crit #Anonymous #ask #long post // #sorry i am passionate about fandom history and crediting artists #its late and im too lazy to proofread right now so im just throwing this one out there #apologies if it's nonsensical #anyways Rick and ReadRiordan stop ripping off literally everyone challenge #stares pointedly at Rick blatantly recycling his own writing. its not a fun callback my guy thats just lazy writing #percy making a dam joke to himself in SoN? cute callback #solangelo falling into tartarus scene in TSATS being a direct rip of percabeth in MoA/HoH? what the hell man

[me-and-your-husband]

widow's bite (1) || e. williams

summary: "...the dangerous Black Widow is to be approached with caution, as the Black Widow's bite can cause death. she encases her victims with silk, then kills with poison from her fangs."

or

you're a black widow. you're sent to kill Spider-Woman. something inside of you just can't do it.

warnings: smut in future chapters, ellie is 18 and reader is 19, dreykov being gross which is canon, mentions of suicide attempt, canon death (sarah), swearing maybe? probs more, not proofread cause i'm lazy

word count: 4k

a/n: soooo i got this request and although it took FOREVER for me to write it, i was so excited that i just had to make it a series...i SWEARRR i'll try to update regularly but going back to uni is kicking my ass a little. also, ellie is basically mcu!peter. some of the avengers may make appearances. tony isn't dead.

You stood tall in front of the massive screen in his office. Videos of a girl in a red and black suit swinging through New York City illuminated your solemn features. At the top of the screen, there were only a few words: Spider-Woman: TERMINATE.

“She keeps coming so close to discovering our New York base,” Dreykov’s accent spread through the dark room. “I can’t have her getting in the way of my work. This is important.”

You nodded, eyes never leaving the screen.

“You will bring her body back to me. She seems to have some sort of abilities, abilities I can use to make you stronger. Better.” His thick hand slithered up your shoulder. “Do you copy?”

“I copy.”

His lips twisted into a sinister smile, his gross breath hot on your cheek. “Always so obedient.” He licked his lips.

He smiled, “You take off…” he glanced at his watch, “right now. I don’t want to see you again until she's dead,” he spat in your ear.

“Yes, sir.”

"Hey! Come back, mister criminal!”

Faint thwips filled the air as Ellie swung past corporate building after corporate building, chasing some burglar who happened to try robbing Delmar’s when she was ordering sandwiches for her and Joel. He would have to wait. She was just lucky she had her suit under her clothes.

He booked it down the sidewalk, cash flying out of the duffle bag, throwing pedestrians to the side as he tried escaping Spider-Woman.

She grunted as she dodged semi-trucks and cars, bikers and typical New York tourists. She almost lost sight of him when he turned a corner, but she could still hear his laboured breathing.

She could sense that he had stopped, under the impression that he had thrown her off his trail. He was resting in an alley up against an apartment building. Climbing to the roof, she perched herself on top as she looked down at him, hands on his knees as he panted.

“Hey, man, I think you forgot this!” She yelled as she dropped next to him. Before he could react, she cocooned him in webbing and left him stuck against the wall.

“You got a pen by any chance?” She asked, to which she had to dodge a ball of spit directed at her head. “Should've guessed.”

She pulled her calculus notebook out of her backpack with one of her good pens and scribbled a note on it:

“This is the one that robbed the bodega. I think you should cut old Delmar a tax break for his troubles.

Love,

Spider-Woman”

She called it into the station and webbed the note to the criminal, webbing his mouth shut too while she was at it.

As she walked out of the alley muttering “all in a day’s work”, she heard the faint pleas of a small child. Letting her heightened senses guide her, she swung until she found the source coming from an open window in a different apartment complex.

She slid the window open far enough to get inside, putting her hands out in front of her when the child noticed her and was frightened.

“No no no! Just your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Woman, not gonna hurt you! I promise,” she said, getting to the little girl's level. The girl’s eyes softened and she seemed to trust Ellie.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, lip trembling. “My sister…please help.”

“Okay, where is she now?”

The little girl pointed outside of her door, “The kitchen.”

Ellie took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to go help her. You stay right here, okay? Don’t move.”

Something inside of her told her that something was wrong. She brushes it off as someone else being in danger.

As she creeps out of the child’s room, she surveys her surroundings. It looked like a regular New York apartment, a little messy, but nothing her and Joel’s place hadn't seen. Everything was fine.

Until it wasn't.

She suddenly had difficulty breathing when you jumped from somewhere above and wrapped your legs around her neck, squeezing. You elbowed her head repeatedly.

She grabbed you by your hips and threw you off of her, gasping for breath. Her naivety still told her that you needed help.

Was it her naivety?

“Calm down, lady! I’m trying to help you!” she said, still gasping. She watched the girl scurry past her and over to you. “I thought I said—”

She stopped talking when she saw you hand the girl a twenty, eyes still trained on Spider-Woman.

Once you knew the child was a safe distance away, you attacked. His voice rang in the back of your head. No casualties. No witnesses.

You lunged at her, hands finding her throat.

“Woah, at least take me on a date first,” she remarked as she easily slid out of your grasp, jumping up to the ceiling and latching on. She webbed your left arm to the wall. You let out a grunt of dissatisfaction as you squeezed your fist, a blade coming out of your cuff and slicing through the web. It was installed in all of the Widows’ suits in case of capture.

“Oh. That's pretty cool, honestly,” she said as she dodged a bullet from your pistol, flipping down from the roof. You charged her again, this time taking out her legs and pinning to the ground. You threw a hook right at her jaw, to which she exclaimed “Ow!”, catching the next one with ease. Your eyes widened as she flipped the two of you over, pinning you underneath her.

“Look, I don't want to—”

Before she could finish, you had sent electric currents through your suit, effectively tazing her.

In her incapacitation, you were able to flip over again and pressure your knee against her neck. While she struggled for air, her legs flailed underneath her. She managed to knee you in the stomach, opening up an opportunity to throw you off her. You both stood up, ready to go at it again, both slightly out of breath.

“Are you gonna say something?” Silence. “Can you even talk?”

She lunged forward in an attempt to pull down the mask that covered half of your face, a piece of fabric resting atop the bridge of your nose. Before she could grab it, you grabbed her wrists, locating her web cartridges. You released another electric current, frying them.

She stepped back, trying to shoot webs, but to no avail. That's when she saw the text on the bicep of your suit: WIDOW-893. “Shit!”

You threw a swift kick into her abdomen while she was caught off guard and knocked her down to her knees. Her eyes widened as you threw punches at her face, too dazed to think of blocking. When she finally grabbed your fist, she could feel the blood from her nose leaking through her mask and could taste metal.

“You’re a Widow? Like Nat?”

You struggled to get your hand out of her grasp. Instead, you pushed all your weight forward and landed on top of her chest, pinning her arms.

You reached forward and slid your fingers under the fabric of her mask. She struggled underneath you, but you had her pinned and she wasn't going anywhere.

You basked in her struggle, slowly sliding the mask off her face.

“I was sent to kill you.”

“So you do talk. Wait—”

“And that's what I’m going to do.”

“Please don't take my mask off. Please. Please don't kill me. Oh god, I have so much to live for, please—!”

You slipped her mask off completely to be met with her perfectly curved and soft lips, her delicate green eyes, and her pretty freckles, her auburn hair messy from having it under the mask. Her brows furrowed and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for it to happen. When it didn't, she slowly opened one eye, and then the other. She was met with you admiring her face, gaze raking over her features.

Your eyes were wide and seemed slightly glassy, and she couldn't help but wonder why they looked so distant. Why it looked like you were trapped behind them.

She realized you weren't pinning her down anymore. She loosened an arm slowly from underneath you and brought it up to the fabric around your face, gently beginning to tug the mask down.

Your cold grasp on her wrist stopped her. “Don't.”

“Why not?” She whispered.

You tore your gaze away from her, standing up. You turned your back to her.

Looking back at her once more, you said, “Because it will end badly."

You moved to leave through the window, but a thought stopped you briefly

The truth is, you didn't know what to do. It's like you had just gained free will, like she had broken some spell. You had thought you were operating on your own terms until now.

You'd been sent to take out powerful men, some women, usually old, usually established, usually somewhat corrupt. But when you saw the fear in the eyes of a girl your age, your body shocked you back into free will.

Your back still to the girl, you just shook your head and jumped.

She coughed as she pushed herself up off the ground and shoved the mask back down over her face, wondering if she'd ever see you again. If she'd ever find out who you really are.

“This is WIDOW-893,” you said into your comm-link, talking to an obscure agent you'd probably never meet. “I need an extraction. I’m sending you my location now.”

Static sounded in your ear before a harsh male voice began, “Has the mission been completed?”

You elected to ignore the question.

“Has the target been eliminated?”

More silence as you hunted for a place to lay low for a bit.

“Widow, has the target been eliminated?!” The agent’s frustration was palpable in his voice.

You swallowed. “Negative.”

“What do you mean, negative? This mission was of utmost— Sorry? Yes, sir.” Some keyboard clicks. “She can hear you now.”

“893, why wasn't your mission completed?” Dreykov’s invigorated voice droned through the comm. You searched for an excuse that wouldn't get you terminated. Or worse.

“The target seems to have heightened senses. She was able to get the jump on me before I was in position. My identity was almost discovered so I was forced to retreat.”

Dreykov let out a pained sigh. Slowly, he said, “I’m only going to tell you this once, agent, so listen very carefully. You are disposable. The mission must proceed, regardless of your comfort. We can easily terminate you and move on to the next Widow. Copy?”

“I copy.”

“Now, if this happens again, I will have you terminated. You get a pass this time because you're one of the…finer specimens we have. You will not be sent an extraction. You will complete this mission in terminating Spider-Woman. Do not make contact until then,” he said, and you could almost feel his hands slithering up your back and around your neck. “And don't think you're not being watched.”

With that, the connection was severed.

Ellie threw the soggy McDonald’s bag down on the kitchen table as Joel stood at the sink washing dishes.

“Couldn't get sandwiches from Delmar’s. Poor guy got robbed again,” she said as she began digging in the bag for her fries.

Joel turned around to give her a shocked look. “Someone’s gotta look out for the people in this city. Lord knows the cops ain’t doin' much,” he said, shaking his head.

“Well…Spider-Woman looks out for people,” Ellie said, tearing the waters. Joel never really sided with J. Jonah Jameson from that stupid news station, but he was never really for the “vigilante” either.

He sighed. “Look, Ellie…I know you think Spider-Woman is cool and all, and I think it's good that she looks out for the normal people of New York, but I think it's irresponsible. I mean, I’m sure she's got people in her life that love her and she’s puttin’ her life at risk seven days a week,” he said as he dried the dishes and put them away.

“Yeah but,” Ellie said through a mouthful of fries, “If you had that power, wouldn't you be responsible for using it for good?”

“Yes, I suppose. But with great power comes great responsibility, Ellie. And with responsibility comes an immense need for balance. Remember that,” he said, turning to look at her.

Ellie swallowed the last few fries as she took a moment to digest what Joel had said. She gave him a meaningful smile before he turned back around to put the last few dishes away.

She couldn't help but think about your “power”. Was it given to you, or forced on you? How did you become so skilled? You were her age, or at least not far off. She’d never met someone so close to her age who held such a huge responsibility. But was it really a responsibility if you were being forced into it?

She knew she'd probably never come across you again, so there wasn't really a reason to overthink it. Right now, she just wanted to finish her Physics homework and watch The Empire Strikes Back with Jesse.

Weeks had gone by and every moment plagued your mind with thoughts of Ellie. Or rather, if you had it in yourself to kill her.

Your immense training in Covert Ops was indeed handy for situations like these. You shadowed Ellie almost 24/7. You followed her on her commute to her high school, which you noted to be Midtown. You surveilled her through the cameras you'd planted in all of her classes. You followed her after school to the alley where she'd leave her school stuff and switch to her second life. You climbed from building to building as you followed her web-slinging as closely as possible without being seen. You searched and searched for something to justify it, something to prove she's a bad person and deserves to be terminated. But nothing. Nothing when she helped old ladies carry their groceries inside, or rescue little girls' cats from trees, or stop lecherous men from harassing women on the street. Especially nothing when you spied through her living room window and saw her laughing with her dad every Sunday morning.

Three weeks after your first attempt at termination, you had stumbled across the perfect moment to investigate your target’s bedroom. She was at a field trip to the Museum of Modern Art with her class, and her dad was at work.

Around noon, you whistled as you climbed the stairs to the apartment, smiling softly as you find the right one. You knock for good measure, and when nobody answers you slide two bobby pins out from your hair when to pick the lock. Classic, but it always works.

When you open the door you lock it again from the inside so nothing would seem astray. You feel an uncomfortable, throbbing pain in your chest as you look around at the framed portraits of your target and her dad, lots from when she was young. One of her holding a medal in a soccer jersey. One of them at a planetarium together. One of them with a model dinosaur in the background, a hat atop its head, both of them grinning.

You creep through the hallway, looking for one room in particular. Opening the first door, you enter an office space. You decide it might be useful in gathering intel on her family.

You slide open a drawer of the filing cabinet labelled “records”. There seemed to be two sections, one for her father’s business, and one for their personal records. The latter had significantly less material. You slid out the folders and placed them on the desk, taking a seat in the chair.

The first folder read: ADOPTION RECORDS

You skimmed the papers and deduced that about five years ago, a man named Joel Miller (presumably the target’s father) and a woman named adopted a girl named Ellie Williams, but had fostered her long before that with a woman named Theresa Servopoulos, the word “deceased” in brackets next to her name. Anna Williams, her single mother, died shortly after childbirth and a woman named Marlene took her in. However, Marlene gave her up to a foster home once she hit school age.

Another folder read: MEDICAL RECORDS

Ellie had a long history of optometry visits prior to about two years ago, then they just suddenly stopped. There was nothing else really interesting in her file.

Joel, however, was a different story. Medical records that yellowed and flaked at the edges sat in his file from over 20 years ago. He was admitted for a self inflicted GSW to the head shortly after the death of his daughter, Sarah Miller. He was admitted to a psychiatric ward by request of his brother, Tommy Miller, shortly after.

Another file read: ELLIE’S SCHOOL RECORDS

It was evident that Ellie had excelled in school ever since she had settled in with Joel, specifically in the math and science areas. Her transcripts highlighted a bright 4.0 gpa. She had a bright future.

Now with a name for your target, you decided to search her room to gain some more personal intel. Tucking the files away and closing the drawers, you stalked out of the office and down the hall to what was Ellie’s room (the words “Ellie’s Room!” scrawled on a banner on the door making it painfully easy).

The door creaked slightly when you pushed it open. You were immediately hit with the vague sent of pine and mahogany. Dirty flannels and socks were piled in a corner or sometimes littered around the room. An empty ramen cup sat on her nightstand. Notebooks and textbooks filled with complex calculations sat open on her book. Her blankets were peeled back, revealing astronaut bedsheets. “Cute,” you thought.

The cracked open window let in a nice breeze. The light blue walls were littered in posters, photos, and banners. Next to a lesbian flag above her bed were photos of her and the two friends she was always with. Plastered around her room were covers of comics, something called Savage Starlight. There were silly math reference posters, Star Wars posters, and just about everything you would never expect from a crime fighting vigilante.

Her laptop was left open, and a few clicks and an easy password guess later, the screen unlocked to Ellie’s web browser. Her search history made your brows furrow. You expected to find “How to buy weed NYC” or “porn” at the very least.

Search: Is there more than one Black Widow?

Search: Natasha Romanoff history

Search: The Red Room

Search: Dreykov The Red Room

Search: Dreykov Russia

Search: Black Widow Assassins

Search: Natasha Romanoff Phone Number

She had been researching you. Hell, she hadn't done a very good job by the looks of it. And did she really think The Black Widow’s phone number was public information?

You grabbed a figurine from Ellie’s desk and toyed with it as you took a moment to think. Was it really worth taking the life of an innocent girl just for the sustenance of your organization? Was it even your organization? It's not like you could remember how you got there. It's not like you remembered your family, or your friends, or what it was like to have them… It wasn't so bad if you didn't really have anything to compare it to, right?

A soft pressure around your ankles made you look down. Silky webbing coated your boots.

“Sit down,” her voice came from near the window. You turned as much of your body as you could and watched as Ellie gestured to her desk chair. With no choice but to oblige, you sat. She webbed your arms to the armrests, not taking any chances.

She spun the chair to face her direction and then leaned back against the window.

“What do you want with me?” She inquired, green eyes searing into yours.

“I told you. My mission is to-”

“No. If you were going to kill me, I’d be dead already.” Good point.

You broke eye contact and looked around her room dramatically. “Cute room. I like the flag.”

“Tell me what you want with me,” she said, stalking closer to your chair. “I’m not asking this time.”

“What happened to the ‘friendly neighbourhood Spider-Woman’ I met? Do you rest all your guests like this?” You quipped.

“Yeah? Well, forgive me if I’m not so friendly to the one who tried to kill me, has been stalking me for weeks, and broke into my apartment.”

You roll your eyes.

Her large hand wraps around your jaw, forcing you to look in her eyes.

“Roll your eyes one more time and see what happens,” she growls. “Now tell me.”

You jerk your jaw away and kick her in the stomach, enough time for you to effectively sever the webs around your wrists and ankles.

“Fuck, I forgot about those,” Ellie says under her breath as she webs her bedroom door completely shut and stands in front of the window to block your exit.

“Move,” you demand.

“Nope.”

“Move. Or this won't end well for either of us.”

“Nah, I think I’ll just stay right here ‘till you tell me what you want with me.”

You charged her, attempting to throw her to the side and leap through the window she entered through, but she's stronger. She's like brick as she pushes you back.

“Just let me go. I’ve made up my mind anyways. I’m done with you.”

“No can do. I’m not in the habit of letting pretty girls who try to kill me go so easily,” she said, and you felt your cheeks heating up. She webbed the window shut and sat down in her bed, gesturing to her desk chair again. “Come on. I just want to know what your people want with me. Then you can go, I promise.”

You knew it wouldn't hurt to tell her. You'd have to go on the run from Dreykov anyways. Rip your tracker out and all. So you sat and watched as she reached into a drawer in her nightstand and pulled out a pack of peanut M&Ms.

“Want some?” She asked as she peeled it open. You shook your head and she shrugged. “More for me, then.”

“What do you want to know?” You asked.

“Start from the beginning.”

You cleared your throat. “I was given the mission to find you and-”

“No. I get that part, I’m not stupid. I want to know how this happened to you. And how I can help you out of it."

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Spock Canonically Trying and Failing to Stop Thinking About Jim Kirk: A Series (brought to you by Gene Roddenberry)

Spock *Dramatically*: Jim! Goodbye my . . . my t'hy'la. This is the last time I will permit myself to think of you or even your name again.*Arm flung over eyes for brooding effect*

A FEW PAGES LATER

Spock: *Thinking* But what was it that Jim Kirk had once said?

Vulcan elder: Yo SPOCK. Stop thinking about your human boyfriend. We've been over this. Stop making us call you out like this.

Spock: Oops👀Right right right shit, don't think about Jim - yup, supposed to be completing Kolinahr -

LATER THAT NOVEL

Vulcan elders: . . . Dude. Seriously? Your human boyfriend is still living in there, rent free. Like he is all up in your headspace, you dudes are legit mind bonded. Congratulations. You own a human.

Spock: Shit shit shit. OK I swear this is the last time. No take backs.

Vulcan elders: Get on up out of here. Get gone. Damn. Human lovin' ass lineage, the works of them; merciful Surak this family . . .

Later in the novel, on the Enterprise:

So apparently Spock knows this part of the ship as the place officers go when they are dtf and it's this unsaid respected thing that happens on the Enterprise. Canonically.

And it's Spock's favourite part of the ship. Y'know. For "many pleasures".

And then whaddya know, he immediately starts thinking about:

James T Kirk. And whoops, he also dropped a T'hy'la with that. I mean, hol' up:

"The other physiological changes which beset him on entering the bridge were so shocking that they made him scorn himself (👀). . . on the bridge -- Kirk! The mere name made Spock groan inwardly as he remembered what it had cost him to turn away from that welcome. T'hy'la!"🤯☠

My brother in Christ are you kidding me?

Am I expected to brush this off as "just bro things"?

Is this how other people are out here thinking about their best friends? Did I miss the memo?

Because I do not. Inwardly groan while thinking of my bestie as a friend-brother-lover in the make out spot on the Enterprise as people have sex in the background (canonically).

Just as an FYI.

And I need a break to take my inhaler bc I'm wheezing and laughing-

Ok we're back. Ahem.

Spock's favourite part of the ship is also the place people come to get it on. And he immediately starts thinking about Jim Kirk again while he's there, listening to people have sex.

I'm-

(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

LATER THAT NOVEL

Now Kirk and Spock are all unabashed about it.

It's out there, cut it, it's done, pack it up we are done pretending, we are married, we are in love here people, deal with it.

Spock's absolutely feeling himself like:

Fuck yeah, I'm thinking about Jim Kirk. And what? Love is the best thing in the whole damn galaxy and I'm done being mad about it.

Jim: "Let the church say amen."

(I can't believe the man Gene Roddenberry wrote this. Right in front of our faces. Like this book exists? It's canon? How is there even any room for debate anymore? Spock is obsessed with Jim Kirk and vice versa. It is written. WE HAVE RECEIPTS.)

Source: Star Trek The Motion Picture Novel, Gene Roddenberry, Dec. 1979

#star trek #spirk #tos #spock #kirk #kirk/spock #kirk x spock #kirkxspock #mccoy #k/s #tos star trek #star trek tmp #star trek the motion picture #star trek the motion picture novel #octrek #octrekmeta #ocspirk #gene roddenberry #bisexual #lgbt #lgbt+ #lgbtqia #lgbt icons #long ass post #i refuse to take adhd meds

[darklinaforever]

https://www.tumblr.com/darklinaforever/745388145763303424/httpswwwtumblrcomdarklinaforever745346315101?source=share

"She just wanted to protect her children." As if they (or her rule) would be safe with three living male heirs. And even if she doesn't want to kill them herself, there are people around her who will be happy to help her strengthen her position. Swearing allegiance to her and BELIEVING that they will remain safe is an insanely stupid idea, I am very glad that the greens did not do so.

Live in your own fanfiction.

There is no fucking canon evidence, book or series, that Rhaenyra would have harmed her siblings. In fact as I explained in both versions, there is only canonical evidence to the contrary. These are just facts, and there is nothing naive about pointing them out. You're really embarrassing yourself.

I remind you that killing a member of your family is the worst crime in Westeros, that is not a trifle.

And once again, it's the Greens who canonically, throughout, book or series, have been threatening Rhaenyra's children and plotting to harm them. No point trying to reverse the roles to prove yourself right.

Honestly, you are ridiculous.

Essentially you're just saying "it's naive to think that Rhaenyra wouldn't have harmed her siblings !" even though you have no real proof of that. So essentially you're just saying that's the case because you say / support it. That's not a real argument.

Once again you embarrass yourself.

And then also, a very simple thing that would have avoided any danger for the Greens children... Not committing a usurpation perhaps ?!

Accept that your favorites are simply the villains / antagonists of this story. As simple as that.

#anti greens #anti green #anti team greens #anti team green #anti greens stans #anti green stans #team black #team blacks #pro team black #pro team blacks #pro rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #the black queen #the realms delight #queen rhaenyra #the dragon queen #the half year queen #house of the dragon #anti house of the dragon #anti hotd #hotd #fire and blood #f&b

[acewitch-writes]

Hello! I recently found your account, and I went on scrolling down and down...and now I hope you know how grateful I am. Thank u- Merci. About 90% of the content you share here has made me feel so much better. I realllyy hope wonderful things happen for you. I've been a fan of hp since 2001, but I'm not really a social media person so I haven't been active in the fandom. I had no idea what was happening here until recently..two months ago to be exact (other details are not important) and omg.. I ended up in a discussion with some I think, new fans. tbh I thought, "Great! I'm good at this, I read all the books more than once Let's talk :)"  and omg their very first question was "What do you think about Regulus?"

I was like, "Who?" *dying from secondhand embarrassment bc It turns out I'm not that good at this

but as the discussion continued, I became more and more baffled bc "Why was everyone talking about Barty, Evan, and Regulus? who is daddy Remu? and what do you mean people ship James Potter with R.A.B.? What?"

I swear for a moment I thought "Did the writer publish a new book? Did I miss something? " tbh, I respect everyone's opinion it's none of my business but I'm still shocked. The only thing that bothers me is everything that happened with this new Wolfsar

omg, for most fans around my age (or at least people I know), Sirius was the complete portrayal of a bad boy- a rebel, with boots, tattoos, a leather jacket, and a fucking motorcycle. so this new Sirius is like a stranger to me, and that's okay. Mein issue is kinda with this new Remus T T my beloved .

They (the fans I was talking with) told me Remus is "tall, so handsome, SO strong, and hot-headed person because,  yk he's a werewolf." I was like "hot headed? excuse me?" I tried to explain to them that Remus being a werewolf is a metaphor for illnesses like HIV, it's not some superpowery gift.  they didn't believe me, but then they literally looked me in the face and said, "Then why would Sirius like someone like him? He's poor, short, and ugly." I swear I wanted to cry right then and there.

What is this mindset that makes some people think that a person should be, Idk, hot and flawless to deserve to be loved? Yes I don't think Remus is tall and super hot and perfect and isn't it fine? and I am 100% sure he's so beautiful. not like Sirius ofc but he has this "warm, cozy, and soft" sort of beauty. and I don't think he was a coward (ok maybe he was a liitle) but I guess it's easier for us, humans, to take the worst or weakest moment of a character and amplify it until it defines them entirely. and omg I'm so sorry for my rant and my bad english. but once again thank you for your beautiful soul <3 thank you

Hi anon! I, too, am baffled by the recent obsession with Regulus in this fandom. I think Jegulus is fine as a crack ship, but it has become so mainstream that many fans have just gone ahead and canonized it to the point that you'll be vilified for not accepting it as canon. I underestimated how popular the "best friend's brother" trope was, apparently. I also think it appeals to many fans as a Marauders Era version of one of the most popular ships of all time, Drarry.

This new version of Wolfstar is my biggest complaint with today's fandom, too! I get that the Marauders have very limited canon information and therefore we have more creative freedom to flesh them out, but I really believe that it has gone way too far. Sirius and Remus in today's fandom don't bear any resemblance to the characters they're based on. Remus is just a generic alpha werewolf OC and Sirius is his generic himbo femboy love interest OC. They don't even share a physical description with their Canon counterparts, and their personalities and character traits are so far removed that I can't even fathom how we reached this point as a fandom. How can you claim to like these characters if you have to change everything the source material says about them?

You're English is great, by the way! I completely agree that Remus has a cozy-and-warm sort of beauty. He made a point to distance himself from the stigma surrounding Lycanthropy because it was the focal point of his shame and self-loathing. And I just adore Wolfstar's dynamic from this lens, with the intimidatingly beautiful, confident, headstrong Sirius Black, who could have his pick of anyone he wants, choosing this ordinary guy because he's cozy and soft and it's exactly what Sirius wants after surviving the harsh ideals and abuse of House Black.

[bohemian-nights]

Let’s talk about the changed between white book laena to black show laena

Book leana had a pretty awesome life. She married at the age of 22 to a man she loved, traveled the world with him, had 2 babies and they lived happily on driftmark with her family together until she passed away at childbirth despite her loving husband doing everything he can to save her. + her husband remarried 6 months after her death.

Now let’s talk about show leana

She married daemon much younger than book laena, was neglected and unloved by him, was forced to live away from her beloved family and burned herself to death because “feminism” 🤡 only to have her husband sleep with another woman on her fucking funeral. And the showrunners claim they wanted to respect her character?????? Disgusting.

In the book laena is the only wife that daemon seemed to truly love. (Until nettles). He never cheated and they had a happy marriage. But when she’s black suddenly she’s the second choice to the white female lead. What a fucking joke. And then they absolutely spit on her by having her husband sleep with said white female main character on her funeral. This show treats its black characters like shit. I really don’t understand why people aren’t talking about this.

This shows deranged fandom tells you everything you need to know about the problematic way they treat black characters. We haven’t even got nettles’s casting yet. The most important dragon seed. Literally who gives a shit about the others? But I wonder why we have their castings but not the casting of the only canonically black character in the dance???? If nettles is not in season 2 I’m going to drop this show. If they’ll introduce the dragonseeds without nettles they are fucking disgusting.

All of this is why I criticize this shitty show and equally shitty fandom👏🏽

People try to act like you’re the crazy one for noticing how these changes affect the treatment of the characters, but nope fandom racism, more specifically fandom misogynoir, is real and it’s happening with HOTD.

Book!Laena was treated with love and respect, but the moment she became Black-ish she became worthless to both the showrunners and the fandom. All she's good for is to be a prop/placeholder. Hell, when she died people seemed more concerned about Vhagar, a dragon, rather than the woman who lit herself on fucking fire.

They made Laena into a stereotype just to make a crazed white woman’s death look better than it was and this demented ass fandom cheers it on.

Because she’s Black and not a cookie-cutter stereotype in the source material, Nettles' whole existence is a problem to these people and she must be cut, erased, reduced, etc.

They try to say she’s completely irrelevant. That the only reason people like her is because she's Black or out of spite, but I can think of a dozen white characters who don’t even come close to reaching her relevancy to the plot

This is why she’s always included where some characters like Ulf, Hugh, Sara Snow, Alys Rivers, Gwayne Hightower, and Silver Denys are omitted, and 5/6 of those characters are confirmed for s2. And I'm not trying to say none of these characters shouldn't be included(well we could do without 2 of them), but they aren't more important than her.

Nettles literally has all the qualities people usually like in characters(the ordinary girl who despite all odds does the unthinkable, she’s a survivor, she’s a final girl, she has one of if not the most powerful men in the realm willing to die for her, and she becomes a goddess like figure) yet she’s hated for it because she dares to be Black. They won't even try to relate to her or see her importance because she is Black.

They’d rather prop up psychos or mediocre flops just because they are white rather than ever admit that Nettles is an interesting and integral character to the Dance. She’s awesome. The man who created these freaking books that you claim to love and swear his word is law thinks she’s awesome and yet you want to deny that she’s awesome and has no real value because you’re scared shitless she’ll upstage your psycho(book!Missy Anne)/boring(show!Missy Anne) fave.

It’s nuts and like you, I won’t be watching s2 if Netty’s not there. They found time for a maid who shouldn't even be there, propped up Addam to the Gods, and gave Hugh an unnecessary sex scene, all while cutting Nettles out. Nope. I’ll skip straight to s3 cause I’m not dealing with this show's BS and blatant disrespect. It’s unacceptable!

#I’m so tired #anti hotd #I’d quit this fandom if I thought it would do any good but I’m not being driven out by crazy’s #bnask #bnasks #nettles #laena velaryon #anti hotd fandom