#and is furious about it and how everything's been handled? this girl

[precious-little-scoundrel]

do the girls deal with any specific bouts of cruelty BECAUSE of period weeks? Like guards being especially malicious or things like that?

Female Complaints

Me instead of just answering, takes weeks and ends up writing you a blurb, which rather deviates from the original ask. Ugh sorry. The long and short of it is yes! If, and that’s a strong if, they are caught during it. But they would endeavor not to be with everything in them. And as shown here, many of the boys try to help with that

Warnings: mentions of periods, internalized Misogyny, some gender dissatisfaction (we’ve all been there when curled in a ball and no Advil on hand) and some hinted sexual threats

Lieutenant Sanchez would have rather licked that guard’s boot than admit to her ailment, but the longer his all too observant heckling went on, the more conscious she was of symptoms she’d otherwise surmount by a supreme and long perfected method of productive disassociation.

Keeping her eyes down on her literal cabbage patch, Sanchez tried to pay attention to the rub of her blisters on the rough hewn handle of the garden hoe, anything to forget about the tear pricking pain gnawing at her pelvis. It was an old trick to withstand the forces of hurtling her fighter jet into the blue yonder, to focus on another discomfort, the bite of your tongue, the curl of your toe in your boot, anything over the crucial and foremost discomfort that might throw off your performance. She wasn’t weak, she knew that, but it was impossible not to hold oneself up next to others. Her time in enlistment had only been possible on certain days of the month by crucially provided medications. Now those medication weren’t available and she was half crippled one week out of the month, and there was talk. Talk about how she ever managed to do her job.

She’d done it magnificently.

That’s how she’d done it.

And she’d seen it through until her bird was a fireball in the sky, driven down into her target along with her bombs, one last salvo of equipment, a final “fuck you” to her enemies as they plucked her from the sky. Now she was hoeing sandy earth between cabbage rows with a swimming head and knees that buckled from the intensity of her menstrual cramps.

Lieutenant Sanchez wasn’t very fond of considering herself a woman; it hadn’t gotten her much beyond unwanted restrictions and unasked for attentions. She could not relate to Maureen Kendeigh’s delight in her sex, the way she held court over discomforts and reveled in girlish peculiarities while in camp. Maybe Kendeigh was more confident, stronger, or maybe she’d had a kinder go of life so far, but Sanchez would rather lick that guard’s boot than admit even to her fellow prisoners that she was suffering from female complaints again.

Last time had been complete with a migraine, and there was nothing for it but to lay with her coat sleeve tied around her eyes and blindly grope for the bucket to puke on occasion. Someone had emptied the bucket twice, brought a washcloth and gently told her to “let me” while she’d futilely batted the kindness away.

Sanchez wasn’t looking to recognize her benefactor. Even though she suspected him, he wasn’t getting shit from her. Not even thanks.

She refused to belive that anyone had seen her like that. Just as this guard was never going to get the satisfaction of an admittance of the same. There was no tell-tale blood on her trousers, she was doing her job, the weeds were being churned up by her furious whacks -the Krout Fucker could go pound sand for all she cared. But then again, were it an option, she’d do anything to pause, to straighten, to brace her hands on her hips for a brief respite.

-A posture that had earned her the guard’s first jape.

If she’d mistaken his German jokes about blood and female dogs, she did not misunderstand his gesticulations to his crotch and then her own. The laughter that followed from his fellows haunted her, that little crowd of four standing at a little distance, smoking and mocking, the way her fellow prisoners gave her uneasy looks, the way Ida Brady hauled the water buckets about a few rows down as if she hadn’t bled a child out of herself a little over a month ago.

The woman was ghost-like in her frailty and thinness, but she was strong. Sanchez loathed her for it, for the way she’d managed to be so very discreet about the ultimate female humiliation, the way she seemed so impervious to all the taunts and laughter of the guards about her erstwhile misfortune. The way she could haul buckets and hoe crops without a wince, the way she was respected by the men in spite of it.

“Here, let me.” a large, warm hand folded over Sanchez own white knuckles on the wooden handle, making to take her prop from her.

Same words, same voice, if there was anyone she liked to avoid more than Ida Brady herself, it was her caregiving fairy of a brother. Washcloths over throats or help in Sector B’s shit excuse for a garden, Sanchez didn’t like owing John Brady anything. She gripped her garden implement harder, half to wrestle it back from his presumptuous aid, half because now he was taking it away, she realized how crucial the support was to her remaining upright.

“Think you’ll find this is mine.” she snapped.

“Think maybe you should take a breather.” he leveled back, fingers still curled over hers and for a woman who’d not allowed a single touch all winter, to feel a hand on a hand in springtime was more electric than perhaps it should have been. Or maybe it was those watchfully wise eyes pleading with her through a greasy fringe of brown hair. His eyes were green in the sunlight, or maybe that was his undershirt reflecting.

“I’m fine.” she jerked at it; unnervingly the wood didn’t even budge from his grip -he was strong for a scrawny little fuck with pretty clavicles and no need for a razor.

“These are for you.” Brady’s other hand extended a very quaint little bag in front of her face, domestic and familiar, its label touted seeds for a variety of squash. “To be sewn in between the cabbages, apparently their vines will help block out the weeds. And we can eat them.”

Sanchez took the bag with one hand, her other still trapped beneath his own on the hoe’s handle. “And you’re not smart enough to put seeds in dirt?”

“Sit down and plant them before I make you.” Brady’s tone was the sort Sanchez supposed her father was going for when belligerently ordering her about in her younger, dependant days, -it weakened her knuckles in reflex and suddenly the hoe was out of reach and Brady’s other hand extended as if to help her into some goddamn carriage. “Come on, no one will notice if you stop makin’ a fucking scene.”

Gingerly she put her hand in his and knelt down, winded from the agony of the descending movement despite his supportive grip, but once seated on her knees, she had to admit -to herself, never him- it was better this way.

“There.” he muttered, like he himself had been the one relieved, “You don’t have to be so stubborn. Everybody helps everybody in here.”

Sanchez pondered that, knowing that the bomber girls certainly had a pack of protectors that she had denied herself due to belligerence and not a little annoyance at being blamed for Cleven’s scars. Stubborn, he dared call her stubborn! It made her venomous even as she carefully undid the bag and poured a small quantity of the precious seeds in her palm, “Oh?” she taunted him “Does your harpy of a sister even have female complaints?”

John Brady’s form was excellent even when hoeing a cabbage row and he certainly was making an annoyingly more significant amount of progress compared to Sanchez’s weak limbed efforts of before. “Wanna keep your teeth?” he grunted as his hoe blade blurred near her foot, “Then don’t talk shit about my sister.”

Sanchez found the warm earth and the posture on her knees too comforting to retain her vitriol; she ought to hurl another barb at him but it all seemed a little unimpressive as she realized this was the first spring day she’d really enjoyed: sat here on her knees between cabbage rows with John Brady whacking the earth beside her.

“Huh.” she uttered after a while, having kept pace with his work down the rows, shuffling on her knees and repeating the motions of dig and plant and cover. The crowd of guards had not yet dispersed but the heckles had stopped.

“What?” Her companion grunted.

“Staring at asses seems to be a staple for them, no matter whose ass.”

Brady’s hoe thudded into the earth and stayed there for a beat too long as he met her eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Is it the one with the blonde scruff?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Brady’s hoe went back to work, its wielder not seemingly perturbed.

“Used to that?” she asked him, suddenly discomforted at the realization, which was a new sensation for her -concern for somebody else in this hell hole.

“Yeah.”

“That’s shit.” was all she had to offer, but she eyed the guard in question, and something showing on her face seemed to bother him enough he turned away and began his route through the compound again, cigarette crushed into the earth and dog trailing at his leash.

“Yeah.” Brady assented beside her, unaware of the change. “Lotta things are shit right now.”

“Yeah.” she agreed.

“S’why we need to let each other help.” he sermonized and she was reminded why she found the young captain so aggravating. She also felt an odd impulse to follow him around like those damn guard dogs and snarl at anyone who had shitty intentions.

“Yeah.” She agreed, “Anytime you need to hide a body, I’ll help.”

He turned her a lopsided grin, surprising in its width and brightness, how easily it cracked across his sober face despite the context, “Knew I’d find your currency one day, Sanchez.” he about preened and then they began on another row.

#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #integrated AU #Brady x Sanchez #it was about time the other girls got a little love

[oveliagirlhaditright]

This whole train derailment thing in East Palestine, Ohio is so horrific.

And those toxic chemicals got into the Ohio River!

And I heard people saying that there was danger that it could possibly get into another body of water?

Apparently, this is going to affect 10% of the country's water supply, as things are? (According to one comment I saw, anyway.)

The place really has become the next Chernobyl, and everything has been handled so badly! (I feel if this had happened in a bigger state, that wouldn't have happened. And I strongly feel they should have evacuated everyone on day one.)

And no one's talking about it! In fact, at first they were covering it up and tried to arrest at least one reporter on the job of reporting the truth (finally more people are starting to discuss all of this, but still not as many as you would think. Especially with the massive ramifications this could have for so many!)

And why hasn't the president or any of the big wigs talked about this or done anything about it? Why didn't people in hazmat suits knock on the people in East Palestine's doors to tell them to evacuate when they finally did give them that order, instead of acting so blasé? You know if it was a place that people actually cared about, people would do so much more. I'm disgusted with my country.

#and it sounds like the whole thing might have happened because the railroad workers had gone on strike because they wanted safer worker #conditions and sick days. something that the president denied them. which in turn led to this tragedy #and also because. like. the railroad lines/tech is really ancient stuff that hasn't been updated since the civil war? #basically. as always. greed won out over safety measures and now we have this to thank for it #i guess people are also worried that acid rain could come from this. from that massive black cloud that's still over east palestine ohio #you know what? i wasn't going to admit this for many reasons. and maybe i still shouldn't. i might come back and delete this tag #but i'm from ohio. not from this city. but guess who still has to worry about all of this now affecting her (like the water not being safe) #and is furious about it and how everything's been handled? this girl #at this point there's a good chance i may die from cancer somewhere down the line from the water i've already ingested (that was #contaminated) since the derailment happened. before they were upfront about just how bad all of this was #and now i'm even MORE mad. in some ways. upon rewatching this one video i had before and realizing i'd gotten some of the context of it #wrong before. like apparently they've let some people come BACK to live in the town if they have nowhere else to go. being like 'carry on. #there's nothing to see here!' when that is NOT okay. when the town is still SO VERY TOXIC and hazardous to their health. and. tbh. the #government should probably be flipping the bill for them to be staying elsewhere for their safety at the moment

[cupid-styles]

sunshine girl*

Harry and Daisy decide to go steady, but not everyone is supportive and Daisy's insecurities are starting to get the best of her.

70s!harry and virgin!fmc | Content warnings: outdated views on virginity and the LGBTQ+ community, pubic hair talk (if it's not your thing that's fine!), drugs, smut!!!! (dirty talk, a little bit of anal)

Word count: 6k (a third part is coming!)

Part one |

"Harry, would you mind not groping my best friend when I'm around?"

A furious blush flowers over Daisy neck at Willow's commentary, but Harry simply rolls his eyes. Five years apart, he's used to his sister's relentless teasing and mocking words, but it's a new phenomenon for Daisy. She's accustomed to Willow always being on her side and treating her with love and kindness, regardless of what she's doing or who she' seeing.

It was safe to say that the newfound romance between Daisy and Harry took some getting used to. 

"Willow, would you mind not being such a heartless little brat?" Harry bites, and Willow immediately raises her middle finger to shove in his face. 

"I told you guys, I don't care if you're banging or whatever, just don't do it in front of me."

"Enough," Daisy finally speaks up, leaning forward and shrugging Harry's arm off of her shoulders, "I'm gonna stop hanging out with both of you if you keep freaking out on each other every time we're together."

She stands from the worn couch in Harry and Willow's living room, zeroing in on the siblings.

"Willow, you know we're not 'banging' so stop saying that. Harry, try to control yourself a little better. Hug it out and make up by the time I'm back for the shindig after work, alright?"

They both nod their heads, looking like wounded puppies. They're not used to Daisy taking such a stance, but over the past month, her and Harry have been seeing each other more regularly. They immediately agreed that it was important to let Willow know — neither wanted to hide this from her, and while they hadn't expected her to jump for joy, they had anticipated a bit more support.

Instead, when Daisy and Harry were shuttered away in his bedroom, listening to records and making out, Willow treated her like any other one night stand. She flared her nostrils and made impolite comments, always huffing about the way he touched her, even though they weren't even officially dating. Daisy didn't know what they were, but she did know one thing: She was still a virgin, and it gave her insane amounts of anxiety.

It had nothing to do with how Harry treated her. In fact, he handled her with the utmost amount of respect and sweetness. It had only been a few weeks since their first physical encounter, but even then, he'd been so gentle with her — after he made her cum, he guided Daisy's shaky legs to the bathroom and ran a shower for her. She'd felt awkward about taking a shower together, so he sat on the covered toilet seat while they talked about anything and everything. Afterwards, he dressed her in one of his favorite worn-in band shirts, propped her up on his fluffiest pillows, and ran down the street to grab them burgers from his favorite diner. 

It was barely two days before Harry stopped into the record store during her shift, asking if he could come over after she was done.

They hadn't gone on any dates yet, but in complete fairness, it was hard to do. Harry worked every day and Daisy often worked closing shifts, which meant she wasn't finished until midnight. On those days, Harry would meet her outside and walk her home. And on the rare occasion when neither of them were working or busy, they were cooped up and tangled between bedsheets, wanting nothing more than to lick into each other's mouths. 

Daisy likes Harry. A lot. And she knows that he had admitted to having feelings for her too — it's what caused the whole thing to start, after all — but he hasn't made a move to shift things to relationship territory, and she's too scared to do it. What if he changed his mind? What if he wanted to keep things casual and physical? What if... what if he didn't want to date a virgin?

As she steps into Sam's Records, she sighs and shakes her head, willing the negative thoughts to physically leave her brain. She shoots a small smile at Warren, her coworker who's high out of his mind most times than not. Daisy swears that he emits a permanent scent of weed, seeping from his pores regardless of whether or not he's smoked.

"What's happenin', Daisy?" Warren greets as she slides onto the barstool behind the cash register. 

"Not much. How's the shop been so far?" 

Warren shrugs his shoulders as he continues shuffling through the shipment box of new records, "Pretty decent, couple of college chicks came in for the new Bee Gees joint. A kid was asking when we're getting the new Styx record, so I'm gonna ask Sam about it later." 

Daisy nods and begins to straighten up the front of the store. Warren isn't nearly as organized as she was, but she finds comfort in the routine of piling Rolling Stone magazines, emptying ash trays, and changing out the music. She was putting on Rumours for the billionth time when Warren whistled out, "Dais, lover boy alert!" 

She knows before she turns around that Harry's walking into the store. Warren started referring to him as "lover boy" after he saw Harry leaning over the front counter to press a kiss to Daisy's cheek a few weeks back.

Daisy smiles to herself when she sees him, long legs clad in swishy burnt orange bell bottoms and a ringer tee stretched over his chest. A cigarette hangs from his lips but he's quick to remove it when he focuses in on Daisy, a bright grin on his face. 

"Hey, pretty lady," he greets as he stubs out his cigarette in one of the ash trays. 

"Hey yourself. Didn't I just see you?" She giggles and Harry shrugs his shoulders, his smile shifting to a guilty smirk. 

"Yeah, but my sister was there. Wanted to get some time with you without her." 

"H..." Daisy sighs, her eyes darting to the front door when the bell jingles, signaling the entrance of new customers. "This whole act is getting old."

"'S not my fault she's miserable no one wants to jive with her."

She sighs and shakes her head. "You have to let it go. In her defense, I was her friend first. Us being... a thing has to be kinda weird for her, don't you think? It's alright for her to bug out a little."

Harry shrugs his shoulders as he lifts his hand to run it through his hair. Daisy had convinced him to let it grow out just a tad bit longer, the ends now meeting the bottoms of his earlobes. 

"Whatever, Dais," he mumbles, "You psyched for the joint tonight? It's been a minute since we've hosted." 

"It has been, hm?" Daisy agrees, "It'll be groovy as long as you let me play some ABBA." 

Harry grins cheekily and lets out a laugh. "Only for my disco queen." 

She tries not to blush as he leans over the register to press a quick kiss to her mouth, but not before his lips linger alongside her ear. "Did I mention how totally foxy you look today? My pretty bunny in those tiny denim shorts." 

"Harry," she murmurs in fake shock, though the giant smile plastered across her face gives her away. "Go home, you'll get me when I'm done with my shift here, okay?"

"Far out, Dais," Harry says with a grin, stepping away from the counter, "Make sure you walk over with Warren, capiche? You know I don't like you leaving work alone at night."

"10-4, captain."

He chuckles and nods a goodbye to Warren on his way out, a pep in his step as he thinks about spending the night with his sweet little disco girl. Daisy has the same love struck smile on her face. 

. . . Sam's Records closes at 11 pm. After that, Daisy has to lock the doors, count the day's earnings, put it in the safe, sweep, and clean up the shop so tomorrow's opening employee — a sweet girl named Penny, who spent the last year following Led Zeppelin on tour — could start the day with ease.

It's helpful to have Warren there, who's quicker at dealing with the cash, and they're able to make it out of the store by 11:45. Daisy's nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet as Warren locks up, feeling as if her heart has strings that are tugging her in the direction of Harry. 

"God, you two are really obsessed with each other, huh?" 

Daisy sucks her teeth at Warren's comment, though she knows it's all in good fun. He lights a cigarette as they begin the short distance to Harry and Willow's place. 

"How did Will take the news that you're banging her brother?"

There it is again — the assumption that her and Harry are just sleeping together. Sure, they do stuff together, but it seems like all anyone thinks is that they're with one another for physical intimacy. And even if that were the case, why hasn't Harry made a move to take her virginity yet?

She swallows roughly at an attempt to push down her insecurities, instead focusing on the cracks in the sidewalk and the thin smoke coming from Warren's cigarette. 

"She's warming up to it,"  Daisy replies, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "I think it's been an adjustment, but I can understand why."

"For sure. Willow's always been protective of H, it makes sense that she's not totally digging it."

"It's me, though," she protests, "She knows I won't do anything to hurt him."

Warren shrugs. "Yeah, maybe. But they've always been attached at the hip. Like, when we were in fifth grade, Willow cried almost every day at school and the only person that could calm her down was Harry. They'd call him at the high school and he'd come all the way down every time and the second she saw him, she stopped. They have a special bond, that's all."

Daisy's an only child, so it's hard for her to grasp such a tight knit relationship, but she gets it — she's been living in San Diego alongside the Styles siblings for years now, and she's seen that trust and love firsthand. She doesn't fight Warren on it, instead letting silence take over as they approach the familiar apartment, where Thin Lizzy's "The Boys Are Back in Town" is playing from the interior. 

"Looks like Harry still has dibs on the tunes," Warren smirks, stomping out his dead cigarette.

There are a few familiar faces out on the deck, all of who are currently taking smoke breaks. Daisy flashes them a friendly smile and Warren stays behind, likely to make a dent in the stash of drugs he brought in his bag. Nevertheless, she trucks on through the thick smoke enveloping the apartment — as usual, Willow and Harry never keep things casual when they host a party.

The place is flooded with people and it seems like there's drugs and booze everywhere: Girls are dancing in the living room over people snorting lines off the coffee table and the town's Dead Heads are perched on the couch, pupils as large as dinner plates. She doesn't care much for the atmosphere, though she does recognize Mitch, one of Harry's co-workers, in the corner with his girlfriend Sarah, each with cans of Bud Light in their hands. 

Daisy is about to make her way over to them when Harry suddenly appears, a large grin plastered across his face when he zeroes in on her. 

"Dais!" he exclaims, ambling forward to wrap his arms around her form. She giggles at his wide smile, her insides melting at his excitement to see her. "You made it."

"Of course I did, silly," Daisy laughs, pulling back slightly. He keeps an arm around her waist so their chests are flush against one another, and she notices the glazed over twinkle in his eyes; a true Harry identifier that he'd been hitting the bong in her absence. "Got this shindig started without me, did you?"

"Please, you know my night's never complete without my sunshine girl." 

She grins so hard her cheeks ache and he leans forward to press a quick kiss to her nose. "Interested in a little grass, lady love?"

"Sure," Daisy nods, "Where's your sis, though? Wanna make sure I say hey before we spark up."

Harry shrugs his shoulders as his grasp on Daisy's form relaxes. "Dunno. Haven't seen her in a bit."

She sighs and nods, forcing a small smile onto her lips. "Head on over to your fire escape and I'll meet you there in a tick, 'kay? I just wanna find Willow."

She can tell that he's not thrilled by this, but maybe it's the weed, or even her attempt at scolding him from earlier. Whatever it is, he nods, compliant in her ask, and gives her hand a small squeeze before scampering off in the direction of his locked bedroom.

Daisy heads for the kitchen first to grab a beer, knowing she'll need a little bit of liquid courage to meander through the crowded party looking for her best friend. There's a couple making out; one cornering the other, who sits atop the kitchen counter, and Daisy makes a mental note to tell Harry to wipe it down tomorrow once they're done nursing their hangovers. 

With a can of Miller in hand, she scopes the small apartment. Normally, Willow and Daisy are side-by-side at these things, splitting joints and schmoozing with strangers. Willow is naturally more extroverted than her; she's always suggesting they play Spin The Bottle or 7 Minutes in Heaven with their newfound friends while Daisy finds a nervous excuse to refuse. She's grateful that she has Harry now and doesn't have to sit there, watching Willow be more courageous than her.

Even on Daisy's tippy toes, the brunette is nowhere to be found. She rolls her lips into her mouth as she decides to check the bathroom, but all she finds is a line of girls actually trying to use it. She meanders to Willow's bedroom, which is always locked during parties, but gives it a try anyway. She gently raps her knuckles against the wood, pressing an ear to it. 

"Will? You in there?"

She doesn't think she hears any movement so she tries again, but she can't be sure with David Bowie's loud voice crooning through the apartment. She goes to knock a third time, but the door is ripped open before her hand makes contact. 

"What?" Willow hisses out before she realizes it's Daisy. Her eyes widen and she quickly closes the door a smidge, blocking Daisy from looking inside. 

"I was looking for you," Daisy says slowly, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "I just got here and you weren't out there..."

"Um, yeah. Migraine. Sorry." 

Willow's being weird, and not just in the weird "I-don't-like-you-being-with-my-brother" way she's been lately. The best friends never have secrets or hide things from each other, but something about this feels like uncharted territory. 

"Are you alright?" Daisy asks softly as she reaches out to gently touch her elbow, "Do you need water, or company?"

"I'm fine," Willow quips, "I'm just not into all this tonight. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Daisy doesn't get a chance to ask another question before Willow narrowly slides behind the door, shutting and locking it in a flash. Her heart tugs at the girl. Her gut says that something is off, but Willow's never lied to her before, and she doesn't even want to think that's a possibility. She chooses to believe her and instead makes the short trek to Harry's room, doing their secret knock — three slow raps followed by two quick ones — to let him know that she's here. 

Over the past few weeks, Harry's room has become a safe space for her, and she physically feels her worries melt away when he opens the door and pulls her inside. She giggles when he presses her up against the now-locked door, placing his hands on either side of her head to cage her in. 

"I haven't had you to myself all day, sunshine." He mutters, leaning forward to gently nip at the skin below her jaw. 

"You're insatiable." Daisy mumbles, leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck. She plays at the loose curls gathering there, soft and silky from the shower he took this afternoon while she laid in his bed, reading a Judy Blume book. 

"'m not. Just obsessed with you." 

Her stomach flutters as their lips make contact. The kiss feels like home — soft and sweet as their mouths meld together, quickly picking up pace as eager tongues dance for dominance. Harry always wins, despite a solid fight put up on Daisy's end. 

She puts her hand to his chest and stops them before they get too carried away, though half of her mind drifts off to the orgasm he gave her last night; two of his fingers steadily pumping into her and stroking at the sensitive spot inside, his dirty mouth whispering promises of pleasure into her ear. 

"Willow was locked away in her room. She was acting kinda weird... did you guys have a fight before this?"

Harry's lips are spit-swollen and the color of a muted cherry red as he shakes his head. "No, she was pretty jazzed about tonight. We split half a bottle of wine and watched the news together." 

"Oh," Daisy says softly, insecurity quickly creeping into her brain. 

"I'm sure it had nothing to do with you, bunny. She might've not been feelin' well or something, don't get it twisted in that pretty head."

She nods, convincing herself to believe him. He knew her better than anyone else, and Willow did say she had a migraine. She breathes deeply and allows herself to fall into Harry's embrace, the familiar scent of his cologne, woody and sweet, instantly soothing her. 

"C'mon, let's go sit out on the fire escape."

Harry tugs at her hand and she follows him, pliant in his suggestion. They climb out the window and onto the grated structure. It's early September but the San Diego air is still thick with humidity, coating Daisy's exposed legs and arms. She slightly regrets picking out a suede mini skirt this morning, but when she grabbed it, she remembered that it was one of Harry's favorites on her. 

It's quiet between them as Harry digs in his pocket for a joint and his lighter. The party sounds miles away now, and Daisy leans her elbows on the steel banister, taking in the inky night sky. Out here, it really did just feel like her and Harry were the only ones who matter. 

Harry sparks up and takes a deep drag before passing it to Daisy. She readily accepts it and sticks it between her lips, inhaling with fluttered eyes. She can feel Harry watching her but all she cares about is getting to the relaxed, floaty state he was already in. 

"You're so pretty."

"You're so high." She smiles lazily and opens her eyes, handing it back to Harry. 

"Maybe, yeah," he smirks, "But I think you're a stunner regardless of how stoned I am."

Daisy shakes her head and he steps closer to her form, placing a hand on her hip. "Lemme smoke you up, sunshine," he mumbles, and she nods. They do this every time — the first time they smoked together, he found out mellow weed highs made her even more sensitive to his touch, and now, he couldn't help putting his hands all over her.

Harry takes a deep inhale of the joint, holds it, and pulls Daisy closer. Their chests are flush against one other as he fits himself between her parted legs, a hand on her hip to keep her in place. She parts her lips just enough for the smoke to form a steady stream from his mouth to hers as he exhales, sealing it with a firm kiss.

As soon as they meet, everything in her body is screaming for him. She needs to touch him, she needs to feel him, she needs to be connected to him. 

Quickly, slow kisses intertwine with undertones of want, and it's apparent that Daisy is just as needy as ever, even with mutual orgasms provided on a near-daily basis. Harry wants to tease her for it, but he's a little too far gone now, too; seeing her in the late summer night, sticky skin, a mini skirt, and a poor excuse for a lace top covering her upper body. The warm lust between them is palpable as his tongue pokes around the inside of her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip and squeezing her side with a familiar desperation. She's panting, struggling to keep up, but trying her absolute hardest not to get left in the dust. 

"Can I make you feel good, bunny?" Harry breathes into her mouth, trailing his fingertips along her midriff and dancing along the waistband of her skirt. She's ready to nod and provide consent until the big storm cloud of insecurity suddenly overtakes her thoughts, self-deprecating insults about her virginity status becoming the only thing she can focus on. 

"Dais?" Harry backs away just slightly, enough to take in her facial expression. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to—"

Daisy refuses to have another bad thought as she cuts him off and mashes their lips together, messy and wet. Her trembling hands find the bottom of his tee shirt; a woman on a defined mission as she pulls the fabric upwards, her palms pressed against his stomach. She goes to peel the shirt off him when he breaks their kiss again, much to her dismay. 

"Hey, what gives?" Harry asks softly, leaning down a bit so they're eye level, "Not that I don't love this, but you're moving mighty quick here, sunshine girl."

She resists the urge to huff in frustration, instead letting his shirt fall back down to his hips. "I just... want you, H. You dig?"

Harry chuckles, his eyes crinkling at her attempt at casual sex talk. "Yeah, I dig, but I thought we established that ages ago." 

"Well, I wanna like... you know, pop my cherry tonight." 

His eyes widen and his hands drop from Daisy's form. He's never heard her refer to her virginity in such a crass way, even if it's the slang everyone uses. Besides the fact, he's shocked she suddenly wants to lose it at a party with nearly 30 people on the other side of the door. 

"Dais," Harry's eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, "You deserve more than just 'popping your cherry.' Are you spaced out or something?"

She shakes her head quickly, determined to get what she wants. 

"No. I wanna lose it tonight, I'm tired of being a virgin and you haven't made any moves to take it so if you don't want to, it's groovy—"

"What on earth are you on about?" Harry questions, "Why wouldn't I wanna sleep with you? I thought— well maybe I was misinterpreting things but I thought we were, like, going steady, I know I haven't asked or anything but I was preparing to. Honest."

Daisy's face warms at Harry's admittance. She blinks her eyes a few times as she processes his words, her bottom lip dropping open. "I'm... I just thought you've been with so many people, maybe you didn't want the responsibility of being with someone who... hasn't, y'know?"

Harry sighs and nods his head understandingly. Stubbing the joint out on the cool banister of the fire escape, he reaches forward to envelop her form in a tight hug. Suddenly, her senses are invaded by Harry, and she basks in the feel of his arms around her and his comforting scent. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't more upfront about what I wanted," Harry mumbles into her hair, "But I do want you to be my girl. As for the whole virginity thing... I never wanted to pressure you. You never seemed like you were in a rush to lose it, and I wanted us to build up to it, I guess. Make sure you were comfortable before we did it. But you'd be totally out of your mind to think I had no interest in doing that with you, baby."

"I wanna be your girl," Daisy murmurs before pressing a light kiss to his collarbone. "And I want you to be my first. I've never felt more comfortable with another person before." 

"Yeah?" Harry asks with a teasing smirk, ducking down to look at her, "You're my girl, then. I will be your first, but not tonight. You deserve so much more than a rendezvous at a party, silly girl."

"Shush," Daisy says, growing bashful at his words. "Soon, though?"

Harry chuckles and nods. "Yeah, sunshine. Soon."

. . .

Harry and Daisy spend the rest of the night in his bedroom, high off the joint they smoked and their newly established relationship. 

Even when Harry's tuckered out, fast asleep next to her in bed while the party simmers outside, leaving only the too-drunk and quiet trippers behind, Daisy can't believe it. She keeps replaying the conversation in her brain, amazed that he somehow likes her enough to be her boyfriend. She feels so special. 

And while his soft snores offer a comfortable rhythmic sound, it's not enough for Daisy to ignore her parched throat. Carefully, she untangles herself from the sheets and tiptoes out the door, shutting it quietly behind her. She's prepared to make a quick trek to the kitchen when she sees Willow emerge from her own bedroom, followed by a blonde girl Daisy faintly recognizes from the neighborhood. She goes to say hi, relieved that Willow may be feeling a little better, but the words get stuck in her throat when the blonde grasps at Willow's hand, spinning her to press a kiss to her lips. 

Willow doesn't notice Daisy standing there with wide eyes. She doesn't know what this implies, if Willow's gay or straight or whatever, and she doesn't care. She knows not everyone is understanding and welcoming in that way, and it pains her to think that her best friend would hide such a big secret from her, or receive hatred for the person she likes. She's seen her fair share of same sex hookups at the disco, where men or women try to be together in secret, and she's never thought too much about it. Not until right now, when she sees her smacking lips with another girl right in front of her. 

Daisy doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't say anything. Instead, she quickly turns on her heel and goes back to Harry's room, locking it quietly. With a spinning head, she doesn't even notice that he's awake and watching her, his eyes puffy with sleep. 

"Y'alright?"

She nearly jumps at the sound of the voice but forces a tight smile on her lips. She doesn't want to — no, she's refusing — to reveal this information to Harry. It's not her secret to tell, if there's anything even to it.

"Yeah. I needed a drink, I didn't know you were up."

Harry hums and stretches his arms out, propping himself up against the mess of pillows behind him. "Come back to bed?"

Her heart flutters at his request, adoring the way the words sound leaving his mouth. Without a second thought, she's climbing back into the cotton wonderland of sheets and pillows, breathing in his scent as he wraps his arms around her body, pulling her closer. 

Tangling their legs together, Daisy presses her head to his chest. She places a hand to his stomach and feels his slow breathing. They're quiet for a little bit and she assumes he's fallen back asleep until she feels his length hardening beneath her thigh. She swallows, biting her lip as she contemplates mentioning it. 

"Sorry," Harry eventually mumbles out, pressing a kiss to her hair, "Just ignore it, it'll go away on its own."

"We're not even doing anything." Daisy teases, lifting her head to press her chin into his chest. He places his hand at the back of her head and smiles. 

"You're in my shirt and a tiny little pair of panties, cuddling me, looking adorable as shit. You get me going regardless of whether or not we're doing anything."

"You like when I wear your clothes?" she presses, sitting up slightly to balance on her knees. Slowly, she splits her thighs to straddle his waist, fitting her core on his stomach.

"Of course," Harry mutters, tugging at his own hair, "You look smokin' in anything, but something about you wearing my shirts..." his fingers dance over the skin of her thigh, lifting up the worn fabric of his Peter Gabriel tee. He zeroes in on the pale pink underwear covering her modesty and he breathes out, feeling his briefs constrict his plumping cock even more. 

"And what about these?" she asks, dipping her fingers underneath the elastic waistband of her underwear. "Do you prefer me wearing them? Or do you like when you can see everything?"

"Depends. Think this little pussy is gorgeous regardless... but I especially love when you get so worked up for me that you're dripping in your panties, getting them all sticky with the sweetest little wet spot," he mumbles, thumbing over her clit through the material. "Looks so incredible, I just wanna bury my tongue in you until you can't take it anymore."

"Oh," Daisy breathes out, bucking her hips in a failed attempt for more friction between her legs. Harry smirks as her eyes begin to close. He pauses his movements and lifts his thumb to his mouth, coating it in spit before returning to his original movements, forming light circles through her underwear. 

"I bet you'd like that, hm?" He pushes, applying more pressure to the bundle of nerves, "You'd have to push me away. Can never get enough of the way you taste, especially when you start squirting... it's the hottest thing I've ever seen, bunny."

"More," Daisy whimpers, taking a shaky hand down to her lower half. She moves the strip of fabric covering her pussy to the side, revealing her plump, glistening lips. She parts them carefully, forming a V with her fingers, her pearly clit begging for attention. 

"Take 'em off," Harry instructs, breathing shallowly as he takes in the appearance of her pussy. When they first started being physical together, she was embarrassed by her pubic hair, explaining that she knew fully grown bushes were "in" but she wasn't sure what she liked. She was nervous about it and wanted to please Harry, who simply encouraged her to experiment with different styles and find whatever made her feel the best. It was 1976 after all, and he was exhausted by anti-feminist rhetoric that would ever make his girl feel bad. 

Lately, Daisy settled for a trimmed bush above her lips. It looked manicured and neat, and she discovered both her and Harry loved having enough hair there for him to tug on when he was going down on her. He hadn't yet told her that he was also obsessed with the way her juices stuck around, making her even wetter. 

Once Daisy strips her modesty of her underwear, anything's fair game. Harry uses one of hands to firmly grab her ass as he situates her over his brief-covered cock, making her stomach twist with nerves. 

"Not gonna put it in, sunshine," he mumbles, his length twitching at the sight of her pussy spread open over his underwear, "Just wanna grind with you a little, alright? Make us both feel really good."

Daisy nods eagerly, rolling her hips against his. She whimpers at the sensation that offers a semblance of the friction she'd been desperately searching for. He pulls his cock out of his briefs and pushes it between her lips, making them both groan out.

"There you go," Harry encourages as he gently bucks upwards to meet her motions, shifting his cock against her clit, "Show me you deserve to cum on my cock. Show me how much you want me to fuck this tight little pussy."

Daisy lets her head lull to the side, her eyes squeezed shut at his dirty words. They always get her impossibly close to coming, feeling as if the pleasure-filled feelings are finally going to bubble over and spill. 

They're moving in sync with one another, her hands flat on his chest, moaning at their closeness. It feels so good, and she wants to tell him to slip his cock in, to fill her up and fuck her until she can't remember her own name, but she knows he won't; instead uttering something about it not being the right moment. 

"Shit, I'm close," Daisy mumbles out through swollen lips. Her right hand is moving to her pussy to rub her clit in small circles and Harry's jaw falls slack as he watches her. He gives her hip a squeeze and folds his legs at the knee, pushing her down to her tummy so their chest to chest. 

"Know my dirty girl needs a bit more to cum, hm?" The question is rhetorical but she nods helplessly anyway, shuttering beneath his grasp. He trails daft fingers to her backside and grabs one of her ass cheeks so her tighter hole is exposed. She groans into his skin but he removes his hand, giving her butt a firm slap. 

"Shush, sweetness." Harry instructs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Before Daisy has a chance to whine, he's back to circling the tight rim of muscles, reaching downward to collect some of her dripping arousal from her inner thighs. Daisy can barely focus on all of the different sensations, and once he presses the tip of his thumb into her ass, she's a goner. 

"Fuck, Harry—" she moans as her holes pulsate, her asshole squeezing Harry's finger. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters, using his other hand to grip her hip, keeping her firmly in place. Seeing and listening to Daisy cum is enough to get him there — his own personal wet dream, he swears — and it's only a few moments after her orgasm has passed that he's spitting out a heavy load from his cock, covering their bellies with his warm cum. 

Simultaneously, their bodies come to a stop, and the only sound is their choppy breathing. Gently, he pulls his finger out of her, giving her thigh a small squeeze. He feels that she's slowly starting to go lax, and he wants to clean her up before they go back to sleep. 

"Up, sunshine," Harry mumbles against the shell of her ear, "Need to get you clean."

Daisy nods, slowly rising from his chest. She glances down to see the mess they've made and bites her lip, feeling the familiar stirring in her core again. 

"And you call me insatiable," Harry snickers, making her roll her eyes. She climbs off of him with sore thighs and he gets up, grabbing a dirty tee shirt to clean them up. 

She's quiet and missing the usual glow she has post-orgasm, making his stomach twist slightly. "Everything alright?" He asks, moving the soft fabric between her legs to wipe up her arousal. 

Daisy hums, though it's not much of an answer. The second they reached their peaks, images of Willow kissing that girl re-entered her brain. She feels shitty for using Harry as a distraction from what was bothering her to begin with. 

"Was... were you comfortable with all that?" Harry presses, and it's only then that it dawns on her that he thinks he's the problem. With wide eyes she nods her head, grabbing her — his — tee-shirt from earlier, sliding it over her body. 

"It was amazing, H," Daisy answers, crawling on her knees to reach where he's standing over the bed. She shuffles forward and presses a kiss to his lips, wishing that she could tell him what she saw. "Let's get some more rest. Please?"

And Harry can hardly deny her, especially when she looks so tired and fucked out. He pulls on a clean pair of briefs and climbs back into the bed, taking his position as the big spoon. His body wraps effortlessly around hers, like two puzzle pieces begging to be clicked together. 

"Night, Dais." He mumbles, pecking her shoulder. 

"G'night, Harry."

Part three | Series masterlist

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles fan fic #fanfic #harrys house #harry styles writing #harry styles concept

[transmascissues]

every day i think about how my old psychiatrist (who was notoriously horrible on many levels, to be clear) tried to convince me to stay on the antidepressants i was coming off of when i told her i was starting testosterone because she was convinced that i’d be incapable of handling the “intense mood swings” that she said it would cause if i was unmedicated

mind you, i was coming off of these meds because they were doing absolutely fucking nothing for me and she had fought me on stopping them every step of the way — in her mind, me starting t was the perfect chance to make one final (transphobic) push against my desire to stop putting completely pointless drugs in my body

she consistently referred to hrt as me “going on steroids” and told me with every ounce of condescending concern she could muster that she had never had a patient start t without being on antidepressants (as if i was supposed to see that fact as anything other than further proof that her main goal as a psychiatrist was just to make as much money as possible by pushing meds on people)

i tried to explain to her that countless trans people i’d talked to had said that being on t made them feel more emotionally stable, not less, and that i had already chosen a method of hrt that would minimize hormonal fluctuations as much as possible, but she wouldn’t believe me — there’s no question in my mind that she just saw me as a ~naive little girl who didn’t understand how testosterone could make my life hell~

and of course, my mom jumped on that idea and started telling me about how it’s not that she doesn’t like that i’m trans, it’s just that she’s ~so worried~ about what the ~big bad testosterone~ might to to my ~poor fragile mental health~

and when i started t, i was terrified that they would be proven right

now i’m 5 months on t (and a few months post-ending that doctor-patient relationship as well) and what do you know? my mood is better than ever! my therapist (who has known me far longer and actually cares about my well-being) says she’s never seen me this happy, and that she feels like i’m actually living for the first time! it’s been incredible!

in fact, i’ve come to the realization that i most likely had premenstrual dysphoric disorder before t, and that it was contributing to a huge percentage of my mental breakdowns and suicidal thoughts, so it seems there were hormones causing mood swings that i couldn’t handle without proper treatment after all, but testosterone isn’t the cause of those issues — turns out it’s the treatment i desperately needed to manage them!

and after some research and hearing from other people, i’ve learned that it wasn’t all anecdotal after all, because some studies have actually found evidence to support the idea that testosterone has antidepressant effects — i told my therapist that testosterone felt the way the antidepressants i had been on were supposed to feel, but i had no clue there was science to back that up

so now i’m just left being endlessly furious with the way testosterone is demonized as some horrible poisonous drug that will destroy your mental health along with everything else in your life, because being on it has improved my quality of life exponentially and that alone makes being on it SO worthwhile, but no one ever gets to see that side of being on t because they’re so busy drumming up fear about how it’ll wreck your moods instead

of course, that’s not to say some people don’t experience serious mood swings on t, because i would never deny someone else’s experience with their own body and mind, and i think it’s important that people know those effects are possible when they start t

what i AM saying is that i would guess that if you looked at pure numbers, more people have probably had a really positive experience like mine than a seriously negative one, and it’s very telling that the negative ones are portrayed as a universal part of being on t despite seemingly being a smaller percentage when you actually talk to lots of trans people, while the positive ones are portrayed as a fluke at best and impossible or even deceptive at worst despite being a really common theme in trans people’s accounts of being on t

testosterone is medicine. testosterone is healing.

it doesn’t solve all our problems — i’m certainly far from cured of all my mental health issues — but it sure as hell lightens the load, and i’m sick and tired of people acting like it’s a horrible thing and not the fucking miracle worker that it is for some of us

#transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #trans men #transmascs #testosterone #hrt

[carlsdarling]

OML PLEASEEEE DO MORE OLDER READER AND CARL HCS IM BEGGING!!!! I just wanna take care of him :(

Carl x Older! Reader headcanons Part III

More headcanons. A lot of requests for this so I decided to do that now... Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw

Glenn showed you some pictures of Carl that he took with a Polaroid camera during the time in the prison. Carl was 13 or 14 years old back then, and you were enchanted by the pictures. "You were so cute," you purred against Carl's neck in bed at night. "I was never cute! I was already an adult back then and could handle a gun," Carl protested angrily. "Yes, you were really cute," you giggled. "Especially that picture of you sitting on the stairs with Beth. I bet you had a crush on her." The fact that Carl blushed proved that you'd hit the nerve. "Glenn shouldn't have shown you those pictures," Carl growled.

When the two of you are alone, Carl likes to call you his little cougar.

Carl makes a point of always appearing strong and being the one to care for you, but he's very emotionally vulnerable. On more than one occasion, you have had to comfort him because someone has made a silly remark about his eye. It hurts you when Carl is sad.

A few times you have played nasty tricks on people who have insulted Carl afterwards - making a mess in their houses or mixing mice faeces into their cereal boxes. It makes you unspeakably furious when someone is rude to Carl. There's now a fragile peace with Negan, but whenever he shows up in Alexandria, you can't help but insult him because Carl told you how Negan made him cry when he was younger.

For Carl's 19th birthday, you organized a surprise party at your house, and he was so happy. Michonne helped you get everything ready. At first she was very reserved towards you because she didn't appreciate the age gap, but now she and Rick have realized that you and Carl have serious feelings for each other.

Carl recently moved in with you and you think it's wonderful to be living with him now. It just feels right now that you've been together for six months.

You keep condoms in every room because you never know when you're going to get it on. You have a very high condom requirement. If possible, Carl always brings some with him when he goes on a supply tour. Some people have already noticed this and are constantly teasing him about it. Daryl in particular can't help it. "Carl, honestly, how many of these thingies do you need every day?"

You fucked in every room of the house - even in the kitchen, where you sat on the edge of the table and Carl positioned himself in front of you to penetrate you. He held your hips in a firm grip and thrust into you passionately, spurred on by the fact that you were moaning loudly and begging him. "Carl, harder! Even harder! Go faster!" you whimpered, digging your fingernails into his slender, smooth back. "You're so wanting," Carl gasped as he increased his pace and finally spilled his seed into you with a scream, his heart beating wildly. After that event, you had to grin every time someone came to visit, sat down at the table and you served coffee.

Carl doesn't like to get up early, and when he has the morning shift for guard duty, it's hard work for you to get him out of bed on time. Now you can place Michonne's gleeful laughter when she said when Carl moved in: "Have fun, Y/N, when Carl has to get up early. You'd best take the bed covers off him." But Carl clings to the covers and grumbles sleepily at you.

When Carl has had a difficult day, he is very quiet in the evening, very clingy and very cuddly.

You are so happy to have Carl. There are lots of girls his age in Alexandria who would love to be with him, but he chose you.

--

Tags: @tessasweet @taylormarieee @loveforcarl @knochentrocken0808 @xxcarlswifexx

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes imagines #carl fanfiction #carl grimes smut

[exhaustedcatte]

Marauders Code

“We’ve got each other’s backs, no matter what,” the four wizards chanted as they performed a blood-binding oath illegally in their dormitory.

Remus was sent straight into McGonagall’s office, where she stared at him from behind her eyeglasses.

“Mister Lupin,” she raised a brow. “Sit, please.”

He sat, weary and suddenly tired of everything that had happened.

McGonagall exhaled sharply. “What’s this about you breaking a nose, then?”

Remus lifted his left shoulder listlessly, “He was being a dic– berk to Sirius and. Well. Yeah.”

He didn’t disclose that the three boys had spent the morning cheering up Sirius after the awful, long winded howler he’d gotten from home. And just when the boy had begun to laugh, that stupid fucking idiot Yaxley had come and rained over their progress.

But Remus’ pre-moon jitters had slithered down his arm, which shot out at the older boy’s nose, breaking it upon contact.

In the four years his friends had known him, Remus’d always been mild and patient. It helped his self-esteem to be something other than a monster, but exceptions, he’d come to learn, had to be made. Quite like Sirius Black.

James and Peter had stared at him with pure admiration and Sirius gaped at him with wide, grateful eyes.

“S’alright,” he’d said awkwardly when he retrieved his arm, unscathed, from a yowling Yaxley’s face. “Worth a detention.”

“Damn right!” James hollered, tackling Remus carefully, aware of his pre-moon pains, despite his excitement.

“Moony,” Peter breathed, “You’re brill!”

Remus offered a half smile as he followed a prefect down to McGonagall’s office.

That was fourth year.

In fifth year, Sirius was the one who was laden with detention.

He’d been skidding down the stairs using a dandy charm that him and Remus had been practising for a prank.

Sirius slid down the marble steps directly into a gossip session.

“He’s such a peacock,” one of them groaned.

“Gosh, I know! And did you see how he kept babying Pettigrew in Transfig? Like he’s some kind of genius, what a git!”

Sirius frowned. Peter? James was the one who partnered with—oh.

He listened closer, sneaking up on them from behind. And of course. Evans, MacDonald, McKinnon, Fortescue.

“Potter’s inflated ego–”

James had been assisting Peter with the lesson, one that Peter had read up on with Remus but while Remus had succeeded in his second try, Peter was struggling in his twenty second.

He was reassuring a boy who needed to be reminded that sometimes things take time and that was quite alright. That it didn’t speak to your intelligence or your capabilities. These girls, who hated James purely because he was smarter than them (okay, so Sirius knew James could be a right twat, but not this time), could go straight to hell.

Sirius grinned.

He followed them behind a Disillusionment charm that he’d perfected over the winter-break at Hogwarts and spelled every staircase they took to bring them back to the same hallway. After several attempts of them running away but landing right in front of the same charms classroom, he gave in and appeared in front of their frazzled beings.

“That’ll teach you not to speak on what you don’t know,” he said coldly.

Needless to say, McGonagall was furious at him for making them skip class and gave him a week of scrubbing trophies in Filch’s office. They became fast friends after that incident though, so no harm done.

James was running late.

He had to take notes for Remus, who was lying stock still in the infirmary, Skele-gro working on his bones. Sirius was keeping watch, having dropped Herbogy in their sixth year; he had Os in every subject, he could drop anything he wished.

James dashed into the Greenhouses right behind Sprout, barely squeezing in as the glass doors slid shut. Peter waved from their spot in the corner.

Their lesson was not very fun since they were with the know-it-alls. Ravenclaws were either amiable, or they had claws.

“You’d think he’d handle plants better, with how much he eats them,” Billy whatsit sneered at Peter.

Peter wilted like his Aconite. James felt fury rise in his throat.

“Gluttony,” one girl simpered cruelly.

“Look at those love handles on him,” a third one said. “I don’t understand how he’s a Marauder.”

“Pity friendship, I think. One would think he’s a Squib,” Billy gurgled.

James rose to his feet. “Professor Sprout? I think Billy Blabbermouth and his lackeys are having trouble here.”

The class turned to them.

He hexed the trio publicly. It was a silly one, helped jog your memory, repeat your previous words (he’d used it plenty on Sirius when he was fumbling around Remus like a shy maiden).

Billy and his friends looked aghast as their disgusting words came pouring out at Sprout’s face. She took a hundred points off them, and handed detention for the next two weeks.

“Thanks James,” Peter whispered.

“Of course, mate.”

James also got detention for hexing a student in class, but he took it happily, Remus was minding that detention as Prefect anyway.

In their last year, Remus had come back with a long wooden cane, much to his chagrin.

His body couldn’t carry his weight right after the moons, so he’d been forced into a magnificent cane with a golden lion at the head. They had tried to make him feel better about it but Remus was a creature of self-reliance, of pride.

Remus hated it, Peter knew.

It happened on their way to breakfast.

Peter was behind the other three boys, voted as the one to lie to Mary about their Halloween plans (they were planning on transforming all the beds into pumpkins; no, they weren’t going to be creepy about it—mirror charms, duh), when Davey Smith traipsed past them and tripped Remus.

Remus fell down like a bag of bricks, red-faced and irate, unable to retaliate after the moon and otherwise (monster, monster, Remus chanted to himself to prevent himself from snapping, Peter knew).

Sirius and James helped him up, jaws locked with anger, as their first priority was to check on their friend.

Smith jeered. “Feet useless, cane broken, face cut up. What kind of an ugly invalid are you, Lupin?”

Davey Smith, jealous of Remus simply because he’d been asked out by Davey’s crush. What a piece of work.

“Sirius, no. James, put your wand down,” Remus sighed. “Smith, kindly get lost.”

Peter smiled. He’d not been warned. “Sorry, Mary, duty calls!”

He turned into Wormtail behind an armour and scurried up an unsuspecting Davey’s pant leg.

Wormtail bit into the Hufflepuff’s flesh.

Davey howled.

McGonagall swept into the hall, took one look at Remus, at the anger tinged faces of James and Sirius and at Peter’s self-satsified expression. Then she noticed Davey, who was flopping about the hallway embarrassingly.

“Mr Pettigrew,” McGonagall ground out tightly, “I don’t know what you’ve done, but his thigh is bleeding! Detention for the week. And Mr Smith, we will have a Talk after Madam Pomfrey is done with that gash. No Hogsmeade for the rest of the term for you.”

Peter smiled benignly. “I’ll be there, professor.”

She whisked Smith away, scolding him for hurting her kids, no doubt.

“Pete! That was fab!” Sirius laughed and James thumped his back. “Wish I could’ve given him rabies, but you might’ve done me up with plague.”

Remus was rolling his eyes, but a smile was hooking his mouth up in the corners, “I should know better by now, eh? Of course one of you will rush to defend my honour.”

“It’s what you deserve Moony,” Peter said, smiling.

Really, they’d always have each other’s backs. Until the very end.

#marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #james & peter & remus & sirius #harry potter #hp marauders #marauders fluff #marauders au #marauders headcanon #marauders era #dead gay wizards #marauders fic #remus x sirius #wolfstar #sirius orion black #remus john lupin #james fleamont potter #minerva mcgonagall #they’re best friends your honour #they show up for eachother #im ignoring the war what war #ignorance is bliss baby they were bffs idk #james and remus #james and sirius #siriusxremus #james and peter #lily evans

[sentientcave]

WIP Wednesday - Impound

A little peek at that tow truck driver idea I was tossing around last week, for any interested parties

He shuffled through the papers deliberately. The sound of the cop’s rubber-soled boots squeaking impatiently on the dated linoleum floor was music to Simon’s ears. “Oh, of course. The squad car. Parked in a fire lane.” He tutted, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I got there before bylaw did. ‘S a big fine if they ticket you.”

They both knew that bylaw didn’t have the stones to ticket a cruiser. The fire department might, but they didn’t go around looking for trouble either. That was really more Simon’s area of expertise.

“You could have been impeding an investigation,” Price said, steely eyes narrowing.

Simon snorted. “At Ronnie’s? I fockin’ doubt it, unless you were investigatin’ how fresh the pastries were. Everyone knows that’s Laswell’s girl. Nobody’s stupid enough to cause trouble for ‘er.”

Price’s jaw was so tight that Simon was surprised his teeth didn’t start cracking under the pressure. He could almost hear the grind of enamel. “Fine. Just get the bloody gate open so I can leave.”

“Sure, no problem officer. Just a matter of the impound fees— Y’want me to bill the precinct directly, or are you gonna pay ‘em yourself?” He set the paperwork down on the desk top and fished the debit machine out of the top drawer suggestively. “Just need some I.D., if you don’t mind. Gotta keep things tidy on my end.”

Price snatched up the invoice. “One hundred and fifty dollars? Are you mad?”

“That’s the rate. Take it up with council if you’ve got a problem with it. You still gotta pay.”

Price was pretty near growling as he yanked out his wallet. Simon made a bit of a performance out of logging in the information on his I.D. on the slow computer, of punching in the total on the debit machine, and of checking everything to make sure it was in order. Price initialled the invoice where he was directed, pressing so hard it left a permanent indentation in the cheap veneer of the desk.

“Olright. You’re all set then,” Simon said at last, when he could drag his feet on the matter no more. He got out of his chair with a sigh, pleased to find that he stood a good three or four inches taller than Price, and walked out the side door without any further ceremony. Price was still standing in front of the desk, red-faced and angry. “Come on then.” Simon stopped just past the doorway, looking over his shoulder impatiently. “Haven’t got all day you know. Some of us have important work to do.”

He half expected Price’s head to explode.

Price stalked across the lot to his cruiser and threw himself into the driver’s seat while Simon went to open up the gate. The rev of the engine was the only warning Simon had to get out of the way before Price drove through it, cutting it a little too close for comfort. Simon raised his hand and wiggled his fingers in farewell, enjoying the glimpse of that furious blue glare in the mirrors before Price turned onto the road and sped off.

“Wha’ the hell was all that about?” Johnny asked, leaning out of the building, braced on the door handle, Roach a step behind him. “Ye pissin’ off the new police chief?”

“Yep.” Simon corralled the boys back into the office. “Fuckin’ hate cops.”

“Sure, but aren’t ye worried—”

“Not really. ‘F ‘e gets to be a problem I’ll talk to Laswell, get ‘er to put ‘er fuckin’ dog back on ‘is leash. Owes me a favour.” He snagged the singular tea out of the tray of paper cups and lifted it in thanks. “See you lads later. Goin’ home. When Kristen comes in to pick up ‘er shitbox waive the fees an’ tell ‘er not to park there again. Pretend you’re riskin’ your ass doin’ it, she’ll prob’ly give one of you muppets ‘er your number.”

Johnny and Roach looked at each other, and immediately launched into a game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who would get to be the knight in dirty blue coveralls. Simon let the garage door bang shut behind him, and trudged across the dimly lit space to the back door. The acrid smell of weed smoke hung in the air, thin tendrils of it still drifting across the bars of sun coming through the back windows. Fucking muppets, smoking up while chief of police was steaming mad on the other side of the door. And they thought that Simon was the one who needed to be careful.

#WIP Wednesday #It is wednesday my dudes #Cave Writing #Impound #PriceGhost #For anyone wondering: Laswell is the mayor #Ghost's a little talky in this which is like... on the line for me character wise but I see this version of him as slightly more normalized #due to becoming part of a community and leaving the fucking military lmao

[hanasnx]

uhh if this is open for more scott thirsts..? but you have big nerd like glasses and he’s always calling you four eyes and shit but he eventually gets what he wants and you’re on your knees sucking him off and as much as he wants to cum all down your throat he has a different idea, he pulls out and cums all over your face but mainly your glasses, that shit eating grin as he admires his handiwork..

MINORS DNI 18+

There's something about making fun of a girl with a lot to prove. SCOTT BARRINGER plays the game well. He sees a chick with fat glasses on the bridge of her nose, and a high-and-mighty attitude, and he knows she's due for a chance to show what she's made of. He did it all the time back at home. Nerd girls always put out, always eager when a guy like him shows some interest. It's a formula, make her feel bad about everything that society deems unattractive, and then she'll fall all over herself when he finally admits she isn't all bad.

You would loudly correct him in classes, demonstrate your superiority or ability to follow rules better than him. Hell, you were basically a TA, it was fucking annoying. Acting like being a little teacher's pet was better than sex. It's no big deal, he'll teach you later.

"Four-eyes." he addresses you on the courtyard, and you know who's talking to you. You turn, clutching your books to your chest and adjusting your glasses further up your nose by pinching the corner of them.

"Barringer." you reply curtly. "Are you going to ask me for the notes again? 'Cause you should've been there taking them yourself."

"Ooh," He sucks breath through his teeth with a brief frown. "That stings."

"Sarcasm. How refined." you note as he approaches you, lumbering over to you in all his layers that make his wide shoulders look broader.

"You don't look bad today." he muses, rounding you slowly as he scans your figure. "Almost distracts from that thing on your face." Lazily, he gestures to the glasses.

"Can you be any less original? It helps me see." You try to ignore the burning in your cheeks at being so scrutinized. Sure, you've had conversations with Scott, but he's never paid you even a backhanded compliment before. You don't like how it makes you feel.

"Yeah, well. I'm gonna swing by the janitor's shed later. Maybe you'll surprise me you're not such a prude and be there."

"Oh— oh, fuck—" Broken noises of pleasure utter from his lips in between chewing them with his rows of perfect teeth. You could hate how pretty he is, brows twisted in near anguish over sensitive tissue stimulated by a wet tongue and warm throat. The glasses you wear have slid down to the tip of your nose from the effort of bobbing your head. Frustratingly, Scott Barringer is hung, and your neck cramps from sucking it off. "You really are a freak, Four-eyes." He enunciates the word, and a wicked smile creeps onto his handsome features, watching you take every inch.

You glare up at him, and you retract intent to tell him off for calling you that right now, but his big hands at the back of your neck keep you from escaping, shoving you back down with a wet sputter. "The guys were right." he exhales. "Dorky girls like you are so easy." You brace on his thighs, and you're mad at yourself for being as slick as you are. An ache between your legs you wish the star football player would handle for you. As if you want to please him, make sure he can't forget you, you try harder, swirling your tongue around him. A low groan vibrates from his throat as he tips his head back, lazily bucking his hips into your face. "You want a mouth-full of cum or something?"

You make a noise, and he snickers. He rolls his neck so he can see you again, and a hand cups the underside of your chin, curling his body around you.

"Nah, I know what you want. Fuck, I'm gonna cum." With that, he pulls out, yanking you off so he can grab his base, giving himself a few furious pumps as his dick twitches in his hand. Thick spurts of finish spout from his tip, landing on your unsuspecting face. The panes of your glasses are coated in cum, unable to be seen through, and drops slide down your forehead from his clumsy aim.

You shove at him, which only exacerbates his cruel laughter. "You're such a jerk, Scott!" Your fingers pinch carefully at your glasses to extract them from your face without touching your hair. To inspect them, you turn them towards you, squinting at them as you assess what could safely remove cum from their delicate nooks and screws.

All the comfort you receive in return is, "Oh, c'mon, it's not that bad. Quit bitching." Which earns him a sharp hit on his chest.

#indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!! #anon #ch: scott #indy: drabbles #scott barringer smut #scott barringer drabble #scott barringer x reader #scott barringer x fem reader #scott barringer x you #scott barringer x y/n #scott barringer imagine #scott barringer fic #scott barringer fanfic #scott barringer fanfiction #reader insert

[starkskeep]

When the Dragon Howls (6)

When the Dragon Howls Chapter Six

Characters - Cregan Stark x OC (Maera Velaryon), Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen

Summary - Maera Velaryon feels consumed by the obsessive clutches of her uncles. A wolf from Winterfell could potentially be the one strong enough to confront the dragons.

Word Count - 2,956

Warnings - 18+ Minors DNI. Typical Targaryen relationships.

A/N - I'm testing out a different format for the post. Let me know if you like it or if you want the previous format. I feel like this makes the dialogue more organized.

Previous Part Next Part

The next few days were relatively uneventful. The tourney came and went without any deaths, just a few injuries. Maera was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she would not be able to describe those days if anyone were to ask her.  It was the final night of festivities for the anniversary of her grandsire’s reign. Maera knew she had to make an appearance and interact with everyone. It was her duty as a princess of the realm yet she was having trouble focusing on anything except her fight with Aemond and the comfort Cregan had provided her. Just thinking of how kind, how sweet, how understanding he was in the Godswood places a smile on her face that is hard to wipe away. 

Maera was finishing readying herself for the feast that night when her mother entered her chambers. Rhaenyra dismissed Maera’s maids, wanting to talk to her daughter in private. The young princess watched her mother’s reflection in her dressing table’s mirror as Rhaenyra approached. “You did not need to dismiss my maids. My hair is not yet done.” Maera said with a slight pout.

Rhaenyra smiled at her daughter. She took the brush that was resting on the dressing table and began to run it through her daughter's hair. Moments like this made Rhaenyra miss her mother even more. She knew that Aemma would have loved Maera as much as Viserys does. Her daughter deserved to have her grandmother, her true grandmother here. If Aemma hadn’t passed and Alicent hadn’t married Rhaenyra’s father, Rhaenyra wouldn’t have had to worry about her half-brothers chasing after Maera. She had heard about the altercation between her daughter and Aemond. Rhaenyra was furious. Daemon even more so. It took a lot of yelling, pleading, and bribery in order to keep Daemon in their chambers when the news reached them. All he wanted to do was take Aemond’s other eye and the boy’s hands. Deep down, Rhaenyra had wanted her husband to go after the boy. It was getting harder and harder to protect Maera. She had wanted to let her daughter choose her own husband, something that Rhaenyra had not been graced with for her first marriage, but Rhaenyra now feared that Aemond would do something drastic in order to make Maera his wife. It also wasn’t impossible that her father could be convinced to marry Aemond to Maera in order to settle the rift between her and Alicent. Rhaenyra wouldn’t let that be her daughter’s fate. She caught Maera’s eye in the mirror. “I wanted to speak with you. I heard about what happened in the Godswood. Why did you not come to me as soon as it happened?”

Maera looked down as she played with her fingers. A bit ashamed, she couldn’t look at her mother as she formulated a response to Rhaenyra’s question. “I did not feel the situation warranted your involvement. Aemond has not bothered me since then. I believe it was just empty threats. You have enough to worry about while we are in the Red Keep. Handling this myself meant that you could relax.”

Rhaenyra’s face softened. Her daughter truly had her mother’s heart. “My sweet girl,” Rhaenyra murmured as she kissed the top of Maera’s head. “I always want to know everything that happens to you: good or bad. I am your mother and as your mother, it is my duty to worry about you. I will take care of everything that you need. I will always help you, even when you do not wish for my help. Your entire family is here for you. In fact, Daemon had to be held back so that he wouldn’t kill Aemond. As much as I detest the boy, I do not want Daemon to become a kinslayer.”

A smile slowly spreads across Maera’s face. Knowing that her mother is not angry at her for not immediately revealing what happened in the Godswood is comforting. The fact that Daemon was so willing to come to her defense warms her heart as well. She decides to reveal more to Rhaenyra. “I believed that I didn’t need your help because someone already had.”

Her mother stops braiding Maera’s hair due to her surprise. She had not been told of anyone coming to her daughter’s aid. Rhaenyra needs to know who it was. They deserve a reward. Not many people would stand against the son of the king, even if it was for a princess. “Oh? Who was this savior?” Rhaenyra had a good idea of who would be brave enough to do so.

“Lord Cregan Stark was entering the Godswood in order to pray to the gods when he came across Aemond and I arguing. He stepped in and Aemond left. Then he offered to walk me to my chambers. I didn’t want to be alone in case Aemond came to see me. Instead, Lord Cregan kept me company. He told me many stories about the North. Many of which I had never read before in books.”

Maera may not have noticed that she was smiling as she spoke but Rhaenyra certainly did. Maybe this was the answer to the problem of Aemond. If Rhaenyra could secure a betrothal between Maera and Cregan, her daughter would be safe from Rhaenyra’s younger brother. She just had to be careful of how she addressed this. Being too blunt may startle Maera or lead her to believe that her mother was teasing her. “It sounds like you were lucky that Lord Stark showed up. Not many noblemen would interrupt an argument between two members of the royal family for fear of losing their heads. He must have become a friend of yours during his time spent in the Red Keep if he stepped in. Your brothers speak highly of his demeanor and skill when they are in the training yard together. It seems that Lord Stark is quite different from the stories that I have heard.”

“I think he is much more friendly than the rumors make him out to be. He was so attentive in the Godswood. Never has a nobleman been more concerned with my well-being than he was. I very much want my future husband to be like him.”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes ducking her head so that Maera cannot see her do so. Her daughter seems to be quite oblivious to the fact that Cregan Stark is interested. Rhaenyra decides that she needs to plant the seed of thought in Maera’s mind. “Lord Stark is unmarried. He would be a good choice for a husband. A strong man from a noble house in the largest region of the Seven Kingdoms. Quite handsome as well. I approve of the match. Have you thought of him as a potential partner? Spend time with him at the feast. Share a couple dances. Your heart will know if you can grow to love him as a husband” She places the finishing touches on the braids in her daughter's hair and takes Maera's hand. "Come. It is time to make our way to the Great Hall. Daemon and the boys will join us there."

Maera was looking out across the hall from her seat at the high table. Everything around her was luxuriously decorated. The mood was jovial. The entirety of the Seven Kingdom’s nobility was gathered to celebrate. She had shared a few dances with her brothers and Daemon. Even her grandsire had gathered enough energy to share a dance with her. She had enjoyed it as he twirled her around and shared stories of her mother’s childhood.

At the moment, Maera was resting after Luke had trampled her feet on the last dance. She watched as he danced with Rhaena and sent a silent prayer to the gods that her feet fared much better. Maera made a mental note to discuss dancing lessons for the boy once her family returned to Dragonstone. She pulled away from watching her brother as Baela put her hand on Maera’s arm in order to draw her attention. Baela nods her head in the direction of where most of the Northmen sat. “Lord Stark has been watching you all night.”

When Maera looked in the direction that Baela had nodded to, sure enough, Cregan Stark had his eyes on her. Maera smiled and raised her glass to Cregan from across the hall. If he had caught her and Baela whispering about him, she would try to cover it up in greeting. The man cocked his head and raised his glass in response, a smirk gracing his lips. The words of her mother from earlier this evening played over and over in Maera’s head. She had thought Lord Cregan to be unattainable for whatever reason; never actually evaluating him as a potential match and instead comparing her suitors to him. Cregan stood from his seat after he finished his silent toast to Maera and made his way over to the high table. She turned to Baela with wide eyes. “Is he really coming this way?”

Baela snorted in amusement. “I don’t believe you to be blind Maera. Of course, he is coming this way. Lord Stark is the only man who has made his way up to you this evening. Not with the stares father and Aemond have been sending those who so much as look in your direction. It seems that the wolf is immune.”

Before Maera can respond, she looks up to see that Cregan has made his way up to them. She greets him. “Lord Cregan. Are you enjoying the feast?”

“Very much so, my lady. It could only be better if I had someone to dance with.”

“I’m sure that many ladies would happily dance with you if you were to ask them.”

Cregan smiles. “Yet you are the only one I want. Will you do me the honor of sharing a dance with me?”

Maera agrees with Baela. Cregan Stark is much too similar to a wolf. The way he was able to stalk his prey and corner her was lupine in nature. Regardless of his uncanny similarities to the sigil of his house, Maera agrees to share a dance with him. She makes her way around the high table and takes Cregan’s offered hand. He leads her into the center of the hall and they disappear into the throng of dancers. 

They spend their first dance in compatible silence. By the second dance, Cregan speaks up. “My lady, you are radiant tonight. I find it hard not to fall to my knees at the mere sight of you.”

Maera’s heart flutters at the compliment. The way Cregan compliments her as he stares into her eyes, rather than let himself rake them up and down her body as other lords are prone to do make Maera feel the sincerity of his words.  It gives her the confidence to truly pursue him. She has seen how other noblewomen tease the men that chase after them, so she decides to try to emulate their actions. “That would be quite improper. Though I would have no objections, I believe that the rest of my grandsire’s guests may be quite appalled. You would give credence to their rumors of northern savagery.”

Cregan lets out a loud burst of laughter, drawing the attention of the surrounding couples. He brushes away their looks of disturbance. The young lord smiles down at Maera and teasingly squeezes her hip. “It seems that you do know how to have fun. I was worried that you were wrapped up in courtly etiquette. Your brothers had shared stories about you not always being the most proper noblewoman with me but I had yet to see for myself, my lady. I like it.”

“You asked my brothers about me? I shudder to think of the stories they shared.”

“You had captured my attention. I wanted to know more about you.”

“You could have just asked me.”

“Ah, but when has there been a good moment for me to get you alone. I wouldn’t want our conversation to have been interrupted. I have noticed during my short time here that both of your uncles have the uncanny ability to separate you from any man that you are around.”

This time Maera is the one smirking. “You believe that you are any different?”

“My lady, I know that I am different. I will not be deterred from taking what I want.”

“Maera. If I am what you want then you should at least be calling me by my name.”

“Very well, Maera. If I am allowed to call you by your name then you should call me by mine.” Cregan pulled Maera closer to him.

“Cregan!” Shrieked Maera in surprise.

“That's it. Much better than being called ‘my lord’”.

Distracted by their conversation, Maera had not noticed that their dance had ended nor had she noticed that Cregan had maneuvered them to the doors that led out to the moonlit garden, unnoticed by everyone else in the hall. He pulled her hand to where he could place a kiss on it. “Maera, would you join me for a stroll through the garden?” With her nod of agreement, Cregan pulled her out into the garden.

Halfway through their walk, Maera found herself pressed against an ivy-covered fence. The rough surface was digging into her back yet Maera could pay it no mind. All she could focus on right now was the feel of Cregan’s body pressed against hers. Her lips were captured by his. She could taste the wine from earlier this evening. It wasn’t her first kiss but it was certainly her most memorable. Maera whined in disappointment as Cregan pulled away, however, her breath was stolen from her as Cregan moved his lips to kiss her neck. He bit her pulse point causing Maera to press further into his body. She gripped his shoulders to steady herself. “Cregan…”

“Yes, Maera? Tell me what you want. You are a princess. It is my duty to serve you. I will do whatever you ask of me.”

Maera was delirious. She had never been in a situation like this before. “I…I don’t know. Just don’t hurt me.”

“Maera. I would never hurt you. Trust me. You will very much like what I plan on doing to you."

With her approval, Cregan wrapped one of her legs around his waist. One of his hands slipped under her skirts and wandered up her thigh. His mouth moved from her neck and down until he reached her chest. With one more glance up to his princess to make sure she was comfortable with his actions, Cregan unlaced the bodice of her dress. He took one of her breasts into his mouth, his second hand going up to the other so as to not neglect it. Maera gasped. She arched against him and clutched his hair. “Cregan! By the gods!”

Cregan released her breast and smirked up at Maera. “The gods have nothing to do with this, princess. Only you and I.” He returned back to her chest, wanting to continue making Maera feel good enough to tug on his hair again. His hand that was under Maera’s skirts moved higher up until he reached her centre. With adept and practiced hands, he slowly circled between her thighs, right where he knew would bring her the most pleasure. 

Maera’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar sensation. “More. I want more.” Cregan gave no indication that he had heard her until she felt one of his fingers enter her. His thumb continued to circle her clit to make the intrusion more bearable. Not that it was needed, she was quite wet for him already. When he felt Maera relax, Cregan added a second finger and cocked them in a come hither motion. This elicited the loudest moan from Maera thus far. “Please, Cregan. Don’t stop.” He complied had moved his fingers faster until Maera was pulled over the edge. She came screaming his name. Cregan captured her mouth in a long and passionate kiss so as to swallow her moans.

Maera felt Cregan remove his fingers from her. This was the best thing she has ever felt. Nights alone in her bed were nothing compared to this. Her legs were shaking from the pleasure Cregan had bestowed upon her. She clutched his shoulders for support, unsure that she could even stand on her own. Cregan certainly wasn’t going to complain. Nothing was better than the feeling of her pressed against him. It also boosted his ego to know that he was able to make her feel so overcome by the pleasure that she was unable to even stand on her own. 

After steadying her, Cregan kissed Maera once more as he laced back up her bodice. “I believe we have been away from the feast long enough. They may send people out looking for us if we return soon.”

Maera tried to protest. She saw the bulge in Cregan’s trousers. She wanted to make him feel as good as he made her feel just now. “But you have not gotten your release yet Cregan. I do not want to be selfish.”

Cregan smiled. He was so happy that he had a princess begging to satisfy him, especially one as beautiful as Maera. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he was a smart enough man to know how to quit when ahead. He wasn’t going to risk the punishment for him or Maera if they were caught. “I know how to take care of myself. You go first. That way it will be less obvious that we were out here together. I will follow you a little later.”

Maera pushed forward and placed a brief kiss on Cregan’s cheek. “Thank you.” She whispered before heading back into the hall. Little did the two of them know that a certain one-eyed prince had seen the whole thing.

A/N - Happy Valentine's Day! Here is some Maera/Cregan smut as a gift. It was my first time writing smut so I'm sorry if it is utterly horrible.

#cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd oc #hotd fanfic #hotd #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #cregan stark smut

[cookie-crumblr]

Hype Train!

F! Streamer Reader x M!Yandere Streamer OC

Part 3~

His Info: 📹✨

Part: 1 2 3 4

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: Use of the name jasper🫡✨ (u no who u are soldier💀) !F reader, use of she/her when referring to reader, reader has a vagina, trauma related hallucinations, GORE, violence, murder, torture, kidnapping, blood, sadism, M! masturbation, pet names(good girl), not TOO smutty yet sorry i hope it’ll be worth it 🙈✨

You aren’t sure when you fell asleep… It’s nighttime, “Fuck!” You reach for your phone.

It reads 9:24pm.

You have to work in the morning, but you’ve slept all day, how are you going to get proper sleep now?

You look over at your microwave, the time is blinking 12:00.

“Hm… Power must’ve went out,” You speak out to yourself.

Hearing your own voice is always better than hearing none.

A loud *BANG!* on your door startles you, you lurch forward.

Is it them? “Oh god, no, No NO! I can’t go back!! I PAID YOU!! Please!!”

the banging continues, as you claw at your own head.

and then,

It stops.

Just as abruptly as it started.

You get up to take one of your emergency meds.

They’re so expensive…

You don’t take them as much as you should.

You sigh, and gulp it down.

You turn your computer on, and get ready to stream.

“AHH HAHA HAH,” Pleasured laughing all day long has rendered his vocal cords sore and hoarse.

Jasper gazes fondly over his work so far.

The man you’ve been meeting every month, sitting bound to a chair.

His screams have reduced into nothing but strained guttural noises.

He can’t handle much more.

Jasper did too much, too quickly.

He’s usually more methodical, but the way you make his heart burn, has him losing every strand of sanity in his body.

Squares of this brutes flesh have been removed, the facia torn to shreds.

His teeth have been ripped out.

Fingers snipped off joint by joint.

That wasn’t good enough, Jasper had seen the way he groped you.

The hands up to his wrists sawn off next.

He wrapped him up to stop the bleeding.

He shot him up with adrenaline.

But this—This pathetic thing, isn’t lasting nearly long enough.

Even for how long it’s been going on.

Jasper wanted to savor his pain longer.

So much longer.

He launches the knife like a dart, aimed straight at his head with a furious grunt. It flies through the air and enters dead on the bullseye.

“FUCK YOU! FUCK. YOU. FUCK YOU!FUCK YOU!FUCK YOU!” He pants.

The black handle sticks out of the man’s eye socket.

He lolls his drenched head back and forth, coughing up what’s left of his own blood.

How he isn’t dead is a wonder.

“Awww, doesn’t it suck SO much not being DEAD yet?”

He walks over to him, resting an arm on the wall behind the restrained man. He leans his face down to just above his level.

“Wish I could’ve taught ya a real lesson, you disgusting thing. Sadly I think your time is jus’ about-”

*PING* his blown out pupils slowly follow the air to his pocket where he slides out a phone.

You’re live-streaming!

His hand grasps the handle.

He gurgles out one last labored plea.

“I have to go now~” He shoves the blade back in one swift motion all the way through the man’s socket, and the tip breaks through the back of his skull hitting the grey cement wall behind him.

“and so~” He flips the blade, before another vicious jab into the same socket making the hole an “X”.

“do.” *Crack*! one more

“YOU.” Blood spurts onto him one last time, he doesn’t flinch.

Jasper’s face is now completely coated sticky, drying crimson.

“Mmm” he sighs contently. “I guess I’m done here.” A final pleasured chuckle leaves his chest.

He wipes his face with the back of his hand before whipping it toward the ground, flinging more spatters of blood around him.

He pulls up your stream up on one of the laptops, and puts a phone to his ear. The man’s blood is leaving little pools on everything Jasper touches.

He can’t care less.

He’s too engrossed, too mesmerized by your precious voice.

He quickly informs the cleaning crew on the phone of his location, and that he has spilled cake all over the floor… And walls…And ceiling… Everything really.

“Yes sir! we will send the heavy duty crew asap”

Without knowing it, you soothe him, his eyes flutter shut.

A hand slowly trails to groin as he deeply listens.

He types with the other; “Hey! how are you, Y/username?”

“Hai Jasper!!! I’m so happy to see you again!!”

“mmf” he grunts as his thumb presses down on his clothed lap. “Yess” he whines, “Say my name again”

“I’m good by the way! thanks for askin! How are you!”

He finds the button and unzips his pants with his eyes still closed picturing your actual face and replaying you saying his name again, and again, and again in his head.

He can’t even hear anything you’re saying, to anyone else.

“Good! Wanna hang later?” he types deftly, hoping you’ll call out his name again.

“Omg! Yes please, Jasper!” It’s so innocent, yet he’s still fading fast into a lusty haze.

“Haah! yeeeessss,” His palm wraps his length and squeezes. His thumb teases the tip, pressing down and then massages his glands. “Beg me! Yell my name!”

The blood is acting as lube as he continues to work himself, while one hand desperately clings to the table.

He’s losing his mind just imagining the possibilities; how wet he can get you, how well you’ll take his girth. You’ll be such a good girl, won’t you?

His imagination runs wild: “Harder, Jas-Jasper! M-more!” He can picture you begging, “P-please, please! Fill me, Jasper! Fill me!”. He wants you begging.

“YN!” A low grunt leaves his mouth as he climaxes, mixing white with the red splatters across the keys.

He’s not satisfied though.

You’re not in his lap.

The pain doesn’t subside, and the swell refuses to go down.

He covers his face with his hand.

“I can’t wait to have you…”

#my oc #oc x reader #oc x you #yandere #yandere x reader #my fic #yandere x you #dead dove do not eat #tw yandere #yandere oc #yandere streamer x you #yandere streamer x reader #yandere streamer #yandere smut #oc jasper

[sblvrgg]

i'm so mad at gege after the last episode cause it made me start thinking about female characters in jjk so here i am.

(jjk anime and manga spoilers ahead)

nobara is such a great character, she looks like the usual "girl of the trio" for like the first two seconds you know her but she's so much more and SO BADLY USED IN THE PLOT EXACTLY LIKE SHOKO

everything about yuji/megumi/nobara is a sort of parallelism with satoru/suguru/shoko but it doesn't work out completely cause we know almost nothing about shoko and the little we do know it's mostly written in the extra volume about jjk characters and techniques, it's not like gege actually tells us more about her in the plot and he could have done that in the hidden inventory arc even if it was meant to be focused on satoru and suguru AND THIS MAKES ME FURIOUS

like okay you just want a female character with healing powers? great (not great, but let's not focus on this rn) BUT AT LEAST MAKE HER ACTUALLY HEAL SOMEONE???? I LOVE HER BUT SHE'S SO USELESS, EVERYONE DIES IN SHIBUYA AND SHE'S JUST THERE DOING NOTHING WITH YAGA BECAUSE SHE CAN HEAL BUT SHE CAN'T FIGHT??? HELLO???

in the hidden inventory arc she's not even involved in missions, we have more scenes of her in the opening/ending that in the actual episodes. i don't need to know her whole story but if you put her there as the only character (beside satoru and yuta) who can use reversed technique then MAKE HER ACTUALLY USE IT WHEN NEEDED

and no, i'm not talking about this just because i want our beloved satosugu back. as a suguru kinnie i'm 100% convinced that his death was the only right option for his character from the moment he left jujustu tech. i have some mixed feelings about gojo's death but just because i think gege could've handled it better, not because i absolutely need him back like some delulu maniacs in the fandom (no offense, i'm suffering with you all but some people are crazy). but in shibuya she could've been more useful, at least in helping the students.

nobara at least has a strong personality and a cool technique, she's not just another sakura or orihime (i hate orihime but sakura is great too ofc, i just mean that nobara unlike them isn't the girl put there just to heal her male companions and have a crush on one of them) or shoko herself (and thinking about it shoko is even more useless cause sakura and orihime at least help and heal their crush).

we know a lot about her past, i was crying like a baby watching her say goodbye to fumi and then... she dies, just like that. her goal isn't even that difficult to achieve, it's not some big dream like suguru's, it's something extremely personal and she's not gonna reach it cause gege killed her. i love nobara too but honestly she doesn't have that great development merely because she dies before she can actually become stronger. everytime she fights she gets severly wounded or is there to support others or she's the one who needs support. i feel like she doesn't have her big moment before dying (like maki does for example, i know she's not dead yet but i wouldn't be so mad if it happened cause she has a great development since jjk 0. i would cry like a baby again though, pls gege don't kill her i'm begging you).

and no, i don't think nobara's death is necessary for yuji or the plot in general either. yuji has already seen nanami die in front of him, sukuna has killed who knows how many people and he could do nothing about it, he was still mad at mahito for junpei so why kill nobara too?

gege doesn't even show her in the afterlife when gojo dies (and a delulu part of me hopes that's because she's still alive), like i know that in that airport there are people from his past and the focus is on them, his blue spring and whatever but damn she's one of his students too, he talks about megumi and the fact that he still had things to explain to him but he doesn't even mention her? (he doesn't mention yuji either okay i know, i would've liked that too but at least they have a cute moment before the fight against sukuna).

instead of focusing on those that should be the main female characters we have mei mei though. don't get me wrong, she's our mommy, i'm barking (respectfully) every time i see her on screen or in the manga but is all that screentime really necessary? do i really need to see her in bed with ui ui or walking like a runway model for minutes? mmmh i don't think so.

i don't know, maybe i'm the one missing something in this story, maybe i'm not getting it completely but still, as much as i love jjk i'm mad. i could go on for days about this and what's happened in the manga these last few months, but i'm gonna stop for today.

at this point i'm convinced that gege introduced too many characters and he can't handle them properly, unlike other mangakas like horikoshi who literally shows you the backstory of every single kid you see, even the one drawn in the corner of a panel in that one chapter that everyone forgot about (horikoshi has problems handling fem characters too, but this is a whole other problem and it's something that involves a lot of different animes/mangas).

that's it, going back at crying now, thinking about how my life could be way better if i put this same effort in my studies.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk2 #nobara kugisaki #jujutsu kaisen nobara #shoko ieiri #jujutsu kaisen shoko #maki zenin #mei mei #female characters #gege akutami #gege you have to pay for our therapy

[bean-bean2000]

The Hacker - Part 15 - Ending

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Status: Completed

Warnings: fluff!, adorable bucky, happy ending

Please let me know if i missed any warnings and I will add them.

Series masterlist

———————————————————————————-----------------

After the fake mission, you and Bucky have been inseparable and the dynamic in the team has been phenomenal. Once you returned, Tony was furious that he was left out of this entire master plan, but he was happy you and Bucky finally woke up and realized what was in front of him. However, he took this as his opportunity to annoy the living hell out of Bucky any time he would show his soft side in front of the others. This usually ended with Bucky throwing something at Tony while he runs away giggling like a teenager.

One day Steve announces that a new recruit of SHIELD members will be training at the compound. Each avenger was assigned one to train. As Steve is pairing everyone he suddenly calls your name and you turn around quizzically

"Me? What am I going to train them to do? I'm cyber nerd I don't fight."

Steve chuckles "He isn't a fighter either. You're training a new recruit for a new cyber team that Fury is creating to reinforce the cybersecurity of SHIELD. So, your job is to improve his skills and teach his your techniques."

"Oh... I um, sure? Why does SHIELD need a team? I can do it myself for the compound and SHIELD...."

"It's a lot of work, and SHIELD is very vast and complicated, no matter how talented you are, you won't be able to handle it yourself. Plus, we want you here because we trust you the most to protect this compound and the most confidential information that we hold regarding HYDRA."

"Fine... but if he annoys me, I will hack into everything he owns and use it as blackmail forever. I like my peace and he will not disturb it." you tell Steve firmly.

He scoffs and quirks a smile while Bucky chuckles and says under his breath "that's my girl", which makes you blush and walk back to your office.

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

The next day the new recruits arrive. Steve introduces you to each other.

"Hi I'm Jake. Nice to meet you! I've so much about you, I'm very excited and grateful for this opportunity to work with you and learn from you!" he says very cheerily, smiling ear to ear and shaking your hand enthousiastically.

You smile awkwardly "yeah... haha.... um let me show you to the general IT office and you can show me what you know." you say while yanking your hand out of his grasp.

Bucky watches you from the corner, his new recruit is yapping away and he couldn't care less because Jake hasn't let go of your hand yet.

What's up with this guy? I don't like him.

Bucky is scowling and staring right at Jake. You turn around, feeling Bucky's gaze on you when you see him staring Jake down menacingly.

He locks eyes with you and you give him a look as to say "back off! hes just a new recruit that's an IT nerd... chill!"

Bucky scoffs and turns away, walking with his recruit to the training gym.

Sam nudges him as they walk side by side "what's with that Jake guy? You were staring him down badly..." Sam whispers to him.

Bucky says nothing but grunts in response.

Sam's eyes light up "OH MY GOD! ARE YOU JEALOUS?!" he whisper yells as Bucky elbows him in the ribs.

"No! I just don't like how he looks at her. He wouldn't let go of her hand before, she had to yank it out."

Sam shrugs "I don't know man, he's probably just some awkward computer nerd. You're literally a super soldier, don't sweat it." he says while chuckling.

Bucky grunts again as they enter the gym and go their separate ways.

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

You're in the IT room, evaluating what Jake knows and how experienced his skill set is with computers. Sitting side by side, you're shwoing him a software you created to simulate a hack.

"Alright so, hack into this software without tripping off any triggers and do it under 5 minutes."

Jake smirks at you "Oh I can do better than that sweetheart. I'm a very talented man."

You brows furrow in confusion and you cringe at his creepy tone.

What the fuck did he just call me? Why is he acting like a dirtbag all of a sudden...?

You decide to ignore it and focus on evaluating his skills. He starts the simulation and 2 minutes in you feel his knee touch yours. You change position in your seat and move away when suddenly you feel his foot laying on yours.

You fidget in your seat, getting uncomfortable.

"So um, where are you at?" you ask to get your mind off of the creepy feeling you're getting.

He chuckles "Am I making you nervous, honey?"

You stare at him in disgust "what? dude, just do the simulation. This is strictly professional, and I highly suggest you back off right now."

You're getting increasingly more frustrated and creeped out while he laughs at your statement.

He turns towards you and leans in closer. You try leaning away but feel your back hit the wall behind you. He corned you.

He starts closing the gap between you two, caaging you in between his arms.

"Am I making you nervous now too? I love seeing your eyes go wide, lips parting, heart racing... and I;m not even touching you... yet.." he says as he leans in to kiss you.

You scream and push him back as hard as you can, dodging his kiss. He grunts in annoyance and pins your arms against you.

"You wanna do this the hard way? Fine. We will." he threatens you as you see his eyes darken.

You're pushing against him but he's stronger than you are.

"Stop. I said no. Back off right now." you yell at him.

He laughs at you again "Or what? Hmmm?" he mocks you.

Suddenly, you remember what Bucky had trained you to do if you were ever caught in a similar situation by an enemy.

You smirk and your stare him directly in the eyes, no longer scared but empowered.

"Or this asshole!" you yell as you quickly lift your knees to your chest and kick him backwards with all your strength.

Jake flies backwards in his office chair and you sprint out of the room. You hear Jake cursing at you, chasing you down the hall.

You make a sprint for the gym when you spot Bucky and yell his name in panic.

He immediately turns around and run towards you.

"What? What's wrong?" he asks you worried.

Before you can answer, Jake appears in the hall. Bucky immediately makes the connection and his jaw clicks. He grinds his teeth in anger and ball his hands into fists.

"Hey man, listen, she came onto me, I swear. She's just a stupid whor-"

Jake is cut short when Bucky punches him in the face. He goes flying backwards onto the floor. He holds his jaw in pain. Before he can even try to defend himself, Steve picks him up and throws him to the security guards.

"Deal with him. Black list him. I want him gone." Steve orders them firmly.

They nod as they drag him away. Jake is screaming in protest but is silenced by the elevator doors closing.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asks you, looking you over for any injuries.

Yeah, I'm fine. He tried to kiss me and he pinned me against the wall but I remembered what you taught me and I kicked him back and ran away." you explain to him.

His eyes gleam with pride "That's my girl! I'm so proud of you! But i'm so sorry I wasn't there to protect you... I knew something was wrong with him I should've trust my gut -" Bucky starts rambling.

You cut him off with a kiss "Shhh, slow down. it's okay. You taught me well. I can take care of myself but I will always need you by my side." you tell him as he pulls you into a bear hug.

The rest of the day, Bucky keeps you close to him. You lean your head on his shoulder in reassurance and thanks.

"No more recruits." Bucky says to Steve as he walks past him.

"Oh come on Buck! You know I had no clue!" Steve starts defending himself.

The two super soldiers start arguing as you laugh and walk towards Natasha.

You both shake your heads and say in unison"Men." as you roll your eyes.

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

A few days later and Tony's birthday is coming up. He set up an entire party, with hundreds of people, 3 bands, a DJ, multiple types of entertainment such as dancers and gymnasts.

You've never attended a birthday party, let alone even celebrated your own. You had no idea what to wear or how to dress for an event this grand. The party is tonight and you're going through your closet, pulling everything out and realizing you have no clothes fit for this event. All you have are sweatpants, leggings, oversized shirts and pyjamas. You never go out nor had a reason to go out.

You groan loudly in frustration.

You hear a knock at your door and find Natasha smiling.

"You doing okay there cyber?" she asks.

"I can't do this. I have nothing to wear for the party. I don't exactly go out. I don't think its appropriate nor will Pepper will be happy if I show up in leggings and an oversized t-shirt...."

"Follow me, you can borrow one of my outfits." She turns around and beckons you to follow.

You enter her room and she's laying out some outfits for you on her bed.

"These are all really tight... and too small i think... I don't have a body like yours Nat... I'm really flattered and thankful but I don't know if i'm comfortable wearing a tight bodycon dress...." you tell her, your voice quiet and faltering. You're embarrassed.

"Girl you are DELUSIONAL if you think you don't have a nice body. As if we all don't see the way Bucky ogles at you half the time" she teases.

"Stop filling my head with nonesense.. I honestly don't know how he could like me with a scar like this across my face...." you whisper.

"I'm not messing with you! Stop selling yourself short! You're gorgeous, you're crazy smart, you're so witty, you're so kind and caring, you need to love that body and mind of yours more! The scar on your face is nothing to hide. It shows your strength, your resilience and your loyalty. You should wear that scar with pride, not shame. If anybody understands that, it would be Bucky."

You blush at her compliments. Natasha grabs a dress from her closet, turns you toward the mirror and places it over your clothes.

"What do you think? I think you'll look so hot, it's your signature colours, with a punk spike to it."

You gasp “Where did you get this? This isn’t like any of your other outfits….”

Natasha giggles “I may or may not have guessed that you would need a dress tonight and I maybe used Tony’s card to buy you a dress… maybe…” She pushes you towards the bathroom.

You giggle excitedly and agree to try it on. As you come out of the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror you gasp.

It's a black A-line dress with a neckline that emphasizes your chest perfectly followed by long black lace sleeves. A corset cinches your waist and hugs your curves in all the right places, with purple accents across it. The dress ends above the knee with purple lace adorning the ends.

You feel the most beautiful you have every felt. You haven't felt this pretty in a long time.

Natasha stares at you, beaming with pride. She knows you look hot and you know it. You can't deny it.

She squeals with excitement and tells you there's a few missing accessories. She hands you black tights and a pair of gorgeous black platform heels. They're comfortable enough for you to walk in properly and pretty enough to be appropriate for the event.

The sleeves and tights cover any potential scars that would normally be visible. Your heart swells with appreciation as you know that Natasha did that on purpose. Somehow she can always sense how someone feels and what to do to make them comfortable.

Before you can change your mind or doubt yourself she drags you to her vanity and starts applying on some makeup. She guides you through what she's doing so you're comfortable and only uses the products that you agree to. She puts on some lightweight foundation, a bit of blush and concealer as your base. She does a light smokey eye with some mascara and eyeliner to accentuate the colour and shape of your eyes. You stare at the harsh scar across your face, a permanent memory of what you've survived and surpassed. Natasha purposely chose makeup that didn't hide your scar, nor accentuate it. She made it so that you know it's there and wants you to see it and be proud of it. She's right, you won't be hiding it, not today.

Natasha takes your hair down from its bun, brushes it through and curls it with her iron. She places your hair in a style that accentuates your features and the outfit.

You look back at yourself in disbelief. You turn to Natasha and thank her for her help. She then gets ready herself and you're both on your way to the party, arms linked.

You enter the party and immediately lock eyes with Bucky. Natasha notices and walks away from you with a wink.

He approaches you, eyeing you up and down shamelessly.

"Wow, you look absolutely stunning, doll. You are by far the most beautiful woman here." He smirks at you, eyes glistening with affection.

You blush and look down at the floor. Your heart is racing and you don't know what to say. You've never given yourself the opportunity to open up to someone as much as you have with Bucky.

Bucky grabs your chin lightly and tilts your face to look up at him.

"Let's go outside for some privacy." He takes your hand and leads you to the private backyard.

As you walk outside, you see a gorgeous gondola that was installed, shielding you from the natural elements.

Bucky sighs as you both sit down next to each other, your thighs brushing.

He turns to you, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Cyber...doll, I - I've wanted to talk to you about what happened with Pierce and The Reaper for a while now. I feel like I have to get this off my chest. I know that it was extremely traumatic for you, and you've opened up about it so much to me. It means the world to me that you trust me that much. I thought I lost you. I couldn't sleep for the entire week, even worse while you were recovering in the med bay. It made me realize my true feelings for you. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

He sighs and grabs your hands, staring into your eyes.

"I'm falling in love with you. I have been for a while now. I'm happier when I'm with you, I feel like I can be myself, unconditionally around you and you make me feel complete."

You gasp as your eyes also start to well with tears.

"Losing you that week really made me realize how I can't live without you. I need you. So, my final question is: "Will you do me the honour of being my girlfriend?" he finishes his speech with a blush across his cheeks.

He looks up at you, waiting for any answer, verbal or not.

"Took you long enough! Yes, Bucky, I would love to." you laugh.

He chuckles as he grabs your cheek in his hand, softly brushing the tears away.

"Can I kiss you, now?"

"Do you really have to ask?" you answer sarcastically as you grab his face and kiss him.

A hand wraps around your waist and another holds your cheek as your hands tangle in his hair.

The kiss is deep and passionate with all unspoken words and emotions being poured out in physical affection.

You both pull away and smile at each other.

I finally get to have my happy ending, after all.

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

And that's a wrap! Please let me know what you think! <3 I hope you all enjoyed this crazy ride!

Tag list:

@unaxv

@winterslove1917

@kandis-mom

@cjand10

@ordelixx

@abbyyourlocalmilf

@scott-loki-barnes

@rosecentury

@blackhawkfanatic

@hennessy0274

@leniram1890

@yourfavpagelurker

@collegesleezy

@matchat3a

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #captain america #fanfic #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #steve x reader #tony stark #tony x reader #marvel #fluff #angst #action

[necroromantics]

🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 13. // (masterlist)

Toby sat in the livingroom, leaning back into the couch as he watched whatever movie was playing on TV. In the distance, he could hear the old house phone begin to ring. He groaned in annoyance as he sluggishly pulled himself up from his comfortable spot and picked up the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Toby. How’re you?” The familiar voice of his older sister flowed through the call.

“I’m alright, what’s up?”

“Uh, listen, don’t worry yourself but…” Lyra’s voice trailed off for a moment, “Frank came by the other day, wasted. He got into a fight with mom and… We have it handled, so don’t freak out or anything. I just thought you should know, ‘cause we’re going to be getting a restraining order against him.”

Toby stood in silence, trying to process the load of information that had been dropped on him. In all honesty, he had found himself blissfully unaware that his father had still been alive in this world. He had hoped to keep it that way.

“Wait- Wait. So what happened?” He asked.

“Nothing major! He just came by last night all drank and pissy, and started fighting with mom a bit. He hit her so-”

“He hit her?”

“She’s fine, Toby. I only told you because I wanted you to know about the restraining order.”

“Is she pressing charges?” Toby asked, and there was another moment of dreadful silence.

“You know she wouldn’t do that. It was hard enough to get her to even consider no contact.” Lyra nervously laughed, trying to ease the tension. She could feel the anger pouring from Toby’s end of the call.

“Yeah, thanks for letting me know. If you ever need me to come back, Lyra…”

“God no, don’t waste your money on a train ticket over Frank being a douche. You’d be poor by the end of the month,” She laughed again. Toby smiled melancholically at the joke, his sister had been the only one with her head screwed on straight once again.

The call ended quickly, and Toby stood still. He held the phone tightly in his hand, his lip twitched. There was a sense of something bubbling up inside of him, a furious sort of energy burning through his body. He found himself again confined in the walls of his childhood home, but he was eleven years old, and he could smell alcohol pour from his fathers breath. Toby was only a child when he looked up and saw blood on his fathers hands, some days it was his, some days it was his mothers. Now, it was the boys turn to wear blood like a glove, to wield that righteous anger. To become it.

Soon after the call, Toby’s dreams began to drift away from killing random people, and would bring him back to murdering his father over and over, again and again. One night, he fell into a dream where he was once again a 12 year old boy, and he would wrestle with his father, only to end up stabbing him to death. He drove the knife into the man's body too many times to count, and when Frank pleaded, cried for mercy, the voice to come out of his mouth was Toby’s. The boy shot up in bed, jolted awake. His breath trembled for a moment as he swallowed, trying to collect himself. He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know if he wanted to know what it meant.

Toby squeezed his hand, balling it into a fist as a confirmation that even after he had lost everything, he still had his ability to fight. He still had his anger, and it moved him. The boy was always frightened by his rage, how loud it could become, how violent. Toby had become what he feared the most, and now the only thing left to terrify him was himself. He was the killer, and the horrified witness. He was his father’s son. A soft ticking from the clock on the bedside table filled the night, alongside Natalie’s slow breathing. Toby looked over at the sleeping girl, adjusting his eyes to the dark. He looked at her bare arms, and then down to his. For many years of his life he had grown accustomed to the appearance of bruises littering his body. He learnt ways to hide them, because he didn’t want to be taken away from his mother. As a little boy, he was scared of his father, but even more, he was scared of losing everything he knew in the walls of that battlefield house.

The next morning, he stood with Natalie in the kitchen as he cracked eggs into a pan. He hit them against the edge harder than usual. Natalie blew over her hot morning coffee to cool it off, which felt like daggers in Toby’s ears.

“Can you cut that out?” He muttered, annoyed. She raised an eyebrow at him and put her cup down onto the countertop.

“What’re you cranky for?” She asked.

“Nothing. It’s just annoying.”

Toby scooped the scrambled eggs off of the pan and onto a plate, sliding it over to her, and putting the rest on his own. The boy took his food and left for the livingroom without another word, he wanted nothing more but to be alone.

Sitting on the couch in his solitude, Toby picked at his eggs with his fork. He wasn’t hungry. All he could think about was the feeling of taking his fathers life. The struggle the man put up, the smell of booze and smoke, the blare of the old TV. He remembered how it felt to have all the years of fear and anger finally pour out from him, through the hands that gripped the kitchen knife that slaughtered his creator. Then, he began to plan.

Toby never really stopped to carefully plan out his steps before taking someone's life. When he killed his father, it was an eruption of brutality, rage, and sickness. When he killed anyone else, it was on a whim, or had to be done. He imagined it would be most difficult to pinpoint Frank’s location. He couldn’t hold down a job long enough to keep a house on his own anymore. He must’ve been in cheap motels, or couch surfing, or sleeping in his car. And he called Toby the failure of the family, the boy thought to himself.

“Are you still moody?” Natalie’s voice brought Toby out from his brooding thoughts. He looked over at her standing in the entryway, leaning against the wall, and shook his head. The girl walked, and sat down beside him, picking an uneaten piece of egg off his plate and tossing it into her mouth.

“If you’re still upset about what happened-”

“It’s not that, Nat. Something different, it doesn’t matter.”

“Well if you’re going to be a prick every morning, then I think it does,” she poked. Toby rolled his eyes and stood up to clean off his untouched plate of breakfast. Natalie walked after him.

“Whatever you got going on, you don’t need to take it out on me,” she continued as they walked into the kitchen, Toby scraping his uneaten food into the garbage, and running his plate under the water in the sink.

“You don’t get it.”

“Try me.”

Turning off the squeaky faucet, the boy turned around to face the shameless girl.

“It’s just stupid shit with my dad. But my sister said she has it handled, so whatever.”

“I thought your dad was dead?”

“Not here. Not anymore.”

“What’re you going to do about it then?” Toby furrowed his brow at the girl's question as his gaze met the tiled floor.

“I think I’m going to kill him.”

Natalie leaned over the island counter, resting herself on her elbows, staring at the boy with a sick understanding. Through all the time they had known each other, neither of them had really bothered, or wanted to, talk about their fathers. But there was a mutual feeling that they both experienced a similar type of rage.

“If you want to kill him, then kill him. I’m sure there's meaning in that somewhere.”

“You really think?” The boy lifted his head up, feeling relieved at the support from his best friend, the one person who understood.

“Sure, if you think it’s a good idea.”

“It has to be done.”

“Slenderman tell you that?” Natalie teased.

“No, Natalie, I told myself that. Because I can fucking think for myself. I hate my old man more than anything and if I don’t go to heaven when I die because I killed him, then so what. I can take that to my grave, I don’t care.”

“I know what it’s like, Toby. I get it. My dad was a piece of shit too, I’d kill him again if I could.” She stood up straight and walked over to Toby’s side, brushing up against him.

“Whenever he drank I’d put a chair under my doorknob so he couldn’t come into my room and start shit. Or all the damage to my eardrums from blasting music so I couldn’t hear my parents fighting,” Natalie snickered to herself at the absurdity of it all. Toby looked over at her.

“My dad used to grab my hair and just slam my head into the wall. It pissed me off so much I wanted to cut it all off,” the boy shared.

The pair stood beside each other in the kitchen, under the soft afternoon glow shining through the window, leaning against the counter. They talked about their childhoods, family issues. They opened up about things they knew the other understood, a type of understanding they couldn’t find anywhere else. A type of understanding they wouldn’t dare look for anywhere else.

Natalie shared how she grew up in a small, dirty mobile home. There was a graveyard beside her house that seemed to seep into the walls of her livingroom. It was as if the dead lived there, and in a weird way, they did.

“It’s been hard for me to look at a knife and not think about killing them all again.” Natalie said.

“I get that,” Toby replied softly.

“Do you really?”

The boy gave Natalie a look, raising his eyebrow at her in question. She only shook her head.

“It’s dumb, really dumb. I have some weird resentment towards you for having your mom and sister in your life, because I never had that. I was always alone, and I’m pissed that you weren’t too.”

“Why’s it my fault that you had a shitty mom?” Toby spoke in a rougher tone, a growing hint of defensiveness at the girl's confession.

“I never said it was your fault. So what if my mother didn’t love me, it’s not a big deal. I’m just envious, I guess.” Natalie’s tone had grown rougher as well. The walls were rebuilt around the two, leaving them at a distance.

“Well you still had your brother.”

Natalie slammed her hands onto the countertop and quickly grew furious.

“What do you know about my brother?” She glared with furrowed brow, storming out before Toby could sneak a word in. The boy scowled back at the sudden anger and huffed to himself, crossing his arms in disdain. He stayed in the kitchen for a moment, defensive rage seeping off of him, before he heard the front door open, and slam shut. The house remained quiet.

That night, Toby slept on the couch, and Natalie hadn’t spoken a word to him. Neither of them apologized, they were both stubborn to a fault. Instead, the resentment would build, and linger, and stay until either of the two decided it wasn’t worth the energy anymore. But that night, Natalie laid alone in her bed. She listened to the ticking sound, like a time-bomb inside of her. The twilight shadow danced on the roof of her bedroom, and she wondered when it was going to end. Or if it even mattered in the first place. And in the desperate attempts to put the past behind her, she made the terrible mistake of shoving it down so deep she hoped she’d forget it was there. She beat down the rage, the terror, the agony, and told herself to get over it. Some nights, like this, she remembered it all. She remembered what it was like to be a little kid, hitting her head against the wall, hoping it’d stop, and it hurt. It hurt to remember. Natalie closed her eyes, and breathed in softly as she choked it all down again, and told herself to get over it. And then, all that remained was the rage.

Forgiveness had taken the two longer than usual, and for the remainder of the week, they didn’t talk, and Toby continued to sleep on the couch. He spent most of his time in the woods, Natalie spent most of her time at work, or in her room. One day, Toby had come back into the house to hear a series of loud bangs and clatters coming from Natalie’s art room. He cautiously approached the room, one hand remained gripped on the handle of his hatchet holstered on his belt, and he slowly opened the door. Toby’s eyes widened at the massacre.

Natalie stood over a demolition of her paintings slashed and disfigured. It was a crime scene of art, a tragedy. Toby stared down at the mess, and then to the girl standing amongst it holding a knife. Her hair fell over her darkened eyes.

“I can’t stop destroying things.” She spoke softly, in a tone of confession. As if she were at the feet of God begging for atonement. In a way, standing across from Toby, she was. And he had to bear witness to her sin. Natalie pushed past him, the knife in her hand, and Toby silently watched her leave.

“I’m going into town. Don’t bother coming with.”

The boy remained still, holding his breath until the sound of the front door closing confirmed the girl's leave. He looked over the sea of Natalie’s paintings torn to shreds, snapped in half, there wasn’t a single survivor. Toby sighed to himself as he walked over, and began to clean up the mess. He saved the paintings he thought could be repaired, and reluctantly tossed away the ones that were beyond rescue. As he worked through the destruction, Toby saw an old sketchbook of hers, dated from before she had woken up on the bus to North Dakota, to a couple of days after Toby had found her. A title was hastily scribbled at the top in marker: “Important”.

He didn’t mean to invade her privacy, he just couldn’t stop his hands from flipping through the pages. He looked at sketches of corpses, girls torn apart, bugs of all kinds. He saw drawings of a boy being tortured and maimed, it was a reoccuring theme. Then, there was a gap in the dates, and it seemed the style had changed to something more concise, more knowledgeable. Toby flipped to the last few pages, and stared for a moment, his heart beginning to beat quickly in his chest. There were portraits which looked awfully a lot like him. The messy hair, the tired brown eyes, the gash that used to be on his cheek, until the last two where he looked as he did now. Of all the girls' art, gore, guts, revenge, the portraits of the boy were touched only with a subtle sort of peace and tenderness. A quiet sort of fondness.

Toby’s trained glare softened, and a smug smile twitched its way onto his face as he closed the sketchbook and put it back in its place, eyeing the title once more. He closed the door of the room behind him, and decided to spend the rest of his day glued to the TV.

Later in the night, as Toby laid on the couch drifting off to sleep with a movie playing in the background, he was suddenly awoken by a loud slam. Toby quickly sat up, and rushed over to the noise. He watched as Natalie drunkenly rushed into the house, stumbling as she ran into the bathroom. She only got half of the vomit into the toilet. The boy crouched down beside her as she groaned over the bowl, he could tell she was beyond wasted.

“Fun night?” He joked, to which Natalie only groaned again in reply. Toby fought back a teasing smile as he held her hair back, letting her choke out the last of the alcohol content burning in her stomach. Natalie fell back and propped herself up against the wall, wiping her mouth sloppily.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Toby suggested as he stepped over the girl and turned on the bath.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut as Natalie sat naked in the tub, the shower head off the hook and in his hand. She stayed quiet as she held her knees up to her chest, hiding herself in case he looked. He didn’t dare to. Toby ran the water over her hair, and down her back, cleaning off the drunkenness and soil. The girl sniffled to herself, staring mindlessly at the water pouring into the drain as it ran off of her. She felt as the boy worked shampoo into her tangled hair, his hand gentle on her scalp. He leaned over the tub, silent for a moment, eyes still closed.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone there for you as a kid, Nat. I wouldn’t have ever left you alone if I knew you back then,” Toby said softly.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t mean anything to me,” She said back, in a quiet tone, nearly a whisper, “I spent so much time screaming and begging for someone to help. And no one ever did, so I realized quick that nobody was coming to save me anyways. I guess I lost hope awhile ago.”

“But you’re still angry, aren’t you?”

“Nobody is as angry as a 16 year old girl,” Natalie half-smiled as she continued to stare at the drain.

“The thing that still gets to me is that the cycles never really end, you know? I never cared about dying because I was left to die night after night and still woke up again in the morning. A few hundred years ago there must’ve been a girl just like me, and now she’s 6ft under. I guess I’m just coming to terms with that. For once, I don’t want to die.”

Toby stayed silent for a moment as he washed the soap out of her hair, holding his hand on her forehead to prevent the water from running into her eyes. The air was heavy, and the bathroom lights glowed warmly, an old yellow tint on the tiled floors, the rusted bathtub. She closed her eyes and choked back a sob. She leaned into his touch. Only the sun had ever been that close.

“Toby?”

“Yeah?”

“When you first got here, remember how I told you I woke up on a bus headed for North Dakota?”

“Yeah.”

“I lied. I came to this world back in the place I grew up in,” Natalie spoke as quietly as she could, fearing her words would slur and crack with her grief-ridden rage.

“I remember being so disoriented, having my damn eye back. Everything was blurry for a moment, I just heard the sound of someone choking. And… And I looked down, and my vision started to clear up, and I saw my brother…” She paused for a moment, and took a deep breath before continuing, “He was on the floor, overdosing on some pills, choking on his own vomit. I didn’t bother to save him.”

Toby reached over, and in his blindness, felt around to turn the water off. He passed the girl a towel, and sat still.

“Do you regret it?” He asked.

“I regret not killing him myself.”

He listened as Natalie slowly climbed out of the bathtub, and walked past him. He listened as she changed into the pajamas he had brought over for her. He sat still with his eyes closed until she told him it was fine to look.

Toby slept in the bed again that night, and held the girl close to his chest. As he slowly drifted off to sleep, breathing in her smell of smoke and evergreen, she spoke quietly.

“I’ll be gone in the morning.” Natalie pressed her head close into him, listening to the boy's heart beat with nervousness.

“That’s fine, Nat. I’m just going to enjoy the time we have tonight then.” He whispered back.

Natalie had woken up first that morning, and quietly snuck out of bed. There was something about her. A blank look in her eyes, tired. She used to be kind, polite, easy on the eyes. That didn't last very long. She wasn't a girl anymore, or a sinful daughter, and as she poured the coffee into a mug, she hoped that the caffeine could fix it, just this once. And staying true to her word, as she sipped the last of her drink, she left before the boy had awoken.

Toby, alone in the room, sat on the creaky old bed. He tiredly shuffled down the hallway and into the empty kitchen, the smell of coffee still sitting in the air. He must’ve just missed her, the boy thought. Toby grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, and made himself a cereal breakfast, still half-asleep. His eyes met the scenery outside the window, the farmland looked magnificent blanketed in white snow, dragging over the hills. Toby only wondered what it'd look like painted red.

He wasn’t entirely sure when, or if, Natalie was going to return, but she stayed in his thoughts. He thought she laughed like a wildfire, and smiled like God. They had been best friends for years, and he realized, in the most horrible way, he really did like her. And to his relief, she came back to him early into the afternoon. The girl seemed to be in a better mood, grotesque as ever, indifferent to the world, though there was a remaining feeling of awkwardness and irritation from the night before. Natalie told Toby about a farmers market in town, if he wanted to go with her, and he did.

The two walked around the bustling paths of the market, staying close to each other's side, disregarding strange looks. There was little crop to buy during the winter markets, so a lot of the locals would sell personal creations, or baked goods. It was early February, and a particularly warm day, to their luck. Little frost gathered on their jackets, their cheeks were barely flushed with windchill. The sun beamed down on the two as they wandered through the market, chatting over what to waste their money on. Eventually, Toby found himself talking with an old man who had been selling his woodwork. Natalie stood by his side quietly, groaning to herself about the crowd of people that surrounded them. She hated crowds, she hated people. Toby had a way with them, it was easy for him to make conversation, though he wasn’t always the best at it. He could reel anybody in with a quick joke, or an engaging question. Natalie never knew how he did it.

For a second, in the midst of the open air chatter, she thought she heard someone shouting her nickname from the old world: “Clocky”. She quickly glanced around, then brushed it off, before hearing it again, alongside Toby’s name. Natalie looked over the sea of people once more, lowering her brow as she scanned faces, and grabbed Toby’s hand to catch his attention. Being dragged away from his conversation, he asked what the issue was, before he noticed an expression of disbelief trace the girl's face as she looked into the crowd. Toby turned his head in the direction she stared, and his eyes widened.

“No fucking way-”

“Clocky! Toby!” The familiar girl shouted out as she waved frantically, running towards the two, pushing past the people in her way. Her black hair was tied up in a ponytail, her smile was wide.

“Nina?”

#tombwrites #tombfic #creepypasta #ticci toby #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby headcanons #toby rogers #creepypasta ticci toby #ticciwork #clockwork #clockwork headcanons #creepypasta clockwork #clockwork creepypasta #clockwork x ticci toby #ticci toby x clockwork #natalie ouellette #creepypasta ticciwork #ticcitoby #ticci toby fanfiction #ticci toby fanfic #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby headcanon #creepypasta nina the killer #nina the killer

[xjulixred45x]

Can i request headcanons of arthur pendragon(both 7ds and 4koa) with a couple like katherine Howard from six? Maybe they meet eachother from childhood and k.h reader gets a happy ending!

I FUCKING LOVE SIX THE MUSICAL!! And Katherine Howard was so cute! Deal!

Arthur Pedragon SDS/4KOTA x Katherine Howard! Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: female

Warnings:reader had a life similar to Katherine Howard (that is, a life full of neglect, abuse, etc.) but she ends up having a happy ending :3, Arthur from 4kota is a warning himself but Arthur from 7ds is a sweetheart, Angst and Fluff.

Plus: read this while listen this song>

(reader)'s life was always a roller coaster.

His father belonged to one of the richest families in Camelot at the time, but since he was not the first son, he did not receive much of the prestige or inheritance that would have been his.

(reader) lived in a relatively well-off place despite everything, with her parents and siblings.

However, when (reader) was little, her mother died, which led her father to have to ask for many favors to be able to keep the house afloat on his own.

In the end she failed, and (reader) was sent to live with a distant relative in the center of Camelot, where she was supposedly better off.

and to be fair, it was.

because there she met him...

One day, (reader) had left her relative's house to avoid the music classes that were scheduled for that day.

The bad thing is that since she had never been to that part of the city, she got disoriented and lost quite easily.

Fortunately for her, a boy (the same age!) saw that she was having problems and offered to escort her home.

Now, (reader) was a sociable girl, so it was quite easy for her to make conversation with the boy and get to know him a little better.

It turns out that he was practicing how to handle the sword with his brother Kai (a bad btw), but since he got angry with him he took a break.

His father was a holy knight! (reader) didn't understand what they were, but the stories she read about knights when she was bored gave her the idea that it was something exciting.

In the end, the boy said goodbye to her and left the way he came, although at least not without giving his name.

Arthur...

As you may have noticed, (reader) knows Arthur in his time before he had the sword, when he was something like his father's squire.

and definitely after that he started looking for (reader) on his own when he knew where she lived.

They even began to have a rather funny dynamic in which Arthur would try to make her laugh in the last minutes of their peeking (through the windows).

and in general they were one of the few friends the other had.

But when a certain... incident... happened with (reader's) music teacher.

Arthur only arrived to see how some holy knights took him away, but he knew that for some reason (reader) he skipped that man's class...

and when he found out, well, let's just say the music man was lucky Arthur hadn't been there.

Arthur was furious! How dare that pig put his hands on (reader)?

You could say that this determined the dynamics of their friendship during the following years thanks to (reader's) love-struck nature.

While Arthur trained with Merlin and became stronger, (reader) became more popular with men for her beauty and cute personality.

Although of course, it was a double-edged sword.

There would always be someone who would be especially insistent or who didn't understand "no", but luckily Arthur could take care of that easily ;)

When Arthur takes the sword out of the stone, (reader) is the first to run towards him to congratulate him, she even gives him a small kiss on the cheek as a "reward" (Arthur is as red as a tomato at the time, he flatly denies it) .

Thanks to him being king, Arthur and (reader) can't see each other as much as before :( but they maintain communication through letters and try to see each other as much as possible.

low key, (reader) admires Merlin quite a bit at first, it's a hunch (a powerful and beautiful woman in complete control of the situation and her body, you can get the idea).

For this reason, they both talk a lot about the deadly sins and share the enthusiasm.

Now, if in the events of NNT's story (reader) she ends up meeting her "Francis" or worse yet, her Henry VIII, let's just say things are going to get... ugly.

There is no way in which Arthur will not see the giant red flags of either relationship (in a way by seeing certain parallels with the case of the music teacher), so he will be quite firm in his dislike of said relationships. especially with the Henry.

After all, what is a 50-year-old man doing near a teenager? creepy vibes.

Also influencing a little is the fact that Arthur may or may not realize that he likes her (reader), although part of him just wants to say that she is his friend! that she is very kind and pretty and that she sings and dance very well and that her talks about dog breeds is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard....

Oh no--

If we're talking about a scenario in which (reader)'s family arranged a marriage with this Henry, Arthur puts his foot down and may even use his position as king to get (reader) to break the engagement herself (which she happily does).

(Regarding Francis, they would both simply agree to ask Merlin as a favor to use illusory magic and give him the scare of his life. It's super effective).

(reader) was definitely extremely traumatized when Arthur was "killed" in the second holy war. absolutely horrified (even more so by that time they were already dating).

and when Arthur is resurrected by (the power of the script) chaos, let's just say they're both stuck with each other for quite some time...

and that translates into the current relationship they have in 4kota. which is like Katherine Howard's happy ending basically.

(reader) was obviously very marked by the holy war and definitely by Arthur's almost death, so she tends to be around him a lot of the time.

more after the total destruction of Camelot.

They both officially get married! (probably before Merlin left) and overall you could say that their relationship has only become more secure in several ways.

Arthur is still quite protective, but on a much more visible and understandable level, after all (reader) she is his wife, the queen of Camelot, if his enemies try to get to him, one way to do it is through her, so of course The times when (reader) decides to leave Camelot (usually on her family's funeral anniversary) she usually goes with Arthur.

Besides, it's not like Arthur is offering to spend extra time together.

(reader) developed her dancing skills over the years! apart from that he was even able to learn to play several instruments (with extra supervision of course).

from time to time you can hear when (reader) does a little performance for Arthur in the throne room when there is nothing to do and he is bored :3

Although yes, only he can see (the reader) dance, if someone does it, whether by accident or secretly, it is at least a safe pass to the dungeon :)

ARTHUR BRINGS DOGS TO THE PALACE! Canonically, the man is pet friendly, so seeing how much (the reader) loves dogs, there is no way I wouldn't get him at least one.

It would probably be some cute but protective breed, like a Labrador or a Collie.

Arthur acts like he can't stand said dog/dogs very much, but after a week the dog/dogs already have a place at the table next to (reader)😅🤣

Arthur is fine with (reader) not advancing in her studies, honestly it is a lot (for the time) that she knows how to write and read so well, but if she wants to help out with the paperwork aspects, he will allow it! oe will assign someone to guide you through the process until you can do it alone or, if you can, you will teach it to them.

Arthur feels very good teaching (reader) new things.

(If the reader's previous "suitors" are still on the loose or didn't die in Camelot, you can bet Arthur is going to correct that).

(reader) has a fashion sense quite inclined to French fashion, and Arthur doesn't blame her, she looks very adorable in the soft colors.

(reader) may even develop the habit of embroidery to pass the time when Arthur is away, she makes quite nice pieces (Arthur definitely shows them off to "Merlin")

(reader) is not really involved in politics due to her lack of education, and honestly Arthur is grateful that this is the case because he knows that (reader), being the empathetic being that he is, would not like to see a good part of what he does. for the sake of the eternal kingdom, but he knows it will be worth it.

Arthur and (reader) dancing together🥺 it doesn't matter if it's in sds or 4kota, I can definitely see (reader) dragging Arthur to the floor to dance together.

Arthur from sds definitely prefers to dance faster and "funner" things and vary a little from ballroom dancing (actually it's because it makes him nervous)

Arthur from 4kota is fine with whatever style (reader) chooses, but he has definitely learned to 1-improve his dance skills (thanks to reader) and 2-appreciate the closeness that ballroom dancing provides. especially in the throne room.

Either version will not tolerate any attempt to shame (reader) for her "history with other men" and will take it VERY badly.

Arthur from sds will defend (reader) tooth and nail, but if he can't reason with people, he simply applies a *little* bit of violence so they learn not to defame a pretty lady (he breaks their nose) .

with Arthur from 4kota...do I really have to say it? They will be lucky if they are whole after saying such blasphemy in front of him.

Arthur is definitely VERY determined to maintain (reader's) little remaining innocence, they've already been through so much, let them have a happy ending (even if that includes eliminating all races).

In general, no matter what past or "history" (reader) may have, Arthur loves her and sees her as her own person, let things move forward in their time, and will fight for his lady's honor.

Shares, reglogs and comments are very welcome!

Thanks for the Request ❤️

#headcanons #fem reader #4kota #4 knights of the apocalypse #mokushiroku no yonkishi #4kota arthur x reader #arthur 4kota #mokushiroku no yonkishi arthur #arthur pendragon x reader #7ds #seven deadly sins #sds arthur #arthur pendragon nnt #arthur pedragon 4kota #arthur pendragon

[cherrieswinerosmarythyme]

i love reading the end of the second life of Bree Tanner just for the perspective, i mean, do you realize the power that jasper emanate????

"And then another vampire with yellow eyes joined us. As soon as I saw him, any sense of security I had felt with those strangers vanished.

He was blond, like the first one, but taller and leaner. His skin was completely covered in scars, more clustered around the neck and jaw area. Some of the small marks on his arm were recent, but the rest weren't from today's skirmish. He had been in more fights than I could imagine, and had never lost. His honey-colored eyes gleamed, and his stance exuded the barely contained violence of a furious lion.

The moment he saw me, he crouched to pounce.

'Jasper!' Carlisle warned him.

Jasper straightened a bit and fixed his overly wide eyes on Carlisle.

'What's going on here?'

'She doesn't want to fight, he has surrendered.' The scarred vampire frowned, and I felt a sudden, unexpected wave of frustration despite having no idea what was frustrating me."

"Jasper, I think we need to take a risk," Carlisle said slowly. "We are not the Volturi. We follow their rules, but we don't dispose of others' lives lightly. We'll explain ourselves." "They could think we've created our own newborns to defend ourselves." "But we haven't. And even if we had, no indiscretion has occurred here, only in Seattle. There's no law against creating vampires as long as you control them." "It's too dangerous." Carlisle touched Jasper on the shoulder to gauge his reaction. "Jasper, we can't kill this girl." Jasper scowled at the kind-eyed man, and suddenly, I felt myself getting angry. He wasn't going to harm the amiable vampire or the woman he loved, that was certain. He sighed, and I knew everything was fine. My anger dissipated. "I don't like this," he said, but he was calmer now. "At least let me take charge of her. You two don't know how to handle someone who's been out of control for so long." "Of course, Jasper," the woman conceded. "But be gentle." Jasper rolled his eyes.

"Hey, you," Jasper said to me, again with bitterness. "Come with us. Don't make a wrong move or I'll end you." I felt anger rising again when he glared at me, and a small part of me wanted to roar back at him and show my teeth, but I had a feeling that was exactly the excuse he was looking for. Jasper paused as if he had just thought of something. "Close your eyes," he ordered me. I hesitated. Had he decided to kill me after all? "Do it!" I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. I felt twice as defenseless as before. "Follow the sound of my voice and don't open your eyes. Open them, and you're in trouble, got it?" I nodded and wondered what it was he didn't want me to see. I felt some relief that he cared about protecting a secret. There was no reason to do so if he intended to kill me outright. "This way." I walked slowly behind him, careful not to give him any excuses.

"He led me closer and closer to the muffled crackling of the flames, so close that I could feel the smoke caressing my skin. I was aware that he could have killed me at any moment, but the proximity of the fire still made me nervous. "Sit here. Eyes closed."

The ground was warm from the sun and the fire. I stayed very still and tried to concentrate on appearing harmless, but I felt his piercing gaze on me, and it unsettled me."

"My eyelids flickered, but Jasper growled furiously at me, and I shut them tightly. I hadn't seen anything except the dense, lavender-colored smoke."

"Without any prior warning sound, something touched me and pressed firmly on both sides of my head. I panicked, opening my eyes and jerking my head upward in an attempt to break free from the hold, only to find Jasper's warning gaze inches from my face. "Enough," he said sharply, pushing me back down to the ground. I could only hear him, and I realized it was his hands forcefully pressing my head, completely covering my ears. "Close your eyes," he ordered me again, probably at a normal volume, but to me, it was nothing more than a whisper."

"Jasper removed his hands from my ears. 'You better open your eyes,' he said from a few steps away. The way he said it scared me. I quickly scanned around for the danger hinted at in his voice. My entire field of vision was obstructed by dark smoke. Jasper was frowning close to me. He clenched his teeth and watched me with an almost... terrified expression. Not as if he was afraid of me, but as if he was frightened because of me. I remembered what he had said earlier about me putting them in danger with something called the Volturi. I wondered who these Volturi could be. I couldn't imagine anything that this dangerous, scarred vampire could fear."

"Jasper hissed angrily at me and shoved me again, forcing me back to the ground from my crouching position."

i mean, fuck me jazz.

#jasper whitlock #jasper hale #jasper #jasper cullen #bree tanner #twilight

[minimoxha]

I have a dream (Tangled, pt.3)

Summary: After his wife and daughter died he thought he lost everything. However, you for some reason, you'd didn't disappear. So, Miguel locked you up. He had to find some way to protect you so you couldn't be taken from him like Gabriella. What better way to do that then keep you in his dimension where he could get to you in case of anything

Warnings: bad parenting, lowkey kidnapping, signs of crying.

Now the two were off, walking off the property of her house. Though, inside of her chest her heart was repeatedly beating as if it was trying to make an escape. Just as she was doing. Was this really the right thing? If she wasn’t back by the time her dad was, he’d be furious. But at the same time, if she could show that she could handle herself and be an adult out here. Maybe miguel would finally let her enjoy her life. What if this was the worst decision she’d ever let happen in her life and the men, Hobbie brown that would whisk her away would be the worst descion she ever made.

“Why does your dad keep you inside anyways?” Hobie asked, breaking the previously awkward she soon that sat thick in the air. They haven’t spoken since he helped her out the window with his webs. “That’s kind of repetitive, inside seeing the same things all day”

The girl nods, picking up speed to the point where she’s now side by side with the man. “He wants me to be safe. There’s a lot to do but it does get repetitive, it’s really boring being cooped up in the house all day.” Y/n could feel herself get sad at the thought of being ignored at her request today. Why didn’t he want her to live her life? At this point, it was beyond trying to protect. He was trying to control. He loved being in control, being able to stop things from happening this was the same situation here.

“Is it some kind of grounding situation? How long you been in here?” Hobie asked.

“Since I was maybe 7. I got to go out a couple times on walks with dad but never enough.”

Hobie was stunned. Considering he hates repeating things and too much of things, he would hate being in the position that she was currently in. “That’s tough. You should have left a long time ago” Hobie was actually feeling bad for the girl, as if he was to take some type of responsibility for the girl to experience the best life she possibly could. “Miguel’s too uptight anyways, he needs to chill. The fireworks are in a couple hours, let’s just do other things before that aye?”

Y/n nods excitedly, walking with him before he clicks his watch and opens a portal to another dimension. She knew it was possible but it was amazing that she could see it unfold in front of her. He grabbed her hand before pulling her inside.

—-

“Miguel, did hobie come get you? he was supposed to tell you about the emergency.” Jessica said urgently, walking in front of Miguel and trying to show him his own office where something was unfolding.

“i don’t understand why you’d trust him to do anything right.” Miguel sighed. When the both of them got to the room to see the emergency signs all over the monitors. “What’s the emergency?”

“Sir, there’s an anomaly jumping from universe to universe, we can’t locate them at the moment. They have the power to open hee realities with their hand.

now this was a problem.

Thanks for all the love and support! Sorry for the short chapters but I was so excited to get this one out to create a bit of cliffhanger! Comment if yo want to be apart of the tag-list and thanks for reading.

Taglist:

@fairycorequeen @onyxstarhigh06

#fanfic #xreader #minimoxha #black!reader #anime #astv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #hobie spiderverse #astv hobie #spiderman astv #astv fanfic #astv the spot #astv fic #astv x reader #astv #hobie x y/n #hobie x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie headcanons #hobie my beloved