#no one get their hopes up; i have a single test subject and its a longfic

[berryblu-soda]

#VOTE FIRST THEN READ TAGS #no one get their hopes up; i have a single test subject and its a longfic #i told my mom i was doing this and she and dad sat me down for over an hour trying to convince me it was weird and dangerour???? #*dangerous #even tho im just doing it bc i need practice w adobe indesign and i thought it'd be a nice byproduct/gift to give to the author 😭 #helppp why are they saying theyll get mad and i'll get sued hello 😭???? #i need yalls opinion pls- #shut up sheo #poll #fanfiction

[exhaslo]

Hiii！I love your stories!!But can you write about Miguel × hybridbunny！reader？that Miguel was a rich mafia or ceo and he bought reader from a black market or an auction.（ps：make reader sit on Miguel’s desk while he works and he ended up eating her out and fcking her hehehehehhehe）🐇🐇🐇🐇

Hehehehehehehehehehe

Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie

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There were many pros and cons that came with being the CEO. Unfortunally, claiming ownership of Alchemax carried far more cons than the alternative. It did not help that Miguel took over the company from his corrupt father.

There were a lot of problems that needed to be fixed. Many were within the company itself; the associates to say the least. Miguel had to fire and clean up a lot of the corrupted associates' messes. This included having Miguel silently attend a black auction market.

Turned out, one of his former coworkers who worked in genetic splicing decided to test various animals on different people. While Miguel was so focused on Spiders that created Spiderman, his stupid coworker created hybrids and sold them on the black market.

Miguel just hoped that he could save as many people as he could. The work of tracking the others down was going to be a lot harder for him.

As Miguel sat in his VIP seat with a hood on, he watched the scum below him cheer with anticipation. None of these people cared. They just wanted new trophies. Miguel was going to buy as many hybrids were auctions and try to revert them back to regular humans.

-------

Miguel was about to lose faith. The auction was at the last bid and there had not been a single hybrid. Miguel did check and this was the only black market auction in the city. It was too dangerous for there to be anymore.

"Now! What you've all been waiting for, the most popular item during our shows! A hybrid!!" The announcer cheered.

Miguel nearly gasped, leaning forward as he watched the curtains unveil, revealing you.

"We got ourselves an adorable hybrid bunny!!! You know what they say about rabbits."

Miguel ignored the sea of laughter. You were standing on stand, shaking like a leaf. Before the announcer could even start the bid, Miguel yelled out an insane number. There were gasps in the crowd and barely anyone had the guts to go higher.

And just like that, you were bought by Miguel.

--------

You were hesitant as you followed your new 'owner' to his vehicle. The chain and collar still tight around your neck. Once you were seated in the back seat, you flinched as your tail got caught in the belt. You had to lower your ears, not wanting to hit the roof of the car.

"My apologizes, I'll get a bigger car." Miguel apologized as he entered the vehicle. You gave him a slight glare, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Just fuck me," You whispered.

"No," Miguel sighed as he took the collar off once the car started moving, "I'm trying to right the wrongs that the former CEO of my company did."

You touched your neck, watching Miguel very carefully. You had an inkling of where this conversation was going, and it started to make your heart and body shake.

"My name is Miguel. I have no intention of using you for any purpose, but to try and undo what Alchemax did to you, if you would let me."

"Hah, so am I the lucky test subject?"

"No. I want to find all those who were experimented on. You were the first one I saved." Miguel noticed your hesitation and offered you a bottled water, "I have a room set up for you. Anything you want or need, just let me know and I'll get it for you."

"I suppose freedom isn't an option?"

"You and I both know what will happen if I let you go."

"Yeah, I know. Just wanted to hear your answer." You scoffed and leaned forward slightly, "I actually worked at Alchemax as an assistant. I don't think it will be easy to undo my DNA now that its been changed."

"I can try."

---------

It had been a few months since you were bought by Miguel. It came as a surprise, but he did mean what he said. You were living comfortably and Miguel was trying his absolute best to cure you. As you guessed, nothing worked.

That didn't stop you from wanting to help Miguel with his endeavor. Miguel had even rescued a few more hybrids during your stay with him. You couldn't help but feel a little jealous that you weren't his only one now. There was a simple reason as to why you felt like that.

You fell in love with Miguel.

You wanted to believe that Miguel liked you too, but you weren't sure what was holding him back. Perhaps guilt? Needing to see him, you started to hurry to his office. Thanks to your rabbit DNA, you were a fast runner.

"Miguel? Can I come in?" You asked with a knock at his office door.

"Of course, (Y/N)." He said with a smile, opening the door for you.

Before entering, your nose caught whiff of something delicious. Sniffing around, you ended up next to Miguel. You gently gripped his jacket, sniffing against his collar.

"(Y-Y/N), are you alright? Do I smell?" Miguel cleared his throat, careful to hold you back.

"Hm? O-Oh, sorry. You just smelled really good." You laughed nervously, wondering what was coming over you.

Miguel patted your head, assuring you that it was okay. You could only feel embarrassed again. This wasn't the first time your rabbit DNA caused you to do something silly or embarrassing. You were still having a hard time getting over making a 'secret room' in the building when winter was coming.

"Want to help me with something?" Miguel offered, motioning towards his desk.

You hurried over, taking a seat on his desk as Miguel pulled out some paperwork. Since it was hard for you to sit in regular chairs due to your tail, Miguel allowed you to have a spot on his personal desk. It felt like you were a trophy for him. One you didn't mind.

"So, what are you working on?" You asked. Miguel chuckled towards you as he leaned back in his seat,

"Company business."

"So how can I help?"

"You already are," Miguel chuckled again and leaned closer towards you, "I feel better having you next to me. I'm not as stressed."

Your cheeks started to burn up at his confession. Your heart was racing and you could feel yourself getting hot. This was bad. Lately, whenever you thought about Miguel you would get into a small frenzy, needing to relieve yourself. It had to be because of your rabbit DNA.

"(Y/N), are you alright?" Miguel asked, his hand against your forehead.

"Mhm," You winced slightly, shaking from his touch alone, "M-Miguel, I should...g-go," You stuttered, finding it hard to keep yourself together.

Miguel furrowed his brows as he gave you a quick check up. He checked your eyes, noticing the glossy lustful look, then your heart rate. Miguel inhaled deeply once he finally noticed you rub your legs together and your nipples perk.

"You're in heat?" Miguel muttered lowly, glancing at your once more, "Let me take-"

"N-No, let me stay," You whined, holding onto Miguel, nibbling against his shoulder, "I-I'm only...like this because of...of you,"

"Oh," Miguel resisted a groan, gently pushing you back, "Then, I suppose I need to take responsibility for you, huh?"

Oh, how those words turned you on even more. You whimpered and moaned against his touch as Miguel took off your pants. Your panties were soaked. You swore Miguel mumbled something under his breathe, but you were so zoned out that you couldn't hear him.

Next thing you knew, Miguel had taken your panties off and laid you back against his desk. He brought your legs around his head, making sure your tail wasn't crushed under you. His head directly in front of your vagina,

"My, my (Y/N), you should have told me sooner about your little problem. I could have helped you happily,"

"B-But-Ah~ M-Miguel~" You cried out as his tongue started to swirl against your folds.

Your eyes widen and your body arched as Miguel feasted. His tongue touching you in ways that your fingers could not. His aggressive licks and swirls against your clit causing that knot inside you to grow tighter.

"Ah~ R-Right...t-there~" You moaned, crying out your orgasm.

Miguel cleaned up your mess, his tongue now threatening to enter your drenched hole. Your whimpers and moans were delicious. He wanted to hear more, but he also didn't want to take advantage of your state. Licking your insides, Miguel hummed at your sweet taste. Your legs wrapping around his head.

'Miguel~" You whined, grinding your hips slightly.

"Now, now my little bunny, if you don't behave I won't be able to control myself," He hummed, sucking against your clit.

"P-Please...f-fuck me...I need you~" You whimpered.

Miguel felt his restraints snap. He flipped you on your stomach and inserted a finger inside your cunt. Your body shock as you moaned louder than before. Miguel groaned at how your cunt sucked his fingers in.

"Does my little bunny want to be fucked that bad? Even using your tail to seduce me." Miguel huffed, using his free hand to play with your tail.

Unable to take the pleasure, you cried out another orgasm the moment Miguel touched your tail. It was so sensitive. Pressing your face against his desk, you whimpered, begging for Miguel to fuck you. You needed him. You wanted him to make you feel good.

"Alright, I'll give my bunny what she wants."

"Mhm~ Y-Yesh," You babbled.

A sharp gasp escaped your throat as you felt Miguel's dick push through your folds. His cock stretched you out and filling you so perfectly. Your body felt so hot as his tip threaten to push your cervix. You could feel his shape every time your pussy clenched around him.

"A perfect fit. My little horny bunny likes this right?" Miguel chuckled as he started to thrust his hips into you at a rough pace, "My little horny bunny going into heat because of me."

"Ah~ Mhm~ M-Miguel~"

You swore you started to lose your common sense. Miguel was pounding the life out of your cunt and the air out of your lungs. Your vision kept blurring as you just focused on the feeling of him filling you.

You gasped as Miguel lifted your hips ever so slightly. His dick hitting your g-spot with each thrust while his free hand was playing with your tail. You were losing count how many times this man was making you cum.

"Does my little bunny want me to fill her up?" Miguel leaned over you, whispering your ear,

"Mphm~"

"I can't hear you, are you too fucked out to answer?" Miguel nibbled against your ear.

You pressed your ass up, "Inside~" You begged.

Miguel complied as proceeded to fill you with his cum. He moaned lowly, giving you a few more pumps before coming to a stop. Miguel started to pull out, but heard you whine in protest. A chuckle escaped his throat as he continued to slap his hips into you.

Miguel continued to fuck you until your heat finally died out. By the end of what seemed like endless fucking, both you and Miguel were out of breathe. Miguel had you seated against his lap, resting your body against his.

You whimpered tiredly, cum pouring out of your cunt. Miguel rubbed your back, his hand nudging against your tail slightly.

"Mhm,"

"Shh, it was an accident, baby." Miguel whispered, rubbing your upper back, "You should have told me when these heats started. I can make some medicine to help you."

"You're fine," You whispered lowly. Miguel chuckled, kissing your head,

"If that's the case, then it would be easier for you to stay at my place. I have been looking for a wife,"

"Mhm...I'll gladly...take that role," You muttered tiredly.

Miguel resisted a chuckle. He waited for you to fall asleep before dressing the two of you. He had one of his assistants bring your stuff to his place as Miguel took you home. He was going to make you as comfortable as possible.

But first, you both needed a shower.

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Hope you enjoyed!!!!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel x you

[heliads]

because I'm in the mood for Pain could i request a nikolai fanfic with a grisha reader. they were childhood friends, but then one day reader was captured by fjerda and after they find the cure for parem they come back to ravka and don't think they're good enough for nikolai because they were too weak to resist the drug. i hope you're having a lovely day!

'only in my dreams ' - nikolai lantsov

masterlist

There’s an old saying, one that’s been tossed around by generations of practitioners of the Small Science and otkazat’sya alike, one that you’ve heard since you were small and keep hearing as you get older. There’s no good place to be a Grisha. It’s been used as a weapon and an assurance at times, a claim that you don’t belong and a reminder that life doesn’t really get better, so you might as well enjoy who you are wherever you are.

Right now, though, it just feels all too real. When you were a child growing up in the middle of nowhere in the Ravkan countryside, no one trusted a Grisha. When you were brought to Os Alta to train in the Little Palace, the glimmering city didn’t feel like a home either, just a place where you would be brought up to fight in someone else’s wars. You could go anywhere you want, but it would never quite be enough. You find your home in people you trust, but no place will ever want a witch.

And, rotting in a Fjerdan cell, you think it’s especially true now. You pity the Grisha who were born in Fjerda, and wonder how they would have managed to grow up in a country whose own army was dedicated to the cause of hunting them down. It wasn’t all that great to grow up empowered in Ravka, either, but at least there was somewhere for you to go once you were discovered, and that was the Little Palace. In Fjerda, the only place that newly discovered Grisha go is the grave.

That, or the cells, and right now you’re wishing that you were six feet under instead of here right now. Other than wanting them dead, the Fjerdan government seems fascinated by just how Grisha work. They’ve managed to get their hands on jurda parem, and you’re a part of their latest batch of test subjects.

You last received the drug a few days ago, and already the debilitating ache of withdrawal is starting to press against your bones, tearing against your sinews and skin until all you can think of is when you last had it and where you could get some more. The Fjerdan scientists are single-minded in their approach to treating Grisha with parem; exact doses are carefully measured out and only delivered in the precise windows of time that they desire. Once medicated, the captive Grisha will have their hands unchained for slim opportunities to practice their gift, most likely to build or destroy or torture other captives as directed by the Fjerdan guards.

Eventually, the parem will wear off, and then you’ll be back to where you are right now:  curled into a corner of your freezing cell, desperate for warmth or parem or anything more than this heavy, never-ending horror.

You used to be more than this, you know. You used to be a proper Grisha, one who could never imagine themselves as you are now, exhausted and starving and addicted to a drug no one even knew existed until just a short time ago. You had been brought to Os Alta when you were quite young, so for the most part, the Little Palace was the only life you had ever really known.

And what a life it had been; your mind drained by the constant tests of parem, you slip into a dreamy half-sleep, letting the memories cloud your consciousness so you don’t have to think about whatever horrors await you.

Os Alta had been beautiful. Ravka has been a struggling country for quite some time, and will likely go on eking out its days one by one for quite some time, but the royal family spared no expense on its capital city. Even the Little Palace, the smaller and humbler variant of the Grand Palace, was intricate and masterful, a testament to the artistic prowess of the Ravkan people when its creators went long enough without hunger pangs to focus on their craft.

You can almost imagine you’re there if you close your eyes. The sensations come back to you as if in a dream:  the rustle of your kefta as you walk, the smooth edges of the cobblestones where they’d been worn down by hundreds of feet, the sharp voices of your tutors, the thrill in your veins as you used your powers. You can still remember when it had been a joyous thing to use your powers uncorrupted by parem. Now, every tug to the making at the heart of the world feels like a betrayal of your own people, a sick and terrible thing that should not be practiced by any living thing.

You turn your mind away from that harsh reality, opting instead to remember the good days, the golden memories when the worst thing you could imagine was doing badly in one of Botkin’s training sessions. Since you’d been at the Little Palace since you were small, you had plenty of friends across the branches of the Small Science, plus one extra boy whose eyes used to shine like sunlight off of the True Sea. He wasn’t a Grisha though. He was–

He was a prince.

Nikolai Lantsov wasn’t supposed to visit the Little Palace. Truth be told, he wasn’t supposed to leave the Grand Palace at all except when instructed by the king and queen or one of his tutors. However, the young prince didn’t seem to care for rules, and rare was the day when he wasn’t sneaking off to pass days by his own volition. More often than not, his errant path brought Nikolai to you.

The two of you had been friends for years. Never mind the fact that a friendship between a Grisha and a prince would be strictly forbidden, no one ever caught on and the two of you were quite obliged to keep it that way. Nikolai was brilliant in mind and spirit. When you think about the happiest you’d ever been, the days you wished could stretch on forever, it’s the time you spent with Nikolai that was the best of all. Sometimes, you snuck him an extra kefta and the two of you would explore the Little Palace, or you’d run around the countryside surrounding Os Alta. You’d swap stories and little trinkets or gifts, and you’d smile like everything was alright, because when you were with Nikolai, it was.

Then he got older, and you did too. Nikolai stopped being able to visit you as often. You grew through the ranks of the Grisha, and were sent on missions with increasing frequency. Sometimes, you’d be away from Os Alta for months at a time, and only come back to find out that Nikolai had just left on a similar errand. Your paths started diverging, and even though every time you saw him, it was like the days hadn’t passed at all, both of you had growing up to do, and unfortunately, that didn’t involve each other.

You still held out hope that maybe he would become king and find a way to loop you back into his busy days. Just recently, he had returned from his years at school (and, as the rumor has it, at sea), and you had hoped that maybe you’d be able to spend more time together. All you had was one more mission, then you’d be back in Ravka for many months. Surely you could use that time.

The Fates didn’t seem keen on that happy of an ending for you, however. Your mission went awry. Fjerdans intercepted your group. You distracted the enemy soldiers long enough for the rest of your party to get away, but you were captured and brought back to Fjerda. You had assumed you’d be killed, but instead, you were sent to their experimental division and given your first dose of parem.

So the angels fall. Now, the idea that you could be remotely close to a prince’s best friend is laughable. If you could see him now, you have no doubt that he would still be the same golden, glorious boy he had always been, now imbued with the confidence of years wearing the crown. By contrast, you are huddled in a cell, your powers harshly amplified by the corrupting influence of jurda parem.

No, Nikolai Lantsov certainly wouldn’t want you now. The only way you can have him still is in your dreams, those beautiful fragments of imagination in which both of you are still young and blameless. He hasn’t fled Os Alta for a false name and a life at sea. You haven’t been captured and forced to undergo cruel tests. Both of you are happy and whole, and nothing bad has ever happened to either of you. What a dream indeed. 

A dream, but dreams are all you have. The dream of being back with Nikolai is a good one. So, too, is the dream that someone will come to take you out of this place. You’ve had this one many times before, and it slips over you like sleep. It would happen quickly, the break-out. The Fjerdan guards would shout in surprise, then be quickly silenced. You’d hear the rattle of fast footsteps, and the door to your cell would fly open. All doors would be open, and all Grisha would live. You’d run far away, to a place that would finally want you again. All would be well.

You’re comfortable with it, not bothering to open your eyes lest you lose track of the dream. Only– maybe the parem is still lingering in your system, because you swear the faux sounds of fighters are louder than they usually are in the dreams. It’s not real, but the shouts do seem real, don’t they?

It’s not real. After all, parem has a way of messing with your mind. Many times during your captivity, you’ve thought you’d seen someone from home only to realize differently during the cloudiness of withdrawal. This is the same as that.

However, when the door to your cell clangs open, you feel the reverberations through your skin and bones, something that never happens when the Fjerdans come to get you. Your eyelids fly open and you scramble back against the wall, watching with terrified eyes as soldiers hurry to you. One’s in Ravkan fatigues, but the other is a Healer in a red kefta.

“You’re not real,” you grit out, teeth pressed together.

She shakes her head sympathetically. “I am, my friend. We’ve broken you out at last. Here, I have the cure.”

She holds out a syringe pre-loaded with some sort of substance. You snap back when you see it, too familiar with Fjerdan tricks of trying to inject you with different medicines. “Don’t you dare get that near me. I know what you do.”

The Healer jerks her chin towards you. “Hold her,” she says to the soldier.

You scream, a high, drawn-out sound, and do your best to fight, but your captivity has left you frail, and he’s able to subdue you after minor effort. The Healer pushes the needle into your veins, and you wait for something terrible to happen, another grievous experiment to begin in your body, but the strangest thing happens:  you feel better.

You stare up at the Healer. Your mind feels clearer than it has in days, and, impossibly, you can feel your strength returning. “What is that?”

“A cure to jurda parem,” the Healer tells you. “Sincerest apologies that it’s taken this long to get to you.”

You’re guided out into the corridor, where you join the former occupants of the surrounding cells. All of you regard your rescuers and each other with the same incredulity and faint excitement. Is this really it? Are you finally out?

The ride back to Ravka should be long, but it feels as if it’s over in the blink of an eye. Several times, the rescue party stops at safe houses along the way, giving all of you opportunities to wash up, get new, warm clothes, and eat and drink to fix the gnaw of hunger that clings to all of you. By the time the gates of Os Alta swing wide to admit you, you’re almost feeling normal again.

Almost.

The torment of your time in the Fjerdan cells will stick with you forever, and the awful memories of what it had been like to be under the influence of jurda parem. However, the Healer’s cure worked well. When you try to use your abilities, they work the same as they had before the awful drug was first administered to you. By all accounts, you’re back to normal, even if your mind doesn’t entirely feel that way.

The driver calls to your group that you’ll be arriving outside the Little Palace shortly. “King Nikolai will be there to greet you,” he announces over his shoulder.

Excited whispers surround this, and you can’t help but listen in intently. “Nikolai Lantsov will be there?” One girl giggles by your side.

Another smiles in encouragement. “They say he’s been observing each coach that brings back rescued Grisha from Fjerda. It’s like he’s looking for someone. Maybe an old friend?”

You feel your stomach chill, the warm delight of rescue starting to cool off again. You have no doubt that you’re the one Nikolai is looking for; he had told you many times that you were his favorite Grisha by far, even when he was briefly engaged to the Sun Summoner for purely political reasons, but you find yourself hoping he doesn’t find you when you get out of your coach.

It’s not that you don’t want to see him, you do– the idea of being with Nikolai again had sustained you through your time in the Fjerdan cells better even than food or drink, but the fact remains that you are no longer as you were in your memories. You are no longer someone that a king would care to see. More so than just your weakened frame, your disorganized mind– you were captured on a mission, and you succumbed to jurda parem. In the back of your mind, a cruel voice whispers, pathetic. Nikolai will be spending his time with the finest diplomats, the noblest princes and princesses. He will not want a Grisha who could not hold out against a drug.

You gather your borrowed cloak about you, pulling the hood down over your face. It’s a size or two too large for you, by virtue of it belonging to someone else, and right now you’re glad for the extra fabric to disguise you. Nikolai is looking for a ghost, and probably out of necessity. He’ll likely be relieved that he won’t have to handle you like a difficult situation.

The coach pulls to a stop. Many rescued Grisha are crammed inside, so you blend into the crowd as you all pour out. Other Grisha from the Fjerdan prison are there already. It’s easy to slip amongst their ranks, keeping your head down. Nikolai is there in front of you as promised. His head is tilted up slightly, his gaze sweeping row after row of visitors. Maybe he isn’t even looking for you at all.

Then, his eyes catch yours briefly. Immediately, you look away, and start backing through the crowds again, trying to lose his gaze. When you feel it’s safe to look again, you breathe out quiet relief when you notice that he’s still scanning the crowd where you had been. Lost him. It’s a victory, but it’s an awful pain nonetheless.

Once everyone has arrived, Nikolai says a few kind words about how he’s glad everyone has returned home and how apologetic he is about the time it took to get you all back. No one seems to hold it against him, though, and how could you? He rescued you in the end, and managed to get you the cure to jurda parem to boot. It’s a fine success if you’ve ever seen one.

Nikolai releases you to the Little Palace to rest. Grisha stream past Nikolai, but he doesn’t stop to talk to any of them, looking again for someone. For you, maybe. You pull the hood down low again. If you move quickly, maybe he’ll miss you. You give him a wide berth, keeping your eyes low. You’ve almost made it to the edge of the courtyard when you feel a hand rest on your arm, carefully pulling you to a stop.

You don’t look up, not at first. You don’t have to look to know who it is. You’ve known Nikolai for years. You would know how he walks, the precise pattern of his boots against the cobblestones. You would know how the breath hitches in his throat when you’re reunited after too long a separation. You would know how his hand feels on you. You’ve dreamed of it a thousand times, but this isn’t a dream anymore, this is real.

“Excuse me, moi tsar,” you whisper. Maybe he doesn’t know it’s you yet. Maybe you can still escape with your dignity intact.

Any hope you had of avoiding recognition vanishes in an instant when Nikolai murmurs, “Y/N,” in such a desperate voice that you feel you could hardly move if you tried.

You stand still. A strong wind could blow you over, maybe. You watch the ground as Nikolai’s boots cross the ground to stand in front of you. His other hand rises to brush your hood back from your face. A gasp is ripped from his lungs as he takes in the sight of you.

“I look that bad, then, do I?” You can’t help but laugh quietly. It’s a bitter sound. You used to sound happier when you laughed with him, you think. A lot has changed.

Nikolai’s hand leaves your hood, drifting to your face. He raises your chin with a soft finger until you’re looking him in the eyes again. “Not to me,” he says, voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

A quiet scoff escapes you. “I have been a prisoner of Fjerda for months, moi tsar. I doubt that was conducive to beauty.”

“You’d be surprised,” he tells you. Then, a bit more insistent, “You don’t need to refer to me with a title, Y/N. You didn’t when we were little.”

“I didn’t know better,” you say. It’s not quite true, and he knows it.

“Don’t say that,” Nikolai pleads. “We were friends, excellent friends. Now we’re older and you’re avoiding me. Why?”

You look away again. “Don’t ask me that,” you say with a laugh. You meant it to be a joke, but it comes out as a plea.

“I will,” he insists. “I have always been stubborn, you know that about me. Stubborn enough to search every single Fjerdan prison my spies could find when you went missing. Stubborn enough to stand here and wait in the cold until I could find you. And certainly stubborn enough to wait here with you until you tell me why I’m no longer good enough for you.”

This, at last, is enough to make your eyes fly to him. “That’s not true,” you insist hotly. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You’re a king and I’m a Grisha. And a Grisha that couldn’t even withstand jurda parem, to be specific. Saints, you win wars and I lost the first one that ever came to me. If there is anyone that has ever been insufficient, it would be me.”

The hand on your arm slips down to your fingers, and Nikolai squeezes once, twice. A heartbeat. A prayer. “You have never been insufficient to me,” he tells you. You make some sound of disagreement and he repeats it, insistent as ever. “No, you listen. You aren’t. Jurda parem is notorious for the pain it causes. You think you lost the war? The fact that you’re still alive in front of me tells me that you won it. Every day since you went missing, I woke up and went to bed terrified that you were dead and I would never know. I need you, sweetheart, and I need you to stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

You stay quiet for a while, letting the words turn over in your mind, then, impulsively, you ask, “Sweetheart?”

He grins, easy as always. “It fits you. Don’t argue with me, I’ve had plenty of arguments prepared to convince you otherwise.”

You laugh, and this time, it’s real. “I wouldn’t dare, then. I just would have thought that you’d have plenty of princesses who would have won that nickname for real by now.”

Unable to stop yourself, you cast a glance towards his left hand. No ring. When you look back up at Nikolai, he’s beaming. “No queen for me, I’m afraid. I was waiting for mine to return from captivity.”

You roll your eyes. “Still haven’t given up on that, have you? I seem to remember you trying and failing to convince me to marry you since we were six.”

Nikolai grins, slipping your arm inside his so he can guide you back to the Little Palace. “I will never give up. Not until you say yes.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in mock disbelief. It’s been a while since you saw him. It’s been a while since he asked. If he were to do it again, you think you might have a different answer than when you were both so small. 

Nikolai turns to look at you, his eyes shining. He’s always had a gift for knowing what’s on your mind, and judging by the light in his smile, you think he’s predicted your thoughts yet again. He’s got some time before he attempts another proposal. This time, though, he’ll have a better outcome than before.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @aoi-targaryen, @budugu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov imagines #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov oneshot #grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone oneshot #nikolai #nikolai imagines #nikolai x reader #nikolai oneshot #grishaverse nikolai #grishaverse nikolai imagines #grishaverse nikolai x reader #grishaverse nikolai oneshot

[carionto]

Human sciens is simply fuck around and find out

So when the humans give a tour of the labs so alliance members see what the crazed apes are up to, suddenly BOOM the halls shake and lights flicker but the tour group is fine while the one giving the tour says something like "Ah thats the sound of progress" all while there's people rushing by with guns and extinguishers yelling about a code Red and subject escape

[22/09/23] Nice, that is a fun trope to work with. I think I'll leave the dinosaur crew be, and have some other questionable research station make a debut with an "accident". [23/09/23] Idea pops in my head after several rejections - Human-alien hybrids (because you can't cross-breed because that's not how biology works, but Humans are still curious, because of course we are) [24/09/23] Actually, no, I don't like that: 1st - fairly common as is; 2nd - doesn't feel right with the Humanity I'm writing out. No, I think a better avenue is, since Earth in this verse is gonna collapse in on itself in under a century, experiments towards terraforming methods, since that's a requirement and thus a literal blank check for any- and everything. Yes. (mad scientist voice) Yeessss, I can see it taking shape! [25/09/23] It took some kind of shape indeed.

_____________________________

Biology is the most diverse and complicated field of research with literally no end in sight. We will eventually discover every law of physics, and, yes, chemistry also has the potential for limitless combinations, only in biology can you find and create circumstances where trillions of different organisms co-exist and co-operate, compete, and can create a stable and self sustaining system. Not to mention mutation and evolution across generations, as well as the myriad of changes and adaptations a single organism can undergo in its singular lifespan. The potential is truly beyond the bounds of imagination.

Since biology is an omnipresent field in every civilization, it is only natural that it didn't take long before a Human led joint Coalition Flora research station was established - the Efflorescent Sneezewort Yarrow.

It is also natural that not long after that the non-Human staff sent this panicked message:

The Humans are insane! First, there is no regulation for anything beyond decontamination, which would be fine, if - IF - they didn't sometimes just bring the test materials out with them anyway for, and I quote: "Let it experience the outside world" or "Introduce it to my other plant buddies." The head researcher, instead of reprimanding this clearly dangerous behavior, just lets it happen. As a matter of fact, he almost exclusively and constantly ingests a plant-based gaseous substance through a device he calls a "bong" and locks himself for days on end within a random lab and, as he put it while looking at the ceiling: "Feel out the connections. We're all part of one whole, and only by becoming one with the roots of the soul can you truly attain the understanding of the spirit, and unlock the true calling of each sapling." As I draft this emergency message, there is a shuttle going through decontamination with two squads, one is an extreme disaster containment unit, the other a full on military special forces unit. With heavy duty weaponry. The worst is what they had to say: "Yeah, sometimes one of these nutcases gets the idea to combine plants with animal genes, and, to be fair, with access to the whole Coalition database and samples, I get it. There's a lot of really weird and cool creatures out there on each planet, makes most people at least think about playing scientist. Anyway, it's gonna be fine, the code said it was just a Mini HoH, so we'll be done in under an hour and you can all go back to doing your thing. I just hope we don't have to burn the thing this time, the prof said it's something like a dandelion and a small rainforest actual almost-lion from one of the real far out planets, but it's got bunny ears and the nose of a German shepherd, sorta. I think that's kinda neat." By the way, HoH stands for, and I am not making this up and the translator did get it right - House of Horrors. They claim it is just an homage to a piece of old Human culture. I don't believe them. I refuse to be a part of this madhouse for any longer than I must. Send a vessel and return me to a normal laboratory setting. I will now incubate myself in a cryo-pod to prevent any more exposure to these "scientists". Thaw me out in clean garbs and with two interns already doing real work on new medicines.

#humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #carionto

[ghost-n-butteredtoast]

Can I get a Miranda fic where Reader is having a terrible day and Miranda notices and decides to do something about it. Fluffy please and thank you 😁

Well...I am not fond of Miranda, so I find her difficult to write, but I welcome the opportunity because she and I are going to have to get to know one another in my RE8 AU fic soon. Soooooo... dear @geekyarmorel, I hope I have delivered enough fluff here. Thank you for the prompt! Enjoy!

The Assistant

Mother Miranda x Reader prompt Requested by : @geekyarmorel

She was so…promising.

Vitals were stable. No immediate mutations. You turned your back on the subject for only a short while and disaster strikes. Pure, bloody disaster. 

Immediately you are pinned to the cold floor of the lab by the test subject now turned moroaicǎ. Its newly formed fangs that have ripped from its gums drip black blood onto your face. It rears back, gearing to lunge at you once again, but cries out in pain, suddenly going rigid and falling to the floor beside you.

Your eyes are wide open in panic and shock, and there is a ringing in your ears that muffles the soothing voice coming from somewhere close by, but you can not see the source.

"Miran-MIRANDA?" You cry out as you try to sit up. Gravity and pain send you back to the floor and into a small, warm puddle with a sickening splat. The room goes black.

"Still yourself, my little hummingbird." Came a voice from your side.

You wake up in your bed and find Miranda in a chair next to your bedside. She places her journal on your nightstand and rises from her seat to inspect your wounds.

Your hand finds the back of your head and you wince. "No touching." She commands as she takes your hand away from your aching head. "A minor laceration, but one that required multiple stitches. The scalp bleeds so easily, quite the puddle of blood I found you in. You had me worried. Luckily you incurred no fractures."

"The test subject. It was exceeding my expectations and suddenly it mutated! I - I have failed you once again." You said, warm tears making their way into your hairline.

Taloned fingers lift your chin gently.  "You never fail me, my sweet."

"But Eva… I just hoped, that maybe this was the one. I want this so badly for you!"

Miranda removes her hand from your face and studies you. She had grown fond of you while you had worked under her watchful eye. But at those words, your words, she could not help but feel more for you than she had cared to admit. She thought you only had an interest in the science of it all, the process, not the actual purpose…bringing back Eva…for her.

Slowly, Miranda stands to blow out the candle on your bedside table, and removes her robes, revealing her alabaster skin and raven-black feathers. The light of the moon shines through the window and illuminates her form. She stands bare before you, offering herself completely.

"If you were to feel me, every inch, you will find not a single muscle nor drop of blood harboring disappointment in you, my love."

"M-my love?" You whispered, your heart nearly exploding.

You are in complete awe of the woman who stands before you; so powerful and vulnerable, and you find your hands aching to touch her. Never did you ever think she would love you. You slide out of bed and fall to your knees. You wrap your arms around her, your head resting on her lower abdomen, and you begin to weep.

"No." She insists, her taloned fingers taking your chin again. "Rise. You do not belong on your knees before me. Your devotion to me and to my cause, my Eva, proves you worthy of being eye to eye.”

Your hands never leave her soft skin as you make your way up off the floor and into her arms. Once there, she holds your trembling form and caresses the back of your head tenderly making sure not to upset your wound.

“There, there, my sweet hummingbird.” She cooes. “Save your tears for times of joy. We will resurrect Eva in time….together.”

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #fanfiction #writing prompts #re8 mother miranda #mother miranda #mother miranda x reader

[tmntxthings]

So I may be having some trouble at school and I was wondering if Gn! Reader could try and get some help in math from Donnie? (Or all if this is a HC situation.)

either way, just reader begging Dee or the others for some help and being super duper grateful when their grade goes up?

Mathematically Inclined

author’s note: I personally hate math, I’m an English major, I went as far away from math as possible, would’ve been nice to have Donnie help me out in statistics last semester T-T

warnings: cursing, fluff :D

—————————————————————————

It was the end of the world. You had t-minus two days until your big exam. And it was comprehensive of every single chapter you had to learn that semester. And you had went through a lot of chapters, twelve, but who’s counting right?

You had your notes and you had previous chapter exams and even homework to go over. But it wasn’t clicking, and you were starting to feel DOOMED. Holding back a dramatic sob and thinking of how tragic your transcript would look with a big fat ‘F’ for college algebra. You decided you needed help. Normally, you’d just suffer in silence, you weren’t the type to rely on others. In fact, you were very proud to have gotten this far on your own. If this had been any other subject you’d have it in the bag. But it was math.

“Donnie please I need your help,” you said into your phone. “With what exactly?” Donnie asked, currently he was working on multiple things. He hadn’t left his lab in days, he hadn’t even answered your first call! “I’ve got this really big test and it’s make or break time. If I fail this I’m getting an F.” If Donnie couldn’t teach you then you just didn’t know what else to do. Studying on your own wasn’t going well. It was too late to schedule for tutoring. You waited with bated breath for Donnie’s answer, “when’s the exam?” it wasn’t an answer but at least it wasn’t a straight up rejection!

“Two days!” You whimpered, “please Dee, please please please help me!” You were resorting to begging for pete’s sake! You heard a long sigh, “alright but you have to come here, bring some energy drinks.” And the nerd hung up in your face.

You couldn’t believe it. He said yes?! You were scrambling to get all of your things in your backpack. Thankfully you had the drinks already in your fridge, your roommate liked to stay up late gaming when they didn’t have school work to do. “Borrowing a couple of these I’ll get you more!” You called over your shoulder as you raced out of the door. Heading for the lair but specifically to Donnie.

You had an energy drink in your hand, giving it to Donnie as soon as you passed through the lab doors. And boy did he need it! His eyes looked so strained like he hadn’t slept for days! “Dee what’s up?” You asked, concerned for your friends health. “Just been busy, can’t afford to sleep right now, I’m so close to finishing its maddening.” The purple turtle sighed as he looked over your notes.

“What seems to be your issue? I mean everything you have written down is correct,” it was your turn to sigh. “Yeah well that’s just it, I’m never the one doing the problems I’ve been using the internet for homework…” you grumbled, more than embarrassed to admit your faults. “So, you’ve been cheating?” Donnie raised an eyebrow. “I mean is it really?! Everything so far has been online, I’m just using the resources I have available. And now the last test is in person?! It seriously blows!!” You huffed at the end of your rant, only to see that Donnie was smirking.

“So you don’t know how to do any of this yourself and you want me to teach you a semesters worth of work in less than two days?” The way he put it, it sounded impossible! You slouched over, elbows on your knees, hands to your face. “So it’s hopeless?” You mumbled. The last bit of hope you had finally draining. “I didn’t say that, just wanted to clarify,” you peeked out of your hands to see Donnie had a small smile on his face. You wondered if he thought this was funny. You swallowed your irritation, latching onto the last spark of hope.

“Alright let’s do this.” You said, determination written on your face. You cracked open your own drink and took a long swig then with a pencil in hand you waited for instructions. “Start with this, x raised to the 5th…”

The whole first day was pretty rough. It was nonstop problems. Going from the basics of chapter one and building your way back up. By the end of the day you had a solid piece of foundation and at least knew how to start tackling the problems from chapter one to five. “How about a break, we could both use a nap, we’ll pick up where we left off,” Donnie was yawning and he stood stretching out his legs and arms. You leaned back in your swivel chair, “sounds good to me,” you said tiredly as your eyes instantly closed. You’d fall asleep right there in one of his lab chairs.

“C’mon you goof, you’ll hurt yourself sleeping there.” You blinked drowsily, not wanting to move but forcing yourself to get up, following his lead as he led you to a couch in the back of his lab. “Wake me up in an hour,” you mumbled sleepily as you curled up on one end of the couch. Donnie shook his head, throwing a purple blanket over you and going to the other end. He scrolled through his phone for about five minutes before setting a timer and falling asleep too.

The snooze button was hit a couple of times as the both of you grumbled at the rude awakening an hour later. “5 more minutes!” You pleaded and Donnie who was more tired than you readily agreed. 15 minutes later your eyes were widening as you sat up from your spot on the couch. “Shit shit shit! Donnie we gotta go back to studying!” You said and he was jumping up from his position, “mhm yeah I’m awake!” he yawned as he grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around himself, walking back over to where your notes were on his table.

“Alright… where were we.. oh yeah!~” Genius Donnie was back into the swing of things before you were fully seated. The rest of the studying became a blur. Truly you didn’t even know if you would be able to remember it all but you got through all the material with Donnie’s help, all 12 fucking chapters. “Anddd that’s about it!” Donnie said tapping the white board he had brought over to write the equations out with you. He had learned quickly you were a visual learner. “With four hours to spare,” you practically weeped as you looked down at your phone. “3 hour nap and then I’ll head there,” your words were slurred from sleep deprivation. Honestly you didn’t know how Donnie could function without sleeping for days on end.

“Back to the couch!” He said half dragging you there as your feet stumbled multiple times. Both of you collapsed onto the couch. “Thanks Donnie, really I appreciate it,” you murmured, snuggling into his side and falling asleep faster than he could reply. If he wasn’t so tired himself he’d be pushing you away, he couldn’t even find himself to be embarrassed, “geez,” was all he could say, closing his eyes as he felt his cheeks rise in heat. Thank god you were already passed out, he didn’t know what he would do if you had seen him blushing! He tried to ignore the feeling of your cheek pressed against his plastron, or how your hair was so soft. He was speaking a mantra in his head just wishing to fall asleep along with you, it took a couple of minutes but he finally did.

You woke up with a start. Something felt wrong and you gasped, waking up Donnie who had his head resting on top of yours. “Wha- what’s wrong?!” He said rubbing his eyes to clear the blurriness. “What time is it?!” You said scrambling for your phone but it wasn’t on the couch. Donnie raised his wrist tech, “you’ve got 30 minutes,” he breathed out and you were running to your things. “Oh my god, I’ve gotta go, thanks again Donnie, see ya later, wish me luck!” And you were out of his lab door, like a whirlwind. “Good luck,” he said even though you were already gone, and he smiled, hoping you’d get a decent grade so you could be happy and get some sleep.

Three hours later you burst into the lab, “HEY-“ Donnie had started to yell thinking it was one of his dumb dumb brothers but stopped once he saw it was you. “Oh Y/n? How’d it go?” He placed down the tech parts he was working on. Removing his gloves and wiping his brow, turning to face you. You had tears in your eyes! “Y/n?” He said softly, and you ran forward lunging for him. “Oomph-“ he was more than surprised thinking you’d be mad if you were crying but he felt you squeeze his torso. “I knew what I was doing!! I’m pretty certain I made a bangin’ grade! Definitely a C+ if not a B!!” You squealed happily as he felt the happy tears pour down your face.

He sighed with relief, thankful that was the reason for the tears. “That’s great to hear Y/n,” he was happy for you. “Thank you so much Donnie, you’re the best!! You’re my hero!” You said your face tilting upwards to look at him with shiny eyes. He gulped, not knowing what to say and feeling overwhelmed and more than a little sheepish at the compliments. “Ah- well- you’re welcome,” he managed to get out. “Do you wanna celebrate with me?? I’ll get anything! Your favorites!” You beamed up at him, still holding him tightly. He couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. His face flushed a dark green and he nodded. More than happy to get his favorite pizza to celebrate your success. “Yeah sure,” he said trying to seem unfazed even though his face felt hot.

You giggled, a slight blush coloring the top of your ears. “I’m on it then!” Your hands slowly letting him go as you turned your back to order the pizza. Donatello’s hands hadn’t moved from his sides but he was clenching them into fists now, resisting the urge to pull you back to him. Oh Galileo was he screwed! He blew out a breath, doing it anyway, pulling your back to meet his plastron as he rested his chin on your head. Trying to act like this was totally normal, he hummed looking down at where you were at with the online order. “Get some cheese sticks too,” he mumbled and you were turning red as you relaxed into his hold, “s-sure!”

Maybe math wasn’t so bad after all… you thought to yourself, especially if you got to study with such a cute genius! You clicked order and closed your phone, moving your head to look upwards as he lifted his chin off of your head to be able to peer down at you. “I think I like math now..” you said a little dumbfounded. Donnie couldn’t help it, he burst into laughter, holding you tightly to him, you were just too cute. “I don’t know, I think I like something else,” Donnie smirked after his laughing subsided, he noticed your burning ears and bit down on his lower lip, thinking you were absolutely adorable.

#tmnt fandom #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #turtle bros #donnatello #donatello hamato #donatello x reader #rise donnie x reader #rise donatello #tmnt donnie #rottmnt oneshot #rise tmnt oneshot #donnie #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt #tmnt fluff #fluff #donnie x y/n

[local-angst-satan-diinosour11]

ask and you shall receive! @spiderwebd and whoever else takes intrest in this au!

Starting off explaining what I have so far for the Insane Subspace au we have the start of it all: Rusted Boombox!

“Oh so YOUR the one Medkit finds soooo annoying huh? Typical of you playgrounds really, in that case I’m sure Meddy won’t mind if I take you off his plate and ears :)”

Subspace had targeted and cornered Boombox somewhere while enlisting the help of Hyperlaser to wound him, he also decided that this annoying little brat whould be his test subject of choice for a thing he cooked up with the help of the power of his crystals: rust that eats away at the demon as if they were metal (it does stop after a bit, it’s made to make SURE the target stays down if they manage to live)

after that was said and done the two left with Subspace cackling like the maniac he is, taking out one of the two most annoying phighters was just one step of his plan. Feeling cockier then ever and more confident that the world will bend and break to Blackrock. Hyperlaser, however, felt a small bad feeling about Subspace. He brushes it off as just being the usual Blackrock feelings though

back to Boombox, he laid motionless against the wall. The rust had stopped by now, leaving lasting damage to the gear and the demon that fell victim to the organic material destroying rust. Seemingly dead by then from the injuries

…. However. Despite better judgment, and judgement of his fellow deities, a certain ghost looked around to see if the coast is clear. Walking over to the playground phighter and kneeling down as if to check out the damages.

“hm…. I hope you know, I usually place myself as neutral no matter the demon or faction…” he gave a sigh despite having seemingly no way to “however, I can sense something brewing deep down and your team will be needing your help. Your death will only bring Crossroads to its knees, and the others- or at least I- will not allow this to go on.”

he stood back up

“I don’t usually do this, never found the reason to myself, but each of you have a role to play… and you are the catalyst to doing so.”

The deity raised up his broken spectral sword

“May you use it well, it will keep you alive if you ever were to succumb to your grave wounds agian before you get help or help find you. Mabey you can find some extra use for it who knows. Just keep in mind your the only one I’m doing this for.”

The ghostly deity brings the sword down into the ground in front of the fallen demon and then disappears with the sword, leaving small flecks of white lingering in the air…

…. A single twitch.. then another, until the phighter awoke with a huge gasp of air and a flicker of a large white X going into all corners of his visor before it flickers back off again- well- or at least he thinks he’s awake. He’s not sure as something was clouding his visor, making everything almost a dark orangish brown void. “S..SLING?… SKATE?… A-ANYONE?…” … not an answer. That’s… that’s ok, he could find them soon, right? That or they find him, where ever he is.

He tries to push himself up, having almost little success. Pain shot through him, causing him to give a yelp and almost collapse back onto the ground again. Limping it is he guesses!.. “H..hah, n-nothing.. I-i can’t handle..”

He picks up his boombox with a little bit of a struggle, at least all of them came with the instinct to use the gear thier given! He dosnt need to see his boombox to know how to use it, that he’s thankful for… although it feels… wrong. Almost uncomfortable to hold, some kind of scratchy metal-like surface covered the boombox in various degrees.

He just has to hope it still works.

—————————————————————————

If your wondering how he gets around, Rusty Boombox ends up using music to get a hold of his surroundings, basically letting the beat guide him in a very literal way

The boombox… not AS powerful as it once was (and bearly even plays a song properly sometimes) But it still works, and hits HARD

If I was going slightly off of Canon Compliance for skins (which I doubt have any lore except for ones like Biograft) I whould say the boom box could cause a area attack similar to Pulse wave attack but it goes all the way around him (and also has spikes added onto the visual), like a sour note

Also one of Rusty’s horns had snapped off from the rust on him! Which is… fun.

#phighting #phighting! #phighting roblox #Rusted Boombox #Insane Subspace au #angst crimes #phighting boombox #Everyone is gonna go through it in this au dw #This is just the beginning! #Gaze upon my writing prowess and WEEP (/lh)

[pinievsev]

Hiii!! May I request a Arrogant / bold reader x short tempered minjae? <3

Hello! Sorry it took so long! I'll start writing again ASAP! I'm finally on vacation! I honestly had no idea how to go about this but I tried, hope I don't disappoint!

Pairing: Arrogant/bold!GN!Reader X short tempered!Minjae

Warnings: yelling, mentions of stress, swearing. I think that's all.

Synopsis: finals are coming up and you've been studying your butt off, Minjae has been trying to help you, but on one particular day, you're not exactly in the best mood.

Please don't repost on other platforms or translate any of my works without consent! Thank you.

©The-Lemon-Boy on Tumblr

You didn't mean to say it. You really didn't. Of course you were more than thankful for Minjae, he's been taking care of you for the past week all while you just sat Infront of your desk basically swimming in books, notebooks, notes, old test papers and all that.... Fun.... Stuff.

-10 minutes ago-

You let your head fall limp on your desk, taking in a deep breath. You've never been able to understand this particular subject, you had read over every single thing you could find on it yet you still didn't get it. It frustrated you.

You closed your eyes, hoping for a few minutes of peace and quiet to get yourself together. But of course, someone just had to walk in your room as soon as you started to relax.

"get out" you murmured, but nothing, you felt a hand on your shoulder and you heard Minjae's voice. "You should get some actual sleep. You know. It's not so hard once you look at it with fresh eyes" You scoffed, like you didn't know that. You didn't have time to sleep. You had to understand this. "Easy for you to say!" You shrugged his hand off your shoulder and turned to glare at the boy. 'its not so hard' he says. Sure. For him maybe it isn't.

"you know all of this already! You're smart! We get it. Leave me alone!" You regretted every single syllable as soon as you uttered it. You watched as he's jaw clenched along with his fists. "Well I'm sorry I care about you. I'm sorry I tried taking care of you. I'm sorry you're so fucking arrogant!" He hissed and walked out.

You wanted to get up and apologise, but your legs were numb, you hadn't stretched them for hours. You slowly pushed up off the chair, grimacing at the weird feeling of standing up after so long. You slowly walked out of your room, slowly gaining back the feeling of your legs.

Walking around the corner of the hallway, you saw minjae sitting on the couch, two untouched plates full of food Infront of him on the coffee table. He had his hands in his hair, trying to calm himself down, probably.

You knew how easily he got angry, even tho he tried not to, but you were bold. Always speaking without thinking first when you were stressed or mad, and he understood that, he hated himself for lashing out even tho he knew it wasn't your fault.

In other words, you were two idiots bashing yourselves over something you couldn't control. This has happened before, always ending up with you talking and getting over it.

You sat down next to him on the couch. "sorry." You said, simply. "For what?" He looked up at you confused, Making you chuckle. "For lashing out on you. I know you just want to help me,I'm just really overwhelmed, and there's this one thing I can't understand and it frustrates me-"

He had cut you off, bumping your side with his own "I know. I'm sorry for getting mad. You know how I am" he laughed, scratching the back of his head. "That I do know. It's fine." He didn't reply, simply picking up one of the plates and holding it out to you giving you a look that reminded you of your mum when you said you weren't hungry as a kid.

You laughed at that and pecked his cheek before accepting the plate. "So. Do you think you can help me understand something-?" You asked after a few minutes of silently eating "depends if I know it." He joked nodding at you.

Guess you two were the perfect match despite it all.

Aha. I absolutely hate this.😍

Taglist: (if u wanna be added you can interact here)

@laskyy

@cam-phoria-stay

@miss-cassie

@xuxibelle

@och405o

@ujihemmo

@radiancewrite

#fanfiction #kpop #kpop x reader #xikers fanfic #xikers imagine #xikers x reader #xikers imagines #xikers oneshots #xikers minjae #minjae #minjae xikers #minjae x reader #xikers

[cyberwhumper]

This was their one and only chance. They had fought for every inch they pushed out of the depths of Watchtower, every obstacle surpassed filling their hearts with a little bit more hope and fueling their desire to succeed, to finally set themselves free.

Security was no match for the prototype, but arguably they didn't have to be. Their objective was simply to stall long enough, to hold the line for just long enough that their lab rats wouldn't notice how they had been all led exactly where they needed to be, puppeteered all along. For a few moments that seemed to last an eternity, all hell broke loose when they breached the main hall. The elevator leading outside was right there. If only they could make it.

If only.

Mal knew this would result in some bloodshed, but he couldn't have predicted the amount of destruction this little whimsical experiment of his would yield. The weapons load is putting such a massive strain on Dog's mind it's completely out of control, shredding through allies just as indiscriminately as it does enemies. He gently pushes his hair out of his face, and gets to work.

WARNING: CRITICAL MALFUNCTION

Every single system is going haywire. The animal is breaking down at an impressive rate, having pushed itself far past its expected limits while pulling this stunt. Marvelous work, he thinks to himself. He turns off the weapons systems first. Next, the motor systems. Remote accessing a system he himself built should have been easy and simple, and yet Mal seemed to be taking his sweet time. Just break down a little further.

WARNING: OVERRIDE ATTEMPT UNAUTHORIZED WARNING: OVERRIDE ATTEMPT UNAUTHORIZED WARNING: OVERRIDE ATTEMPT UNAUTHORIZED WARNING: OVERRIDE ATTEMPT UNAUTHORIZED

He can see the panic in its eyes. It knows what he's doing, and it has no ability to fight it, but it's still trying. Pushed to the ground like the animal it is, surrounded on all sides by the consequences of their escape having failed as the test subjects are executed one by one. It struggles harder when they finally get to Vina. Mal can see tears sliding across its face, and a sick sense of amusement bubbles up inside him.

"Oops. It would be a shame if your little friend didn't make it. And so, so close to freedom."

WARNING: OVERRIDE ATTEMPT UNAUTHORIZED

"Aren't you stubborn. I figured you'd be more selfless than this."

WARNING: OVERRIDE ATTEMPT UNAUTHORIZED

They shoot Vina again. It struggles.

WARNING: OVERRIDE ATTEMPT UNAUTHORIZED

"Tick tock, doggie. I don't have all day."

WARNING: OVERRIDE ATTEMPT UNAUTHORIZED WARNING: OVERRIDE ATTEMPT UNAUTHORIZED

Medics swarm over Vina. He's no longer breathing. The last thing Mal sees is the heartbroken look in its eyes. He hopes it's an image that will be burned in its mind for the rest of its miserable existence.

OVERRIDE SUCCESSFUL

Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage // @squidlife-crisis // @whumpedydump // @cyborg0109 //

If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!

#whumptober2023 #no.12 #Red #OC #art #blood #captured #failed escape attempt #nonhuman whumpee #whump #whumpblr #whumpee #whump art #original character #original story #tokimeki art #Dog #whoops i got carried away with this one #i have a lot of emotions for Dog

[honeydjarin]

TO THE BONE PART II

DIN DJARIN X READER

Crowds part for the Mandalorian, eyes averted, a constant path standing clear before him even in the busiest places. By the time you realize exactly why his kind is so feared, it’s too late for you. Your silence just might be your downfall.

warnings: fem!reader, soulmates, non-consensual drug use, Dr. Pershing conducts tests on unwilling subjects, canon typical violence

word count: 6,800

a/n: Thank you so much for all of the kind feedback on the first part of this series! I’m so excited to continue this journey together.

I have several parts written, and hope to post every two weeks. That may change towards the end depending on how long it takes to get the end written.

EDIT: reposting because the previous version wasn’t showing up in the tags

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST || AO3

It’s been a while since you were last in hyperspace. You’ve forgotten the strength of the initial jump, the atmospheric turbulence transitioning into something much smoother. You’ve forgotten the lurching in your stomach as your body tries to adjust to going far faster than should be possible for a human.

If you don’t think about why you’re traveling, or who is keeping you company during the journey, you just might find this jump through hyperspace peaceful. There are only the stars streaking by around you, clear of your path as you hurtle along the various hyperlanes throughout the galaxy. 

Traveling with the Mandalorian is even quieter than most of your journeys through the galaxy have been. The starliners were always busy, loud, and often ran late, as is to be expected from any sort of public transportation hub. But when you left home to travel the galaxy, the commercial ships had been the only way for you to see new star systems, or at least the only way that wouldn’t put you at risk of having a bounty on your head. The passenger liners always served your purpose despite the constant noise of those also seeking to planet hop. 

You could get a flight at a reasonable cost, and travel between most of the well settled planets regardless of where they were in the galaxy. Even the Outer Rim has its fair share of ports, constantly shutting people for work or trade between planets, or even just for the sake of sightseeing. You could pretend you were running towards a new future for yourself, one that didn’t include the Force, unchanging destinies, or bounty hunters. You could pretend that it wasn’t really your home that you were running from, or that you weren’t really just trying to escape from yourself.    

Even later, when the future you had fought so hard against began to pass, your fate sealed because of the skills your mother had taught you instead of letting your gifts fade to nothing, when you became a target, there was constant commotion in the starships. Passenger liners were no longer a safe way for you to travel, and the smaller, privately owned ships rang out with a different type of noise. Too much sabacc, too much alcohol, too much money lost. These things always led to raised voices and stray blaster fire. 

You felt safer there than you do now. Each moment the words on your forearm weren’t spoken was a promise that you would survive at least one more day.   

The Mandalorian’s starship isn’t like those other transports. It’s quiet, near silent, more so than the scarcely populated Arvala-7. This is the quietest journey across the galaxy you’ve ever been on. There is no conversation, no threats, no blaster fire or raucous laughter. Just a single warning. 

“Don’t touch this,” the Mandalorian said as he locked up his extensive arsenal of weapons upon your entry onto the ship. You doubt you could find a way to crack open the door even if you wanted to. Not without the Force. Then he herded you towards a short ladder, one that reaches up to a second level above, before undoing the restraints just long enough to reattach them to a rung just below the height of your chest. It was high enough to be uncomfortable but low enough that you wouldn’t risk losing feeling in your arms. The action was just more insurance that you won't touch his stuff, it seemed. He left you there alone in the hull and took the still unconscious child up the ladder with him. At least he didn’t shut the door to the cockpit behind him. 

Now, you’re left to wonder if you’ll spend the whole journey like this. 

You almost think he forgot about you. or he finally decided you’re not a flight risk. He has you trapped on his ship with nowhere to possibly run. He only needs to worry about what you might do to the starship itself. 

He doesn’t come back down from the cockpit, even when he clearly has the ship on autopilot. You stretch back as far as you can and watch from below as he turns towards the pram floating beside him, rocking it gently a few times. Grogu must still be asleep. It is a sweet gesture, or it would be, if the hunter wasn’t still planning on turning you both in to whoever the latest client is. It is only then, after he finishes checking on the kid, that he climbs back down the ladder from the cockpit to check on you again.

He removes your binders completely and your arms fall instantly to your sides, not knowing what else to do with them. The Mandalorian makes no indication of wanting to put the restraints back on you. He doesn’t speak, and doesn't show you any further signs of acknowledgement. He just steps back and climbs up the ladder to the cockpit once more. 

It’s too quiet in the Mandalorian’s ship, the silence stretching on from the moment he released you from the restraints. With no chatter, no attempt by the armored man to make you comfortable, no sign of where it is he’s taking you, the silence settles like a heavy weight that pulls you into the floor more firmly than the ship’s artificial gravity. It’s suffocating.  

The Mandalorian intends to hand you off to the client, take his reward, and then forget about you and the child. You know you’re just a job to him, even if he is your soulmate. So you intend to leave as much of an impression as you can. He only told you not to touch where he stores his weapons. He didn’t say anything about the rest of the starship, so you can touch everything else… right? 

You cast a lingering glance towards the carbonite freezer. There are no bodies that you know of on the ship right now, but you’re certain the bounty hunter is more than willing to use it on a quarry. Would he freeze you if he caught you touching his things? 

If he needs you alive, then you doubt it’s a risk he is willing to take. Not when 60% of those put in carbonite don’t survive the process, and the ones that do often face other side effects such as hibernation sickness and temporary blindness. Still, you'll just have to be careful in your meddling. 

As if he can sense your intentions to snoop, the Mandalorian returns for you.

“Come into the cockpit,” he states, leaving no room for argument. 

He helps you to struggle up the ladder, your arms half numb from being restricted, just to make sure you don’t fall and crack your head open, before he makes you sit in one of the remaining unoccupied seats of the cockpit. Your hands remain free, the Mandalorian considering you to not be a threat—it’s almost pitiful. His gaze holds steady on the galaxy before him, trusting that you couldn’t hurt him even if you tried. He still doesn’t speak to you, and you're not really sure if he is comfortable in the silence or not. You are once again reminded that he is most likely used to being completely alone while traveling through the galaxy. 

It’s a thought that almost makes you sad.   

—☾—

He brings you to another desert planet, one you’ve never been to before and really don’t want to be on now. 

It’s more populated than Arvala-7, the entire population of the previous planet likely not even the equivalent of half the faces you see milling about before you here, especially now that the Niktos no longer have control of the bunker. 

There were no towns on Arvala-7, just some farms, some Jawas, and the hideout, but it didn’t feel gloomy there, even when you were trapped in the bunker walls. The sun would always filter through the slatted windows—they were too small to climb through but just enough to give you a glimpse outside the walls and remind you of the galaxy beyond the well guarded building. The sunlight would glint on the dust particles and show you how they danced through the air, almost as if they were alive. 

Here, everything is dark. The earth is black, burned from the same magma that created it, the sky turned grey with the ever smoldering cinders of the planet. It looks as though a raging storm is coming, but the lack of moisture in the air indicates otherwise. 

You can taste the planet burning on your tongue. Do the people around you taste it too? Or has everyone here grown used to the acrid ash filling their lungs? The Mandalorian pulling you once more by the restraints down the ramp of his ship doesn’t seem to notice. The filter in his helmet keeps all impurities in the air out of his body, just another form of armor against any adversary he might face. 

The docking area, not so much a bay as an expanse of flat land outside of the town limits, has several worn down starships settled in it, the old yellow paint detailing on the Mandalorian’s ship being one of the only things that makes it stand out from the other docked ships. The hunter leads you through the bustling shipyard and pulls you directly to the main street in the town. 

The town’s entrance is framed by a giant stone archway made from the same grey material as everything else around you. The top is almost more square than round, and crumbling from age in different parts. It is still magnificent despite its weathering. The structure towers above everything around it, no building in the town coming close to the height of the arch. 

You stumble slightly as you gawk, too busy paying attention to what lies above you than what rests on the ground before you. You fail to see the uneven dip of the unpaved path, and the toe of your boot catches on the solid earth. The Mandalorian’s grip on you is the only thing that prevents you from tumbling to your knees. 

“Keep up,” he demands, his tone giving away his clear irritation despite the lack of change in his body language. But he still pauses, gives you just a moment to get your feet back under you, before he continues into the town once more. It’s another moment resembling kindness, even if it’s over in a flash. He returns to pulling you forward through the threshold, Grogu floating by your side.

While the street around you is wide, it feels as though the edges are pressing into you, the walls growing closer as the number of sentient lifeforms increases. All around you are vendors stationed at various market stalls—the smell and smoke of cooking food wafts your way from many of the stands, the scents barely stronger than the natural smell of the planet. Groups and individuals of all species are shouting and laughing, some stopping at the stalls while others push through the crowd, heading to some other destination. The commotion in this place is the complete antithesis of the last few days spent on the Mandalorian’s starship. 

The child watches from his spot close by your side, curious about the new location. He doesn’t know that soon your safety will not be guaranteed. He coos slightly each time you’re hit with a new smell, reaching a clawed hand out towards whatever food catches his interest. Even though he ate a ration bar not long ago, the kid is hungry once more. 

In other circumstances you would like to stop and look at the different stands. You would find some real food for the kid to eat, making sure he ate slowly so as not to upset his stomach, as he is prone to do. But the rations have all of the nutrients he needs, and you don’t have that kind of freedom.    

Despite the close press of the crowd, no one jostles into you, even when many keep their eyes away from your form, gazes directed instead at the Mandalorian in front of you. It’s obvious that the majority of those wandering the streets here are not the most law-abiding of people, if the number of blasters and vibroblades you see looped around belts and strapped to thighs is any indication of their character. 

The Republic has little control over the planets in the Outer Rim, creating the perfect breeding ground for those living outside the law, the distance from the rest of the galaxy offering a sense of freedom that often goes too far beyond the line of what’s considered moral by most. But even here the crowd parts for the Mandalorian to pass through. You and The Child receive little attention compared to the armored man directly in front of you. 

The Mandalorian shows no sign that the staring bothers him. He hardly changes his trajectory as he pulls you through the market, the dark visor of his helmet never wavering from the path in front of him. 

“This way,” he grunts, tugging you in a new direction without any further warning. Your new course takes you down an alley. 

There are far fewer people here than there were on the main street. Somehow all the clamor and commotion fades away almost immediately, leaving nothing but the rising fear behind. It bubbles in your gut and turns your stomach sour. There is nothing to distract yourself with now. Nothing but the dull reflection of the churning firmament off the Mandalorian’s helmet, and the dented cuirass—which no longer looks bloodied, the paint instead like rust, in the grey haze of this planet—that has lost almost all of its integrity since he first began dragging you with him from the bunker. 

You wish you could beg, or cry, or even just speak to him. You should do something to stop this, anything to keep him from turning you and the child in for the bounty. If you could just talk to him things could be so different. But you’ve spent your whole life building up resentment for the man, and something that looks like compassion doesn’t mean it is kindness.

 He could still be cruel, and speaking to him may lead to a far worse outcome than you’re already facing. You’ve spent your whole life determining his character without even meeting him and now you can’t bring yourself to reveal the truth. You wish you weren’t so stubborn. 

You wish stubbornness didn’t feel so much like fear. 

The hunter drags you down several other streets and alleys, twisting and turning along the town’s winding passage ways, up and down short flights of stairs until you are too lost to even think of making your way back to the main street—not that doing so would provide any real safety, not when a Mandalorian is after you.

Finally, he brings you to a halt in front of a nondescript door in the back of an alley. He lifts his free hand up to knock on the door, the sound of his fist against metal reverberating off the walls inside in a dead and hollow clang. 

For a moment nothing happens, and you almost think the Mandalorian managed to get lost in the streets himself. Then, a camera the shape of an eye stalk extends from a hatch beside the door, speaking robotically in a language you don’t recognize but must mean something to the Mandalorian. He holds something up in front of the camera, receiving a response in that same unknown language, before the camera disappears in the hatch once more. 

The door hisses open slowly, a cool gust of air breathing against your face, raising goosebumps on your flesh. What lies behind the steel barricade is enough to make your blood run cold. 

The helmets that stare back at you aren’t supposed to exist anymore—at least, not attached to a body. They shouldn’t adorn walking, talking, living beings. But the ghostly figures clad in cheap white armor are clearly alive, and when you turn to look at the man who brought you here, the T of his visor that had seemed so neutral to you before begins to look more terrifying by the second. Suddenly you understand why crowds part around him, why people grow silent and avert their eyes in his presence, or keep their stare trained on him, ensuring that they are not the ones he is after. 

The ghosts usher the three of you into the hall behind the door, and as it slides shut once more you are confronted with the fact that you wasted any chance you had to run. You should have tried harder, fought tooth and nail to protect the child and yourself. Your knowledge of your connection to the Mandalorian allowed you to grow complacent during the journey here, but he doesn’t have the same knowledge as you. He has no reason to change his routine when he is oblivious to the truth. 

You hate him even more for his unwilling ignorance. 

One of the stormtroopers grabs onto the edge of Grogu’s pram, rocking it harshly. You want to scream at him to let go, to get away from the kid, but you can’t. Only now your silence isn’t a choice, it’s a product of fear. Even if you tried to open your mouth to speak, no words would make it past the thick shard of terror sinking down your throat—but you don’t have to speak. The Mandalorian interjects first, his tone sharp enough to send a chill up your spine.

“Easy with that,” he states, visor trained on the trooper. For just the smallest moment you feel hope, not enough to fill you up, to make your chest swell and your mind swarm with thoughts of escape, but just a little flicker. It’s another act of not quite kindness. A small part of you can’t help but think that maybe he won’t leave you here, even if you know there is no reason for him to take you away from this place. He intends to collect on the bounty regardless of your desires, regardless of the fact that you have done nothing to warrant this fate.  

You know It’s a silly thought as soon as you see the client. 

He’s an ex imperial officer. Rather, he should be ex imperial, but the troopers around you and the clear command he holds is evidence that despite the fall of the Empire, the Empire is not truly dead, and now you and the kid are just two more not quite Jedi in their hands. 

If your hands were free, everyone in the room would be tossed aside already, mere rag dolls when confronted with an energy far greater than any individual can ever truly comprehend, but the Force acts as an extension of your body, one you can’t access when your own hands hang uselessly in front of you, bound by your hips. 

You can’t think, can’t breathe. The men around you are talking but you can barely process what they’re saying. All you can do is watch as the kid is passed around, concerned eyes blinking up at you, and then at the Mandalorian. The hunter keeps his own gaze angled towards the client. 

“Yes, very healthy,” you hear someone say, but the words do not fully process in your mind. Suddenly, there is a hand grasping your jaw, fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks like talons, forcing you back into the present. Cold eyes bear down on your own, lips pulling taught over teeth in a sharp grin. 

This is what you’ve always been destined for.

A light shines at you, bathing your skin in a red glow, scanning for something. Whatever it is that the sensors pick up only makes the officer’s grin grow wider. He finally releases you from his grasp.  

“She will do well,” the officer claims, his tone carrying barely suppressed excitement that sends a shiver down your spine. 

Beside you, Grogu is crying. A man with wide, round glasses begins to pull you and the kid along behind him, heading towards a door away from the officer and the Mandalorian. You can’t bring yourself to turn back as the two discuss the hunter’s payment. 

You can’t let the Mandalorian see how the air has become too thick for you to breathe with ease, filling your lungs but providing no relief. You must hide the way your eyes have finally blurred with the tears you managed to keep at bay until this moment. And you cannot bring yourself to look at the man who the Force determined to be more entangled with you than anyone else in this vast galaxy. You don’t want to see him again.  

Even without turning, you can feel his eyes on you, burning as the spectacled man guides you and the child through the door and deeper into the building.

Suddenly you are glad for your silence. You are grateful for the whispers and less than subtle looks that led to you learning to always hide your mark, because a life with a man who would leave you in the hands of the Empire is not a life you want to live.      

—☾—

It appears that the scan was just the first test. The spectacled man tells you as much. He tells you his name is Dr. Pershing. He tells you that he is the one who will be conducting the tests, and that there will be many more to follow. 

“This will be much easier if you cooperate,” he says. “Otherwise you will be made to comply.”

He guides you to sit on a metal table, the chill of its surface immediately seeping through the thin layer of your clothes. The pram floats silently beside the doctor. Grogu’s large ears are lowered against the sides of his head, but at least he’s no longer crying. 

The tests begin simply. Pershing asks questions that you choose not to answer and that Grogu is unable to answer. Instead of responding, you look around the room, taking in the sterile smell and excessively white walls. It reminds you of a medical facility with big machines, tables, and tubes laid throughout the room. Two stormtroopers remain by the door, watching silently. This is not a place you want to be. You would rather be back with the Niktos. 

“When did you first realize you could do things others could not?” 

“Did you have training that fostered your connection with the Force?”

“Have you ever been tested for your Midi-chlorian count?” 

Your lack of cooperation becomes a growing frustration for the doctor as he continues to ask you more questions. A crease forms between his dark brows, a slight frown tugging at his lips, growing deeper each time you ignore him. He looks up from the holopad he was likely intending to take notes on before he realized you don’t plan on speaking, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose once more before speaking directly to you. 

“May I remind you that your cooperation will make this whole process run much smoother,” he nearly hisses. But there is something more than frustration in his expression, despite the sharp tone of his words. Something like fear seems to flash in his eyes, even if it is only for a brief moment. 

“You may,” you state, tone flat, hiding the storm of your emotions, “but it will not change anything.” 

Dr. Pershing huffs out a sigh before setting the holopad back on a table. 

“Then I will move forward with the other tests,” he says, stepping towards you. He attempts to guide you to lay back on the table, his brow creasing in concentration as he does, but you don’t budge.   

Suddenly, there are more hands on you, pushing you down, the cold metal of the table causing your muscles to spasm in a desperate attempt to avoid contact with the uncomfortable material. The Mandalorian’s binders were removed from your wrists sometime during your initial meeting with the Imperial officer (despite the clarity of the faces around you, you can’t seem to remember anyone removing your restraints), only to be replaced with something less permanent but somehow more painful. These temporary binders are removed now, but before you can relish in the freedom of your hands and attempt to sooth what you’re certain is bruising along your wrists, your arms are once again being restrained. 

Grogu ends up on a similar table. It’s more of a machine really, and you begin to panic.

“Don’t hurt him. Please,” you beg. 

“I will do what I can for the child, but results will be expected,” Pershing states, his words sounding almost truthful, and you hope it’s not some sick sort of mind game, something he’s saying solely to obtain your compliance.  

When he goes to draw blood from Grogu you fight to get to the child, pulling against your restraints even though doing so agitates the already sensitive skin and risks further damage to your flesh. The troopers are there to make sure that your struggle doesn’t amount to anything, and the Doctor is able to collect the blood sample that he needs. 

He returns to your side to collect a sample from you as well, even while you continue to struggle as much as possible. There is not much room to move between the restraints and the stormtroopers holding you down. Pershing begins to unravel the fabric wrapped around your arm. The cloth has, thus far, protected your veins and, more importantly, your soulmark, from the doctor. He starts from the top, quickly revealing the skin of your elbow.  

“Stop!” you beg. “Please don’t!” You’re not sure if he’s listening, if he takes some sort of mercy, or if he just doesn’t understand the real reason why you are pleading with him, but he unravels the fabric only enough that the second half of your mark is exposed. 

I can bring you in cold. 

From the moment you met the Mandalorian, your survival hasn’t been guaranteed. If the officer didn’t care if you were dead before, he sure doesn’t care if you survive what’s coming next.     

It quickly becomes apparent that Dr. Pershing doesn’t care about the mark, just the tests, which require him to collect your blood in order to conduct them. You continue to struggle, but it doesn’t stop the doctor from reaching his goal. 

The site where the needle enters your skin will surely form a mark because of your wriggling, another instance of your own foolish actions resulting in more pain than necessary. The doctor’s patience seems to finally reach its limit. 

“I told you this would be easier if you cooperate,” he states, setting the blood sample aside before grabbing something else from his table. “One way or another you will comply.”

You feel another prick, followed by a chilling numbness that spreads from the crease of your elbow out towards the tips of your fingers and towards your chest, the sensation rapidly extending to the rest of your body. Your mind numbs with it, growing foggy and distant. For just a moment longer you think about escape, but thoughts are growing more fleeting by the second. 

It becomes impossible to keep track of what is happening. Grogu is quiet beside you, the Doctor continues to flit around the two of you. Time passes but you're not sure if it’s mere moments or entire hours.

The lights go out, a quick flicker. Then another begins flashing above the door. 

People rush around you. The child lays still beside you, looking around but remaining quiet.

The room is empty. 

Time still passes.   

—☾—

Sounds travel to you slowly. They are clouded and warped, as if they are passing through thick fog on a cold night, ringing out from directions that shouldn’t possibly be able to produce them. In the distance, or what seems to be the distance but really could be anywhere around you, blaster fire screeches out. The high pitched whine barely registers in your sluggish mind. It isn’t in the room and that’s all that matters. 

There are calls for action, screams of pain and shouts of fear, more blaster fire. 

Beside you Grogu remains still, dark eyes blinking towards you, unafraid. You blink back at him, your own eyes struggling to open again once they close. Everything is just so heavy. 

The door slides open with a hiss, and for just a moment all of the noise sounds just a little closer. It’s all still clouded, but the commotion is not such a distant thing even if it still doesn’t seem real. A figure clad in silver armor steps through the door, reflecting the swirling red light of the lab in the same way every other surface around you flickers and shines, a warning. 

It’s your Mandalorian.

As soon as the door seals behind him he rushes over to you. You can’t help but stare at his new armor—this is what your bounty was worth. More shouting comes from beyond the door and your eyes roll back in its direction, taking a while to finally reach their destination. No one else enters the room.    

“Hey. Hey!” your Mandalorian says, lightly tapping your cheek until your eyes return to him. “What did they do to you?”

You can barely keep your eyes on him, your vision constantly being drawn to different things—like the child cooing next to you, or the way the flashing light reflects off the silver of the Mandalorian’s new beskar armor (real beskar, durable and rare). When you fail to respond, he begins to tug on the restraints closest to him.  

Through the cloud of your mind you are aware of just one thing. You need to hide your soulmark from him. He cannot see the words he said to you scrawled across your forearm in sharp Aurebesh. You twist your arm in your restraint, doing your best to try not to think about just how heavy your muscles feel, or how much your arm aches, as you shift your soulmark so it angles towards the table. You are grateful the hunter occupies himself with the other arm first, working quickly while trying not to hurt you.  

He rips away your restraints with ease, and a small part of you wonders, if you had your full strength, could you have gotten out on your own? But the thought doesn’t linger, your mind unable to focus on anything for longer than a moment.

The Mandalorian turns from you to The Child, setting him free as well. You take the opportunity to rewrap your arm, covering your soulmark once more. It’s a sloppy process, one that is difficult to complete with the weight of your muscles and ache of your wrists. Your fingers seem to have as much function as they would in the freezing cold, and keeping your mind on task proves to be difficult. You’re lucky the fabric used to cover your mark was only partially unwound. 

 The hunter retrieves Grogu, placing the child back into his protective pod, before helping you down off the table, tucking you into his side. Your legs collapse, unable to hold your weight, forcing the Mandalorian to bear the brunt of it, although he likely anticipated this outcome. You take a moment to get your legs back under you, just enough so that he doesn’t need to carry you. He pauses, giving you time to adjust, just as he always does.  

You can’t fully comprehend what is happening as he tugs you through the building. Flashes of blaster fire cross your vision, fading into darkness as they pass. The time between blasts is never long enough to let the shadows linger. Some are aimed at you and some directed towards the stormtroopers blocking your path, courtesy of your Mandalorian. 

He tries to keep you behind him, standing strong as you stumble along, shielding you and the child as much as he can with his body. 

A bright red bolt, burning hot, streaks past your face and nearly makes contact. You’re too out of it to react, eyes shifting in its direction long after the shot has passed, finding nothing but shadows behind you. The hunter turns towards you for just a second, taking any oncoming fire with the shining new beskar on his back. 

His leather clad hand cradles the side of your head for a mere moment, eyes burning through his visor into your own, hotter than the plasma that came so near to the place his hand now holds. His helmet flickers red as more shots go wide around the three of you. He nods, chin barely tilting down in acknowledgement of your continued safety. Then, certain that you are alive and well, he turns towards the oncoming fire once more.

You don’t know how much time you spent in the hands of the Imperials. It could have been hours or weeks, or something in between. Realistically very little time actually passed, no more than a day, but your perception of time is wrong, its passage still something you are unable to cling onto. You’re not even entirely sure how long the Mandalorian has been fighting to get you and The child out from where you've been held. 

All you know is that when the hunter finally gets the three of you outside of the building, back onto the volcanic soil and into the acrid air, it’s night. There are no stars here, not like on Arvala-7. Just the ashy sky, tumbling like a storm but always too dry for rain. Or maybe it’s just your own vision that’s swimming. Now, with the horizon farther in front of you than just a wall across the room, with alleys and streets stretching long before you and lined by rows of buildings, you can tell just how far off its axis your world has become.  

Everything is spinning, and you would be dragged along in the current if it weren’t for the Mandalorian’s grip on you. At some point during the firefight he passed the kid to you, freeing up his other hand. You can barely hold The Child’s weight, terrified that your grip will be too loose and you’ll lose him—or worse yet, too tight. 

The Mandalorian’s words echo in your mind the closer to the ship you get, though you’re not entirely sure where his voice ends and the voice inside your head begins. What did they do to you? 

You reach the main street, familiar to you despite the haze in your mind, but it looks much different than you remember. The stalls that had once been bustling are closed down for the night, the noisy crowd and plethora of smells long gone, but the street isn’t empty. There are others, bounty hunters, gathering around you on all sides. 

The world spins faster. Fire streams from the Mandalorian’s wrist, stretching out towards those around you before eventually sputtering and dying once more. The night seems a little darker after that, the blaze of the flame still burning your already weak eyesight even when it’s extinguished. 

You’re dragged and pushed, hidden and pulled—helpless in the face of your adversaries. All the while the Mandalorian stands before you, risking his own life to save yours and Grogu’s. He doesn’t know you’re his soulmate. He doesn’t know that you have been bound together since before your lives even began. This is a choice entirely his own. You can’t allow yourself to think about what that means right now, partially because of the circumstances you are still in, partially because you physically can’t concentrate on anything, and partially because you just don’t want to. 

Time blurs again as you push further towards the starship. The arch framing the entrance of the town looms before you, a silent witness to the events that you cannot comprehend. 

The world spins and then you see double, triple, quadruple of the Mandalorian. 

No, that’s not quite right. The world is spinning but that is not the cause for what you see. The Mandalorian to your left wears beskar painted a color too dark for you to distinguish by the light of blaster fire. Your Mandalorian stands before you, painted in the colors of the fight around him. 

You cannot concentrate on what they say when they exchange words, only picking up on a single repeated phrase:

“This is the way.”

Then, you are on the move again, stumbling forward, always forward, towards the arch above the town. Towards the ship. Towards your destiny.   

—☾— 

The starship is quiet.

You hadn’t realized just how loud the blasterfire had been, even through the fog in your brain, until the ramp finally raised behind you, sealing you off from the rest of the galaxy. The only sound comes from the Mandalorian’s vocoder, warping his heavy breathing into static. But he doesn’t take long to try and catch his breath. To do so would be to risk being caught once more. 

He lifts you up without warning, slings you over his shoulder like it’s nothing—to him it probably is nothing, even after fighting for his life. 

Somehow he manages to cradle Grogu in the same arm that he uses to keep you stable, a precarious balancing act. Then, impossibly, he manages to begin climbing the ladder to the cockpit. It’s ridiculous, you think, like a stack of farm animals standing on each other’s backs—a Mandalorian warrior, a not quite Jedi, and a 50 year old magic baby piled on the ladder. 

You can’t stop the laugh that rips through your throat, the tone wobbling as the silver pauldron presses into your stomach and releases during the climb. Grogu laughs too, unaware of what exactly you find funny, just happy to join in. When a particularly rough jolt up the ladder causes your laughter to turn into a wheeze, the Mandalorian pauses. He readjusts his grip on you and the kid, then keeps climbing.

First he sets the kid down, temporarily plopping Grogu in one of the passenger seats. Then he does the same to you. He straps you into your seat, not wanting to risk you being launched onto the floor or the control panel as he brings the starship off the planet. You just stare at him, at the glint of his new, unpainted beskar and the steely gaze of his visor. 

The hunter picks Grogu up again, placing him on a cuisse covered thigh and leaving a hand on the kid to act as a seatbelt. The ship starts with a purr, engines whirring as the Mandalorian presses a series of buttons and flips several switches. There’s some turbulence as the ship cuts through the atmosphere before leaving the ashen planet behind. In no time at all you are among the stars, body lurching as you make the jump into hyperspace. 

The Mandalorian’s armor catches the light of the universe as the stars blur all around you, the transparisteel surrounding you allowing for every inch of him to be bathed in the flickering glow of distant suns. It’s as if the galaxy has come alive on his armor, painting the beskar in ever-changing streaks of light and color. It shifts and dances even more as he moves from his spot at the helm. 

He returns the child to the second passenger seat, the hunter no longer needing to worry about the kid falling as he had feared during the ascent. Hyperspace offers protection, freedom. You can’t help but stare at the Mandalorian as he returns back to his seat, his own gaze angled towards the stars before him. Your mind is still hazy, but you are unable to focus on anything other than the resplendent man who sits before you.        

You’re so beautiful, you think. 

For a moment you fear you’ve said the words out loud. The Mandalorian’s shoulders grow stiff, back straightening slightly from where he sits in the pilot’s seat. But he doesn’t turn towards you, and he doesn’t speak. Surely if you had spoken he would have something to say as well, something along the usual lines of “I’ve been waiting for so long,” or even “Why didn’t you say anything?” It must just be the fog drifting through your brain, an unfounded paranoia. Your exit from the planet was rough, after all, both the firefight and the atmospheric turbulence. Some lingering tension is to be expected. 

It’s not until you’re well on your way through hyperspace, safe from any of your would be pursuers, that the Mandalorian says anything at all. His star stained helmet turns towards you, the black of his visor burning just as bright as it had when he cradled your head not so long ago. 

“My name’s Din,” he says. “Din Djarin.” 

NEXT PART

a/n: Next chapter we will get some of Din’s perspective!

taglist: @unmitigatedsuperiority @haven-is-happy @sorrow-has-a-place-here @unofficialavenger90

I don’t have a taglist form, but if you would like to be tagged on future chapters you can let me know in the tags/an ask/etc. this is a sideblog so I can’t respond to replies ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction

[vertumnanaturalis]

A lot of people seemed to like my last one, so woe! More fic ideas be upon all ye again; compilation of au ideas I posted in LQ and haven't been edited to be easier to read edition!

(below the cut, because theres like 12 of them and its a big messy mess)

Nem?Tang fic where they wake up in some ancient convergent domain plant device with only hazy memories of how they got there but nothing solid enough to work off of, and also why is their hair so long, and where are their clothes, and where is the goddamn colony? Because oopsie daisy! it seems that somebody put them in the ancient alien magitech healing goo and forgot to take them out when they were done, and now two hundred years have passed and everybody else they know and love are long dead, and also apparently some giant ass fleet of earth guys tried to land while they were having a snooze but! oh! whoopsie! yet again! somebody sent them the wrong information about how to safely get through the wormhole and the majority of the fleet did not make it to the surface in one piece!!! and the some of the survivors may or may not have folk stories about people that may or may not be Nem and Tang’s loved ones doing either great or terrible things during those two hundred years they were sleeping through!!

mermaid au where Besk was a mermaid trapped in a research facility and Instance broke her out during her ecoterrorist days but Besk couldn’t go back to the ocean because (hand waves) so she stayed with Instance as a slightly-more-free test subject who could technically come and go as she pleases, and she did, and eventually came back from one of her outings with two whole goddamn babies, and despite their both their hopes both babies seem to be pretty much normal human babies except for the occasional weird non-human thing, like eating whole raw eggs or Tangent having an overnight sex change shortly after saying she’s a girl, and feeling like she’s the only mermaid left in the world eventually leads Besk to doing the same thing she always does, and now Instance is stuck with two ambiguously half-human grieving kindergartners, and now it’s the world’s words hybrid of Wolf Children and The Thirteenth Year (with a mild dose of human experimentation sprinkled on top)

modern day/modern-ish all humans on earth au fic where Sym is a pre-school teacher(or aid??) who just moved to a new town with his beloved edgelord of a boyfriend who never wants to talk about his past or childhood and Sym only knows bits and pieces that he’s mentioned over the past few years (but that’s fine he’s just got his secrets nothing new there), and at his new job with his new class there’s a young single parent of twins that also moved into town only a little bit after he did, and apparently they don’t have anybody in their life besides their kids, they don’t have any family and the kids dad isn’t in the picture, so he does the nice friendly thing and offers to lend a hand if they need help with anything, and one afternoon as he’s supposed to be leaving work after making sure that the kids are all picked up, he spots said single parent and said beloved edgelord talking/arguing about something, because apparently they used to know each other but haven’t seen each other in a long while, and his boyfriend doesn’t wanna hear what “actually super important and kinda immediately relevant” thing that his old friend wants to talk about, and before Sym can really stop them the two kids go running to greet their parent, and look we all know where this plot is heading fellas

(not sure if this one should follow Tang or Dys primarily but Imma go with Tang side for this) fic where there’s more people than canon but they’re still on Vertumna with little research on it & Sol has dream memories (maybe use part of the old idea about the Helio arriving as part of a mini fleet instead of a lone ship?), and Tang’s intelligence is lauded like in canon and she’s put into the best position to learn smarty smarts stuff, while Dys’ rebelliousness gets him no favors with the Man and gets himself marked as a troubled kid and moved away from his sister, with Tang being told that she can seek him out once she’s an adult if she still wants to but for now not to waste her time or energy on worrying about him and focus on her studies. She keeps hearing him being mentioned in passing as being part of some big secret alien-centric program to so she knows that he hasn’t gone awol, but she still doesn’t see him for the next 3 to 5 years even tho she still gets to see most of the other kids (bar Sol, who was also yoinked by the secret alien program). Fast forward to her being an adult enough adult who seems appropriately level headed for doing amoral sciences, so she’s invited to see the big important secret alien project, and “_so Tangent, you know how some of the xenofauna can pass information and feeling between individuals of different species through physical contact, and that there’s some functional technology leftover from the alien civilization that lived here beforehand? And that your brother spent a lot of time exploring ruins? And how sometimes science needs sacrifices? For the greater good and all that? :)?” and Tang gets to see her brother as one of the star subjects of the project’s attempt to recreate a messy version of the array (while not even understanding what it actually is)

like 3 different variants (Geranium, Flulu, and Hal+Tonin+Sol’s she group on a field trip” of “like 3 weeks after landing somebody falls into a mini wormhole and comes out 25 years into the future, except none of them went missing in the second timeline, and now they’re in the future having to deal with the way life actually turned out, and they don’t even know all of the stuff that their other selves do/did, because they may or may not be alive still in this other timeline”. (Actually what got me into working on all those future kid things because I wanted to know who’d be doing what when and with who)

au where Besk blacks out shortly before her suicide attempt and wakes up in a cave on Vertumna, having 0 idea where she is or how she got there, and stumbles around thinking she’s dead until one of the surveyors finds her, and upon getting back to the colony she finds out that she’s supposed to have been dead for the last 11 or so years, with her two five year olds now being sixteen (the same age as her when she left Earth & also how long she spent on the Strato), and she has to learn how to adapt to everything and being alive when she shouldn’t be while there are so many others who died and aren’t magically alive again, and also has to do all this while more or less locked under constant observation, because BOY nobody is going to casually leave her alone for like, so many reasons

fic that opens with Kom waking up in the medbay after the age 14 glow attack and Nem and their younger brothers and all his friends are so unbelievably glad he’s awake and ok, but he keeps learning about the not canon possible things that happened either during the attack or while he was healing (like his mom dying while helping the kids evacuate the creche or chief Rhett and Sol’s parents having died defending geoponics), and he’s just stuck with this unending feeling that he’s supposed to be dead right now, but he’s not, and I’m not sure where to go with the story past that

au where Kom wakes up five years before the Strato reaches the wormhole with the knowledge that he’s going to die ten years from now, and it more or less follows a dreamer Kom story except that he knows that his story only has one conclusion, and rather than trying to prevent his own death he spends that time trying to save and protect as many people in his life as he can (maybe prequel to above scenario?)

obligatory single “nice” modern au fic except that nice has to be in quotation marks because technically it’d be about Dys breaking into Sym’s house after committing a major felony and definitely in a big hurty thinking that it was abandoned, but like surprise! it’s not! and even tho Dys fully expects Sym to call the cops on him and wake up in jail he instead wakes up in Sym’s guest room and immediately assumes that he either died already, accidentally tripped into the fae realm, or Sym is some kinda polite hannibal ass serial killer, and it’d be just a whole bunch of Sym being genuinely kind and nice to Dys while Dys is just “y tho like literally what is wrong with you”, and it takes like 2 years and several more major felonies for them to get together. also this might’ve spawned off of the earlier pre school teacher one but it’s not 100% attached to it so that’s why it has it’s own bulletpoint

2.5 flavors of a Hunger Games AU, which are "special games where its announced that this year each district has to send two siblings/other close family members, and the twins get reaped in their district", "one of the younger boys gets reaped but Kom volunteers in their place", and "Tang watching as Dys gets reaped the first year he's applicable for it and she can't do anything about it, and then having to watch as Kom (in his last year of being applicable) volunteers in her brother's place and all of his siblings are now freaking out" which only came to me as I was sharing the first two.

also have this flawless related image

au where Sym sees videos of wild animals in urban areas being relocated to a better habitat on the data thing Sol gives him and he comes up with a fresh new idea; cut to his two favorite humans (age 13/14) waking up on a strange beach some few thousand kilometers away from the colony several weeks later with 0 idea how they got there (ark opening tune starts to play)

also whatever this is

anyways, that's definately not all of the random au ideas I've had and don't include some of the more developed ones I've actually made effort to work on/flesh out, but these were on hand and I wanted to share them too

#i was a teenage exocolonist #iwatex #wips #this is really messy and chaotic and basically copied from my phones note app #also yeah. these do all kinda start with somebody waking up in a situation. but this is the wake up again game so I'm allowed to do that

[larandia011]

RESISTING FIRE / JOEL MILLER X READER

PART 1

Plot: Freya is the most intimidating woman in every room she walks into, but when she starts working for Joel, who is desperate to protect her at any cost, she is forced to come to terms with her own submission to him.

Notes: This is an intro to a sexual dom/sub love story, but I just wanted the beginning of my story out there to test the waters. It is meant for the reader to imagine themselves as Freya. I hope you enjoy it!

--

Boston was unusually gloomy on that Monday. A thick layer of fog had layered itself over the quarantine zone. The fog, combined with the frequent gusts of wind hurling sand around the air, made it hard to breath. I had a rag wrapped around my face to not inhale too much of the ash that the six-foot fire spit out, yet the heat painfully stung my skin, broiling my insides for each inhale I took. The glares from the fire spit out on the asphalt, singeing my feet anytime I managed to walk where a part of my shoe had ripped from its sole.

It was the morning of my third shift assigned to infected-burning duty, which I would have never been considered for if not for Tess, who had called it an early birthday gift by calling in a favor and got me «promoted» from the humble gigs as a trash-picker. A better workout, she had argued when she told me. As a mid-twenties woman with no prior skills from before the outbreak, my options in the quarantine were strictly limited to low-paid gigs or spending the days standing at the fabrics-stall alongside my mother. Compared to the latter, scorching heat and dead bodies sounded like a picnic.

I was lucky to meet Tess in my early teens, who raised me as her little sister. She had found me in the tunnels trying to swing at a FEDRA-soldier at the ripe age of 14, saving me just in time to not get shot. I had a hugely rebellious and dominating nature, not fitting in the shapes of my mothers cautious and victim-like behavior. So she took me under her wing and trained me to be as strong as her. We still sparred every single morning in the abandoned tunnels, with the promise that one day I would one day join her and Joels smuggling business when I was ready. I would still argue every week that I was, and though reluctant, she eventually agreed. Joel however, would shut down the subject before it ever started. He joined the occasional training, but rarely said a word or picked up a weapon.

I felt an uneasiness around him, along with most people in the qz. Hid frame broad and tall, his body a hardened shell. His face rarely conveyed any expression, yet his eyes were flooded of emotion. If, by a rare occasion, his eyes met mine, they pierced into my soul, analyzing me, making me flushed with color and feeling small in his intimidating figure.As determined as I was to not let anyone make me feel that way, I almost backed out when Tess informed me he would be the leader on the burn-gig for the next couple of weeks. Yet, I quickly viewed it as an opportunity to show him I had become a valuable asset for them in their smuggling-business. Unconsciously, i had never felt more motivated to finally get any form of approval by him.

«Freya, pick up the pace kid,» he barked at me as he walked by. Unphased by his comment, as they were equally distributed to everyone, I continued in the same pace. I was in better shape then anyone on the team, my arms carrying a lot more muscle then they showed off on my slender physique. My face was plump and young, not taking too much distain from the darkness of our surroundings. I almost looked too bright and alive to fit the picture, something I disproved by not being in the least a pleasant nor bright and witty girl.

Inattentively having my thoughts occupied by Joels comment, i threw the 170lb corpse over my shoulder and into the pit, causing glares of ash to burst at me. As one of the glares hit the an exposed part of my feet, I lost control and stumbled towards the fire, my hand touching the flames. The sudden pain throbbed through my arm, making me fall to my knees instinctively. «Fuck.. Fuck me!» I cried out and grabbed onto the railing of the truck behind me for support. The rest of the team had turned immune to screams and agony and did not even flinch, with the exception of one of the younger men who yelled out to the others «princess is down everyone! Only took 3 days too. You owe me a ration card Bill». The others laughed out in union. I was in no state to acknowledge the comment, but lowered my head in a small defeat. I had proved their prejudices towards me, and there was no turning back from it.

Joel was the only one who came over to help, yet he too looked highly bothered and unconcerned with the situation. His gestures did not match his face, as he delicately placed my hand in his and traced it softly with his rough, dirt-stained fingers. Knowing he would not care to look at me, I stared at him in confusion and sympathy. This was the first time he had touched me, sending waves of energy through my pain-ridden body. I tensed, not knowing what to make of my unexpected reaction. How could a man you would be afraid to even get caught looking at, have a touch that felt so tender, with hands so soft you feel yourself caving at his caress? A vision of who he was before the outbreak immediately caught my mind. Someone gentle, kind, happy.¨

«Freya?» I snapped back to the present to see that he had caught me staring at him longer than I should have, looking at me. My cheeks flushed to a bright pink color, my words at a loss. I was never intimidated or awkward around men. He was the only one who had that effect on me. He kept his gaze fixed on my face for a quick second, and looked back down at the red and blistering burn on the palm of my hand. «Shit, it doesn't look good. I'll have to bandage it, and then you need to go home.You won't be of use to me with one functioning hand.» His deep, rusty voice made the words sound like humming.

I wiped all softness off my face. «Try me,» i snarked back at him. «I will have to be six feet under before I give up todays ration cards.» He looked at me with an amused expression, his features almost forming a smirk, before he stopped himself and let his face fall again. I almost broke through the mask, I proudly thought to myself, trying to refrain from smiling so he would understand that I was not joking around. I was not about to be the weak link of the crew. It couldn't be too hard lifting with one hand.

«Calm down, tough guy. I get you're trying to show off your strength here, but I'm not killing off my crew member on the first week.». I closed in on the space between us, looking him dead in the eye with the last shred of confidence I had left for this argument. «I'm not going fucking home, you piece o..» He roughly jerked my arm before I let out my last words, dragging me so close to him that i felt his quick breathing on my neck, his eyes fixated directly at mine. He startled me in the change of manner, causing me to let out a groan. «I am not fucking asking. Now I will get you the rations, and if you say one more word you'll be out of a job.» Our eyes locked on each others for a moment of silent understanding, before I looked down in defeat by his dominating nature, and let myself be weak in front of the only man I knew would not take advantage of it. I felt his breath tingling on my neck once more, before I slowly stood up and turned away from him. «And get some new shoes before you kill yourself, kid.» He remarked, watching me walk away. Exhausted from the heat, I barely got in the door before I fell asleep.

I woke from my nap only a couple hours later, fully disoriented and in more pain then earlier. The bedroom was damp from the fog, and with the windows open the sound of military tanks and bustling market outside filled the room. I rolled slowly out of bed and glared at the clock hanging crooked by the doorway, my brain not fully conscious yet. I was supposed to had met Tess at the bar 10 minutes prior, and the worry of annoying her woke me up instantly. I walked in front of the cracked mirror in the corner of the room, and released my deep brown curls so they swept down my chest. I put on a pair of black tight-fitting jeans and a low-cut singlet, and quickly ran out the door.

At the bar, there was a lot more people than expected for a Monday night, barely any seats were available. The coarse air smelled of cigarettes and dirt, and there was a tenseness surrounding the overworked crowd, drinking and talking in a self-medicating matter. I scoured the large outdoor patio for Tess, looking profoundly confused as I stood there alone. «Hey princess! Are you lost, little girl?» I heard from the middle of the area, quickly recognizing the men from the burn-crew, along with a couple others I didn't know. At the backend of the table, Joel sat nursing his drink, ignoring the other men's reaction to my presence.

After the long day of inconveniences, there was not enough life in me to even throw a glance at the table of sad fuckbags. Not without turning hurting anyone, at least. I walked by the table, continuing my search for Tess, without success. I turned to the person who knew her every step as they lived together, and sent him a puzzled look, slowly walking in his direction to get an answer of her whereabouts. «She had to go on a mission, she asked me to tell you that she can't make it tonight» he utters without ever lifting his gaze. His face was softer than usual, as to signal some sort of apology for his behavior earlier. You didn't want to tell me that before I walked around here like an idiot? I remarked to myself, not bothering to say the words out loud. I was already defeated for the day, and it only remained to get home in one piece.

I was about to turn around as the man closest to me slammed his glass of beer on the table, and stood up facing me with only a couple inches of space between us. «So, is the fucking princess feeling any better? It sure as hell looks like it, strutting around here with your tits out trying to fuck your way to a free beer.» He said, smirking as he looked back at the table, all the others in approving laughter, except from Joel, who seemed to try to tune out the conversation by focusing hard enough on drinking. The man who i didn't know the name of, quickly grasped my injured hand and raised it up to show the others. «Here we struggle for 20 years, fucking killing ourselves out there for a days ration, and this little bitch gets a blister and throws in the towel!» He was yelling by now, causing a scene in the bar. Multiple tables quieted to listen in. I froze completely, hopelessly waiting for Joel to disclose that he had forced the decision on me, but now he looked up at me, just as frozen as I was. Had it been a better day the man wouldn't have been standing upright as this point, but with my good hand being in astonishing pain, combined with the fact that I was way too sober for this bullshit, made the brawl pointless to join in on. If I broke my other hand, I would be out of work for another week.

I quietly waited for him to release my hand, but his drunken ego was agitated by my silence, and he gripped it harder trying to get any reaction out of me. He pushed my palm onto his torso, still laughing in union with the rest as he traced it downwards his chest. I looked back at Joel again, this time he was staring directly at me with an expression I had never seen on him before. He looked genuinely concerned at this point, contemplating whether or not to stand up. «Now you didn't have to do all that to get my attention, sweetheart. But I'll get you that beer if you're so desperate,» he said, barely finishing the sentence before I shoved him with full force using my free hand, and with the sound of glass breaking he crashed backwards on the table. He quickly gained control of his feet again and was immediately filled with rage, ready to grab onto me, but I had already walked away and closed in on the exit. Not trying to look behind me, I was trying to make sense of the situation by listening in on them. I heard the man cursing uncontrollably as he started pacing towards me, but swiftly came to an halt by hearing Joels voice. «You take one more fucking step now, and your hand will have a lot worse fate than hers.» He did not have to raise his voice to make the man understand the genuine promise to that threat, and sat down as the table quieted down again.

As i turned the corner to my block, merely a two minute walk away, I spotted Joel In the corner of my eye, pacing to catch up on me. Having absolutely no patience for the coward, I hastily walked towards my doorway and grabbed onto the key before he stood in front of me. His walk was determined, but as he stood in front of me, he seemed to be at a loss for words. We stood there, looking at each other, letting the tension between us say more than any words could. He didn't owe me anything. To him I was only Tess's little sister and already the weakest link in his team, yet I could sense in him that he had the unexplainable feeling toward me that I had reciprocated for months. He felt the urge to protect me, to make sure I was safe. And in his presence, I had always felt this way, safe and guarded. Which was why I kept looking at him tonight, and he had failed miserably at being the guardian he sought to be. «I.. i didn't want there to be any issues If the guys would think I favor you. They're just drunk fucking idiots. But I had to make sure you got home safe,» his eyes fell to the ground, not being able to deal with his own vulnerability. My rage for him involuntarily vanished for a moment, as I listened to his words, looking into his deep sunken eyes, then up to his salt and pepper-hair and tracing his face down to his coarse and full lips, frowning as he stood in front of me in defeat of his own words. I gathered myself to not ruin my careless persona completely, and wiped my face of any emotion for him that filled it a second ago. «Don't fucking distinct yourself from those drunk fucking idiots, cause thats exactly what you are. But I didn't take you for a fucking coward as well, Joel» I ended, not letting him say another word before I turned the doorknob and ran up the stairs, slamming the door behind me.

I woke up the next day, my head spinning with thoughts of anger and anxiety. I felt rage for Joel where I should have felt indifference, as he was just one of 8 men at the table. I made a promise to myself to never be a victim, to never let my guard down. He was the only man who could fuel such an instinctive desire to be weak for anyone. Yet, my submission to him had merely been a part of my imagination, and I was determined to quit believing this narrative instantly. Falsely confident that I was over this girlish behavior, I took an ice-cold shower to wash off yesterdays horrible events. My hand had not gotten much better since yesterday, but I knew Joel would never deny me working after what had happened. After breakfast, a double shot of whiskey and some stolen pain-pills, I opened the front door and stopped up in the doorway, looking down to my utter suprise, a new pair of boots stood at the front of my doorstep. I stared at them for a second, my body not sure how to react, before I kicked them to the side and walked down the stairs.

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut

[uboat53]

I've had quite a few discussions on the topic of gun control lately, as those of you who follow me may be well aware, and, in doing so, I've found that I keep running into the exact same mental blocks and misconceptions in the pro-gun people that I debate. In the interest of not repeating myself thousands of times more in the future, I figured I'd write this out once so I can refer to it instead. Hopefully it'll be helpful to others in similar discussions as well.

A. "If we outlaw guns, only outlaws will have guns!" or "It doesn't matter what laws you put in place, criminals will always be able to get guns"

It should make them really easy to spot then! Seriously, though, where do illegal guns come from? There's lots of people today for whom gun ownership is illegal, minors, felons, domestic abusers, etc, and yet lots of those people are able to get guns anyways. Let's take a look at how that happens.

First, there's the ones that just slip through the cracks. When a gun is sold by a licensed dealer, they check the NICS system is supposed to flag any reason why a person should be denied a firearm. The system is notoriously spotty; a 2014 study found 7.8 million outstanding warrants in state records but only 2.1 million in the NICS system [1], for example. For this reason, lots of people who should be prevented legally from owning guns are still able to buy them from licensed dealers.

Secondly, there's straw purchasers. Basically, a person with a clean record buys the gun from a licensed dealer and then either gives or sells the gun to a person who cannot legally purchase it. There's no hard figures on how often this happens, but a 2010 study showed that up to 20% of firearms dealers were willing to participate in a straw purchase [2] and a 2011 study found that more than 2/3 of firearms dealers had experienced attempted straw purchases [3].

Thirdly, there's the fact that, if you buy a gun from someone who's not a licensed dealer, 31 states require no background check at all and many others require a background check only for certain types of weapons [4].

Finally, there's plain theft. An estimated 380,000 guns are stolen every year according the NIH [5] and a quarter of licensed gun dealers reported experiencing firearm theft in the previous five years [3].

So where do illegal guns come from? Overwhelmingly, they come from legal guns!

In other words, if we were to outlaw guns entirely, it would be incredibly difficult for outlaws to get guns in the first place. Of course, we're not even talking about outlawing guns at this point, just closing a lot of the gaps I mentioned above. Either way, I hope this clears up why that's a bad argument; illegal guns are primarily coming from holes in our legal system of selling guns and closing those holes can, in fact, make it more difficult to get them.

B. "It's a slippery slope…"

This is basically the argument that any regulation, registration, or licensing requirement must be just the first step to total confiscation of all guns. This pretty ridiculous on its face and, for a great example of this, let's look at cars.

Every single car is required to be registered and every single driver is required to be licensed. Cars are also the subject of tons of regulations from speed limits to insurance requirements to manufacturing requirements like airbags, seatbelts, and crash tests.

Yet, despite all of this, cars have not only not been banned and confiscated, they are overwhelmingly the most common method of transportation in the United States with almost 92% of households owning at least one car [6]. There's no reason to believe that it would be different with firearms.

C. "There are 2.5 million self-defense uses of guns per year"

This statistic gets thrown around a lot so it's best to know where it comes from and all of the problems with it. The 2.5 million number comes from a study by Dr. Gary Kleck in the early 90s [7]. Kleck relied on a relatively small sample of self-reported self-defense incidents and extrapolated to the larger population. More recently, Dr. William English did a much larger survey with similar methods and came up with a number closer to 1.5 million [8]; lower, but still substantial.

The problem, though, is that these are all self-reported self-defense uses. The National Crime Victimization from 1992, around the same period Kleck conducted his study, concluded that there were likely only 65,000 defensive gun uses based on a much larger sample [9]. There's also been a good deal of research into what kind of incidents gun owners report as self-defense [10] and, when you investigate the actual circumstances of those incidents, it turns out that a lot of them, likely the majority, are not actually self-defense uses, but illegal escalations [11].

Also interesting, and indirectly related, is some research that shows that gun owners may actually be MORE likely to lose property in the event of a crime than those who use another type of weapon [12].

In other words, the number of times that gun owners use their guns to illegally intimidate other people likely outweighs the number of times that they use their guns in self-defense, but both are being reported as self-defense uses in the Kleck and English surveys.

D. "Only guns prevent government tyranny!"

This is pretty much the universal statement that gets thrown out once other evidence is debunked, and it's also provably wrong. Here's the thing, the number of privately owned guns has no correlation to the freedom or lack thereof in a country and, in fact, every single country that is freer than us has much stricter gun control laws.

It doesn't matter, by the way, which definition of freedom you use. I tend to use the ranking put together by Freedom House [13], but you can use any of them.

One argument that does get thrown around is the one put together by Dr. David Koppel in his study of the relationship between private gun ownership and liberty in which he concluded that greater gun ownership was associated with more freedom when gun ownership reached a high level [14]. However, it deserves pointing out that he reached this conclusion by averaging large categories of countries and including the United States, a statistical outlier in gun ownership, in the highest category of freedom. If one were to re-run his same study without the United States, his conclusion is no longer accurate.

It's also worth pointing out that he doesn't compare the United States to other countries in the highest category of freedoms, lumping them instead into a single category as "the top quintile of liberty". This is comparison, which I recommended above, would also show little correlation between gun ownership and individual liberty in a country.

E. "Why all the focus on guns, why aren't you trying to ban knives too?"

So this is the standard "whataboutism" argument that those opposed to gun control will resort to and the answer is simple: guns are much more powerful means of killing than just about any other instrument you can name.

Quite simply, there are more than twice as many homicides in the United States by firearm as there are by every other method combined [15]. Unless the argument is that the vast majority of murderers in the United States are deliberately choosing a less effective method, it seems that the people doing the killing think that this is the right tool for the job.

However, you should know that there's no need for such hypotheticals or data because, in the end, the person making this argument already knows that it's a false equivalence and there's an easy way to smoke them out. All you have to do is say something along the lines of "oh, so it won't be a problem if we ban guns because you'll be perfectly happy to use <> for self-defense since it's equally effective, right?"

Trust me, they'll choke very quickly and make it very clear that they are very aware that guns are more effective at killing people.

Sources

[1] https://www.ojp.gov/pdffiles1/bjs/grants/250533.pdf [2] https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11524-010-9489-6 [3] https://injuryprevention.bmj.com/content/19/6/412.full [4] https://www.findlaw.com/consumer/consumer-transactions/private-gun-sale-laws-by-state.html [5] https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5385318/ [6] https://www.forbes.com/advisor/car-insurance/car-ownership-statistics/ [7] https://www.ojp.gov/ncjrs/virtual-library/abstracts/carrying-guns-protection-results-national-self-defense-survey [8] https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3887145 [9] https://www.ojp.gov/ncjrs/virtual-library/abstracts/incidence-civilian-defensive-firearm-use [10] https://www.hsph.harvard.edu/hicrc/firearms-research/gun-threats-and-self-defense-gun-use-2/ [11] https://injuryprevention.bmj.com/content/6/4/263 [12] https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0091743515001188 [13] https://freedomhouse.org/countries/freedom-world/scores [14] https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=1090441 [15] https://ucr.fbi.gov/crime-in-the-u.s/2019/crime-in-the-u.s.-2019/tables/expanded-homicide-data-table-8.xls

#gun control #gun control debate #gun debate #politics #us politics

[ratherbefangirling]

Random poll fic

1 / Two

Winning vote : Yes

Winning member :Jimin

So it's not just me who likes the idea of vmin fighting over a girl 😳 🤔

Taehyung grabs your hand.

"Come on angel."

"Do you usually pick up girls like this?" You asks half curious.

"No. I don't but I found out my girlfriend was cheating on me for a quote 'richer man' and I was going to propose to her and reveal I was the 'richer man'"

You feel a little sorry for him.

"That's sad but marrying because you're heartbroken might not be the best idea."

"Look at this you're already better than I expected. I think we'll make a good couple the sane you and insane me."

"Still Taehyung.. like isn't this too fast?"

"How long does it take for a disaster to strike?"

"Moments?"

"Then why can't you find your soulmate and marry them?'

"Wait are you implying that I'm your soulmate?'

"Yes."

"But how do you know that?"

"Ok let's test it then."

"How?"

"How much does your ring cost?"

"1555.4 dollars"

(I'm using usd because Korean won is too confusing and I guess its the international currency?)

"Do you know how much this ring costs?"

"How much 7777 dollars"

"That can't be it."

" I can show it to you. The receipt. That's exactly 5 times... but how do you even remember the decimal prize?"

"My mom wouldn't stop quoting it."

He laughs and its such a rich laugh.

Someone crashes into you.

You look up.

"Y/n." Its your bestfriend who you secretly pine over.

"Jiminie."

"What are you doing? .... who is this?"

"Her lover." Taehyung answers cheekily.

"Hold on. What? You mean that ring is not a fake and you actually had a secret boyfriend?"

"Why were you here Jimin I thought you couldn't make it?" You say not so subtly changing the subject.

"I was at the meeting and it ended so I drove here hoping I'd find you. You weren't answering your phone so I got worried. I might have gotten a speeding ticket or two. But I couldn't let my favourite girl spend her night alone." Jimin replies.

And your heart fluttered a little as you watched him run a hand through his hair. His tie was loosened and the front buttons of his shirt were open.

He always made you a little breathless. Your jimin.

You met each other in highschool. You had transferred. So you didn't have much chance to make any friends. Jimin and you were placed in the same group for a project and you clicked and you've been through thick and thin together and even though you know him and his nefarious ways your crush hasn't disappeared. You enjoy being his favourite girl.

Taehyung hands you his number.

"Call me angel." He says and disappears.

"What was that?" Jimin asks their is a note of displeasure in his tone.

You laugh a little at the crazy turn of events.

"Possibly my fiance."

"What?" The shock on his face is cute. "When why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just met him."

"I think I'm the reckless one in this relationship. Please Y/n seriously are you actually being... yOu juSt meT hIm."

"Calm down. He thinks we're soulmates. I think that's sweet." You say.

"You cant" Jimin pouts.

"I can." You say."I'm single and he looks like he can afford my high maintainence life style."

"You can't marry for money." Jimin says.

"I mean it's because he's interesting. I think no day would be boring with him."

"But what about me?"

"You'll still be my bestfriend."

"What if I want more?"

"Don't play around Jimin."

"I'm not. I'm serious. I just wanted to get that promotion then shit. I was planning to ask you to be my girlfriend."

"That can't be real."

"It is. I promise. I should have done it sooner but I was too scared to loose you. You don't have to answer now just call me ok... I'll be waiting. "

He drops you home. Kissing your forehead before he leaves.

He's so cute wanna chomp his cheekies

#poll fic #bts x reader #bts poll #bts fluff #bts au #bts #bts fanfic #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader

[mint-yooxgi]

Hi!! Can I request a yandere ateez wooyoung drabble where he is kinda like the reader's academic rival but he ends up becoming her yandere?

✩ I hope you're doing well and stay hydrated! 🤗💕💕

It was stupid, and one sided on his part, but everything you did in your university class with Wooyoung, he would compare himself to. An upcoming test turned into needing to get a better grade than you. An upcoming assignment meant demonstrating how much more he knew on the subject than you. Hell, even presentations or discussions became a chance to prove how much better he could be than you.

Except you would always come out on top, without fail, every time.

You made it look so easy. Too easy. Enough so that Wooyoung began to wonder if you actually even tried to get good grades, or if they just came naturally to you.

He hated it; hated you for it. While everyone else was struggling to get a passing grade, you seemed to be skating by with ease.

You were probably fucking the TA or something. That had to be it. There's no other possible explanation for it. At least, none that Wooyoung was willing to accept. He had always been the best, always the one to come out on top, so there's no way you could possibly be beating him consistently. Every. Single. Time.

There's been a few instances where he's approached you under the guise of studying together at the library, but you've turned him down every time. So much for getting a read on your study habits, if you have any at all. Again, this just made him believe all the more that you were just naturally smart.

Yet, why was he so hung up on you?

Wooyoung shouldn't care. If he hates you so much, why does he keep tabs on you at all times? Why does he practically beg you for an ounce of your attention? Of course, he wouldn't admit to that. He would say he's just curious, that he just wants to know how you do it, but perhaps that's no longer the case.

Would you finally acknowledge him if he beat you? If he finally got a better grade than you, would you finally look his way longer than a few seconds at a time?

So, he studied. The upcoming exam was soon, anyways, and Wooyoung was determined to score the highest mark in the class. There's no way you're beating him this time.

When the exam day finally came, he had managed to pull an all nighter. Walking into the lecture hall to write his final, Wooyoung had almost been in a daze. Of course you would have chosen to sit beside him without realizing, too. That just made his desire to win all the stronger.

It took him and hour and a half to write the supposed two hour exam, and by the time he had finished, you had still be scribbling away at your paper.

Oh, how smug he felt being the first one done. A particular spring was in his step as he brought his exam to the front, handing it in with a final thank you and farewell to the professor for an excellent semester. It never hurts to be on the prof's good graces.

As soon as he got back to his dorm, he crashed. Wooyoung succumbs to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, the past twenty-four hours finally taking its toll on his mind and body. Finally, he gets to relax.

While asleep, images flicker through his mind, reflecting his thoughts about the exam. He knows he's aced it; it was far too easy for him given the amount of intensive studying he put into it. He can't wait to see your face when you learn he scored higher than you.

Wait, why are you smiling at him like that? Why are the two of you the only people in front of the results board now? And why, above all else, is he subconsciously glad that you're finally alone?

"I've always admired your intelligence," you tell him, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek. "It's really sexy."

Why are your words making him blush? He's supposed to hate you. So why, in the next moment, does he decide to push you up against the wall and claim your lips with his own? And why, why, does he love it so much when he feels your hands gripping onto him so tightly, one moving to tangle in his hair in the next second?

Wooyoung wakes with a start, sweat rolling down his back as he sits up in bed. It was all just a dream.

Calming his nerves, as well as his breathing, Wooyoung settles back into bed after changing his shirt. Maybe his subconscious was just telling him that having you admit he's finally bested you is what he really wants. What he craves.

Two days pass and the results for that particular exam are finally posted for the entire class to see. Making his way over to the results board, Wooyoung sees you already standing before it. Is that a furrow to your brow? You look surprised about something. He visibly straightens, a quirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he approaches you.

As soon as you feel him stand beside you to look at the board, you spare him a side eyed glance, a smile on your face, "congratulations."

His own brow furrows, skimming the list until he reads his results. Almost immediately, a smug grin is taking over his features as he sees he got the highest mark in the course. A full two points higher than you.

"Thanks," his response is nothing short of cocky, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as you continue to stand there.

"I mean it," you reply, turning to finally meet his eyes, and why is your smile making his heart race? "I've always admired your intelligence."

Wooyoung blinks, taken aback by the familiarity of the scene before him. His eyes shine with anticipation, a pleased quirk to his lips as his heart races in his chest, "and?"

"And what?" You raise a brow. "That's it. Anyways, see you around."

Without another word, you're walking away from him.

Again, Wooyoung blinks in surprise. He should be celebrating right now. He thought he would be filled with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and pride. He finally beat you and you acknowledged him! Yet, why does he feel so... disappointed?

A scowl takes over his features. See, this is why he doesn't like you! He works so hard and you barely give him a second of your attention. Attention which he realizes that he so longingly craves. You should be worshipping the ground he walks on, not going back to ignoring him as soon as your little interactions end.

Shaking his head, Wooyoung lets out a sigh, his whole demeanour changing. Guess he'll try again next semester...

#ask #yandere ateez #ateez drabble #yandere wooyoung #wooyoung drabble #drabbles

[reidiriri]

UNCERTAINTY OF MY FUTURE PATH

I once asked myself if I really do have a future. If there is one, what will it looks like? What and where am I destined for? What is my life goal? What do I want for myself, aside from just doing things for my family? Ano nga ba talaga? When will I genuinely be happy? You might say, "Our goal in this world is to serve and enjoy life," but for me, it's not that simple. As I write this article, I want to remind you that it's rated SPG-18, so Strong Parental Guidance is advised. Okay, enough with the corny stuff, let's continue.

Since I was a kid, people have always asked me what I want to be when I grow up (my future), and until now, I will always avoid that question. I sometimes envy those pips who doesn't hesitate to answer that question, which I really can't provide even a single sentence as an answer. So, I always end up saying I want what my parents want for me, which is teaching. At first, I did love teaching, but as I got older, I lost interest on it, especially when there were other things I wanted to do. But the problem is, all of those interests are temporary "panandalian lamang". For example, now that I'm about to enter college, I want to pursue a Bachelor of Science in Accountancy (BSA), but later on, if there's even a slight conflict with the subjects related to that course, my interest shifts elsewhere, which is frustrating to the point that it makes me cry. I often wonder if my life has really its purpose? Or am I going to die early so I'm always uncertain of everything I do? It's also tiring and scary not knowing which path to take. There's so many "what ifs," and thinking about them terrifies me, that feeling of being afraid to take regrets or there's something that I can't pinpoint. So, I've decided to just go with the flow, but until when? How long will I be like this? What if it's too late if one day I finally figure out what I want to do?

I remember all the tough times I've had. There were struggles with my family, school, and self-problem. Sometimes, it felt like I couldn't get over these problems. But I've learned a lot about life from dealing with them. Being the eldest, I had to handle a lot of responsibilities. Trying to balance these with schoolwork was hard. I felt like I always on edge.

While I'm growing up, I always felt like there was a lot of pressure on me. It seemed like everyone had big hopes and dreams for me. As a eldest daughter, I felt the weight of my parents' expectations for my success. And as a student, I felt like I had to do really well in school all the time. My parents just wanted what was best for me. They worked really hard and made sacrifices to give me opportunities they never had. They always encouraged me to aim high and do my best in everything. But sometimes, trying to meet their expectations felt really tough.

In school, I always felt like I had to be perfect. Grades weren't just about showing how well I did in class; they felt like they showed how good of a person I was. Every test and assignment felt like a big deal, like if I didn't do well, I wasn't good enough. It made me feel really scared of failing, so I kept pushing myself harder and harder. But even with all the pressure, I found comfort in learning. Even when things got tough, there was something really satisfying about understanding a hard topic or doing well on a test. Those little wins kept me going and reminded me why I loved learning in the first place.

As I got older, I started to realize that a lot of the pressure I felt wasn't just from other people it was also from myself. I started to believe that my value as a person was tied to how well I did in school. And that made me put even more pressure on myself. It wasn't until I let go of that idea that I started to feel better. I stopped thinking that my grades defined me and started focusing on just doing my best.

I learned to be proud of my successes and not be too hard on myself when things didn't go perfectly. Looking back now, I see that all that pressure I felt helped shape me into who I am today. It taught me to be strong, to keep going even when things were tough, and to always be true to myself. Even though it was hard at times, I wouldn't change anything about my journey. Because in the end, it was all that pressure that helped me become the best version of myself.

One also of the biggest struggles I faced was not feeling confident of myself. I often doubted if I was good enough and compared myself to others. This lack of confidence stopped me from doing things I loved and reaching my full potential. It took me a while to realize that my worth isn't just about what I achieve, but about who I am as a person.

Another struggle I had was trying to be perfect all the time. I set really high standards for myself and was afraid of making mistakes or being rejected. Trying to be perfect all the time made me feel exhausted and unhappy. I also struggled with doubting myself and being too hard on myself. I often listened to negative thoughts in my head and felt bad about myself because of past mistakes. These thoughts made me feel bad about myself and made it hard for me to go after my dreams. Lastly, I had a hard time figuring out who I really was and where I fit in. I felt lost and confused, not sure if I should follow what others expected of me or what I truly wanted.

Being in a situation like this makes me feel terrible and useless. It's exhausting pretending that all my life goals are settled when in reality, everything is a mess. I always have this doubt in myself and I tried to encourage to trust the process and believe in myself, but that doubt keeps coming back. I am also an academically achiever nd I received awards that I wanted, but you know that feeling of not being contented? Feeling incomplete? Like there's something is missing? Even though my life is fine? And I can't pinpoint what it is, and I'm still hoping to find what's that missing piece 'cause I know that's the only thing that will make me genuinely happy. Well, luckily I found this person in my life who became my confidant in everything. I know she's tired of dealing with my emotions and personal dilemmas, but she still holds me up tight even when I feel completely defeated/really down.

Yes, I proudly can say that I have a complete and happy family. Although, we're not financially stable, but my parents have worked hard to provide us a decent life, something I am truly grateful for. They are only my motivation to work well and strive more towards for a better future. They deserve to experience a life that they have not yet experienced, so as much as possible I will make every effort to take the actions that I believe will help me to accomplish all of those even if there is no certainty.

Throughout this journey, I've faced many ups and downs that shaped who I am today. Lately, I've had some tough times, but I've kept going despite them. Even though I've had recent challenges, I won't let them stop me. I see them as chances to learn and get stronger. Whether it's dealing with setbacks or believing in myself, I've learned to embrace the journey. Each twist and turn brings me closer to success. Looking ahead, I feel more determined than ever. I've learned a lot and become more resilient. I know I can handle whatever comes my way. Every day, I'm reminded that perseverance, flexibility, and positivity are key to reaching my goals.

Even when things got tough, I never gave up on trying to improve myself. Instead of getting stuck on past mistakes, I looked ahead and kept pushing forward. With a positive attitude and determination, I found ways to overcome obstacles and keep working towards my goals. Whether it's dealing with setbacks or doubting myself, I've learned to embrace the journey and keep moving forward, knowing that each challenge brings me closer to success.

#hopingandmoving