#so i've been trying to hammer it through his head that he can't be sitting in classes and using his phone when he's supposed to be learning

[disdaidal]

I don't want to brag or sound too optimistic about it, but after three weeks of training at a private college, I think my lessons with this one particular immigrant student (who has serious motivational problems lemme tell ya) are finally starting to get through and there's been improvement.

Only slight improvement so far but I have spotted some, so maybe not all hope is lost yet.

Remains to be seen I guess.

#personal #so in case anyone's still wondering i'm studying to become a tutor/instructor/guidance counselor etc. etc. whatever it's called in english #and currently i mostly work with immigrants with language. sometimes i help high school students as well. but mostly immigrants #and there's this one immigrant student who's been there since last spring. and he still barely even knows the basics because he's 'given up #according to him that is. he told me this at least three times yesterday and i told him that's a problem #so i've been trying to hammer it through his head that he can't be sitting in classes and using his phone when he's supposed to be learning #or expect me or teachers giving him all the answers when he also needs to show a little effort and help us back as well #and that he needs to participate in pair and group activities in classes because we're a team and we need to work together #so basically he's been asking me to either teach him or then find someone who can teach him #i told one of our teachers this and she answered that he could also participate in evening activities at the college but he's not doing tha #and according to him he doesn't 'mingle'. so i told him maybe he should once in a while. get out of his comfort zone. at least try #to my surprise he actually showed up to one of the evening activities that i hosted. didn't do much anything there but sit but still #that was effort. he did exactly what i said despite it making him a little uncomfortable so that's improvement #so then yesterday he asked me about teaching him the language again. i told him i host a homework club at tuesdays & thursdays @ 3:30-4:30p #he showed up there yesterday and was the only student. so i had time to teach him basic greetings. weekdays. months. things he shoulda know #and i thought it's all probably in vain but i tried. so today. he was in their class and actually doing pair work and reading stuff aloud #and even translating some stuff when i asked. calling it easy. and that he's trying to use his phone less and memorize this stuff instead #to which the rest clapped at and cheered him on for. and i told this to the teacher afterwards when she asked me about him. and she gave #me a thumbs up and looked a little surprised but also delighted. because he's been a popular subject amongst ourselves for a reason #so i don't want to get too optimistic about it. because he still has an attitude problem. but he's tried a little at least. so there's hope

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Assistant 10

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, cheating, creep behaviour.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As an assistant at the Daily Planet, you’re rarely noticed. Until you are.

Characters: Clark Kent

Note: I had to get this out of my head.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖

🖊🖊🖊

You drop your phone, shaking with panic and horror. It’s not real. It can’t be. Lois isn’t dead, it’s just an argument, just a fight. You don’t know what you saw.

You were so surprised by the call, you can’t possibly have understood what was going on. It was just so sudden. It didn’t happen.

You stand dumbfounded, unsure what to do next. There's a sickening silence filled with the echoes of Lois' struggle and the piercing timbre of Clark's wrath. You shudder and it rolls through the floor. It takes you a moment to realise that the reverberations are really. Your phone vibrates violently between your feet.

Shit! Shit! What do you do? 

You grab it out of instinct but can't bring yourself to answer the call, knowing before you look who it is. You search the room as if you might find an escape. There is none.

You rush to the bed and shut off the lamp, casting yourself in darkness. You don't think, you let your adrenaline guide you. You roll under your blankets and nestle down, clearing your throat as the call times out. Fuck.

It isn't long before the rattle begins again. You wait a few rings and answer, the small frame where you should be filled with shadow. You murmur groggily, not sure how convincing you really are.

"Hmm, what's going on?" You babble as you rustle in the bed. Clark watches you with an addled expression, his brows furrowed, his eyes almost seem to glow.

"I just called," he gristles out ans rubs the apple in his throat, "you picked up…"

"Wha–I've been sleeping," you cough, pressing yourself into the pillow as your ball your other hand. Your heartbeat hammers in your temples, "my phone was in my bed, maybe…"

"Sleeping?" He mutters as a line dips in his forehead.

"I was waiting for your call and must've fallen asleep," you utter.

"Turn your light on," he demands.

You wince, happy he can't see the fear coursing through you. Now is the real test, you have to play this right. You sit up, doing your best to mess up your appearance before you reach to the lamp. 

"I've been sick all day," you lie and lean back against the headboard, "sorry…"

He's quiet. You try not to look at your image in the corner, instead you focus on him. He's trying to figure it all out.

"Baby," you make your voice as soft as you can, "maybe it's going around. Are you feeling alright?"

He seems struck my the question. He swallows and there's a shift as he sits down, letting out a sigh. He flicks a curl away from his forehead.

"Maybe," he relents as his shoulders drop, "you miss me?"

You stare into the deep blue pools of his eyes. You don't know if he believes you. You put your hand below your throat, his gaze follows the gesture. You rub your chest and force another cough.

"Ugh, yeah," you make yourself lie, "I just feel so cruddy."

"Aw, honey, I wish I was there to take care of you. Maybe I can come home early," he offers, "things aren't going so well here. Lois… is off doing her own thing. I may as well have just stayed behind."

"Oh," you try not to react to her name, "I'm sorry–"

"Sorry…" he repeats, quiet but with a hint of resent, "she… you… you're too sweet." He moves his phone as he hangs his head, "you care so much about me, I just wish… wish it didn't have to be this way."

"Just… get some sleep," you coax, "I'm sure we'll both feel better in the morning."

"You're probably right," he croaks and sits up with a deep snort, "hard to sleep without you here."

"Yeah, I know," you eke out.

"Will you… will you stay on until I fall asleep?" He asks, almost pathetic as his tone cracks.

"Sure," you whisper, "I'll stay on."

You fight the swell of fear deep in your stomach and turn onto your side. You watch the screen as he stands and moves around slowly, almost as if he's dazed. You focus on breathing, on counting each inhale and letting it out slow. You try not to think of what he could do to you if he knew what you saw. 

🖊

You don't sleep. Not even after you end the call at Clark's rumbling snores. You just sit there and stare at the shadows cast against your wall.

You can't just wait for him to come back. This might be your only chance. Didn't this all start because you were afraid of just that, missing a once in a lifetime chance.

You get up before the sun. You don't have a plan, just a first step. One you're not even sure is a good idea.

You draft your resignation and schedule it to be sent on Monday. You pack a single bag, not much, just what you need, and leave your apartment with your phone in hand. You won't miss it, he tainted it.

You head down to the street and walk a full block before working up your courage. You don't know if you should even try. He has no obligation to you. You wouldn't blame him for laughing in your face. But… he was nice.

You hit Richard's profile and wait for the dial to pick up. It's late, or early. You lean against a building as you watch the sky change.

"Brant," he answers with his last name, voice sandy and thick.

"Hey," you squeak, second thoughts bubbling up, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't–"

"What's wrong?" He asks, his languid tone rising to urgency, "hey, what's going on?"

"I… I can't…"

You can't tell him. Even with how much you want to. You can't say the words and he wouldn't believe you. Who would? 

"It's… barely three," he yawns, "must be important, so…"

"I…" you sniffle and drag yourself away from the wall, "I need help and you're… the only person I know…"

"You know, I've had a lot of writer's ask me for favours, but they're usually a lot more to the point–"

"I need to hide," you blurt out, "please, before he gets back."

"Who?" He asks.

You're silent. You can't get your thoughts straight. You don't blame him for thinking you're crazy, you must sound it.

"Kent," he says bluntly and you quiver. "What did he do to you?"

You don't answer. He says your name. You can't. You feel like your choking.

"Where are you?" He demands and you can hear him shifting and moving around. 

"I shouldn't have–"

"Tell me," he says as fabric rustles beneath his gravelly voice. 

You whimper and look around. You're by some pawn shop. You give him the name and he sighs.

"Stay there," he orders over the jingle of keys, "please."

🖊

You're numb as you sit in the passenger seat of Richard's car. You remember the last time you were in that very spot. When he dropped you off after dinner and Clark was waiting for you. How long had he truly been waiting to strike? 

How could it have ever got to this?

Richard drives without a word. You barely recall him arriving or getting into the car. Everything around you is blurry. Your own hands feel like weights attached to your arms.

The car slows as you sink back against the seat. His window rolls down with a whir you barely hear. You don't look. He continues on, the motion soothing as you close your eyes and hiccup.

He idles again, motor humming as he daintily touches your arm.

"Got you a tea," he says gently, "hey, take a breath."

Your eyes snap open and you wipe your face, only realising then you're sobbing. You sit forward and sniff, inhaling until it hurts. He lifts a cup from the plastic holder and offers it. You accept it with a murmur and peel back the lid.

"You don't have to go into detail but I'd like to know what is going on," he says as he puts his hand back on the wheel, slowly stepping down on the gas.

You blow out a shuddery heave and gulp. You sip tenuously, wetting your throat as you try to sort through your thoughts. Where do you begin? What do you even say?

"He's scary," your voice creaks, "he's dangerous…" you shake your head and cradle the tea, trying to feel the heat of the cup, trying to cling to it. "He won't leave me alone."

"I kinda figured but Clark's just a bit strange, isn't he?" Richard says, "office flirt."

"It's more than that, he's…insane!"

"He's married, he's not going to do anything more than talk," he scoffs.

Your chest cranks and your stomach lurches. You look at him, sight pinpointing on him, "you…"

"A bit of an overreaction–"

"Why did you come if you don't believe me?"

"Believe what? I have no idea what's gone on. By the sounds of it, he's only having some fun on the side."

"Fun?! He– he is stalking me. He won't go away and now–" you stop short and huff. His chuckle makes you want to scream. He's laughing at you.

"You're laughing at me?" You reach for the door, "stop the car. Now. Let me out."

"It just seems a bit absurd, calling me at the crack of dawn because you have a horndog for a boss–"

"You're not listening to me. It's not just that," you insist, your body buzzing with anger. "Stop the car. Let me out. You–"

"Calm down. Fine, I'm all ears, did he get handsy at the water cooler?"

"Just stop the car."

"Don't be–"

"Stop!" You fling the cup at him and it lands in his lap, exploding and leaking down his pants.

He veers in surprise and the car slides sideways. Suddenly, your seat jolts as something falls onto the roof, crushing it so you're forced down in your seat. You look up and whine, fumbling to undo your seatbelt as a red glare slices through the metal.

Sparks rain down as the laser changes directions, confusion stirring your wits as you watch in dread and sink down onto the floor of the car. Richard grunts beside you and jams his fingers into the buckle of his seatbelt, swearing as it repels.

"What the fuck was that? Fucking–" he gestures to his wet pants in frustration, clueless to what's happening above him.

The metal peels back loudly as you cry out. You shield yourself and holler for Richard to watch out as you see the eerie figure floating above in the half-dim of the early morning. His eyes glow red and his veins are dark beneath his skin. Yet this is not Superman in his rippling cape but a villain in an undone button-up and slacks. It's Clark!

The vaunted caped crusader, the saviour of Metropolis and earth, the elusive good citizen. All along, he's just another twisted monster. He's a nightmare come to life. 

He tosses aside the shorn square of metal as if it's nothing. He grabs Richard and wrenches him off the seat, clutching his jaw and dangling him like a ragdoll. Richard writhes and squirms as Clark's eyes flash. Suddenly a red beam sears into Richard's skull and a rain of bone and tissue tain down around you.

You shriek in terror as blood oozes down onto the interior and Clark drops Richard's corpses into the ruin. His feet plant on the hood and he bends, reaching blindly down to grab you from beneath the dashboard. He hauls you up effortlessly by your arm, lifting you before him as his eyes continue to flare.

You grasp onto his thick forearm as you hang from his unbending grip, "you're supposed to be a hero…" you gasp in disbelief.

"And you're supposed to love me," he snarls.

You close your eyes and raise your arm, waiting for your turn. This is it. The end.

"But I love you," his voice shatters.

He snakes his arm around you and pulls you close. The world bounces and the air tunnels around you. A scream erupts from your lungs as you barrel into the void.

You bury your head in his shoulder, peeking out from the slits of your eyes to see the vast and endless sky all around you. You're flying yet you've never felt so trapped.

#dark clark kent #dark!fic #series #fic #dark fic #clark kent x reader #clark kent #dark!clark kent #the assistant #dc #superman

[heeliopheelia]

𝔸 𝕃𝕀𝕋𝕋𝕃𝔼 𝔻ℝ𝔸𝕄𝔸𝕋𝕀ℂ - chapter ten (written)

word count: 1.6k

"So how do we do this?"

Heeseung scowls and sends you a pointed look. "Take it easy, woman. How about you take off your shoes properly first?"

You look at the direction he nods in with his head and realize that, in fact, you're climbing on his sofa with shoes hanging from the tips of your toes. You send him a guilty smile, toeing off your sneakers and kicking them away from you. Pushing yourself further into the cushions, you pat the empty space next to you.

"Jesus, I can't believe I agreed to this," he sighs, taking the seat by your side and pushing his hair out of his face. "You're crazy, you know that?"

You chuckle, turning your body in is direction. "So I've been told."

He shakes his head, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips. After watching your eyes, slightly widened, looking at him with an anxious anticipation, he finally groans. "My God, so you wanna jump right into it? What happened to hello and how are you?"

"Gone just like my self-respect," you joke lightheartedly, nudging him in the ribs gently. Heeseung snorts at your words. You watch as uncertainty starts developing on his face, so with a click of your tongue you shift yourself closer to him. "Just get into it, will you? I'm gonna end up growing gray before you make up your mind."

"Why are you always so intense?" He whines, pushing you away slightly. At the roll of your eyes, he flicks your nose. "But fine, just make yourself comfortable."

With a nod of your head, you slide on the sofa until you're sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Heeseung, faces turned to each other at an alarmingly close distance. You try not to laugh when he lets out a surprised yelp, his adam's apple jumping suddenly. You lean in closer, trying to ignore the hammering of your heart.

"So," you start, voice slightly hushed as you gape into his eyes shamelessly. "What do I do?"

He lets out a shaky breath, quickly covering it up with a chuckle. "Well, closing your eyes would be a good start and I'll take it from there, okay? Just relax."

You nod at his instructions, instantly obeying and fluttering your eyes closed. You can barely hear your quiet breaths through the loud pumping in your ears, so you startle slightly when his long fingers suddenly hook underneath your chin to tilt your face up.

"Relax," he repeats and you swallow before nodding your head again.

For couple more seconds, Heeseung takes in your face carefully, looking for any signs of discomfort or uncertainty. When none of that shows up on your features, only the sheer determination speaking through your furrowed eyebrows, he finally leans in, body towering over yours. At first, you can feel his warm breath fanning your face. Your stomach twists. Only couple more seconds of pure anticipation and he finally brushes his soft lips over yours, lingering there for a moment and letting you get used to the closeness before he's diving in and closing the distance completely.

The feeling is so new, so warm and welcoming, you can't help but sigh shakily into the kiss, running your hands up to place them on his shoulders. His lips work magic on yours, slowly moving them together with gentle caresses. You're literally burning, feeling like your whole body is being set on fire. You loose your focus almost immediately, so the moment that he parts your lips a little wider, your teeth clash together and make him smile into the kiss.

His hands cup your cheeks, slightly tilting your face away from his before he goes in for a deeper kiss. Your mind is blank at this point, you're not even sure what the hell you're even doing, too absorbed in worrying about your heart nearly exploding to mimic his movements properly.

Suddenly, he pulls away quickly, squishing your cheeks in between his fingers. "Stop shoving your tongue down my throat, punk."

You quickly come back to your senses, vision blurry as you finally open your eyes. "Oh," you mumble, trying to blink the black dots away. "I'm sorry, if you haven't noticed already, I don't really know what I'm doing!"

Your confession quickly has the both of you laughing. You fix your hair quickly, trying to cover up the burning tips of your ears from his sight.

"Just follow my movements and you'll be fine," he tells you and you roll your eyes when he pats your head encouragingly.

Moving your hands to the nape of his neck, you pull him closer again. "Fine, I'll try to tone it down. Now let me try that again."

And that you do, pressing your lips back together and not giving him enough time for any mental preparation. It takes all of Heeseung's might not to swoop you up in his arms and kiss you to death right now. But he's a strong man, at least that's what he told himself after being stuck in a friend-zone for so many years. After all, he's had to endure your endless talks and complaining about quote unquote stupid boys, and hell, not to even count all the times he's seen you roaming around with nothing but towel around your body as you had finished showering during so many of your sleepovers. No matter how close he always is, he's already used to not having you, so instead of completely losing his mind over your soft lips, he moves your hair out of your face and kisses you gently, parting his lips and allowing your tongue to slip inside his mouth.

After couple seconds of experimenting with the pace and pressure, you pull away.

"Like this?" You whisper, glancing up at Heeseung's fluttering eyelids.

"Yeah, you're getting there," he manages to stumble out, quite delirious yet quickly collecting himself back together. He clears his throat, shifting slightly in his place. "Try to be a little gentler, though. Kissing is not all about swapping spit with the other person. Well, not always," he ends with a giggle as your face scrunches up at his choice of words. "The point is, you need to feel it. Sometimes just brushing your lips together is better than suffocating someone with your tongue."

"Okay, got it," you snicker before moving even closer to him than before, pulling on his neck slightly. "Can I... sit on your lap?" At his dumbfounded expression you add quickly, "Wouldn't that make it a little more comfortable? Now we're kinda slouching over each other."

"Yeah, climb on," he gives you the permission and you quickly change your seat to his thighs. And fuck, he prays you can't hear the deafening beating of his heart.

Suddenly, the air felt stiflingly hot but you pay it no mind, giggling down at Heeseung to somehow try and ease the tension that has suddenly settled in the room. "That's the closest we've ever been to each other."

He lets out a breathless laugh. "Yeah, it seems so."

Instead of saying anything else, you lean down one last time and capture your lips with his. Goosebumps spike your skin mercilessly as he tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, nipping slightly at your bottom lip. This one is slower than the one before, now that you're a little more aware of your movements. You can hardly breathe when you feel his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to his chest. You let your tongues meet again, moving together in sync without overdoing it this time.

Two more seconds and Heeseung's heart would burst in his chest. But oh my fucking god, he could keep kissing you for eternity. He could die right here and now, as happy as ever and he still would thank the gods for letting him have this one moment with you. So it's a good thing that you - the surprisingly rational one this time, finally pull away and part your lips for good.

The two of you look at each other for a second or two longer than you should have, both ridiculously breathless, before you're the first one to break the silence.

"So, what's the verdict?"

Heeseung gapes at you for a moment, failing to process everything that's just happened. "Good," he mutters at some point, only sobering up at your wide confused eyes staring right into his. "I mean, you were good. Really good actually."

A large smile stretches our your swollen lips. "Yeah? You really think so?"

He gulps with a nod. "I do. So you shouldn't worry about Sunghoon so much tomorrow."

Maybe it's wishful thinking but he swears that either he's delusional or your mood has suddenly dropped at the mention of his name. Nonetheless, you clear your throat and finally slip down his lap on your previous spot on the sofa, heavily slumping down on the soft material. You groan loudly, covering your face with your hands.

"Is it weird that I'm still nervous?" You ask, peaking at your best friend through the gaps of your fingers. You bring your foot up and nudge him in his side with it playfully, earning a yelp out of him.

"Fuck, why are your feet always so cold? You're wearing socks!" He grumbles, enjoying the sound of your sweet laughter carrying through his living room. He looks at you with a roll of his eyes. "But no, it's not weird. Of course you're gonna be nervous before kissing your crush. That's a normal reaction."

"Yeah," you mumble out, concerned with the fact that your heart can't stop leaping in your chest. "Thanks, Hee. For the lesson and everything."

He scoffs at your ridiculousness as you lift your hand up, palm stretched out as you wait for a high-five. With a satisfied smile, you watch as his hand collides with yours and the both of you laugh as the tension finally starts evaporating from the room.

"So what are we gonna do now?" He asks, stretching out his long limbs with a sigh. "I don't feel like going to sleep yet."

You nod with agreement. "Neither do I."

The silence between you two doesn't last long before you share a knowing look and the two of you ask simultaneously, "Queen Charlotte?"

ℂℍ𝔸ℙ𝕋𝔼ℝ 𝟡 .___. ℂℍ𝔸ℙ𝕋𝔼ℝ 𝟙𝟙

𝕄𝔸𝕊𝕋𝔼ℝ𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋

𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 @l0ver1ki @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @milisabunny

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 (open) @jaylaxies @venividibitchin @heeseungssidechick @miukityy @noascats @wonniestars @paragonofroyalty @kaizny @beomsbeanie @iea-tsand

a/n: alrighty, so we're finally there lmao!! hope you guys enjoyed this one as much as i did!! have a great day (or night)!!

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen smau #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #lee heeseung #heeseung imagines #heeseung x reader #heeseung smau #heeseung social media au

[queenquinzel715]

Pt 1 2. Half Orc Captain Hamal

Brief SA/Suicide warning

Word count 1,832

(Y/n) pov

Ever since I could remember I've always worked, but when my parents died it tripled. I had to pay for the house they left me, which is falling apart. I lived next to the main tavern in town, so it only made sense to take the job as bar maiden. Every night I serve all different creatures along with humans, so it can be a lot more rambunctious than people are used to. During the day I try to fix my home, but can only get so much done with the four hours before I have to leave.

Today starts like every other. I eat, then start hammering the boards to the wall. I'm halfway through the main wall when someone bangs on my door. I keep hold of the hammer as I answer the door. The King's guard is standing there with three of his followers. You see they just run the town how they see fit, and that meant tormenting the poor people that live here.

"We've gotten complaints of this eye sore." His voice tries to boom, but I swear he's pushing it too hard.

"Oh I'm sorry. I'm trying to work as fast as I can, but it's only me." I plead.

"Well no wonder. A woman can't build a fire let alone fix a house." He and his group laugh at what he believes to be a joke.

"Well if that's all I'm gonna get back to work." I try to shut the door, but he moves his way inside.

"When I say complaints I mean they want this hole gone." He looks around the small house as two if his followers come inside with him. "However I can ignore this eyesore for some simple payment." He smirks at me, his eyes look down to me gripping the hammer tighter.

Before I could blink he ripped the hammer out of my hand, and threw it across my kitchen. I try to run to the backdoor. Of course he grabs me, but by the back of my hair. He uses my hair as a guide to move me to the couch my father built, throwing me face first onto it. With my dress getting ripped, to them tying my hands to the armrests, and them laughing as they grabbed at me I black out. I still see, feel and hear everything that is going on. I just lay there, helpless. Once they are done I'm cut from the armrest, and left there with one leg hanging off the side, my face in the cushion, and the sharp pain in between my legs. With some miracle strength I sit up gasping at the pain shooting through my whole body. I look around what's called my home, but now it's nothing but a nightmare. A reminder of death, pain of loss, pain of force, and just pain of work. I sit there for I don't know how long before I realize it's dark. I take a deep sigh as I gather myself to grab the pieces of dress on the floor.

Something seems to snap in my brain as I slowly stand on my feet as I look around. I go to the closet where I keep my clothes, and grab a random dress. Once it's somewhat on I give one last look before leaving, and walking through this awful town. My daze-like eyes scan the town, and the forest as I walk ahead. I feel the forest floor poke at my feet.

Hamal pov

Everyone is laughing, cheering their drinks, overall having a good time. I look around the tavern for a certain (h/c) bar maid. I was actually going to talk to her this time. I've had enough of my own men making their own practical jokes about me. It's getting dark out, when I notice she still isn't here. I'm lifting my beer to my lips as Talen, a werewolf that has been on my crew for years, comes hurling through the people with a worried look on his face.

"There's something wrong with (y/n)."

"What do you mean?" I immediately sit up, slamming my beer mug down.

"I saw her walking in the town with this off look, and when I got close I smelt blood, and different human smells. When I came here she was heading to the woods." He hurries out.

I don't even respond, I just run out of the tavern to the woods. I can smell her blood like it's an arrow. I see a clearing up ahead, but when I come through I see my (h/c) haired barmaid standing on the cliff.

"(Y/n) don't!" I try to get her attention, but she jumps.

(Y/n) pov

I heard a deep voice yell at me, but it's too late. I'm hearing wind in my ears blocking everything out. My body crashes with the cold water making me lock up. I open my eyes to see the bubbles clear as I sink lower. I'm almost to the ground when my chest tightens. As my body makes contact with the ground I see two long cloud-like things swim around in a circle above me. I'm in awe as they come closer, and see half human octopus, and a mermaid. They grab my arms, swimming me to the top, making me gasp for air. I'm coughing as I'm squinting my eyes at them while they hold me up.

"You stupid girl! Why would you do that?" The octopus woman firmly talks.

"Octia please the poor thing doesn't need you berating her for her choices. Let's just get her to Kelim. Hopefully he can get all the water out of her lungs." The mermaid tries to reason.

I feel tentacles wrap around my waist, and arms around my shoulders guiding me to the small cave that was under the cliff. We go through a portal of some kind like pushing through a thin sheet. I'm placed on a dock with the mermaid sitting next to me.

"I'm sorry." I say softly as I black out.

I go in and out of consciousness. At one point I'm in a tent, the next a man is upside down looking at me, another I'm alone, but the final time I wake up I'm surrounded by a group of women, some with worried faces, some with curiosity, and some just looking at me. They gasp all at once, but the mermaid that helped me moves away. I stay just how I am until I see a man look over a woman's head.

"Good, you're awake. You gave the girls a fright." I just look at him. "I'm Kelim the doctor of this island, if you will. Sadly we don't know why you jumped, but you have a lot to learn. I got the water out of your lungs." He helps me sit up.

"Why would they help me?" I finally ask.

"Well I saw you jump, and Nixie felt your sadness. She says she felt something wanting to hold you." Octia answered.

I deeply sigh as I look at the cabin we were in, and how the water women are able to be inside from a small pool in the floor.

Hamal's pov

My men have kept their distance as we load up the ship. You could say I've been in a harsh mood these past couple of weeks, would be an understatement. I watched the woman I cared for deeply jump to her death, and I have a deep imagination of why. Talen was able to sniff out which scent it was, and found three of the King's guards as the owners. I take them to the forest, and let my men do as they wished with them as I sat on the edge of the cliff.

"We're all loaded up sir." A demon crewman softly tells me.

We set sail through the deep sea. It doesn't take long for a storm to come through. My life has just plummeted. The storm gets rougher as we try to fight the currents. As waves push and pull my ship I see what look like arms moving the waves. I glide as much as I can with the wind, and waves. My ship evens it as the wind dies down, but it's going to close to rocks. My men are pointing at things in the water. I see men and women merfolk push the ship in the direction of the land. My men start to shout, but when the elves are trying to calm everyone down.

"It's a portal. Relax!'' They yell to the others.

A portal? Why are they taking us there? We go through the portal to a whole other world full of different creatures. I point to the anchor to signal I'm stopping, and yell to the men to drop anchor. I watch from my wheel as my men jump from the sides to meet with the others. I watch as merfolk go onto land, crowding this certain cave.

I ignore it, thinking that it is their home, but when I see (h/c) hair come up from the water of the cave. My hands drop to the ship's railing, gripping it to the point of almost breaking it. The merfolk women move her to the front. I get a better look at my barmaid that has fins coming from out of her head. I watch her in complete awe like if I blinked she'd be gone. She moves with so much elegance as she moves in the water. I quickly grab a net as she gets to the ship's side. I pull her over the edge, finally having her in my arms.

"I watched you jump." I couldn't believe she's here.

"I…I know. Nixi, Octia, and Kelim helped me get my tail." She turns to the group of merfolk women. "I have a family again." She seems to be talking mostly to herself, but it makes me smile. "I heard you yell." She turns to me in a timid voice.

"I couldn't lose you, but I understand why." I sit on the bench I have behind my wheel. "One of my men, Talen, saw you walk through the town, and saw how dazed you were. Also since he's a werewolf he smelt…" I stop myself from saying anymore."Sadly I was too late." I lean my head against the side of hers. "I've watched you every night since I docked in that dreadful town. How you'd serve so many people with that darling smile, and even with my rambunctious crew, you laughed." I chuckle at a memory from my crew members falling off a table trying to dance on top. "I just couldn't keep my eyes off of you, and now I don't think I ever will." I look down at her tail causing her to giggle.

#x reader #x reader smut #smut #reader x oc #reader #romance #disabled writer #fluff #orc lover #orc boyfriend #dnd orc #orc smut #orc x human #orc x reader #orc #half orc #fantic #fantasy romance #monster romance #monster lover #monster love #monster art #human x monster #male monster #monster boyfriend #monster bf #monster fucker #monster imagine #imagines #reader x monster

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Write Love on My Skin

Summary: Y/N's bored and wants to play a game with Dean. Who will win?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Not much. Fluff, lots a fluff and silliness. Smidge of angst. Bit of kissing/making out, nothing too explicit. All fairly fluffy sexiness.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 2,233

A/N: So, my dear friend, @winchesterfanatic1967 has been feeling down and out lately, and having a really rough time of it. So, she made the following request for a fluffy/sexy Dean fic:

I've really been missing Supernatural and Dean lately and also been sort of down. If it's ok I would like to request some major Dean x reader fluff where he's tickling her and while doing so he discovers how ticklish underneath her arms are for the first time maybe while tickling her ribs and he gets too close? She's desperately trying to keep him from getting her there but fails and while holding her arms up she's begging him not to and he can't help but laugh along with her cause he's never heard her laugh or beg like that before while tickling her and he finds it super cute?

So, I've attempted to give her what she was looking for in this fic, and I hope you all enjoy it as well.

If you do enjoy it, please don't forget to Reblog and Comment. Means the world to us writers! ❤️

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89.

Main Masterlist || Tag Lists

Y/N looked up from the incredibly boring book she was reading and groaned towards Dean who was sitting on the other bed in their cheap motel room, methodically cleaning his weapons.

“I’m bore-duh!” She whined at her best friend.

Dean’s lips quirked up slightly as he pulled off the etched slide barrel of his silver, 1911 pistol, but otherwise he ignored her cry of distress and continued to pull apart his favorite gun.

Annoyed by his unwillingness to drop everything and make her boredom go away, Y/N tossed her book across the room, hitting him in the upper arm.

“What the fuck?” Dean grunted, turning to give Y/N an extremely offended look. He picked up the book and tossed it back onto her bed. “Did you just throw that at me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh, it’s a barely two hundred page paperback, you’ve taken worse.”

Dean scowled at her and Y/N let her face crumple in misery. “Deeeeeeeaaaan.” She whined again. “Entertain me.”

Dean scoffed and returned to the task in front of him. “What, you want me to do a song and dance for you?”

Y/N nodded, eyes bright. “Yes, please!” 

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, that ain’t gonna happen.” He said as he began rubbing his finger along the inside of the barrel with a soft cloth. Y/N tried not to notice just how nimble his thick finger was as he pushed it back and forth along the chamber.

Those fingers had skills.

She’d been best friends with Dean since they were kids, and there wasn’t a person in the world that she trusted more. They’d been through everything together, including a slightly inebriated night of sex and laughter nearly five years ago. When they’d woken the next morning, though, they’d both been slightly panicked that they were going to ruin the best thing in either of their lives, and neither of them were willing to risk it. So, they’d agreed to forget it happened, and worked at getting back to being buddies. 

There had been many weeks of awkward hunts and even more awkward rounds of drinks afterwards, but eventually things leveled out, and they got their easy, incredible friendship back. And Y/N was grateful.

But she also never truly forgot. 

She never forgot the way his mouth felt, hot and soft against her hammering pulse, or the way his body made her vibrate with pleasure as she skimmed her hands across it, or the way his strong fingers felt dimpling her skin and pushing into her body, strumming and plucking bliss from head to toe. 

She never forgot, but for fear of losing him, she pretended she did.

Now she shook her head and pushed the intrusive, dirty thoughts to the back of her mind and renewed her attempt to get him to solve her boredom.

“Come on, seriously. Clean your guns later, let’s play a game.”

“Okay,” Dean said, glancing at her, “let’s play the quiet game. First one to talk loses.”

Y/N shot him an unimpressed look. “Ha. Ha. I lose. Let’s play something else now, shall we? Pick a game!”

Dean pushed out his lips and closed one eye in concentration. “Hmm…strip poker?” 

Y/N felt her stomach dip and she answered instinctively. “Kay.”

Dean’s head whipped towards her. “Really?” 

Y/N affected a laugh. “No. Not really.”

“Cruel woman.” Dean pouted teasingly, but Y/N wondered at the real disappointment she could see in his gaze. 

But she ignored that too, and just smiled, picking up her phone. “I’m gonna Google us a game to play.”

Dean just shook his head and went back to his gun.

After a few minutes, Y/N found a game that she pretended was going to be perfectly innocent, and bounded over to Dean, forcing him to drop the pieces of his pistol back onto his bed, as she pulled him over to hers.

Dean was laughing in exasperation. “Jesus, Y/N you’re like a rambunctious toddler today.”

Y/N pushed him down on the side of the bed and climbed up to kneel behind him. “K, so the name of the game is, ‘Messages’. So, we each take turns tracing words onto each other's back, and the other person has to guess the message. It’s like Broken Telephone for two people.”

Dean shook his head, and sighed. “Wow, sounds like fun.” He said with unconvincing cheer.

“Shut up, it will be fun.”

Y/N thought about what she wanted to write first, and then began tracing it across the plaid flannel that stretched across Dean’s back.

“I’ll write one word at a time, and you try to guess after each word.”

Dean shrugged, playing along. “Fine.”

Y/N spelled out her word slowly, and Dean guessed. “Y/N?” 

“Uh huh.” She said and continued.

“…is…”

“…the…”

“...worried…?”

“No.” Y/N laughed. “Here, I’ll do that one again.” She said and spelled it out once more.

“...world…?”

“Close enough.” She allowed and continued with the next word.

“...best…”

As Y/N spelled out the last word, Dean snorted in disbelief, and turned to look at her. 

“Y/N is the world’s best hunter?”

Y/N beamed at him. “Why thank you, that’s very kind of you to admit.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, sweetheart, my turn.”

He lifted her up and set her on the floor in front of him, making her giggle at being tossed around like a sack of flour. He was tall enough that even with her standing, he could reach her back easily.

“This is a very simple phrase. Just two words. I’ll spell them both, see if you can guess.”

“You…wish.” Y/N recited and then spun around to punch him lightly in the shoulder. But Dean caught her fist before she could land it, and yanked her forward while he fell backward, pulling her down on top of him. 

Y/N was laughing breathlessly as she tried not to relish the feeling of Dean’s hard body beneath her own. They were behaving like children, and no doubt that was what Dean was thinking as he ran his hands up her ribs, though she was sure she saw a familiar kind of heat come into his expression just before he rolled her over and pinned her underneath him and began tickling her sides. 

Y/N laughed loudly as she writhed, pushing at Dean to get him to stop.  “You’re so mean!” She gasped out. But the corded muscles in his forearms easily withstood her attempts to stop him, and after a minute he slid his wiggling fingers up under her arms, tickling her mercilessly as she screamed in laughter and delight, even while losing her breath completely. 

Tiring of her pushing against his arms and shoulders, Dean grabbed up both her wrists in one hand and held them easily above her head, allowing his free hand to alternate from right side to left, as she bucked beneath him and cried tears of laughter. Before long, Dean was laughing hard too, enjoying Y/N’s simple joy and pure soul shining up at him.

Finally showing her some mercy, he stopped and let go of her wrists, shifting slightly so he straddled her hips, lifting his weight off of her, and digging his knees into the mattress on either side of her.

He ran his hands up and down her sides soothingly; Y/N closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure, and Dean groaned.

Y/N’s eyes popped back open, not sure she’d interpreted that groan correctly, but as she looked up at him there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze this time. His pupils were wide and his mouth slightly parted, his tongue pushing gently between his teeth. She had just a second to take it in before Dean’s lips were on hers. 

Her memory had served her poorly over the last five years. 

It was not vivid enough to properly capture the way her blood rushed from her head, leaving her woozy, or to remember the exact flavor of his tongue. She had forgotten too, how possessive he was when he kissed her, stamping her with his mouth, pulling the air from her lungs and feeding her his. 

She’d forgotten the precise timbre of his voice as he growled his pleasure into her ear, and how perfectly textured his callused fingers were as they scraped along her sensitive skin.

He moved his lips to the hinge of her jaw and his hands moved to cup her breasts and she was reminded of what it felt like to be worshiped by Dean Winchester. Every caress, every nip of his teeth and slide of his tongue along her skin felt like adoration, like love.

Ironically it was this feeling of being loved that made her freeze and whisper, “Wait, Dean.”

She wanted to cry when he stopped immediately and then practically vaulted himself off of her. She didn’t want him to stop, never wanted him to stop. But she knew she’d never survive another fun romp with him. She wanted too much out of it. Friends with benefits was never going to work for her. Tears swam in her eyes as the blinding truth slammed into her. 

She was madly in love with her best friend, and had been for a VERY long time, long before they’d ever slept together. 

Dean was shaking his head now. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry.” Before she could even formulate a response, he jumped up from the bed and slammed his way out of the room. 

She laid still on the bed, staring at the door he’d walked out of, before hearing the Impala’s engine roar to life and recede into the distance. All Y/N could concentrate on was the fact that she’d driven Dean out of the room unarmed. 

She should have just let him clean his guns in peace.

***

Hours later Dean still wasn’t back, and Y/N finally changed into pajamas and climbed into her bed, falling into a fitful sleep. She woke with a start when she felt the bed dip behind her as she lay on her side. She had no idea what time it was, but she recognized Dean’s scent, gunpowder and laundry soap, as he stretched out behind her.

“Dean…?” She said croakily, and started to turn towards him, but he put a hand on her shoulder, halting her.

“Please, sweetheart, don’t turn around. I…I want another chance at the game.”

“What?” Y/N asked, confused and not entirely sure she wasn’t still sleeping.

“I’m gonna write something on your skin, and if you don’t like what I write, you can just pretend you didn’t understand it, and we’ll both just move on.”

When she was quiet, he prompted her. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.” She said quietly.

She heard Dean take in a deep breath before she felt his callused forefinger begin tracing letters across her bare back above her tank top. She shivered slightly and then concentrated more than she ever had before, desperate to know what he was telling her.

“...Don’t…” She guessed the first word and Dean made a sound in the affirmative.

“...hate…”

“...me…”

As she guessed the last word she was shaking her head. “Dean, I could never -”

But Dean cut her off. “There’s more.”

He began again immediately.

“...But…

“...I…” She said when he stopped after a simple line down her back.

“...can’t…”

“...help…”

“...being…”

Y/N could feel her heart accelerating as the words continued.

“...in…”

“...lov-”

Y/N started the word and then gasped, missing the next word altogether and just catching the lowercase y-o-u Dean spelled onto her skin.

She twisted around to face him, and wanted to weep at the look of fear she could make out on Dean’s face. Her bold, brave, undaunted warrior was clearly terrified of what she was going to say, and Y/N wasn’t going to wait a second longer to put him out of his misery. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers, putting all her love into the embrace. Dean seemed surprised at first, but quickly wrapped his big hand around the back of her head and deepened the kiss, stealing all her breath and sense for the second time that day. 

As he pulled away, panting hard against her cheek, he frowned. “But, you wanted me to stop earlier, you didn’t want this.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m in love with an idiot.” She said ruefully. “I wanted to stop cause I knew I wanted more than a fling, more than some sort of friends with benefits crap.”

Dean’s whole face lit up as she spoke, a wide, dopey grin settling on his face. “I’m the idiot, right? The idiot you’re in love with?”

Y/N giggled. “Yes, idiot.”

Dean whooped and rolled her over so that she was on top of him. Y/N laughed with sheer delight and Dean smiled up at her warmly, with just a hint of sadness.

“You’re too beautiful to love me, Y/N. But please don’t stop.”

Y/N pushed open Dean’s flannel and then slid up his t-shirt so she could write across his chest, over his heart.

N-E-V-E-R.

“Never.” She whispered.

“Never, never.” Dean agreed with a nod before pulling her down to seal their promise in kisses.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @nt-multi-fandom @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @saikosheadcanons @lgranger67 @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @sunshineandwings86 @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @awkward-and-indecisive @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @b3autyfuldisast3r @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @mysherlock221b @jensensgotyoudean @stixnstripesworld @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @norman1967 @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @b-i-t-c-h-i-e @twirpbunwarrior @mysweetlittledesire @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fan fiction #fic request

[youngpettyqueen]

Hi!!! You wanted fic requests from that prompt list right?

For the prompts, I think 5 and 65 go well together, so maybe something with those two and Julian/garak, if you want?

YES THANK YOU youre so right those do work really well together... love me some hurt/comfort time to inflict it on these two

“I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“Look at me—just breathe, okay?”

Julian comes to smelling nothing but smoke and tasting nothing but blood.

He tries to open his eyes. Only one does. The other isn't cooperating- feels like it's glued shut. He finds himself looking out over the floor of the promenade. He's on the floor, then. On his stomach, from the feel of it, one arm caught underneath him.

Smell of smoke. Flickering lights. Everything's bathed in orange light. He can see flames, flickering in the corner of his vision.

Julian squeezes his eye shut again, trying to think. His head's pounding like a drum. He was on the promenade, he remembers that much. And he was... he was sitting. He was having lunch. But try as he might, he can't remember how he got to the floor. One second he was sitting, the next he was here.

The context clues make it easy to figure out. Smoke, fire, the vicious hammering in his skull. There must've been an explosion. Which means he's hurt. Which means a lot of other people are probably hurt. Which means he needs to get up, and get to work.

He starts pushing himself up to do just that, but he doesn't get very far. The arm that's caught under him doesn't want to cooperate, and trying to force the issue makes pain rip through his nerves like fire. He ends up buckling onto his side, gasping painfully. The pain centres at his shoulder, white-hot and stabbing- there's something stuck there, right under his collarbone.

Julian opens his eye again. This time, staring out across the smoking promenade, he can see somebody. He tries to call out, but his voice doesn't come, and the attempt leaves him coughing up a lungful of smoke. This does his injured shoulder no favours, and makes him aware of a deep ache in his ribs. He manages to roll himself onto his back to minimize how much he's jostling himself, bracing his ribs with his good arm, still coughing up ash and grit.

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

"Doctor!"

A voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. A familiar voice, only his head is too scrambled to remember who it belongs to. He looks over, and sees the person he'd spotted hurrying towards him.

"Doctor!" They call again. And he realizes who it is, right as his beautiful face comes into view.

Garak drops to his knees beside him. His eyes are wide with alarm, while Julian can only look up at him and smile weakly. Maybe it's sappy, but seeing Garak makes things feel a little less awful.

"G-Garak..." He manages to get out, sounding and feeling like he's talking around a throat full of sand. He coughs uncomfortably, wincing slightly. Then, he remembers just why he was sitting at lunch, and his weak little smile grows as he throws out the accusation, "You're late."

Garak looks like he's on the verge of three different panic attacks. "Yes, well, how fortunate that I was," He says, his tone and his eyes not at all matching his joking words, "Otherwise I might have been caught in this, and then where would you be?" His eyes keep flicking to Julian's injured shoulder, confirming what he already knows.

Julian manages a weak nod. "There's something in my shoulder." He acknowledges.

"A sizeable piece of metal," Garak supplies him, since Julian can't see it, "And you've got a nasty cut on your forehead."

"I'm concussed," Julian adds, "And I've got some bruised ribs. Can't tell how many. They may be broken. Hard to judge the pain with... you know." He nods weakly to his shoulder.

"Oh, is that all?" Garak asks, his sarcasm sounding genuine, of course, "Any other injuries I should know about, Doctor?"

"I'll let you know if any make themselves known," Julian rasps, "Now, could you be a dear and- and hit my comm badge? I can't really move all that much." He admits.

"There's no point," Garak tells him, "Comms are down. So are transporters. From what I can tell, several bombs have gone off. Here, ops, at least one in the habitat ring, and maybe one in the infirmary," He gives Julian a grim look, "We seem to be in quite the dire situation, Doctor." He observes.

Julian huffs something that might be a laugh. "I'd noticed," He puffs out, "So, just you and me, then. Tell me, Mr. Garak..." He hopes his nerves aren't showing as he asks, "How are your medical skills?"

Garak's expression gives nothing away. "Subpar, compared to yours," He replies, "Though I suspect we have no other choice."

"None at all," Julian agrees, "Either you stop all this bleeding I'm currently doing, or I'm going to be in... quite a bit of trouble." He's already lightheaded. He hopes that's just the concussion.

"Alright," Garak nods, "Alright, yes. Yes. Stop the bleeding," He nods again, and leans back to start tearing at his tunic, "I can certainly do that." He continues, sounding like he's talking to himself more than he's talking to Julian.

Julian manages to raise a brow at him. "Garak."

"Yes, Doctor?" Garak doesn't look up.

"Try to sound a bit more confident," Julian suggests, "Makes patients feel... at ease."

Despite everything, Garak still manages to give him an unimpressed look as he tears a sizeable chunk of fabric away from his tunic. "I'll keep that in mind," He replies flatly, shifting in closer. His expression softens as his eyes return to what Julian is sure must be a grisly wound, "Now, I'm going to take care of you, ok? And I need you to advise me on the best way to do that."

Julian nods. "Of course," He agrees, "My shoulder needs immediate attention. You have to stop the bleeding there, but don't... don't remove the piece of metal," He advises, "Sort of... wrap that fabric around it, and press down on the wound. Try not to move the metal," He adds, "It might make the bleeding worse."

Garak listens intently, eyeing his task up. "Seems simple enough," He says. Then, with an almost... sympathetic look to Julian, he tells him, "I will have to hold you down, Doctor."

"I know," Julian replies, "It's going to hurt. I'm probably going to scream bloody murder." He warns him.

"You know I'd never want to hurt you." Garak adds.

Julian manages a faint smile. "If the choice comes down to you hurting me, or me bleeding to death, I hope you don't mind if I'd much rather have you hurt me." He murmurs.

Garak takes a breath. "Very well," He says, "Brace yourself, my dear." He shifts himself into position, placing himself in such a way that he can hold Julian down against the floor as he gets his makeshift bandage ready.

Julian gets to take half a bracing breath before the pain spikes. Garak moves in quickly, clamping down on the wound with both hands, and it feels like someone's set his shoulder ablaze. Julian screams like he's just been shot, instinctively trying to jerk away, but Garak doesn't let up on him. He's trapped, pinned down, and thank god for that, but he can't help but howl again as the piece of metal buried in his shoulder jostles with the movement.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Garak gasps, continuing to hold him down and keeping steady pressure on the wound. It feels like he's also holding onto the metal, keeping it still as best he can, "Look at- look at me, Doctor, look at me- just breathe, yes?" He tries, with a smile that is not at all convincing, "Just breathe. Try to breathe."

Julian manages to still himself, gasping shallowly and painfully, black spots dancing in his vision. "I have damaged ribs!" He manages to hiss out, "This is the best I can do!"

"I'm not exactly a trained professional!" Garak reminds him, voice pitched with anxiety, "I'm just saying what you always seem to say to your patients! What else would you have me say?" He demands.

"Just- just distract me," Julian gets out between gasps, "Tell me a story. True, false, doesn't- doesn't matter, just- just anything, Elim, please-" He begs. He's tempted to ask him to bash his head off the floor and knock him out, but he doesn't think that would help Garak's current state. He can feel his hands trembling against him.

Garak's eyes search his face, the panic in them clear and unguarded. And then, almost hysterically, he asks, "Did you know one of my first jobs was as a server?"

The absurdity of that question almost makes Julian forget about his current agony. Almost. "What?"

"Yes, I was a server," Garak continues, looking and sounding like he's flying by the seat of his pants, "A waiter, as you Humans might say. It was a fine dining establishment, only for the highest of high classes. Have I truly never mentioned this?"

"Never," Julian gasps, "Do- do go on."

"Oh, gladly," Garak takes one hand away from the wound in his shoulder, and reaches over to gently brush some of Julian's hair away from his forehead- looking at his head wound, "I served some very high profile individuals, including one you're all too familiar with," He starts gingerly probing around where the wound must be, and Julian grinds his teeth as he presses on bruising, "You remember our good friend, Gul Dukat."

"I wish I didn't." Julian growls, more out of pain than anything else.

Garak manages a chuckle at that. "How rude, my dear. I seem to be rubbing off on you," He observes, "But yes, I would serve our dear Dukat often. The man can't hold his liquor," He tells him, "It's rather embarrassing, actually. One time, he..."

And Garak continues to ramble, concocting a story out of thin air that holds absolutely no truth. Still, Julian hangs onto every word, clinging to them as he desperately clings to consciousness. Garak's hand finds its way into his good one, holding tight, and it stays there until help finally finds them.

#star trek: ds9 #fic bitching #julian bashir #elim garak #otp: I need to know that someone forgives me #this was very fun #I was first inclined to have Julian be saying the prompt lines #but then I thought it'd be fun to challenge myself to see if I could have Garak say them #and I like how it turned out! #first attempt at writing Garak #I think it went well #tysm for the prompt <3333 #this was a lot of fun #longer than I expected but that tracks with me as a writer lol

[dreadsuitsamus]

Chicago Part 2 | Renji Abarai x Reader |

part one

author's note: after a long time trying to continue this, i've decided it's best if i just do a part 3 instead to cap this off, rather than try to push it all into one section. like in part one, this is heavily based on music by the band highly suspect, which i will always recommend you check out! the songs chicago, vanity, and wolf (which happen to be my top 3 highly suspect songs haha) are the ones mentioned in this fic and i recommend giving them a listen just to get a bit more understanding for the things mentioned in this fic.

pairing: renji abarai x fem!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of drug use and overdoses, rockstar!renji au, angst

The stage lights are hot against his skin, and Renji's already torn off his shirt and tossed it to the fans screaming in the crowd some time ago. It's been a long string of shows in this tour and he's been out of it most of the time, not that you'd be able to tell through his performances. He's as good as ever, still passionate and still following his soul with every word he sings. It's all he's ever known.

It's an outdoor venue tonight, and it's scorching hot as the show nears its close. Sweat drips off of him and his long, vivacious scarlet locks of hair cling to his back and torso, the cameras on him catching every little detail as he approaches the mic stand again and the lights dim as the last song slows. He's outright refused to perform Chicago the entire rest of the tour, much to the band manager's and fans alike chagrin. Ever since that afternoon he last saw you, where he begged you and you still walked away from him, he can't possibly get through the song without wanting to scream and cry and curse the day he met you.

All the other songs he wrote about you are still fair game, though.

"And I have searched my soul, yeah, for you, it's true." His lips practically kiss the mic and his long, dark lashes brush against his skin as he closes his eyes to hide from the cameras and lights alike. "But nothing ever comes out right. And I swear, I'm headed back to the other side, yeah."

Vanity, he thinks. At least I was honest.

"I can't sit around and watch us both die." His voice rings out, so vulnerable and broken and no matter how many times he sings this song or thinks about you and the good times that are years in the past, he can't help feeling choked up. "Oh no—"

"I cannot watch us both die." Renji says to you as he stares out of the window, rain falling gently as a tear slips down his cheek.

You must hate him by now, if for nothing else than surely for using a line from his breakup speech to you in a song that has been heard by millions.

"Oh no, not I. You know I've gotta try." The following cry is directly from his soul, so beautiful and powerful and he's never screamed so gorgeously in his entire career. Goosebumps litter his tattooed body and the little hairs on his neck stand on end at the feeling— the whole reason for the cameras in the first place is that they're making an edit of the tour, and there's no doubt in his mind that this performance will get a complete video of its own uploaded. It's an older song from album's past that newer listeners likely wouldn't know; what a way to introduce them to his most painful memories.

"I need you here." A damned tear slips past him, and he just knows his face is plastered on the big screens of the venue— even without them, the people in the lawn seats could figure out he's a wounded man. The agony in his voice is more than enough; the lyrics and tears just hammer the point home for those that need to be told explicitly that he's a sad, lonely, broken man.

Crying for the public is starting to become his thing, and he hates what it's doing to his image. But this is the last song of the last show of the tour, and after this… He doesn't get to sing about you for a while. The other band members want a break and it's more than reasonable, he knows. They have families, husbands and wives and happy relationships that deserve tending. He's bitter, but not outwardly enough to try and deny them their love.

He can always go solo for a while, if he really wants to torture himself.

"I've tried and I'll try again. You are my friend. This is not the end."

Maybe he'll go break his own heart again instead. By the time the rest of the band is ready to reconvene, he may just have their next album written. It's been a whirlwind in the months following Chicago, and if there's one thing he's been able to learn during his career, it's that his fans love his pain just as much as they love how he parties. They'll listen to almost anything he wants to talk about— Fucking, fighting, crying, it's all the same to them. His self-destructive misery makes them feel better about their own lives, after all. It's as addicting as cocaine to hear a man spill out his life's woes alongside an insane guitar solo.

He thinks maybe he should keep some of the songs he writes for other people, just to fuck with his fans a bit. Imagine if he didn't sell that one song to Ariana Grande? The reactions would be priceless.

You'd be able to call him out easily though. You're one of the very few people in this world that really sees through the bullshit and knows his passion for what it is.

But why couldn't you accept it? Accept him?

"I can't keep doing this, Renji! Sex, drugs, rock 'n roll— that's your thing! Not mine."

"Well tell me you liked the sex, at least."

Mm, actually he understands entirely why you couldn't.

The crowd cheers and screams and snaps their blurry little photos no one will look at as the music finishes out, and without sparing anyone a glance or thanking everybody for a wonderfully successful tour, Renji's lighting a smoke and walking off stage. It's a dick move but he'll get away with it, as is immediately proven by how they don't stop cheering as he walks out of their view.

The music video finishes off with a shot of Renji walking away, his toned back hidden by the curtain of his fiery red hair. It's gotten so much longer since the first time you saw him. He's always been a gorgeous man, truly. If you could love him on looks alone, you'd still be together now.

With an hour left before the diner closes, you've got a single customer in the entire place and you certainly hope to God he'll tip you well as you approach him with a plastered-on smile to pour him his odd request of a fresh cup of coffee at this late hour. Making ends meet has been rough, and your poor momma works just as hard as you do— you don't know what you'd give if it meant she could finally relax and put her feet up, knowing she'll be taken care of and that you'll be okay too.

Your last guest is handsome at least, with flaming hair that sits around his shoulders and with facial tattoos that surprisingly aren't ugly! You didn't think it could be done, but this random man in the diner has proven you wrong. His hairline puts anime's most prideful loser to shame, but he's still incredibly cute. He's got a napkin out and writes in complete chicken scratch, and his lips move softly as he notates what's on his mind.

"'Hey momma, it's me, your oldest son.'" He murmurs to himself, and oh good lord he's in a band, isn't he? With mommy issues on top of that??

"Your food will be out shortly." You tell him softly, not trying to break his flow. And his eyes never leave the napkin as he keeps writing, but just as you walk away he speaks.

"How late is this place open?"

You glance over your shoulder at him. "Just until midnight."

He nods to himself, scribbling down another lyric. "More than enough time. Thank you."

"Of course, sir."

"Renji."

"He did tip well, at least." You mutter and close out the video as you push away the memory; that night changed your life for several years. How dumb you were in those days! Skipped town with a man you only just met, and a budding rockstar of all people. Your poor mother was worried sick until he returned you home several weeks later, but in the end it had to have been worth it for her— Renji bought her a beautiful house at the very first opportunity he had.

The very house you're currently all alone and watching your former fiancé's music videos in.

In your recommended section is a video you must've seen a thousand times by now. It's an interview Renji had absolutely no business doing for several reasons— he was too famous for the interviewer, namely, not to mention he wasn't sober at all. They always catch him when he's under the influence, don't they? It's their best chance to squeeze out the juicy details of his broken life, their best chance to get real stories behind the pretty words he sings, and anger flickers deep in your soul at how abused he is by others. It's bad enough what he does to himself, but the way his pain is seen as a commodity for likes, views and clicks ignites a rage unlike anything else you've ever felt.

"Your new single, Wolf, what's it about?"

Renji takes a drag from his cigarette, flicking the ashy remains onto the floor. It's a dick move and he's not too fucked up to not realize it, but it's this fucking guy's own fault for inviting him. "Think it's pretty clear."

"Well from what I've interpreted, it's about heartbreak."

"It's about my fucking life being ruined, if you wanna get more specific."

"It's by your own hand though, correct? You've got quite the history of self-destruction, arrests, your drug and alcohol addictions…"

Renji groans to himself. "Can't a guy fuck up in peace? Yeah, sure. I did it to myself, 'cause fuck being happy. You think that's how I like to live?" He flicks away more ashes from the cigarette, not even bothering to take a pull from it now and far more interested in fucking up the flooring.

"Can I be honest with you?"

Renji snorts. "Sure. Nobody else is, so why not?"

"I do think that's how you like to live, Renji."

It's quiet for just a moment, but the redhead recovers with a small laugh. "Guess I deserve that."

"In 'Wolf', there's a lyric that stood out to me. "I was born to rock and now I gotta roll." This is after you say you've given someone your heart and soul— most people don't abandon such a commitment."

Renji's jaw ticks. Why the hell did he come on this show again? To be called out and humiliated on camera?? "I didn't do it for fun, or because I wanted to— I didn't have a choice. It was either stay with her and be happy and lose my goddamn self, or follow the music because I don't know who I am without it and lose her in the process."

"Why not find it? You could be a husband, a father… And still be a musician too."

"But will assholes like you still listen if I sing about tucking my kid in instead of screaming about my mommy issues? Hm? None of you fuckers want me or any other “celebrity” to be happy, ‘cause you don't get your money from that shit. What's gonna get you more views, huh? A picture of me getting married or my latest fuckin’ mugshot?"

For the first time, the interviewer is speechless and Renji flicks the remnants of his smoke at the man before walking off the set, swearing up a storm and kicking things over on his way out.

You sigh and look at the old, faded photo pinned to the corkboard on the wall. Even with the age of the polaroid, Renji's crimson hair still burns bright, just like his smile. His big, stupid mouth is curled into the prettiest smile you've ever seen, with teeth blindingly white despite his smoking habit. Still, you fondly drag your finger down the photo, smiling so gently that your eyes only crinkle softly. The day this photo was taken was amazing, and no matter the tension or the burned bridge between you now, the memory of that day and the good times you had all the time during that era raises your spirits as needed.

The ticking of the clock on the wall reminds you of yourself— it's time you get ready for work at the diner. You never thought you'd be working until midnight at a shitty diner again after you left Chicago all those years ago, but time is nothing but a flat circle, it seems. With a sigh, you pull on your uniform and tie the laces of your matching pink sneakers.

But you don't make it past the front door's threshold before your phone's ringing from a number you haven't communicated with in quite some time.

"Ichigo?" You haven't been too particularly close with him in several years— he was always Renji's friend and rival, though you did have a mean streak on Snapchat still going several years after starting it. "If this is about our streak, I'll send it when I get to work."

"It's not." His voice is somber, and the sound of his sends your skin in a carefully crawling panic. "I just thought you should know about Renji."

"... What about Renji?"

"He's in the hospital."

He hates needles.

"Is he acting up?" If he's acting a fool, he's fine and there's no real need to worry.

But then Ichigo wouldn't be calling, would he?

"He overdosed last night during a party." Ichigo murmurs quietly. “I know it's asking a lot, but… Can I fly you to California?"

Ichigo counts the seconds of silence as you contemplate the idea. He's right, it is asking a lot. Your past with Renji is muddied and his obvious remaining love for you isn't enough to erase that terrible history, even with your own heart constantly pouring out love for the man at every single glimpse of him. He was born to rock and he had to roll; isn't that what he sang?

‘And I’m, I'm burying my pain into somebody else.’ He sang that, too.

"What purpose do you think that'll serve?" Your murmur isn't cold nor laced with any sort of venom or loathing; you're already just a soft breeze away from caving in and calling the diner (again) to tell them you're skipping town for a while— for Renji. It's ultimately Ichigo that'll make the decision that determines if your mother returns from her bridge session to an empty house and a Post-It note with too few details on it.

History repeats itself in the oddest of ways, in the most unexpected of times.

"Renji needs someone." Ichigo's pleading is pitiful and awfully unlike him; desperation doesn't suit him one bit. "A lot of things have changed that you don't know about… I can't look after him anymore."

"Look after him?" A sly, mischievous little smile tilts your lips at how you recall the old days with the old group, where Renji and Ichigo went head-to-head on the dumbest arguments, stupid ideas and drinking contests just about every day and night. "You remember yourself in a much better light than I do."

Despite himself, your old friend laughs on the other end. "I'm a father now, with responsibilities! That old way of life is behind me."

You laugh with him and step back into the house, jogging upstairs to your bedroom once again. "Give me my flight details as soon as you can."

"Thank you."

That old Polaroid on the wall brings a spark to your heart this time, rather than the feeling of emptiness and nostalgia it usually does.

"Baby, I met you in downtown Chicago." You sing under your breath, just as your phone lights up with the information that sets a fire up under your ass to pack quickly— that jerk chose a flight that departs in three hours!

#renji abarai x reader #renji abarai x you #renji x you #renji x reader #bleach x reader #bleach imagine #x reader #reader insert #fic

[tarisilmarwen]

Rebels Rewatch: "Iron Squadron"

Unexpected Sato backstory??? And other fun things!

Oh hey, the rare Star Wars planet that is not one single biome!

My son looking cutely contemplative. :)

Hera's the first to mention that Sato has "connections" here, and my brain automatically assumed family even before the reveal.

This freighter the kids are using is a YT-2400, which apparently was kind of a big deal to Legends fans because of some dude named Dash Rendar. This is not my area of lore expertise so I won't comment on that, but I will observe that if fanbros had an expectation of seeing that guy in this episode then it makes more sense why they got pissy when it was revealed the crew was upstart plucky kids instead.

Still, adult Star Wars fans really have got to stop mindlessly hating on teen/kid characters.

"They're attacking the Empire head on!" I mean, y'all have a Corellian freighter too and you do that all the time. I guess the YT-2400 looks way more civilian grade to them, no obvious modifications.

Why is Kanan in the turret, guys? Yeah yeah I know he has the Force to help him "see" but this is just... silly.

Hera still operating under the impression that it's a civilian ship. I mean technically it is but also you're in the Rebellion Hera, we literally just had an Imperial ace talk about how y'all use whatever ship that flies a few episodes ago lol.

You know the trick with the cargo crates is actually pretty clever. The YT-2400 obviously has very little actual armament aside from the one top gun, very easy to lull your enemy into thinking you're harmless.

Lol Zeb accurately calling that Iron Squadron is "a ship-full of Ezras".

I haven't commented on it before but sometimes Ezra just sits like such a typical teenager, using the furniture in all the wrong ways.

Big fan of the slightly vulnerable note in Sato's voice here.

Lol Ezra and Sabine's faces here.

"If you like a junk pile." "Be nice." A+ adorable banter moment, love it.

There goes Chopper antagonizing other droids again.

Mart is surly and grumpy and looks like a shaggy kitten and I love him. <3

Gooti trying to diffuse the tension in the room by offering waffles. Relatable.

Mart honestly sounds just a bit like Dark Side Drunk Ezra, the undernotes of anger in his voice, insisting that they have things under control and don't need help. Honestly it was kind of an amazing and interesting idea to put Ezra alongside a bunch of (slightly) younger kids a few rungs back on the character development ladder to contrast how much more mature he's gotten.

Mart confusing different Imperial ships for a Star Destroyer is also a great running gag. Sabine gets so annoyed lol.

Lothal still looking relatively pretty.

I would really like to praise Lars Mikkelson for making me creeped out by the most innocuous of scenes with Thrawn, all the man has to do is comment on Iron Squadron being interesting and mildly insult Konstantine and my skin crawls, ggughhhh.

Thrawn setting up lesser officers for failure again.

Relating to deliberately casting Ezra as the more mature one, it even extends to how they keep posing him this episode. He's not more than a year or two older than the Iron Squadron kids and yet he feels so much older in his bearing and manner of speaking.

The shoulder nudge and the way Sabine goes, "Hmm?" makes me think they're improving this on the fly.

I've joked before about this looking like a cute family photo but it's still true.

Spaceparents be skeptical lol.

Chopper just whacking the panel with hammer. XD

"This might be just a planet to you, but it's our home!" Hoo boy, that's the heart of it isn't it? Ezra has been through this exact thing. So he understands the instinct to dig in and fight back. But like Mon Mothma would later remind him in Season Four, you can't save every planet right away. Sometimes you have to retreat and regroup, and come back stronger later.

Sometimes you have to leave home.

It doesn't mean you don't fight. It just means you don't let your fear of loss make you stupid.

Once again leaning on that message of "How we choose to fight."

This is purely in the realm of headcanon but Mart's obsession with suicidally charging a Star Destroyer makes me think that might be how his father died, or something similar to it at least.

Gooti and Jonner sharing a look like, "Uhhhhhh maybe they have a point about our ship being way too small to take on the Empire alone."

Yeah, no, I'm sticking with my idea that Mart has just a little bit of a death wish and wants to go out taking revenge against the Empire that killed his father.

Precious little rage bean. <3

Sabine reminding Ezra not to get in trouble with Hera for disobeying orders again.

It's okay Sabine, he's learned that lesson lol.

Subtle animation appreciation moment: The sheer floof to Mart's hair. I can't believe how much volume it feels like has, just from the way it shifts around his head.

"I am all the family he has left." :((((

STILL SO MAD THAT WE NEVER GOT MART'S REACTION TO SATO'S SACRIFICE AT THE BATTLE OF ATOLLON.

Right, continuing with the Mart-is-literally-Ezra-from-a-couple-seasons-prior parallels, Mart's disbelief and delight at the Ghost coming back for him.

And Konstantine makes a really stupid decision in the effort to... idk, give himself more glory? He literally has enough ships and firepower to blow both freighters to bits and he insists on this showy mine trap move.

This is why Thrawn sent you by yourself, pal, he wanted to see if you'd croak.

Lol the Ghost took a potshot at the light cruiser as it was passing.

Chopper continuing in the grand habit of bullying other droids.

Ahhhhhhh Sato came! He was too far away to be able to get there on time and he came anyway!

HIS FACE.

Yeah uh, Konstantine? You should have known the mine plan would never have worked as soon as you lost signal contact with it. Also it's really stupid to let them get the ship that close to your cruiser before you try to detonate it.

Mart's little "...Oh." expression. <3 A+ running gag payoff, no complaints.

HNNNNNGGHHHHH YOU CAN'T JUST IMPLY THAT THRAWN AND SATO HAVE SOME KIND OF CONNECTION AND THEN NOT FOLLOW UP ON THAT. At least let us get some Sato backstory out of it, c'mon.

Thrawn calling Konstantine just to rub the embarrassment in.

THIS IS WHY HE DISOBEYED YOUR ORDERS AT ATOLLON DUDE. MAYBE NEXT TIME DON'T HUMILIATE YOUR UNDERLINGS BY DELIBERATELY SENDING THEM INTO SITUATIONS YOU KNOW THEY'LL BUNGLE.

Aw frick.

Don't think about the Kanan-Ezra parallels, don't think about the Kanan-Ezra parallels, don't think about the Kanan-Ezra parallels--

They're adorable.

And we couldn't let the episode close without getting one last gag in by way of Chopper rolling up to R3 and smacking him for no damn reason lololol.

I unironically love this episode and these kids. <3 Fandom was way too mean about this episode, why do y'all hate fun?

There are a few things introduced in this episode that really should have been picked back up and followed through on and yeah, a couple moments are a smidge cringe. But the humor is overall solid and sue me Mart Mattin is precious and I love the depth his existence adds to Sato. AND I WANTED SO MUCH MORE I DON'T CARE THAT I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO LOVES THEM I NEEDED MORE IRON SQUADRON.

*ahem* I'm normal about this episode. Soooo normal.

#star wars #star wars rebels #rebels rewatch #liveblog #ezra bridger #mart mattin

[kylowritten]

If the Slipper Fits

Pairings: Kylo Ren x ForceSensitive!Reader

Summary: Nobody wants to be the woman whose foot fits that slipper.

Warnings: 18+ only; Kylo is somewhat dominating, they finally have sex, female on top, slight sexual harassment (verbal and physical), death

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: After an eternity, I’ve finally written the next part! I apologize about the wait, my life has been hectic and Kylo has had to kind of sit on the back burner. But don’t you worry: all this time has given me the chance to hammer out the details of the rest of this story. And I’m so excited😈

Part Twelve

Arrangements are made for your absence. Palpatine volunteers, so graciously, to oversee Kylo's duties until he returns, with the promise to message him if anything goes awry. You wonder whether or not this had all been his plan. There's no use in bringing it up to Kylo, though, seeing as he would dismiss the speculation; you've barely seen head or tail of your husband since your confrontation in the strategy room.

It incites a ball of dread in your stomach, thinking about all of the time you're going to be spending with him. Would it be awkward? Would he ignore you the whole time? You weren't even sure how well you would be received by the districts. It didn't escape you that people would see right through your plan for what it really was: a publicity stunt.

"Do I really need this many dresses?"

Lyssa is helping you pack. You leave tomorrow. On your bed and scattered across your room are various dresses of various styles. She finishes smoothening out the tulle skirt of a golden dress, then says, "If anything, you need more but I'm being reasonable."

"This is reasonable?"

"You're visiting six districts," Lyssa explains. "And I suspect there will be dinners and other inescapable social gatherings."

You count on your fingers. "Couldn't I just wear like...two dresses?"

"Two dresses?" Lyssa repeats. The horror in her voice and on her face suggests that you might've well told her to cut her own arm off and eat it. "You are a queen now."

You groan.

"Hello, Your Majesty," Lyssa says.

You pry your hands from your face. Kylo stands in the doorway of your room, swathed in armor and black fabric. In his deep, mechanical voice, he says, "This isn't necessary."

"What's not necessary, sir?" Lyssa asks. She starts to wring her hands.

He sweeps a gloved hand, encompassing the room in its entirety. "This. I've already selected everything that she will wear. You're dismissed."

You try to catch Lyssa's eye but she scurries out of the room. You plant your hands on your hips.

"That wasn't necessary. You can't ignore me for, like, half a month and then be rude to my friend," you tell him.

"I didn't want to waste her time."

"You could've told her nicely," you say. You frown. "And what do you mean you've already selected everything? Lyssa was trying to help."

"I picked out what you're going to wear."

If you had been drinking, you likely would've spit it out. But since you were not, you kind of just make a sound like you were trying to blow bubbles with your mouth. "What?"

"You're surprised," he says. His words curl with amusement.

"Yes, I'm surprised!"

"You doubt me."

"Well, we haven't exactly been friendly," you point out.

Kylo takes a few steps forward. His presence is physically demanding, somehow larger and more powerful than the space he occupies. "I've studied your body. I happen to think that I know it quite well."

A blush burns your cheeks. "That doesn't mean — I would like a choice."

"It's one less you have to make."

"I don't mind making it," you protest. "I'm not just some doll for you to dress up."

The tone in his voice has you imagining one of his thick brows disappearing into his hairline. "And you were quite content with Lyssa choosing them for you? It appeared to me that you were unhappy with the process. I thought to ease your...pain," he says, landing on the word.

You feel a crack, a fissure form in your heart and in your anger. But you were stubborn, and you weren't going to let it go so easily. Traitorously, your voice is much softer than before.

"I would at least like to have the illusion of choice," you say. "Or to see the dresses."

Kylo replied, "It's a surprise."

"Should I be afraid?"

"Are you, afraid?"

You stare into the visor of his helmet, lined with chrome. "No," you say. "I'm not."

The plan is to arrive in the Sixth District by nightfall, attend a dinner with the Lord, then spend the next day touring the district. Nervous doesn’t cover it. Unlike Kylo, who had grown up in royalty, you didn't know the proper etiquette or social expectations; while your father grew up relatively wealthy, he hadn't hired you a tutor or governess.

"You'll do fine," Lyssa says, patting your hands.

You smile briefly. "I wish you could come with me."

"I do too," the handmaiden says. "But the prince was very clear that this trip be private."

You felt very small standing in the hangar of the First Order palace. The walls were chrome and black transparasteel, stretching far over your head and hundreds of yards away. Dozens of ships lined the hangar as well as rows of white-clad Stormtroopers, filing in and out of service in an intricate system unknown to you.

Tilting your head back, you regard the massive ship before you. "Is this what we're flying?"

"We'll be taking my ship."

Kylo strides into the room, cowl whirling behind him. You blink at him. "Your ship?"

The prince breezes past you. You follow his form a few rows over, to a ship with large, wicked-looking wings tucked close to the main body. While the body of the ship is small, circular, the wings protrude into the open space above your heads, taller than other ships. Your throat dries.

"The Finalizer," Lyssa whispers to you.

Kylo has already commanded the ship's platform to extend, which hits the tiled floor with a sharp ting. He boards the ship without another word.

"How is there any room for us in there?" You whisper-ask Lyssa.

She smiles, somewhat knowingly, with a touch of chagrin. "I told you, private." A sheepish expression crosses her face. "I hear that the prince is quite a talented pilot."

"Oh great," you answer. Just another thing he succeedes in.

"You probably should get going. You're going to do wonderful," she includes. You hug her goodbye, then approach the entry ramp to the Finalizer. There's a niggling sensation at the back of your mind to look over your shoulder, but you straighten your shoulders instead and ignore it.

Footsteps echo off the ramp. You enter the ship and trepidation fills you — you're not sure what you expect, judging by the outside of the Finalizer. The inside is the size of a supply closet. And, occupying it fully with his massive shoulders, is Kylo Ren. He sits in the only seat, legs spread, an air about him as if inviting you to say something about it.

You sniff and defiantly raise your chin. There's not much space to cross to get to him, perhaps half a step. Settling on the closest leg, you perch on his lap. Immediately one of his large hands snags you around the waist and pulls you in, so that your weight is fully on him.

His hand on your waist doesn't move.

"Ready?" He asks.

Breathlessly, you say, "Ready."

You don't want to reveal your surprise at the situation. Again, you're playing another game that he's unfairly thrust you in.

Using the hand not possessivly holding your waist, he punches a few buttons on the ship's dashboard and moves the gear shift. A loud roaring sound fills the cabin of the ship and, with the high-pitched, mechanical whine that you've grown associated with First Order ships, it rockets out of the hangar. The powerful force presses you even closer into Kylo so that his chest is flush with your back.

"You'll get used to it," he says.

Your cheeks burn. You don't think you would ever get used to the strength of the ships, or the feel of Kylo's body close to yours. Your entire body is on edge, a thousand exposed wires, frayed and bursting with electricity.

"We're starting in the Sixth District?" You ask, after a substantial amount of time passes. You pose the question mostly as a way to distract yourself from Kylo.

Kylo makes a low sound of confirmation. "Yes."

"And...what can I expect?"

"Since we're arriving late, we're to meet the Lord at his estate. He's throwing a feast in our honor, supposedly."

Your mouth dries. "How nice."

"Nervous?"

"No."

"Then why are you squirming so?" Kylo asks, his voice thickening.

You freeze. You hadn’t noticed what you were doing, but now that he brought attention to it, you realized that it had elicited a rather...large...response from him. His cock is hard. At first you're embarrassed by this, but then twistedly triumphant. You wiggle your ass a little bit more.

"What do you mean?" You ask innocently.

Kylo growls. His hand on your waist holds tighter. "Don't play with me."

"I'm not."

You prompt him with more questions about the Sixth District and the dinner, interspersing them with more accidental brushes of your ass, both of you ignoring the lengthening of his cock with each one. He thought he was being clever, taking you on his ship with an obvious lack of space, but you could be just as cunning.

He's in the middle of explaining something when he curses under his breath, and slams down on one of the buttons. He grabs you and, somehow in the tiny space, maneuvers you so that you're facing him and straddling his lap.

Your hands fall on his shoulders, for no where else to go. "What are you doing?"

"Autopilot."

Kylo touches his mask so that the visor detaches, then removes it altogether. His hair, thick and dark like night, frames his face. Eyes, equally dark and imbued with passion, trail over your face. His anger, his unbridled intensity, invokes a primal response in you that you otherwise would've been embarrassed by, if not for the fact that you were looking at him just as hungrily.

Your lips crash together. For the first time, you think, but the thought is quickly drowned out by the frenzy of his gloved hands. He skates them over your back, the curve of your ass. You gasp into his mouth as he brings one hand up to cup your breast, brushing a thumb over your nipple. As if there's a tether, you feel a jolt of pleasure between your legs, in your cunt, a heady connection that he strokes again and again.

Finally he tears your bodice aside, capturing the same nipple with his mouth. He bites down, hard. You yelp in surprise, the sound smothered in your throat as he then assuages the burst of pain by greedily sucking it between his plush lips.

You tilt your head back in ecstasy. He teases and massages your nipples with his tongue and mouth, then repeats the process with the other.

It takes a moment for you to collect your thoughts and launch into a counter response. You fumble for his belt, which is much trickier in the contained space. Kylo growls impatiently, then rips it off himself. Eager to help, you slide his pants down — over his hips, his ass, the thick muscle of his thighs. It reminds you of the time at the dinner table; the way his cock springs forth, liberated, except this time you know that it's going not in your mouth but your pussy.

"Fuck," you say.

Kylo grabs fistfuls of your dress, lifting your skirts around your thighs and nudging your thin panties to the side. "Grab onto me," he instructs, deep in his throat.

You obey, but only one hand reaches his shoulder to brace yourself before he bucks his hips and completely sheathes his cock inside you. You cry out in shock, and in pleasure, but have only a moment to ruminate before he ruts inside you again and again with unrestrained fervor.

Each thrusts feels as if he's about to cleave you in two, sending a splitting sensation through your entire body. He holds you close and allows no time for you to recover.

"Oh, Kylo," you gasp. You feel your first orgasm begin to peak, the tightening in your thighs. Your head swims.

In a surprising move, his grip on control slackens, and he allows you to take over. Without skipping a beat, you snap your hips against his, riding out your own orgasm. Bliss washes over you. An explosion of stars erupts in front of your eyes and you sink down onto him as your orgasm subsides, like the tide from the shore.

"Good, little mouse," Kylo hums in approval. His strokes arrive slower, more deliberate.

You take the opportunity to stretch your legs, rising up and down in quick, short intervals, so that the head of his cock slides in and out between your folds, slick with desire. He groans in response to the pace that you've set — it doesn't last long. He grabs your hips once more.

There's no room for you to move now. He holds you firmly in place, resuming his claim on control. You squirm and wiggle as he fucks you with vigorous intensity, darkness clouding over his face, the expression of someone locked in battle. And that's what it feels like — a war, your bodies the weapons — ravaging against one another as if there could only be one to leave unscathed by it all.

His lips press against your skin, your breast, following the curve of your collar bone down as far as he could along your sternum. A trail of fire, blazing throughout you and igniting your heart.

He coaxes pleasure from you effortlessly, over and over, until, finally, his throat bobs and he spills his seed inside you. Kylo holds you close as he finishes. You feel ruined, wasted. Fatigue clings to your bones as Kylo unseats himself from you and removes himself far enough away to pull on his pants. You've barely managed to gather your wits before he snaps the helmet in place.

"Get ready," he says, as cool and indifferent as ever. You don't exactly expect him to wax poetry, but any kind of acknowledgment would've been nice.

You huff. "For what?"

"We're here."

The sound of steam releasing slices through the cabin of the ship: the door. Kylo untangles himself from you as you panic, hurrying to fix your hair and clothes. You curse as you hear him greeting someone. With a quick glance in the reflective surface of one of the interior panels, you resign to your slightly haggard appearance and then join your husband.

A myriad of thoughts bombard you; first, that the Sixth District stretched far beyond your imagination, with great, swaying trees and the scent of brine wrapping around you; second, you were sorely unprepared for your arrival. An entire entourage welcomed you as you — admittedly, quite wobbly — made your way down the ramp to Kylo's side.

"And this must be the blushing bride!" A man, the one you imagined Kylo had been talking to, beams at you from his rather astute observation.

You arrange your own smile. "It's a pleasure."

"Ah, you're quite fortunate," the man tells Kylo, elbowing him playfully. You would not suspect that he would be one to tolerate such behavior but his posture remains unaffected, although there's no telling how he might've reacted behind his mask. "Pardon my manners, my name is Lord Trion. I am so honored that you have chosen my district to visit first on your campaign."

When Kylo doesn't reply, you realize that he must be waiting for you. "Ah, um, thank you for having us," you tell the man.

Lord Trion grins. If he noticed your blunder, he doesn't act like it; perhaps, one of the benefits you can reap from your new martial status. Having Kylo by your side was quite like having an overly possessive animal as a companion, one prone to striking out at the least predictable moment.

"Come, come. I must give you a tour before the dinner begins. It will be spectacular, to honor the happy couple," Lord Trion announces.

He whisks you both away, although giving Kylo a considerable amount of distance. The entourage follows after, who you assume is an assembly of noblesse and other notable Sixth District representatives. They chatter excitedly behind you, their whispered exchanges drowned out by the gradually increasing sound of waves.

The lord rambles on about the successes and statistics of his district, though you cease paying attention. The Finalizer landed on a strip of sandy pavement surrounded by lush greenery, which unfolds into dunes and glimpses of blue water as you follow the path. Seagulls swoop overhead. You would've enjoyed the moment — if not for the trail of Kylo's expense dribbling from your thighs down your legs.

There was no way for anyone to witness it, but it still made you vaguely uncomfortable.

I told you not to play with me.

You glance sideways at Kylo, who, beneath the protection of the mask, appears deeply enthralled with Lord Trion's boastful monologue.

You could've helped me clean up, at least, you mentally shoot back.

We had no time. I wouldn't want to be rude to our generous hosts, Kylo replies. His voice assumes a lilting tone you're not familiar with. Besides, I couldn't wait one more minute to hear about the benefits of Trion's leadership.

You pause. Was that...a joke? Was Kylo making a joke, and not cruelly at your expense?

You giggle. Trion breaks from his speech to look at you quizzically, and you quickly smother it with a weak cough. You got me in trouble.

You tend to do that quite well yourself, Kylo remarks.

The rest of the way to Lord Trion's castle, Kylo and you swap mockeries about the Sixth District and Trion's less than subtle attempt at appealing to the king to be welcomed on his Court. It's not until you've breached the castle doors that you realize you've never felt so relaxed with Kylo, so calm, dwelling in a companionship you hadn't before. You didn't want to admit it, but it was nice — pleasant, existing without inhibitions.

Behave, Kylo tells you, after you project to him your best imitation of Trion, including the distractive nature of his bushy moustache.

You respond with a secretive smile.

Trion leads you through the castle. It boasts plenty of flamboyant decorations and artwork, a great handful dealing with the ocean or marine life. Finally you end your journey in the Feast Hall, where there's another group of admirers for you to meet and be introduced to.

Kylo hangs back silently, not needing an introduction. You asquiesce to the greetings and hand shakes, until you reach the very last noblesse. A man who Trion calls Parric, with a young-looking face and reddish, receding hair. He eagerly clasps your hand in his.

"No one told me how beautiful the new queen was," Parric all but purrs. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses each knuckle in a display of unnecessary worship.

Like a storm on the horizon, you feel Kylo draw closer.

"Your district is lovely," you tell Parric, prizing your hand from him. Although sheltered in your own district, you're more than aware of the type of men not to trust, and Parric fell directly under that category.

Parric replies, "Even lovelier now that you're here, Your Highness."

Thankfully, you don't have time to answer before Lord Trion is hauling you over to the massive dinner table, where two specially crafted chairs sit — one at the head, and to the right — for you and Kylo. You sit, somewhat reluctantly. A prickle of unease ghosts across your skin as Parric deigns to sit besides you.

Trion engages in Kylo in a (rather one-sided) conversation about the exports of the district. You hold fast to your silverware, as if it might protect you from unwanted interaction. Of course, though, the first course is just drinks, which offers little to no distraction. At least if you were eating you could use the excuse of not wanting to be rude.

Parric clears his throat. "You must be tired from your long trip."

A memory of Kylo rutting into you flashes through your mind. "Very," you say, knowing that Kylo is more than likely listening in.

"Tell me about your new life as queen."

You vaguely give him an explanation, skipping over the parts of rebellion, arguments, and various sexual encounters.

"Hm, how fascinating," Parric replies, although you've left out all of the good parts. "Well, we are so grateful that the prince has found a wife. And such a beautiful one at that."

The dinner proceeds with several poor flirting attempts from Parric. You shovel food into your mouth to keep from responding, though it's hardly necessary; your new best friend seems to quite enjoy hearing himself talk. You barely even get a chance to speak to Kylo. He only brushes his fingers across your knee and thigh on occasion, with the effect of blazing fire across your skin. Near the end of dinner, you eventually grab his hand, and he does nothing to pull away.

You smile at this, but evidently it gives the wrong impression to Parric, who had just asked you to dance. A swell of music rises.

Accept it, Kylo says. But if he gets handsy again he will no longer have hands.

"Sure," you tell Parric.

Guiding you to the dance floor, you realize fairly quickly that you have no idea how to dance. At least, whichever one they’re doing now. You open your mouth to tell Parric but he sweeps you into his arms and onto the dance floor; evidently, he doesn’t mind you mashing his toes.

He takes the lead, imparting no effort to actually teach you the dance. Parric strings you along like a kite blowing in the breeze, tethered on a string but always somewhat lacking behind.

“I should sit back down, I bet my husband is looking for me —” you try.

Parric shuts down your excuse. “Nonsense. He is fine! Look. Our Lord is rather engaging.”

You do look, despite yourself. Kylo lounges in the specially crafted chair, somehow managing to look both dominant and uncaring. While not obviously facing you, you can feel him prickle at your subconscious, the spider-like touch of his awareness. “Hm,” is all you say.

Is he making you uncomfortable?

No, you insist. He’s just…persistent.

I would like to persistently hurt him.

The idea alarms you. As much as you wish you were anywhere else, you know that Kylo wouldn’t hesitate to do just that. Subsequently, you nudge Parric to the other side of the room.

“I should show you the shore at night,” Parric tells you. “It’s quite breathtaking.”

“Sounds like it,” you say.

Parric spins you into a dip, his hands moving dangerously low. “Why don’t we? I hear that a quick skinny dip into the ocean at dusk is just marvelous —”

He might as well have summoned Kylo with his words. The prince arrives within seconds, preceded by a falter in music and the natural flow of the dancing. Undoubtedly he stalked across the room in the slightly murderous way he tended to. Parric’s eyes flutter in shock and he nearly drops you.

“Your Highness —”

“Step away from my wife.”

Parric takes an, admittedly comedic, large step away from you. Kylo’s presence has ceased most of the festivities. Everyone has stopped to stare.

“Do you always propose scantily-clad activities to your guests?” Kylo growls. “To your queen, nonetheless.”

“No — no, sir.” Parric shakes his head.

You watch as Kylo fills the space between him and the other man. He leans in close, the faceplate of his helmet just inches from Parric. Parric nods enthusiastically to whatever Kylo is saying, and even offers him a shaky smile as Kylo draws away. He claps a hand on Kylo’s shoulder.

Several things then happen at once.

You don’t hear the sound of the lightsaber igniting, you barely see Kylo withdraw it at all. In the tiniest flicker of movement, he’s drawn the lightsaber from his side, cross-guard placed firmly in his fist. The lightsaber plunges almost silently into Parric’s chest, up and into his heart, protruding from the low angle that Kylo is holding the weapon at. A beat passes where it’s not yet obvious what’s even happened.

Then Kylo snaps the fiery blade of the lightsaber off, and Parric slumps to the floor.

You stare in horror as he crumbles at your feet, eyes staring straight ahead, a fizzling hole in his chest. The crowd of dancers gasp and retreat back before erupting into chaos — people are screaming and running away, although despite the upheaval of panic, you only see Kylo.

He’s looking at you. He shouldn’t have touched what’s mine.

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” you say, a sob building in your throat. “He didn’t deserve that.”

I warned you.

You sputter. “This is my fault?”

“I’m not saying that,” Kylo snaps back.

You’re preparing a response when Trion pushes through the crowd and sees Parric on the ground at your feet. His face immediately pales.

“Oh, dear,” he breathes. Worriedly, he glances from you to Kylo. “Your Highness, whatever transpired, I offer my humblest of condolences, I don’t know —”

You can’t stand to hear the rest.

Tears blur your vision as you spin on your heel and run away. People swarm in a frenzy, all pushing and elbowing to get out of the ballroom as if Kylo might launch into a full-out attack. You’re jostled from side to side until, finally, you’re spat out into an isolated corridor. Skirts balled in your fists, you sprint down the corridor until you reach the end. You wrench open the door and find yourself outside.

It’s a garden of the same tall, swaying trees and other hot-weathered plants. Sand scatters under your feet. Your shoulders heave from the effort of running, of the scene you had just watched unfold. Finding a darkened corner in the garden, you flatten yourself against the wall and then sink to the ground.

Disbelief clouds your mind.

How could Kylo do that? Perhaps you felt the whip-like change of behavior especially startling after having just a pleasant interaction with him; almost like you had forgotten who you were. This was Kylo. That was what he did.

“You’re not wrong for being afraid of my nephew,” a voice mumbles. “His temper and disposition for violence can frighten even the strongest of minds.”

A figure stands before you, glimmering like Kylo did when he appeared to you in a Force vision.

It was an older man, adorn in sweeping brown robes. A hood framed his face in shadows but you could just barely make out the hint of his mouth and greying beard.

“Luke,” you say, realization dawning on you.

He smiles, if not in a resigned manner. “I apologize about my timing. But this might actually work perfectly.”

You ask skeptically, “What work perfectly?”

“For training, of course,” the Force-user says. “My sister sent me, did she not? To teach you to unravel the dark magic imprisoning Ben’s mind. This may very well be the perfect time for our first lesson.”

- - -

@juniperwoodwell

@judypahtootee

@eternal-mikrokosmos

#cinderella #fanfic #force sensitive #forced marriage #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo x reader #kylo x you #one thousand and one nights #star wars #smut #writers on tumblr #writers #reader insert

[eva-knits12]

Morning Walk

Trigger warning: twin toddlers/twin terrors, Jake Jensen, morning walk, coffee, Subway, fluff

Summary: You and Jake take the twins, Anna, and Elsa for a morning walk at your favorite pedestrian mall.

Jake is already up, and is making the coffee. The girls are still sleeping. They're 16 months old, and it's been an amazing five years. I've been trying to lose the baby weight, but there are times when I feel like I can't. Jake has been nothing but supportive. He will shut down anyone who tries to shame me for it. We went through a lot to have our girls, and I wouldn't change it for the world. We struggled with infertility, it only brought us closer.

"Honey bun, the girls are our reward for having to go through a lot to get them," said Jake that morning, when I was feeling self-conscious. I had on jeans, a t-shirt, and a cardigan. I had thrown on my favorite necklaces-my gold, herringbone chain, and a hammered, gold circle that's open, on a gold chain. I smile, because Jake doesn't let anyone shame me or shame him for going through infertility, and struggling with it. I had just showered and dressed, and Jake fed Anna and Else their oatmeal and fruit.

Jake prepares me a cup of coffee the way I like it, with two creams and two sugars. I go to fix myself some toast, but Jake stops me.

"Honey bun, let me make you breakfast," says Jake.

Jake fixes me toast, but I'm still skeptical. He has managed to make oatmeal for the twins without burning it, and he made me toast without burning it, so Jake is making improvements in the kitchen.

"It's a nice day, so why don't we just go on a nice walk today? It will be just us and the girls today," says Jake.

"Then, we'll go to Subway and get that meatball/pepperoni sub you love, Jake," I say.

"We can split that," says Jake.

"Good, the girls can get that pizza that they love," says Jake.

"Do you have the stroller ready?" I ask.

When we found out we were having twins my parents and his parents split the cost and got us a double stroller. The stroller cost an arm and a leg, but it was perfect. The stroller converts from an infant stroller to a toddler stroller. You and Jake didn't need the Mercedes of double strollers. All you cared about was that Anna and Elsa were happy and safe at the end of the day.

"Yes, honey bun. I also have the diaper bag packed. There's plenty of wipes, plenty of bottles, plenty of water, plenty of toys, plenty of everything," says Jake.

"I can't wait", I say.

It seems like the only times we leave the house is to take the twins to the park, to Mommy and Me or Daddy and Me, grocery shopping, to toddler time, to the playground, or just shopping in general. Even for a shopping trip, we have to pack everything. Plus, the twins go through clothes. Just when they grow into their clothes, we have to buy even more clothes for them.

"MAMA!" says Anna.

"MAMA!" says Elsa.

"Mama! Yum!" says Anna, who tries to feed me some of her fruit, and I take it.

"Mama! Yum yum!" says Elsa, who also feeds me some of her fruit, and I take it.

Mario was just sitting there, near the door, waiting to be taken out for his walk.

The girls were giggling, and trying to get Mario to come to them.

"Ario", says Anna.

"Rio" says Elsa.

"Come on Mario, let's get you ready for your walk today," says Jake.

Jake fills Mario's food bowl with some kibble, and fills his water dish. Mario eats some kibble, and he drinks the water.

Mario was our rescue that we adopted at a shelter. Mario is grown dog, but still has that puppy energy. He's always near the girls. Even when I was battling infertility, he would always lay his head on my stomach. When Jake and I found out I was pregnant with the girls, Mario would lay his head on my stomach, and he never left my side. It's as if he already knew that the girls would be here.

Fast forward to this spring. The girls reached all of their milestones. They rolled over on time, crawled on time, started to grab on time, took their first steps on time, learned how to pull themselves on time, walked with assistance on time, and their first word was Dada. They even cut their first tooth on time.

Mario was with them through it all, even nudging them with his snout to get them to crawl when they would get in crawling position. Eventually, Mario taught the girls how to crawl.

Mario was sitting by the door, eagerly awaiting to go on his walk. Jake was busy loading the double stroller in the car, and I was busy checking Anna and Elsa's diaper.

"Honey bun, I'll check Elsa. Just check Anna," says Jake.

Anna pooped a bit, so I change her diaper, and Elsa also pooped a bit. Jake changes Elsa diaper. Now, the girls have clean, fresh diapers.

"Geez, how can you turn oatmeal and fruit into that?" says Jake.

Elsa giggles, and Anna giggles. Anna and Elsa are excited because they get to play on the playground for a bit when you and Jake go for a walk.

Jake loads Anna in her car seat, and straps her in. He then loads Elsa into her car seat, and straps her in. Anna and Else were both in leggings, tees, and cardigans that I made for them.

I'm busy fixing some coffee for both Jake and I. I put Jake's in his Pac Man insulated mug, while I put mine in my black and gold insulated mug.

I put the mugs in the cup holder of our Equinox. Jake and I bought the Equinox because we wanted a nice, safe car for the girls. Much to my family's chagrin, who always insisted that we get Chrysler Dodge vehicles, Chevy's were just safer. We weren't going to buy a Jeep, knowing that the Grand Cherokee killed Anton Yelchin, and other people, thanks to a faulty mechanism. Nope! My baby girls deserved better. Plus, the Equinox was reasonably priced.

Jake starts the Equinox and then puts in gear. Mario is hanging out in the back, and keeps barking excitedly.

"Soon, Mario," I say.

"Doggy" says Anna.

"Doggy!" says Elsa.

The girls just learned the word doggy. Jake and I couldn't be any prouder. We arrive at the mall, and Jake parks the car.

I pull out the stroller, and Jake puts the leash on Mario. I load Anna in first, then I load Elsa in.

"DADA!" says Anna!

"DADA!" says Elsa.

Anna and Elsa said Dada as their first word. Jake has one arm around my shoulders, and the other hand has Mario.

"Ario!" says Anna.

"Rio!" says Elsa.

Jake and I walk the girls in the stroller, and we go to the playground. Jake and I unload the girls, and they start to play. Of course, Mario wants in on the action, so he joins the girls while playing.

Mario is protecting his girls. Mario is NEVER away from his girls for too long. Mario is sitting where the girls are playing, and isn't moving. Dogs were allowed on the playground. I walk down to Starbucks, and get Mario a puppuccino.

I get the girls a cake pop, and I get Jake and I those chocolate covered graham crackers that he likes. I get a pack for myself, too. I get some vanilla creme milk steamers for the girls. I don't let the girls have too much sugar, but Jake and I like to them milk steamers at Starbucks if it's around their snack time. They also get a cake pop, because well they like cake pops. I got cupcakes and cake pops for the girls first birthday. So, the girls love cake pops as a treat.

Ot ilky!" says Anna, who's excited when she sees me with the milk steamers, and the bag of treats.

"Ake op!" says Elsa, who sees the bag of treats, knowing that there's a cake pop for her and Anna.

"Mario! Come here, boy!" I yell, trying to get Mario's attention. He runs up, and sees the puppuccino, who's now even more excited when he sees me.

"Jake, I got you your favorite!" I yell. I hand Jake his graham crackers, I give the girls their cake pops.

Jake gives Mario his puppucinno, and Mario is just enjoying his puppuccino.

We all eat our snacks, and the girls finish their vanilla milk steamers. We walk around for a bit, and the girls start to fall asleep. We walk around for a little while longer, and eventually, it's lunchtime. I stop at Lush, and get the girls some bubble bars. I thought it would be fun when they have their bath tonight.

Jake and I load the girls in their car seats, Jake then folds up the stroller, and I put the diaper bag in the stroller. We're now on our way to Subway. Jake tells me to stay in the car, and cracks open the window for me and the girls. The girls were still passed out, and Mario was in the back, not making a sound.

"Shh, Mario, Daddy will be back," I say.

Mario is panting, waiting for Jake. Mario is sitting on the floor, near the girls, and starts barking, getting excited.

"Mario, I got you a pupcake," I say.

I went to the dog bakery and got Mario a pupcake. Mario gets a treat, too. I always say that Mario is our first child, Jake says the same. So, Mario gets treated like one of our children. The twins are definitely his siblings, and he's quite smitten with them.

"Ario! Eerio!" says Anna.

"Rio! Eerio!" says Elsa.

Anna and Elsa are trying to give Mario Cheerios. I can't help but laugh.

"Girls, here. Try to feed him a little of his pupcake," I say.

"EEEE! Upcake! Upcake!" says Anna.

"EEEE! Doggy ake!" says Elsa!

The girls always find ways to make me and Jake laugh. They start to feed Mario his pupcake. Mario is enjoying his treat.

Jake, meanwhile, is busy ordering our lunch. The girls will get their pizza, Jake is getting his sub, and he's getting the sub that we'll both split. I see Jake coming out of the restaurant with the sub and the pizza for the girls.

"IZZA! IZZA!" says an excited Anna.

"IZZA! IZZA!" says an excited Elsa.

I grab the items from Jake, and Jake gets in the Equinox. Jake greets me with a kiss.

"Sorry it took so long, honey bun," says Jake.

"Jake, don't be sorry," I say.

"The girls were keeping me entertained," I say.

"DADA! IZZA!" says Anna.

"DADA! IZZA!" says Elsa.

"See, the girls are excited," I say.

Jake, the girls, Mario, and I go home. I see the cookie bag, and I get excited. Jake got two chocolate chip cookies, and the girls got some mini cookies.

Jake and I get home, and I get out of the car and remove the girls from their car seats. Jake takes the lunch into the house, and Jake comes back, and unloads Mario and gets him into the house. I go to pull down some plates, but Jake stops me.

"Honey bun, I'll get this," says Jake.

I get some sparkling water for myself, and I put some water in the girls' sippy cups. I decide to check the girls' diapers. They were probably in need of a change.

"Yep, you girls need a change," I say.

Anna and Elsa's diapers are really wet, so I knew that they peed. I lift Anna on her changing table, and I pull out a diaper, the wipes, and I pull down her leggings.

"You doing okay, Elsa? Mommy will change you in a few minutes," I say, as I'm busy removing Anna's diaper.

I change Anna's diaper, and I kiss her forehead. I then lift Elsa on her changing table, grab a diaper and the wipes, then I pull Elsa's leggings down. Elsa's diaper is just as wet. I proceed to change Elsa's diaper. When I'm done, I kiss Elsa's forehead.

"Honey bun, are you coming in the dining room for lunch?" asks Jake.

"I'll be there in a few minutes, I'm on diaper duty right now," I say.

I put the diapers in two plastic grocery bags, and then dispose of them in the diaper Genies. I wash my hands, and I send the girls on their way. My mind flashes back to the time I found I was pregnant with the girls, but we didn't know it was twins.

"Jake, I love you, but if I don't get to a bathroom now, I'm going to pee my pants," I say.

I was holding it in so I could take the tests. By the time I got to the bathroom, I was holding my crotch. I was opening the tests, and I was about to burst. Luckily, I didn't pee my pants. I pulled my pants down, sat on the toilet, and took each test in rapid succession.

Fast forward to almost two years later. I have the tests in the girls' baby books. I even wrote a journal to the girls, and so did Jake. We would write everything from the time Jake and I were trying to conceive, to the time I went into labor with the girls. I even wrote what I was craving. There's even photos that Jake printed, giving the stats of each day on a board, along with how big they are.

"You two are getting so big! Right now, you two love to kick me whenever I'm taking a nap. You two also love to sit on my bladder whenever I'm taking a nap. Daddy loves talking to mommy's belly! He tells you how much he loves you, and to please stop kicking me, and sitting on my bladder all the time. Daddy's right-it's not nice!" That was one of the passages in the pregnancy journal.

"Mommy and I kept trying. Nothing was happening. Mommy was diagnosed with an invisible illness called endometriosis. That's why it's been hard to conceive. We never thought that it would happen, but now, it's happened. Mommy and I are so happy that you two exist. This was our dream, a dream that was slipping away each day. The stress, the frustration, the trying, doing everything to conceive. We were trying medicine, seeing a special doctor to help us. We even tried home remedies, oils, even spending romantic nights and weekends together. We never thought it would happen, but now, our dream has come true." That was written by Jake.

I come into the kitchen, with the girls. The girls are walking and holding hands, and it just looks cute. Mario follows them to their high chairs. I place Anna in her high chair, and Jake places Elsa in her matching high chair. Jake serves the girls their pizza, and they feed themselves a few bites. Jake and I eat our subs and chips.

Jake and I give the girls their cookies, and they eat them. I clean up, and Jake reads them a story so they can settle down before their nap. He reads them their favorite story from the Sesame Street Story Book, a book that I had when I was a baby. I have a lot of story books from when I was a child that I placed on the girl's bookshelf. The girls are out. Before bed, I'll read them a story from the Sesame Street Bedtime Story book.

Jake puts the girls in their cribs, and Jake sits in the nursery reading Ready Plyer One. I sit in the nursery next to Jake, and I work on the socks that I'm knitting for myself. With my leftover yarn, I often make socks or headbands for the girls.

"Honey bun, can you make me a dad sweater, when you have time?" asks Jake, giving me his puppy dog eyes.

"Oh, my sweet goof ball, I'll knit you a sweater. What color do you want it?" I ask.

"Pink," says Jake.

"Not because my niece is on the Petunias, because I'm a girl dad," says Jake.

"Brown, cream, and navy would be nice, too," i say.

"So would light blue. But they're typical dad sweater colors," says.

"You're not a typical dad, you're not a cool dad, you're a computer and video game nerd dad," I say, giving Jake a quick kiss.

I check on the girls, and they're still sleeping. They barely stir. Jake barely stirs when we sleep. When Jake and I moved in together, I quickly learned about his habits, and his wardrobe choices. Grandpa cardigans and flannel shirts were a must. So are hoodies. He learned about my yarn stash, that my sweaters and cardigans are 95% hand knit, and that all of my blankets are knitted and crocheted.

I have the perfect pattern, so all I have to do is go to the yarn shop.

"I'll be back, Jake. Just keep an eye on the girls," I say.

"I love you, Jake," I say.

"I love you, honey bun," says Jake.

I drive to the yarn shop, and get the yarn in pink. I'm making Jake a cable knit, shawl collar cardigan. I pay for my purchase, and I head back home. I also got some yarn to make the girls a nice, summer cardigan in some lightweight cotton. Jake doesn't question my purchases on the credit card, and I don't question Jake's. Jake loves playing video games, but that has fallen by the way side. I stop at Target, and get some items to make chicken tacos for me and Jake, and I get some items to make chicken bites for the girls. I also found some really cool cake pops that the girls will love. Dessert for me and Jake will be churros, since I also found some ready made ones that I just have to toss in the air fryer, and make the dipping chocolate.

I arrive home, and Jake and the girls are playing with Mario in the backyard.

"ARIO! ATCH!" says Anna.

"RIO! ATCH!" says Elsa.

"MAMA!" says Anna, who toddles up to me, and wraps her arms around my legs.

"MAMA!" says Elsa, who also toddles up to me, and wraps her arms around my legs.

"Let me help you with that, honey bun," says Jake. Jake grabs the Target bags, and I grab the bags from the yarn shop. The girls see the Target bags, and get excited.

"ARGE!" says Anna.

'AGET!" says Elsa.

What can I say? Anna and Elsa LOVE Target. I give the girls the stuffy of Bullseye, the Target Mascot. The girls are freaking out.

"Honey bun, I'll watch the girls, while you start dinner. Then, I'll take the girls for their walk, just stay here, and relax," says Jake.

I go to fix dinner, and Jake is keeping the girls entertained. Jake and the girls watch Bluey, and Jake puts Elsa on his feet while Anna builds a tower out of blocks. She was crying when it fell over, and Jake and Elsa were helping her rebuild it. Instead she got frustrated and gave up.

"Oh, Elsa. Anna's in a bad mood. You know what this means?" says Jake.

"Anna, you can rebuild your block tower, but be careful!" says Jake.

"Smash!" says Jake.

"EEEE!" says Elsa.

Anna starts to laugh, and runs to me.

"MAMA!" says Anna.

"Anna, Mama can't play with you right now. I'm in the middle of making dinner, but I'll play with you later, okay," I say.

Jake helps, and he prepares the soft tacos and chops up the lettuce, tomatoes and onions. He then pulls out the salsa, cheese and sour cream.

"Thank you, my sweet goof ball," I say.

The girls forget about Anna's bad mood, open the cupboard, and pull out pots and pans, and climb in. In their world, they think that Jake and I won't find them, but we always do.

I pretend to search all over the kitchen, and Jake is busy putting the chicken in a bowl, while he puts the diced chicken and veggies on Anna and Elsa's toddler plates, and sets out their toddler forks.

I find Anna and Elsa.

"There you are, girls!" I say.

Jake and I put the girls in their high chairs, and Jake and I give them their chicken bites and veggies.

"Yum!" says Anna.

"Yum Yum!" says Elsa.

Jake and I enjoy our chicken tacos. Mario is enjoying his kibble.

"Girls, dessert will be ready! I just have to put it the air fryer, and then we'll have it," I say.

Jake goes ahead, and fixes the chocolate, and I go ahead, and prepare the air fryer and the churros. The girls are excited, and they love to snack on mini churros every time we go to Target.

"Urros!" says Anna.

"Urrios!" says Elsa.

For some reason, Elsa always mixes up churros with Cheerios. She made up her own for it, which are urrios.

"How's the chocolate coming along?" I ask Jake.

"It's coming, I just need to place it in a nice, soup bowl," says Jake.

"Here, place it in one of the coffee cups that I just use as soup bowls," I say.

Jake places the chocolate in the green, white and gold mug, I coat the churros with the cinnamon sugar mixture. Jake puts a spoon in the chocolate, and Jake arranges two churros each for the girls. Jake and I talk, and we then get the stroller ready to take the girls on their after dinner walk. I grab several plastic grocery bags and Mario's leash. Jake loads the girls in the stroller, and we go for our nightly walk with the girls.

We come back from our walk, and I undo Mario's leash, and dispose of the poop bags. Jake gets the girls out of their clothes, and gets their story book ready. I come in, and the girls are wearing nothing but their diapers. I go and run the water, and test it. When it's at the right temperature, I crumble up the bubble bar. I let it get all nice and bubbly, and Jake removes the girls' diapers. We deposit them in the tub, and the girls start giggling. After a while, we put shampoo in their hair, let it sit, and wash them. We rinse them off, and drain the tub. Jake and I dry off the girls, and we get them in their diapers, and then I read them their bedtime story. The girls are out, and Jake and I put them in their cribs. Jake and I each kiss them goodnight, and kiss them on their forehead.

Jake and I get ready for bed, and crawl in. Mario is sleeping near the girls, the girls are out until they cry, indicating that they need a change. Jake is busy reading Ready Player One, while I'm reading the Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder by Joanna Fluke.

Jake and I steal a kiss.

"I love you, Jake, my sweet goofball, video game and nerd dad," I say.

"I love you, too, honey bun, my amazing wife who loves to knit and crochet," says Jake.

Jake and I sleep until the girls cry. When they do, they need a change, and the girls are out, until I wake up to start the coffee. This all feels perfect. I have an amazing, sweet goofball, dorky, computer nerd husband, and two amazingly, sweet, funny girls.

#jake jensen #dogs #twin girls #twins #lunch #starbucks #cake pop #hot milk #stroller #target #chicken tacos #churros #marrige #love #family day #family

[fatelesschild]

DW Fanfic: Oblivion (Update)

Find on AO3

Chapter 19: Last one out, get the lights

Risking everything, the Doctor and Jack embark on one last attempt to find the cure for Rose.

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness, Original Doctor/Rose Tyler Children, Millennia (Doctor Who), The Ravenous (Doctor Who: Ravenous), The Menti Celesti (Doctor Who), Rose Tyler, Minor Characters, Eternal(s) (Doctor Who) Tags: Tenth Doctor Whump, Whump, Tenth Doctor Angst, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Adventure, Gallifreyan Culture (Doctor Who), Gallifreyan Language (Doctor Who), Gallifreyan Biology (Doctor Who), Gallifreyan History (Doctor Who), Vampires, Clowns, Horror, Psychological Horror, Fluff, Major Illness, Blindness, Parents Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Married The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Dark Rose Tyler, Time Vortex (Doctor Who), Love, Humor, Family, Friendship, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Series, Novel, Surreal, Kid Fic, Background Relationships, Injury, Blood, Violence, Death

~ ΘΣ ~

Extract:

The Doctor suddenly lunged forward, grasping Jack's shoulder just as he was about to open the door. 'Wait!’ he yelped, his voice almost coming out in a squeak.

'Doc?' Jack asked, looking at him with concern. 'You've gone really white.'

'Something's wrong,' the Doctor croaked, his face twisting.

'What is it?' 

The Doctor's hands were shaking. 'Every single instinct I have … is telling me to run.'

'What d'you mean?' Jack asked.

'I can't explain it,' the Doctor croaked and then had to brace himself against the wall as his eyes glazed over slightly. 'Jack, I think I'm going to faint.'

'Sit down,' Jack said quickly, pushing the Time Lord down to sit on the ground.

'Please … Jack … we can't go in there,' the Doctor emitted in a whine. His dual hearts were hammering so violently he thought they might burst through his ribs as his whole body shook uncontrollably.

Jack looked incredibly confused and concerned. 'It's okay. Just breathe.'

The Doctor took a few measured deep breaths. It did very little to calm him down. 

'Look at me,' Jack demanded.

The Doctor did, focusing on Jack's gaze. 'Help,' he gasped out. 

'Doctor, you're having a panic attack.'

'You think I don't know that!?' the Doctor yelped. 

'Ground yourself. Tell me three things you can see.'

'You, the door, the steps,' the Doctor panted. 

'Three things you can hear.'

'Your voice, my voice … The … the screaming.'

'What screaming?'

'I can't tell it to stop; it won't stop,' the Doctor managed to get out, sobbing now. 

'Doctor, tell me. What screaming?'

'Mo'loyi'ei,' the Doctor gasped.

'Doctor, I can't understand you when you talk Gallifreyan …!'

The Doctor swallowed, trying to get a grip on himself as he forced his hearts rates to reduce and placed telepathic shields to try and block out the screaming. 'S-sorry,' he said, tears running down his face.

'It's okay. Look, if you wanna quit, we'll quit.'

'... I d-don't think I've ever felt this sc-scared, Jack.'

'Is it the same kind of feeling you used to get with me? When you used to feel I was wrong?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Yes … but ab-bout a thousand times w-worse.'

Jack hesitated, glancing at the door. Due to the severity of the Doctor's reaction, it suddenly looked incredibly ominous. 'I could go in by myself,' he offered, the confidence of his tone betraying his feelings.

'N-no,' the Doctor said, shaking his head and standing up with Jack's support. 'We've c-come this far. Open it.'

'You sure?'

The Doctor nodded, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. Apprehensive, Jack rested a hand on the handle and pulled. 

Nothing jumped out like they'd both been subconsciously expecting. It was just another room, looking like some sort of messy laboratory. Machines lined the walls, their cables tangled. Paperwork was strewn about the place, and to the left was a sealed chamber with an observation window blacked out.

'All right?' Jack checked with the Time Lord.

The Doctor nodded. 'What's that noise?' 

'I can't hear anything.'

'That whirring,' the Doctor muttered, following the noise he could hear. It led him to the sealed chamber. The Doctor unlocked the door and, with his exotronic arm, managed to haul its heavy frame open.

'Oh my god,' Jack croaked.

#dw fanfic #doctor who fic #10th doctor #10th doctor whump #fanfic update #whump fic #doctor who #tenth doctor #dw

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Dear John, if you want to answer prompts right now (if not that’s fine, no rush), I‘d have a little request for the vardy au. Maybe Vardy and Lucian watching classic vampire-themed horror movies? Thank you in advance and an early Happy Halloween 🎃

Sounds like a fun theme! :D

I'm totally accepting prompts right now, especially Halloween ones.

On with the fic!

--

"It seems like a terrible idea, but it's the season, I guess." Hardy said as he moved to take a seat on the couch.

"Do you do this often?" Lucian asked. "Watch vampire movies?"

"I try not to. There was a set of movies that Daisy had me watch with her, same with Miller, those stupid romance ones that people really liked. I hated them, they were a horrible chore to sit through, only thing good about them was this one vampire."

Lucian chuckled. "Oh? And what was it about this vampire that made it somewhat bearable to sit through?"

Hardy shot him a look. "He was rather nice to look at and seemed like a proper fictional vampire, not some angsty teenager who shouldn't be in high school still."

This made the lycan laugh as Hardy put on a movie, the first of the evening being the classic Dracula from the 1930s. They sat quietly, watching the movie, before Lucian asked, "When you watch these sorts of films, do you ever compare yourself to the vampires?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, just in the sense of how they are in terms of abilities and such, do you ever think 'I can do that' or 'I am better skilled'?"

Hardy raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch, a warm arm wrapping around his shoulders. "Sometimes, but not often. I mean, do you do that when you watch werewolf films? Considering I don't think there are any lycan-based films."

"No lycan films, just werewolves and shapeshifters. But sometimes when I watch them, I see how humans think of my kind's relative species. A lot of it is terrible, werewolves are often seen as dangerous, feral, and tragic."

This made the detective frown. "You're not really feral, Lucian."

"True, unless if I am beyond furious, which has happened, and you cannot blame me for that, it was the start of the war and my wife had been murdered before my eyes. Though you have no comment about being dangerous or tragic?"

"You are dangerous in your own right, just as anyone can be, and your life has been tragic, I can't disagree with that."

Lucian chuckled. "Blunt."

"Never said I wasn't."

They continued to watch as Dracula attempted to get what he wanted, and of how people were trying to stop it. "Did you ever actually read the book?" Hardy asked.

"A long time ago, when it was first published, it was rather ridiculous and odd, a bit... narrow minded, and felt somewhat homoerotic."

This caught Hardy off-guard and he let out a small laugh, then quickly shut his mouth. He didn't miss the amused smile on Lucian's face.

The movie soon ended, and they put on Nosferatu, which Lucian said he had seen when it first was released and how there was a whole lawsuit involved with it, and then they put on a hammer horror. "I liked these ones, back in the day." Hardy commented, now leaning against his boyfriend.

"You like these?" Lucian made a face. "They're so... bad."

"Of course they are, but they're enjoyable for that."

"The blood is very clearly red corn syrup."

"Shush, just watch Peter Cushing trying to kill Christopher Lee."

"I don't want to, this is getting dumb, let's put on something else."

Hardy looked up at him. "Wolfman? Frankenstein? It's Halloween weekend, we have to watch horror movies, even if they're terrible."

"We don't, but I feel like I have no choice." Lucian sighed, resting his head against Hardy's own. "Frankenstein."

"You have no choice at all, especially when Daisy gets you to watch stuff with her, she wants to marathon Buffy or something tomorrow."

"I... don't know what that is."

"You'll find out tomorrow."

--

I'm thinking of the vampire movies I've watched this month and do want to watch, I avoided bringing up Fright Night though, haha.

#john's drabbles #the vardy au #lucian x alec hardy

[this-is-where-i-hide-my-bullshit]

Oof, when you find the original source of a piece of art you liked but the original post features a quote from a poem that has antisemitic tones but you can't tell if the artist knew that or not because a lot of people are uninformed about most types of antisemitism but when you know the stereotypes the quote is referring to it's pretty blatant 😬.

Like, I really want to hope that the artist just didn't know. But I really don't want to support the artist if they actually did it on purpose.

I haven't found anything else offensive on their current blogs yet, but the original post was from a blog that's been deleted.

This is a screen shot the quote the artist used, it's from a poem called "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti.

The poem is about two sisters, one of whom falls to the temptation of the golden goblin fruit sold by the goblin men and becomes addicted, then grows sick. The other sister tries to get her more fruit, but when the goblins realize she's paying with silver instead of gold and that she herself doesn't intend to eat any of it, they try to force feed her in a scene the reads a lot like a sexual assault. In the end the sick sister gets better and the two vow to tell their children the evils of the goblin fruit.

Now, maybe it's easy not to catch it if you don't know about the link between goblins and antisemitic stereotypes, or the stereotypes of jews being "greedy", or "gold obsessed", and you've never head the antisemitic beliefs that jews are "trying to replace white people", and that "white women need to be protected from other races who will seduce and violate them",

but when you DO know... Yikes. BIG fuckin yikes.

Some people try to argue that "maybe the goblins in the poem weren't originally meant to have anything to do with Jewish people," but even if that were true, when it fits the modern antisemitic/ white supremacist beliefs that much I don't think authorial intent matters anymore, because antisemitic people will use stories like these to try and spread their beliefs under a guise of plausible deniability. They also have a long history of stealing symbols and twisting stories to suit their propaganda.

Many of the adults that were around me when I was growing up were antisemitic white supremacists, so I do actually know what I'm talking about here because I had to sit through countless lectures from adults about all the things I've mentioned above, from the perspective of the antisemitic white supremacists themselves.

It's incredibly frustrating that a lot of people are unaware of the language and symbols used by white supremacists and antisemites, because it helps them hide. That's the point of dogwhistles. For example, there is a huge percentage of white supremacists who use Nordic and Celtic symbols like runes and Thor's hammers and celtic crosses to symbolize their "white heritage", and when they refer to "heritage", they mean "race purity".

Here is a good database of white supremacist symbols, phases, and dog whistles, you might be surprised by how familiar a lot of these are:

And here is a pdf that goes more in depth explaining white supremacist symbols, phrases, and beliefs:

Now, it's important to remember that not everyone who uses these symbols is a white supremacist, and that's the point, that's what makes them dogwhistles. The symbols themselves aren't always inherently racist, that way non white supremacists aren't likely to see it and clock the white supremacist. It's like a secret code to them.

Most white supremacists and racists won't actually admit to their racism, even when they are openly saying and doing racist things.

My step-father was covered in swastikas and other blatant nazi imagery tattoos, he constantly ranted about phrenology, had books and papers that were blatantly white supremacist, and had a nazi flag in the basement that he actually saluted, but he'd always say he wasn't racist. He'd say he just "cared about his heritage, and wanted to make sure the white race didn't die out," and that he "didn't hate other races, he just thought it wasn't fair that they were stealing jobs and homes from whites." < yes, those are actual quotes of things he said to prove he wasn't racist.

My point is, white supremacists and antisemites will do everything in their power to hide in plain sight, and because most people don't know their codes and dog whistles, they end up accidentally repeating or wearing them.

#antisemetism tw #racism tw #white supremacy tw #dogwhistles

[lazywriterkylie]

DAY 13: Write a story about a character who is terrible at keeping secrets who gets told to keep a vital secret

I had so much fun with this one, even though I left it till the last second because I had no clue what to write. It might be my favorite piece I've done so far in this challenge lol.

The tall blad hitman leveled his pistol, pulling back the hammer with a metal click for dramatic effect.

"Codes. Now. Or I'll blow your brains all over the floor," he growled.

"Ha!" I laughed, feeling a rush of adrenaline and fear course through my body as i glared down the barrel of the gun. This wasn't my first rodeo, and it would take more than eight hours of merciless beating and the threat of death to break me.

"Go ahead! I'm the only one with the code! you kill me and your plan is as good as done!"

"That's not true Sam,"

I froze mid taunt, trying to keep the shock I felt from showing on my mangled face at the grating voice droneing from beside me.

I turned my head in slow disbelief and saw to my horror, Maverick tied to a similar chair a few feet away, looking bored- and completely unharmed. His wrists and ankles were bound, but he was still slunched over, glasses on askew, looking like he was sitting through a boring debrief.

I felt my blood boil at just the sight of his stupid face.

"YES it is Maverick, I'm the only ones with the codes, the director trusted me with them-"

"No Sam. You're not the only one who knows the code,"

"Shut up yes I am!"

The hitman removed his black sunglasses and glared between the two of us, his eyes bulging.

"Are you two seriously arguing while I have you tied up? I have a gun," he waved his weapon around as if offended we hadn't been paying attention.

"Yes-no sorry," I huffed, completely thrown off my groove. I wasn't used to being tortured for information with company. But I had to roll with it. That was my job.

"What I was trying to say is, You can't kill me, I am far too valuable. And almost no amount of torture could get those missile codes out of me."

"He doesn't seem to think that's true." The thug said, gesturing to Maverick with his gun.

"He's new- the boss's kid actually- doesn't know what he's talking about. In fact, I am pretty sure he's wildly confused!"

I glared at my new assistant through my puffy beaten eyes, hoping he'd get the clue and shut his mouth before he got us killed.

"I am actually not confused," Maverick said raising a finger from where his wrists were tied to the arms of his plastic yard chair.

"You said you were the only one who knows the code. You're not."

"YES I AM! The director told me himself that I was the only one he could trust!"

Maverick blew air through his lips and smirked, "that dude was lieing to you. Cuz I also know the code."

It felt like he'd just popped a balloon in my chest.

"W-wait seriously?"

"Yeah," he said, as if this was obvious knowledge and I was the stupid one for not knowing, "I learned the codes like four weeks ago."

"HOW ON EARTH-"

"Watch it, volume," the hitman warned.

"Sorry sorry. How on earth did you get the codes before I did??"

Maverick shrugged.

"You don't know???"

I let loose a growling sigh. I would have grabbed my head in exasperation if I could have.

"So let me get this straight... I spent six years clawing my way to the top of this cutthroat organization, doing grunt work, kissing ass, running coffee, taking the missions nobody else would, I did that for six years to get promoted to where I am now, and you're telling me that THE BOSS JUST GAVE YOU THE CLEARANCE LEVEL EIGHT CODES ON YOUR FIRST DAY?"

"Pretty much dude, I don't know what to tell ya."

The hitman shook his head, "that's pretty shity."

"RIGHT?"

"Sounds like you wasted a lot of time to me," Maverick said matter-of-factky in his stupid dumb wormy voice.

I shook my head as a lump began to form in my throat and I sniffed.

"I'm sorry," I croaked as a tear slid down my cheek, "I- I dont usually fall to pieces like this but it's been a long day."

"Oh here," The hitman stepped forward, producing a hanky from his pocket. He pressed it to my nose and I blew into it with a loud moist honk of blood and snot, "It's okay, let it out."

"It's just," i sighed, tears falling freely down my face as I pulled away and blinked up at the ceiling.

"Those were his last words to me! You know? I held the dieing director in my arms... he told me he was proud of me... that I had grown into a fine young agent... he said that he finally trusted me with the most important information he had! And then he died! I loved that man like a father!"

The hitman shook his head and placed a caring hand on my back, his pistol still aimed at my skull.

"Sounds to me like you worked really really hard." He said, his gruff and gravely voice a soft, reassuring whisper.

"I did!"

"Did you learn a lot? Did the hard work turn you into a stronger agent?"

I sniffeled as my nose ran with tears, nodding my head.

"Then it sounds to me like you became someone your agency can be proud of! Who cares what the director thinks!"

"You're right!" I said in defiance of my emotions, "I-I solved the unwanted and cold cases! I did what nobody wanted to do! I defeated Dr. Lymphnode and captured the out-house bomber! Me! I did that!"

"Gross," Maverick droned.

"I did hard things and I clawed my up from the bottom with nothing but hard work! Who cares if the only person who ever meant anything to me in a paternal capacity actually cared or acknowledged my efforts!"

"Yeah! That's the spirit!"

"The fact still remains that I achieved those things! Nobody else! Who cares if he told some air-headed doofus the clearance codes to the missile launch program!"

"It wasn't just me."

"I- Wait what?"

"Yah he told us all at that lunch meeting before bridgets birthday party- The one you missed because you were undercover as a prisoner at the Gulag? He wrote them on the whiteboard, tolus us to take pictures so we wouldn't forget. Said that it is safer to make sure more than just one person knew, so if that person died they wouldn't have to jump through hoops to reset the password... you know.. administrative stuff. It's a hastle."

I stared at him, my mouth open wide.

"WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME??"

"Uh, they're secret codes dude. You can't just go around telling them to people."

The hitman swiveled his gun to Maverick.

"WAIT WAIT STOP THE NUMBERS ARE 83670-"

"SHUT UP SHUT UP STOP MAVERIC!"

"You spineless little shit!" The hitman barked.

"74523405-"

I started a high-pitched screeching, hoping to block out mavericks frantic shouting of the missile codes punctuated with "STOP"

The hitman had his glasses back on, but big tears slid from underneith them as he jabbed the gun against Maverick's forehead, shouting.

"THIS AGENT JUST POURED THEIR HEART OUT TO YOU! THEY WORKED THEIR ASS OFF CIMDERELLA STYLE, AND YOU JUST TOOK A DISRESPECTFUL DUMP ON THEIR ACCOMPLISHMENTS!"

I kept screeching and rocking back and forth violently in my lawn chair, trying to break free and cause a ruckus.

Maverick was sobbing now, still blubbering out the numbers to the missile codes, which I was infuriated to learn were correct.

#writing #daily prompt #writing challenge #author #fiction #fic prompt #writing prompt #fic writing #creative writing #creative writers #comedy

[prismatica-the-strange]

I'd Have the World If You Were Mine

Warnings: 18+, Drug Use, Alcohol Use, Making out, Not quite smut, talk of sex, cheating (Technically), absolute self-indulgence

Synopsis: Mika and Eddie are the purest form of the Idiots to Lovers trope.

Pairings: Forged in Hellfire

Song: If by House of Heroes

They've been pining after each other for years, but they keep losing faith and getting with other people. As soon as that happens the other becomes single in hopes the other notices and they never like who the other is with. They just don't seem to recognize the pattern.

So cut to the end of sophomore year, Mika starts dating a guy from the Theater Club. They're together all through summer, spending time, going on dates, keeping her away from her Eddie time, and he's so mad about it.

Then it's the Theater Club's Halloween party, he finds them making out and he wants to throw up because he realizes that he's been hopelessly in love with her for so long.

A week later, he and she are sitting by her open window, a blanket thrown over their legs while they shoot the shit and smoke.

Eddies a few beers in and he can't stop thinking how pretty she looks with the street light illuminating up her face.

"So how's things with what's his name?" he takes another drag.

"Joey? Fine," She shrugs.

"Just fine?"

"Yeah, I mean," She shrugs again, "Things are... Things are good. Why do you ask?"

Because I wish I was him, "No reason."

It's quiet for a minute and she leans forward, motioning for him to bring his hand up. He holds the joint up to her lips, trying not to shiver when they graze his fingers as she inhales.

His eyes are glued to her as she leans back, eyes closed, and lets the smoke flow out of her mouth.

He'd give his right arm to have them on his.

"What about the sex?"

She chokes and sputters. "W-what?"

"The sex," He says again, "Is it good?"

"Where is this coming from?" She chuckles nervously, "Since when are you interested in my sex life?"

"It's a simple question."

They look at each other with wide eyes, hers shocked, and his encouraging her to answer.

"W-well I-" She clears her throat. "I've definitely been with worse."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, it's like," she thinks for a moment, "Most guys don't really know what they're doing."

"And Joey does?"

"Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"Jesus Christ! W-what do want from me Eds?"

"What do I want?" He snaps back, " I wanna know if he can make you cum!"

"Not really!" She nearly yells before her eyes widen further.

"Shit..." Their expressions match.

"I-I mean... Fuck," She looks away, "He's sweet but... I dunno, too rough?"

His head snaps up, ready to go kill him if he needs to.

"Don't get me wrong, I like a little roughness," She says reassuringly, "But something about the way he does it just... It doesn't really do anything for me. It's like he's only interested in his own pleasure."

"Fuckin prick," Eddie mutters, gripping the now empty beer bottle tightly, "Y'know I've never understood guys who do that. If they wanna get off so bad without worrying about anyone else, they've got a hand right there!"

This makes her chuckle.

"If you were mine I'd worship you like the absolute goddess you are," He nods as if to confirm it to himself, stamping the joint out on the window sill, and she freezes.

"Y-yours?"

"Mmm," He hums, taking a swig from his drink, only to find it empty. He sets it on the floor, hand massaging the calf resting on his legs, "I'd make you feel so fucking good."

"Eds," She breathes, pressing her thighs together, "I-... Wh-what are you talking about?"

"You'd never have to fake an orgasm if we were together," He muses, hands trailing higher on her legs, starting to lean towards her "Fuck you'd never have to fake anything again."

He looks up at her when she let out a small groan, eyes closed and her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Mika," He breathes, face just inches from her. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest. She opens her eyes and gasps at how close he is, " Can I kiss you?"

Yes. Fuck please yes, "Eddie, I-I have a boyfriend..."

"I know," He swallows, brown eyes flickering down to her lips, "I don't care."

He looks into her eyes, tongue poking out to wet his lips.

Morals clash with years of yearning for him, his mouth, his hands, his everything.

Morals easily lost when she wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to hers.

His hands quickly find her face, cupping her cheeks as he kisses her back, lowering them back on the window seat.

His whole body shudders when her tongue brushes across his lip. The moan that comes out of him when he lets her into his mouth is inhuman.

They're both gasping for air when he pulls away, eyes shut, forehead still pressed to hers, and he can feel her chest heaving beneath him.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," He admits, her answer catching him off guard.

"Don't stop," She's pulling at him, "What else?"

"What?" He looks at her, confused. Even in the dim light from the street, he can tell her cheeks are flushed as she presses her body to his.

"If- If I was yours," She whimpers, pressing her lips back to his. He presses back hard.

He starts kissing across her jaw and down her neck, " I'd kiss you silly every night... buy you all the fuckin Mike and Ikes you could ever ask for."

She laughs and he can feel it. He nuzzles against her throat before sucking against her pulse, cutting her laugh into a groan.

"Eddie," His eyes roll back from the sound of her sighing his name and he bites down, "Fuck! Mmm!"

He tugs at her shirt, and she pushes him away, pulling it over her head, and he whines at the sight of her braless chest before going back to marking her neck. He busies his hands with kneading her breasts.

"Leave you covered in hickeys from your neck," He lets his mouth trail down her body, kissing between her tits, down to the waist of her sweats, "All the way to your pussy."

He swears he can see literal hearts in her eyes as he kisses his way back to her mouth.

" 'd finger fuck you till you can't think 'bout anything but how good it feels," She rolls her hips against his, groaning when she feels his prominent hard-on, "Jesus Christ- Devour that gorgeous pussy of yours till you cum, all over my face, again and again, and again."

He pulls away, "If you were mine, I'd be your goddamn slave. I'd do whatever, give you whatever you ask. Yours to use however you want. Completely devoted, if you were mine."

She's on fire, riding a burning high of his words, lips, hands.

"Get me the damn phone," She says, confusing him again, "I'll end it right now, I don't care."

"I'm yours," Her fingers hook into his belt loops, pulling him back against her, and she cups his face, "I'm all yours. Fuck Eddie, I've always been yours."

He's dead. His heart's completely frozen in his chest. He searches her eyes for any hint of a joke before kissing her again, pouring years of pining and heartbreak into the embrace, "I love you, Mikaela Carlisle. I love you so fucking much!"

He doesn't give her a chance to say it back, hands dipping past the waistband of her pants, mouth already working on a matching hickey on the other side of her neck.

"Can I touch you, pretty girl?"

▪︎¤▪︎¤▪︎

Monday Morning, she'd officially broken things off with Joey the next morning, and now she was walking into school, hand in hand with Eddie as a couple for the first time.

Unfortunately, they're on different sides of the school until lunch.

He meets her outside the cafeteria, looking nervous.

"Are you sure about this?" He asks and her smile falls, "M-maybe we should wait a bit to tell people?"

"Why?" She reaches up to play with the ends of his curly hair, "I thought you were excited about us."

"I am!" He assures her, "Believe me I'm over the fucking moon, I just... I wanna make sure you're sure. That... if people get worse, you're not gonna hate me or be embarrassed to be with me"

"Eds," Her face softens and she grabs his hand, "Come with me."

"M-Mika?" he stumbles as she drags him through the double doors.

She lets him go and he watches her step up onto one of the tables.

Every head in the room turns to her when she yells, "HEY! I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT!"

The roar of voices dulls and Eddie stares at her with wide eyes.

"I, MIKA CARLISLE, AM COMPLETELY, HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH EDDIE MUNSON!" There goes his heart again, "HE A SWEETHEART AND- UNLIKE THE REST OF YOU ASSHATS- HE ACTUALLY KNOWS HOW TO MAKE A GIRL CUM!"

A mix of laughter, cheering, and insults fill the air, but she just grins and jumps down. She proudly walks over to him, rising onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

"There, if you're not embarrassed to be with me after that, then I'll never have a reason to be embarrassed about being with-"

He cuts her off with a heated kiss, "Fuck- we should go eat lunch in the van."

"Why-" Her voice leaves her when he presses himself into her side and she can feel the hard outline of his dick through his jeans, "Fffuck okay."

▪︎¤▪︎¤▪︎¤▪︎¤▪︎

Forged in Hellfire taglist: @pointlesslygay

#eddie munson #eddie munson x oc #forged in hellfire #prisma self ships #prisma writes

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Second Chance - Steve Rogers X Loki Odinson

Title: Second Chance

Part 2 of I'm Giving Up On You

Loki Odinson X Steve Rogers

Additional Characters: Thor, Natasha (Mentioned), Clint (Mentioned), Tony (Mentioned), Frigga (Mentioned)

WC: 1,068

Warnings: Slight angst, depressive thoughts

Loki stared at Steve as he left the room. Loki sighed before teleporting away. In his 'mortal' clothing, Loki decided to talk a walk through the park nearby the Avenger Tower. He sat down on one of the benches in the area. His eyes were red from crying earlier and he had been sniffling.

"I'm such an idiot," he whispered to himself. "He's right to leave me."

Keeping his composure somewhat, not wanting to make a fool of himself in front of the puny mortals. Loki watched around him, watching tiny children running to and from, playing a game of tag, and under a nearby tree, a couple sat having a picnic. Loki tried not to think about it, but his mind kept on going back to Steve. Loki didn't know if he should leave Midgard and head back to Asgard or not. To him, Steve probably didn't want to see his face around the tower anymore.

"Why did I have to go and do that?" he thought out loud. "Why couldn't I just be happy for him? Why can't I just let him go?"

Loki shook his head, fidgeting with his fingers. "No, no, I've got to get over this," he told himself sternly. "I've always wanted someone like him by my side...and now he's gone."

Loki looked down at his hands, seeing them shaking slightly. He clenched his fists together, trying to stop them from trembling.

"I'm so weak..." he muttered to himself. "It doesn't matter if I'm strong or not, I've never felt like this before."

Sighing, Loki shut his eyes, his mind showing him Steve's wonderful yet contagious smile. Opening his eyes, he shook his head, defeated.

"I miss him."

Loki smiled sadly. He knew he would see Steve again someday, but that didn't make him feel any better. Not even the sight of Thor, sitting beside him on the bench, could cheer Loki up.

Wait... Thor..?

Turning to the side, there sat Loki's brother, Thor, giving him a sad smile. 

"What are you doing here?" Loki asked, feeling defensive.

"I heard what happened..." Thor spoke softly, which was unusual since he was always so loud and annoying.

Loki frowned. "How?" 

Thor shrugged. "Clint was crawling around in the vents again. Overheard, told Natasha, then she told Tony and I."

Loki scoffed, shaking his head. "Of course, you all must have laughed at my pain."

Thor shook his head with a frown. "On the contrary, we wanted to help you. Well, not really Tony, but Clint, Natasha, and I want to help you rekindle your flame with Steve." Thor spoke, nudging the mischievous god. 

"I don't need your help. And, it doesn't matter anyway..." Loki spoke, crossing his arms, hiding his shaking hands.

"Why? Do you love him?" Thor asked, flipping his hair out of his face.

"Of course... It's just..." Loki shook his head. "I doubt Steve loves me anymore." 

Thor nodded. "Of course he does, when you left he didn't sleep until he found you. What matters now is getting you two back together."

Loki frowned. "You're being too optimistic. Steve and I just aren't meant to be."

"Let us prove it!" Thor exclaimed. "Let us help you get him back! Show him how much you care about him!"

"Steve is complicated. He's been through so much." Thor spoke and Loki nodded, agreeing.

Loki scoffed. "How? I can't exactly force him to come back. I don't even know where he went."

"We'll find him," Thor assured him. "But first, you need to take a vacation. You look terrible, Loki. Rest, and relax. We'll work our magic and get Steve back to you."

Loki's lip turned up in a faint smile. "Vacation? Where?" 

Thor gestured up into the sky. "Asgard. Go see, Mother." Loki hummed with a nod.

"Besides," Thor began, grabbing his hammer that was disguised as an umbrella. "I think it's time Steve sees Asgard."

▨ ▩ ▧

Loki sat in the Asgardian library, reading a book. It has been almost a week since Loki went back to Asgard. He hadn't heard anything back from Thor. He didn't know if this was just some ploy to get Loki off of Midgard. Running a hand through his messy hair, Loki licked his finger and flipped the page. He was reading an old children's book his mother used to read to him and Thor. The story was about a prince who fell in love with a princess. The prince was sent away to war but came back to save the princess and they lived happily ever after. Loki sighed, closing the book and placing it on the shelf. It was a quick story, which had tons of pictures. Strolling through the aisles of bookshelves, Loki picked up another book, one that was more sophisticated. 

Suddenly, the library doors open. Two Asgardian guards walked in, leading Steve into the room before leaving and closing the doors. There was a thick tension in the air. Steve was dressed in his armor, and Loki was wearing his normal Asgardian attire. They both looked at each other, neither saying a word for quite some time.

"Loki..." Steve said, walking towards him.

"Steve..." Loki replied, taking a few steps back.

It was awkwardly silent for a moment more.

"Did you have a mission?" Loki asked, gaining courage and taking a step closer.

Steve nodded, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, I did. When I got back, Thor just brought me here. Didn't have time to change."

Loki began to fidget with his fingers. "I'm sorry about him, truly." 

The tension rose again, "I'm sorry. I know what I did was stupid, and there's absolutely no excuse for it."  

Steve crossed his arms, nodding. "You are right, there is no excuse. What you did really hurt my feelings."

Loki took a deep breath. "I'm not sure if you should forgive me. I mean, I can't imagine you loving someone like me."

Steve shook his head. "I did love you, Loki. I still love you."

Loki blinked, "I see. That's... That is good to hear."

"But that doesn't mean you're getting off easy. You're going to have to earn my trust back, and it's not going to be easy."

Loki nodded. "Understood, Captain. I will do whatever it takes to fix this."

Steve sighed. "Good. You better prove yourself to me, because I'm not letting you go again. Not without a fight."

#Steve x loki #steve rogers #loki odinson #thor #natasha #tony #clint #marvel #mcu #fluff #slight angst #cute #gay