#also no beta we die like men

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok this is very random but how do you think Ghost would deal w an s/o who is still a virgin at a very big girl age 🥴 maybe they’d be seeing each other for a while, and when things heat up and she confesses, how would he deal? Would he be honored and accept being her first or would he reject her altogether bc she is inexperienced?

(Because I’m in my 20s and safe to say on top of everything else in my life except this, I haven’t come across anyone with whom I’d like to be intimate with yet and though I try not to let it get to me, some part of me sometimes feels like a freak or like something is wrong with me)

I hope I did not cross any boundaries or make you uncomfortable by sharing this, if I did I apologize and please feel free to delete this ❤️🕊️

Ghost x FVirgin!Reader Word count: 2,9 k Tags/warnigs: Mild smut, light angst, fluff, comfort, praise & size kink Summary: Reader tells Ghost they’re a virgin while things are about to go down. 

A/N: Oh anon!! No boundaries crossed here at all! Your request (or at least I took it as such and got inspired to write a brief oneshot about it) was very sweet. This of course is my HC but Simon would only and only take pride in being your first. He would get a huge ego boost from this and feel absolutely privileged to hear he's worthy of such trust.  I think he would want to imprint himself in your head as the best man and the best sex partner you will ever have – he would do his all to eradicate even the very thought of wanting to try others after him. Again, an ego thing, but also a desperate wish to please his partner and make them feel safe. This man screams service top to me. I think Simon has a wild side – not mean, just wild, as in he might be into rough sex and certain types of kinky stuff every now and then but only if his partner is willing. He would be very gentle and considerate (passionate as hell though), knowing you're inexperienced, he would make you feel as safe as possible and wait until you were ready and willing to explore things further.  Also, I can't help but be moved by what you told me in this message. I understand where you're coming from with these "is there something wrong with me" thoughts, because gosh, I feel you! And speaking from experience… it's 110 % worth it to wait for the right person to come along! Sex can be awesome, mind-blowing, one of the best things – with the right partner. Not worth it with just whomever, imho. Stay safe and trust yourself! And I hope you like this short drabble I made for Ghost x Virgin!Reader ❤️❤️❤️ much love 😘

Simon Riley was a one of a kind man. 

He put every guy on every dating app to shame, and not just with his size. He was manly, in a word, even if you never knew you wanted such an overly masculine man. At least, not until you met him. 

Simon was not only sturdy and mature – he was armed with calm rage and dark humor. Just one look in his eyes told you he was not the life of the party. Actually, he was Death himself: one of those four horsemen that heralded the Apocalypse.

Perhaps unintelligibly, the same man was also extremely considerate. A true gentleman if there ever was one. He always placed you and your needs first. But underneath the calm, cynical surface you sensed fierce intensity: fire and smoke, something that screamed Danger, high voltage.

And you could not keep away. Quite the opposite, really. The combination of a wildfire and a tornado roaring upon this solid bedrock of a man was simply alluring.

Things had gone a little too far without you meaning them to. You were not a woman of one night stands, actually, you had never had a stand. But Simon changed that, too. Because now you were thinking about sleeping with him. 

After years and years of waiting for someone sensible to come along, you had begun to lose hope, especially when people seemed to fuck left and right while you wanted something real.

A bedrock. 

With that wildfire. Perhaps a tornado thrown in as well.

After weeks and weeks of flirting, the man asked you out, and after weeks and weeks of going out, you came to the conclusion that if someone deserved to be your first, it was Simon Riley. If there was any guy you wished would take you against a wall until you begged for mercy, it was him. At least in your fantasies, which were starting to get out of hand.

In real life, things were not that breezy.

Because what would he say if – no, when – you told him you were a virgin at this age? What if he would be bothered, what if things would get awkward between you two? 

What if he decided you were simply too much trouble than you were worth? 

It seemed like a miracle that the guy was still around, having been left blue-balled date after date. Either he was hellbent on conquering you, or then… Well, you didn't even dare to think about or's and then's and what if's. Especially when your own feelings were getting equally out of hand as those fantasies.

He probably had plenty of experience, and the thought certainly didn't make you feel any better. How would you compare, being not only inexperienced but a whole goddamn virgin? And it would probably hurt on top of everything. This man must be pretty damn big downstairs if 6 '4 feet and large hands were any indication.

Still, all fears flew out the window in record time every time he pulled you into a kiss. Your body molded into his already: the broad shoulders closed in around you, and it only felt thrilling. His warmth, his arms and scent enveloped you like the sweetest prison, and you held onto him as tightly as you could. Not because he wasn't clutching you with the same–if not greater–fervor, but because you wanted to make sure he was real.

And you realized what the allure of Simon Riley was. 

He felt safe.

In fact, he was safe. He represented safety in all its aspects. 

Who would've thought that death and wildfire could feel so good, so reliable?

You wondered if he thought this was some game; that you kept him waiting. The unwritten rule seemed to be that it was ok not to jump into bed on the first date. If anything, it was only a decent move. But what did the rules say about the second, third or fourth date? Not to talk about tenth? 

Things were starting to resemble some prudent high school romance. Well, perhaps not prudent, the way you two practically ground against each other while making out after every date. Without being vocal about it or pressuring you in any way, you could tell he wished for things to go further. Hell, every fiber in this man begged for more. He would soon burn your clothes off simply with that searing gaze alone. 

Watching the door close on that heated stare after at least 15 minutes of wanton, wicked kissing followed by clumsy Good night's and shy, apologetic smiles just wouldn't do anymore. The poor man was left breathless and puzzled in the cold night with nothing but a hard-on and the crumbs you gave him to keep him warm. 

Things were getting ridiculous, criminally so, and you felt pity for those pants trying to keep him in confinement. You felt pity for your own soaked underwear as you climbed to a lonely bed all hot, bothered, and wet.

Which was why this evening would end with you asking him to come inside. 

.  .  .

Lately, his hands have started to roam; they even cup your ass as he moans in your mouth – and hearing that raspy, low sound leave him forces the final decision. It's the final prophecy that tells you he is the one. You should’ve known it was only a matter of time with him.

The man hides his surprise well as you invite him in.

"Thought you'd never ask," he gives you a soft chuckle before stepping over the threshold to not only your apartment but also your life and privacy. 

You barely get out of your shoes before his shadow engulfs you and strong hands lift you in his lap like you weigh nothing at all. You instinctively reach for support by clasping your hands behind his neck. 

"You really know how to torture a man, don't you?" The brown in his eyes is nearly swallowed by warm darkness as he carries you to the bedroom. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and he gives a short laugh of gravel.

"Don't be. This has been fun." 

He sets you down next to the bed, and your heart is thumping so bad you fear he can hear it banging against your chest. 

"But it's about time I torture you, right?"

Oh God…

Things happen so fast that it’s hard to tell who undresses who, but somehow, you find yourself standing in your bedroom with nothing but knickers and a bra on while he's taking off his pants. The man has definitely waited for this to happen for god knows how long, and it only makes your stomach lurch.

He thinks you know what you're doing, your brain offers when it should know when it’s time to shut the hell up. You can see the generous bulge this man is packing, and while perhaps compelling to other women, to you, it mainly looks intimidating. Threatening, almost.

He doesn't take his boxers off, seeing you're just standing there like some statue, still in your underwear and almost shaking from thoughts running rampant. 

His form swallows you as he steps closer; wide hands slide up your arms, then draw you against him – against that demanding pulse that gets trapped between you two. Even through the black cloth, you can tell he's thick and big, just like you feared.

The man is blazing, and seems to have grown another foot in height as he towers over you with all that muscle. His shoulders are almost the size of your head, and you already know the hand that runs down your spine is experienced in crushing windpipes. It makes you breathe in shivers, and of course he notices something is wrong.

"Everything good?" He's eager and breathless, the erection pressing against you like a threat. He’s a man who has fashioned a weapon out of himself, so it shouldn't be a surprise that everything in him speaks violence.

"Yes," you try to assure him – a lousy lie only punctuated by the audible gulp that leaves your throat as you try to swallow your nerves back down.

"You afraid…?" 

"Just a little nervous," you tell him, a half confession.

"Mm. That makes two of us." 

He draws down into a kiss, the hands of a soldier and a killer nearly drawing you up from the ground as he pulls you close. You don't really buy his claim of being nervous too: you can feel how he throbs between you, heavy and impatient. 

Hesitantly, you reach to hug him as well, and you feel so small, so insignificant when wrapped around this… giant. The knowledge that you're about to be trapped under all this crushing weight leaves you both faint and needy. 

He’s a good kisser, but as he moves to devour your neck, you start to freeze from the middle.

"Alright… Come here."

He half carries, half lays you down on the bed, then crawls between your legs and changes his tactic a little. Gentle kisses are ghosted down your throat, and soon, he's at your breasts, soft as a whisper. But as he draws the fabric of your bra aside, your nipple is caught inside a hot, wet mouth, and the wildfire surges forth. There’s no way out from under him anytime soon, and you realize the colossal body is already spreading your thighs wide. 

The way he already looks so damn good there between your legs: big, the epitome of raw, masculine power… It's almost sinful that a man like him is here with a virgin. It's a whole new hell how he's kissing you gently as fuck while blazing like a bonfire about to engulf and devour you. You want to wrap your legs around his middle, attach yourself to him in any way you can, but your thighs are weak pudding. 

You feel both lost and found with him. In him.

He sucks and kisses your breasts like they're the only thing he's here for – and it feels good, heavenly, to be honest. But then he starts to travel down.

Shit… You need to tell him – and soon, or else there will be no time to say anything before the last of the shielding fabric is gone.

"Simon…?"

"Mm-hm?" 

He doesn't even stop with the kissing, merely hums on your skin as his mouth reaches your stomach.

"You're my first," you finally force the truth into the night; a soft and desperate fact. It's only the faintest breath, but he halts abruptly like he has been stabbed between the ribs.

Great… 

Here comes the awkward.

He rises. Softly, slowly, like a shadow, just a second away from getting to what's between your legs.

"Is that so?"

His voice is hoarse and dark from arousal. The whole man is intoxicating, and your heart is hammering in your chest, both from hunger and dread.

"Yes…?" 

A broad hand comes to rest on the dip of your waist; gently, like you're some frightened animal about to dart off from under his touch. 

"Love… Are you sure you want to do this?"

Are you? You almost ask, then bite your lip.

He just called you love, something he has never done before. You can see your breasts rising with the breaths you try to calm down with sheer willpower. 

He lets out a small sigh, then crawls beside you and takes you in his arms. The bed sags and wails under his weight before your body is pulled into a delicious bear hug.

"Sweetheart."

His voice is so smooth, so different from the intense, rough smoke that has followed you up until this point that you feel vehement tears burn your eyes. First love, and now, sweetheart…

"There's no need to rush things," he says while keeping you close. Ever the gentleman, but you fear that you've ruined everything.

"We haven't exactly been rushing," you mutter somewhere in the plates of his chest. You both feel and hear how another sigh travels up his throat and is breathed into the crown of your head.

"Now… listen to me, ok? I've wanted you ever since we met. Can't deny it. But the last thing I want is to force you to do something you don’t wanna do."

You squeeze your eyes shut from what he says. Ever since you met… You can remember the lingering gazes, the way his eyes lit up with something hopeful and pure, how it drove away the exhaustion that seemed to have made a home in this big, brooding man. You remember how he stole a few stares up and down your body, too; remember the hunger he never even tried to conceal – not until now.

He is the most enthralling being you have ever seen, a mystery and a force of nature, an indomitable man, and to say that you haven't thought about him that way ever since too would be a lie.

"But I want it," you look up at him slowly, feeling much safer now that he's holding you like this.

I want you.

You realize you're pouting when the warm look in his eyes gains a playful glint as he laughs softly.

"You want it?"

"Yes."

That little twinkle turns into a downright gleam as he looks at you like you're the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

“You want it with me?”

“Yes.”

"How much do you want it?" The charred voice is so soft now: it washes over you in generous waves. His hands keep you in safe custody – and you're the most willing prisoner there ever has been.

"Pretty badly?" You breathe into the air between you and see the corner of his mouth tug.

"Well, in that case…" His hand sweeps down your back and comes to reside on the swell of your hip. "I'm glad I'm here to help."

Pale eyelashes drop to your lips just before he kisses you again. You arch in his arms, like a flower leaning towards sunlight; your mouth, your whole being unfurls under his leadership. He rolls partly on top of you, then moves to kiss you all over as you lie on your back: he kisses your chin and neck, your collarbones and the hollow little crevice between them. The hand on your hip brushes down your thigh, then back up, up, until his fingers meet the folds already soaked through the fabric of your underwear. 

His touch is soft, but gains more weight as he sweeps slowly up, then brushes a thumb over the exact location of your clit.

"Oh–" 

He knows what he's found, even without the evidence of your voiceless shake of a breath. He brushes another stroke over it, and it doesn't matter that you still have your undies on – you can feel his weight, the gentle pressure he applies as he draws a circle to usher another soft moan out of you.

"You like that?"

"Mhm," is the only thing you are able to answer.

"That's it…" he cheers you on with calm assurance. "Gonna make you feel good. And that's a promise."

You catch a hint of ego in that promise, but there's something else, too. A fervent devotion, a bottomless need to please you no matter what. The right man, definitely: not someone who is only after their own satisfaction. You don't exactly need the answer anymore, but you ask the final, burning question nonetheless.

"Simon?"

"Speak your mind, love."

"Are you disappointed…?"

He stops again, a breath away from you. 

"Disappointed?" He sounds quite shocked, almost appalled. "...Disa–"

He huffs, then reaches to cup your face. You raise your eyes to his and see that he's…ardent, and very, very serious.

"Love, I'm honored."

You can only blink at the solemn vow, and he slowly shakes his head.

"Silly little thing…" 

It's something he muses almost to himself before he drags his fingers over your sternum and down your stomach, reverently, like you're a piece of precious porcelain. But the heat in his eyes is back, and your fingers curl to grasp a fistful of sheet as his hand disappears underneath the cloth, when he finally touches you with nothing in between.

You suppose it's his middle finger that sweeps over your clit this time, then slips between your folds without effort. It coaxes your thighs open to give him better access, and access he has: he curls the finger until it almost dips inside. Your lips part with a quiet sigh as your chin climbs toward the ceiling.

"Look at that… All wet and sweet for me already."

The way you expose your neck is like an invitation: he buries his face in your neck, tries to drown in the scent and feel of you while gliding across the wetness down below. He spreads moisture on the tight bud, and you jerk a little from how sensitive it is – he huffs a smile in your ear. It makes you release the sheet and reach out to grasp him by the neck, to make him stay precisely where he is, close like this, so close…

"Do ya even know how bloody sweet you are?"

The last of your wits make a vanishing act as he breathes more praise on your skin. You're languid in his arms, feeling both weightless and heavy, like you're sinking into the mattress, and then his hand moves lower; one thick finger is plunged slowly inside. 

Oh God oh God–

You feel him, all of him, filling and spreading you. And it's not enough… not nearly enough.

"We'll take it nice and slow, alright?" He whispers in your ear, and you tighten around him like on command. "Got all night to make a mess of you. That sound good?"

You can't help it: your lips draw into a smile when thinking about all the things he will do to you, all the sweet things you've always waited to happen. 

"Yes."

#ghost x you #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #ghost fluff #is this too soft? #is there such a thing as too soft #omg I think I'm part of the Ghost babygirl crew now #i accept my fate #also no beta we die like men

[dark-tides-interdimensional]

I’m struggling not to get addicted to what the rick did, but it’s hard guys.

#ricksanchez #rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick and morty fan fic #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez x you #pretty tame for me #tried to be fluff but can’t help but make him sad #who am I kidding I’m obsessed again #also no beta we die like men

[firecrxtch]

Take me

Summary: This knothead has been making eyes at him all evening. He’s been staring into Mickey’s soul from the corner booth, nostrils flaring every time they make eye contact. Mickey knows the redhead can smell him. Mickey can smell him too. 

Tags: A/B/O, Omegaverse, Strangers to lovers, Oral sex, Anal sex, Knotting, just porn tbh, Alpha Ian Gallagher, Omega Mickey Milkovich

Word Count: 2,2k

Rating: E

READ ON AO3

#shamelss #gallavich #ian and mickey #ian and mickey fan fic #my first a/b/o fic and im nervous lmao #smut #fic #also no beta we die like men

[softmangoes]

night visits | brahms heelshire x reader

18+ only

summary: you've been having trouble sleeping a month after you started working at the heelshire manor. it's time to figure out why.

includes: fem domme! reader, face sitting, teasing, a very subby and needy brahms

_

You felt it again. The hands. In the dream, they roamed over your body, tracing the curve of your shoulder, gliding over the smooth expanse of your abdomen, slowing only once they came to your inner thighs. You shuddered as icy fingers crept closer to the warmth there as if they wanted to gently pry you apart, make you pliable. What would happen, you wondered, if you were to spread your legs?

Before you could get an answer, your eyes snapped open to the emptiness of your room - which was quiet save for the usual rustling within the walls. In your groggy stupor, you realize that your blanket had been cast aside, leaving your legs bare to the cold winter air. Was the heater acting up again? You wondered, slightly annoyed. Sooner or later, you'd have to ask Malcom to find a way to get it checked.

But for now, you brought the covers over yourself and fell back asleep.

The dreams had started at the end of your first month at the manor. The Heelshires had just left for their vacation, telling you that they would be back soon once they had enough of the coastal air. By that time, you had just started to get used to the strange routine they had set for you, so your days would be spent lounging on the divan with a book in your hands as the sound of a piano floated from the record player across the room.

But on that first night, you could have sworn you felt someone touching your hair. It started out as a gentle prod, a delicate brush over the stray strands that had stuck to your cheek that soon turned into what felt like someone slowing running their fingers through your hair.

In the morning, you simply dismissed it as a dream. You were alone in the house, after all. Still, you squinted at yourself as you brushed your locks in front of the mirror.

It's an old house, you told yourself. Strange things happened all the time in old houses.

You looked at the doll sitting on the chair across the room. And this house was certainly no stranger to the unusual.

"Maybe it's sleep paralysis," your friend said, her voice crackly over the bad reception. "I used to get it all the time in college. I'd feel breathing on my neck and things trying to grab me."

Your eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. "You think so? I guess it makes sense - it's a little creepy being along without the old folks around," you said, tapping the spatula against your mouth. Malcom was due to stop by at any time with the weekly delivery of groceries and you still had to plan for dinner. "Well, what do I do, then?"

"You try to open your eyes," she said. "Or move your feet. It's your body that's asleep, so shifting yourself should wake you up."

Later that night, you kiss the doll to end your daily ritual.

"Good night, Brahms," you murmured, wrapping the blanket around him. "You better not be up to any trouble."

Maybe you were going crazy. Maybe it was sleep paralysis. Maybe it was all because you hadn't slept well in a while.

Whatever it was, sleep found you nestled in your blanket and took you easily.

Sometime, somewhere amid the realm that separated consciousness and slumber, you felt a hand slip between your thighs.

You stirred at the sensation of a palm sliding over your vulva and what felt like a thumb pressing against your clit.

Something strange was happening.

You opened your eyes slightly and saw the shape of a man outlined in the moonlight.

It's a dream, you thought, shutting your eyes. It's only a dream.

After a minute, the hand removed itself from your shorts and you heard a faint creaking and then the familiar rustling within the walls.

In the morning, you slid your hand under your panties and found yourself sticky with wetness.

"I don't know what's going on," you lamented, leaning back against the pillow. "For fuck's sake."

Your thoughts wandered to the man from your dream. His broad shoulders. The curls in his hair. His large hand grasping you, his cool fingertips pressing against your seam.

You had no idea if what you were going through was just a dream, but perhaps it could be your fantasy.

Slowly, your fingers moved through the slick and your core embered as you made gentle circles around your clit.

Perhaps moving for this job had been stressing you. Perhaps you weren't prepared for how weird this position turned out to be. Perhaps you were just in need of some sort of release.

"Fuck," you gasped as your hips bucked against your fingers. Your other hand fisted the sheets as your climax shuddered through you, sending little shocks from your clit to your thighs.

Satisfied, you rolled over and sighed, chest heaving from the exertion. Your eyes fell to a crack in the wall. In the back of your mind, you wondered whether or not you were truly alone.

Curious, you slipped your shorts back on and walked to the wall. You pressed your ear against the old plaster and heard the familiar creak of wood along with an exhalation that sounded a lot like breathing.

Smiling, you decided that you were going to try something new that night.

After you capped off your daily routine of taking care of the doll, you brought the covers over your chest and closed your eyes.

Instead of drifting off to sleep, you waited.

After a while, you heard a rustling sound come from near the dresser across the room and the creak of footsteps padding against the wooden floor.

There was a man in your room.

Fear would have been the expected emotion to come over you in such a situation, but you could only feel the static of anticipation dance across your skin.

His breathing was soft, as if muffled by something. Within just a few moments, you felt goosebumps prickle your arms as your blanket was moved aside, exposing you to the cool air.

You felt a weight shift the bed. He was trying to come closer to you - perhaps he was testing how bold he could be. Fingers tentatively slid beneath your shirt, feeling the expanse of your abdomen before settling to cup your bare breast.

You fought against an inhale at his touch and instead, you wrapped a hand around his wrist and opened your eyes to find yourself face to face with a porcelain mask.

Surprised, his eyes went wide and he let out a muffled yelp. You thought he would have fallen back to rush to whatever hole he had crawled out if you hadn't tightened your grip on his wrist and pulled him closer.

"More," you demanded. "I want you to touch me more."

You watched as his eyes flicked from your hand to your face as if nervous. A gulp resounded from his mask as he nodded quickly, squeezing your breast as you worked to unbutton your shirt.

"There," you said, the sides of your silk shirt draped haphazardly over your chest. "You like what you see?"

As if in reply to you, he moved closer to you. He was tall and strongly built, the fibers of his work shirt clinging to lean muscle. You figured that he could easily overpower you.

Maybe he would, if you told him to.

"Good boy," you said, shivering at his thumb grazing your nipple.

So this...must have been Brahms. The real Brahms. Somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to feel shocked. All you could feel was the hunger for him to lay his hands on you.

"Can I touch you?" You asked, looking at the soft curls that fell over his mask.

He paused before giving you another nod. You raised your hand and ran your fingers through his unruly curls, causing him to pant.

"Mmm," he rumbled, his eyes rolling back at the pleasure of your touch.

"You poor thing," you cooed, dragging your fingernails down the length of his nape. "How long have you been wanting this?"

With a swift motion, you wrapped your legs around him and flipped him onto his back. He gasped in surprise, his hands holding your thighs to steady him.

"How long, Brahms?" You pressed, raking a hand across his chest, eliciting another delicious groan from him. "Tell me."

"Ev-every night," he croaked, his voice hoarse with underuse. "Aft...after the first month."

With your palms pressed against his chest, you lowered yourself so that your face hovered just above his. His eyes, wild with shock, scanned you nervously.

"Every night," you said slowly, giving weight to each word. "I tucked you into bed. And for a month, you kept me from having a good night's sleep."

You moved to the shell of his left ear and whispered, "I'm going to take back everything you took from me. Do you understand?"

He nodded, this time even more quickly.

"Please," he said quietly, his eyes squeezed shut.

"First things first," you said, tucking your fingers underneath the edge of his mask. "I want to see more of you."

His hand curled around your wrist as he shook his head.

"Bad," he said, almost panicked. "Very bad."

"Don't you want to be good for me?" You teased, sliding a thumb across his smooth porcelain cheek. "A good little boy - just for me?"

"Mm," he said, his voice high with excitement. "Good," he continued, hooking his thumbs beneath his mask to lift it from his face. "Yes, good."

Malcom had told you that years ago, that there was a fire at the Heelshire house.

You saw the flames in the rippled scar tissue that was spread across the right half of Brahms' face.

"Bad?" He shook beneath you, eyes welling with tears. "I look...bad?"

"No," you said, cupping his scarred cheek. The silvery skin was smooth. Even with the burn, he was handsome. The soft curls. His bright eyes. The strong jawline. You brushed your mouth against his, feeling his warm breath on your face. "You've been a very good boy."

At your praise, he crushed his lips to yours - the action hungry and desperate as his wet tongue probed your mouth.

"Been," he panted in between breaths, bunching his hand in your hair. "I've been wanting to taste you."

You rocked your hips against his groin, causing him to moan against your mouth.

"Well?" You said, sinking your teeth at the hollow of his neck. "What do you think?"

"More," he gasped, his hands moving to the waistband of your shorts. "I want, ah, I want more of you."

Quickly, you slipped your shorts and underwear, tossing it aside.

Once you finally discarded your shirt, he marveled at the sight of your naked form.

"Please," he begged, his fingers pressing into your hips. His eyes were glazed with desire. "I want to...taste you."

Not wanting to deny him, you lifted yourself so that your thighs hovered above his face.

"Thank you," he said, his strong arms wrapping around you before pulling your pussy to his mouth.

You grabbed the headboard for stability as his cold tongue desperately lapped at your clit. When you tried to pull away, shuddering at the intensity of his hunger, Brahms only tightened his hold on you.

"I want," he stammered against your wetness. "I want you to, ah, say...say my name."

"Fuck," you grabbed his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth.

He groaned, his tongue exploring your slit. Thighs shaking, you had his name pressed against your teeth.

"Brahms," you whined, fucking yourself against his tongue. "I need more."

"Mm," he nodded as he traced small circles around your clit, your core tightening as the climax shuddered through you.

You moaned his name, thighs twitching with aftershocks until you leaned back and fell over beside him.

Next to you, he wiped at the slick on his face and licked it off his fingers, relishing the taste of you.

After a moment, he rolled to face you.

"The sounds you made," he murmured, hands roaming to your thighs. "So pretty," he continued, making the pads of his fingers wet with your honey. "Let me hear them."

You gasped as he slid two fingers into your warmth, feeling yourself stretch to accommodate him. It had been a long time since you had been touched like this, and all you could do was rock against him, your body still sensitive from the orgasm you had a few minutes earlier.

"Brahms," you clawed at his shirt, panting. "I want to make you feel good."

"Okay," he said softly, leaning back against the bed.

"Take off your shirt," you directed. Obediently, he slipped off his cardigan and top, revealing a lean chest covered in dark, curly hair.

"Cute," you said, straddling him, feeling the length of his excitement against your thigh.

"You think...I'm cute?" He blushed, raising a hand to cover his face.

It was so strange to think that he was almost frightening earlier this night, but so pliable for you now.

"So cute," you took his hand away from his face so you could kiss him deeply, your hips rocking slowly against his.

Against your mouth, he whimpered at the friction.

"It feels good," he groaned. The sound of it was almost guttural, like a growl. "More," he begged. "Please." He dug his fingers into your hips, grinding you against his cock.

"Brahms," you took his hands in yours. "Be a good boy and take the rest off."

With a nod, he slipped off his pants, revealing a rock-hard erection.

"Oh," you said, marveling at the size of it. "What a pretty thing." You teased, rubbing the tip along your seam. "Can you feel how wet I am for you?"

"Please," he panted, almost whining. "I'll be good. Just...let me take you."

You groaned as his head met your slick clit. "But you're being so good for me right now," you told him, bracing yourself against his chest as you teased him near your entrance.

"Please!" He cried, taking your hips and slamming you against his cock.

You gasped at the length of him, but you could barely brace yourself as he started bucking into you hard.

"I've been bad," he said, wrapping an arm around you to secure you to his body. His breath was hot against your chest as he bounced you.

"But I can be good for you," he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking on it gently as he worked at it with his tongue.

"Brahms," you moaned, grabbing his curls as he fucked you relentlessly.

"I want you," he licked. "I want you all to myself." His arms tightened around you.

You couldn't help but churn your hips against his. Fuck, it felt good.

You bit your lip as your core tightened. You were about to come.

"Kiss me," he growled, and you brought your mouth to his as the climax rocked through the both of you. Thighs shaking, you could feel him twitch inside of you.

With a sigh, he loosened his hold on you and you leaned against his chest.

"Was I...good?" He asked once his breathing began to slow, his voice quiet.

"Did I do good for you?"

You gave him a peck on the cheek - although from the look on his face, it seemed like he wanted more.

"It was amazing," you told him.

Eyes wet with tears, he wrapped his arms around you. "D-don't ever l-leave me," he said. "I don't...ever want you to leave me."

"Shush," you pressed a finger to his lips. "I don't know where you got that idea," you said, bringing your mouth to his neck. "I think I'd like to have you to myself for a long time."

#brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire x you #the boy 2016 fanfic #slasher fic #this is my first smut ever so i hope it's ok?? #also i absolutely adore this needy creepy boy ugh i just want to ruin him #anyway pls enjoy this very self indulgent piece #no beta we die like men #my writing

[hyperfixiation-station]

Till Death Do Us Part

TW: Death, blood, injury

Summary: Falling through the air I wonder how can this be fair

It does no good to dwell on the past. That was your motto, live in the  present, look forward to the future, but never turn back. And usually, you were pretty good about not reminiscing. Right up until you were rappelling down a mountain with Ghost. It was going just fine, and then there was a tearing sound, a sudden weightlessness, and an ear-piercing shriek you later realized was coming from your mouth. And as you fell, hurtling towards your imminent death, the event that gave you your call sign flashed through your mind. 

The call sign Angel may sound cool, but anyone who had heard the story knew it was actually embarrassing. You had slipped while rappelling at boot camp and had fallen through the air, your hair sliding out of its bun and whipping around you. Somehow, someway, the timing was just right and you jerked to a stop in the perfect position, the sun shining behind you as you swang from your rope, giving you a halo. One of your squadmates said ‘you look like a falling angel’ and the name had stuck.

Guess I’m living up, well…dying to, my nickname. Is the last sadistic thought that crosses your brain before you hit the ground. 

You made contact with the earth and for a moment you blacked out. When you open your eyes next, it is to a bloodied and bruised Ghost leaning over you. His mask is gone and his blonde hair is colored with blood. He mouths something, looking worried, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. 

You push yourself up, body trembling. Surprisingly, you feel almost no pain as you sit up, just weakness as you lean against a broken wall. You look at the bone jutting out of your leg and grimace, but it's more for sight of it than the feel. There is a dull ache in your abdomen, and you know your legs are broken, but you can’t feel it. It is a strange experience. 

Your vision finally clears all the way and you  look at the fallen rope, attached to you and Ghost, who is sitting next to you, and realize he too must have fallen. 

"Is your radi-”

“No.” He cuts you off, voice rough, “It broke in the fall. We’re stranded.” He coughs, a little bit of blood dribbling down his lip. You frown, knowing that means his lung is punctured. You shift to face him and immediately regret it. 

 Pain is gradually making itself known in your body, every minute worse than the last. There is a burning, stabbing pain in your stomach that is slowly getting worse and you know what it means. 

“We’re not making it out of here, are we?” You ask, voice raspy. He shakes his head in response, looking at the broken mask in his hands. You lean on him, his arm coming up around your shoulder. 

“Are you scared?” You ask, eyes half-lidded. God why does your stomach hurt this much?  

“I don’t like the unknown.” He admits, finally looking at you. You don’t respond, instead looking out at the ruined city you both were supposed to infiltrate. You laugh softly, which turns into a cough that burns and burns and burns. Blood splatters in the dirt and you grimace. 

“What's so funny?” Ghost asks slowly. He pretends to ignore the fact that you are actively dying. 

"The ruins of Finis Viae." You slur, curling further into him, "It means End of the Road in Latin. Fitting for the final resting place of a Ghost and an Angel."

“Someone should write that on our headstones.” Ghost mutters, resting his head on yours. You smile weakly, in too much pain to laugh. 

“Who knew...dy-dying…hur-hurt so…bad.” You gasp softly. And God does it hurt. There is fire in your abdomen, burning its way through your body, filling your veins, setting every nerve a light with agony. 

Ghost doesn’t respond, just grips you slightly tighter. Your head slides down to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you can hear over the ringing in your ears.

 You lay that way for hours, just The Agnel, The Ghost, and The End of The Road.

And, as for all things in this mortal world, your time runs out. Ghost can feel it, the moment your soul leaves your body. He panics for a brief second, not wanting to be there without you. But then his heart stutters, and he realizes he is going too. 

“I….love…you.” His final words, carried by the wind through the ruins of a ghost town. He closes his eyes and slumps over you, locking you together in one final, tragic embrace. 

“Get up silly.” You giggle, stretching a hand out to help him. The world is brighter, the dark no longer able to reach you. You grasp Ghost and haul him up, and the two of you stand, hand-in-hand, staring down at your uninhabited bodies. 

"Are you ready to go?" You ask him, smiling. 

Ghost hesitates for a moment, biting his lip. 

"I am." He finally replies, unsure, but trusting you. He looks down at you, cupping your cheek with a ghostly hand. 

 "I was afraid I couldn't hold on to you." Ghost admits, his voice quieter than usual, “That you would leave me.” 

“I would never go where you could not follow.” You say in response, covering his hand with your own.

"I'm scared." He spoke softly, letting the words hang in the air.

"Don't be." You say, smiling at him, "Death is but  the next great adventure."

"Who said that?" Ghost asks,teasing..

“What, you don’t think I could come up with that on my own?” You ask, mock offended. He raises his eyebrow and you laugh. 

“Fine, fine, it was Dumbledore.” 

“From Harry Potter?”

“I’m surprised you know that.” 

“I read the books!”

“You can read?” 

“Hey!” He shoves you and you laugh. It was strange. You feel like you should be sad that you are dead, but all you feel is…light, almost…warm. 

"What comes after this part?" Ghost asks quietly, sobering up. You notice him looking around and you could sense his fear. He was used to being the leader, the soldier always following the orders, and now he was stepping into the unknown. 

“I don’t know,” you grab his hand, “but I’ll be with you.” 

"I don't like the unknown." Ghost says again. He felt out of place, like he didn't belong here. Death felt too peaceful, too nice after all he had gone through. He had hoped death was a little like his life but in this moment, the two felt nothing alike. 

“I know.” You say gently. You squeeze his hand, looking up at him, “But I’ll be with you.” He smiles down at you, pressing a kiss to your head. 

"C’mon, it'll be fun.” You say, grinning. You take one last look at your bodies, locked in an eternal embrace, as close in death as they were in life, and turn around. You tug Ghost behind you, smile at him one last time, and step into the light.

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #angst #cod fanfic #fluff (sorta) #Look I did kill you off #no regrets #no beta we die like men #also look i figured out how to put pictures at the top

[fallevs]

Day seven of the @klaineccfanficlibrary event ❤️

This seventh poem is called The first time ever I lay with you, set in The first time (3×05)

Burt Hummel, please do not read this journal.

Kurt is on fire with embarrassment. His cheeks are burning and his jaw aches from the smile he's been holding up for he doesn't know how long.

He and Blaine had sex.

No, scratch that. He and Blaine made love. Sweet, romantic, and who knew he himself had that kink–

God, here he is blushing again! Stop, stop thinking about it! But... how can you do it? How can you not think about the burning fingers of the love of your life running down your back, your neck, your bare thighs; hands touching, squeezing, caressing. How can you not think about that cold, wet tip of his tongue that grazed you in secret places, making you feel so light and so... beautiful. He felt beautiful. He felt wanted, appreciated, loved.

Making love to Blaine was a discovery.

First, he discovered Blaine and then himself. He discovered a side of Blaine so fragile and delicate; a devotion and affection for him such that, if he only stopped to think about it, it moved him. He then discovered himself. An almost overbearing side that wanted to take what he wanted, what was his, and a passionate side that he did not know he possessed. And maybe he fell in love with Blaine a little more. After all, you fall in love when you make love. The flesh is the only ground on which souls can rest.

Never ever felt quite like this

good about myself

from my very first kiss.

We were together

I forgot everything else

and your lips

oh, how I miss them.

Yesterday

our souls were merging

for the first time.

Your warm breath on me

on my skin

quivering with pleasure and

impatience;

sublime.

Yesterday, my love

and yet I still feel you

inside

around

in my bones.

And I still want more

again and again;

your body on top of mine

hands in my hair, hot breath

between spasms and

satiety and

moans.

I tell you, my love

there is nothing in this world

that can resemble

to us,

to our love

to what we are today

to what we will be tomorrow;

so in love with you

so in love with you

so in love with you

I'm putting all my trust in you

'cause you,

you'll always be true.

kh

#klainevalentines2024 #kurt hummel's bullet journal #love you i do #the first time ever i lay with you #klaine fanfic #klaine fanart #poetry #no beta we die like men #also uh kinda porny??? #okay not really #but– definitely don't let burt hummel see this journal #ALSO² SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP #while i was doing this i found out that they had sex a year after they met #of course you all already knew that BUT 😭

[levmada]

omg i/we need more puppy!levi (what have you done to me) like I know for sure he has a breeding kink. just the thought of you getting pregnant with his puppies has him in a chokehold

//hybrids (puppy levi), breeding press/k!nk, creampie, cum-eating, panty-gag

i had a very interesting conversation earlier today and🙏🙏🙏

can you keep up puppy levi’s rut?? hell no. he’s insatiable. you’re bent completely in half on your back and getting fucked so hard his balls slam your cunt in hard, rapid snacks.

for every creampie, he works his growing knot out of you, and happily gives you a break by lapping it all up. drags his tongue through your warm slit, tasting the creamy mix of his and yours.

he adds fingers, working you up to it, tells you with his tail thwacking your thigh how tight your cunt squeezes when he’s balls-deep. how you’re his messy bitch, but he’s happy to clean you up. Good girl.

he’s panting and red in the face by the time his fat knot is so swollen it’s snug with your spot and he can’t even nudge in attempts to pull back. sides of your panties dangling from his full mouth to placate him when he got all shy from his endless whining.

he just needs to fuck, needs your cunt full of his cum for his puppies, it’s not enough, so his cock ruts instead. his palm is going to scrub your swollen clit so your pussy hugs his knot tight in attempts to empty it. it takes hours.

#no beta we die like men #i would also like to be bred for hours by puppy levi #levi ackerman drabble #levi ackerman smut #captain levi x reader #puppy levi #levi smut #aot smut #cw hybrids #tw hybrids #cw breeding

[sweetrevxnge]

Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter Three

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Chapter I

Chapter II

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 5k

A/N: *me explaining to my friends why there's 17 tabs about medieval europe and vampires open on my computer* "you know, i'm something of a historian myself"

───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────

“Get up.”

Your eyes burned as you pried them open, waking to find the Commander standing over you, the door to your cell now open behind him. Nestled between his fingers was the fallen key, its shining silver now a brilliant gold in the candlelight.

“What?” you croaked, your head still foggy with sleep.

“I said, get up,” he said, enunciating the last letter of each word as he stepped closer.

Finally tearing your eyes away from the open door, you propped yourself up, discovering that the cuffs on your wrists were gone. The thought of him touching you while you were asleep—even if it were only to take the restraints off—made your skin crawl. A glance at your clothes reassured you that only the restraints had been meddled with.

Obeying his command, you staggered to your feet, backing away as much as you could manage. Your eyes darted between him and the cuffs. Was this another one of his tricks? For all you knew, he had freed you just to lock you in a pillory, leaving you for all of Hosnian Prime to watch as you rotted away.

“I come bearing good news,” he said flatly.

“What ‘news?’” you asked, matching his enthusiasm.

“Don’t sound so upset. It comes from your General.”

The scowl twisting your face dropped. “What is it? What did she say?”

“Perhaps if you would let me finish, I would tell you,” he sneered. “Shortly after your failed incursion on our camp, the First Order generously presented her with terms of peace. In a rare moment of sensibility, she has agreed.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. The flame of hope in your heart shuddered, shaken by the Commander’s words, but you couldn’t let it die. The Leia you knew wouldn’t submit to the First Order so easily—certainly not after one of her officers was captured. There must have been more that the Commander was withholding from you.

“And what exactly are the terms of her agreement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

He was quiet for a long moment, allowing the ambient creaks and groans of the dungeon to bleed into the conversation. Finally, he said, “In return for peaceful relations, the New Republic militia will stand down at once and pledge fealty to the First Order.”

Oh.

He continued, “Leia will control–”

“General,” you hissed. “You have no right to address her by her name.”

The Commander let out a quiet scoff. “Don’t I?”

Your eyes narrowed. Insufferable bastard.

“As I was saying, in exchange for this peace, she will oversee the land north of Republic City. I trust her experience from collecting donations for the Resistance will serve her well in this duty.”

You couldn’t fathom what he was saying. Leia exchanging her role as general of the Resistance for warden of a First Order territory was completely out of her character. Instead of providing clarity to your questions, this revelation was only creating more.

“That is…wonderful.” You had to force the sour words out of your mouth. “Yet, I must confess my confusion.”

“Yes?” the Commander asked with mild curiosity.

“Unless I am mistaken, if the New Republic and the First Order have settled their conflict, then there is no further need to have me as your prisoner.”

“You’ll find that you are mistaken, Lieutenant. The crimes you committed against the First Order occurred before the introduction of this treaty, meaning your actions were indeed treasonous. But you needn’t worry.” With that, the Commander turned his back to you, swiftly exiting your cell in a few long strides.

“Forgive me, but I feel as if I should,” you said frantically, chasing after him.

As your feet carried you, you realized that something else was missing. The fragments of bone riddling your lungs had vanished, making your breath effortless once more. Every ache in your body seemed to disappear overnight. Either the Commander had been true to his word, or the gods had answered your prayers, allowing you a moment of respite from your suffering. Given the Commander’s sudden generosity, you would have preferred it to be the latter.

“Your concern is unnecessary,” the Commander said, stopping in his path. “The two entities will be allies, united not only with a treaty, but with a marriage, as well. Since General Organa clearly values you enough to make you a lieutenant, wedding you to me will ensure her compliance with these terms.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath you. Blood roared in your ears as sweat gathered in your palms, which were searching for the stone wall beside you for stability. This was a nightmare. A vivid, terrible nightmare designed to crush your spirit. “N-No, you can’t… She wouldn’t…”

The Commander placed a hand on your back and began guiding you through the dim corridor, unfazed by your reaction. “The matter has already been settled.”

“No, please, there must be another way–”

“Enough!” he snapped. “Unless you would like to spend the days preceding our wedding inside a cell, I suggest you save your breath.”

 Numbness pricked at your fingertips as your breath quickened. Never mind what you had said about the gods earlier—they were cruel, now serving you a punishment of a different kind. Forced to marry a monster, the man responsible for the slaughter your men. The man who had taken you prisoner with the intent of turning you against your allegiance. Death was a more desirable fate than this.

At your silence, the Commander pushed you forward, his hand still planted firmly on the center of your back. You concealed your panic as the two of you navigated the dungeon. Flickering sconces cast tall shadows on the stone walls as you passed, each dark figure moving like ghosts in the night.

Dozens of cells surrounded you, each one occupied by a stranger with a story of their own. Some were dressed in civilian attire, others in Resistance uniforms. All of their bodies were bruised and bloodied, their brows stained with dirt and sweat. It was easy to determine those who had been there longer than you by the bones protruding from their limbs. Nausea rolled through your stomach.

At the end of the path was a short staircase that led to an iron door. If you didn’t know any better, you would have expected it to be made of feathers from the way the Commander pulled it open. He stepped aside, revealing another dark corridor, only this one stretched into the heart of the castle.

“After you,” he said, sliding his hand to the small of your back and pushing you forward. Bile rose in your throat at the sensation.

The First Order’s opulence oozed from the castle walls, as if flaunting their wealth would make their claim to power any more legitimate. Black velvet drapes lined the corridor, a stark contrast to the crimson quatrefoil tiles marking the path. Mounted between the drapes were portraits, each one illuminated by candlelight. Predictably, the paintings seemed to be reserved for the knights and noblemen of the First Order, with no ladies among them.

One portrait in particular caught your attention. The man was striking, with long, dark hair framing his alabaster skin and a stoic expression gracing his features. Though it was merely oil and canvas, your heart flipped in your chest.

Though it came at no surprise, the portraits of the knights were the most chilling among the artwork. Their empty gazes seemed to follow you through the hallway, even after you pulled your eyes away. Each helmet was unique to its owner, but they were all equally as ghoulish. From what you could see, there were six knights in total, yet one was missing. The Commander’s image was absent from the walls.

“Commander, if you don’t mind me asking…” You hesitated, debating if the question was appropriate to ask. “Where is your portrait?”

The only response you received was a low laugh vibrating through his mask. How am I to marry this man if he won’t so much as give me the time of day?

The Commander glanced at you before turning the corner, leading you through the entrance of a vast room. Your face burned at the realization that he had heard your inner dialogue. Quickly, you turned your attention away from him and focused on your surroundings. Overhead, a grand chandelier cast light upon you, its crystals shimmering from the flames of fresh candles. Intricate rose windows graced each of the walls, the red-stained panes of glass obscuring any view of the outside you may have seen. Their design was undeniably beautiful, yet haunting.

The Commander steered you toward a spiraling staircase, leading to another dimly lit hallway. Every velvet curtain was drawn, with only the candles mounted along the wall guiding you. Did the First Order prohibit the use of natural light? You could only imagine what percentage of Hosnian Prime’s taxes were spent on supplying the castle with fresh candles.

When you reached a set of tall doors near the end of the corridor, the Commander stopped you. “These are your chambers. You are not to leave them unless I instruct you to. Do you understand?”

A question floated to the front of your mind. Why did he wear that mask? You tried to picture how he looked beneath it. Perhaps his face was marred in battle, forcing him to now hide his ghastly scars from the world so as to not terrify any children he encountered. Women likely collapsed at the sight of him, and those who didn’t would surely run away screaming. A well-deserved curse for a bastard like him.

The Commander’s hand closing around your throat pulled you from your imagination. “I said,” he growled, “do…you…understand?”

You writhed in his grasp, clawing at his fingers as you nodded your understanding.

“Good,” he said, releasing your neck. “The Supreme Leader is hosting a dinner tonight. As liaison for the New Republic, you are expected to be in attendance.”

“I’m honored,” you sneered, rubbing the sore spots on your neck. Unlike last time, his grip was cautionary, like a hound baring its teeth before biting.

The Commander stepped back, flexing his hand as he lowered it to his side. “Be dressed in three hours time. Call for a handmaid to assist you with your needs.” 

With that, he turned away from you and descended the staircase, leaving you alone in front of the heavy doors.

Betrothed. Never in your life had you aspired to be someone’s betrothed—much less so being promised to an enemy. An enemy who slaughtered your soldiers, your brothers. The thought alone was enough to turn your vision red.

Upon entering your chambers, the first thing that caught your eye was the four-poster bed in the center of the room. Even in a large chamber like this, it swallowed the space. Similar to the drapes lining the castle’s walls, the bed was made with black, silk linens and covered with a dark, velvet spread—a color reminiscent of dried blood on your blade. After weeks of sleeping on a stone floor, it beckoned you, enticing you to crawl under the glossy sheets and sleep for an eternity.

But you didn’t. Whether it was fear of the possible consequences of missing tonight’s dinner or the layers of dirt coating your skin, you stepped away from the bed. Above all else, you needed to bathe.

Adjacent to the bed was a washroom, with cobblestone walls and an oak wood bath tucked in the corner. Long candles lined the perimeter of the room, already lit and illuminating the space. Furs covered the floor, nearly erasing the marble tiles beneath them. The luxury was nagging, inescapable.

At the Resistance base, you would draw your own baths, but here, you were clueless—not to mention barred from leaving your chambers. With no other option, you scoured your chambers for anything that resembled a call bell to summon your handmaid.

After checking behind every curtain and rearranging the furniture, you found it—an ornate, silver handle tucked between one of your bed posts and the wall. A soft ding sounded as you pulled on it, hopeful that someone would soon answer.

Time passed at a snail’s pace as you waited. It seemed nearly impossible to settle the unease that churned in your stomach inside these castle walls, but you found that busying yourself helped. 

You started with the furniture you had displaced, first moving the red upholstered chaise lounge back into its respective place, then tied the curtains back with the silver, braided ropes connected to them. Every item you touched felt more expensive than the last. A worthy use of Hosnian’s dues, you thought.

Just as you were sliding the last displaced book into place, a small knock came from the other side of the doors.

“My lady, may I come in?” a quiet voice asked, muffled by the wood.

“Yes, please do,” you replied, hurrying to open the door.

Before you could grab the handles, the doors opened from the other side, revealing a doe-eyed girl. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, but despite her youth, she seemed tired. Freckles dusted her pointed nose, spreading over her rosy cheeks. Her fine, chestnut hair was gathered in a neat bun, with a few small pieces hanging freely around her face.

You pulled your hands away, reflexively stepping back from the doors.

“My apologies. I didn’t expect…” she said, freezing in place. 

“No need to apologize,” you said, trying to cover your shaking voice. “I’m not used to having a handmaid.”

Anxiously, she smoothed out the black apron that covered her crimson smock, still standing outside of your chambers. You weren’t sure which one of you was more nervous.

“Please, come in,” you said, stepping aside and motioning her in.

The girl obeyed, averting your gaze as she slinked past. She was lithe, her fair skin taut over her collarbones. Your heart grew heavy at the sight. Despite its abundance, the First Order didn’t seem to feed their servants any more than what they fed their prisoners.

“How may I be of service, my lady?” she asked, her voice small.

“I, um,” you stammered, “would like a bath drawn. If you could show me where the water is collected, I can do it myself.” Asking this poor girl to do this mundane task for you felt unnatural, wrong.

“That won’t be necessary. I will draw it for you. Allow me a moment to gather the supplies.” She offered you a brisk smile before starting off towards the washroom.

“Oh,” you whispered. “May I start the fire for you, at least?”

“You needn’t worry about that, my lady,” she said, returning with a bucket in either hand. She was quick, already crossing the threshold of the corridor before you could stop her.

“Wait,” you called after her, stopping her in her path. “If you do not mind me asking, what is your name?”

At that, she turned to face you, bewilderment flashing in her hazel eyes. “No one has ever asked me that.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. Was that not a question you should have asked? 

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry–”

“It’s Rey,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning upwards. “My name is Rey.” As she repeated the word, her eyes brightened, as if she were uncovering a forgotten memory.

“That’s a beautiful name.” You meant the compliment sincerely. The name reminded you of the sun, an immovable presence in the sky with the power to eradicate darkness with just a touch of light.

“Thank you, my lady. I will return shortly,” Rey said, nodding at you before slipping between the tall, oak doors.

Rey was true to her word, returning not ten minutes later with both pails brimming with fresh water. Against her wishes, you had taken it upon yourself to light the fire beside your bath with one of the candlesticks in the washroom. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind.

After her fourth trip to the kitchen, the bath was starting to take form. As the last cauldron became warm, you began to undress, starting with your weathered boots.

“Rey?” you asked as you tossed the first shoe aside.

“Yes, my lady?”

You laughed softly. “You needn’t call me that. I’m not a lady.”

Her eyes drifted to your tattered clothes, lingering on the patch of orange cloth sewn onto your right shoulder. The emblem of the Resistance. “Perhaps not now. But soon, you will become Commander Ren’s lady.”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, neither of you wanting to discuss the matter. But you couldn’t avoid it forever.

“His name is Ren?” you mused, hanging your outer layers over the side of the tub.

“His surname is, yes,” she answered as she poured an herbal soak into the bath. “His proper name is Kylo Ren.”

The name rolled around your head, ricocheting off the walls of your skull. It was a powerful moniker, one that fueled the anxiety building in your gut. A faceless monster by the name of Kylo Ren would be your husband, your lord.

“He never told me his name. If it weren’t for the prisoner across from my cell, I wouldn’t have even known he was a commander,” you muttered.

Rey tipped the last cauldron of steaming water into the tub, filling the air with the sweet scent of lavender and rosemary. “Commander Ren is a very private man.”

“What do you know of him?”

She stiffened, and though you couldn’t see it, you could almost feel the hairs on the nape of her neck standing.

“I can’t—I shouldn’t–” she stammered, worrying the fabric of her dress between her fingers.

“Please,” you begged, covering her hands with yours. “I need to know what he’s like, what kind of treatment lies ahead of me.” 

Her eyes seemed to darken as she looked at you, your heartbeat rising in your throat as you awaited her response.

“I could lose my head for discussing this,” she hissed.

“What do you mean?”

“It is forbidden to speak ill of our leaders.” She pulled her hands away slowly, folding them neatly in her lap.

You felt dizzy, like the world around you was spinning, but your bare feet planted on the floor told you that it was not. Her nonanswer was louder than any lie she could have conjured about Commander Ren.

“Excuse me, my lady,” Rey said, breaking the silence that followed her previous statement. “I will return later to help you dress for dinner.” 

Before you could protest, she was gone, a blur of red fabric moving through your chambers.

Warmth rose to your cheeks as steam tickled your skin, enticing you into the water. You removed the rest of your clothes and tentatively slipped into the bath.

For what it was worth, the First Order seemed to have the finest soap and herbs in the realm. The soft scent lingered on your skin as you dried yourself with a plush towel, unlike the threadbare ones you had come to know in your Resistance quarters. Small pleasures felt more satisfying now than ever before.

Rey had spent the latter half of your bath entering and exiting your chambers, each time carrying with more gowns than before. The array was overwhelming, and with exquisite craftsmanship woven into each one, it seemed impossible to make a decision. Truthfully, you would prefer to wear something comfortable, like a smock or trousers, but such options seemed to be out of the question.

“Where did you find all of these gowns? Does the First Order have a storehouse specifically for them?” you joked, hoping to lighten the conversation.

“No,” she replied with a stiff laugh. “The castle’s tailors have been working tirelessly for weeks at Commander Ren’s request.”

“Weeks?!” you exclaimed. “Gods, time was lost to me in the dungeon.”

Rey was silent, busying herself with a black, satin dress. The material flowed onto the floor like a dark tide, eclipsing the intricate pattern of the rug. Long, tapered sleeves fell at its sides, with thin, silver threads connecting the rubies sewn onto the chest and shoulders. The gems were vibrant against the dark backdrop, like stars filling the night sky. It was truly stunning.

You and Rey shared a look, and within moments, she was loosening the ribbon at the back and helping you step into it. The fabric was cool against your flushed skin, from both the bath and the fireplace across the room. With one final pull, Rey laced up the bodice, allowing the dress to hug your figure. Its high collar wrapped around your neck, leaving just enough room for you to breathe.

“It suits you, my lady,” Rey said behind you, her voice full of awe.

“I’ll take your word for it,” you replied, staring down at the lustrous rubies gracing the front.

“Now, allow me to fix your hair.” Rey was already returning from the washroom as she spoke, holding a brush in one hand and ribbons in the other.

Fortunately, the heat from the fireplace had dried your hair rather quickly. You perched yourself at the edge of the lounge, allowing room for Rey to sit behind you. The excitement of donning the gown began to fade, giving way to the reality of the occasion. You were tied on the end of a string, the pet sheep for the First Order to treat however they pleased. Dread filled your gut once more.

Rey gently combed through your locks, separating knots that had formed from countless days of sleeping on a stone floor. Her fingers were nimble as she braided, carefully securing each section with pins and ribbons. The process was calming, distracting you momentarily from the night ahead. A tranquil silence filled the room, only interrupted by the occasional hiss or pop from the fireplace.

As she worked through your hair, you wondered what Rey’s life was like—what it had been like before the First Order. Was she born into this role, serving lords and ladies of the New Republic before its collapse? Or had she been like you, captured and given a harrowing ultimatum: a life of servitude or the blade. For her sake, you hoped it was the former.

“I am finished, my lady,” she said as she stood to her feet, gathering the remaining supplies in her apron. “I shall see you when you return from the feast.”

The thought of her leaving made your stomach drop. It wasn’t necessarily her you had grown fond of—you had only known her for a matter of hours. It was the sinking realization that you were going to be alone again, alone with Commander Ren. Given that his parting gift to you had been a hand clutching your throat, you were less than eager to see him again.

Rey was already in the hallway when you finally whispered, “Farewell.”

As the doors fell into place, a swarm of hornets erupted in your chest, rattling your ribs with the force of their anger. Emotion washed over you, too many at once to know the difference. Immediately, you thought of General Organa. Was this really her plan? Allow the First Order to rip out her spine and oblige their every demand? Years of loyal service dedicated to the Resistance, all for you to be used as leverage for the Supreme Leader to maintain power.

Yet, that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, that would be a fair treatment in comparison to being Commander Kylo Ren’s wife. In the eyes of the gods, as well as the laws of the land, he would own you, every part of you. The only escape from this torment would be in your mind, but even then, the sanctity of that was uncertain.

A stream of tears rolled down your cheeks. You wiped them away with the back of your hand and focused on steadying your breath. Everything you did was still in the name of the Resistance, in the pursuit of liberty. If sacrificing your own freedom meant that countless others would gain theirs, then it would be a worthy cause.

The light of hope flickered in your chest, wrapping its glowing tendrils around your heart. It had never abandoned you, and now, it was your duty to foster it. 

Just then, another knock fell on your door, this time landing harder than that of your handmaid. The sound startled you, prompting you to stand to your feet and fix the creases in your dress.

“Come in,” you called, folding your hands in front of you. As unnatural as it felt, it seemed as if the etiquette you had been taught as a child was slowly resurfacing. Poised shoulders, delicate hands, and eyes trained on the ground in front of you. If she were alive, your mother would be beaming with pride at the sight of you.

The two doors creaked open, revealing a tall stranger on the other side. You lifted your eyes, and as you greeted him with a nod, you recognized him. The man from the portrait—the one with ivory skin and russet eyes. Your pulse quickened.

“My lady,” he said, returning your greeting with a small nod. His voice was low and smooth, almost melodic. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he were a divine being, not a man.

The dress fluttered over your feet as you stepped towards him, closing the space between you. “Forgive me, I am not yet familiar with the First Order’s procedures. Are you my chaperone to the dinner?”

At the question, the man took his eyes off you and looked around the room, rolling his tongue over his teeth with a scoff. “I suppose so.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “My apologies, I only meant–”

“No need,” he said, offering you his arm. “Please, come with me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, slipping your hand around the bend of his elbow and stepping outside of your chambers. He was breathtaking, with long, dark locks framing his sculpted face and an aquiline nose sitting perfectly between his high cheekbones. He wet his bottom lip as he watched you take his arm, the contact of your bodies sending electricity across your skin.

A black cloak cascaded from his broad shoulders, pinned to his suit by two silver insignias. Like many of the accents in the castle, the inside of the cloak was lined with red silk, only seen every few strides. He wore a matching black suit, as dark as the night sky with a collar that reached his jaw.

The nerves buzzing in your stomach gave way to a different sensation, one that was much softer and hummed louder with every glance you stole at your escort. An oil portrait couldn’t do his beauty justice. Despite being betrothed to another, you allowed your mind to wander, imagining how his smooth, leather gloves would feel on your bare skin, or how his plush lips would move against yours. To make matters worse, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty for thinking such things.

Rich aromas wafted through the grand chamber below the staircase, an unspoken cue that you were nearly at your destination. Your mouth watered, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten fresh food in weeks. If only the circumstances of this dinner were different, you might have been able to enjoy yourself—even if it were only for a fleeting moment.

As you rounded a corner, the entrance to a grand dining hall came into view. A polished mahogany table stretched the length of the room, with attendants filling nearly every spot along it. The room was alive with energy, vibrating with laughter and conversations of the guests. Cheery voices overlapped with the scrape of silverware on porcelain, the sound of glass meeting glass as greetings were exchanged. It reminded you of special occasions within the Resistance. If it weren’t for the First Order emblem on the cloth table runner and the countless uniforms scattered throughout the hall, you could almost fool yourself into believing that it was. 

Your knuckles blanched around your chaperone’s arm as the two of you reached the tall doorway, trepidation churning in your stomach at the sight of the dinner party. 

“I do not know where I am to go,” you said quietly.

He looked down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, someone else spoke.

“Silence! Silence, all of you!” a husky voice bellowed throughout the hall. An older man stood from his seat at the end of the table, a seat lined with black velvet and silver accents fastened to the upholstery. From this distance, it almost resembled a throne.

The blood coursing through your veins turned to ice at the sight of him. Supreme Leader Snoke, in the flesh.

“We have all gathered here tonight to celebrate peace in the realm, but such a feat would be impossible if it weren’t for the union of our two powers.” A cacophony of voices cried out in agreement, the sound grating to your ears.

You clenched your free hand into a fist at your side. His words were poison, and somehow, you felt as if you were the only person in this room privy to it.

“It is with great pleasure that I welcome our honored guests—Commander Ren and his bride. Cheers to the lovely pair, and to a new reign of the First Order!”

Glasses clinked and spirits flowed at the Supreme Leader’s declaration, but you couldn’t hear the roar of the celebration over the blood rushing in your ears. Your fingers burned where you gripped Commander Ren’s arm, as if you were clinging onto a smoldering log in a fire pit. Quickly, you tried to retract your hand, but before you could, he clasped it in his.

“Cheers,” he echoed, flashing you a wicked smile.

#no beta we die like men #also I'm super sick rn so if this doesn't make any sense I'm blaming it on that #ben solo #ben solo x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren x you #ben solo x fem!reader #ben solo x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars self insert #kylo ren smut #ben solo smut #my writing #vampire!kylo #vampire kylo #vampire kylo ren

[mamasplat]

COLOR ME CONVINCED

This is heavy in headcanon, this is purely me tossing ideas out and this is absolutely an open conversation.

Based on this post ( @turtle4you you absolute genius you deserve full credit I would’ve never looked this far into it without you ) And also taking some notes from the XY kalos quest episode Cloudy Fate, Bright Future! Let’s discuss the possible cause and effect of Courtney having some type of psychic abilities

Pyrokinesis – The ability to control flames, fire, or heat using one's mind. This just seems like a fitting ability for her given her profession, that’s my only reason

Telekinesis - the ability to move and or throw physical objects with one’s mind. It would be purely based on her emotional state and out of her control (as i believe all her powers would be) so like, storming out of a room and a random object going and smacking a grunt in the face because she’s frustrated.

Clairvoyance — The ability to see things and events that are happening far away, and locate objects, places, people, using a sixth sense. A very weak ability she tries to strengthen under maxies skeptical guidance, I.e. being blindfolded and having to tell him how many fingers a grunt is holding up two doors down.

Future Sight - The ability to see the future. Specifically only in dire times of crisis regarding only the possible outcome of death (like the generations episode)

With her design being based on a psychic type trainer her having abilities like shown in this video is more likely than I first assumed even if it appears to be a scrapped concept as it’s, again, only brought up once. However if they did revisit the idea-

In Cloudy Fate, Bright Future! gym leader olympia gives us a lot more insight into what a powerful psychic trainer goes through, she lacks control over her visions and her powers took what I imagine to be years of practice along side her pokemon. So if Courtney does have powers it would make perfect sense why it never comes into play during our time against her, she doesn’t use any psychic types so she’s not polishing her powers and she can’t control her visions.

She’s weak in power but born with it naturally, olympia’s power is brought by the stars so this leaves many possibilities to be thought on with how Courtney is blessed with her ability, obvious pick being groudon in one way or another.

Her abilities are dictated in her emotional attachments and her lack of regulation (autism, she’s heavily autistic coded I think we’ve all accepted this) it’s subtle enough most people won’t notice it unless left with her for a very extended period of time, such as: Maxie is a scientist, he’s a nonbeliever by definition in the paranormal, but when taking Courtney under his wing these little coincidences begin to pile up…and he begins to run none invasive tests to understand the super natural within his admin. Meanwhile Tabitha joined the team after her and was quickly signed on to assist in said tests rather he believed in it or not.

Seeing is believing, after all.

#can I tag a tumblr post no beta we die like men? #gym leader olympia also apparently knew about groudon and kyogre going through primal states in that episode so #oras + x&y might legitimately happen at the same time- #I KNEW I HAD A REASON TO PUT JESS AND THE ANCIENT ONES IN MY CHARACTER PLAYLIST #magma admin courtney #magma leader maxie #magma admin tabitha #team magma #character study #<- vaguely #Headcanon #pokémon oras

[basu-shokikita]

Kloktober 23 Day 26

Pick a tarot card for inspiration

I actually had another draft I was planning to continue today but I scratched it and started over because I wasn't satisfied with it. And yeah, I do like this better, I think.

Have some young pre-Dethklok Toki for tarot card day!

“Um…I don’t haves money…” Toki said, but the lady dragged him all the same. 

“Shush.” She waved her hand dismissively, before returning to her cards. “This vision is really strong.” She shuffled her cards intensely before spreading them all face-down on her table. Then, she closed her eyes and her hand began hovering over the cards.

Toki swallowed nervously. It was getting dark and he was walking on the streets when this random old lady told him he needed to get a reading and dragged him inside her stand. What he actually needed was some food because he was starving. He wondered if he could beg for scraps at the bakery again. That one girl was really nice to him…

“Ah!” The old lady opened her eyes and dragged one of the cards, staring at it with a wise smile. “I knew it.” She said, before showing it to him.

In it, there was an illustration of a naked woman and man standing beside each other in what seemed to be a field. At the bottom of the card, there were two words.

“De Lovers?” Toki asked, extremely confused. 

“Yes.” She was still smiling. “Signifies love and harmony. A beautiful connection is upon you, my little…” She stopped, blinking. “What is your name, young one?”

“Uh, Toki.”

“Toki.” She repeated calmly. Suddenly, she clasped his hands tightly. “You’re about to meet your soulmate, Toki. Be very aware of your surroundings today! It’s the most important relationship of your life!”

Startled, Toki looked at the card, hanging at the corner of the table and threatening to fall. While he considered himself a romantic, he was highly skeptical of this whole thing. “Um, ladies, dat ams impossible.” He finally managed.

She let go of him, raising an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Wells…” Toki forced a smile. “Ams just a homeless boy. I don’t has a house, or foods. I don’t even has clothes.” He pointed at his stained shirt. “Ams just mes and my guitars.”

Her expression went from shocked, to horrified, to finally disgusted. He was pretty used to that reaction, to people dehumanizing him the moment they found out about his circumstances. Normal people hated the homeless, after all. 

Clearing her throat, she faked a smile. “Oh, that’s…” She stretched the collar of her shirt awkwardly. “That’s strange, haha…Lady Fortune is never wrong.” She looked at the card, as if it was disgusting too and shoved it on Toki’s hand. “You can keep it, but I’m waiting for some clients so…” She made a gesture with her eyes.

Toki nodded. “Okays.” He said, shoving the card in his pocket. “Um, thanks.” He said, even though he hadn’t asked for any of it in the first place.

As soon as he turned around, he heard her spray perfume on her table. Again, he was used to it, but it still stung a little. 

Back in the streets, he got the card out of his pocket to look at it. The illustration was pretty cool, he wondered if he could sell it somehow. Maybe he could trade it to the nice bakery lady for a couple of breads?

He noticed one edge of the card being split, though, which seriously undermined his chances at being able to trade it for anything valuable. Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he tried to separate the ends, only to realize there was a card stuck under. 

This card had a different illustration, of a lady pouring water into a puddle of sorts with one hand, the other one pouring water on the ground, with a starry sky in the background. The bottom text read “The Star”. 

Well, guess the silver-lining of not having money was that you couldn’t get scammed because, what the hell. Not that he had believed the lady at all but was she really going around trying to convince people they were about to meet the love of their life? That was just…lame.

On the other hand, he now had two different cards he could trade for possibly food now. That was pretty good. Perhaps the forced fortune-reading had been the fortune in itself. If everything went well, he could share some of his dinner with the kitty cats from around the area.

A booming noise from nearby distracted him and he looked up, tucking the cards safely in his front pocket this time. It was coming from a bar, blaring lights accompanying the loud bass noise. A menu board outside read “Free entry! Rock music all night!” with drawings of guitars and thunders around the text.

These days, anything that had the word ‘free’ caught Toki’s attention instinctively. And there was a crowd forming outside, which only intrigued him more. Leather jackets, spider hair, dark make-up, he could only imagine the music being played was good to attract these types.

Swiftly, he pushed and squeezed himself until he got inside, merely avoiding a couple of bulky dudes about to fight at the entrance. Perks of being small and malnutritioned, he supposed. 

The people inside were crowded around the empty stage, booing and cheering simultaneously.

“Who ams playings?” He asked the guy next to him. He was bald but had a piercing on his nose. 

“Dethklok!” He said. “They aren’t all that great but they have a cult forming around them these days. Probably because they have that guy from Snakes n Barrels.” He snorted. “Bunch of-”

Suddenly, the lights went out and the crowd went insane. Toki was a little nervous so he unhooked his guitar from his back and grabbed it. He really couldn’t afford to get it repaired at the moment so he might as well take care of it.

Five figures walked on the stage and, after a short introduction by the vocalist that Toki could hardly understand anyway, they started playing. Their music was loud, powerful, unrefined. The crowd started dancing with the beats, pushing one another with the rhythm of the music. 

Lights went on and off as the five men on stage demonstrated their craft. The vocalist roared against the mic, black hair, muscly and intimidating. The red-haired drummer beat his arms and legs against the instrument with a force that could only be described as violent. The rhythm guitar played soberly, knowingly, as he was looking down on the audience. Oh, and they also had a bassist. 

But the real star of the show for Toki was the all-white dressed lead guitarist, whose blond locks covered his face as he headbanged, fingers sliding against the guitar strings as if he were born for this. 

Toki had listened to a bunch of guitarists in his short life, especially of the metal genre. This guy, however, had a different kind of energy. Like an aura of holiness surrounded him and his mighty-shredding axe. It was both beautiful and entracing and Toki felt like he had to get closer. He wasn’t even scared of getting hit by the moshpit, he just needed to be closer and witness his guitar God in all his glory.

He shoved and elbowed his way in, managing to stand right in front of him. Like a flash, blue eyes gazed at him, but they were gone, the golden curtain covering his face again. It was like a spark for Toki, though, like electricity spreading through his body, rendering him to life. He was alive and awake and he needed to play guitar with this man. 

It was ridiculous, but the cards flashed in his mind for a brief second, and he wondered if the old lady had accidentally predicted his future after all.

#kloktober2023 #kloktober #dethklok #toki wartooth #skwistok #implied again #yea im always up on my bullshit #i also finished this just now so #my writing #no beta we die like men etc

[aberration-abbey]

[image description: two Flight Rising sprites of Skydancer dragons, one blue and one pink. Both are wearing labcoats, and their artwork is positioned so they're facing each other as if having a conversation. End ID]

"Interesting news out of the Shifting Expanse, boss."

"The Sandsurges? I'm aware of them, Dr. Callisto. I do try to keep up with the news."

"Yes, of course, of course. Hard not to have heard about that--so soon after the Aethers' return, too..." Callisto shook her head, trying to stay focused. "However, the Baldwin Society's genetics surveyors finally put out their report on the genes present in the Sandsurge population."

Abraxas peered over his glasses dismissively at Callisto. "I'll glance through the survey later, but morphology research has little bearing on our work here."

"Even if they've discovered a gene that seamlessly blends dragon with machine?"

"A...gene. Not an augmentation? Lightning Flight is known for their elaborate prosthetics...."

"They call it an augment, but it fuses so seamlessly with the dragon's lifeweb that it can be passed down to hatchlings. The Sandsurges were reluctant to allow strangers into their hatcheries, but the researchers saw at least one newly-hatched dragon with the metal augments."

"Fascinating. So it can be done with Lightning magic..."

"Oh, yes. Apparently the Aberration genetics enthusiasts are already looking into ways to replicate the augments."

"Of course they are." Abraxas rolled his eyes, but his tail was already twitching with excitement. "Bring me a copy of that report, will you? We may need to get involved with the next expedition to the Expanse..."

#hey i write sometimes #(also trying out adding image descriptions i hope it's adequate) #flight rising #abbey archives #fr writing #my lore #fr lore #fr headcanon #oc callisto #oc abraxas #headcanons #no beta we die like men

[lovely-cuicui]

One Last Dance

Lumine x fem!Reader

cw: depictions of violence, major character death

xtra: angst (kinda), repost from my ao3, pre-cataclysm khaenri’ah, characters act ooc, a made up a few characters for this

"Lady Lumine, you called?"

The blonde perked up after hearing you say her name. She turned to you with a smile. The maids who were helping her also turned to look at you before continuing with their work. This felt familiar.

"Ang- Erm.. Y/n, thank you for coming on such quick notice! I would go over there to greet you but," Lumine paused, motioning to the maids who were tightening her corset, "I'm sure it was a bit of trouble to persuade Sir Dainsleif... Sorry if I got you in trouble."

You smiled in return, "it was no problem. He just wants me to be back soon," Lumine opened her mouth to say something, but one of the maids handed her a damp towel. She wiped her face with the towel and glared lightly at the maid, who shuddered at her reaction.

"Can you both please give us some space? I want to talk to Y/n privately," Lumine ordered once the second maid tightened the corset. They both nodded in response and left the room without a word. Lumine motioned for you to come to her, and you obeyed. She stood from her desk and hugged you tightly. If anyone else were to see this, you would be executed.

"This is so so soooo tiring I hate this tight corset," Lumine complained into your shoulder. "How has preparing for tonight been treating you?" She queried, stepping back but still holding your arms. Staring into her golden eyes, you blushed, realizing you hadn't answered.

"If you think normal Dainsleif is strict imagine today Dainsleif. He had our whole squad patrol the ball venue, twice! He only let me come see you because it was time for my break." You took a deep breath after explaining this morning's mission. Lumine chuckled while looking at your exhausted expression. Her laugh made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Lumine let go of you to open a drawer in her desk. She carried a silver necklace out of the container and held it to you.

"For you!" She exclaimed, clasping it around your neck. "If anyone asks just say it's a family heirloom." The blonde chuckled, watching you admire the purple gem that sat just below your neck.

"Thank you Lumine, I'll cherish this gift forever." You gushed, earning a sweet grin from the girl. She embraced you again, this time more loosely so you wouldn't suffocate. The two of you stayed in mellow silence. Lumine laid her head in the crook of your neck, avoiding the metal of your armor. Then quietly, she whispered in your ear.

"My angel... If fate allowed, would you run away with me?" Her tone was sweet, but you could hear the underlying sadness. Though you had contemplated asking her a similar question, this proposition caught you off guard.

You replied softly, "if fate allowed, I would do it without a second thought." Her ears tinted a light pink before she giggled quietly. A knock on the door interrupted your moment.

"Lady Lumine, Captain Dainsleif has asked for Lieutenant Y/n to return to her duties," a maid explained from behind the door. Lumine frowned slightly, but she pecked your cheek and hugged you one last time before smiling at you.

"I'll see you in a few hours," she muttered, sending you off to the door. You opened the door, and the two maids from earlier bowed at you to say goodbye.

Your walk back to the barracks was quiet, leaving you to think of your relationship with Lumine. Just thinking of embracing her made butterflies flutter in your chest. She was more beautiful than any of the stars in the night sky. However, your thoughts were cut short upon your arrival at the barracks. Dainsleif was waiting for you by the gate with the usual stern look on his face.

"Lieutenant, how was your visit with Lady Lumine?" Dainsleif inquired, amusement evident in his tone.

"It went well, thank you for asking. She's nervous about tonight though," you sighed, "is there anything that still needs to be done?"

Dainsleif shook his head, "all the preparations have been completed. Now we have to wait." He paused to nod at some passing guards, then turned to you. "His Majesty suggested changing our uniforms for the upcoming event. I wasn't one for the idea but it is the King's order."

Dain handed you a package, the box wasn't very decorated, but the label in the corner had your name on it. Carefully you took the package but didn't open it.

"I'll have to thank His Majesty when I get the chance. A-And thank you as well Captain." You chimed. Though, all he did was shoo you away so you could try the outfit on.

You rushed to your office, package in hand. You locked the door once you arrived in the room and placed the box on a stack of papers. You made a mental note to finish that paperwork before the party.

Opening the package, you notice the uniform inside. The Eclipse Dynasty crest was embroidered on the center, much like your usual uniform. The only difference was that this new outfit seemed more classy and made for fashion. It fit like a glove.

You checked the time and noticed that there were still a few hours until you had to report to the venue. The paperwork on your desk wouldn't finish itself, and the unsorted books wouldn't put themselves on the shelf. At least you could busy yourself until the event time.

It was a while, but the hours rushed by, and you had most of your work finished. Your office was also neater than before. Now you could finally meet the other knights at the venue to prepare for the party. On the way to the venue, you ran into other knights who bowed their heads upon seeing you. Some of them seemed nervous, while others looked to be bursting with excitement. You, on the other hand, felt a mix of both.

You couldn't wait to see Lumine again, even if you were unable to hold her in your arms. Your excitement varied, but one thing stayed on your mind. Lumine in a pretty dress! How you longed to dance with her while a beautiful melody played. However, you knew that your dreams could never become a reality. You were just a knight; she was one of Khaenri'ah's most influential citizens.

Like a repeat of earlier, Dainsleif greeted you again. It was just a slight wave since he was in the middle of briefing other guards about patrol routes. You knew where to go. The elite officers would guard the ballroom and royal family.

Upon entering the room, you were overwhelmed by the sudden bright lights reflected from the crystal chandelier. After recovering your eyesight, you noticed the room was neat, and the marble floor was spotless. Servants were preparing wine and small platters of food on each table. Some guests had already arrived. Luckily, there were some that you recognized. Three of the sages were said to be attending the party, and one of them was already here. The Great Sage Erwin who worked with the alchemist Rhinedottir in the Art of Khemia. You heard much from Dainsleif about her being a "mysterious" but "wise" leader. You passed by the Sage and bowed your head slightly, earning a nod from her.

You continued your path to the area you were supposed to be overlooking. The room was a terrace from which you could see the whole ballroom. A door behind you was connected to an outdoor hallway that led to a quaint patio. You stood behind the rail in the center of the terrace watching servants busy themselves with chores and guests arriving. Of course, other knights who were uninterested in making conversation joined you at the deck. Dainsleif and Halfdan were guarding the main entrance, greeting guests.

Another figure you noticed was the current head of the Alberich clan. You had never met him personally, but rumors among the Knights were that he was a skilled mage who was offered the title of Sage but declined. You couldn't believe someone would pass up that kind of opportunity.

The east doors opened, and the room fell silent. King Irmin, followed by the Queen, entered and made their way to the thrones that sat on a balcony above the room. Then entered the one person you had been waiting for that whole evening. Lumine entered with a polite look on her face. She was dressed in a silver gown that touched the floor. Behind her was the famed alchemist Rhinedottir, who walked with an arrogant aura. They took their seats at one of the reserved tables where the sages sat. When the doors closed, King Irmin stood from his throne to speak.

"Everyone, I thank you for attending our grand event tonight. I have invited you all here so that we can celebrate what the alchemist Rhinedottir, along with our nation's great guardian, have created. I hope that you all can enjoy this night as if it were your last. May the festivities begin!"

The hall erupted into a mix of music, voices, and orders. You were never one for festivities because of the noise. Luckily, the knights didn't need to intervene with anything. Some of the knights who had been nervous earlier were slowly starting to adjust to the atmosphere. You watched over the hall patiently, studying each of the guests' actions. Nothing suspicious, as expected. Everyone was having an overall great time.

It felt peaceful, almost too peaceful to be real. Though, you couldn't shake the feeling that this had happened before. It made you wonder if you had already lived through this day. Maybe you saw this play out in your dreams. Or perhaps it was a strange case of déjà vu? Whatever this was had you spacing out. When one of your subordinates stood next to you, you were brought back to reality.

"Lieutenant, it's time to change shifts remember? Captain Dainsleif suggested that you and the other officers take a break..." The knight's words reminded you of Dansleif's earlier orders. You nodded and stepped back to allow your subordinate to take your place. While the shifts were changing, you could easily slip by to areas unnoticed. So, you chose the one area that could give you a break away from the noise—the balcony.

Quietly you made your way toward the outdoors. The farther you got from the main hall, the quieter the noises got. Eventually, making it to the area, the only thing you could hear was the tranquil sound of music. Some dimly lit lanterns on the patio added to the calm ambiance. You leaned your arms against the stone wall and let out a sigh of relief. Now that you were less focused on duties, you noticed how tight your chest harness was. Did you really put this on?

Firstly, you set your coat on the stone wall, carefully positioning it so it wouldn't fall somehow. You really hoped that jacket could easily be washed. Not like you planned on wearing it anytime after this. The harness wasn't too tight, but it did squeeze your shoulders too much for your liking. While you adjusted the straps, the necklace you had tucked into your shirt revealed itself. You had no idea if the necklace looked better outside your dress shirt or inside, so you just left it alone. Now that the straps loosened, you felt much more relaxed and stretched your shoulders.

You leaned back against the wall and looked over the landscape of Khaenri'ah. Despite being underground, you could see the capital city very well. You tilted your head up to stare at the crystal roof of the underground. In your opinion, it was almost as beautiful as the night sky above ground. A sound interrupted your focus, causing you to turn to the walkway from which you came readying your weapon. Though, you saw someone you weren't expecting.

"Hey, don't use your sword on me!" The blonde exclaimed half-jokingly, putting her hands up in self-defense. It was none other than Lumine. You took a hand off your sheathed sword and relaxed again, to which she walked over to you. That was when you realized. One of the most essential guests wasn't at the party. You turned to her in shock while whispering loud enough so she could hear.

"What are you doing here?! You—..You have to get back!!" Upon hearing, this Lumine crossed her arms and smirked confidently.

"It was getting boring and I couldn't bear to leave you alone like this." The girl snickered, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder. "And don't worry, Rhinedottir is covering for me!"

She squeezed your shoulder affectionally before letting go to look over the capital. You stood next to her in silence, the only sounds coming from the party hall. Lumine seemed lost in thought as she focused on the landscape. Her alluring eyes sparkled brighter than a sea of stars, a sea that you could easily get lost in. Your lover noticed you staring and faced you with a sly look on her face.

"What is it? Is there something wrong?" Lumine questioned, leaning forward to close the distance. You kept staring into her eyes, thinking of a response. Then without a second thought, you hugged her. Lumine showed no protest and hugged back, resting her head in the crook of your neck. Despite the collared blouse, you felt her breaths tickle your neck. "What is it my angel?"

"I... It's a childish thought.." You whispered.

"Nonsense! You can tell me anything remember?" Lumine scolded playfully, taking your hands into hers. You wanted to tell her. You wanted to tell her your deepest desires. You wanted to say to her how holding each other like this made your mind run in circles. You both knew you loved each other, but "love" was just the tip of the iceberg for you. A beautiful melody began to play in the ballroom, and you knew this could be your only chance.

"My lady may I... May I have this dance?" You requested, stepping back to hold your hand out. Blood rushed to your cheeks when Lumine covered her mouth to giggle. Then she placed her hand on yours and whispered.

"Yes you may, angel." The blonde nodded, allowing you to walk her to an open patio area.

You slipped your hand behind her waist and took one of her hands into yours. Lumine followed along and placed her unclasped hand on your shoulder. You both began to sway along to the music despite it being so quiet. Pressed together, the warmth of her body against yours was something you could never forget. Lumine held a soft but focused smile, and her gaze never left yours. A blush dusted her face, and you could only imagine what color your face was. You were never the best dancer, but your body moved in sync with hers as if under a spell. You both stopped as the melodies of the ballroom became quieter.

Neither of you changed positions, and you saw no reason to ruin the moment. Lumine's face was now inches away from yours. You could feel her warm breathing tickle your cheek. Her hands cupped your cheeks without hesitation, and the blonde pressed her soft lips against yours. This took you off guard, but you held onto her all the same.

Lumine broke away with tears forming in her eyes, letting go of your face. Instead of releasing her, you rubbed the tears away, kissed her cheek, and kissed her lips lightly. Your lover embraced you tightly as if she would lose you forever if she let go. Lumine sniffled in the crook of your neck, tears soaking the fabric. You rubbed her back, allowing her to cry.

"Why are you crying Lumi? I'm sorry if I did something wrong." You muttered into her ear. Lumine didn't answer, instead burying her face in your shoulder to muffle her ragged breathing. Despite holding each other like this, you couldn't help but feel cold. Your chest was also aching in pain for some reason. A sorrowful feeling welled up in your chest as well. Heartache? Despair? It was a combination of the two.

Lumine started to mutter incoherently through her sobs, which were getting heavier. Repeatedly she whined, "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Angel please I'm sorry. You can't leave me-"

Your thoughts were clouded, and the soreness in your chest wasn't helping you figure out what was going on—a numbness formed in your body, keeping you from moving. Your breathing became erratic while a high-pitched ringing blocked out Lumine's cries. Finally, you felt your consciousness fading, and your surroundings went black.

Pain jolted you awake from the illusion. Your eyes shot open to see destroyed surroundings. Stinging ripped through your chest, and you shuddered from the cold. In your right hand was a now broken sword. Leaning against the ruined wall, awakening to the cold reality, you knew life was slowly draining from your body. As your body became more aware of its surroundings, you felt a familiar warmth on your left side. The high-pitched ringing dissipated, and you heard the same cries from your dream.

Weakly, you released the broken sword and placed your hand on her head. The sobs quieted once Lumine held your arm. Now that your vision was more precise, you noticed Lumine's bloodstained hands holding your bleeding arm.

"Are.. Are you hurt...?" You questioned faintly, hoping that Lumine could hear your weak voice. In response, the blonde shook her head, earning a pained smile from you. Lumine was trembling, and you felt ashamed being unable to help her. Cold tears ran down your face. Your heartache felt more painful than your fatal injuries. "I-I'm sorry I couldn't... I c-couldn't help you in ti-time," Lumine mumbled through tears, "please you can't- you can't leave me!"

You thought up many responses to Lumine's request but felt too weak to say anything. A despairing chill went up your spine, reminding you that time was running out. You wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. You wanted to know if you had done your duty in protecting Khaenri'ah. You wanted to find Dainsleif and report that the mission was completed. You wanted to live.

But, the world, along with your racing mind went quiet and the pain faded away leaving one final wish.

The only thing you wanted was for Lumine to happily call you "Angel" again.

#ao3 fic #light angst #lumine genshin impact #x reader #fanfiction #lumine x reader #lumine x fem!reader #no beta we die like men #repost #genshin impact #im not very good at this #im also not very good at writing angst so this should be fine #i want to explode #fanfiction writer #genshin impact fanfics #idk whats going on #spadez’ writing

[firecrxtch]

Eyes on the thighs

In honor of Mickey’s Thighs Thursday, have some porn lmao 

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 994

Summary: Ian is a little obsessed with Mickey’s thighs

Read on AO3

#Shameless #Gallavich #gallavich fic #Ian and mickey #Mickey's thighs thursday #I am always nervous about posting smut lmao #also no beta we die like men

[ardeidae-e]

I WISH i could write my thesis about idk, the origins of omegaverse or fanfiction. You know, to scare the old guy who's gonna pretend to read it.

Instead it's just a boring thesis about my actual thesis and that just sucks.

#i just want him to regret his life choices #also #i love explaining where the dead dove do not eat tag came from #or the #no beta #we die like men #i just know that i would be happy writing a long ass document about that #sigh

[blurglesmurfklaine]

omg I need to hear your thoughts on teachers!Javey because that makes my brain go BRRRRRRR

OKAY OKAY OKAY SO. I can already tell this is going to be long winded so. apologies.

To understand why Teachers!Javey has a grip on my two brain cells like a dog has on his chew toy, we must first understand the types of students they are.

---

Jack Kelly is never really the stereotypical "good" student. He's a ward of the state, probably has some sort of undiagnosed learning disability that all his teachers attributed to him being a poor student with lousy attendance. Reading and writing is difficult for him from an early age, and he's okay with math until they introduce fucking word problems--what is that about? Why are they putting reading in math?

Every teacher from first to fifth grade he has can see that when Jack speaks to his peers, he's intelligent. He's a natural born leader and trend setter amongst the students. It's such a shame he's wasting his potential. It's such a shame that he never finishes his exams on time, and chooses to waste time doodling in the margins instead. It's such a shame he's only ever at school half the time, the other half out and about doing God knows what.

It's such a shame that every single teacher he had for the first eleven years of his life just assumed his failure was a deliberate choice.

But he finds solace in arts and craft time in elementary, and then is delighted to find out he can have art class every single day, for an entire period in middle school.

Teachers get meaner in middle school. Jack's smart mouth gets smarter--or dumber, according to his seventh grade History teacher, who loudly announces that Jack has the lowest grade out of everyone in his class. Jack stops showing up to History after that, but manages to scrape by with a C by convincing this girl, Katherine, to do his work for him, and he'll finish her art project she needs to get her Fine Arts credit.

(They date for a while and ofc decide they're better off as friends)

He meets Miss Medda his freshman year of high school, because the counselors screwed up his schedule and put him in Theatre instead of Art for his elective class. He needs remedial English Language Arts and Reading classes, both of which are during the only Art classes his stupid school offers. But Miss Medda is kind, treats him with respect, and after Jack accidentally leaves his sketchbook behind, offers to let him do backdrops for her plays instead of having to act in them.

Jack really can't afford to make time for this kind of long-term project--he's got to walk his little brothers (who aren't... legally his brothers, but... it's easier to just call them his brothers) home from their school, and then helps them with their homework best he can because he's not going to let them struggle the way he does and Tony is starting to get in fights, which is really, really stressing Charlie out and--

Miss Medda offers to let them stay in the theatre while the younger kids work on their schoolwork and Jack on his paintings.

It's an excuse to stay away from the Refuge an hour longer. It's an offer Jack can't refuse.

It's Miss Medda who first suggests to Jack he might be dyslexic. Jack's never even heard that word before, but it sparks a light of hope in him. He's not stupid. He's just--wired differently.

A diagnosis is not easy to come by. Jack has no legal guardians who can request testing from the school on his behalf, and Mr. Snyder sure as hell isn't going to shell out the money to do it third party. Miss Medda says she's doing it to streamline the testing, but when Snyder calls him in to say she's requested to foster him, Race, and Charlie, it takes every ounce of Jack's willpower not to cry right then and there.

School was never easy for Jack, and it still isn't, but it's amazing how much easier it becomes when he's got something that resembles a home. A soft bed, with clean sheets. A diagnosis. A family.

College is a possibility. It becomes a reality when Medda helps him submit his application to NYU.

Even though he's an art major, he's got to take basics. A computer that can read his assignments to him helps get him through with flying colors.

Medda assures him he doesn't have to do this for her. He's not. He's doing it for the fourteen year old Jack who needed a teacher like Miss Medda--and now, one like him.

---

David Jacobs is the stereotypical "good" student. Math, Science, History--it all comes incredibly easy to him from a young age. But especially Reading and Writing.

He finishes assignments early for the sole purpose of having more free time in class that he uses to read. Six years in a row, he's the top reader in his entire district, even beating out kids in high school starting from the seventh grade.

Students adore him, teachers love him, and his parents are proud as they could be.

Most kids are impressed. Some think he's doing it to show off, but he does it because there's nothing else he'd rather be doing. No amount of parties or dances can measure up to the way the ending to Of Mice and Men broke his heart, or the way Jodi Picoult's Leaving Time put it back together.

He loves analyzing the worlds he's being sucked into, highlighting passages that make him feel a certain type of way, and analyzing them to understand what makes them so powerful. He loves the power authors give their readers--to escape this world, to find meaning in theirs.

When he gets accepted to Colombia, it just makes sense for him to be an English major.

And he loves every second of it.

He loves writing papers and sticking to the most outlandish interpretations of Kafka, joining the campus newspaper club--even all the terrible peer reviews he has to do. He adores it all.

And then he graduates.

Magna Cum Laude, of course.

And David's not really sure what to do.

And a few months of crashing on friends' couches until he can get something published turns into a year turns into eighteen months turns into "Don't sweat it, you'll find something," and "Hey, I know a guy at The World who'd love to have you write columns," and if one more person tells him about the twelve publishers who rejected Harry Potter, he is going to pop a vein.

And then he's working for a Tax Attorney's office as a secretary and he hates every stupid minute of it, but it pays the bills for about a year before the office downsizes due to an actual fucking pandemic and decides he's the first to go.

He crashes with Sarah until quarantine is over. Then he spends another year working odds-and-ends jobs to help her with rent because he is not a freeloader with an English degree, for fuck's sake.

Sarah sends him a listing for a teaching position at a district in Brooklyn. Alternative Certification paid for by the campus. Eleventh Grade English.

It's a steady income, and he has an entire year to get his teaching certificate.

David applies for the position, not expecting to even really be considered, but in this teacher shortage--all the school is looking for, really, is a warm body.

David accepts the job.

He's always been good at school.

---

There's a weird, lanky looking guy who comes into Jack's class unannounced, accompanied by the academic dean, who informs Jack (with absolutely no heads up) that Mr. Jacobs is their newest English teacher and needs three more hours of live Observations before he's allowed to begin his classes.

Jack is less than thrilled at being observed for the last half of the day, but Mr. Jacobs smiles awkwardly and waves and that’s the end of that. Jack is instantly endeared by this guy who is way in over his head.

The academic Dean leaves, and Mr. Jacobs retrieves a binder and notebook from his messenger bag. As Jack resumes his lesson, the newest teacher takes fastidious notes throughout.

Jack has to actively try not to smile when one of his students goes to Mr. Jacobs for help with a guided practice warm up sketch. Mr. Jacobs seems surprised, but easily answers the questions best he can.

At least this new guy seems to care.

---

At the end of the day, David gathers his things into his bag and heads towards Mr. Kelly, extending his hand. “Thanks so much for this, Mr. Kelly. I really appreciate it.”

“Call me Jack.” He takes David’s hand.

“David.”

“Nice to meet you, Davey.” David’s stomach does a funny little flip at the nickname. It rolls off of Jack’s tongue so casually, so easily, that David doesn’t even feel the need to correct him. “If ya have any other questions, lemme know.”

David digs a pen out of his front pocket and extends it to Jack. “No questions, but could I get your signature on my observations sheet?”

“‘Course.”

The pen passes between their hands and with it, a bolt of electricity David wonders if he’s imagining, but hopes he isn’t.

He is not ogling the muscles of Jack’s hands as they sign the papers, and he’s definitely not noticing the way Jack’s smock hugs his waist where it’s tied behind his back, or the way his rolled up sleeves seem to broaden his shoulders.

“I noticed you have pictures detailing the steps on each of your assignment packets,” David says, redirecting his train of thought towards something work-appropriate.

“Reading ain’t so easy for all kids.”

Jack says it like it’s the simplest explanation in the world, with a shrug and an inherent understanding of this demographic that David lacks.

He hands the pen back to David, along with the paperwork, now donning his signature is messy script letters.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m down the hall.” David has never been particularly boy crazy, but even he is not immune to the charms of Jack’s radiant smile. “If you ever need anything, Davey.”

It’s an offer for mentorship, not a marriage proposal. And still, color rises to David’s cheeks, despite his best efforts to remain cool.

“I’ll uh, see you around.” The words come out high and strangled in his throat, eliciting the widening of Jack’s already knee-weakening, cocky, shit eating grin, but David still hopes there’s truth to them.

It’s clear he has a lot to learn from Jack.

---

Jack pops in to Davey’s room once during his own lunch, and is delighted to find out Pulitzer High’s newest addition has the same period off.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Davey is smart as a whip, he’s passionate, he’s organized (which comes in handy on a Teacher Work Day. Davey spends some time helping Jack organize supplies, and Jack hangs up art and decorations he’d made for Davey’s room).

He finds out that teaching wasn’t always in the plan for Davey, it was just something he sort of fell into. And still, Jack can see the effort he puts into his lesson plans, the quick way he’s learning the ropes and never makes the same mistake twice.

Jack knows teachers who’ve been doing this for years, and don’t have the dedication to self-improvement that Davey has.

And not that Jack is into the habit of checking out his coworkers, but Davey sure as hell ain’t ugly.

He's got a smile that makes you feel like a winner, if you've earned one from him, and he's surprisingly strong (as Jack found out on the aforementioned Teacher Work Day, his mind sputtering and stalling like a dying car when he saw Davey haul out three huge boxes of art supplies from his closet).

Lunch together becomes a regular thing. Which means Davey has words to say about Jack's typical lunch--or lack thereof. One day, Davey unceremoniously presents Jack with a Tupperware of latkes.

“Eat,” he orders.

Jack side eyes him. “I got lunch right here.”

“Cup-O-Noodles is not a meal.”

“Lunch doesn't have to be a meal.”

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Oh, so you've never heard yourself speak?"

"Shut up and take the damn potatoes."

They're heavenly and damn delicious.

In return, Jack brings him a tub of spaghetti the next week.

"Eat," he mimics. Davey gives him a withering glance and Jack clarifies. "It's my ma's recipe. You won't regret it."

"Ah, so you can be a functioning adult," Davey teases. "You just choose not to."

Because Jack's got exactly two brain cells, and both of them are focused on Davey taking an uncharacteristically messy bite of the meal Jack's prepared for them, he says, offhandedly, "I choose to, for you."

Davey nearly coughs up his spaghetti, but doesn't mention it again.

Other than that, things at Pulitzer High are great. Quiet, even. Easy.

And then they get The Memo.

---

“I honestly don’t see what’s so bad about becoming a charter school.”

“Davey,” Jack hisses. Even though Jack seems upset, it doesn't stop the warmth in his stomach at hearing the nickname. “Davey, Davey, Davey. Charter schools get public funding, but they get to decide which kids stay and which kids go. Those signs that say 100% passing rates of standardized testing? It’s because they kick out anyone who can’t meet it. Including kids with LDs and 504 plans. It ain’t right.”

“Shit, I didn't know that. That's fuckin' awful."

"On top of that, you don't have to be certified to be hired."

"I'm not certified," Davey points out.

"Yeah, but you enrolled in one of them ACPs--so you will be. Charter schools don't require the year grace period because they don't require certification. Look, I'm not saying that every teacher in this country is perfect, or hell, even at this school. But it takes a lot of effort to get certified--even if it's not a perfect system--and I don't think it's something we should bypass. If Pulitzer goes Charter, Admin determines your hours, not the board. And kids with lower income households and undiagnosed LDs are gonna bear the brunt of these so-called higher standards. They'll fall right through the cracks, and ain't nothing we can do about it."

A tense silence falls between them, and Davey isn't quite sure how to respond. He doesn't disagree with anything Jack's said, now that he's informed, but he's at a loss regardless.

"I... Sorry, this sorta shit just gets me all worked up. I feel so... so stupidly helpless."

"No, no," Davey says quickly, reaching across the table to clasp Jack's hand in his. It comes automatically, before his brain has the good sense to cross it. Jack looks down at their twined hands, lips parted in what Davey thinks (hopes) might be a breathless gasp. "I get it."

Clearing his throat, he tears his hands away and tucks them beneath the table. He faces away, training his gaze to the creepy portrait of their school's namesake that's hung in the Teacher's Lounge and--

Shit.

Davey has an idea.

A big, stupid, risky idea.

A big, stupid, risky idea that might just be big and stupid and risky enough to impress Jack Kelly, who almost prides himself on being all those things.

"You know about Joseph Pulitzer?" Davey finally asks.

“Yeah, wasn’t he some big time publisher or something?”

“He was. He also tried raising newspaper prices for kids who made a living selling them.”

“Sounds like a real sweetie. Taking advantage of a buncha kids like that.”

“I mean, they did fight back. Gotta give them that credit.”

“They fought back? Against a giant like Pulitzer? How’d they manage that?”

“Well.” Davey turns to meet Jack’s gaze. “They went on strike.”

#javey #javid #jack kelly #david jacobs #newsies 2017 #newsies #I have…. more thoughts #livesies #so there might be a part two to this???? #or I might turn it in to a full out fic lmao lmk what y’all think #bc this is just kinda *waves vaguely* there #no beta we die like men #also sorry ive never written javey before so dont be mean pls #i havent written anything except klaine in like. ten years lasdjfhdjfsd PLS BE KIND I AM A SIMPLE WOMAN-ADJACENT PERSON

[datamodel-of-disaster]

hey the 5 Stages beta reader here (yeah I'm lucky :P)

(yeah this is more to your followers than you, you already saw me yell about this)

i just saw a snippet yall are gonna lose your minds forrrrrrr

>:)

I know there was no chapter this Wednesday (as I sadly announced/predicted last week) but the wait is gonna be worth it, I promise.

Just so y'all know, there will be smut. A lot of it.

I sure hope you're coming prepared, because things are gonna get wet (and water and electricity mix so, so well, don't they?)

#disaster replies #tron #tron fic #tronblr #five stages of rectification #5 Stages vibes #tron/clu #tron legacy #tron x clu #ALSO #My beta reader is the best beta reader #“no beta we die like men” is accurate because this story would have straight up killed me without them #beta reader appreciation (TM) #Bowie I love you thank you for being amazing