#but having to sit and take in how unprepared we are as the world

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Lights Out {2}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: If there's one person you fear most about breaking the news to it is your mother, but you also really need the comfort of home. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst, fluff WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One || Two || Three

Wickford, Essex

You had asked Charles and Lando to stay in the car when you pulled into your mother’s driveway but they had ignored your wishes. They had listened to your worries the entire flight and tried to reassure you that the thoughts you had were all the worst possible outcomes, not the likeliest. They reminded you how much your mother loved you and has always been your biggest supporter. Your biggest fear was losing that.

“This isn’t just your responsibility,” Lando said as he took your hand, Charles taking the other. “We got into this together.”

“And we are going to keep doing this together, mon amour.”

The door had opened before you reached the porch and she watched passively and you climbed the steps.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” she asked, knowing you had been replaced but not the reason why.

You shook your head and it opened the dam for the tears you had been trying to hold back the entire drive. Of all the people that had the right to know the news, she was the one you were most afraid to tell. You didn’t want to disappoint her the way her parents had been disappointed when she had you.

“Aw, honey, come here.” She opened her arms for you and like a child you rushed towards the comfort she could offer.

“I fucked up, mum,” you confessed as she squeezed you tighter. You had been taller than her since you were a teenager but in her arms you still felt like a small child and it reminded you of just how unprepared you were to do this for yourself, to be the emotional support for a child relying on you. “You should probably sit down.”

You followed her silently into the living room and Charles closed the door behind. She was getting nervous and you noticed how she straightened the coasters on the coffee table with meticulous care to keep her hands busy.

You felt sick as you sat down beside her and reached into your pocket. Lando and Charles floated in your periphery but neither took a seat, opting to stand close while Lando bit his fingernails before Charles pulled his hand away from his mouth.

“What’s going on, honey? You didn’t get arrested in Qatar, did you?”

“Um, no, but I…here.” She frowned as you unfolded the picture and handed it over. A few seconds passed without a reaction as she stared at the sonogram and you couldn’t handle the silence. “I know you worked your ass off to get me into racing and I’ve always wanted to make you proud and I’m so sorry, mum. I have no seat, no team, no job.”

She placed the picture down on her lap and took your shaking hands, squeezing them until you lifted your head to meet her warm eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry that you were so scared to tell me. I know I probably haven’t painted the greatest picture of motherhood and I’m sorry for that. But you are not me, honey. You may not have a seat, but you do have a team,” she said, nodding her head to Charles and Lando before picking up the photo and placing it in your hands, closing your fingers around it. “And you have the most important job in the world now.”

You wiped away the teardrop that landed on the photo and looked back at her. “You’re not disappointed with me?”

“No, honey, you’ve never disappointed me and you never will. I do wish you could have waited a few more years though.”

“Me too,” you sighed, relaxing back into the couch as the fear and anxiety finally flooded from your body. 

“Why don’t you go lie down, you look exhausted.”

You nodded and held your hands out for Charles to pull you to your feet. “Told you there was nothing to worry about,” he hummed in your ear. 

“I assume you are staying a few days before we head to Austin?”

Lando took your spot on the couch and grabbed the tv remote. “If that’s alright with you. It’s probably better to lay low for a few days.”

“You’re not hiding from Max again, are you?”

Their voices faded as you went to the bedroom and curled up on the bed, patting the space beside you. “Please?”

Charles smiled softly and climbed in, opening his arm so you could scoot up against him and drape one leg over his. “Have I told you how much I love you?” 

“Not in this timezone,” you chuckled, tugging his shirt up so you could play with the happy trail that disappeared into his jeans. “But you are welcome to show me.”

“Chérie, your mum is down the hall,” he groaned as your palm caressed him over the denim.

“It didn’t stop you last time we were here.”

“She wasn’t awake.” He brought your hand back up his body to rest over his heart and kissed your lips. “Later, promise. How are you feeling?”

“Like a weight has been lifted,” you admitted with a small smile. “What about you? How are you so calm about all this?”

Charles stared at the roof remembering the moment he found out you were pregnant, the doctor skipping through the information like he wasn’t just flipping the whole world on its head. He had been too stunned to speak and your hand slipped from yours to slam lifelessly against the metal rails. He wouldn’t tell you that part though and when he recovered from the shock he had picked your hand back up, kissing it softly as he made silent promises to you, and the baby.

“Because I love you, and I love Lando, and I always hoped we would have a family together one day.��

You tipped your head back so you could smile up at him. “One day, you mean, far away.”

The hard pillow beneath your head bounced with his quiet laugh. “Good timing has never been our thing, has it, amour?”

It had taken years of pining for each other before anything actually happened and everyone was single at the same time. “I suppose not. But do you know what this means?”

His hand laid atop yours as you placed it on your stomach. “What?”

“I won the bet.”

You woke to an empty bed and laughter down the hall. Now that you weren’t training there was no reason to rise before the sun and go for a run, you had even managed to out-sleep Lando. Rubbing your bleary eyes, you padded to the dining room to see your baby photos spread out on the table. 

“Charles, spot the difference,” Lando said as he held a photo up beside you and laughed. 

“I can’t, they are the same,” Charles chuckled.

Snatching the picture, you turned it over to reveal a toddler sized version of you in a pair of pyjamas and your hair equally messy. “I’ll remember this when your parents get here,” you threatened as you reached for Charles’ coffee only for him to move it from your reach. “Be nice - I’m pregnant.”

Charles curled his arm around your waist and pulled you onto his knee while Lando disappeared into the kitchen. “I know you are pregnant, which is why there is no more coffee for you.”

“Peppermint or chamomile?”

You resigned yourself to their protective nature and answered Lando over the sound of the kettle boiling. “Peppermint, I guess. Did you really have to bring out the baby album?”

Your mum started to collect the pictures back up and pack them into the storage box they came from. “You were a cute baby, and look at the gene pool - your little one is going to be gorgeous too. Have you decided on a name?”

You wrinkled your nose as a steaming mug of tea was sat down where a strong coffee should have been. “No. Last week I didn’t even know I was pregnant and they can’t even decide if the surname will be Leclerc-Norris or Norris-Leclerc.”

“Alphabetical, of course,” Lando scoffed.

Charles immediately countered him. “Everybody knows it’s age before beauty.”

“And here we go again.” You rolled your eyes and warmed your hands on the mug as a thought made you laugh. “I could really shock the world and go with Verstappen.”

That silenced their argument.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you reassured them as your mother went to make her famous blueberry muffins for later. “What time is everyone getting here?”

You were far more relaxed after breaking the news to your mother now that it came to telling Lando and Charles’ family. The Leclercs were coming from Monaco and the Norris’ were driving from Bristol, and you had quietly hired the local Inn for a few nights to house them all. You knew you could trust Mr Gainsbury to keep quiet about what he heard or saw in the pub that was going to be closed for a ‘private function’. 

Lando checked his phone eagerly to see if there were any updates from his parents or for the flight from Nice. “About 3. Max is on his way too, with Vicky and the boys.”

You still couldn’t believe it was Lando who was the most excited to break the news. Your Lando, who avoided any sense of conflict, was itching to tell not just the family but the world that he was going to be a father. It almost hurt to keep him silent, but he understood why you wanted everything to remain private. 

“This is turning out bigger than Christmas,” you muttered.

“This is more special than Christmas. Christmas happens every year, but this…” you could hear the smile in Charles' words as he cradled your stomach, “is our first child.”

You leant back against him and chuckled when Lando pulled your feet up onto his lap to massage them. “I didn’t know you were so interested in becoming fathers.”

“I didn’t know I wanted a McLaren 720s Spider until I drove one,” Lando smirked. 

“Did you just compare our sweet to a test drive, mon cher?”

Lando realised his mistake and quickly tried to back track as you laughed at the attempts to explain his way out. Finally he gave up and sulked while his massage shifted higher up your calves until he found the sensitive spot behind your knees. A small needy gasp escaped at the work his hands were doing and Charles shifted beneath you at the sound.

“I think we should go for a drive,” he suggested in your ear. 

Your eyes darkened at the offer and you smirked as you wriggled on your seat. “In the SUV with the very, very tinted windows, and the seats that fold down into a bed?”

Charles groaned, lightly slapping your thigh for teasing him. “Oui. That one.”

You raced to the bathroom so you could at least brush your teeth and hair to be semi presentable for the planned park up before changing into a dress and grabbing your purse. Both of them were already at the front door when you turned and called out. “Mum, we’re going shopping, do you want anything while we are out?”

“No, thank you,” she replied from the kitchen. “Have fun.”

Lando and Charles shared a smirk. “We plan to.”

Click here for the next part.

#lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc imagine #ollie answers #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction

[odoraful]

Somnium pt2

zayne finally meets with you again in his dreams, though he is unprepared to face the harsh truth

read part 1 🙇‍♀️ content: dawnbreaker!zayne x reader; a direct continuation from zayne’s anecdote 'still in dark' (spoiler warning); 2.2k words; angst :( reading bgm ♫ It is The Nature of Dreams to End (Julia)

It took a few seconds for Zayne’s brain to register that he should reply to you. 

Stop staring with your mouth agape. Say something. 

The words were lodged in his throat.

You fidgeted with your hair, eyes turned downwards. “Excuse my manners. I should stop addressing you incorrectly and ask for your name.”

Zayne cringed internally. A great start — he now gave the impression that he was deliberately ignoring you for your supposed impoliteness. 

“No, please, it's alright.” The sentence tumbled out of him. “My name is Zayne.” His arms remained glued at his sides. 

“It's the same as his… everything is the same,” you murmured, shaking your head in disbelief. Your brow was in a deep furrow, as if you someone had given you some incalculable equation to solve. He could tell that a million questions were flooding your thoughts right now. 

“If it’s any consolation,” he tried his best to give a reassuring smile, but he felt his lips tremble as he lifted the corners of his mouth, “I also have questions about how we’ve come to meet.”

You raised your head, finally meeting his gaze. In all his dreams with you, he'd never seen such worry on your face. He felt a crushing urge to take you in his arms, smooth a hand over your hair, whisper in your ear that he was here for you, that he was here to protect you. Instead, he squeezed his fists tight.

“Then, should we go somewhere more comfortable and have a talk?” You offered, turning around to face the pavilion suspended on the river. You lifted a hand to shade your eyes. “The sun is too bright to be standing outside.” 

Zayne nodded. It would be too embarrassing for him to say that the golden sunlight targeting you was likely a product of his own subconscious. Moving to your side, the two of you headed towards the bridge leading to the pavilion. As he walked, Zayne relaxed his fists, feeling the sting in his palm from his own digging fingernails.

Your eyes went wide with alarm. “Humans that slowly transform into wanderers? That’s horrifying.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, goosebumps forming on your skin.

Sitting now on the bench that lined the inside of the pavilion, the two of you conversed about your respective worlds. With embarrassment, he mentioned how he dreamt about you since he was 12. You laughed at how shy he was getting, as he turned his head away from yours, not wanting you to see the break in his coolness. When you spoke, he acted as a dutiful listener, despite having already extensively researched the fabled Linkon City. It felt surreal to hear your experience first hand. It made him feel less crazy to hear everything he learned was true. 

“And are there hunters to help control this? To keep everyone safe?” You asked. 

Zayne inhaled a long breath. He looked out past your shoulder at the shimmering river. He turned solemn, his eyes unfocused. 

“I don’t know of anybody in my world who has an evol, as you’ve called it, besides me.” 

He felt no pride in owning this power. It was a burden he shouldered since he was a child. Yet, he understood the gravity of the responsibility forced upon him. If he abandoned this role, what would become of his world? The cards he were dealt gave him a singular purpose in life. 

That was until you entered his life. 

You remained silent, digesting the information he had given and what it implied. Zayne felt acutely aware of every one of his senses. The rhythm of his breaths, the weight of his hands clasped in his lap, the stiffness in his posture. 

“You save people’s lives.”  His eyes shifting back to you, Zayne unexpectedly saw a wistful look on your face. “It reminds me a lot of my Zayne.”

This should have been the part where you condemned him, like everyone else in his world. Called him a monster, a killer, nothing but a story to scare children into behaving well. If he wasn’t mistaken, the faint smile on your face was one of admiration. Never had he seen himself as heroic. Those few words you spoke made him crumple. He placed his head in his hands. Not only that, you said it reminded you of your Zayne. 

He heard the rustle of your dress beside him as you sat closer to him. Your legs almost flush against his. If he leaned barely a millimetre to his right, your arms would touch. 

“I want to know,” he started, finding his voice again. “In the past, you never realised I was someone else. What changed in that last dream?”

Humming in thought, you tapped a finger on your chin. “I’m not too sure about it myself.” You began to chuckle sheepishly.  “I do have a working theory, but I would need to…” Your sentence trailed off. Zayne stared at you, confused. You seemed to shrink under his gaze. 

“Is it alright if I…” Biting your lip, you fidgeted with your fingers. “Touch you?” 

What kind of theory is this? Zayne could never guess your next move. Freely speaking your mind, acting on your first instinct, these were traits so foreign to him. Your unpredictability was something he loved and feared.

“Of- of course,” he blurted out, less composed than he would’ve liked to show. He prayed his cheeks didn’t betray him by turning bright pink. Turning his body towards you, he rested his hands on his thighs, waiting for what you would do. 

You reached a hand and gently cupped his cheek. 

Unable to contain his reaction, Zayne let out a shuddering breath at the contact as he leaned in. The casual affection that was so natural for you to show completely overwhelmed him. As you leaned in, your eyes slowly examined him, moving up and down his face. All Zayne could do was yield under your attention. Despite no words being exchanged, he felt more vulnerable to you than ever before. 

He grasped your hand, holding it against his face. You felt so real. How could his mind conjure something so tangible? The shape of your knuckles, the creases on your fingers, all of it was warm and alive under his cool touch. He was certain that if he touched the underside of your wrist, he would feel your steady pulse. 

“Zayne.” Your voice was a hesitant whisper. “You’re hurting me…” 

Caught up in exhilaration, Zayne didn’t notice how tight his grip had become. Your fingers were being crushed together by his. He immediately released his hold, cursing inwardly at himself. What was he thinking? Your Zayne wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have been so aggressive, so overly emotional. 

“I remember now.” Feeling your breath graze his skin as you spoke, he fought off the urge to shiver. “I started to notice that there was something about your gaze…” Your eyes softened with sympathy. “There’s no warmth to it.”

Your hand trailed down his cheek to his neck. “And when I touch you.” Tingles followed wherever your fingers went. “You tense up everytime.” Emphasising your point, your hand rested on his shoulder, forcing him to relax his muscles. “Almost like you’re scared of me, somehow.”

No, this wasn’t how it was meant to go. He had expected you to say something trivial — his appearance was slightly off, or he had just forgotten to say or do something that was an obvious tell. These were easy fixes for him.

Zayne screwed his eyes shut, defenceless against your pity.

After all these dreams living in snippets as this doctor, this perfect version of himself, he still couldn’t get it right. No matter how well he could copy, from watching all those medical show episodes or tasting as many desserts as his barren world could offer, there were fundamental things about himself he couldn’t change.  

“I-I don’t understand.” He said, strained. He felt like a child again, terrified of making the wrong move. “I thought I did everything right.”

“You did!” You exclaimed. Bringing your other hand to his other shoulder, you gently squeezed them. “You treat me so kindly whenever we met, but my Zayne is the one back in my world, in Linkon.”

Your hands withdrew from his shoulders. “And in any case, this-” You gestured around, “- is just a dream. I might not even remember this exact conversation when I wake up. I don’t think I’m even real in this-”

“Don’t say that.” He snapped. 

His voice seemed to reverberate around the garden. The severity of his tone silenced you instantly. 

Sitting still was too restricting for him now. He ran a hand through his hair, needing to move around. He stood up, nausea swirling at the pit of his stomach. Rubbing his eyes with the edges of his hands, he saw stars in the vision. 

To hell with composure.

“I’ve known you for so, so long.” It was difficult to speak when every word constricted his throat. “Do not tell me that you’re not real because then everything I’ve worked towards would be for nothing.” 

You cocked your head, confused. “Everything you’ve worked towards?”

Sparing himself the shame, he stayed quiet. He wouldn’t tell you how he spent his entire life in a fruitless endeavour to become the person you loved. It was a shattering realisation he arrived at. He was nothing but an imposter, a poor imitation. He could never be your Zayne. Desperation bubbled rapidly within him. The pressure reached a tipping point. 

“You told me before that you’d always stay by my side" His tone wavered, struggling to keep stable between his quickened breaths. "Don’t leave me, please.” He pleaded, face contorting with agony. This loss would be more painful than any Abomination strike to his heart.

Your eyes were downcast, shoulders slumped. “Of course I can meet with you again, but I don’t think I can stay with you forever.” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I’m so, so sorry, Zayne. It- it just doesn’t feel right for some reason.”

The floor of the pavilion swayed under his feet. The tranquillity of the garden felt more like a mockery now than a solace. Why did you have to see through him? Could he have prevented this from happening? Seized by his own racing thoughts, he didn’t even detect you moving towards him. You encircled his waist with your arms and he crumpled into the hug instinctually. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. Nobody would be there to comfort him when he woke up. He’d share his misery with only the birds that nested at his window in the mornings. So, he savoured the feeling of your hand rubbing his back soothingly, letting your warmth consume him.

”Perhaps there’s an equivalent version of me in your world.” He could just hear your voice over the thumping heartbeat in his ears. “If there’s me and my Zayne in Linkon, then shouldn’t there also be someone for you?”  

A version of you? He couldn’t begin to process what you were saying. No one could replace you, it was a ridiculous suggestion. How easily you would brush him aside like this.

He dared to look at your face once more. There was no contempt in your expression like he thought there would be. There was genuine care in your eyes. Of course, you were always the hopeful one. 

“It’s not too late for you to find out who you truly are, Zayne.”

That was the last thing he heard before he was abruptly pulled from you. 

Dreams seldom have satisfying endings to them — bouncing from one scene to the next, blurring beginning, middle, end, and finishing far too soon. And so, like the snapping of thread, he was flung back into the waking world. 

When Zayne awoke from previous dreams, he’d always feel at peace. However, this time he jolted awake, gasping for air. Taking in deep breaths to steady himself, he saw the blankets had been kicked aside onto the floor. Sweat slicked the back of his shirt and beaded down the side of his head. 

Zayne sat up against the bed head, letting his head roll to the side to gaze out the window. The sun was just beginning to rise, the landscape outside diffused by pale blue light. A bird flew up to the sill, hopping curiously on the ledge. It then settled down, legs disappearing into its feathery body. 

He opened the drawer of his bedside table and wearily reached for his journal and pen. With a heavy heart, he scrawled down everything he could recall about the dream. Where he was, what you wore, what you said. The occasional lilting chirp from the bird cut through his pondering.

“Another version of me.”

Could there be someone like you in his world? Someone who would want to spend time with him? He’d never thought to talk to anyone else, he only ever needed you. 

He finished his final sentence, the writing almost unintelligible.

“Who you truly are.” 

When he wasn’t chasing down the person in his head, when he wasn’t trying to be someone else, who was he, truly? 

a/n: thank you for reaching the end xx 🥹 you've hit the surprise author note! i'm putting it here this time cuz i didn't want to detract from the main story with all my yapping at the start! i thought the bgm had a title fitting for my interpretation of dawnbreaker zayne's arc, and it does have the appropriate melancholic vibe to it :') this was my first time writing something longer and angst-ier, so apologies if it reads awkwardly D: i will continue honing my writing! i wish you a lovely day or night <3

#it did hurt a little to write this because i wish only for zayne's happiness in every timeline :'( #but i thought it would be interesting to imagine a different kind of continuation for dawnbreaker zayne! #✏️〰odorawrites #love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #love and deepspace zayne #zayne love and deepspace #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #zayne #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #zayne x you #dawnbreaker

[abbysdruidess]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ��� how abby proposes to you-modern au ♥

wc: 1k

warnings: modern au, marriage proposal, allusions to sex, general fluffy fluff, abby is a lil softie

❦ ok so how did it happen? I imagine you two had been together for a looong time, staying together throughout college and whatnot<3 and let me just say, abby adores you. You're her ray of sunshine, what keeps her up and going most days, she'd travel to hell and back just for you, only for you. Your love is impossible to comprehend, since it is not of physical substance, but you're surrounded by it every day.

❦ it's no wonder then that she wants to marry you sooo badly🥺the lil softie waited until you two settled down a bit, found steady jobs and got your dreamhouse all set up. And so, she stumbles randomly one day on an ad for wedding rings and she's like fuck- because she always daydreamed about the big day, but she never considered it for real since both of you were in college

❦ but now it could not exist merely as a fantasy. And so, she goes on the hunt for a ring that is so very distinctly you-she probably gets your birthstone on it, and engraves your initials on the inside. bby is corny like that<3

❦ of course, she is not used to grand, poetic gestures of love, but she would be damned if she didn't try for you. She wanted to make the proposal an event to remember, so she takes you to a place that means a lot to the both of you-she decided on a small secluded beach that you guys had a lot of date nights together(and lots of fun nights in general ifkyim;))

❦ she packs a picnic basket full of some rosé champagne, a couple of bruschette and a strawberry trifle (your fave<3). She decides to do it in the anniversary of when you guys met, so a special lil event wont seem so meticulously planned

❦ so she drives you both to the beach, as she admires you from the passenger's seat-dressed to the nines, wearing a small dress that accentuates your curves while look at her beaming, eyes gleaming with adoration as you cup her hand over the gear shift<3

❦ once you arrive, you both set off for the little patch of shore, secluded from the world due to the large bushes and uncut grass that separates it from the rest of the world

❦ she sets down a white blanket and motions you to sit with her. You two sit back as you recount previous events from your relationship, gazing at the sunset and enjoying the food.

❦ "you remember that one time when we got drunk at the karaoke bar and did Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing?" "Oh my God, Abby-"

❦ eventually, the sun starts to settle for good, and abby gives you that little smile that goes :] while subconsciously feeling the little box up her cargo's pocket.

❦ to give credit where it is due, she did actually prepare a small speech in the days coming up to today, but once she is there, with you, the pink sky casting a gentle glow over you all of it goes out the fucking window. So it ends up coming off a liiittle unprepared.

❦ "Sweetheart, you know how much you mean to me right? You... you make me want to become a better person everyday. And... I know we're still a little young, but... I know I wanna be with you always."

❦ she starts fumbling for you hand, and you feel her sweaty, clammy palm reaching out while the other hand reaches in her pocket

❦ of course, you know where this is going, and you let out an involuntary squeal. Without her having made the actual proposal, you jump in her lap and start peppering her face with soft, soft smooches, while mumbling yes, yes abby I would love to more than anything.

❦ the box ends up falling next to her on the blanket, while she lies on it dragging you down with her. You end up shedding all of your clothes for some late afternoon delight with you now fiancé-and soon to be wife:))- in the spot you've been so many times with her, a deep celebration and confirmation of your love settling in

❦ afterwards, once you two lie down together snuggling, she slides the ring in your pointer finger while giving it a little kiss, as if sealing it in.

❦ the next day she calls her dad to announce that you said yes!!and of course he is over the moon for her, deeply content that his daughter found a person she wants to devote herself to and who loves her with her whole heart<3

❦ of course, you two have a load of preparations to make-you have to book the venue, decide on the guests, what to wear, the food and soo many other things that will be settled eventually-you know that with Abby on your side, these things will go over easily and you will both adore your final choices❤

#abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby x reader #the last of us 2 #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

What about accidentally sitting on obey me brothers face??

Accidentally Sitting On Their Face | Yandere Obey Me!

Lucifer 

“How in the Devildom did you end up like this?!”

“I don’t want to point fingers but it was-”

“Mammon? I’m going to kill him, just hold tight I’ll get up the steps to get you.”

“No! Agh I’m slipping!”

“(Y/n)!”

He just so happened to find you hanging on the railing of the mansion during their stay in the human world

But the human world has a tendency to make you slow

So it didn’t really occur to him to transform and fly up to you 

All he mustered at the time was catching you himself

He might have miscalculated as you sat firmly on his face

“Ahhh Luci! I’m so sorry!” 

Horrified you spring up 

letting him gain his bearings as he wiped imaginary dust off his pants

“I wished we could save such activities for the bedroom but if you insist.”

He’s usually so composed when you try to tempt him

But your boldness just gets the best of him

“Where are you going, we’re not done here.”

Mammon

“Go ahead (Y/n) just grab as much as you can! I have a whole bag!”

“Okay okay just don’t squeeze too hard!”

If it weren’t for his ultimate goal of getting the mineral deposit he would have been indulging in the intimacy of holding you up

Trying to push yourself up higher you wobbled with a loss of balance

Coming crashing down on the avatar of greed

“Oh, my–Mammon are you okay? Can you breath at all.”

“Mmmm~”

He can’t 

But why would he when he’s deeply focused on suffocating in your scent

He would have never had a chance otherwise

He whines when you lift up from him 

Turning his head when you question the attitude change

When he gets more confident he’ll ask you to do it on purpose

“Come on, lucky charm! It’s for luck in the casino! Don’t you want to give me luck!?”

Satan

It’s all his fault 

This man would sooner murder his brother with a ‘prank’ than clean his room

Even when you decide to actually come to hang out in his room 

It’s a given that you slip while he’s nose-deep in this latest book

Providing the perfect distraction for a demon otherwise too focused to even think about the cleanliness of his room

“Ahh ouch! But of course, I would slip because you don’t clean…Satan?”

“...”

“Why is it so hot down…Ah, Satan!? Are you okay?”

“...Yes, I just…give me a minute…”

He’s spacing out for the rest of the week replaying the moment over and over again

It’s appalling how unprepared for this he is

Practically high on ecstasy for a week

He needs to get himself together if not for your sanity than for his own

“Y-you want me to sit on your face?”

“Yes, this is the perfect form for exposure therapy. So that hopefully next time this should happen I’ll be better able to handle it.”

He never will

Leviathan

Similar scene 

It's dark he leaves a lot of things laying around

And when he’s forcing you to sit in his lap for hours at a time 

When you finally get up your plummeting right back down

Providing Levi with the plush softness of your butt

Now as long as he’s not on a checkpoint who are we kidding he’d be happy even still

“Mmmmmm!”

“Aaaaaaaa!!”

“OmigoshOmigoshOmigoshOmigosh you’re on top of me! I’m in you! Aaahhh this is just like that scene from the Rurichan!!! This is my moment!”

He’s oddly hyped

He takes it as a reward for some of the instant kill missions he’s completed in your name

Rationalizing that you're too wonderful, too mighty to tell him directly

So this is your little way of thanking him

So excuse his forceful behavior when you try to get up

“L-levi you can’t keep doing this! You’ve got to let me go!”

“Nope! I’m reaping the conquest of my grinding…ha ha..in life I mean.”

Asmodeus

“Whoa you almost got it (Y/n)~! Just keep looking~!”

“Is it really far back, I can’t seem to–eh?! Asmo you’re holding the latter right?”

“Huh-uh!”

Totally orchestrates the scenario

He’s been thinking about it for a while 

And cuddling just isn’t doing it for him anymore

Rather he’s looking for some new material to jerk himself off to

He’s very much still into cuddling, he’s just peeved he got caught

“Ooops~!”

“Ah!”

Landing perfectly on his face, Asmo is so pleased he actually did the math for this

He squishes his face into your crevices

Unrefutably sniffing as he holds your shocked self in place

Maybe even a lick or two or twenty

“Ah~Asmodeus! S-stop it! Let me up!”

“Ahh~! I wish I could see your face~but I’m a little busy!”

Beelzebub

“What are you going up there?”

“Dang it Beel, this is my stash! I–whoa!”

“(Y/n)!” He catches you 

But with his face

True to form he doesn’t necessarily pick up on the implication

But he knows one thing 

“Mmmhmhmh!”

“Beel! Don’t try to talk to me just let me-”

“But it smells good here…can I–”

“No Beel! Stop! Let go of my–Ah! Don’t use your teeth!”

He acts like a starving animal trying to get a taste

Either give him a taste or throw him a bone

“I just really like that feeling…I want to feel it again.”

Belphegor

It's known that Belphie sleeps anywhere

Not only that 

He walks in his sleep 

So it isn’t bizarre that he ends up sleeping where you might be sitting

“Oh my gosh, Belphie-? What?”

“Zzzzz stay–zzz”

He’s not letting go 

No matter how hard you pull or try to unhook his fingers 

It makes you wonder if he’s even sleeping at this point

“Oh? (Y/n) what are doing…”

“I accidentally…sat here but then you wouldn’t let me go…but now that your awake can you let me–”

“Nope.”

“What?!”

“I think I’ll turn you around but I’m not letting you go.”

#yandere obey me shall we date #yandere obey me lucifer #yandere obey me: one master to rule them all #yandere obey me x reader #yandere obey me #yandere lucifer obey me #yandere satan #yandere belphegor #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yanderes #yandere #yandere beelzebub #yandere beel #yandere asmodeus #yandere asmodeus x reader #yandere lucifer #yandere leviathan #yandere obey me leviathan #yandere obey me satan #yandere obey me mammon #yandere mammon #yandere mammon x reader

[jpitha]

Always Ready

If you look at the histories, you find that when the Humans joined the war on the side of the K'laxi most of them go "and then with the superior human numbers, the K'laxi and the Humans together were able to bring the Xenni to peace talks and over time relations normalized."

But war is never that cut and dry.

Back when the Humans had just met the K'laxi they linked a few of their smaller starbases around K'laxi colonies. Partly to promote relations and partly because the humans saw the K'laxi planetary defenses and felt bad for them. They could see that the K'laxi were unprepared for the war and were worried that the new friends would be destroyed by this then unknown invader.

As a result of their own histories and possibly something more genetic that came about as a result of the world they came from, humans have a tendency to put weapons on everything. Not only that, but they tend to hide the weapons too. When asked why they hide their weapons they always say something like how they don't want to look intimidating, they just want to be ready.

"Ready for what?" We'd ask.

"We'll know when it's here." They'd reply.

****

At the L2 point of the K'laxi colony world Bishi the Human Starbase Neutral Observer sits. It's a smaller starbase, still larger than a Starjumper, but really is meant for only 300 to 500 full time residents. The AI in charge of Observer works with the Human authorities to scan the system for threats, offer a place for people to rest and connect before either going down to Bishi or linking out to other points. Being that this is a K'laxi colony, there is a Warp Gate nearby. The Humans still prefer to use their own transit methods, but everyone else uses the Gates.

About two months after the Observer was installed:

"Commander!" The Observer pings Commander Vivian Baker who is sitting in the canteen, eating dinner with the captain of the K'laxi ship currently docked with them. "There was activity at the Warp Gate, missiles incoming! Estimated time is 8 minutes."

Vivian is so startled she drops her fork. "What? Announce Action Stations! Unleash the point defense arrays! Do we have any missiles free we can launch to intercept?"

"Intercept solution is being computed now."

"When a solution is found, you have permission to fire. I'll head to the command deck."

"Aye Commander."

Vivian stood. "I'm sorry Captain Falamaan, but I must attend to this. If there are missiles incoming, I recommend that the Unimminen stays inside the docking bay. You don't have a wormhole generator and it looks like the Xenni are launching an attack from the Warp Gate. You are welcome to accompany me and observe if you'd like."

N'ren Falamaan stood as well. "Yes, I would like to observe if I can. I don't wish to get in the way."

Vivian shook her head. "It should be fine. This way please."

Vivian lead her through the Starbase at a quick pace. While the Action Station alarms were sounding overhead they passed humans quickly donning armored pressure suits and opening lockers that N'ren could have sworn weren't there a moment ago and taking out rifles.

"Are you preparing to be boarded?" N'ren asked.

Vivian turned to look at N'ren, surprised. "Yes. We are. How did you know?"

"I was aboard Longview when the Xenni attacked. They lent us their wormhole generator to escape."

"Well then you know more about us than I had anticipated. Do you have any insight?"

"About this specific attack?" N'ren shook her head. "I linked out before I saw how Longview took care of the attackers, I never learned what they did."

Observer piped into their headsets at this point. "Longview fired their Stardrive and played the exhaust over the attacking Xenni ships. They were completely destroyed."

"My Goodness" Vivan said, surprised. "That would do it. Okay then N'ren what do you know about Xenni tactics?"

"They usually begin with a missile barrage, trying to soften defenses. After that, they'll usually come at us with everything they have, bringing a pitched battle. They rely on superior numbers to overwhelm and defeat. With only Neutral Observer here, they will probably try to do the same."

"Hmm. Good." Vivian said. "Observer, did you get those beacons out?"

"I did Commander. They linked away 27 seconds ago."

N'ren flicked her ears, a raised eyebrow, but the Commander missed the body language. "What will beacons do?"

"They're faster than anything we have for getting a message out. We linked them to two secret locations where we can get word that we need help. We just need to hold out until some of the fleet can link in and assist."

They arrived at the command deck. As they walked in the XO saluted and shouted "Commander on Deck." Everyone stood and saluted.

"As you were." Vivian said and sat in the commander's chair. N'ren took a small chair behind and to the side, out of the way. "Status."

"We have a firing solution for the incoming missiles. There are 10 of them. We've fired 5 missiles and the printers are working to make more. Point defenses have been freed and are freely tracking. Main batteries are online, though War Emergency Power has not been declared. The K'laxi have returned to Unimminen and are bunkering down in there. The Human civilians have taken up Civil Defense stations and everyone has reported that they are suited. We can evacuate the air anytime."

Vivian nodded. "Very Good. Neutral Observer? I authorize War Emergency Power for the duration of the attack, and should I become incapacitated I authorize you to repel the invaders, save the crew and protect yourself in that order."

"Aye Commander. War Emergency Power authorized. All fuses and limiters removed."

At that, N'ren's sensitive ears detected a change in the underlying noise of the Starbase. The constant low level hum of the power systems became more of a strained whine, a sound of power barely restrained.

"Neutral Observer? Please configure for defense, release the main, secondary and tertiary batteries, print missiles at will, and do your best to keep the point defense slug throwers filled with ammunition."

"Aye Commander." At that N'ren's sense of balance felt the movement. The entire Starbase was moving, sliding arms, unfolding panels and reconfiguring itself to be more defensible. As she watched on the screen, massive weapon batteries that she had no idea where even in the starbase swung out and locked into position. Within a few minutes, Neutral Observer was bristling with weaponry. It was the most weapons N'ren had ever seen on a ship or starbase anywhere.

"Commander?" N'ren started quietly. "Can...Can all Human Starbases do this?"

"Do what?" Vivian answered while looking at a status screen, not turning to face N'ren.

"Reconfigure themselves into...into such a war machine!"

Vivian turned and looked at the worried K'laxi. Her expression softened. "Yes, N'ren. They can all do this. All human ships are armed and armored in addition to the Starbases."

"But why?" She blurted out. "Up until recently, you thought you were alone in the galaxy!"

"Vivan's face saddened and she turned back to her screen. "Why do you think, N'ren?"

N'ren leaned back with the sudden realization that Humans were used to fighting each other.

A human at a station on the command deck called out "Energy spike from the Warp Gate. Ships incoming."

Vivan turned again to look at N'ren, her expression neutral. "N'ren. Watch, and see what Humans do." She turned back to the screen.

"Fire at will."

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are warriors #humans are space australians #humans and aliens #humans and ai #humans make war #writing #sci fi writing #worldbuilding

[novelconcepts]

Another year, another absurd amount of books read (296, because if I wasn't reading or writing this year, my brain was on fire). I was asked again for my top books of the year, so here we go: 2023's top 10, in no particular order.

This was the first book I read of the year--literally, vacated the hangout with my wife and sibling-in-laws to sit on their couch upstairs and eat through it. Do you love The Fall of the House of Usher, but wish for a nonbinary protagonist and a lot more mushrooms? This is the book for you! (T. Kingfisher is fucking rad, I made a concerted effort to only list ONE of her books on here, but honorable mention goes to The Twisted Ones for fucking me upppp.)

A gay, post-apocolyptic Pinocchio retelling involving copious robots, found family elements, and a cool-ass treehouse. Klune always hits for me with his unrepentant queer family dynamics and sense of humor. Honorable mention to the first two in the Green Creek series (although that's got a lot more...adult elements in among the werewolves, you've been warned).

I thiiiink I found this through The Homo Schedule podcast (PSA: if you missed out on Jasmin Savoy Brown and Liv Hewson doing a podcast together, now you know better), and it wrecked my shit. Tons of trigger warnings, as this is a memoir about abuse within a queer relationship, but it's so beautifully written. I personally suggest listening to the audiobook first, then standing anxiously behind someone at a book warehouse sale, hoping they'll set down the only paperback copy so you can swipe it.

A fantastical-historical reimagining in which the KKK is filled with literal monsters, and Black women are resistance fighters armed to take them out. Visceral and intense, and truly an excellent horror story.

Just. Such a soft time travel story about a daughter and her father and cherishing the time you get with loved ones. I was thoroughly unprepared for how lovely I found this one. It's very kind.

Spooky house, take-no-shit redhead, protective sibling elements, bisexual recluse with a sword who really just needs a nap. I haven't found a Harrow book yet I haven't slapped five stars on. She's so good at character and atmosphere, and I'm always surprised at how fast her stories race by.

The whole Daevabad trilogy (of which this is the first book) is just magical. A girl from the mortal world finds herself embroiled with the centuries-long prejudices and wars of djinn in a fantastical city. It's one of the rare stories of its kind that does have a love triangle, but doesn't feel like a love triangle; it's far less interested in the insufferable "who gets picked" than it is in the actual horrors these people are both perpetrating and coping with. It's an intoxicating ride.

Fuck You, TERFS: the book. Given that fact, there's obviously quite a lot of transphobia to deal with, but it's very clear that those people are wrong, and it's a super-engaging (and super-oh-god-what-comes-next) witchy time populated with queer, protective, interesting characters I'm excited to see again in the follow-up.

Have you ever wanted a haunted house story with visceral imagery and a rather lovely twist? Gailey has you covered. As much as I enjoyed The Echo Wife, I think I actually loved this one more, and it makes me so excited to see what else they've got up their sleeve.

One of my final reads for the year, when I was just churning through hardcovers at the speed of sound. I love this book. I recognize it won't be for everyone, but it takes so much of what I love about IT (one of my all-time favorite books, despite its flaws) and twists it through the lens of an author who escaped the Mormon church. It's horrific, it's fantastically abstract in places, it explores childhood and memory, imagination and abuse, and almost every character is queer. It's a great "I simply cannot sleep until I've finished" read.

#long post #book recs #t kingfisher #tj klune #carmen maria machado #p djeli clark #emma straub #alix e harrow #s.a. chakraborty #juno dawson #sarah gailey #kiersten white #plenty of others could go on this list as well but i figured i'd keep it to ten this time around #still can't believe i read just shy of 300 books in a year #bonus shoutout to the animorphs series all of which is out on audiobook now (the main books anyway) #and which honestly really do hold up well

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Lunch Break

Summary: You give your man a naughty call during your lunch break.

Pairing: Jack Thurlow x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Content Warnings: Pure Smut Bomb 18+!, Heavy On The Mommy Kink Again, Petnames, Phone Sex, Two Horny Idiots Being In Love, Mutual Masturbation, Public Masturbation (Ma'am, this is a KFC parking lot…🤨), Edging, Orgasm Denial, Crying, Praise Kink

A/N: Ofc, this is for all of you but specifically for @crypticsewerslut . Thank you so much for taking the time analyzing my birth chart🖤🖤

Tagging the horny horde:

@quicksilversg1rl @alalalaaallaaalaaa @bvg-w1res @milsthouqhts @amayalul @roryculkinsbf @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste

When I say kinky I don't mean curls

When I say give me, I mean the world

When I say baby you bite your lip

I know exactly where you get your kicks

-Mommy Issues by Cloudy June

With the screen of your phone pressed closely to your face the dial tone filled your ear yet again.

"C'mon, pick up, Jack." You groaned under your breath, your hand flat against your stomach as you shoved your fingers past the waistband of your yoga pants, down to your slip.

Your eyes searched the broad parking lot with care, scanning the concrete premises for other people, possibly coming a bit too close to your car that was parked in the corner, far enough from the busy entrance of a goddamn KFC of all places.

"Thurlow?" His voice sounded through the speaker.

"Hey, babe, are you editing right now?" You asked, breathing a bit shakily.

"Oh, hi! Yeah, the deadline is actually giving me a headache by now. But what's up with you?" The sound of the mouse clicking in the background audible as he asked.

"Do you want straight facts?"

"Hit me with 'em, love." He chuckled at the other end of the line, absolutely innocent and severely unprepared for what was about to come.

"Okay, so, I might just be sitting in my car on my lunch break, parked in a KFC parking lot while I'm fucking horny." It cascaded out of your mouth in a wash of words.

"Fuck…", Jack inhaled sharply, "What are we gonna do about that, mommy?"

The word hit you exactly where he wanted it to and he knew.

"Fuck, indeed.", You subconsciously sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, "I thought, maybe, you could be a good boy for me and help me out with that if you're feeling like it."

"Oh, absolutely, any time, you know that. How can I be a good boy for you right now?" He asked, leaning back in his office chair that was softly creaking in the background.

"You have no idea how much I want to touch you right now if I just could, Jack." You rambled, closing your eyes and fully committing to the situation, the tips of your fingers slipping past the fabric of your panties, "How about you take a little break from editing and touch yourself a bit while telling me what you'd want me to do to you?"

"Damn, mommy. You know how nervous and embarrassed I get about that. Really?" His voice turned breathy, a little tremble in his tone indicating him getting indeed flustered about it.

"I know you can do it, babe. Don't be shy and tell mommy how you want her to touch you." A low moan escaped your mouth as your fingers parted your wet folds in a gentle stroke, working towards your throbbing clit before you slowly started to finger-fuck yourself.

"Okay, I-I'll try to, hold on." Jack's hand reached down to unbutton his jeans, shakily pulling down the zipper and snaking his fingers down his shorts.

At touching himself, a low hiss fell from his lips that went right through you as you imagined how he sat in front of his desktop, leaning back in his chair and jerking himself off while trying to come up with whole sentences.

"Fuck…", Jack whimpered into the mic as he wrapped his hand around his twitching, hard cock, stroking himself gently, "I…I'd like you to kiss me, maybe bite into my neck a little."

"That's cute. What else, babe?" A wide smile played around your mouth whilst you slid down in the driver's seat, slowly but steadily letting go of your slightly anxious composure.

"Please, you know I can't." He sighed with a whiny voice.

"C'mon, I'm sure you can, Jack, use your big boy words for me." You choked back a moan drawing tight circles around your clit.

"Good god.", He groaned a little desperate, "I'd ask you if I could eat you out, mommy. You know how much I love to worship your pretty pussy."

"See? You're such a good boy for me right now. Was it really that hard?" Your imagination was filled with picturing Jack, his cheeks flushed with red in embarrassment.

"Yes, actually." He mewled into the mic and it made you laugh out a little.

"You're so cute when you are all embarrassed and needy, Jack. Now go on." By now it got gradually harder to form a coherent thought, the tightening coil of arousal in your body drawing in all the attention.

"You're mean, mommy." Jack sniffled, the shame and embarrassment being just too much, causing tears to form on the corners of his eyes.

"I know, babe, I know and I'm sorry but I'm so sure that you can push through that, don't you?" Your voice was soft, trying to calm him down, talking him through this a little.

"I don't know. It's so embarrassing." Jack tried to hold back the tears but it was to no use, they ran down his flushed cheeks in a thin, hot stream.

"Just a tiny little bit more for me, okay? I'm almost there…" You gently tried to push him past this limit, knowing that you'd give him all the kisses and aftercare in the world the second you ended your workday.

"O-Okay…I…I..", His breathing hitched as you heard how he picked up the pace, fitting his cock faster and harder, "I want you to fuck me so so bad, mommy."

"I will, babe. You're doing so good, I'm so proud of you…oh, fuck!" In an explosive rush of bliss your brain short-circuited and a deep moan echoed through the inside of your car as you came with your hand down your yoga pants.

Trying to hold down your convulsing composure, you pushed your back into the seat, breathing heavily.

"Stop." You stated bluntly into the phone.

"What?!?" Jack whimpered in confusion.

"I want you to stop, Jack. You're not going to cum now." You slowly pulled your hand back and wiped your fingers on the fabric of the seat.

"No, please, please, mommy. Pretty please." He begged and yet you heard how he let go of his cock, the pre-cum covered tip slapping against his stomach with a wet thud.

"I know, I know but I want you to keep that hard on until I get off work, babe. I want you to edge yourself until I'm back home and then I'm gonna ride you on that office chair until we both are sore. I promise." With that you pulled the phone from your ear and ended the call.

Still trying to catch your breath, you looked at the clock and noticed that you had to get back to work right about now. You were running late already.

#rory culkin #jack thurlow x reader #jack thurlow smut #jack thurlow × you #jack thurlow x fem!reader #jack thurlow #jack goes home

[meanbossart]

ASK TIME, sorry for the delay!

What's more serious than two men glistening under the sun smashing balls together in a grease pit (thank you also!)

I'll be honest with you guys, sometimes I don't know if I SHOULD answer to these because, well, It must come across as trite after a point to keep expressing my gratitude over and over, but I can't just leave them sitting in the inbox either. I'm so flattered by every single word of encouragement and compliment I get on my art, characters, or writing, the fact you guys who are strangers to me as I am to you decide to take the time to give me a little pat on the back or leave me a funny message is just incredibly sweet. So, thank you so much - the amount of messages can be a little overwhelming so please just know that even If I don't reply, I read it, and it put a smile on my face.

Thank you for checking out Sad Sack and our comics! Hopefully it wasn't too shocking an experience considering how I've since become an Elves Holding Hands And Bullying Wizards kind of artist LOL Not that me and barbatus don't have more work in that genre we plan to do (though admittedly nothing that comes close to the level of brutality in Sad Sack), but YOU KNOW... I realize that, if people found my ASS GRAB COMIC to be scandalous then me and my partner's comics might just put someone in the hospital if they were to stumble across it unprepared lmao

I'm glad to hear the experience was overall a net positive though, and ESPECIALLY that it inspired you to pursue your own projects! I definitely second the sentiment that the least that we (We as in people who were in the dumb edgy circles you described when we were younger) can do with all that bullshit we exposed ourselves to is to try and kindle some creative flame out of it, within reason, of course.

If you ever finish this comic you're thinking of working on, please link it my way if you are comfortable with doing so! I would love to see it.

BONUS:

Guys I have like 3 messages asking if I played fear and hunger. It's okay, you aren't obligated to have read every single thing I ever posted to find out I literally have a F&H tattoo, that doesn't bother me, I just wanna ask, sincerely, why does that come up so often. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY TO ME. DO I EMANATE FEAR AND HUNGER ENERGY. DOES IT SEEP OUT MY PORES ONTO MY OILY FINGERTIPS OVER THE KEYS OF THIS KEYBOARD AND ACROSS THE WORLD WIDE WEB? WHAT'S GOING ON.

#ask

[baronessblixen]

Prompt? Mulder and Scully pick out baby furniture and later talk about baby names? Or one or the other, I'm happy either way! 🙈

Look who's answering a five-year-old prompt! I think this was supposed to be about the new baby, but I wrote about William instead.

Fluff, set after "Alone": With Mulder being unemployed, and Scully on maternity leave, they spend their time thinking about furniture, baby names, and all the ways their lives will change. (wc: 1,378)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 14: Preparation is Everything

Fox Mulder is a new man.

His naked body is still adorned with pale scars, but they’re healing, slowly fading away. Soon, they will be gone, and with them the only proof of what he went through. How many people can claim to have come back from the death? Mulder doesn’t even want to know.

The other day, Scully left a pamphlet for group therapy on his coffee table. His first instinct was to throw it into the trash, but then he reconsidered. Scully isn’t pushing him. No one is. They’re all just glad he’s back among the living. Well, most of them. He bets that Kersh can’t wait for him to die for real. That feeling, he realizes, is mutual.

When he stood in front of Kersh's desk, his former boss barely able to contain his glee, he was ready to fight. To defend himself and go on another rampage. That feeling lasted all of five seconds. Not worth it, a voice inside him whispered. He thought of Scully, and the baby, and knew that they were the only thing that mattered to him now. They didn’t need him jumping off oil rigs. He’s caused Scully seven years of grief and he was done. Enough was enough. Someone else could take over the X-Files. He may not trust Doggett yet, but Scully does. And when Scully trusts someone, he knows they’re good people.

So, he’s Fox Mulder now. Just Fox Mulder. Unemployed bum, spending time at his partner’s apartment whenever she lets him, and trying to figure out what to do next.

“What are you doing?” Mulder asks as he steps into the living room where Scully sits on the couch, engrossed in a colorful catalog.

“Looking at baby furniture,” she replies with a sigh.

“I thought- I thought you already had everything.”

“I thought I’d have more time,” she admits sheepishly, biting her lip. Seeing his Scully unprepared for anything just makes him love her more. But he knows better than to tease her.

“Well, you’re in luck,” Mulder says, sitting down next to her. “We both have plenty of time. With me being fired, and you on maternity leave, we have all the time in the world. Let’s go shopping.”

“Mulder, we have the catalog.” She points at a crib with a smiling baby inside of it. Mulder thinks it looks a bit like an alien. “We can order everything we need.”

“Or,” he says, drawing the word out. “We can go into a store and pick things out.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I don’t want the kid to sleep in a thing that looks like this.” He points at the ugliest crib he’s ever seen. “$1000? Does it come with the whole apartment? Come on, Scully. It’s going to be a nice trip to Babies'R'Us.”

*

“Does no one work anymore?” Mulder mumbles as he and Scully step into the crowded baby store. There are squeaky bright colors everywhere and Mulder doesn’t know where to start. He keeps close to Scully’s side, but she, too, seems overwhelmed by the sheer size of this place.

“Wish you were hunting monsters instead?” he asks Scully and she gives him a small smile.

“At least we have experience with that.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Mulder assures her. “Look, that’s the baby section. Let’s start there.”

In the end, it’s not as difficult as either of them thought it would be. It doesn’t take them long to find the essentials. They both fall in love with the same crib and Mulder gets so excited that he kisses her quickly and noisily in front of another family, not caring at all.

“Mulder.” Her cheeks are coloring and she’s looking around nervously. Old habits die hard.

“I doubt we’ll run into Skinner or Kersh here, Scully. Or anyone we know. Either way, we’re not working together anymore, are we?” The realization hits him that he’s telling the truth. As of right now, they’re no longer work partners. There’s nothing holding them together. He’s not even FBI anymore.

“Are you all right?” Scully touches his chest.

“I’m- I just realized that we’re no longer partners.”

“Are you leaving me?” There’s no worry in her voice, but rather amusement.

“You know what I mean.”

“Mulder, we don’t need to be working together in the basement to be partners. You know that, right? We are partners in this.” She takes his hand and puts it on her stomach. “Unless you-”

“Oh, I want. I’m all in, Scully. I hope you know that?” She nods, and he sees a few tears pool in the corner of her eyes. He almost ruined another moment with his insecurities.

“Do you think we have everything we need for now?”

“You’re tired,” Mulder states and she doesn’t deny it.

“And hungry,” she says with an apologetic smile.

“We’ll get you and Junior something to eat. Let’s get out of here.”

*

Their baby is a pizza lover. They may not know much about their child yet, but they do know that. Mulder watches Scully happily lick her fingers clean after eating a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza and thinks he might even be a little turned out by her enjoyment of it.

“Happy now?” he asks her, unable to hide his own happiness.

“Very much so. I just- I need to get comfortable.” She’s half sitting, half lying on the couch, and watching him with curious eyes. She’s been doing that a lot lately. Who can blame her? After all, she had to bury him. Had to try and make peace with him being gone and having to do all of this on her own. He doesn’t want to think about missing all of this. He’s missed so much already. The moment she found out. The morning sickness. Her growing belly. He missed all of it. He can only try to make up for all of it now. But they will never get that time back.

“Mulder, stop,” she says gently, a hand on his thigh. “I can feel you thinking.”

“Can you?” he asks with a sad smile.

“I wish I could turn back the time and-”

“None of this is your fault, Scully.”

“It’s not your fault either.”

“Debatable.”

“Not debatable,” she says firmly. “You’re here now and it’s everything- Mulder, it’s everything.”

“You know you’ll see a lot of me now, right? With me being out of a job. I need to- I will find something. We can’t let Junior think I’m some kind of slob.”

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” Scully whispers as if she were sharing a secret.

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” She winks at him and they both laugh softly. A truce.

“Have you thought about names for Junior?” Mulder asks as Scully snuggles into his side. He puts his arm around her and, a bit more hesitantly, lets his hand wander to her stomach. What a miracle they’ve created together.

“I have a few ideas. What about you?”

“It’s your decision.”

“Mulder.”

“No, I think you should decide. I’ll veto if it’s something like… Nimrod.”

“Too bad. That was my favorite.” She grins up at him. “I was thinking about all the people we lost. Samantha and Melissa. We could pick something similar to that, to honor them. Or give them a name with no memories attached. Give them a fresh start.”

“They deserve a fresh start.” Mulder kisses her temple.

“All of us do,” Scully says, putting her hand on top of Mulder’s on her stomach. “We’ll know what to call him when we see him.”

“Him?” Mulder asks.

“Or her.”

“You know,” Mulder says, closing his eyes, and letting his imagination take over. “I think our child is going to change the world. Save it even, maybe. They’re going to do great things.” He can see it. Can see their child grow up from baby to child, to teenager and adult. He can’t wait to be there and watch every single step they take. Holding their hand if they need him to.

“I think you’re right, Mulder,” Scully says.

“You hear that, baby?” Mulder presses his ear to her stomach, murmuring the words against the fabric of her shirt. “Your mom just said I’m right.”

#fictober23 #so proud of myself seriously #not the oldest prompt i might add #i was *this* close to writing angst #ohhh and i will #but you get fluff today #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

The Leather Jumpsuit

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: Yes! - anon

Prompt: As a fashion designer, you work with Steve and Bones when they decide to take on Elvis’ comeback show. Sparks fly between you and Elviswhile they plan the show.

TW: None!

Rating: Pg-13     ||     Word Count: 3899

A/N: Idk how to write short fics anymore apparently...send help...or more requests 💕

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You're sitting in the dressing room, sketching the flare on a pair of leather pants when you hear voices down the hall.

“Alright now, Elvis, we’re hoping that you can channel your old self through the costumes you wear for the special…”

You recognize the voice immediately as Steve Binder’s. It gets louder as he approaches and comes into the dressing room. You nervously stand up when he enters with Bones Howe and the Elvis Presley. You intertwine your fingers behind your back to calm yourself. You’d never let anyone know it, but you are a massive Elvis fan. You’ve followed along on his journey since he was back singing in Memphis clubs. You hold out a hand.

“Hi, nice to meet you, Mr. Presley. I’m Y/N, and I’ll be handling your costumes for the special,” you say, gesturing him into the dressing room.

“Elvis, you won’t find a better, more meticulous designer anywhere in the world. Y/N is the best,” Steve say, and you thank him quietly. You refuse to flush, even though his compliment draws far too much attention to you.

“Very nice to meet ya,” Elvis responds, and you work hard to hide your shock at his deep voice. Of course you've heard it on the radio, but you are totally unprepared for how deep it really is. You say thank you to Steve and Bones and get straight to work as soon as they’d left.

“So, Mr. Presley-”

“Elvis, please,” he interrupts.

“I don’t refer to any clients by their first name-”

“Even if they ask you to?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“Especially not if they ask me to. Now, Mr. Presley, Steve and Bones tell me that you’re trying to reconnect with who you really are?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the goal.”

“Big goal. It won’t be easy, but I think I can help you. It may not seem like it, but clothes are a huge part of who we are. They help us express what’s inside of us to other people,” you say. “We can also work backward to figure out what is inside of us that we’re reflecting on the outside through our clothes. So, I’ve pulled some of your looks from previous concerts, performances, shows, etcetera, and I figured we could use that to dig deep into what you actually want the final product to look like.”

“You really got this all figured out, don’t ya?”

“I come prepared to my meetings, Mr. Presley.”

“I like a girl who’s well-prepared,” he responds and you bury a creeping smile.

“But before we deal with style, let’s focus on the fabric. That will help us narrow some things down. So, what are you looking for? What kinds of fabrics do you like? What kinds do you hate?”

He doesn't say anything right away but rubs his fingers over his chin. The way his eyebrows furrow tell you he's deep in thought. After a few moments, you speak up.

“So…” you prompt him. “What do you want to wear? You can give me anything to start with.”

He glances up at the colored drawings you have taped up on the wall, but says nothing.

“Well, we know you’re not wearing a Christmas sweater, that’s for damn sure,” you say, shaking your head. “I think you should wear what you want to wear, but until you can decide what you really want we can’t make any decisions. So, if you’re still unsure, maybe we should jus-”

“I’m thinkin somethin unforgiving, badass, almost like…armor,” he cuts you off, that pensive look still creasing his features. You nod.

“If you want unforgiving, Mr. Presley, then you want leather,” you respond, starting to dig through your fabric samples.

“Leather? Why’s that?”

“Well,” you say, smiling when you find that scrap of Italian leather that you’ve been keeping for something special,” it’s unbearably hot, almost impossible to move in, and puts all your worst angles on display for everyone to judge.”

You hold the black strip of fabric up next to his face and nod.

“It’s about as unforgiving as you’re going to get in terms of fashion. And I do have to say, this Italian black leather looks magnificent on your skin tone.”

“Is this the kinda leather that would upset fine, upstandin white gentleman?” he asks, examining the sample. You laugh.

“Oh yes, sir. This is the kind of leather that would upset your own mother if she saw you wearing it,” you say.

“Steve and Bones were sayin somethin about a leather jacket…”

“Hm…” you glance back at some of the drawings of his previous looks and a thought occurred to you. “Just a jacket?”

“What are you thinkin in that genius brain of yours?” he asks.

You smile, imagining the entire look in your head and then on Elvis’ body. You have become obsessed with drawing him. Something about his body draws you to it, and you want to explore all its shapes and lines. You feel like you know him somehow through your drawings. And the way he dresses is so fashion-forward that it inspires the designer in you. You literally have mountains of ideas of how to dress him. You would be mortified if anyone found it, but somewhere in the room, there's a binder stuffed full of papers and scraps of parchment with drawings and sketches of potential outfits on them.

You know that you can pull one of these out and it will work for the special, but once Steve and Bones told you how much Elvis needs this concert, you had decided none of your previous designs are quite right. No, this performance needs something entirely unique, different, and attention-grabbing. It needs to invite people in, demand their attention, and make a statement that can't be ignored. You have the perfect solution.

“I’m thinking full leather. Everything leather. A whole jumpsuit, with a jacket and pants,” you say, searching for your drawing pad. Snatching it up and flipping to a new page, you scribble furiously. In just a few moments, you have a fully rendered design with startling accuracy.

“Yes!” you shout. “What do you think, Mr. Presley? I think this could be perfect. It is badass and strong. It commands attention and sustains it. It makes people look at you and accept you for who you are. It’s something you can’t ignore.”

He's looking intently at the drawing as you pace around the room with your excited arms flailing wildly. He looks up at you with a smile.

“How did you do that so fast?” he asks.

“You like it?”

“It’s perfect. This is exactly what I need to get my message across.”

“Excellent. Well If I can get started on it tonight then I should be able to finish it in two…maybe three weeks? That should give us enough time for a fitting and then alterations,” you are mumbling to yourself and jotting down notes on a different notepad.

“These are amazin, Y/N…” he mutters, and you turn to see him examining the drawings you have pinned up on the cork board. “The detail, the shading…me. Everything’s so realistic.”

“Thank you,” you say dryly, hoping to throw him off your tail. You will be mortified if he knows how obsessed with him you were, and you nervously glance toward the binder that is tucked away in a stack of shelves.

“How would you feel about bein my permanent designer?” he asks, and you nearly drop everything you're holding.

“What?”

“My permanent personal designer. These are all exactly what I’m lookin for.”

“Oh, I don’t know. What if you decided to go in a different aesthetic direction? Then I’d be no good to you,” you respond, banishing the thought of being so close to him every day. You can't take an opportunity like that without something going wrong. It's too good to be true.

“We could adapt, you and I,” he says, pulling down another design to examine it. You glance at him and shake your head.

“No…no I couldn’t.”

“Elvis, you’re needed for the ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ rehearsal,” one of the stage managers shouts into the room.

Elvis sighs and groans, stacking up the designs and gently placing them on a table near you.

He grabs your arms and turn you to face him.

“Please think about it, wontcha? For me?” he asks, and you look into his eyes for the first time. He is truly gorgeous, and you feel totally overwhelmed.

“Alright. I’ll consider it.”

He smiles.

“Good. Cause I really, really want you around,” he says, and his eyes flick to your lips.

You can't bring yourself to say anything and before you regain consciousness, he's out the door. You sat down. What did he mean by that? You were sure it was just your fangirl heart exaggerating scenarios in your head, but what if he genuinely liked you? He said he wanted you around…no he really, really wanted you around. Whatever the outcome, you knew that this jumpsuit was about to be the most beautiful piece of fashion that ever existed.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

The next two weeks pass fairly uneventfully. Well, for you, at least. The Colonel has everyone going crazy trying to prepare for the Christmas special, and you are caught up in sewing sweaters and elf costumes all day. In your free time, which is rare, you're able to work on the leather jumpsuit. But most days, you find yourself huddled over the difficult fabric with a desk lamp, well after everyone else has left the building.

After the idea session, you'd seen Elvis every day. You collaborated, traded ideas, and made changes. Your passions combined and animated you both. He constantly complimented you and always left you with a smile.

But toward the end of the two weeks, he's started to disappear and you barely see him at all. Each day that goes by without seeing his face makes you more depressed and less sure that he's actually interested in you at all.

Nevertheless, you're pouring your heart and soul into the jumpsuit. All the love and admiration you feel for Elvis will be visible on this garment, whether you mean it or not.

One night you're working incredibly late, and your eyes are starting to stick together with sleep. You are, as you have been so many nights recently, hovering over the leather jacket, tediously hand-stitching a difficult and unique pattern that you had learned from your mother a long time ago. You could have used the sewing machine, but hand-stitched always looks better. And you know that no other garment in the world will have the same stitches that this one does. Your back ache and fingers are sore, but you keep sewing. You’ve made a deal with yourself to have at least the jacket finished tonight, and you are getting so close. It's some time past midnight, you’ve lost track, when a voice startles you.

“What the hell are you still doin here?”

You jump, accidentally stabbing your finger with the needle. When you jerk to face the door, your ankle hits something heavy and whatever it is falls to the ground with a bang. Your hand flies to your chest, and you release a breath when you see Elvis standing in the doorway.

“Ouch,” you mutter. “Mr. Presley, you scared me.”

You put the back of your hand up to your head.

“Woah, what happened?” he asks, coming closer to you. You stare at him, confused for a moment before he takes your hand and you realize what he's seen.

“Oh it’s nothing. I just stabbed myself by accident. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before,” you reply. But when you try to pull your hand away from him, he won't let you. He grabs a piece of red cloth from the table nearby.

“Is this expensive?” he asks. You shake your head with a smile.

“No. It’s cheap cotton, about $1.50 per yard,” you respond, and he dabs it onto your finger. For whatever reason, your finger continues to bleed - not a lot but enough that the crap cotton isn't cutting it.

“Damn, this is cheap,” he says, and you chuckle. He throws the cotton onto the floor and raises your finger to his mouth. You grip onto the seat to keep yourself from falling out as he pops it into his mouth. You allow that much but when his tongue touches your finger, you pull it back and wipe it off on your clothes.

“Thanks, Mr. Presley,” you say and gulp.

“Please call me Elvis,” he says. “I think we’ve spent enough time together for that.”

“Well thank you, Elvis.”

Silence settles and as you're gathering yourself back together, he leans down to pick something up. It's a small square scrap of paper. As soon as he holds it up into the light, you know exactly what it is: you'd drawn a close-up of his face, but it isn't just any drawing. It's like a photograph. The colors, the shapes, everything is exactly where it's supposed to be and exactly the right size and shade. It's a drawing that only someone deeply in love — enough to notice the smallest of details — could have made. You think about ripping it back. But it's too late, he’s already seen it.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” you say nervously. “Sometimes to get to know my subjects better I do more in-depth drawings of what they look like. It helps me envision the outfits on them.”

He sits down across from you and nods slowly. His expression is a mixture of confusion and at least five other emotions that you can't place. You close your eyes, waiting for him to yell at you, fire you, or otherwise destroy your life. But you don't hear any harsh words. Or any words at all. Instead, you hear him pick up the binder and start to flip through it. You keep your eyes closed, not brave enough to confront the damage your clumsiness has done.

“You sure do have a lot of me…” he mumbles, and your eyes fly open. “And they’re all…”

You brace yourself.

“Incredible. Just amazing,” he whispers, and you release the breath you’ve been holding. “I’ve never seen anythin like it. I mean it’s a dead ringer for me.”

He holds up one of your drawings next to his face, and you laugh nervously. He puts the binder down and peers over at the jacket.

“And this,” he says, reaching for it. He pauses and looks to you, “Can I pick it up?”

“Yes, Elvis.”

He lifts it and holds it up to his chest, looking into the mirror. He doesn't finish his sentence and just shakes his head in disbelief.

“Do you wanna try it on?” you ask sheepishly. He whirls around.

“Can I?”

You laugh, nodding.

“I’ll get the pants. I’ve had to keep hiding them so nobody tattled on us, but I’ll carefully iron it before the actual show so it-”

You stop short when you turn around. He's shirtless already and is unzipping his pants.

“Will look brand new,” you quickly finish your sentence. You bring him the pants and then turn your back to cover your eyes.

“What are ya doin?” he asks.

“Well, you’re changing…”

“I’m not embarrassed. You can look,” he says, and you don't know what to do. If you had any self respect, you wouldn't have turned. But, the shameless side gets the best of you. When will you ever have this opportunity again?

You slowly turn and raise your eyes. He's mostly dressed; the pants are on, although unbuttoned, and he's pulling the leather jacket over his shoulders. He seems to be struggling, so you approach and help him pull the jacket all the way on. Your fingers accidentally brush his hairy chest, and you apologize.

“Don’t apologize, baby. I don’t mind,” he says, and you take a deep breath.

“Well, that’s probably good, because the pants definitely need some work,” you reply, trying to shrug off your butterflies.

He gets up onto the pedestal in the middle of the room and turns from side to side in the mirror.

“How does it feel?” you ask.

“Like home,” he responds. “Like me.”

“It looks damn good on you, Elvis,” you add. “I think it’ll be a real hit. But we’ll have to take the hem in a little here…”

You trail off and get lost in your thoughts. Before you know it, you're squeezing parts of his legs and feeling him up. When you realize what you're doing, you jump back and mutter an excuse me.

“Honey, you can keep doin that as long as you want,” he says with a smirk, and this time you can't contain your embarrassment.

“Oh believe me, it would be my pleasure,” you say in a joking tone.

You look up at him with a smile, which fades quickly when you see how he's looking at you. He's bent over, inches away from your face, staring directly at your lips. You clear your throat and tilt your head all the way up so that you're even closer to him. His finger finds its way to your chin, and he pulls you up for a kiss. You accept his lips timidly, and the kiss is only a short, sweet peck. When you part, he disappears from you. You open your eyes, and he's already putting his street clothes back on.

“It’s late,” he says, “I’ll drive ya home.”

Neither of you say anything to each other for the rest of the night. You pack up quietly and he drives you in silence to your house. When you get there, you mutter a quiet thanks and get out. He waves and then drives off, leaving you standing in the driveway.

When you go inside for bed, you throw yourself under the covers and try not to cry. You’ve screwed up. Something you did was wrong. You had an opportunity and you messed it up. You keep most of your tears at bay, although a few do fall before you fall asleep.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

The next week is even busier than the previous two. You get to work on the alterations for the jumpsuit and still keep up the Santa Claus act on the side. You don't spend any more late nights at the studio. Whether it's because you're embarrassed or afraid to confront him, you aren't sure. But you take the jumpsuit home with you and work on it in the garage.

The day before the show, you finish the last stitch. You really want Elvis to try it on again to make sure everything will fit perfectly, but you can't ever find him and everyone in the building always needs him for this or that. You give up after an hour of timid searching.

You stay around a little after hours to see if he’d be around, but when the lighting director tells you Elvis had left hours ago, you angrily throw your things together and head out.

How dare he, you think. How dare he treat me like this and then ignore me for a week. Well, he can’t avoid me tomorrow. He has to put the suit on, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle it.

You sleep horribly that night and wake up with a headache in the morning. Still, you wear your most attractive outfit and show up to work fifteen minutes early. You're ironing the pants when the King himself walks in.

“I’m here for my fittin,” he says dryly.

“Right this way, Mr. Presley,” you spit out the words without turning to look at him.

He steps on the pedestal and you finish the last bit of ironing. You bring the pants over first, even though they're still warm. You hand them over, and he shakes his hand.

“Ah, damn it’s hot,” he says.

“Oops,” you reply, feigning absentmindedness.

Once he has the pants on, you help him pull the jacket on and zip it up. You want to be forceful and angry with every movement, but this jumpsuit is your pride and joy. You aren't about to ruin that. You avoid his eyes the entire time. When you're finished dressing him, you turn away without a single word, but he catches your arm.

“Where do you get off not talkin to me?” he asks. “And callin me Mr. Presley. I thought we moved past that.”

You yank your wrist away.

“And I thought we’d moved past being children a long time ago,” you respond, still refusing to look at him.

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You stay silent, wanting to make him suffer for a minute. He stomps off the platform and grabs your arm again.

“What the hell does that mean?” he repeats, and you shake him off again.

“Ignoring me? After you stood here and flirted with me, and kissed me, and sucked on my goddamn finger? How dare you,” you hiss back.

“I haven’t been-! Ugh!” he sbouts and then take a deep breath. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was leavin you alone cause I thought you weren't interested.”

“Not interested?!” you yell. “How the hell could you think I wasn’t interested? I draw you nonstop. I think about you all the time. I’ve devoted every goddamn waking moment of the last month that I possibly could to make your stupid jumpsuit. I’ve put real blood, sweat, and tears into this. And when you kissed me I was the happiest I’ve ever been! But you had to ruin it, didn’t you?!”

You whirl around to hide the fact that tears are falling down your face. A few moments of silence pass before you feel his hand gently pulling your shoulder. You try to resist, but he's too strong. You won't meet his eyes and are too proud to wipe your own tears. His calloused fingers gently swipe the falling drops from your cheekbones and you huff.

“I’ve been so stupid,” he says quietly. “You’re right…I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N. I just didn’t think you wanted me cause when we kissed you…well you gave me nothin.”

“I was too shocked to move,” you whisper. “I didn’t ever expect in my life that Elvis Presley would want to kiss me. Little old me.”

A moment of silence passes.

“Well, Elvis Presley would like to kiss you again now, if that’s aright?”

You turn to face him and see the sincerity in his eyes. You nod slowly. He gently guides your face and lips to his and gives you a tender, long kiss. You make sure to kiss him back this time, not wanting to make the same mistake twice. This time when you pull back, you both smile.

“Elvis, the show starts in a few minutes,” one of the stage managers interrupts. “The Colonel wants you to get out there now.”

“I gotta go. One more kiss for good luck?” he asks. You shake your head but kiss him anyway. You pull back faster than he's ready for.

“You can get the rest of it when you come back. Now go out there and make my leather suit your bitch,” you say. He laughs, kisses your cheek, and runs out to the stage.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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[atopvisenyashill]

what do u think of ned and sansa’s relationship?

sorry this took so long, i wasn't sure how to lay it out because i didn't just want to word vomit all over lol.

i think it's a great depiction of grief and trauma "dripping through" so to speak (to steal a succession line) from a parent to their child. ned and sansa are similar in many ways (in fact, I'd argue that Sansa is the most like Ned) and you can see clearly that Sansa gets her outlook on life and society more so from her father than her mother. While Cat is much less trusting, much more forceful, and incredibly emotional, Ned has a much more romanticized idea of the world. He makes many of the same mistakes that Sansa does, as a matter of fact -

they both trust Littlefinger despite the warning signs because they both feel they have no other option and no allies to rely on, so this shady guy obsessed with Cat is the least noxious option (in their eyes)

they both have this idealistic image of a Baratheon that is tied more to reputations and romanticism than in that particular man's personality - Ned should realize that he can't rely on Robert literally the moment Robert refuses to step in to protect Lady but keeps deluding himself because Robert the Hero, Robert the King, Robert the Foster Brother, is this larger than life image he has in his mind. Meanwhile, Joffrey is...Joffrey and Sansa overlooks and romanticizes this because The Chivalrous Prince is this idea that is all powerful in her head.

they both think around a subject rather than face it head on. I detailed an example of this here but there's literally dozens of examples in both of their narratives. it's this commonality that I find particularly interesting; it's not just that they're very indirect people but that when faced with trauma, both of them double down on avoiding their trauma to cope with it.

in particular, they both do this wrt a younger sister which is even more fascinating in my opinion - so easy to have Ned think more often around Brandon but instead it's Lyanna he Does Not Obsess Over, and it's Lyanna he compares Sansa to (even though they likely look nothing alike). Later, it would be easy to have Sansa think more about her brothers but again, it's Arya she Does Not Obsess Over, and we know Arya likely resembles Lyanna to a point. Just something really fascinating there, that the relationship they are most troubled by is one with a little sister.

and in that vein, both of them will romanticize their own trauma to cope with it. we see this obviously with sansa and the Unkiss but I think it's present in his thoughts of the Tower of Joy as well. his fever dream in eddard x is steeped in fantasy imagery, with his companions as faceless wraiths, a "storm of rose petals" streaking across the red sky. he does this with rhaegar as well in my opinion - when he does think of rhaegar the man (and not just of his children) he has this image of Rhaegar as a chivalrous sort of man who no one can really measure up to and yet he never explicitly thinks anything positive about Rhaegar. once again, sort of romanticizing his idea of someone, like Sansa does with Sandor.

both of them are incredibly self conscious about how they're perceived - Ned thinks about his father and brother as being "born" to rule, is very aware that people see him as kind of an idiot, and Sansa is equally worried that people will see her as "silly" or simple. It seems very tied to their roles as the "girlson" - Sansa as the eldest daughter who must make an illustrious match and live up to that expectation of her and Ned as the second son stepping in to fill a role he feels unprepared to take.

despite some paternalism about the poor (Ned sitting a man with him every night while also kind of purposefully distancing himself to be The Benevolent Father of Winterfell and Sansa's out of pocket but realistic comments about Jeyne and Mya's marriage prospects), they clearly care about the common or low born people they live with - I think Sansa's grief (and purposeful Thinking Around) over Jeyne Poole going missing and her insistence that Jeyne's father is safe speaks to her affection for the Pooles just as Ned's fixation on Jory Cassel being murdered by Jaime also speaks to his affection for the Cassels. And just from an audience PoV, I think it really underlines Ned and Sansa's horror over the situation that Ned is traumatized by Jory's death at the hands of the Lannisters, and Sansa thinks over a year later about "poor Jeyne Poole" and her disappearance (due to the Lannisters, though she's ultimately sold by LF)

And then there's the emotional distance between them, that I think is really compounded by his trauma over Lyanna and Sansa's age -

Ned ultimately learns the wrong lesson from Lyanna's death. He doesn't learn "women shouldn't be given so few options and should be allowed control over their lives" he learns "if i protect the women i love from the evils of this world and give them freedom when they're young, they'll be happier" and that's just. Oh Ned.

But that "lesson" is really obvious in how he treats Sansa - he keeps her in the dark while putting her in a dangerous situation, because he doesn't want her to be involved in the same politics that killed Lyanna even as he's actively involving her in those politics. His first thoughts about Sansa in the book are that she's too young to be engaged to Joffrey! He does not want to let her go out into the big bad world and he thinks simply keeping the bad stuff from her mind is how he'll save her.

The Lady situation I think is what really damages their relationship; he links Sansa and Lyanna in his mind so closely during this scene that I think it stops him from being able to emotionally connect with her anymore. It's so tragic - to see Lyanna's sorrow reflected in Sansa, to feel that loss so deeply that it stops him from being able to comfort Sansa the way he comforted Lyanna as she died.

all of this really bites him in the ass because Sansa looks at his silence and sees treachery while Ned looks at her silence and sees obedience. And the moment when both of them are finally ready to act and not just dream is when their stories clash horrifically.

Narratively, I think they're set up to have some parallels - Ned as the second son (and what is a second son than a girlson, really) who was never supposed to inherit who does after a violent tragedy, and Sansa as the second born who was also never supposed to inherit who will after a violent tragedy.

And Ned's story is book ended by Ned choosing his love of a young female relative over his honor - he actually compares Sansa to Lyanna first in his narrative:

He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.

and it's Sansa who he once again chooses over his word, over his honor. when he looks at Sansa (and Arya) all he sees is his grief. It leads all three of them to their doom, but Ned's death is something he would choose over and over because in the end, with all his faults, Ned did learn one good lesson from Lyanna and it's that a living, breathing woman will always be more important than some words spoken before a king. what is honor compared to the feel of your daughter in your arms, the memory of your sister's smile?

#ned stark #sansa stark #fathers and daughters #valyrianscrolls #asks #getting on my soap box #oh my god this is so long. i think i did just word vomit actually i'm sorry #Septa Mordane gets piss ass drunk and falls asleep and a heavily dissociating JOFFREY is the one to step up and get Sansa home #where she's promptly left alone with a man twice her age who trauma dumps and then threatens to kill her. LIKE? HELLO?? #i got two more asks in my inbox no i did not miss them i promise. just busy and tired

[itstheoneshot]

Kinktober Day 2

Roleplay: Suho

!sub Suho

Even without a script to work from, Junmyeon is always acting. Always creating a plot or a storyline, and always working to improve his skills. You oblige his requests, because despite not being a professional like him, acting is fun and helping your partner better his career is a blessing. Of course, you get something out of it too, because Junmyeon makes your scenes fun and always r-rated, a stark contrast from what his paid roles are. Starring in TV dramas, stage plays, musicals and the occasional movie, none of them even remotely similar to what you played out at home.

You would always laugh as he sets the scene, not knowing how long he expected you to keep in character. Dressing up in whatever clothes he would pull from the closet, always something different, where did he even get half of this stuff? You never complained though, he always made you look so pretty, so beautiful, innocent, breakable, powerful, whatever he was feeling that day.

“Excuse me?” He asks meekly, carrying a cup of coffee into the room, “Your cappuccino.”

You look up at Junmyeon from the dining table, a soft smile on your face, “Thank you, sweetheart,” You reply, “You may sit.”

Junmyeon places the cup and saucer down, admiring the heart shaped chocolate powder imprint he made in the foam of your coffee before moving to take a seat in the chair opposite to you. You are wearing a business-style button up blouse with a high waisted a-line skirt, pale stockings and heeled boots. You carry yourself with a professional air, playing into the position of CEO. Junmyeon is in businesswear too, looking sharp but with reservation. Anxiety oozes from him, nervous and unprepared for the impromptu meeting that you called. It isn’t often that a low-grade office worker has to meet with the head of the company, only happening if there is a serious issue, and that there is today.

“Thank you for meeting with me at such short notice,” You open up the dialogue after a moment of silence, “Would you care to tell me why you think that this meeting has been called?”

Junmyeon stares at you, eyes widened and lips settled in a pout, and you almost crumble before you have even started. He looks like a lost bunny, scared, confused, and so, so nervous.

“I… I think,” He stammers, eyes widening with every word, “Is it because of the report that got published?”

You smile at him, a sarcastic, intimidating smile, “That’s right,” You say condescendingly, “And what was wrong with that report that is now out for the world to see?”

Junmyeon looks as if he will burst into tears, god, he is such a good actor, he is thinking hard, you have really put him on the spot with this one.

“The numbers, miss,” He mumbles, “They were wrong… and now we could get in trouble.”

You nod at him, appreciating the honesty, but furious about the event. He is right, publishing financial reports that tell a completely different story to the truth is a crime, and the clean up that is required to rectify the issue is snowing the company under.

“Whose fault was it?” You ask, although you know the answer, “Tell the truth.”

“Mine,” He sighs in defeat, “I’m sorry… how can I show that I am sorry?”

You smirk at him now, having trapped him exactly where you want him. Sure, what he did was bad, but the tech team can have it overwritten quickly. You really just wanted an excuse to make him serve you as more than an employee.

“I want you to show me that you aren’t a complete failure,” You reply, purposefully nudging him in the leg with your own, “Surely you are capable in some aspect, right?”

Junmyeon’s eyes widen so much you fear they may pop out of his head, jaw dropping as he comes to process your request, your requirement, the payment for his mess up. He watches as you unbutton not one but two buttons of your blouse, cleavage on show for him, tempting him beyond his wildest desires.

“Oh, oh? Okay,” He nods, so subserviently, “How, how can I prove it?”

You get up from your seat, and walk around the table to stand in front of him just as he turns in his chair to face you. You trace his perfect jawline with your index finger, and lift his chin to make him look into your eyes and away from your chest.

“If you can make me cum today,” You smile at him sickeningly, “And every day for the rest of the week, I may let this instance slide.”

He moves to take your hands in his, and bravely pulls you down to straddle his lap. He is stronger than you thought, and you feel, thanks to how close he pulls you to him, that he is already hardening under you.

“I can do that,” He promises you, hands sliding up your skirt, oh he is not going to hold back, “That is something I am definitely good at.”

-

kinktober masterlist

#kinktober #kpop kinktober #kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop smut #exo #exo fanfic #exo smut #Suho #Suho smut #Suho fanfic #Suho x reader #Junmyeon #Junmyeon fanfic #Junmyeon smut #Kim Junmyeon #kim Junmyeon fanfic #kim Junmyeon smut

[writeyouin]

oh well shootin heck, multiple asks are okay? then could I pretty please ask for a fluffy, lovely little bit of G1 Hot Rod x Reader hangin' with Daniel and then chilling for a bit? nothing specific, go for what ya feelin, friend ✌️(also uh pls to let me know when you get this one, too, fff)

Hot Rod (G1) X Reader – Lake-Side Mishaps

A/N – Ah, I’m always glad to answer your asks as someone who has been here since the beginning. Thank you for always reading my stories, you are fantastic.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

You sat beside Daniel, resting your legs over the edge of the Lake and paddling your feet, relishing the coolness it brought. Hot Rod sat on Daniel's other side, and though he was usually content to simply sit and talk with Daniel, he found himself unusually distracted, glancing at you every so often before fixing his gaze back on the scenery in front of him. He knew that if he could only tell you how he felt and get it off his chassis then he would feel better. There was always a chance that you might not return his feelings, but there have been some human-Cybertronian relationships before, just like that girl who loved Powerglide, for whatever reason.

"(Y/N), if you keep splashing in the water like that, you'll scare away all the fish!" Daniel cried out indignantly, glaring at you.

"That so?" You replied languidly, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips.

"Yeah!"

You nodded thoughtfully then began thrashing your legs wildly, kicking up more water than before, all while yelling at the top of your lungs, "Hey fish, swim for your lives! Daniel wants to keep you prisoner!"

Hot Rod laughed at your antics, finding it even funnier when Daniel pouted at you, entirely bemused. 

Daniel stood up placing his hands on his hips, "Come on. Quit it!"

You pursed your lips playfully, "Hmm, nope, don't think I will."

Taking on a dramatic persona, Daniel growled, "Then you've left me no choice."

"And what does that m-"

Daniel rushed at you, pushing you into the lake, a fate you were wholly unprepared for. You screamed at the surprise descent, though it was quickly cut off as you were submerged in the water. Hot Rod gleefully watched the miniature battle unfold, finding it an entertaining distraction from his earlier thoughts.

“Say, Daniel,” He addressed the young human casually, “That was so sneaky, it was practically a Decepticon move.”

For his part, Daniel only grinned devilishly. You broke the water’s surface, gasping as you came up, and trod water, surprised by how deep the lake was near to the bank as it was.

“Oh, and that didn’t scare the fish?” You asked Daniel sardonically.

Daniel rested his hands behind his head, “Maybe, but it showed you.”

You narrowed your eyes, then feigned defeat, “Alright, you win, but at least help a friend out and give me a hand, yeah?”

“Okay,” Daniel agreed enthusiastically, offering you his hand.

Grinning, you grabbed his forearm and pulled him into the lake, enjoying the sound of betrayal that resounded in his startled yelp.

“Unbelievable,” Hot Rod bemoaned disapprovingly, “I’m now in league with two Decepticons.”

“What can I say?” You shrugged. “It’s a tough world.”

Hot Rod shook his head, then when Daniel surfaced, he lifted the two of you out of the lake, letting the cupped water escape through the gaps in his fingers.

“All right, you two, I’d say it’s time I got you both home.”

Hot Rod put you down and transformed, opening his doors invitingly.

“Aww, do we have to go back now?” Daniel whined.

“Sorry Daniel, I promised your dad I’d get you home early tonight.”

“All right… I’ll go if I have to, but can we hang out again tomorrow?”

“Sure thing.”

With the exchange over, you and Daniel got inside Hot Rod, enjoying the drive back despite occasionally shivering thanks to your wet clothes.

Once Daniel had been left with Spike and Carly, you expected that Hot Rod would offer you a ride home to your place in the city, but he seemingly didn’t wish to part from you as he spoke up.

“Hey…” He started, clearing his vocaliser as if he was nervous.

“Something up, Hot Rod?” You asked, resting your hand on his dashboard.

“Well, I was just thinking, it’s still kind of early and… Uh, you could come back to my place if you want. We could catch a movie, or play video games, you know, just the two of us.”

You smiled warmly, “That sounds great, but ah, what about my clothes? I don’t have anything at your place, and I can’t stay in these. I’ll get sick.”

“Right, yeah, of course… But you know, I have some cleaning rags that you could use as blankets, and we could leave your clothes to dry on the heating rack,” Hot Rod suggested, feeling that it was a pathetic offer as he did so. Why would you choose a night with him wrapped in cleaning rags when you could go home to a hot shower and a clean set of clothes?

You tapped a finger to your cheek, pretending to be deep in thought. “Gee… I guess we could do that, but the real question is what movie would we watch, hmm? Got anything in mind?”

Hot Rod’s spark pulsed erratically; he couldn’t believe you were going along with this.

“What about Back to the Future?”

“Sounds good,” You grinned. “Okay Hot Rod, let’s see how fast you can get us back to your place.”

“You got it!”

Hot Rod revved his engines excitedly, taking off quickly as he thought about everything he could do to make your first date perfect.

Like My Work? Buy Me A Ko-Fi @ https://ko-fi.com/writeyouin

#transformers g1 #transformers #maccadam #hot rod #rodimus #hot rod x reader #hot rod x you #rodimus x reader #rodimus x you #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #lakeside mishaps

[69dias]

(same anon tbat asked for wedding fl couple)

can we get a Drabble with them married and maybe trying for kids 😭 sorry I’m feening for it i love them so much

hi babyyyy thank you so much for loving silver lining so much I’m gonna Kiss u!!!!! here’s ur drabble <3

warnings: breeding kink!!! that’s about it. mention of pregnancy obv and oc being . disgustingly in love.

wc: 836

jungkook had, even throughout your 17 years of friendship, never been the proactive one between you two. he preferred to sit back, to let you make the big decisions, having come to the very accurate conclusion that you were simply better at evaluating your choices and making the correct one eventually. he’d let you ask to kiss him first, let you be the one who made the first instagram post after the two of you started to date, and the only anomaly in this trend of him not taking initiative would be when he’d proposed to you. you’d signed the papers for your home first, you’d picked out the interior — the bottom line is that he’d always been in love, a bit pussy whipped and a bit too quick to leave your (and for the last couple of years, his) fate in your hands.

which is why his sudden inclination towards having children had surprised you.

you’d always known that getting married, coupled with the insane amount of times the two of you had sex would inevitably lead to a child, but the thought was nothing more than a musing you’d let your mind wander off to on those rare sunday mornings you woke up before him, listening to his soft snores and thinking of a child — person who would serve as tangible proof of jungkook and your union — in the mix of things.

and it would’ve been fine if he brought it up to you even a tad more formally than he’d chosen to, because the way he was fucking into you made it impossibly hard to think rationally about your future. not that you were complaining, because it was jungkook and he was your husband and the love of your entire life and even if the way he’d ever groaned it into your ears had made your stomach churn with a spark of fear, he was breathtaking.

breathtaking when he at holding your thighs in his tattooed hand, the ring he swore to never take off imprinting into your skin as a way for him to reiterate that you were his, his, his for the rest of your lives, even if the metal’s indent would take days to fully fade. breathtaking in his languid thrusts into you, so deep that it made it physically difficult to breathe, even if you’d done this countless times. breathtaking, in the way he’d leaned over your bodies and caught you completely off guard when he’d slipped in impossibly deeper, pelvis grinding against your clit, free hand reaching to intertwine the both of yours’.

breathtaking, in the way he’d moaned lowly, damp hair brushing against the skin of your cheek and spoke so gently that you barely registered the weight of his words until they settled and wrapped around your skin, consuming you momentarily:

“f-fuck darling, so good for me, yeah? gonna let me fill you up? all the way up to your womb, too. gonna let you give me my babies, yeah?”

your head had snapped to the side, trying to figure out a response because you could feel every ridge of his cock inside you, practically spearing you in half, and it’d taken half a minute of your pathetic moans resounding in the room, jungkook choosing not to continue with his slurred stupor, focusing on pushing you over the edge you were so tantalizingly close to —

“jungkook, jungkook, give me everything — ah, fuck that’s good, right there — give me your babies, cmon jungkook fill me up, gimme a baby.”

and sure, it was the scariest thing in the world to vocalize it. sure, the reality of how things were changing; how you and him were married and were going to probably begin trying to bring a whole person into this world, how you were so unprepared but so ready, all of it settled deep into the tresses of your stomach for just a minute, but when he halted inside of you to pull back and look at you, you decided that the fear was nothing if you had him.

you had him, and you had his doe eyes that fucking twinkled when you reaffirmed his words. you had him, and you had his slow, boyish smirk that was just a bit lopsided when it spread across his face. you had him, and you were going to try to have a baby with him, and shit, it felt incredible when he resumed fucking into you, but not just because of his taut thighs making good work of themselves, but because he held your hand a little tighter, when his ring dug into your skin a little harder.

you had him, and hopefully, you would have a baby soon. so when you pulled your hand from his to place it against his cheek, letting the glint of the diamond ring shine against his honey skin, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about a damned formal discussion because jungkook had only ever initiated your marriage before this, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to him. maybe you were pussy dick whipped.

#jungkook #jungkook drabbles #jungkook smut #bts #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook/reader

[walker-bait-1973]

8 Years Part Two

Photo Edit by Me

Part Two of the ongoing series with Daryl Dixon x Sybil Tremont (OC)

Background information: It’s assumed the reader knows the world of TWD. This Fanfic takes place after Alexandria, Hilltop, Oceanside, and the Kingdom are established and at the height of success. Carl is dead. The communities are bound by a doctrine created by Michonne. Rick is presumed dead. Daryl and Michonne never lost hope and searched for several years for Rick without luck. Daryl had a short relationship with Leah. The Saviors disbanded with Negan in a jail cell in Alexandria. The Whisperers have been defeated, and Lydia is a valued member of the Hilltop homestead.

To read Part One: Click Here

Master List

18+

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Chapter 10: Sybil’s Secret

Mom? Daryl watched as Sybil turned quickly and went to the boy shielded behind her.

“Yes, it’s safe.” She checked him over, “Put your knife away. It’s all clear.” She slipped her hand into his and rejoined the group. Daryl’s eyes dropped to the disheveled boy. He bit on his lower lip as he saw a pair of eyes identical to his looking up at him curiously.

Daryl and Sybil regarded one another. His lips had grown tight into a thin white line. She was unprepared for a moment like this. Her green eyes softened.

The older man that was with them said, “We can’t stay here. We should try to find somewhere safe to stay for the night. I think I remember there being an old house to the north of here.”

 “Know a place, ‘bout an hour’s walk. C’mon.” Daryl slowly turned, Dog jogging up ahead of him and walking back the way he’d come from.

Sybil, completely out of sorts, hesitated at first. Her son tugged on her arm, “Are we goin’?”

“Uh, yeah…” she picked up her pack.

“How’s he know your name?”

“We used to… know each other…” She couldn’t believe she was less than ten feet from Daryl. The man she loved. The man who broke her heart. He was still alive! Still… alive.

“C’mon Mom… we’re gonna get lost behind.”

She gave him a silly look, “Have I ever gotten you lost before?”

“No,” he chuckled.

“But you’re right. We better keep up.”

The walk was in silence, everyone keeping a lookout for trouble. Once they arrived at the cabin, Daryl performed a quick sweep before anyone went inside. Sybil was grateful as she went in the door and said, “Thank you.”

Daryl sucked in a forced breath of air and closed the door behind him.

“I’m Gertie, and this is my father, Stan,” the other woman introduced herself. Daryl nodded.

“Thank you for everything,” the man said, sitting down on the floor heavily. He was winded, “I don’t know how much further I could’ve made it. We’ve been on the go for days. Dead ones everywhere we turn. We thought we’d get away from the roads. And at first, things seemed good in the forest.”

“It’s hard to tell where those things will show up,” Gertie added, “there’s no rhyme or reason to them.”

Daryl was listening, but his gaze stayed on Sybil and the young boy with her. Her son. Once Gertie got her father as comfortable as could be expected, she laid down next to him, falling quickly asleep. Daryl slowly approached Sybil. He opened his pack pulled out some venison jerky and held it out to her.

“F’ y’ an’ the boy…” She hesitated before taking it.

“Here, Ryder,” she said as he sat down on the floor near the fireplace, “thank you, Daryl.”

“Thank you,” Ryder said happily, munching away.

“You haven’t met. Ryder, this is Daryl.”

“Hi,” the boy greeted between bites.

Daryl nodded in his direction,“’ll start a fire,” he went outside to get some wood.

Outside, Daryl started breaking up sticks and gathering large pieces of wood. He didn’t know what to think… and he felt all jumbled up inside. And what of the boy? He had quickly pieced things together as soon as he saw him. Daryl had to hear it from Sybil’s lips.

He went inside and stoked a small fire, more for comfort than warmth, and left again.

“Mom, I’m tired,” Ryder yawned, “is it okay to sleep?”

She nodded, “Yes, we’re safe… for tonight.” She smoothed back his unruly hair with the stubborn cowlick on the left. She smiled lovingly at her son and kissed his forehead. He laid his head on his pack.

“Sweet dreams, Ryder…”

“Night Mom.” He rolled over to face away from the fire. She drank some of the water in the bottle she’d been carrying. She quietly walked into the adjoining room and allowed herself a moment to breathe. As she did, she felt tears well up in her eyes. She held back the sobbing, but her hands shook.

Two years after graduating college, Sybil managed to find a job as a teacher’s assistant. It wasn’t what she really wanted, but it was a stepping stone in the right direction. One night when she came home, Daryl was waiting for her with a boxed pizza and some cokes. She dropped her bag at the door and sniffed the air excitedly.

“Hey there,” he said, rubbing her shoulders slowly. She lowered her head, enjoying the warmth of his fingers as he kneaded the knots away.

“Oh, what a wonderful thing to come home to. My handsome man with magical fingers, a hot pizza, and ice-cold pop.”

“Only t’ best f’ you,” he grinned, kissing her lightly.

“Mm…” she sat and grabbed a slice while Daryl popped open his drink, “So what’s new today?”

Daryl set his drink down quickly, “Y’all will never guess what happened t’ Terry.”

“Oh, I can only imagine. What happened?”

“He knocked up Camille.”

Sybil nearly choked on her pizza, “What?”

“Yeah,” Daryl continued with a flourish, “Jus’ found out yesterday. She’s near three months.”

“Are they happy?”

“Dunno. He seemed shocked. Dunno how they’re gonna do it. I wouldn’t wanna be tied down with a kid. We got things good, you an’ me.”

She set her pizza down and picked at the pepperoni, “That’s how you really feel?”

Daryl scoffed, “I ain’t no daddy material, Syb. Ain’t even thirty yet. An’ y’ ain’t even doin’ what y’ want yet at work. We don’t need no kids tyin’ us down.”

She heard the cabin door shut and quickly swiped her eyes again before going to the doorway. Daryl sat by the fire skinning three rabbits. She squatted down next to him and took one of the rabbits away to skin. Her knife was razor sharp. And although she wasn’t as adept as him when it came to a fine clean body of meat, she did well enough. Once they’d been cleaned, Daryl had them laying in the hot coals to cook. He threw the raw liver and hearts to Dog to eat.

There was no sense in small talk, neither knew what to say. The pure shock of it all kept them silent. And Daryl’s discovery of her secret, the boy, made things even more difficult.

Once the meat was cooked, he carved the first one, giving her half to eat. She started tearing the meat apart and devouring it. It’d been so long since a real meal. Once she’d eaten half of it, she walked over to wake Ryder up and offer him some. She’d wanted him to get a little sleep. They’d been dead on their feet for god knows how long. He sat up immediately and began to shovel the meat in.

“Take your time, you don’t want to get sick from having an empty stomach.” He nodded, chewing the meat carefully, washing it down with water from his canteen. Daryl watched with great interest at the interaction between the two. Gertie and Stan woke to the delightful smells of the food and Daryl doled them each a half. He brought more food over to Sybil.

“Eat up,” he said, his voice like gravel.

“Have you eaten yet?” She asked.

“Got some. Eat.”

“Thank you,” She said, “it’s delicious.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Ryder smiled with newfound enthusiasm.

Daryl ducked his head in response and returned to the fire to pick at his half, eating tiny bits as he watched the others to make sure they’d had enough.

“What a fine meal,” Stan spoke up, “thank you again…”

“Daryl.”

“Right. Daryl,” Stan nodded, “so how do you two know each other?” He asked curiously. Daryl and Sybil exchanged looks.

“Knew each other ‘fore the Walkers,” was all he said. And that was the end of it for the night. Daryl went outside for a smoke.

“Your friend isn’t much of a talker,” Stan remarked, “but he knows how to survive.”

“He’s always been a survivor. There’s not much to talk about these days.”

With a full belly, Ryder slept heavier than he had in a long time. Sybil lay down, placing a protective arm around him, soon falling into a fitful sleep of her own.

Chapter 11: Daryl’s Offer

Daryl mulled things over while the others slept, and toward morning, he gently nudged Sybil awake. She came to with a start, but Daryl placed a finger over her lips.

“Need t’ talk.”

She looked down at Ryder’s sleeping body.

“Okay.” She followed him outside, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Before he could speak she said, “I know we have a lot to talk about.”

“We do,” he agreed, “but right now, gotta get y’ outta here. ‘S some places I know of… safe places. With walls, shelter, food, n’ people. Gotta get y’ n’ him there.”

She squinted, “Walls?”

He nodded, “Good people live there. Friends n’ family of mine.”

She smiled, relieved, “the gang made it out?”

Daryl shook his head, “naw…”

She hesitated her heart sinking, “I’m sorry. Merle?”

“Lost him… got bit.”

“I am sorry. I know how much he meant to you.”

“Was a long time ago. These are people I met ‘long the way. Been w’ some since the beginnin’. Let me take y’ there.”

She nodded, “We’ll go with you. How far?”

“’S gonna take a lil’ while.”

“Daryl, I thank you, for yesterday… and for this place you’re taking us.”

“Gotta get ‘em up n’ movin’. Now.”

They rustled up the small group. Each person had some of the last bit of rabbit that Daryl had reserved. Dog was out the door first.

“Is there really somewhere safe?” Ryder asked, tying his hoodie around his waist. He shouldered his backpack as Sybil repacked the few things she’d taken out of hers.

“If Daryl says there is, there is. It’s about time we find someplace where you can feel safe.”

Ryder stood up straight as he followed her outside.

Somewhere safe.

Dog let out a bark, and the group was on their way.

Chapter 12: Kiss Me Like You Love Me

“Syb… wake up…” Daryl brushed one fingertip along Sybil’s nose. She scrunched it up, wiggling it. Amused he chuckled, delighted. Her eyes fluttered open, and she snatched his finger, giggling.

“One of these days I’m going to catch you before you do that.”

“Doubt it.” He nuzzled her face with his nose, smacking his lips against hers. As he rose from the bed, she pulled him back, “Hey now… gotta get ready t’ go. Don’t wanna get m’ fired, do ya?”

“No…” She rubbed his back slowly as he held her, “Kiss me like you love me.” She puckered up her lips.

Daryl ran his thumb over their fullness, “Y’ know I do.”

Daryl leaned against a tree while the others slept. He couldn’t stop himself from watching Sybil and Ryder every chance he got. If they lagged, he stopped for them to catch up. He made sure they had every bit of extra food, insisting on giving up most of his. She’d try to give him back some of the rations, but he refused. Yet he kept his distance as much as possible.

Sybil couldn’t sleep. The others were well on their way to Slumberland, but not her. They’d been on the march for nearly a week. She sat up, brushed some leaves off her pants, and walked towards Daryl in the dark.

“How are you still standing? You’ve had no sleep since we started this trip. I can stand watch.”

“Naw. I got it. Get some sleep.”

“I can’t,” she confessed, “I-”

“Shh…” his ears perked up. The dog started barking. Everyone began to wake to the warning as Walkers could be seen weaving through the trees in the moonlight. Stan shouted out in fear as Gertie stood to fight.

“Get down!” Daryl yelled at Stan, but he moved as if in slow motion, lame from sleeping on the ground. Before Daryl could put an arrow between the Walker’s eyes, it latched onto Stan and tore out his throat.

“No!” Gertie cried, running to grab her father’s hand, “Dad no!”

“Gertie, let go!” Sybil commanded in desperation, stabbing a Walker in the head. Ryder was in the center and was well protected until Stan was taken down, and now Gertie was being grabbed by another Walker. They were encased by rotting bodies, eating at them, clawing into their vital organs while their screams became nothing but guttural cries.

Daryl used this moment to grab Ryder by the waist and bark, “Sybil, c’mon!” She looked from the horror in front of her to Daryl behind her. He reached for her hand and pulled her away from the ghastly scene. He kept the boy held tight as they ran into the night. Panting, their chests on fire from the exertion, they finally collapsed near a small stream. Daryl set Ryder down. The boy fell to the ground next to his mom. Dog was circling, keeping watch.

Daryl knelt; “y’ alright?” He asked them, “Didn’t get bit?”

Sybil was checking Ryder over, “No… we’re … we’re okay. You?”

“M’ fine.”

“Gertie and Stan…” Ryder croaked; his eyes cold from seeing so much death.

“They’re gone,” Sybil admitted. The harsh realities of the world she could not keep from him. He had to know the dangers, and how to stay safe.

“’S ok here. Sit for a minute… catch yer breath. Gimme y’ water bottles.”

He filled them with fresh water. Sybil ripped a corner of her shirt off and soaked it in the stream. She then smoothed the cool water over her son’s face, cooling him off in the heavy, hot summer air, but also taking off some of the baked-on dirt.

“Gertie was nice to me,” he said.

“Yes, they were both very nice people.” She smoothed back his unruly blonde hair and asked, “Are you okay?”

He nodded, trying to shake off the night’s travesty, “Uh huh. I’m ready to go.” He stood up, shaking his limbs loose. He was a little sore from Daryl lugging him, but said to the man, “Thank you.”

Daryl bobbed his head and hummed, “Mhm.”

“C’mon then,” Daryl said, leading them further east.

Chapter 13: The Shed

Walkers at every turn, Dog cut a line through, finding them an escape. Daryl yelled, “’s way!” Sybil and Ryder ran as fast as they could to keep up with him. He pointed to an old shed, “In there!” He tore the door open, took a quick look, and motioned them inside. He closed the door rapidly behind him and the three grabbed whatever they could to bar the door.

Scratching, groaning, and shaking at the door, the Walkers knew well where they’d gone. Daryl pointed at Dog to keep him quiet. Dog stood sentinel while Sybil moved Ryder back into the recesses of the shed. It was pitch black inside.

“Stay here,” she told him, “I’m just going to talk to Daryl.”

“Okay.”

“Dog, go” Daryl motioned. The dog went into the corner and sat protectively next to Ryder. Ryder felt the dog’s heart beating as he nudged close to the boy.

“We’re trapped,” she whispered. Daryl bit his thumbnail, his ears listening to her ragged breathing while a cacophony of growls emanated from outside.

“’ll getcha outta here,” he replied, “just gotta wait f’ some light.” He kept his voice down so Ryder wouldn’t worry.

“Daryl… how?”

“’ M gonna getcha outta here,” he repeated with more urgency, “‘ll figure somethin’ out.”

She held her breath reaching out into the darkness until she found his hand and squeezed it. Daryl held it for a moment longer before she let go, “whatever we need to do,” she said firmly.

They both stood guard through the long night listening to the groaning, scratching, and shaking of the door on its hinges. Ryder kept himself busy curled up next to Dog, petting and whispering to him to sidetrack his mind from the seriousness of the situation.

In the morning, light wafted through the cracks between some of the rough wood that made up the small building. The Walkers had not given up. Daryl could now see enough to look around. He carefully pressed on boards here and there, studying nails and grooves in the wood. Sybil tested the floor. It was worn in spots. She pulled up one board and looked below. A cement slab. She cursed under her breath.

Ryder moved quietly around, trying to keep himself and Dog out of the way.

“There!” Daryl hissed, pointing up at the ceiling. The beams looked strong and sturdy, but the aluminum roofing was partially lifted in one corner. Daryl shouldered his crossbow and hefted himself up onto a pile of junk. His fingers gripped one of the beams in the space between it and the roof. He pushed on the roof where it was loose. It budged easily enough at first but caught on to something. Daryl climbed back down.

“C’mon,” he offered his hands as a lift for Sybil, “see if y’ can get that bent back.”

He held her up. She worked at it, manipulating the sheet, trying to bend it back. She couldn’t get it bent but lifted it enough to get a view of the outside.

“What d’ya see?” Daryl asked.

“There’s a tree practically growing into it… from behind.” He brought her back down and went to the back wall. Pulling his largest knife from its sheath he started prying the boards with it. Sybil rushed over to help. As the two wedged their knives into the crevices, they worked until the long nails pulled free.

“Back up,” Daryl told her. She put an arm around Ryder’s shoulders as Daryl pulled the board free. Sure enough, slightly to the left was a thick tree trunk. Setting his crossbow and pack on the floor, he tried to squeeze through, but the space was too narrow.

“Help m’ get that other board off.” The two set to work, the pointed tips of their knives digging away at the board. It was a stubborn plank, but they managed to get it off. Sybil silently set it down with the other one. Daryl slid sideways through the gap. Sybil handed him his pack and crossbow. He motioned for Ryder to go to him. The boy joined Daryl just outside. The tree blocked any view from the area where the Walkers were congregated by the doors. Daryl reached out to take Sybil’s pack just as the door gave way. Walkers began to fall onto the makeshift barricade they’d built spilling into the building.

“Mom!” Ryder gasped, turning to go back inside to help his mother. Daryl yanked him back and nabbed hold of Sybil’s hand.

“C’mon,” he grunted. Her other fingers stretched to grasp her bag, but it was too late. The Walkers were nearly upon her.

“F’get it, ‘s go!” Daryl pulled harder. Her hip caught on a nail, slicing into her jeans, and cutting her. She sucked in a breath of tight air at the stinging sensation and tripped into Daryl’s grip. He caught her, setting her up on her feet, and said, “Go!” They sprinted into a close-by tree line, Dog bringing up the rear. As soon as Daryl deemed it safe, they stopped, again catching their breath.

Ryder noticed the blood forming on his mother’s pants and said, “You’re hurt!”

Sybil had tears in her eyes, “my pack.”

“Y’ don’t need it,” Daryl said, “anythin’ y’ need I got w’ me.”

“You don’t understand!” She insisted sadly, “The one picture I had of Ryder as a baby was in the bag!”

“We can’t go back,” Daryl said softly, “y’ know we can’t.”

Her lower lip quivered, but she nodded, “Yeah, I know…”

“Can’t depend on holdin’ on t’ nothin’ no more. This world ain’t like that,” he told her gently. He looked at the blood and said, “lemme see that cut.” He dropped his bag as she held the tear open. It was bleeding increasingly. Daryl dug into his pack and produced a folded-up piece of paper. Inside there were some green leaves. He put some in his mouth and started chewing them up.

“What’s that?” She asked.

“Yarrow… t’ stop the bleedin’. Take them pants down.”

Sybil blushed. Although she and Daryl had once been lovers, she was still embarrassed after such a long time. But this was no time for modesty.

“Ryder, turn around,” she said. He did as he was told. She unzipped her jeans and pulled them off her hip. Daryl spit the poultice into his hand.

“’S gonna sting.”

“Go ahead,” she said. He applied the herb. It stung like a handful of bees stinging her all at once.

She groaned, “You weren’t kidding!”

He then took out some gauze and pressed it against the wound, “Ain’t got no way t’ secure it, but if y’ hold it in place, t’ bleedin’ will stop right quick.”

She nodded, carefully pulling her jeans back up and putting pressure on the cut, “thank you.” He nodded as she said, “Okay, you can look now.”

Ryder turned back around and asked, “Is it gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, just fine,” she reassuringly smiled at him and rubbed his shoulder tenderly.

“How much further?” Ryder asked, “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, it has,” Daryl agreed looking up into the sky, “’bout one more night.”

“Really?!” Ryder practically shook with excitement.

“Mhm.” Daryl couldn’t help the small curl of his upper lip into a slight smile as the boy’s face beamed up at him.

“Hear that, Mom? One more night!”

Sybil exhaled, “That’s great news.”

Chapter 14: One Last Time

Merle stopped by the garage just before Daryl finished work one evening.

“Baby brother, got somethin’ to ask of you.”

“Sure. What’s it?”

“Not here. Outside.”

Daryl punched out and joined his brother by their bikes, “’kay spit it out.”

Merle rubbed the back of his neck, “I got a run to do.”

Daryl frowned, “Merle, y’ know ‘m tryin’ t’ fly right.”

“Just one more, Daryl… one… more. And I’ll be getting out of it too.”

Daryl shook his head, “y’ ain’t ever gonna stop. Why y’ need m’ help?”

“It’s a big one, biggest we’ve ever had. You could put a nest egg away for you and your woman. You said she deserves a house… this could be a good chunk of change for a downpayment.”

Daryl lifted his head, “y’ ain’t shittin’ me are ya?”

“No, I swear on Mom’s grave. It’s worth it. All you gotta do is carry some of the product on your bike and stand back during the trade. That’s it… and you get money in your pocket.”

“’S all I gotta do?”

“Mhm. That’s it. Have I ever put you in harm’s way before?”

“No.”

“So what d’ya say, Daryl? One last run?”…

Sybil was livid, “you told me you were done with that crap!”

“I know, Syb… but…”

“Nothing is worth trading drugs,” she hissed, “I told you before that we can do things on our own!”

“Y’ don’t understand…”

“No, you don’t understand. Just because you never got caught before doesn’t mean you wouldn’t get caught now! It’s wrong, and you’re better than this!”

She pulled the roast from the oven, “Let’s be done with this talk and have a peaceful dinner.” She left the roast on the counter to cool while she set the table.

Early the next morning, Daryl had made his decision. He sat on the edge of the bed watching Sybil sleep. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful. Sighing, he rubbed his scruffy face slowly. He’d thought long and hard about what to do all night. She deserved nice things. He wanted to be able to give that to her. One last run.

He left her a note saying he’d be back in two days’ time; that he owed it to his brother and would never do it again after.

When he returned, there was a letter waiting for him.

Part Three

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon imagine #twd fanfiction

[some-triangles]

It's Portland's annual new year blizzard/ice storm, which we are unprepared for every year, because this never used to happen. It barely snowed here when I was a kid! I was a kid 30 years ago, mind you, and this has been happening pretty consistently for the last 20, but institutions are slow to change. We have been spending our money on other things.

So here I am, sitting in my own living room (my own in the sense that I rent it), in my long johns and thermals and two pairs of socks, heat on, still gradually losing feeling in my toes. This seems like a good day to write the politics post.

I belong to the category of person who expresses political and moral beliefs mostly through jokes, and only then when my personal frustration has reached a point where I can no longer make myself be quiet. The jokes are there to make the pain less raw, but lately the jokes themselves are getting dark enough that it's upsetting people. So let's proceed without the jokes.

Where to begin? In the 90s, I guess. I was brought up liberal but cynical, which is already kind of a tense balance, and I was by inclination a person who wanted things to make sense and follow understandable rules. (The answer is as always neurodivergence.) I figured out that religion wasn't real by looking at a map and realizing that the world was too big for any one group of people to be right about things. Despite this, I still thought American democracy was the correct answer, the least bad option, and that the world as a whole was heading towards where I was, a kind of tolerant, reasonable middle class existence.

In my defense, this was a belief broadly shared by my parents' generation, and I hadn't been taught a lot of the stuff that argued against it. Francis Fukuyama got up in front of people and declared the world a solved problem and nobody important even laughed at him. I bought into this to the extent that I suffered from a kind of wistful sadness that all the important battles had already been fought. In short, I was a child, and not a particularly bright one, despite what people told me. I did, however, form a belief that stays with me to this day:

I AM NOT SPECIAL. I, personally, do not deserve any more or any less than any human being. And since I think I should be safe and well fed, every other human being should also be safe and well fed. The fact that I am better off than some others is an accident which should be rectified.

This came about because I was aware that a lot of the people in the world were poor and miserable and I wasn't, and I had to decide whether luck or virtue was responsible for my safety. I went with luck. I didn't realize it at the time, but this choice put me at odds with a lot of the logic underlying the society I live in - because if I'm not special, you better believe nobody else is either, and that means no elect, no chosen, none blessed by god, none elevated by blood. I was 10, I hadn't even had a chance to fuck up my life yet, and yet there were all these other 10-year-olds worse off than me. Did they deserve that? And what about those kids who had it better?

And so, decades later, we end up with the joke about how it's a good deal to trade your life away to take out a rich person. It's the same impulse, just with a lot of broken promises and bitterness stacked on top. I work full time at a job that's officially essential (no stoppage during the pandemic), strenuous, and physically dangerous - I get paid the 1993 equivalent of a little less than $30k a year - I will never be able to afford a home in the city I grew up in. This job has to be done. I am not special, I do not "deserve" a better job. I, as a working person, watch people who do jobs that do not need to be done or who don't work at all get paid more because they are members of an invisible elect. I conclude that they must believe they are worth more than me, that they are better than me, because how else could they justify their lives? And I think if I subscribed to that worldview, it would be a net win for me to blow both of us up. Thus, the joke.

I also watch the rest of the world. My belief in liberal democracy is a pretty aerated Jenga tower by this point. Learning about America's imperial history took out a bunch of pieces, but I could still believe all that was behind us. Then we went back to war, which I could initially write off as a traumatic reaction, but as years turned into decades it became obvious that peace had been the exception, and that even that peace hadn't been that peaceful, had it? At that point it was still possible to believe that at least all of our bombing and killing had been in the interest of some kind of moral good, if you really tried. I think Gaza killed the very last part of me that could believe that. There is no atrocity we will not enable to pursue our own ends. Does it matter that much what kind of system we use to choose our leaders if this is what our leaders do?

The last thing keeping my tower standing is the need to protect the outgroups I and my friends belong to, which doesn't really rise to the level of a moral imperative. It's a moment by moment strategic thing, where you support institutions if they protect you and oppose them if they attack you, like any interest group. Right now HR culture and capitalism are trending pro-trans, so we support Disney against Florida. We will do voter suppression if the alternative is Trump. It doesn't go well with rule number one up there, but neither does the fact that I care about my friends more than I care about people I don't know.

At the end of the day it's all a joke. Moral imperatives give way to political reality one hundred percent of the time. It doesn't matter what I call myself. I hate tech culture, so why not be a Luddite? I'll smash steam looms in my mind while continuing to pay for my groceries. Just let me have my jokes. Trashfuture did a great riff about Butlerian Jihad the other day where they imagined a butler named Ian Jihad. "I've oriented sir's slippers towards Mecca, sir." That's the kind of political commentary I want, and the kind I will refrain from posting here unless my toes are really, really cold.

#in which I try to explain why black humor is the best I can do these days