#but just the certainty of it blows my mind like i don't know how he can be so ~~~~ about it

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Omg! Love your biggest fan!! Are you still updating it? Like, where the world finds out it's them!? Can you imagine the chaos!!🙊

I don't think the world could find out with absolute certainty, there will just be rumours for the rest of their lives. It would be too damaging for their careers, family and probably their relationship too. But...there can be a little chaos.

Your Biggest Fan {3} || LN4

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, anal, angst WC: 2.4k One || Two || SMAU || Three

The Matriarch: We need to talk. Bring Lando.

The text left you cold inside and it was quickly followed with a dinner reservation at the yacht club. It had been two weeks since you deleted the Only Fans account. You had panicked when a picture of some unknown sub-reddit user showed up on your FYP, tagging Lando in it first and then you. You hadn't thought about how deleting it would come across to the people who had seen it.

"Relax, our faces were never seen," Lando assured you as he read the text message from your mother. "It's just, what's that word lawyers use?”

"Objection?"

"No," he snorted. "Heresy, herosy...hearsay, that's the one. The rumours will blow over, they always do.”

“Except these aren’t rumours, that was actually us.” You paced the room until he grew dizzy watching you and caught you around the waist, pulling you onto the couch with him. You squeaked as you fell back but his strong hands steadied you into his lap, and his beard tickled your neck.

“You’re stressing and I know just how to get you to relax.” The gravel in his voice and the hard length pressing against your ass had you wriggling closer and you leaned back so he could reach your lips. 

“Come on then, big boy,” you murmured against his lips as you dragged his hands down your body and between your thighs. “Show me what these magic hands can do.”

He chuckled darkly in your ear and ran his fingers over the seam of your jeans, pressing the material over your clit. “My fingers, my tongue, my dick. It’s all magic, babygirl.”

You used Lando as an escape, the orgasms he gave you freeing you from the compulsive thoughts that plagued you. He grounded you when he swept you off your feet, hooking them around his waist as he ground into you against the hallway wall. Impatient for more than just your kiss, he dropped to his knees and dragged your jeans down your legs. By the time you made it to the bed your legs were trembling and Lando’s chin glistened with the evidence of your orgasm. 

“Still stressing, love?” he teased as he pushed your knees back to your chest and paused a moment just to feast on the sight of your pussy begging for him. 

“Like you would not believe,” you giggled, “but you’re getting there.”

He curled two fingers into your cunt and pumped them a few times until they were coated in your juices. “I think this will definitely take your mind off things,” he rasped as he teased your ring, gently probing you one finger at a time. “You gonna be a good girl for daddy?”

“Mhmmm,” you moaned as your tight muscle relaxed around his thick fingers. “Fuck that feels so good.”

“Just you wait,” he chuckled before reaching into the bedside drawer. The squirt of the bottle made you jump and the cold lube ran down your slit and over your ass, making you shiver at the change in temperature. “I’ll warm you up, babygirl.”

Lando ran his cock through the gel, his shaft teasing your folds until the tip rolled over your clit and you moaned at the sensation. “Haven’t even put it in you yet.”

You were going to tell him to hurry up when he pulled back and lined himself up with your ass. Slow, shallow rocks of his hips pushed the head against you, the swollen tip slowly spreading you more with each little thrust and you sighed at the heavenly throb beating in your core.

“More,” you begged as the thickest part of him pushed through the resistance and he froze. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, babygirl, just take it slow. I’m still going to fuck you real good.”

His thumb circled your clit as he kept easing himself deeper, pulling back slightly before driving forward. Your breath lodged in your throat when your bodies met, his hips hitting your ass, and his fingers gripped your thighs tight enough to leave bruises while he bit his lip.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Feel fucking amazing,” he moaned. 

Your eyes fluttered shut at the fullness of having him seated inside you but they quickly opened as he retreated from you almost completely before pumping his hips forward. “Holy fuck,” you cried as he dragged his cock along your tight walls, the sensation unlike anything your toys had given you. It was pure pleasure. “Harder, daddy, I can take it, please.”

“Fuck,” he groaned as he couldn’t think clearly enough to remember to be gentle. He had the same need you did and he was happy to give you everything you asked for. “Take it, babygirl, you take my cock so well. Look at it stretching your hole, feels good, don’t it?”

You could only moan incoherent answers as liquid fire ignited on your skin, a feverish flush spreading from curled toes to ears that were ringing. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the pressure grew and Lando grunted as your walls tightened even more. You didn’t think you could peak any higher until two fingers curled into your cunt and found your g-spot too.

A scream tore from your throat as your body arched up beyond your control. You were a puppet and he was the puppetmaster playing with you. 

“Keep coming, keep coming,” Lando growled as his brows pinched together in concentration. “Want to feel you rain all over me, babygirl.”

His wrist worked his fingers over the magic spot and your cries fell silent as your mind shut down. The lightning that splintered your vision short circuited your brain and your breath shuddered with each spurt that gushed from your cunt.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as he surrendered himself to his own release, filling your ass with his cream. “So fucking beautiful.”

Lando drove his McLaren to the yacht club that even he couldn’t get a membership for. Even in Monaco his McLaren stood out among the supercars but in the valet parking at the club it was just like every other car there. He hadn’t quite grasped exactly what being an heiress meant until that moment. It was one thing for him to never worry about affording a spontaneous holiday to a luxury island but he was just starting to realise your parents likely just bought the island.

For once, he felt a little out of place. He wished he could grab his hoodie from the car but there was a strict dress policy so he had donned a suit he usually saved for awards or galas.

"Did we drop you on your head, young lady?" your mother said the second you stepped into the private dining room, a ringed finger pointing to the two empty seats. "Only Fans, really?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," you lied as you sat down, Lando pushing your chair in before taking his seat. "You shouldn't believe the rumours."

"You think I don't know what your birthmark looks like? I gave birth to you." She turned her glare to Lando. "And you, how dare you put my daughter in that position."

He bit his lip and glanced down while you had to hide your laugh behind your hand. "Which position was that, mother? There has been quite a few."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. "I should have sent you to Saint Katherine's Boarding School when I had the chance."

"Probably, but just imagine what trouble I could have had with a priest." You laughed as Lando pinched your thigh under the table. Reaching over to his thigh, you traced the inside seam of his trousers higher until he snapped his legs together and your hand was pinned between them.

"Enough, your little rebellious streak is over. You've had your fun but you need to stop now," she snapped. "Your father wants you in Switzerland where he can keep an eye on you."

"I'm not a kid anymore, you can't tell me what to do."

"I can if you want to keep a roof over your head, or have you suddenly got a job to cover your expenses for life in the real world?" You shrugged nonchalantly while Lando took a sip of his drink, but she continued. "Or will your boyfriend be happy to let you drain his bank accounts?"

Lando placed his water back on the table and draped his arm over the back of your chair, his fingers teasing the bare skin in your shoulder. He had been tempted to keep you tied to his bed when he saw the gown you wore, you had looked absolutely divine he wanted to drown in you. "I'm happy to provide for her," he admitted honestly. “It would bring me great pleasure.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you grinned wickedly at his double entendre. “I’m sure my face, or at least my last name, could make enough on Only Fans to cover our bills.”

Your mother’s face dropped and she fidgeted with the delicate gold chain your father bought her. “Is that a threat?”

“I don’t know. You kind of started that anyway,” you shrugged. “How did you find out anyway?”

“It is our business to know what is happening in this family, in case of damage control. When those photos came across my desk…I have never felt so embarrassed.”

You cringed at the idea of her seeing even the most tame stills that could have possibly been taken and you covered your heated face in your hands. “Tell me about it.”

“Good, at least you can feel some kind of remorse. That gives me hope you’re not completely ruined beyond repair.”

You rolled your eyes as that ‘remorse’ quickly evaporated. If only she knew how ruined you were only hours ago when Lando was buried balls deep in your ass. You should have recorded it for all time's sake. “I guess I am fixable, yippy, so can we go now?”

“No,” she said as she reached under the table and pulled out a stack of documents. “I need you to sign these.”

You took the papers and saw it was an amendment to your trust fund. “What’s this?”

“That is your future and it is for you to decide what you do with it.” She took a sip of her favourite Bordeaux wine before continuing, the same tactics she used to fill you with dread when you were growing up. “Sign the documents and your trust fund and inheritance remain yours, but-”

“Here we go, stipulations,” you groaned. “Go on, what are they now?”

“Three rules. One, if a single new nude photo comes across my desk, then this gets burned. You will have nothing. Do you understand that? The clubs, the cars, the plane, the yacht, the apartment. Gone.”

You sighed and gave her a small nod as you reached into your handbag for a pen. “Yes, mother.”

“Two. No nude videos, private or otherwise. No streaming on Only Fans or any other porn site.” 

You didn’t correct her on the fact it wasn’t strictly a porn site. That probably wouldn’t go down very well so you kept your lips shut and nodded as you opened the cap off your fountain pen.

“I understand, no fun on camera.”

“This isn’t a joke,” she sniped.

“I know, I was serious,” you huffed as you reached for the dotted line. 

The nib rested on the thick paper, the cerulean ink staining the fibres as you started to sign your life away. “Three. You end this relationship now.”

The cursive lettering shot off the page as you tore your hand back. “No.”

“It is non-negotiable.”

You snapped the cap back on and shoved the pen in your bag. “Exactly, I am not signing that.”

“Don’t throw your life away for a boy, especially one that wants to treat you so…revoltingly. You are degrading yourself, honey.”

Lando’s hand had slipped away from your shoulders and you caught it before he could bury it in his pockets. “Don’t listen to her, I don’t.”

“And look where you are, hmm.”

“I could agree to everything else, but not that. I love him more than the clubs, the cars, the plane, more than anything you can offer me.” You rose from the table with your handbag, throwing a handful of cash on the table knowing it would piss her off. She loved to flash her unlimited black card.

Lacing your fingers with Lando’s, you smiled at him before sparing one last look at your mother’s pained face. “Just so you know, it wasn’t his idea. I was degrading myself way before he subscribed to my channel.”

“Is that supposed to endear me to him? Knowing that you were acting like a whore and he still decided to date you.”

“That’s enough. You don’t talk to her that way, it doesn’t matter how you are related,” Lando snapped as he tucked you into his side. “Come on, love, let’s go home. I’ll take care of you.”

“Here, you can keep it all.” You plucked your keyring out of the bag as you passed your mother’s seat where she remained frozen. She made no move to take the key to the apartment and the car that had been bought with your trust fund so you placed it on the empty setting where your father should have been. “Maybe one day I can lose the family name too.”

Lando grinned at the idea of replacing it with his. “How does Norris sound?”

You tested the name on your tongue as if you hadn’t already imagined spending the rest of your lives together. He was your forever person, you had known that for a long while. With a skip in your step you left the private dining room and all but raced out of the club. You tugged your hair out of the styled updo before tugging Lando’s tie off and capturing his lips while you waited for his car to arrive.

You were breathless and needy when you finally broke apart, the valet drivers looking away with pink cheeks. “Y/N Norris,” you hummed as you unbuttoned his top three buttons and bared some of his tanned chest. “I like it, big boy.”

His head dipped close to your ear as he growled quietly. “You have no idea what this is doing to me right now. I would very much like to bend you over the hood of my car and fuck you when you say that.”

“What? Big boy?” you teased, giggling when he shook his head. “I love you, perv.”

“Love you too, babygirl.” He took his car key from the man who had climbed out and slapped your ass with a grin. “Now get in the car before I get us arrested.”

#lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #f1 smut

[lazlolullaby]

Where is the Moon Knight AU where Marc and Layla's patron Gods are swapped? and now my brain can't work because it extended into a full roleswap AU?

Layla's father came back from a successful dig with a trove of information and a lovely little ushabti of Khonshu. However, Abdullah is acting strange, talking to thin air, going out at night, researching further into obscure things. The lights are also flickering no matter how much she checks the generator and the wind keeps blowing despite the doors being shut.

Abdullah El-Faouly is the Eye of Khonshu: being banished for so long from the world, the God needs some time to adjust before going forward with his plan of punishing evildoers. (this was Khonshu trying so hard to be like the Ennead, but he could not abandon his nature to protect.) Abdullah ends up breaking the contract and Khonshu leaves the ushabti behind as a token of protection.

(then there is Arthur Harrow, the Talons of Khonshu. While his willingness to perform violence is a boon, sometimes he is too eager.)

Everything is fine for a while, then mercenaries break in to find the artifact. Bushman threatens them. Layla fights and takes down most of them, but her father is still hurt. One of the remaining mercenaries turns on Bushman. (He starts the mission as Marc - but since he can't handle another innocent death on his hands, backs out and swaps with Jake.)

During the struggle, Layla gets shot. Jake gets things done and then scatters. (he believes that he killed her. this has. repercussions on the system.)

Khonshu at first just wanted to revive Abdullah, but at his insistence he gives up being an Avatar so Layla can be revived. "she is going to be angry. You won't be there to see it." "she would have gone after them anyway."

(Khonshu abandons Harrow for this, not sure if it was worth it.)

Abdullah is right. Layla does go on a hunt, now as the Wings of Khonshu. Moon Scarab, to the underworld and the rumor mill.

She's mad about everything. Mad that her father presumed she needed saving, mad that she has to listen to an angry bird. (Rage, though it burns hot, always burns out. It's better than the cold certainty of Harrow's punish before wrongdoing. It is worth it.)

(Layla isn't unhinged, she's just gripping very tight to the hinges, thank you for asking.)

Weeks pass and she finds the last person of the mercenary group. A man cuffed to a wheelchair in a psych ward, sedated.

"His mind is fractured. Broken." Khonshu says. "It could be a fitting punishment, to keep him here. His body rotting while his mind spins in fruitless cycles."

"or he could be very good at hiding. One way to find out."

Layla is an excellent forger - a release for the merc, a small flat and money to keep him in town while he recovers from treatment. She feeds him a lie about being a family friend. There's a flicker of distrust.

"I've got a condition - blacking out, memory issues, insomnia - I'll be up reading all night." He says his name is Steven, but she knows better. "Are you sure you want to be flatmates?"

"I have places to be at night." Khonshu flickers the lights.

"Oh. Fine. Night owl, that's...fine."

"Don't worry about the lights, the landlord never answers the calls." don't mind that she's the landlord.

Her coming home with bruises and cuts. Steven flinches, insisting they go out to get bandages because they don't have a proper first aid kit. The awkward stare off with a hurt lady and a nervous guy VS the night shift cashier that's Seen it All. "bar fight. I won." Layla grins, blood on her teeth.

(The little moment where they're close as he's putting a bandage on her nose and being. so. tender. to someone who's never been more than 'distractedly polite' to him. His face changing to something new, something strange and lovely.)

When she finds him hitting himself, it's not that hard for him to explain. "I don't - I don't know if this is real. Jake is very sure you're dead!"

It turns out after the night of the attack, Jake got them far away as possible. He resolved to become a night driver and Steven to keep house in the day. Marc woke up and realized an alter was trying to build a life and just...let them. Better than mercenary work.

Steven gets worried about his missing time and gets therapy...and the therapist realizes, tells them and pushes them too hard to "come together as one whole"...Jake snaps and he's forced into a psych ward.

They cribbed together some form of communication on the psych ward thanks to a different therapist and the other patients. Marc's immense guilt wanted them to stay. But Jake and Steven wanted the body out. If they spent more time in the ward, they might reveal some crimes and the system doubts that they'll be allowed this level of help in a prison.

When Layla arrived to take them, it was an opportunity they didn't want to refuse.

"We don't want to be one person. We want to be ourselves." Steven fully introduces them after that. "We are the Hippo system! Like the Hippocampus of the brain that works with memory - that's Marc - and navigation - that's Jake!" He spells it out, "He Isn't a People Person Otherwise!"

"Who's he?"

Steven shrugs. "I dunno. I'm just here for general life, Jake is here for protection and gossip and Marc...he's well. Not as social as he'd like to be. I'm not supposed to know about it, that's not my "function", as the doc would say but...whatever happened that made us us was too much for one person to bear. It happened before we met you, so it's not your fault."

Layla shrugs. "What can you tell me about that night?"

"I can't tell you. That's part of the point, us being separate and all."

She eventually gets an answer out of them. Layla also lies and says she wasn't as badly hurt as they saw and shows off her Moon Scarab suit with the healing. (Jake accepts that answer at face value. Steven is a little concerned but willing to let it slide. Marc is suspicious.)

Now with their first round of secrets gone, they feel more at home. The Hippo System settles in as a decent partner in her artifact retrieval - he can put his mercenary skills to a good cause and she doesn't have to hide that burning rage as much. (the rage dims, is soothed and that's not good for vengeance.)

Khonshu starts to intrude, making noises about using the Hippo System as his next Avatar. Layla pulls away, tries to keep them apart because she Knows any more pressure on that mind is going to break them apart.

Wendy Spector dies and the Hippo system is thrown out of balance.

(The rage ignites. She's always held it together - her family after her mother died, her composure when people talked over her and her knowledge of Egypt, her home, now the Hippo system. It's always been up to her and she's resigned and vicious and not holding back.)

Layla makes a judgement call and goes after Harrow alone.

The system recovers. Steven now knows why he exists. He does not flinch from Layla's rage, does not fall for Harrow's twisted philosophy, not like Marc or Jake would. He rallies the system to action, to save the world.

Harrow was able to get dirt on Marc's past and tries to kill him with Judgement, but it doesn't work. He reveals about Khonshu, that his partner is lying to him and it does strain the relationship.

Things follow canon. Khonshu gets sealed into stone. Layla dies and Marc blends in as a follower.

Tawaret tries to ask him to be her Avatar, but he refuses. "Do you know what I did as a child to my brother? What my mother did to me over and over for it? Why would you even want me to defend women and children?"

And he releases Khonshu. "Ah. Big pigeon! No wonder Layla was so bloody ready to be rid of you! Get back to her then! Go on!"

And Tawaret comes back. "Temporary Avatar. I don't want any more voices in my head than I started with."

And he becomes Hippo Knight, because why not?

And they win against Harrow and the cult of Ammit. The system helps Layla stop giving into her rage to kill Harrow. Everyone should be able to choose good or evil.

(Steven kept in contact with the patients and nurses in the psych ward. Harrow is preaching violence again and well. He made his choice. Jake drives Layla over to meet with him. Marc holds her tight.)

#moon knight #layla el faouly #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #steven grant x layla el faouly #khonshu #marc spector x layla el faouly #lazlo's lulls #roleswap au #something about layla gets some mental illness and the system gets some stability #idk i kind of liked the thought of Layla's first impression of the system being him at his worst in the psych ward #then her learning about the different alters when they're ready #and the hippo acronym is VERY steven so #Inaccurate did system much like the show

[blackjackkent]

Another visit from the dream guardian.

In the past, when she has called him into the Astral Plane in his dreams, it has felt like a peaceful interlude, a moment of respite from the chaos of the waking world.

Something has changed, though. The pocket dimension is no longer placid. There is an impressive, almost inaudible thumping hum at the bottom of his hearing range. His skin tingles. There is an uncomfortable feeling of anticipation, like a nail waiting for the hammer-blow.

The guardian is standing nearby, watching as he wakes. She is not in her usual armor, but instead a short, pale lavender dress. She looks inexpressibly tired; her eyes sunken into her head, jutting jaw twisting her lips into a harsh frown.

"The voice of the Absolute is stronger here," she says quietly without preamble. "I don't know how much longer I can resist it."

A pause; then she lifts her head and musters a weary smile. "But it's good to see you're making progress."

With visible effort, she takes a few steps to turn and sit beside him on the ground, looking out at the endless sea of stars surrounding them.

"You took an unexpected route here," she goes on, a bit more conversationally. "You did a brave thing, saving those people in the grove."

Hector lifts one shoulder and lowers it again. "It wasn't even a choice," he mutters. "They needed my help."

Again she smiles slightly. "Not everyone would have helped."

She flinches, inhales sharply with sudden pain, then hisses the breath out like an unspoken curse.

"It just doesn't stop," she groans. "We are being bombarded by waves of telepathic energy. Wave after wave with hardly a breath between them. I almost dare not rest..." The pain seems to ease slightly, and she goes on with less effort, "Each wave...a new set of orders to the infected." A pause, and then she adds grimly, "The order for *your* transformation has been given many times already."

Hector feels a chill shiver down his spine. So it is not only a threat, but a certainty, held only at bay by this woman, whoever she truly is. "My transformation?" he asks hollowly.

She nods. "Yes. But the orders are oddly...erratic, as if the Absolute cannot make up its mind. I don't fully understand."

Well, if you don't, I certainly don't, Hector thinks sardonically.

"In any case," she goes on. "the Absolute knows you carry me with you now. It wants to retrieve me."

"Why does the Absolute want you?" Hector asks. At this point, he doesn't expect a clear answer - but he still hopes against hope that she will give him something concrete to explain the field of safety she is still able to weave around him and his companions.

She hesitates, then shakes her head and pushes herself to her feet with a grunt of effort.

"I am the only one who can resist the Absolute's influence. Hence its fear of me, its desperation. Unfortunately, that also means it is dedicating more and more resources to my retrieval."

She looks down at him with sudden intensity. "The task ahead is monumental. But we're all that stands between victory for the Absolute and freedom for all. This is not just about you and I anymore. It has become far bigger than us."

Hector swallows. It is difficult enough to think about his own little problems, the threat of abduction, transformation, death...but to know that their actions affect the safety of so many others as well...

Selune help me...what if I can't do it? What if I fail?

"You must infiltrate Moonrise Towers," the guardian says. She recites it like a litany, their only creed, as if either of them could have forgotten the destination that lies ahead. "Discover the secrets of the Absolute and put an end to it, so we can finally be free."

Her shoulders sag, and her eyes drift half-shut. Hector feels reality going grey at the edges as the dream begins to fade back into the emptiness of sleep. "Now I must rest," she says, her voice following him back into the dark. "And you must carry on. Do not let my efforts be in vain."

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #i gotta say #i was not expecting that dress #like it looks fine on her but it's a bit of a shift from the heavy armor

[stellerssong]

Last Line Challenge

tagged by @two-hands-toward-the-sun to post the last line (or, like, chunk, if we're being indulgent) i added to a wip! for my own part, tagging @eri-223, @sunsorbit, @honeyteacakes, @subjectsix, hi kip, uh...i don't know who else hasn't done this who wants to...so like. if you're seeing this, now is your chance! tell them i twisted your arm! tell them you had no choice!

and god damn, wouldn't you know it, the last wip i was digging around in is for a fandom i know for a certainty no one here is interested in. so we'll make it a twofer, just to keep the people hyped up.

first off, a loose sequel to my extremely normal P6 + P7 au for Control (2019, Remedy Games):

“So here the boy is, crying, sad, because that’s his only knife, and when you’re just a nobody-shepherd good knives don’t come easy, so he’s thinking, ai, what am I gonna do, I can’t just go and buy a new knife, my moneypurse is dead as the stone. And the tears fall down in the river, plash, plash, plash. Salt in the good sweet water and all. And the god of the river tastes them, and—” “The what of the river?” “Jahaa.” Ahti gives Jesse a sly smile, like a fox in a picture book. “Your funny man didn’t teach you that word?” “No. What’s it mean?” “Hmm. It’s like a—big man. Or lady. Or both. Or neither. Who got a big job to do. And all the little people, running around under his feet, they tell the god, hey, now, I need your help with this and with that. And the god, well—sometimes he helps, and sometimes he doesn’t, but the important thing for him, and the thing what makes him what he is, is the big job. Making the winds to blow, and the tides to rise, and the sun to rise in the east and set in the west, and the dark to come in at night.” “Casper says the sun rises and sets because of plan-et-ary ro-tay-shun.” “Plan-et-ary ro-tay-shun, saatana,” Ahti grunts. “Your Casper says a lot of things, eh? Some of them might be true, even. Smart man, smart, smart man. But he wasn’t there when the boy dropped his knife in the river. So you gonna believe him, or Ahti?” “Were you there when the boy dropped his knife in the river?” Ahti fox-smiles, and doesn’t answer.

AND, for your trouble, the next bit of the mansand werewolves au, where Dream is, as always, having some kind of a motherfucking day:

“Is…everything all right?” “Yes.” “Do you need a minute, or—?” “That might be for the best, thank you. Just sorting out a few things.” She squeezes Dream’s right paw, and Dream knows to his bones that she’s just trying to hide the fur and claws there, but the weak little creature deep down inside of him lets out a happy whine at the comfort of her touch. “We won’t be long. And you’re welcome to ask Tiffany to help sort the request items if she can mind the front desk while she does it. We’re a little short-staffed at the moment. Gearing up for finals, you know.” “Right. Yeah, no, of course.” Gwen takes a nervous step back. “I’ll, um—I think I’ll get started on the requests on my own, actually. It’s not that much material. And if I pull Tiffany right now, we’re gonna have masters’ students climbing over the front desk to steal each other’s holds when they think we’re not looking.” “It’s surprising how aggressive they get, sometimes,” Lucienne agrees mildly. “Though I’ve had some dark nights of the soul myself when I couldn’t turn up what I needed on JSTOR, so perhaps it’s not my place to judge.” “Been there, babe.”

#chatter #tag games #f: mansand #f: ctrl #AHTI MY GOOD FRIEND AHTI #awake alan 2 is an extremely good game that unceasing jumpscares aside i am liking quite a lot #but my main takeaway from it so far has been ''GOD i wanna play control again. I MISS JESSE FADEN WHERE IS JESSE FADEN'' #as for the wooves. gwen is here! everybody say HI GWEN WE LOVE YOU GWEN. #the reason that gwen is here is that every time the fandom says something unnecessary about [REDACTED] #i add another woc to the cast of the wooves au and/or make an existing woc more important. #at this rate dream and cori are the only white men in this au and they are fighting for their lives as is good and proper. #in tonight's performance the role of gwen is played by aubin wise because i receive my facecasting inspo directly from the god apollo #and yes i am the pythia before you ask.

[aectpen]

STRAWBERRY ✯ 𝙕𝙃𝘼𝙉𝙂 𝙃𝘼𝙊!

m.list

synopsis: 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐥

pairing: Zhang Hao of ZB1 and fem!oc

status: ongoing

chapter 12: we don't talk anymore

that evening, rina bid farewell to hao without discussing the confrontation she had with hyemi and haemin. she avoided contemplating the potential consequences of her actions, realizing that no positive outcome seemed likely. despite her certainty that she would never reveal confidential information to them, she remained on the fence about the possibility of cutting contact with him.

hao observed a shift in her demeanor that evening. it appeared as though her thoughts were elsewhere. whenever he attempted to approach her, she withdrew. each time he asked her about her well-being, she simply shrugged. she longed to confide in him, but with his packed schedule, she hesitated to burden him further. despite his numerous commitments, he chose to dedicate his free day to her, and she was reluctant to spoil it for him.

it had been three weeks since they had last seen each other. rina continued working at the store, while hao fulfilled his idol duties. they texted each other the mandatory good morning and good night, without any teasing or jokes like they usually did. it started with rina's texts getting dry as she had something else in mind, then it became intentional.

on hao's end, he interpreted it as her losing interest in the relationship. he blamed his idol schedule for keeping him away from her. no matter how many times he asked her what was wrong, she assured him that she was fine and everything was okay. he never believed her, but he left it alone.

as for haemin and hyemi, they were frustrated with the state of the two's relationship. they couldn't get any dirt on hao if rina wasn't seeing him. they left rina alone in hopes of her thinking they weren't keeping an eye on her, but they got nothing from it.

"rina," hao spoke through the phone. he gave rina a call while she walked home from work.

"hi hao, what are you doing tonight?"

"nothing, you?"

"nothing."

the line was silent for a moment. "great, i'll come to your apartment."

"no!" rina responded a little too fast.

hao tried to mask the lump in his throat with a sly comment, "you got a guy over, or what?"

"hao, don't you have your comeback showcase tomorrow? you should rest well."

"rina, seriously what is wrong? did i do something bad? please tell me so i can fix it." he sounded devastated.

"you didn't do anything wrong. i'll explain it to you, but i don't think now is the right time. you shouldn't be stressed." rina's heart ached for him. she didn't know that he blamed himself for her actions.

"be honest with me. just because i'm an idol doesn't mean any conflict in my life will make my head explode. stop treating me different." hao struggled to not raise his voice.

rina stayed quiet for a while. this is exactly what she didn't want.

"we can't see each other in person for now, we have to be careful."

"why? did someone figure us out?"

"it's haemin and her friend, and they threatened to expose us if i don't give her information. i didn't want to tell you because i thought i should just handle it myself."

"how would you even handle it yourself? why wouldn't you just tell me this in the first place?"

the thing is, rina could ask herself that same question. if there's one thing she hated the most in life, it was conflict. the moment haemin and hyemi brought conflict to their relationship, she felt like it was over. she couldn't handle the anxiety of maintaining a relationship with a popular idol, especially now when there is people close to her trying to take them down.

"i don't want you to have problems, that's all," her voice just above a whisper.

"were you going to break up with me?"

rina didn't want to answer that question, it was quite obvious she was pulling away to soften the blow, she just didn't want to admit it. admitting it would make her come to terms with the fact that she was never ready for this relationship in the first place. she would also have to admit that she is not always rational.

"i guess i'll take your silence as a yes." and with that, he hung up on her.

#zhang hao x reader #zb1 #zerobaseone #zhang hao #boys planet #park gunwook #ricky #kim gyuvin #han yujin #kim jiwoong #kim taerae #seok matthew #sung hanbin #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone x reader #fluff #zb1 fluff #zb1 imagines #kpop #idol #kpop idol #zb1 reactions #zb1 scenarios #zb1 ricky #zb1 hanbin #zb1 zhang hao #zb1 gyuvin #zb1 gunwook #zb1 gifs #zb1 han yujin

[theangryjikooker]

Dunno why I’m sharing this but I guess I’m frustrated today. I’ve been in the fandom for a little over 2 years, and a "jikooker". I don’t really like the label tbh, it sounds silly to me. To put it simpl, Jimin and Jungkook caught my eyes first and became my biases, and with time I came to the conclusion they might very well be dating (to which I have no certainty, obviously). Anyway. So I’ve been lurking here and there for about 2 years and I find it concerning how some Jikook-centered blogs are moving lately… like, it’s getting weird… As much as I love Jikook and tend to be over-fixating when I’m into something, some bloggers are so overly obsessed I don’t think it’s healthy. Like writing super long post overanalyzing every tiny little details, over and over again. As a grown ass adult, there’s something about it that makes me a bit uncomfortable, especially knowing those bloggers are adults as well (and no I’m not saying you shouldn’t have hobbies or be a fan of someone when you’re an adult, just the obsession pushed that far is weird imo but I guess that’s a me problem). I came here to see some cute gifs and edit and just crack jokes and I’m still a bit appalled by the shipping community. To each their own I guess. But what really confuses me these days is how weird some bloggers have become when they use to be quite level headed for what I can remember. I think jikook are a thing but these people are seeing signs e v e r y w h e r e Like just yesterday with the new Run Bts episode, so many jikookers who usually scream at other shippers about the importance of context and knowing Korean langage are interpreting Jungkook’s remark when they were by the Han river as a ramyeon joke (which he definitely joked about in the past) when it wasn’t one (he was referring to a certain type of ramyeon he wanted to it) or saying that he plucked his lips as if he wanted to kiss or blow a kiss or whatever when Jimin got close to his face when he was just pouting and about to speak… I dunno, it’s examples after examples just like this and it’s getting ridiculous. I used to enjoy reading some bloggers, now they’re not logical and down to earth anymore. Which is even more weird to me considering how Jikook have been acting lately. The more I see those two together, the more I think they’re "suspicious", or at least there’s plenty of moments that speak for themselves so why the need to interpret everything and see things where there’s nothing to see? I was very wary of shipping accounts when stepping into the fandom, and the more I observe shippers the more I come back to this feeling. Some people are way too much obsessed and involved, it’s just weird.

I only follow one other blogger whose posts aren't quite ship-focused, so I'm mostly in the dark about what's being said within the Jikook blogger community, but this is a common sentiment among my anons as of late.

From what I hear, it's a little insane. And on the rare occasion I go through the tag, I almost always regret it. From what I've collectively observed over the last year, a lot of these bloggers cater to like-minded fans, and there are certainly people who enjoy theorizing to that level of delusion (sorry not sorry). It’s not that I think I'm better than those people who want to engage with Jikook content in that manner when I say that, but I'm just not on their wavelength and I doubt I ever will be. I think a lot of that has to do with my long-standing aversion to RPS.

So I don't blame you; I understand how you feel and agree to an extent.

My feeling is that anyone with a platform should be careful about what narrative they're choosing to dig into because at the end of the day, these analyses are about real people. These aren't fictional characters we're dealing with, and to be frank, I think people’s approach to shipping fictional characters vs. real people can get blurred for some.

Real life isn’t as formulaic as fiction, but some people will analyze real people as though there are these cut and dry rules about how relationships work. I mean, yes, in real life there are some basic “if A + B, then C” type of equations with regards to interpersonal dynamics, but there will always be people who are exceptions to a common perception and shouldn’t be dismissed.

#TAJ asks #anon submission #jikook #kookmin #bts shipping #bts fandom #jikook tumblr

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

I don't a hundred percent think it's valid to call myself traumatized by the clinical neglect and possible gaslighting I went through since I was a child but also I know denial is a thing tm

When I was young, like really little like seven or so, I was misdiagnosed, so I was given the wrong meds for eleven years that once even interacted with antibiotics and nearly killed me, other kids didn't exactly like hanging out with the kid that talked about going to psychiatrists on the weekly and to a therapist after school, I used to think if I couldn't buy my meds and take them everyday I'd just idk blow up or something, worst of all the incongruence of having the wrong label on me and going through all the shame and ableism without the treatment part made me start gaslighting myself, I never felt suicidal but it was like everyone else expected me to be and somewhere a long the way I was just expecting to die young anyway even if I had anxiety attacks whenever I read about the statistics and never really pictured any way in which it could happen I'd just think of how little people would mourn me and say fuck them I'll be here for as long as I can just to prove them wrong while still expecting to lose some kind of abstract fight that people projected on me

Now I got the right diagnosis and it is such a better fit, the pandemic made it really easy to test with certainty where my brain would go if left by itself and it was stability like I was told I could never attain. Since then I'm happy I'm thriving every self esteem issue I used to have is gone every guilt over expenses I used to feel is gone I have a solid support system and it's been that way for a couple years now

I just see the effects still linger in some small things. I still don't drink when my friends do even if I know it wouldn't actually mess me up that bad, I don't really know how to begin imagining a future past thirty or so for myself and changed career paths already due to it, I never thought I could have any romantic relationships despite wanting to until now and I find myself so scared something will happen to me and I'll die a virgin, people that grew up around me still show up sometimes via mutual friends or social media or attending the same college and I so desperately wish I could explain myself or that they could know me for who I actually am because I'm also curious about them in all honesty but I know in their minds I'm just the poor crazy kid and there's no way to suddenly approach them without reinforcing that, me and my classmates needed the institution to intervene in our class the other day and they sent us directly to a therapist to explain the situation and it wasn't even about me and I wasn't even alone but being there again after so many school counselors office that did the opposite of helping me I couldn't look the guy in the face even when he wasn't an old white dude and actually helped us it still left me unresponsive and jumpy when someone else I barely know got too close and needing to hang on to a friend's arm and I got dizzy and had my thoughts on loop for hours and barely got home being able to properly speak again and I kept shortly saying I was fine and trying to steer away from the others (which I never do) just because attention at that moment would be awful

And I still think it was just me trying to fool myself into making my existence more interesting than it is, like a kid pretending to be a tragic tortured soul, like I was acting out so all my friends there would pity me despite the fact I usually hate being looked at like a fragile little thing that needs help

It's difficult for me to believe the doctor would be stupid to the point of not noticing every atypical factor in matching me to that first diagnosis, the age especially, but also pretty much everything about my personality, he was either fucking arrogant enough to believe he molded me into "one of the good ones" or he did it on purpose because it's easy money when you lie to family so they think they'll have to go to you forever. I moved out of my parents as I cut contact with him and I still remember how invested he seemed in vetoing my decision and insisting that leaving me alone was a terrible idea like he never wanted me to be independent and if we asked I'm sure he'd make it seem perfectly sound and well intentioned

My mom still says I should understand they were doing their best with what they knew, that it's not their fault gender discrimination is a thing that may have weighted in favor of the wrong diagnosis in the past (even if they show no indication of growing out of those views), and wanted to help and worst of all she said that I should be grateful. I don't want to be grateful I want to stay spiteful and never have to talk to someone that looks at me like that again

I'm thinking of changing therapists to one that shares my neurodivergence and understands this stuff, part of me thinks I should work on this repulsion of being a patient and giving someone authority over my mental wellbeing ever again, and another part want to cut the cost entirely, glad to be bitter and dodgy of medical professionals forever as petty as the reason I have for it may be

I mean this in the nicest most genuine way I can but I don't know how I'll feel reading a copy paste you're valid response either It'll probably just reinforce me thinking I'm full of shit and trying to feel special if I had to guess

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry about what you've been through.

I can see how this misdiagnosis has had a huge effect on you, not only your social life but how you feel about yourself. I'm so glad you were eventually able to get the correct diagnosis, that must be so relieving. But of course I can also see how this diagnosis doesn't undo the effects of the misdiagnosis, and how there's still things you're struggling with. Particularly, with growing up not expecting to live long, it may feel unfamiliar or overwhelming to think much farther ahead in your life, or even know what to expect.

I also understand that want to be closer to the people in your life, and to not only feel like you know them on an intimate level but that they can truly know who you are, what you've been through, and how those past experiences shape the person you are today.

I feel that if you believe your friends think you're crazy, then perhaps you deserve some new friends. You deserve friends who are patient and understanding, especially after what you've been through. I can also see how your mom's outlook on the situation is damaging to you, as she seems to be trying to justify things that don't need to be justified.

It makes sense why you may want to change therapists, it can be good to have someone who understands your experiences more personally and can thus answer you from a more accurate angle. But I also understand why you may be hesitant about trying, because you've had negative experiences with medical professionals.

The thing is that trauma is defined not by what happened, but by how you responded to it psychologically. In other words, if you feel traumatized by what happened, then it's trauma. It does matter what happened, but it doesn't determine whether or not you're "allowed" to be traumatized.

I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #tw abuse #tw medical abuse #tw child abuse #tw emotional abuse #trauma details

[pesterloglog]

John Egbert, Vriska Serket

Act 5, page 3493-3494

EB: ok then, i guess i will get going.

AG: Go where?

EB: to keep looking for my dad!

AG: Are you sure you don't have more important things to worry a8out?

EB: um...

EB: are you saying that i am still not supposed to find him yet?

AG: John, please. I thought you were done getting the future spoon fed to you like this.

AG: I have told you that you will find your dad eventually. That should 8e good enough! Don't you think it's time to start taking your responsi8ility more seriously?

EB: well, yeah.

EB: but what responsibility do you mean?

AG: We just concluded that I am going to go fight Jack. And there is a possi8ility I will fail! He could kill me easily for all I know. 8ut it's something I have to try.

AG: And if I do fail, your plan will serve as 8ackup. There is a lot riding on you, John. On 8oth of us!

EB: ok.

EB: so you're saying i should go get the tumor now instead of putting it off?

AG: I'm not telling you to do anything. Just reminding you of what's at st8ke.

EB: wait, i mean the tumor.

EB: wait...

EB: i mean The Tumor!

AG: Why don't we just call it what it is.

AG: A 8ig fucking 8om8 in the core of your 8attlefield.

EB: yeah.

EB: which is what i was wondering about...

EB: how am i supposed to get it out?

EB: i guess go find a cave or something?

AG: Yes, you could pro8a8ly go looking for a sanctioned entry point.

AG: Or you could just do what winners in a hurry do.

EB: what...

AG: Cheat!

EB: uh, is that even possible?

AG: It's practically always possi8le.

AG: I won't tell you how, 8ut I will point out you could start making 8etter use of your powers than facilit8ing noisy joyrides.

AG: Is that what Earth is like, 8y the way? A 8unch of humans flying around in little wheeled pods constantly 8eeping at each other with their chauffeur familiars????????

EB: hehe, no.

EB: well, maybe some places, but most cars stay on the ground, because science fiction hasn't happened yet.

AG: Anyway, I'm just saying it's time to do something useful and impressive with your powers, deli8er8ly for a change. You are a god now, remem8er?

EB: yes, but...

EB: all i can do is make a lot of wind blow around!

EB: how is that going to help?

AG: Use your imagin8tion!

AG: That windy thing of yours is more vers8tile than you think.

EB: alright, i will try.

AG: Good.

AG: I think it's time for me to get going too. I will prepare for 8attle.

EB: oh, man.

EB: i guess if there is nothing i can say to change your mind, and it's something you really have to do, then i understand.

EB: but, how about this...

AG: What?

EB: can this not be the last time we talk before you go?

EB: it would be nice to hear from you at least once before you leave to fight him.

AG: Yeah! You got it. I will message you 8efore I leave.

EB: in my future, too! none of this messaging me in the past nonsense, before i even knew you.

AG: Of course.

EB: ok, great. i will hold you to that, vriska.

AG: It will 8e a certainty.

AG: That said, there is no need for any sort of farewell right now.

AG: Go do your amazing windy thing, John. 8e cre8tive! I will talk to you l8er.

EB: ok, i will, later!

arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling ectoBiologist [EB]

#homestuck #john egbert #vriska serket #homestuck act 5 #page 3493 #page 3494 #homestuck act 5 act 2

[slightlysuspect]

 All That's Lost

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi learns of Anakin's fate from Master Windu

Obi-Wan Kenobi

"Master you must let me go after him." I insist.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" Master Windu asks.

"Surely he wouldn't try to kill me."

"He is a Sith Lord." I have a hard time accepting this at face value. Even if he was, does that mean he'd try to kill me?

"I just don't think it was a good idea to send him off alone. What if someone else comes along and starts twisting his mind?" I can sense Master Windu losing his patience.

"That's the biggest problem. His mind is twisting itself. We were mistaken. The prophecy of The Chosen One foretold our demise. Darth Vader will ensure the extinction of the Jedi."

"And if that's true, why have we allowed him to live?"

"That was my fault. I underestimated him. Had I been able to kill him, I would've. For now, we've tricked him into leaving us alive. I will handle this, and it would be better if you put your energy into other problems."

"What other problem requires my attention? Master, leaving him in exile to spiral on his own is a mistake! He needs me!" And I need him. I've lost everything to my dedication to the order. I can't lose Anakin too.

"Enough! You want to focus on a problem? How about you contemplate your strategy for removing Orn Free Taa from office?"

"Senator Amidala is in a coma. We can't make a move on the Chancellor without her political influence."

"And what if she doesn't wake?" I don't have any good answers to that question. Padme strongly advised against the Jedi operating against the Chancellor independently. "Undoubtedly losing a political ally like Senator Amidala is a blow." Mace continues. "But we need to move forward with the resources we have."

I can only shake my head. "I don't like it, and quite honestly I'm beginning to feel a little out of my depth. Maybe Master Yoda should confront the Chancellor."

Master Windu sighs. "Master Yoda is unwell. Vader severed his connection to the force.

"What?" I ask incredulously. "How is that even possible?"

Mace Windu gets lost in contemplation. "I don't know." He says. "It's nothing a Sith has ever been able to do before. However, Yoda's 600 year old body is now beginning to fail without his connection to the force."

"He's dying?" I ask. Windu casts a nod.

"Obi-Wan this is a difficult time for the Order. I know your emotions are telling you to go after Anakin, but your presence has never been needed more here. The future seems to have no desire for balance, and would happily see us destroyed. If you abandon us, our demise will become a certainty." I don't appreciate the disasterizing, but begrudgingly I'm forced to admit that I agree. I'm needed here, now more than ever.

"Fine." I say. "But I don't like it."

Windu gives me a somber stare. "Rest assured, neither do I."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"To an end, my time seems to have come." Yoda says. He's gathered the Jedi Council at his deathbed. Despite his incredible age, I never fathomed I would live to see him die. "Listen well my friends," he continues, "very careful, you must be. Only growing, our enemies are."

"Yes." Windu says. "No doubt Vader will start working to gather forces. We must remain vigilant for when he reveals himself."

"So certain are you, that Skywalker is the only evil?" Yoda asks.

"Yoda is right, Master Windu." The soon to be Grandmaster Tera Sinube says. "The exile has been handled for the moment. We can't forget our other, more glaring problems." I still think it would help if I went and looked for him, but no sense in beating a dead horse. However there is one issue I could use Yoda's guidance on.

"Master," I ask Yoda. "What should be done about the Senate?"

"Hmmm," Yoda contemplates, "most careful, you must be. Underestimate them, you cannot." Not overwhelmingly useful advice, but I'll definitely proceed with caution. "My time... at it's end..." I can feel Yoda's life force fading from the room. "May The Force... Be With You..." is the last words Yoda spoke.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The first Jedi Council meeting after Yoda's death is certainly eerie. I look around the room, and consider how much it's changed in just the last month. Mace Windu is once again Master of the Order, while Tera Sinube is the new Grand Master. Then there's Ki-Adi-Mundi, Plo Koon, Stass Allie, Shaak Ti, Oppo Rancisis and myself. Including Windu, we're the only ones who were on the council at the end of clone war. A few short weeks later, and we have Coleman Kcaj, Depa Billaba, Jocasta Nu, and the very new Empatajayos Brand, along with Tera Sinube. Hopefully we won't need to elect more new members any time soon.

"The end of the war hasn't gone the way we had hoped," Mace declares in quite the understatement. "but we shouldn't let our shortcomings drag us down."

"Are you suggesting we celebrate as our fellow Council members are slaughtered?" Master Allie asks.

"Celebration might be a stretch," Mundi says, "but we are making progress."

"Towards what exactly?" Allie asks. A fair question. What is getting better?

"I agree with Master Allie." Master Sinube says. "These are nothing short of somber times, and we must greatly rethink our approach if we want to bring peace to the galaxy."

"The war is over." Madame Jocasta says. "Does the end of the war not mean the beginning of peace?"

"Not necessarily." Master Billaba says. "The end of the war means the Republic is now in sole control of the galaxy, and it remains to be seen if that's a good thing."

"So we should focus our efforts on politics then." Master Brand states. "Personally, I think Own Free Taa is a poor excuse for a Chancellor."

"Welcome to the club." I say.

"Indeed." Windu says. "However removing him is easier said than done."

"Yea but if we just wait around, the situation will only get worse." Brand says.

"Yoda was clear." Windu says. "The Senate is dangerous, and we shouldn't do anything hasty."

"Surely that doesn't mean we're going to do nothing at all?" Brand asks. He reminds me a lot of Anakin.

"Patience, Master Brand." Sinube says. "The force will reveal all in time."

Author's Note

What is an author's note? For me, historically it's been about whatever I just wrote, but at the time I was writing the notes right after I wrote the story. For whatever reason, I didn't do that this time, and am now writing notes from a retrospective angle. And I can positively say that I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but I'm certain that as we journey through, these notes will be about something.

#star wars #fanfic #alternate universe #obi wan kenobi #mace windu

[absoloutenonsense]

.

#venting #i'm so tired of hearing my dad say 'we can't live in a bubble' #like i get it i really truly do #he owns a restaurant he's coming at it from a different perspective #but he had lunch with someone yesterday who tested positive for covid today and he firmly was like 'i don't have covid' #and i'm like you can't know that??? #he was like 'we don't 100% know how it's transmitted' #meaning which days etc... #and there's more to this but again i'm just tired of it in general #he is quarantining and will not be at his restaurant until he gets two negative test results over the next week #but just the certainty of it blows my mind like i don't know how he can be so ~~~~ about it #i've already canceled my flights home for christmas but it's all just making me feel like i'm not going to be able to go at all #for a long while #at least not until we have and have all taken a vaccine #idk i'm just really sad and i miss my family but i can't in good conscience go and see them when it's like this #i guess it's just a tough night #maybe i won't feel as sad and tired about it in the morning #here's hoping #covid #coronavirus #jferioajgfioeawjfoewafjewa

[acapelladitty]

Okay so really really obscure hc but I hc that Jonathan and Deacon Blackfire at one point got locked in processing together, for obvious reasons no one really took much note of that. Or at least that was until Blackfire started preaching things that sounds a little too familiar to Great Granny and Crane decided he needed to shut up

You inspired me 💕👀💦

The clench of his jaw so tight that it was almost painful, Crane pressed his fingers to the faintly bleeding gash which was scored across his upper leg. His costume would need stitching when he next broke free as the batarang has torn a slash clean through the rough material and his thumb pressed at the frayed edges as he ignored the source of his current irritation.

"The Lord will not allow for his chosen to be locked up like some animal. Soon, I will be free and my acolytes and I will raze this city to the ground for its gross perversions and ungodly ways."

Spittle flying from his lips as he screeched the words at anyone unfortunate enough to pass by the processing room, Deacon Blackfire was a vision of righteous anger as he slammed his fists against the metal bench he was sat upon.

"Sinners! Filth! Perversion! My congregation and I will see it all washed away in hellfire!"

"Born in sin, you were. A disgrace. Product of a whore mother who spread her legs for any pervert with a drop of money."

Gripping his knee with a clawed hand as the echoes of his childhood washed through his mind, Crane could hear his Great Granny as clear as day within the words of the furious preacher.

"This city is undeserving of salvation; catamites, whores and ruling this place with their heathen ways."

"Lazy, ungrateful child. Sometimes I wonder why I bothered opening my home to such a pathetic waste of skin."

Crane glanced over at Blackfire and his look did not go unnoticed as Blackfire turned his furious attention to him.

"And look here, we have the Scarecrow," he spat, "another monster within this city. You will fall just like the other sinners."

Moving quicker than any observer could have expected, Crane closed the space between them in a few short strides as he loomed over the seated preacher.

Drawing his hand back, a flash of panic appeared within Blackfire's expression before Crane's palm connected with his cheek in a resounding slap; the force of it knocking his head to the side as a stinging sensation ricochet through Crane's hand.

"Listen good, and listen well. The Scarecrow knows of your fraudulence and your manipulations of the zealots you call followers. How you use their beliefs and their fears to lull them to your side. Do not make an enemy of me, Blackfire, because you are an infant in this particular game and I will rip your congregation from you like a child having a toy removed."

Recovering from the humiliation of the slap, rage flared within Blackfire's eyes as he snapped back.

"You have no pow-"

"Don't be so foolish." Crane interrupted, not allowing him to get a single sentence out. "You know who holds dominion when it comes to fear and if I choose to come for you, I will leave you nothing but ash. How quickly you forget about my past congregations and how easily they are amassed by a true master of fear."

Leaning down so that he could meet Blackfire face to face, Crane allowed the certainty of his threat to emit from his very pores as he held the other man's eye and continued.

"Preach to me again and I will make a martyr of you. Do you understand me, Blackfire?"

Uncertainty played on the lined face of the preacher for a moment, a red mark high on cheek from the earlier blow, but he was quick to nod his submission.

Sated for the moment, Crane turned on his heel and retook his seat to bask in the welcomed silence of the processing room.

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #deacon blackfire #dc comics #gotham rogues #batman villains #dr jonathan crane

[wisterialagoon]

For you, I'll stay : pt1

Dabi is one of the top soldiers of the League of Villains. He does the dirty work and feels the stain of crime on his hands. You're an Assistant Inspector at the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, resigned to records-keeping instead of doing actual fieldwork. What happens when these two become intertwined in the most prominent political event that changed the era of 1990's Tokyo Japan?

Warnings: Violence (a girl gets beat up in this chapter), gangs, eventual smut(not in this chapter tho)

Tokyo Metropolitan Police Agency, Kantō Region, Japan.

January 9th, 1990, Tuesday. 

22:30 hrs.

"It's going to be a long night," she thought, while fixing her desk for the fifth time. There was a haphazard pile of file folders, an unboxed diskette pack, and coffee cup stains all over her table calendar. She quickly reorganises the file folders, placing them in chronological order, then according to crime. Then, she matches the diskettes, which contain additional data such as interrogation footage, with each pile. Lastly, she makes her way to the pantry to refill her mug with coffee, humming along to a tune that was receiving more airplay recently.

It was an uneventful night, to say the least. As usual, she worked overtime, working on organising the paperwork and records of each case-from instigation to case management. She loved it initially, but now that she's six months into this new assignment, she could feel herself wearing down with how emotionally, physically and mentally taxing everything is. It wasn't so much the quantity or frequency of the load, but the content itself.

Seeing death, rape, theft and disappearances on a daily basis was starting to take a toll on her mental health, and even if she learned how to compartmentalise, there was something about seeing all the details that made her sleep less and less these days. The photos of dead bodies or visages of crying relatives would disturb her to no end, and having to type out each case report even if it meant tagging it as a cold case, was something that never really sat well with her.

Her direct senior, the only female Inspector in the agency-the only one who was actually nice, unlike the rest of the police force who talk about her during lunch breaks and agency dinners-tell her that the feeling of being "uninvolved" and "useless" will soon pass. "Besides," she tells her during one of the rare nights that they're both doing overtime, "You've got potential."

She sighs, wary of the compliment. "I just... I wish I could be doing more."

"You'll have your fair share of fieldwork and interrogations, Y/N" she says, patting the younger girl's shoulder. "Just keep working well, and the Chief will soon see your potential."

That last line resonated with her the most. She knew that the Chief was a firm leader-he did routine inspections, called people in his office to ask for status reports and he'd set all sorts of deadlines. But he was also known for being experienced in reading people just with one look.

So the question was, what was his assessment of her?

Did the Chief view her just like how the rest of the agency did-an Assistant Inspector who was only fit for clerical work even if she had graduated at the top of her class? Did he even notice her presence in the building-or was she too conscious of all the judgemental stares thrown her way because she was the first female recruit in a long while?

That was it, she thought, not noticing that her cup had overflowed.

With a sharp curse, she flung her hand away from the scalding beverage, and moved to grab some tissues-her mind thoroughly forgetting the questions that had darted in her mind not a minute ago.

As she dabbled the tissue on her hands and shirt, the police hotline rang, disturbing the silence of the otherwise empty floor. Alarmed at the prospect of a crime or report coming in at this hour, she runs towards the desk of the patrol and public safety unit.

"SMPA, what is your concern?" she asks, voice surprisingly level. When there wasn't a response, she asks again, this time a notch louder.

"Kidnapping," the voice cuts through the radio silence, its texture a rich timbre with a raspy undertone. Caught off guard at the mention of a kidnapping, she scrambles for a notepad and a pen. "23:00, 6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan. Takahashi Yua." In hastily written script, she takes note of the details, not once interrupting the man on the line.

"Who is this? Where is your intel from?" she finally asks, after she hears mere breathing sounds. "Hello?"

The person on the line doesn't respond, instead opting to breathe heavily before the line dies.

"Wha-" she exhales, overwhelmed with the situation. It wasn't unheard of for random tips to come in the station, that much was true. But a tip at this time? And with that much detail? She was wary enough that there wasn't any crime traffic recently but this is proving to be the suspicious exception.

Shaking off her doubts, she dials the home number of Inspector Sato, the head of the patrol and public safety unit. She knows he'll definitely give her an earful for calling at such a late hour-and to his house no less, but if what the man said was true, and if her gut was right, someone was after the daughter of the Minister of National Defense.

At the sixth ring, he picks up and greets her with a litany of questions. "Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is? Whoever you are, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up!" he rattles off, temper flaring.

"This is Miyasaki Y/N, sir." she says, surprised at how stable her voice was. "Assistant Inspec-"

"Ah, the personal assistant." his tongue clicks, and even if she didn't see, she knew he was shaking his head. "What is it? Here to ask help again in records-keeping?"

At that, she presses her mouth in a thin line, stopping herself from giving him a piece of her mind. She knew that they would always find fault in whatever she does but sometimes she wants to just put them in their place and prove herself.

But now wasn't the time to do that.

"No, sir." she starts, fisting her hand. "There's been an emergency call to the patrol and public service hotline. A tip was given about a kidnapping at apartment 6 Chome-10-1 in Roppongi -"

"Let me stop you right there." he expels a deep breath, clearly uninterested with her report. "You do know what that area is like, right? Or do you not even know where it is?"

"It's in Minato city. The residence listed houses many important political figures, it has national defence" she says, foregoing the other details and taking the opportunity to transition to the most important part. "Sir, you see, this could actually mean that-"

"This means that there is no kidnapping. I mean, if you're trying to pull a joke, it's a terrible one. Hell, there's hardly any crime in that area!" he gives a dry laugh. "it's an executive residential area, guarded and all that. As you said, National Defence is there and so are diplomats and expats. No one in their right mind would attempt a prank call, let alone a kidnapping."

"But the caller gave a name, possibly that of the victim. We should send a team, I have the address. I could lead the-" again, he cuts her off. At this point, a vein was threatening to pop at how unprofessional he was being, but she'd rather not break out into an argument with a direct senior-especially when he was clearly already annoyed at her.

"So this is why you really called, huh?" he chuckles. "Look, no one knows how you got in, or what strings you pulled to pass the Academy, but at the rate you're going, you'll never lead a team-much less my team." the certainty in his voice washed over her, causing her to remain silent at his blatant jibe. "So go back to whatever you're doing and don't even attempt to call me or anyone from the agency to waste their time with your tall tales." the other line clicks, ending their phone call.

Exasperated, she puts down the receiver with a little too much force than was necessary. "Fine, I'll do it myself." she mutters, putting on her coat, muffler and grabbing her car keys.

30 minutes. She'll have to pray that she makes it. After all, she doesn't have much time.

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

23:00 hrs.

The gate to the apartment building alone rendered her speechless. Pure brass balusters and a towering guardhouse greeted her, complete with intimidating security personnel who wasted no time in asking for her identification.

"Assistant Inspector Lee, from the SMPA. We received a tip about criminal activity taking place in the vicinity of this residence," she starts, not giving any specific details. "This won't take long." she adds, as a last ditch effort to convince them that she means business.

"Alright," one of the guards lets her through. As she rolled up her window, she catches a muffled dialogue between the two. "Isn't she a little too young to be an Inspector? And criminal activity? Talk about absurd."

Scoffing, she speeds up to the address the caller gave and in a few minutes, found herself outside the apartment building. But she was too late. There, standing by the of the main entrance, was the defence Minister himself, with blood on his hands and a shell-shocked expression.

"My daughter..." she hears him mutter. From just behind the door, she hears distant voices screaming for someone to call the police. "Dial the police! Or call the National Defense for all I care! Someone do something!" the voice got louder as she linked it with a face-Takahashi Riku, the Minister's wife. As if seeing the police lights flashing atop her car, The ministers knees gave out.

She makes haste to catch him before he falls, and as she does, she gets her shirt stained with blood, and scrapes her elbow with the force of his weight. Not minding the sting of the wind blowing by her scraped skin, she pulls out her walkie-talkie, and radios the police patrolling Roppongi that night.

"This is Assistant Inspector Miyasaki Y/N, does anyone copy?" she starts, practically shouting. For some reason, she felt an adrenaline rush at the development of events. "Repeat, this is Assistant Inspector Miyasaki, does anyone copy?"

After a few beats, a voice breaks through the white noise. "This is Inspector Takami, copy. What's your 10-13?"

"I've got a two zero seven." she says, forgetting that she hadn't even scouted the area for verification that a kidnapping actually took place. "6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City. Send a medic for shock treatment." she rattles off, surprised at herself for actually being able to focus and act given the situation.

Then again, this was her job. Her first fieldwork-albeit unwarranted and unapproved.

"Copy that, 10-4. I'll run code. ETA twenty minutes." he affirms his direct response before ending the dispatch call.

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

23:20 hrs.

After twenty minutes, two police cars pull up the driveway. One belonged to Inspector Takami, the other was the patrol for back-up. He closes the gap between them in five, quick strides, hands in his coat's pockets.

"What happened?" he asks, ready for a briefing.

"There's nothing definitive yet..." she trails off, mentally berating herself for not even scouting the interior to study the scene. "But I've spoken to the family."

"You mean you've spoken to the Minister of National Defense." he supplies, his breath fogging up in front of him. "What did he say?"

"The family heard the door slam shut, and when he went to check his daughter was gone," hesitant, she clears her throat as a stalling method. "He found her in the marking lot, the girl was bruised and bloodied, unconscious. Looks like she was forced to inhale somthing, and her hands were tied."

"Attempted kidnapping?" he asks, stealing a glance at the apartment buildings façade.

"High chance for it." she answers, clearing her throat again. "Listen, Inspector, I received a tip in the agency around an hour ago-saying something about a kidnapping taking place at this time, at this exact address."

He raises his eyebrows, evidently taken aback at this new piece of information. "And?" he asks, expectant.

"And I think this is a set-up." she declares, sure of something for the first time that night. "Whoever is behind this, wanted us to come, thinking it was a kidnapping when it was an assault and break-and-entry."

"What are you getting at, Miyasaki?"

"There's a reason why Miss. Takahashi was assaulted and not kidnapped. They're telling us something." she says, handing out her notepad which contained the details of the emergency call a while back.

"What do you think this could possibly be then?"

"I don't know... yet." fuelled with conviction, she fists her hands at her sides, no longer feeling that sensation of helplessness or uselessness back in the agency when she was working on records-keeping. "But I'll find out."

9-chome, Kitakarasuyama, Setagaya-ku, Tokyo.

Assistant Inspector Miyasaki Y/N's Residence.

02:00 hrs.

Finally back at her apartment after filing the case and sending off the Minister's family with words of certainty about exhausting their whole force on the job, she slumps on the sofa, feeling her body become dead weight.

"God..." she sighs, fatigued. "That was a long night."

#my hero academy fanfiction #boko no hero academia #dabi fanfic #My hero academia #Touya todoroki #Touya fanfic #bnha touya #dabi my hero academia #jin bubaigawara #league of villains #mr compress #shigaraki tomura #spinner #toga himiko #twice #Magne #dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #Hawks #hawksbnha #keigo takami

[anwenevergreen]

The end of all things

There, at the core of the Heart of Thorns, was a clearing. A dome of cruel coils and biting vines, shifting with every breath and respite of the dragon, tendrils spreading out under the surface of the jungle, shattering the bones of the earth to the edges of Maguuma. Trahearne was trapped at the centre of the voracious entanglement, a few drops of octarine sap leaking where the teeth of the pod had gnawed deeper, intent on keeping him prisoner.

Anwen shivered, a cold fury igniting her veins, her moment of weakness forgotten and the fire of battle burning bright in her heart when Trahearne regained consciousness.

“Anwen.”

There was a resigned awareness in his voice, a grim certainty as the remnants of the Dream faded away, giving way to a painful reality.

“The Pact... is it...?”

“All but gone, my friend... Our forces are giving their last to lead the final assault on Mordremoth. We're at the heart of his power. His call is so strong that even I can feel it.”, she admitted, turning a knowing glance to her sylvari companions. “Only there can we deal the mortal blow. We're ending this now, once and for all.”

“It's too late. I know – I am part of the jungle dragon now.”, he smirked sadly. “It's everywhere.”

“So how do we kill it?”, Braham pressed. “Burn every field and fell every forest?”

“No... it can't be defeated that way. It'll just grow back. Its roots have spread too far, too deep.”

“Then we destroy the root : Mordremoth's mind. Its strongest attacks come from its mind, from the Dream. That's where we'll defeat it.”

“Yes... Strike at the dragon's mind through the Dream.”, Trahearne pondered. “It can work.

“Turn the tables and attack the dragon the same way it's been attacking us?”, Canach breathed. “Sound strategy, Commander. It's brilliant.”

“Our connection will provide the access you need. If I concentrate, I can open a path into the Dream. Into Mordremoth's mind.”

A low rumble echoed in the clearing, a darkness prowling along the vines as the dome seemed to threateningly close up on them.

“You don't need a translator to understand that. The dragon doesn't like this idea.”

“Then it'll die afraid.”, Anwen spat. “We must make haste. The Pact might buy us some more time, but who knows how long we have till the dragon decides we're an easier threat to dispose of.”

“The trance will leave you exposed...”, Trahearne apprised. “Vulnerable. Your minds will make the journey, but your bodies will remain here in the cavern.”

Rytlock snorted lowly.

“I've seen enough metaphysical landscapes lately, anyway. I'll stay behind to keep the Mordrem at bay.”

“Thank you, Tribune. I'm not particularly keen on splitting the party, but in that case, we don't have much choice. What say you, three go in, three stay behind?

“I'll stay.”, Marjory added. “If something goes wrong... or if Trahearne isn't what he seems to be...”, she trailed off darkly. “I'll be standing by.”

Anwen nodded in grim understanding and turned to the rest of her companions.

“Canach.”

The second-born repressed a flinch.

“Commander, I was strong enough to make it this far.”, he appealed. “Don't leave me behind now. I have the strength... and sylvari must demonstrate that strength before the world trusts us again.”, he added in a rasp. “You know what I'm capable of, and you know the circumstances that led me here... so you know I'll help you get the job done. No matter what.”

“Your will is unwavering, Canach, that's why I need you in here with me. Caithe?”

“Wait.”, Rytlock cut sharply. “So two out of three going into Mordremoth's mind are sylvari... Does anyone else have a problem with that?”

“Actually, Tribune, I was about to say that Jory and you could use a stealthy partner to scout ahead and warn you of any incoming menace. Caithe.”

“You may not trust me, Commander, but you need me. I'm the only one besides you and Rytlock that's ever beaten an Elder Dragon. After Eir, and Faolain... You can doubt my word, but never doubt that I want the Jungle Dragon dead.”

“Mordremoth dies today, Caithe, whatever the cost, we end this now. But it will not fall without a fight. Mind-games and deceptions are his chief weapons, and we cannot afford to second guess your intentions if we are to defeat the dragon. I will only take with me people I absolutely trust, and you're not one of them.”

The rogue firstborn took a deep breath – as if to protest – but then blinked, defeated.

“I swear by the Pale Tree : none of you are being taken by the dragon on my watch.”

She went to stand by the tribune, head high and daggers drawn.

“Taking on an Elder Dragon and all its hordes. Just like old times, eh, Rytlock?

“Exactly like old times. Which means you stay where I can see you.”

Anwen smirked and turned to Braham at last.

“It's an honour to have you by my side, Braham, son of Eir.”

“I am proud to make that final stand with you, Commander.”, the young norn nodded. “For Eir.”

She turned to Trahearne, hoisting herself up the small rock outcrop jutting over the snare of vines to reach out to him. The firstborn offered her a forlorn smile.

“I am glad you're here with me. Here at the end of all things.”

'You should not have come here.'

'I am everywhere. I am all.'

“You've failed, Mordremoth! And now you die. For Tyria!”

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#trammander #trahearne lives au #trahearne x anwen evergreen #heart of thorns arc #chapter 2 #trahearne #hearts and minds #playing with the dialogues a bit #bonus point for whoever can spot a terry pratchett reference in there

[murderousginger]

Demons & Angels

Warnings: Menton of drug use. Smutty sexy things. They're criminals, guys, they do bad things.

Word count: 2211

Song here

(gif by @nofckingfighting)

You worked yourself up all afternoon to show up at his door. You'd had enough of Tommy Shelby and his attitude. You were sick of him brushing off your ideas, keeping you in the dark except for your small part in whatever plan he had. You were tired of hunting him down to speak to him and his words always being so clipped with you. He kept you at a distance, careful to not touch you as if dealing with a leper.

He might be the devil of Small Heath but you thought you had been friends well enough for him to spare you a look, a thought, a smirk. Something. And so you were on his doorstep that night, late enough to ensure he was home, knocking so rapidly that you almost knocked Finn in the head when he cracked the door open. Your anger waffled as Finn looked at you.

"Oh, sorry Finn," you say as you look to your feet.

"Why are you knocking like a copper this late, (Y/N)?" He asks, wide-eyed. "Arthur was 'bout ready to blow the door out."

"Sorry, I just wanted to talk to Tommy," you say, looking anywhere but at the child in front of you. "Is he home? Can I speak with him?"

A large hand grips the door above Finn's head and pulls the door wider. Arthur sticks his head out, scowling.

"Fuckin' hell, (Y/N)," he barks. "Why are you here at this hour? I nearly blew your head off. Come in, come in."

They both retreat and you come in, closing the door behind you. Finn is dressed for bed already and Arthur is half dressed, his shirt half buttoned, as if he was just about to sink into sleep himself.

"I came to talk to Tom," you say, regaining your conviction.

"At this hour?" Arthur squints. "He doesn't know you're coming, does he?"

You shake your head as you clasp your hands together.

"No, but-"

"This can't wait till mornin'?" He scratches the back of his head. "It's late, love, and I'm sure any business--"

"It's not business and I'm not leaving without talking to Tommy," you raise your voice a little, panic lacing through your tone as you realize you might not be allowed to see him. You'll lose steam by morning, unable to meet his eyes and tell him how you feel.

Arthur nods, his head down as he pauses before he looks back to meet your eyes, his voice calmer, softer.

"Right then," he nods to Finn, "you, off to bed. Now."

Finn does as he's told, eyes wide.

"Right," Arthur clears his throat. "Right. Well. Something I need to tell you first, right, is that Tom's…"

He trails off, his hand waving as if to catch words in the air to fill his mouth.

"Tom's not himself right now," he says finally, meeting your eye as if to push the meaning into your head.

"Not himself?" You repeat, dropping your chin to your chest.

"Yuh," he said, nodding more vigorously as you catch his words. "He's more, y'know, calm… right now. He's had a bit of opium to sleep and he might not be in full form."

"Opium?" You frown. "Why's--"

"He takes it to sleep," Arthur says as he shuffles in place. "He don't talk about it much. I think you'd be alright."

He squints as he smooths his mustache down.

"A woman shouldn't set 'im off like I do," he mutters to himself. "Come'n, love, I'll show you his door."

Arthur walks to the stairs and goes up them before you find your feet and follow, more questions than answers from the interaction. You both stop at the first closed door at the top of the stairs, and Arthur points to it as he steps away from it.

"He's just there," he said, continuing his walk down the hall. "Wait 'til I'm out of sight, or I'll set him off, and we don't want fuckin' war flashbacks tonight, love."

Your eyes widened as your hand froze over the doorknob.

"Just be easy," Arthur said, his hands gesturing wildly. "It's all a bit of a dream to him right now."

Arthur disappeared into his room as you stared at the door, uncertainty tainting your anger. You were used to unaffected, strong, stubborn Tommy Shelby. Who would this man be behind the door?

You finally took a deep breath and turned the knob, moving into a room of heavy sour smoke. It tickled your nose as you looked at the mostly bare walls. The only furniture was a wooden chair, an end table, and the small bed that Tommy Shelby lay across as he contemplated the ceiling as if you weren't there.

You closed the door, fidgeting as you sank into the wooden chair.

"Tommy?" You call, hoping it would snap him out of whatever was happening.

He frowns as he turns to you, scrutinizing you before he looks back to the ceiling.

"That's new," he says to himself with a shrug. "I suppose she's been on my mind but it's not normal to conjure."

"Conjure?" You ask, lost in his words.

"I see spirits, love," he says. "Not the living. You can be off now."

His words brush you off like a maid and rekindles your resolve.

"Why have you been pushing me away?" You ask as you sit on his bed near his feet with your arm propping yourself up as you watch him. He took a deep breath.

"Do you think I tell people things?"

He stayed still, a picture of calm waters, as he laid on his bed with his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

"And I do?"

"You're telling me now."

"No," you sputter, "I'm asking a question."

"People don't ask questions about things they have no care for."

"Have you always been this obstinate, Tommy Shelby?" You shake your head as you look to the ceiling.

A heavy silence fills the room as you both stare above to the blank ceiling. You fall into your head, the dark corners that you retreat to when you can't quite grasp those around you, and you start to shuffle through the worst explanations to fill the silence. This was a terrible idea. I'm a fool.

"I am cursed," he said, breaking you from your thoughts. "Everything I touch gets tainted. Broken."

You soften as you look over, your mouth shut in fear a response would silence him. His face is pinched, his eyes searching above him, as if he can't find the words. There's never the right words.

"You fit," he said. "You don't flinch at the violence. You don't flinch at the business. You've never given me the look."

He stops, finally looking down to his feet to look over you, through you. His eyes cover your every curve and he gives a slight nod before he looks back up to the ceiling.

"The look?" You whisper, afraid that anything louder would stop him, take him out of whatever trance had him. Whatever the opium opened in his head.

"Disgust," he said. "Fear. Loathing. You've never stopped looking at me like I'm just a man."

"You've never been anything else to me, Tommy," you say as his face drops, his blue eyes melt over you like clear skies.

"I am to everyone else," he lowed.

"Should I be afraid of Thomas Shelby, Devil of Small Heath?" Your eyebrow quirked up involuntarily, taunt thick in the air.

He smiled at his epithet on your lips, the words rolling out of your mouth. They didn't have the usual feelings behind them that he had grown used to. You knew the answer before you asked and nothing would change your certainty.

"I think I'm in love with you."

He says it like he isn't there, like his words aren't really attached and settling into the world around him. It just tumbles out of his mouth without thought. He mulls the words over once they're in the air as if he hadn't actually considered it before that moment.

Your heart catches in your throat, expanding, exploding in your chest. He looks down to you, mouth slightly parted as he looks over you again, his words settling into his brain.

"Odd," he says, watching you frozen in place as he sits up. "I've never placed that thought. But that would be why you're here now, innit? You've been in the back of my brain so long you've appeared. The opium conjures what I reject."

"Why reject me, Tom, when I've always been by your side?"

"Why poison the only good?" He breathes out. "I'm done with this talk. You're like a mirage, if I touch you, you're gone."

You sit frozen as he cocks his head and reaches out as if to move a curtain away. His fingers ghost over your lips as his mouth slacks and his eyes flare. Shock and anger fight over his features like lightning in a summer thunderstorm.

"I'm not disappearing, Tom," you whisper against his fingertips. "The opium didn't conjure me. You touched me and I'm still here, unbroken."

"Fuck."

It's all he uttered. Sharp. Succinct. He pulls his hand back as if he burnt himself on you.

"Kiss me."

He buries his face in his hand, muttering nonsense to himself.

"I'm telling you I feel the same," you rasp, your heart fluttering as the words fill you with a jolt of fear. "You can't confess your feelings and refuse to kiss me."

"I'm afraid to kiss you," he breaths out, flustered by his own words. His hand wipes his mouth and shakily hangs in his lap.

"Why?"

"Because if I start I don't know if I can stop."

"Who says I want you to?"

Tommy hesitates but his hand finds your cheek, his thumb brushing it softly. Your hand finds the base of his neck and you pull him to you, your kiss hungry. Tommy matches your passion, his hesitation dripping away in the flames as you taste the whiskey on his tongue and a sour taste you can smell in the air around you. You breath out a soft moan as he bites your lip and his hands cup your face as his kisses move across your jaw.

"That sound," he growls as he pulls you into his lap, "I'll spend forever in that noise."

You chuckle, but your breath hitches as he kisses the soft spot on your neck. You wrap your arms around him and squirm in his lap. His teeth rake the spot and you're seeing stars, fucking planets orbiting your head. You moan louder and he growls into your skin, ripples of pleasure shooting down your spine.

"You like that," he says like it's fact, and it is. Oh, it is.

Your dress is over your head before you realize, only the cool air causing goosebumps across your flesh makes you register it's disappearance. He presses you back, pulling you both backward before his hand finds your chest and he lays you flat on your back.

"Hell is the absence of that noise you make," Tommy mumbles as his hands run along your legs and his nose tickles your thighs.

He searches, tests you, settles there as if he's willing to do anything to keep that noise in his head. You moan lightly when he touches the right spot and grow louder as he dives in, his hands pressing into your skin harder as your body wriggles from the intensity of the feelings he gives you. He hums as you arch your back against the bed.

You hiss, bringing your hand to your mouth to bite as you push against him. There are other people in the house and you can't yell the house down. You look down to see the crinkle of amusement around his eyes and his hand reaches to pull yours from your mouth.

"Your brothers are in the house, Tommy," you whine, fighting to keep your voice down as your eyes roll back.

"They've heard worse, love," he said as he climbs your body, his words growling down your ear. "But I've never heard something so sweet. Moan my name again."

He got his way. Tommy Shelby always got his way.

When both of you collapse together, breathing hard in each other's arms, Tommy pulls you close to his chest.

"I broke my rule for you," he says as he kisses the top of your head.

"Tommy Shelby has rules?" You twist to look up at him. "I always thought you look at rules and pass them by."

"I am selective with which ones I follow," he says as he pulls your lips to his. "I just have the one I've never broken."

"And that is?" You smile lazily, tired and enjoying his touch.

"Don't endanger the innocent."

Your brows knot together as you open your mouth to protest.

"My hands on your skin put you in danger," he says before you can speak. "I've put a target on your back with my bloody hands."

You kiss him slow and soft.

"Well," you say as you pull back. "I guess the devil of Small Heath will just have to protect me, then."

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #storytime with murderousginger #promptmurderousginger

[gwen-ever]

Until My Last Breath (Prologue)

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived... whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin's past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins' house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC

Rating: M

Warnings: none.

AO3 LINK: HERE

Note Number I: English is not my first language, I have a wonderful beta @lathalea <3 (i am so much greatful you can't even imagine) but maybe I will mess up few times.

Note Number II: The Story takes place during the quest but there is a whole backstory that starts since Thorin's childhood so there are going to be a lot of flashbacks. THEY ARE NOT IN A CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER so the whole back story could be guessed but will be explained later in the story.

Note Number III: I will mix up the book events and the movie events, fixing what where (from my point of view) some mistakes were made. I have decided to do so simply because there are some lacks of infos here and there and so many lost possibilities in some actionless time, as happened in Mirkwood and Laketown.

I am blood of your blood, and bone of your bone, stone of your stone

I gift you my body so it can fall instead of yours.

I give you my soul so it can  wait for yours in the Great Halls.

I lend you my voice so it can order your commands

I present you my sword so it can slay the ones who wish to harm you.

No other dwarf will be mine, no other dwarf will own me,

no one will sleep next to me, no life will come out from the womb of mine.

No one I will serve over the crown, over the Seven Stars, over the Father of all fathers, over the King of all Kings.

I offer myself to you, until the end of times, until the mountains soar to the sky,

until all the blood dries, until the fires of Mahal’s forge blaze high.

Until my last breath, until my last glance, until my last blow,

until the last time my hands touch the rock our Father gave to us,

my life is yours and your wish is mine.

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The house of Bilbo Baggins was more crowded than usual that evening, and the owner was more than a little disconcerted: not only had his peace of mind been disturbed, not only was his larder completely, utterly, depleted, but his kitchen, indeed his whole house, was overrun with dwarves! Thirteen dwarves! Plus a wizard he had met in the morning whom he barely knew and had marked the door with a rune, thanks to which his guests had recognised the Hobbit's dwelling. Truly, Bilbo Baggins did not know how to begin to drive them out, he had been trying since the first one (Dwalin, if he remembered correctly) had walked in through the round door, obviously without being heard by any of them.

Crockery, knives, pots and pans, everything had begun to fly from one side of the room to the other without ever stopping. He tried more than once to stop them, without ever succeeding! At that moment his Took blood was more useless than a fork when eating soup. In fact, his Baggins blood had gotten the better of him, leading him to accept the situation with no small amount of annoyance, including those black strokes on his yellow walls and the fragments of food scattered on the floor. Oh, not to mention his good wine, totally gone! It had taken him hours to sort out his pantry between days before and now all his food, all his tomatoes, all his wine, all his cheese, everything, gone, vanished, and it was not even the time for the spring solstice party yet!

And now, or in heaven's name, now Gandalf had even had the courage to tell him that he would have to get used to them! To all of them! To the twelve dwarves in his kitchen! And what on earth did the wizard mean by saying  that he would have to put up with them forever!

Annoyed, he began to walk down the corridor arguing with Gandalf and putting his hands on his hips.

"I don't understand what they are doing in my house!" he shouted, raising his voice.

The wizard didn't reply, but a small voice behind him did and before he knew it his entire set of porcelains was in the air.  His cutlery was being knocked over his table. Knife blades were being dulled by their rubbing against fork handles, and before he knew it, in time to the music, his entire kitchen set was flying through the air.  Oh no, no no no, not that chair, no, not that plate, no not that other plate! No, stop, please!

His pleas were soaring through the air, as if they were leaves on a wind, as were his dishes. And Gandalf sat smoking his pipe on a chair with an amused smile while all this happened before his eyes. Bilbo ran to the kitchen to put an end to this madness, but as soon as he did so, he noticed to his surprise that all the things that had been flying over his head until just now were neatly stacked on top of each other on his kitchen table.

He blinked, several times adjusting his braces, unable to believe his eyes.

The dwarves seemed highly amused by his reaction, and began to laugh, until three knocks on the door brought silence and an icy air that he could feel all the way down to his hobbit ankles.

"He is here," Gandalf said.

From the doorway a short while later another dwarf entered and it didn't take him long to realise that he was different, very different from the others who had entered his home moments before. Every single beard turned to face the newcomer as he walked inside.

Bilbo didn't know who it was and he didn't even really care, no one would enter his house unannounced, no one.

But he couldn't admit that his blood ran cold in his veins as soon as that dwarf started talking to him and asking him all those strange questions. What did he mean by axe or sword? Did he really believe that a hobbit like him had ever picked up either weapon? Who did he think he was? He could not hide his confusion at the last statement of the so-called Thorin Oakenshield.

"He looks more of a grocer than a burglar," he joked.

It was all too absurd for Bilbo's poor hobbit ears, all so surreal! His life, monotonous and lonely until a few hours ago, was now changing, he could feel it in his bones, and he could not understand if it was a good thing or not: he had always dreamed of adventure when he was a young hobbit, but now it was different; the walls of his home were so comforting and safe, every object was a certainty for him. His life was there and he would never leave it, no sir!

Calmness, however, continued to reign for a long time, during which the largest of the dwarves, with a long red beard, went to his kitchen and with an almost surreal care began to prepare a soup. Thorin Oakenshield sat down at the head of the table and was soon joined by the oldest of the dwarves who had entered his house, Balin, and two of the youngest, the two brothers Fili and Kili.

They began to talk in low voices, in a calm and quiet tone, just like everyone else in his house. It seemed absurd, but at least he was able to sort out some of the leftovers that had been left behind in the kitchen back in his own larder and eavesdrop, even if he didn't want to (it was rude) on some of the conversations that various small groups of dwarves were having. The ties of kinship were quickly understood, as was the realisation that Thorin was not really just another dwarf. No more plate was flying, no more song was being sung, but not out of fear, out of respect.

He turned his head, watching the almost regal profile as he spoke to the bear who came into the house first, but he could not hear what they were talking about, the fact was that their faces were dark, and Dwalin's eyes moved insistently over him.

A short while later Bombur returned with the soup, handing it to Thorin, and in the blink of an eye the groups of dwarves in his house were grouped together again, sitting around the table. He wasn't invited, that's normal, there's a meeting in a house and the owner of that house isn't invited! Not that he cared, of course not, the apple he was putting in the basket in the kitchen was certainly more interesting.

But he couldn't help but listen.

"What news from the Ered Luin, did they all come?" asked the older dwarf.

"Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms," the voice of Thorin spoke, setting off a round of small laughs and joyful murmurs.

"And what do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?"

A long wait ensued in which Bilbo swore he could hear the heart of every single dwarf in the room beating wildly.

"They will not come,"

The dwarf's reply was sharp and decisive. Disconsolate murmurs rose from his dining room that only increased in volume and quantity when he spoke again. "They said this quest is ours and ours alone,"

They began to talk in low voices, in a calm and quiet tone, just like everyone else in his house. It seemed absurd, but at least he was able to sort out some of the leftovers that had been left behind in the kitchen back in his own larder and eavesdrop, even if he didn't want to (it was rude) on some of the conversations that various small groups in that group were having. The ties of kinship were quickly understood, as was the realisation that Thorin was not really just another dwarf. No more  flying plates, no more singing songs, but not out of fear, out of respect.

A coughing noise, however, stopped the murmurs and caused Bilbo to turn to the table from behind the kitchen wall as well, distracting himself from his chores. Gandalf settled into the small chair and began to search the sleeve of his grey robe.

"This indeed, it is not entirely true," he explained as he slowly pulled a long wooden pipe from his sleeve. "There is someone else who has yet to arrive," the sorcerer explained, barely looking Thorin in the eye.

For all the pipe weed in the world, again?

The dwarf at the head of the table stopped sipping from his goblet of ale, giving him a sidelong glance but remained silent. Instead, the dwarf named Gloin spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. "This means yet another division of profit, all of which should have been agreed upon first." he muttered.

"Agreed, this matter should have been dealt with weeks ago," Dori pinned, pulling himself up.

Gandalf did not even look up at the elder dwarf, adjusting the tobacco in his pipe.  "My decision was made after our meeting in the Ered Luin. And Master Gloin, I think that our member does not wish any of that gold in that Mountain."

"Who is it?" grunted Dwalin suspiciously, looking up at the wizard who lit his pipe with his fingertips.

Bofur chuckled under his big black mustache, puffing an avalanche of white smoke from the side of his mouth. "Another burglar?"

"A burglar for the burglar," Fili grinned at the back of the room.

"A burglar made for the burglar," Kili added and their banter invited the murmurs from just before. This time, however, they were louder, more confused, as was his hobbit head.

A torrent of questions flooded the room as they all asked questions of the wizard, who, bewildered, tried to answer; only Thorin's intervention put an end to the commotion created, shouting warnings in their native tongue. Then he turned to the sorcerer himself, glancing at him.

"The questions that have arisen around this table are fair," he began earnestly, "I have not been informed of any others, none of this was a part of the bargain, Gandalf."

Gandalf smiled with the side of his mouth taking a puff of his pipe. "I was told to find the fourteenth member of this company and so I did, the addition of a fifteenth should not be an unsolvable problem."

"As I said it wasn't in the agreements and last minute clauses at a time like this are not convenient, not at all," retorted the dwarf bringing silence again.

Bilbo looked at the dwarves, clouded by the smoke from the pipes and the warmth of the candles around the table. They looked at each other's hands or watched Thorin in silence, not uttering a breath.

Gandalf put down his pipe and crossed his arms on the table, moving slightly closer to the dwarf with long raven hair.

"I assure you that my choice was not taken lightly, and if I had thought it was right a few months ago I would have reported it to you back then. But it was not possible," Gandalf lowered the tone of his voice even further. "You must trust me on this."

"Is this person crucial to what we must accomplish?" he asked quietly, looking straight into his eyes.

The wizard murmured a small "yes" between his lips, nodding his head slightly as he continued to look the dwarf lord straight in the eye.

Thorin said nothing, watched the wizard for a few more seconds before letting himself go off the back of his chair and then he took a sip of ale from his mug again. The conversation had ended in a few simple sentences, yet Bilbo noticed how the wizard continued to look at Thorin insistently.

Gandalf brushed his gloves around his hands with his fingertips dropping his gaze downwards for a few seconds before turning his head back towards him.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow," he called to him in a manner far more cheerful than his face was capable of showing. "Let us have a little more light".

----/////----

A snort passed her lips.

She was dreadfully late, which she hated from the bottom of her heart; and she hated the fact that she was going to a strange house of a Hobbit whose identity she did not know, although after all those years she had become accustomed to being in the homes of strangers quite often. Perhaps the real reason for her stomach clenching was not whose house it was but who she was supposed to meet in that house and the reason why she was going to that house. Because when she would see them again, all of them , it would not be pleasant or easy.

Far from it.

She didn't even think it would ever happen, nor did he want it to happen again.

She slung her sack over her shoulder as she climbed up the little dirt road, passing funny grass-covered houses by the round door: if it had been daytime, a riot of colours would have accompanied her path and perhaps, for a few minutes, she would not have thought about the imminent meeting.

She would have stopped for a few brief moments on that bench next to the path and sat there for a short while, perhaps lighting her pipe or watching those very peaceful people go about their simple business. Watching them do simple, mechanical things, perhaps in another life she might even have stayed in such a place, in peace, with someone. But no, too many years had passed, she had seen too much, heard too much, and she would not be able to live like that, not there.

Suddenly, a faint pale light caught her attention: she approached it and, with a thump in her heart, recognised the rune that the sorcerer had traced so that they could all see it. She reached the garden and climbed the small steps that led to the round green door. She ran a hand over her leather bodice and gathered in her heart all the emotions she could possibly feel.

Hatred, fury, pain and anger, so much anger.

She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the voices she could hear through the door.  Taking a deep breath to calm her already jangled nerves, she knocked, hearing a great commotion and excited voices from inside.

The door suddenly opened, and it was the sorcerer himself who filled her field of vision: he broke into a rather smug smile, proud to have been right for the umpteenth time.

He knew she would come at last.

She had met him only a few weeks before and he was exactly as the rumours said. Gandalf's every move was studied and planned and, who knows why, everything corresponded to the plan he had devised; how every cog in that mechanism worked was a great mystery. Yet for that, she could not but admire him.

So, after he had silently nodded his head, she entered the cosy, warm house that smelled of good food and wine and was lit by the soft light of candles; she followed him into a corridor and the smell of ashes and moss entered her nostrils, as well as that of processed tobacco and malt. In a few steps she found herself in front of a small room where, around a table, were crammed all the others who, as soon as they glimpsed their new guest, assumed the most surprised and astonished expressions she had ever seen. Their faces turned pale, their beards seemed to stretch to the floor, and none of them dared say a word. Only one of them stood up so fast that he knocked over the stool on which he was sitting, irate.

"What is she doing here?!"

The rumble of thunder rumbled through the room and like a thunderbolt it brought to light old hidden shadows, old whispered words, broken oaths.

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You're blood of my blood, bone of my bone, stone of my stone,

I embrace your body to let it protect me

I take your soul and forge for it a place next to me in the Great Halls

I take your voice which I will hear above all others

I take your sword and I present you my shield which will protect you from my enemies.

No other dwarf will be yours, no other dwarf you will serve,

no one will  keep you company at night, no life will come out from you.

No one you will serve over me, over the Seven Stars, over the Father of all fathers, over the King of all Kings.

I offer myself to your hands until the start to the end, until the skies fall on the ground,

until all the bones crack, until the  fires of Mahal’s forge blaze high.

Until my last breath, until my last glance, until my last blow,

until the last time my hands touch the rock our Father gave to us

my desires are yours, your pain is mine.

#thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #thorin fic #thorin fanfiction #the hobbit fan fiction #king under the mountain #quest of erebor #middle earth #middle earth fic