#for my own sanity i will NOT go into what thoughts are brewing in my head (hypothezing what time the p4 cast was pulled from-

[mama-frog]

Session 7 Brainrot

I have so much to say about what happened this session so I'm gonna categorize this by person.

Gem: I find it incredibly interesting that she was the person given this task. A) Because she is the one the only Geminislay, B) Because she is like fresh meat to the watchers, C) Because of the infection she is already going through. The darkness spreading across her body probably made her more susceptible to the curse at first than anyone else on the server. She's such a strong player overall and the fact that she had a whole army behind her is terrifying.

Grian: The fact that he didn't get caught by the zombies says a lot about him. He's very good at running and hiding (especially from watcher stuff). I also want to point out WHERE he hid in the end of the session. The pesky bird went into a comfort nest. Definitely unintentional but definitely fun to think about.

Scott: Scott and Gem are, in my opinion, some of the smartest people on the server, so the fact that he didn't get caught doesn't surprise me and surprises me at the same time. Everytime Scott got boogey in a previous death game he did it in a way that was unsatisfactory for the watchers (Not actually killing and killing as soon as possible so the others weren't brewing up a pot of tasty negative emotions). He felt betrayed when Gem finally started to go after him (Even though she didn't go completely nuts until she turned red) and he has such a strong sense of loyalty to his allies. There's also some juxtaposition of him hiding underground while Grian hid in the air.

Martyn: Even though it was on a technicality, I think it's interesting that he was the only one not allowed to be infected. It's as if the watchers know that his chaos is secured and are trying to get the others in line with what they want to see. Also, he's just so damn good at being a red name, I feel like he's the only person to do it correctly in this series. I also feel like he was cheated out of his revenge plot on everyone else on the server because of the curse which might've been intentional on the Watcher's end.

Cleo: She is an icon and she IS the moment. I just love the irony of her being a zombie and not getting infected by the curse. I feel like her closeness to players like Martyn and Scott helped her in her ability to avoid the curse for so long. She's very smart with her allies this season.

Pearl: I'm terrified of how quick Pearl is to go insane when given the chance. Especially when it comes to her dogs. Tilly is always in her heart. This woman was YELLOW and decided on her own to bring up a warden when there already was one. And her gear is so well enchanted. She has learned a lot from previous seasons but she has also lost a bit of her sanity (Especially from double life). What a woman.

Joel: I don't know why he thought spawning 64 zombies so close to him and not on the others was a good idea, but man was it good comedy. Once he became a boogey he played really well though. He's so perfectly unhinged and after Lizzie dying he has very good reason to go insane on everyone else (The spine bit was cruel and unusual punishment). Underrated POV in my opinion.

Scar: Unhinged

Etho: Ok this part hinges on my theory that endermen are creatures created by the Watchers to interfere with the games. I fully believe that the watchers hated Etho being green so badly that they personally interfered to take him to yellow. The betrayal of your own tool killing you is a tasty snack for the watchers to enjoy. (Definitely not just Etho being washed up). Also the way he is so incredibly loyal to his team members even after being cursed. He's just a stand up guy.

Impulse: I just love the way him and Gem interact. He's like a proud dad whenever she does anything. That's it.

BDubs: I cackled when he got killed by a zombie again. Gem is hilarious for that. He did about as good as I expected under the curse. I do love all his interactions with Etho more than anything else. Those two are such unofficial soulmates (in a non-ship way).

Skizz: A true light on the server. All the better for the Watchers when he gets corrupted by the curse. He deserved to be mean after the heart got burned down.

Tango: This man's rage is so interesting. The way that it gets triggered most when people mess with his base is something I think could be explored (the ranch in double life, the ties base in limited life, and now the heart foundation).

Overall I have a lot of emotions about this last session

#secret life #session 7 #geminitay #grian #martyn inthelittlewood #watchers #I got a raging headache while writing this so the effort continuously went down #traffic series

[xaphrin]

Good Morning

[Adult Nonsense Ahead]

The smell of expensive, freshly brewed coffee was the second best sensation to wake up to. 

The first was Damian’s clever mouth buried between her thighs. 

Raven’s back arched off the heavy, brocade bed sheets, and she let go of a soft moan. Her wrists were bound above her head with a silk rope and she tugged gently to test their strength. Strong enough to hold her in place, but knotted in just away to allow her escape if she truly desired it. 

She didn’t. 

Damian hooked a thigh over his shoulder and his tongue traced the length of her, circling around her clit. Her breath escaped in a single rush as flames started to lick at her skin, burning her with every pass of his mouth. He nipped at the crease of her thigh and stared at her over the curves of her body. “You’re awake.”

Raven opened her mouth to think of some clever retort, but Damian was already spreading her wider, his tongue sliding between every intimate hollow and driving every good thought from her mind. He slid a hand up over her stomach and cupped her breast, teasing the nipple into a tight peak. Raven whimpered, feeling her orgasm start to build just under her navel. He was going far too slow for her, and she was forced to let him move at his own pace. 

“I thought-”

Damian pulled back and clicked his tongue, silencing her. His eyes were dangerously dark, and they kept her pinned more to the bed than the silk ropes. “You talk too much for someone getting eaten out first thing in the morning. Your only words should be yes, more, and harder.” He gave a devilish smirk. “And my name of course.” 

Her stomach tightened, and she threatened to come from that look alone. Damian seemed to notice, and he grinned, running his fingertip through her. He circled her clit slowly, his eyes never leaving her. “A queen should be worshiped every day with the sun.”

“Is that an al Ghul saying?” Raven’s voice was breathy, and she would have been ashamed if she wasn’t so far gone. 

“A personal opinion of mine.” He dipped his head again, redoubling his efforts. His tongue did wonderful things to her, flicking over her clit, fucking her. Every movement brought her closer and closer to the brink of sanity. She was shivering, pulling at her restraints, nearly crying as he rode the edge of her orgasm hard. She could feel her body fluttering, waiting for the last stroke to send her careening into oblivion, but…

He pulled back again, crawling up over her. Raven whimpered, her hips shifting and pushing against the head of his cock. Damian gave a low, teasing chuckle, sliding his length over her in a mockery sex. He nipped at her throat before looking down into her eyes. 

“But I’m not above asking my queen to beg.”

She shifted her hips, her pride preventing her from doing what he wanted. “I thought you wanted to worship your queen.”

“I do.” Damian trailed his fingertips up the pale length of her arm, his finger stopping to toy with the thin gold band on her left hand. “I am. But… seeing my demon fall so far that she cannot help but beg for my cock is a rather enticing thought.” He pushed the head of his cock against her, teasing her even more. “Such a proud little demon, brought to her knees by the mere anticipation of pleasure.” 

Raven shivered and she widened her legs even more, trying to entice him. “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll do it myself.”

“I’d love to watch.” He seemed unaffected by her threat, as if he found it amusing. “I’d love to see your fingers stroke and touch your cunt. Watch your eyes close and your breath hitch. Listen to my name cling to your lips as you imagine that your hands were mine.” He pushed his hips again, his cock still teasing her. “A cheap replacement, but serviceable in your time of need.” 

Raven whimpered again, and her teeth sunk into her lower lip. “Damian…”

“Or…” His voice was casual, as if they weren’t both teetering on the brink, desperate looking for something more. “...you could beg. Beg for my cock. Beg for me to take you. Beg for your orgasm.” His hand gripped her thigh and he hitched it up higher on his hip, anticipation thick between them. “Beg me, my queen. And I promise to give you everything you want and more.”

She took a deep breath, shoving her pride into a pit in her chest. “Please. Please, Damian.” Her voice was wavering and weak, and didn’t sound anything like her. But her need was too great, and he knew it. He was playing her like an instrument he had honed just for himself. “Please. I’m…” She swallowed. “I’m begging you. Please fuck me.” 

Damian’s slow smile nearly did her in. And without another word, he thrust himself deep inside her. Raven felt a scream bubble up before she could stop it, and the lanterns around them flickered in the early morning light. She twisted her hands in the ropes above her head, needing something to hold onto. Without any preamble, Damian set a furious pace, his hips snapping hard against her skin as he fucked her with wild abandon. His thick cock stretched her wide, reminding every muscle in her body of the ruthless way he fucked her on their wedding night. 

Raven’s back arched off the bed and she pulled hard against the ropes. 

“Look at me.”

She shivered and met his wild eyes, seeing the darkness of the Pit glow in their depths. 

“When you come all over my cock, don’t look away. Know that I am fucking you. Damian al Ghul. The Demon’s Head. Your king.” He slammed his hips into her with bruising force. “Your husband.”

Raven leaned up and caught his lower lip between her teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood. “My love.” 

Damian smiled, and that was the last thing she saw before she drowned in pleasure. Raven screamed, looking into his face as wave after wave shattered her. Her muscles tightened and released, endorphins flooded her body, and she let herself ride the delicious high of her orgasm. 

He kept fucking her, relentless in his persuit of her pleasure, and it wasn’t until Raven collapsed on the bed that he let himself enjoy his own orgasm. Raven watched, fascinated as the muscles in his shoulders tightened and his head tipped back as he cried out. Gods. He was beautiful like this. Lost to his own needs, and chasing this carnal high. Time seemed to stretch forever until he fell onto the bed next to her, releasing her wrists before gathering her in his arms. 

Silence settled over them like a warm, comforting blanket, and Raven buried her face into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of soap and sweat. 

“Good morning.” 

She laughed and looked up at him. “Yes. It is.”

#damirae #demonbirds #i don't know what this is #but I just needed to write this morning

[rickmymanrick]

rick’s POV(ch 6 | one rule)

here's a little look at what's going through rick's mind after the lori/shane bombshell. this should give more background to rick and daphne's 'relationship' before the fall.

also take it easy. this was written very quickly without much revision. just a fun little dive into rick's thought process during this scene

"Oh, really? Does a brother fuck your wife?"

I didn't understand what Daryl had said at first. The shock kept me rooted in my spot as he scoffed and then stormed off into the trees.

Does a brother fuck your wife?

A rage crept in as Shane began to shuffle uncomfortably, mere feet away from me. He wasn't even trying to deny it.

"She... Lori... she thought you were dead, man."

I suddenly knew this wasn't just sex. The first thing he'd done was defend her honor rather than his own. Was he in love with her?

My jaw clicked as I clenched my teeth together angrily. The betrayal was almost enough to blind me in rage. Our marriage was on the rocks for almost a year before my coma, but we were still married. Someone I'd trusted with everything knew the mother of my children intimately.

"Did you?" I bit out. After all, he was the one who had last seen me at the hospital.

"You heard 'em. I—I tried, Rick! I saw you every chance I got—"

His words flew into one ear and out the other. I couldn't think of anything but how much I wanted to knock his teeth out.

"—we were comforting each other the only way we knew how—"

Holding onto my sanity was surprisingly difficult. I always had a feeling Lori had her affections directed elsewhere. All our arguments and fighting, the things she'd say in front of Carl— the thought of infidelity wasn't out of reach. I'd even come to accept the possibility of it, because outside of my house, I wasn't doing much better. Could I even be upset with her? I never cheated on my wife, but my attention had been fixed on another for quite some time.

"I thought you were gone." It was the only thing I could manage to say, if I wasn't going to send my fist flying into his face, at the very least I could try to express the hurt. He needed to know that this broke everything we had.

"After I woke up in that hospital bed, when I saw what the world had become. The first thing I thought about was Carl and Lori. And then you. Our unit. For a moment, I thought you were all dead—" The words got stuck in my throat as I recalled the horrible thoughts that plagued my mind when I woke. How I mourned my best friend.

I could barely stand to look at his face. My eyes stung and I forced myself to look him squarely. He did this to me. He did.

"Our marriage... fell apart a long time ago," I shook his head and clenched my jaw. "But that doesn't make this okay."

He knew this already. Hell, if I recalled correctly, it was the grand topic of our final conversation before the world went to shit.

Shane was normally so outspoken, always had a goddamn thing to say. A quip. A disagreement. Always something.

But now he was deadly silent, guilt must be brewing in him. Good.

I was only able to push the murderous thoughts out of my mind when I remembered that my son was only alive because of him and Daphne. It was the only thing sparing him. From what? I wasn't too sure.

"I appreciate what you did. Saving 'em. I owe you everythin' but—" I forced through my teeth, digging my nails into my palms.

In this moment, I realized I couldn't confront Lori. I couldn't destroy whatever semblance of family we had left. It's a miracle we were still alive and that we found each other. That I found my boy.

We're still out in the woods, unprotected and exposed. Tomorrow was not promised. And until it was, until I could guarantee my family would live to see more sunrises, I couldn't destroy what they had built here. Otherwise, we would not survive.

"I get it, man. I'll go back to camp."

"Uh— yeah, yeah," I said dismissively. My anger could only hold off for so long.

As soon as he stomped away, I allowed myself to glance at his retreating back, confirming what I suspected since yesterday afternoon. The look on his face— the shock of seeing me— it wasn't happy. Maybe, just maybe, part of him wanted me gone for good.

The thought sent my fist barreling into the nearest tree trunk, a frustrated yell tried to escape but I kept my lips firmly shut. I didn't need Shane coming back, if he cared at all that is.

Somewhere in the jumbled thoughts that were fighting to make some sense of anything in my mind, I remembered the one thing that had brought me any type of comfort when Lori and I would argue. Which was practically everyday.

"How long you been there?" I asked softly. I knew she would hear me. I'd seen her brown eyes through the bush as Daryl led us farther from camp.

The branches rustled a bit.

"I was here first," her voice was defensive. I couldn't blame her. Witnessing what she just witnessed.

I tried to spot her curls through the bush but she seemed to have camouflaged herself within the leaves.

"You were. I saw you just before Daryl left."

And out she finally came, her cheeks flushed and her hair in a bit of a disarray, but the sight of her brought back memories from the station. At work, she usually had her hair pulled back, two curls framing her face while she sipped a steaming hot coffee. She was always there before me so I would choose the long way to my assigned desk, which was in a completely different wing, just to catch a glimpse at her. The sight of her was a breath of fresh air after rough nights of arguing with Lori. Daphne had an aura to her that made just about everyone gravitate to her. Bitterly, I also remembered that Shane tainted most of my memories of Daphne Ayala.

Always lingering around her desk, conveniently posed right in front of her whenever I would walk in. It wasn't odd for her to be busy with another officer, most of the department had a crush on her as grown as we all were. But Shane's appearances always seemed deliberate.

"I was picking berries. Found the patch a few weeks ago," she explained, showing me her pouch of fruit.

How odd it was to see her outside the precinct. Her hair was down, curls reaching her lower back as she brushed them away from her eyes. Eyes that weren't framed by her usual eyeliner style.

She looked so jarringly beautiful in a world so terribly gruesome.

I hoped my anger would mask how unsettled I was that we were actually speaking, after years of observing her from afar. Did she know I was as hopelessly attracted to her as nearly everyone else in the KCPD?

"I can leave you alone."

I realized with a jolt I've spent so much time staring that I'd forgotten to speak.

"I'll go back to camp—"

"No." I said more assertively than I meant to. I didn't want her to slip away again. She was always a mystery I wanted to solve but I forced myself to stay away. Despite the problems at home, I was still married. And now? Well, it was all in shambles.

"Oh, um, okay."

"Do you..." What am I trying to say? My mind went blank. But I looked at Daphne's eyes obscured by her curls and her work updo came to mind. And then her shadow, Shane. "Did you know?"

"No," she said looking rather uncomfortable.

"I keep wondering... if I have the right to even be upset. I wasn't a good husband to her, I know this, and you're the last person I should be telling this to but—" I cut myself short, the words slipping past my lips before I could think them through. I practically gave myself away and it was wishful thinking to hope that it had flown over her head. Daphne was a detective for crying out loud.

"It's fine. I know this can't be easy for you. To wake up to... this."

I scoffed. It wasn't easy to see the world flipped upside down sure, but the most selfless person was standing right in front of me. The one who had saved my family's lives at the risk of her own. She was keeping them and the rest of the camp alive. People she didn't even know.

"I woke up and the hardest part was done. Seeing the world change— changing with it— becoming the leader of a group you had no responsibilities or ties to. You, you did the hard part."

She seemed taken aback. "Oh— did Shane—?"

"Shane didn't hafta tell me nothin'. Lori and I talked last night. She told me everything that happened since the day I got shot." Saying their names left a bad taste in my mouth. "I guess I have a lot to be thankin' you for. You saved my family. That is something I will never be able to repay."

I placed a hand on her shoulder. "You have my gratitude."

"Carl's a great kid. And Lori's my friend. I would do it a million times over."

She's a goddamn angel. I studied her face in awe, something I'd never been able to do in the years I admired her from afar. There was just something about her.

Her nose crinkled awkwardly as her brown eyes struggled to look into mine. Her lips turned up into a tiny smile. I had to remind myself that I'm married and step away respectfully before it got weird.

I brought myself to the ground, legs feeling weak from everything I'd endured in the past 48 hours. Daphne sat next to me.

"What... what do I do?" I asked her quietly.

She's a detective. She's light years smarter than I'd ever be.

"You're asking me," she said carefully.

I shrugged and looked at our surroundings obnoxiously.

"I can't really tell you what to do, Rick."

I rolled my eyes as I thought of Shane's guilty expression. "What I really want to do is break his jaw in. Watch him choke on his teeth."

"He deserves it," she agreed with an irritated tone.

Now that I thought of it, I hadn't seen Shane and Daphne interact once. A stark contrast to his relentless pursuing day in and day out at work. Maybe they had a falling out.

I sighed. "I don't know how to go on. How to look him in the face. We were brothers," I got angrier as I went on. "He was my best friend. He knew."

"He knew?"

"He was the one person I confided in. I told him about Lori and I. I told him when things started going south. I never thought in a million years I'd have to worry."

"We never do. They fill our heads with all these stupid promises and reassurances just to stab you right in the back anyway," she said.

I would've paid more mind to her comment but I was too wrapped up imagining how Lori and Shane would sneak off. How she'd leave Carl alone with people she barely knew.

Carl.

He's wrapped up in the middle of this. I'm sure he noticed all the fights between us. Lori never bothered to keep our discussions private. But even if I entertained the thought of just destroying whatever was left of our marriage, I couldn't do it now. Not while he needed his parents more than ever.

"Carl... he's so young," I expressed. I felt guilty that I was rambling so that's all I said. I wasn't sure why I was telling her so much— I'm not a particularly open person— but it's easy to talk to her. Natural even.

"Rick, the world isn't the same anymore. It doesn't excuse Lori's actions or Shane's, but all of that doesn't matter so much when you're trying to keep yourself from getting eaten by dead cannibals. I can't tell you what to do but in the grand scheme of things, I think Carl will learn to understand."

She's right, I thought. But things were too unstable, we were living life one day to the next... it had to wait until we weren't constantly looking over our shoulders.

I stared at the blueberries, willing myself to think of anything else.

"I've been thinking about the man we left behind," was the first thing I could think of. The guilt kept me up half the night.

Daphne looked over at me with a shocked expression. "You can't be serious."

Her reaction made me frown. "It isn't right. Leaving him up there to die."

"He would do the same to any of us. You just escaped the city. Survived alone against all odds. You're willing to risk that for a douchebag like Merle?"

I was confused, more shocked than anything. It didn't sit right with me— it was practically murder. She must know this. Douchebag or not, it would stain us forever if we left the man to cook in the sun.

"This— what we have here— this is what we focus on. It's unfortunate but Merle dug his own grave. It isn't worth risking your life, Rick."

No, I wouldn't accept that. And I didn't think she could live with that either. My face twisted uncomfortably as I tried to rationalize. She's right that it would be putting my life on the line, but it would kill not only me, but her, if I don't go. All those years of watching from a distance, I knew she had a big heart.

Her callousness and the iciness in her tone was so different from her usual behavior. I didn't like it, but I could see she was looking out for me—

"MOM! DAD!"

The words disappeared from the tip of my tongue. We both shot up with only one thought in mind— Carl.

#the walking dead #rick grimes x reader #twd #glenn rhee #rick grimes x daphne ayala #rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x original female character #the walking dead fanfic #rick grimes #shane walsh x original female character #one rule

[just-existing-as-you-do-blog]

Just a little dnd recap for the vibes. I haven't DMed in a while and I'm excited.

So our charecters are

Half elf sorcerer

Dwaven rogue

Knome warlock

I started them out all in different universes with their own NPCs and plot hooks. And them I had them all be visited by a man in a tophat and tailcoats called the magician. Then they traveled to a place I call The Living Manor in my notes it's a way to big manor with other buildings inside and there is alot to explore there but they were very excited for their magical keys and did alot of universe hopping and testing the rules.

So our warlock is insane but has a magical feild where someone would have to beat a DC 18 wisdom check to notice. He does not know what deal he made, but he ran into his nephew in the manor who started telling him that his sister is very sick and probably won't make it. Which our warlock barely processes.

Our rogue steals two definitely cursed gems from the manor and our sorcerer takes lots of books (they are rebuilding a library she burnt down). They all follow our warlocks nephew through a door and end up back in his universe.

They meet an important family (the dragontamers, I adore them.) The rogue pawns off a cursed gem. Warlock runs into his husband, momentarily has his sanity back tries to tell his husband that something is very wrong with him. But his husband failed the roll. The warlock remembers his sister and goes to see her and she succeeds her roll the second time and they talk it out in a rushed panic for a while.

Meanwhile our sorcerer steals from a library and our rogue learns all the gossip in town while trying to contact her friend and putting together that they are in another dimension.

They barter for a comprehend languages spell and sleep in the home of the matriarch of the dragontamer family. Then they journey to the rogues dimension to discover that her friend has been tortured in a strange way, he tries to tell them all he can but his memory has been modified, something with the nobility and a cult and a ruby.

They heal him up, he reveals that he has been to the manor. They talk to the magician again who heals the sorcerer after she hurts herself trying to read his thoughts. He mentions that he doesn't controll the nobility nor does he own the manor.

They go back to the rogues dimension, she enters the home of the nobility she knows stole the ruby, finds his wife laying in bed, stabs her, gets blasted to hell. Steals a painting but not the ruby, and escapes. The others go to a library and steal more books. Then the rogue requests the magician heal her in exchange for a favor, he does so and requests she steal back a cursed book from the bartender of the Litches Brew. She seduces the bartender and steals the book, the bartender knows she is stealing it but let's her off just this once.

They return to the rogues world and talk to her friend to discover that the nobility have been buying up organs and corpses of powerful wizards. He says he has heard about some cult stuff. They investigate the churches of Pelor and the Matron of Ravens who both feel uneasy about the people not from their dimension and make it clear. They summon the magician to see if he can walk inside the Temples and he cannot.

Then they go to the library, talk to the librarian, learn about a broken into crypt. The crypt is supposed to be magically sealed. The door is ajar, they venture down to find all of the traps have been sprung and the corpse of the wizard is gone.

Session ends!

#dnd recap #i had fun

[vipaeris]

            When you light a candle, you also cast a shadow [ ... ] Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it. [ ... ] And I was in the darkness so darkness I became.

      (  @sageson  )  𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝 : "do you care about me?"

      there it was. it had taken him a while to build up the courage to ask. many a nightly chat with rogu too. this never leaving feeling in his chest that despite all the scientific aid in keeping his clone child alive, there a sense of avoidance in him to fully embrace his existence. the longer mitsuki spent time with boruto the more it dawned on him just how different his family was from his friend's.

      "you say you love me. but you avoid me." it was a strong accusation that the child was aware of. he worded it like that on purpose. boruto once said that to get an emotional reaction out of someone, accusing them of something false could do it. but it included the risk of further rejection. mitsuki didn't really care either way. he wanted to see just how emotional orochimaru could be.

      As much as he'd like to say it was a surprising question, it was not. Orochimaru had an inkling that some sort of existential storm was slowly brewing inside his youngest, and it would be only a matter of time before the rainfall began. It seemed that the time had come, such an accusation posed so sweetly from the voice of the child that held half of Orochimaru's sanity by simply existing. ❛  Of course I care about you,  ❜  he responded, turning around to look at his child, inky black hair billowing around him, gracefully following his every movement.

      ❛  You're my child, my precious son. Of course I care about you and love you dearly.  ❜  As he had cared for and loved every child he had ever raised, though Orochimaru understood where the child's doubts came from, it had been much the same with many people who lived long enough to be around him. They did not understand him well enough to understand his love for them. And while Orochimaru wasn't often one to explain himself, Mitsuki was one of the few who got to see this side of him. The side willing to expose his own ways and weaknesses. ❛  Love however, comes in many forms, Mitsuki.  ❜

      Orochimaru's voice was soft, warm in its whispery tones as he spoke to the boy he had created. A little moon to grace the land that he himself had made.  ❛  What you call avoidance, is simply my way of allowing you freedom to come and go and do as you please.  ❜  Orochimaru had no desire to keep his child locked up, shackled to him like a prisoner despite how much he missed him when he was away.  He wanted Mitsuki to be free, to know the world around him through his own eyes, and not what Orochimaru thought right or wrong. Though perhaps that wasn't what the boy wanted, and Orochcimaru had to admit he failed to account for that.

      ❛  Despite my wishes of having you here by my side, I know you've grown very fond of your teammates,  ❜  Orochimaru walked to the nearest chair and sat down, utmost grace to every move. ❛  I was under the impression that you'd rather be with them than to be here with me. That is why I've always made our meetings and interactions very brief.  ❜   

      Orochimaru's golden eyes gazed at the young boy, a small smile taking hold of his delicate features as it dawned on him just how much his little boy had grown up. ❛  Then again, this is the first time you've reached out to me, Mitsuki,  ❜ the snake sage lifted a well groomed brow, and the gentle smiled turned into a teasing smirk. ❛  Would it be fair of me to accuse you of avoidance as well?  ❜ 

#𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 . only yourself to blame . ic . #sageson #......i don't know what to say to this #his child is having an existential crisis and he is....teasing #he is a bastard i'm sorry >w<

[thespitefulpoet]

"Subjective Reality"

Like tempest storms that are my emotions, they brew unbridled to the point of chaos - seemingly unaware of the consequences they hold for myself - at breakneck speed they fracture faster than the speed of sound.

Beyond any notice of sound marks for a very noticeable pain; struggling inside of your head with intrusive thoughts like “kill yourself you useless bitch", where one could never understand unless they go through it themselves.

Rogue feelings and emotions that act like a ticking time bomb; enough to move mountains and break reality - enough to shatter life itself. No one really knows the basics or the beginning - they just know how to do things within the base of reality, their fragile reality - enough to keep things moving.

Certainly, that's the story of my emotions - the basis of my reality, what I am able to see, and what I am able to do within this lifetime.

It is not a pretty one, as people have ignored me through their own hubris, ego and “sanity" for their faulty reality. Instead, telling me I'm "too much” or " too idealistic” or "too useless”.

I hope all of you realize that my reality is more than just that; my reality is beyond what you're able to comprehend, and now you shall know to an extent my wrath within my unbridled internal rage, and you shall all know to a certain extent some emotional pain.

I will never relent from my reality; i will never back down for your comfort, and I will never give up for your own sanity.

As seen throughout the years, I've been beaten down but gotten back up; I've been bashed, hurt, called names, bullied, pushed to suicide because i was never listened to while also was told my personality is a threat; people like you were never meant to interact with my ethereal esoteric nature; i was never meant to change myself for other people, but i do because i so desperately want to keep people.

You will never understand what I know, you will never understand my volatile emotions that erupt like a volcano at times, you will never understand who the fuck I am; yet you try and try again against your very will to understand me and that pisses you off - so you berate and belittle me instead, because you're scared that you don't understand - you are the very definition of meager; your willpower lacks and you lack specific intelligence, not your fault by any means - but your problem with me is who I am and what I know - very fucking meager.

#beginner writer #writing #poetry #beginner poetry #my writing #original poem #writers on tumblr #writing community #poets on tumblr #poem #poet #free verse poetry #poetry community #writer #writersoftumblr #poets of tumblr #poemsfromtheheart #poems on tumblr

[jerek]

tww wrathion thoughts

pre-legion (and honestly pre-8.3 in bfa) there were a lot of takes centered around wrathion's vision for the future of azeroth. it was a lot of 'he predicted this' and 'he prepared us for this' and 'why isn't he here for this.'

And they were all valid points, of course!! Especially in Legion, because our first indication that Legion was going to happen was HIS vision of a future demonic invasion back in Mists of Pandaria.

But I was thinking about what content he DOES appear in post-MoP, and there's a bit of a worrying trend.

Wrathion tries to protect Azeroth during Cata. We never see anyone question the necessity of dispatching black dragons at this time (not even Fahrad, who barely offers resistance without the influence of the Old Gods.) By the standards of Azeroth's people, he succeeds.

In Mists of Pandaria, Wrathion tries to protect Azeroth...

And by the standards of Azeroth's people, fails.

Varian jumps off a fel reaver into a horde of demons and rushes headlong with an alpha_roar.mp3 into his own death. RIP 37 year old minor I can't believe Wrathion would do this. High king indeed.

Consider Wrathion's cameo in Admiral Taylor's garrison log. Admiral Taylor starts a garrison in Spires of Arak during WoD, and by day 12 Wrathion turns up and gets put under house arrest.

On day 15, a shipment of resources arrives as a gift from Wrathion, who also warns Taylor about the local creepy warlock Ephial. Taylor "doesn't trust either of them."

On day 27, Taylor returns from a trip to the Ring of Blood to find that Ephial's taken over his garrison, and loses his life trying to take it back.

So Wrathion, in Warlords of Draenor, as a fugitive from the Alliance, is still trying to protect the people who drew guns on sight of him at day 12.

The standards drop lower in BfA (Chromie also treats him with imo unnecessary suspicion during the Deaths of Chromie scenario in Legion but that's pretty minor) with Anduin punching him on sight.

"My father is dead because of you."

My brother in the Light your father is dead because he has been waiting for a chance to give up his crown since Jaina dragged him kicking and screaming back from the arena.

But seriously. This is really rich coming from someone whose only political move while at a semi-comparable age was 'I think kids should read more.' Anduin never tried to change the world at that age because he had people who cared enough to tell him it wasn't his job. He might still be waiting around for a uwu thick dwarf dommy gf if he didn't get such a high off lording his 13 years of life experience and political education over Wrathion's head.

Everyone else is born gay: for Anduin, it really is a symptom of sexual dysfunction. Just think: not even Wrathion could keep him away from Garrosh.

Back to illustrating the trend. What else does Wrathion do in BfA?

Well, we find him having brewed an anti-Old God potion. We also find him eager to apologize for past mistakes, take accountability, and in his own words, 'let his actions speak for him.'

When we enter Ny'alotha, it's Wrathion who guards our sanity.

So far, Wrathion's underlying motivations have always been the defense of Azeroth. Whether he succeeds or fails, his ends remain the same.

Now: what about Dragonflight?

"The legacy of my flight." "I will save what matters most to mine." "Claiming the Obsidian Citadel."

Granted, he does mention "defending all of the Dragon Isles."

But where's his passion for Azeroth? Do we really believe Wrathion would be 'at home' cooped up in a citadel full of people he's never met before, with smog choking the sky and blotting out all the stars? Do we really think Wrathion has more of a familial bond with Ebyssian, let alone Sabellian, than with Left and Right?

The ultimate insult to any character (ask Garrosh fans) is to revoke their identity for the sake of someone else's story.

Khaz Algar is going to be full of Titan secrets and lost peoples.

And, unfortunately, I'm not confident that Wrathion will be there... because I'm not confident they'll give him screentime without a chance to 'humble' him.

Where's the runestone enthusiast? Where's the mogu historian? Where's the master weaponsmith, the enchanter who imbued those legendary cloaks? Is he entirely eclipsed by the fugitive?

I want him to see the sun-gem in Hallowfall. I want to hear him laugh. I want to hear him stumble over words he didn't mean to say aloud. When Blizzard says he's arrogant, and he only cares about himself, they forget how many people genuinely loved him before Anduin swung that fist.

#wrathionposting

[pickinglilahs]

The Alchemist: Chapter 3

Remus/Reader - Chapter 2 here - GN/NB Reader - 1.1k words

The tea was amazing. Remus had never tasted anything so wonderful and he didn't even need to add an obscene amount of sugar like with his usual brew. He was pretty sure he had died and gone to heaven. He wouldn’t have been surprised if a moan had escaped him just then. Composing himself, Remus looked up at his new friend to ask what kind they had made, only to find them hiding a smile behind their own teacup.

“I call this brew Sunshine,” they offered before he could ask. “Its one of my favorites.”

“Its wonderful.” Remus praised. The tea had gone a long way in settling his nerves and he gave into his desire to keep them talking. “Do you make it yourself?”

“Sometimes. But I usually let one of my regulars do it. He has a hard time getting around so it's one of the few things he can do for me.”

“One of your regulars?” Remus figured he shouldn’t be surprised people came back to see them with how wonderful their wolfsbane was. Still, he felt a stab of something darker in his chest as he wondered how many regulars they had.

“Yeah. I have all sorts of people come through the shop. There are a few, though, with chronic illnesses like yours who come back like clockwork.”

Remus had never heard someone talk about his condition like that. As if it was just like any other illness. It shocked him so much, he almost missed the other part of what they said. “What other kinds of chronic illnesses do you treat?”

“Oh, this and that. I've modified quite a few potions, like the wolfsbane and the memory loss solution, to make them more effective. I've also invented potions to help with things like blood curses and permanent spell damage.”

That struck a cord. Two faces contorted with pain and anguish flashed through Remus's mind. Before he could think better of it, he asked, “do you have anything that can help someone who lost their sanity to the cruciatice curse?”

They seemed startled by the question but, after a second, they pursed their lips and their gaze unfocused, wandering off as if they were searching through a mental library. As they thought, Remus finished his new favorite tea and took a biscuit from the tin between them. After a minute, they abruptly turned on their heel and walked downstairs without a word.

Unsure if he was supposed to follow, Remus got up and slowly made his way down after them. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found them going through a shelf on the back wall that was full of bottles in all shapes and sizes. Unlike the bottles out front, however, these all had handwritten labels. He stood back and watched as they traced a finger over the shelves.

As they snatched a little flasks, an empty lead cauldron floated off the wall and set itself on a burner that promptly came to life.

They set the vial on the table beside the cauldron and went off to pick through the ingredients lining the walls. Stopping to look through some dried flowers, they looked over to him asking, “How long ago did this happen?”

Remus looked away. “Almost 16 years ago.” His voice was small as his mind continued to show him images of his two friends. He had been to see Frank and Alice a handful of times over the years, but he missed his friends too much to see them like this.

There was a thud as something hit the floor. His eyes snapped back and saw all the ingredients they had collected scattered across the floor. Remus hurried over to help pick everything up as they stared at him wide-eyed. “16 years,” they murmured as they gestured at the ingredients, sending them off to the table.

Remus released the leaves he had picked up as they struggled to go too. “Yeah.” Remus took a deep breath. “It was right after the first war. Some of You Know Who's followers wanted to find him so they captured to of my friends.”

“Two?” They asked, startled.

“Oh, yeah.” Remus hadn't realized he'd left that part out. In his defense, he really hadn't expected them to be able to help in the first place. “Frank and Alice Longbottom. They have a son the same age as Harry.”

After a brief hesitation, they turned and began to collect more of the ingredients they had already selected, sending all of them floating to the table. Remus stood back and watched in wonder as they worked. Wandlessly, they set about chopping and mixing ingredients. 

Ten minutes in, there was a sudden ringing coming from a few cauldrons down. Without even a glance, they waved and the ringing stopped. 

“Could you please look and tell me what color that potion is?”

“Um...sure.” Remus slipped be hind them carefully so as not to disturb them as they carefully crushed and dropped flower petals into the cauldron. As he stopped in front of, what he assumed was the correct cauldron, he peeked in. “Its a light pinkish-purple.”

“What?” They exclaimed, nearly dropping the whole bottle of whatever they had taken from the shelf into the potion. They looked over at him franic, then breathed out in relief when they saw which cauldron he was standing at. “The next one over,” they said with a smile.

Remus pointed to the one to the left and they nodded. Sheepish, he peeked in and said, “its clear.” This must have been a good thing as they let out another relieved breath and smiled at him again.

“Can you turn the burner off for me please?” Remus obeyed before taking a step back from the counter. A lid flew down from somewhere to cover the potion and Remus fixed his eyes on the potioneer once more. 

Remus really couldn’t say how long he stood there like that, just watching them work. It could have been minutes; it could have been years. They stirred and crushed and mixed seamlessly, gracefully, is if brewing were but a dace and only they could hear the music. It wasn’t until they held out a bottle to him, that he realized they were done. 

Cradling it in both hands, Remus stared at the wax seal and the little hand-written label. ‘For Frank and Alice Longbottom’

“Just give that to Healer Joan. She’ll know what to do with it.” 

Remus didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or hug them. Looking up, they were already turning to clean up, so he settled with a, “Thank You,” that came out a little wetter than intended.

Their answering smile made him glow. 

#remus x you #remus fanfic #remus lupin x you #remus x reader #remus imagine #remus lupin #nb reader #gn reader

[uninvitedawn]

gold

Send me a color and I’ll write a drabble with our muses with that color as the theme.

The navy skies fade into black and the clouds now appear to be a darker grey, it’ll rain soon. Sen lightly taps his index on the cold surface of his frothy beer. 

Bored. 

Was meeting friends from childhood always such a daunting task? He wonders as his attention diverts back to that same childhood friend, Sunjae. He had been keeping Sen company at the table. Sunjae talked his heart out, but Sen does not recall why, he had picked something about the male's new truck business and how well it was going. He could barely get a word in not that he wanted to, he found listening was better for his sanity. For his sanity was wearing thin as hours passed and he’s unsure when his beer changed to soju shots, he could never stop his hand when his mind was afloat and not necessarily in the present moment. 

A raise of his friend's voice brings him back to reality, Sunjae collects his shot glass and raises it to the air to make a toast. Sen is baffled, not wanting to be a part of this meeting anymore. Fuck this shit. In an attempt to stay and talk for the sake of good old times, Sen decides to keep listening for he thought this man would at least say something to redeem himself. But as predicted, he regretted the moment he decided to give this man another chance as if it would change anything.

“I accomplished so much in my life living every day like it was my last, why didn’t you tell me your Dad was just giving handouts?” One thing Sunjae knows is how to make Sen furious in a matter of seconds, however, his expression remains unchanged. He wants me to react. The hand resting on his thigh grips at his knee in order to ground himself, he is known for his temperance in moments like this one and he was not going to bite Sunjae’s bait just yet. 

“Look at where you are now. A success story? You’re going to give me that bullshit! You didn’t even need to try your Dad…” Sunjae’s hues have a dark glint as he slowly unveils his true intentions before Sen. Had his tactic of ticking Sen’s patience given any results? “.. your Dad gave it all for you, shit, I should’ve tried my luck with you and maybe we would have been best friends by now. And I’d be somewhere else maybe your Dad’s competitor in the real estate. Imagine that—" Sen’s gaze does not falter but his emotions are brewing inside, just one word, just one. “A little Daddy’s boy, complying to every command, no one fucking cares, Minhyun.” No one ever used his name and it only meant one thing, Sunjae was purposely making all this very personal, and Sen was not having any of it. He inhales quietly before his mouth started moving on his own, he knew he had given Sunjae what he wanted but he did not care, especially when he was being disrespected right there and then. “Are you done? This charade is over. I’m not going to say it was nice seeing you. However, your tab is paid consider it a departing gift.” Surprisingly coherent aside from the fact that his body is not with him, stumbling as he pushes the chair out, gesturing to the employee behind the bar to make the payment. 

“Oh come on, I was just joking.” Sunjae leans back in his chair acting as if the whole argument had taken him by surprise, not proud of the anticlimactic outcome of Sen’s reaction, the man kept at it. He stands from his chair and approaches Sen’s side, coiling an arm around his shoulder. “Before you go hand me your Dad's number, I think we can still work something out.” A loud eruption of laughter echoes across the bar, and it’s coming from Sen. He tosses the arm away at once while Sunjae stares at him in confusion, “What’s so funny asshole? I’m serious.”

“You’re pathetic, begging me for handouts. Was this the excuse to meet me so urgently?” He asks, remaining considerably polite, all the while he receives his card back after paying for their food. “Begging!? What did you sa-“ Sen pays him no mind, scoffing and walking out of the bar as the cold air hits his face, but so does a piercing pain coming from the back of his head that makes him fall to his knees. His hand immediately grabs his neck, ears ringing loudly. He feels something warm, he stares at it in shock. Blood. His vision blurred as he attempted to assimilate the situation. Soon he realized it was the bottle of soju that hit his head, shattered not far from where he is kneeling. The anger that was brewing deep inside has now tipped over the edge, he’s livid and it's plastered all over his features. 

“Are you FUCKING kidding me?! If you wanted to pick a fight why waste my damn time, Sunjae.” Sen gets up and turns around, swiftly grabbing the other’s collar and pulling him away from the bar. “You’re mocking me about how far I’ve gotten in life. When you do deliveries? Do you have any idea how long it took me to be where I am?” He is furiously dragging him away from everyone, speaking through teeth. Luckily he had found an isolated place where he could finish what Sunjae started. “How far? Oh, please your dad’s filthy rich, you were born with a silver spoon. Like I said you didn’t even try,” Sunjae still has the nerve to try, and he’s obviously intoxicated heavily, but Sen doesn’t really care at this point about the logistics. He just wanted to see the other male bleed. Sunjae is pinned against a wall and the next few moments are a blur as it’s a messy recollection of punches to the male’s face and jaw. Sunjae’s not that bad at fighting back either and he leaves a few blows that’ll result in major injuries. Sen could already feel blood trickling down his face. 

Somehow, they both end up on the asphalt breathing heavily, nausea kicking in from having too much alcohol. He’s exhausted, towering over the other male, his hand still gripping his collar. Startled by headlights pointing to where they are Sen’s hand leaves them, and gets up, covering his eyes and doesn’t even recall a car stopping. A man steps out and walks toward them to assess the scene, the familiarity of the other male slowly sinks in and Sen’s once tense shoulders relax. Wenhan. Right, Wenhan. Remembering he had told the male to pick him up later, he curses under his breath and realizes what just happened as he comes to his senses. He sinks down on the floor, letting out a heavy breath that almost made him choke to fucking death. He regains his composure and is now watching Wenhan look at Sunjae. The male stares back amusedly at Sen. 

“Do you think if we all bled gold it’d be just as beautiful?” Sen says with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Shut up, now’s not the time to reenact Kill your darlings.”

#idk #im sorry LMAOOOOOO #i didnt wanna do the standard golden hour bullshit #antiresolution #wenhans name kept changing to when #km;prompts

[mccdreamys-writes]

smiles for miles – 21. the other side of the line

did i fall out of line when i called you? - Gracie Abrams, Mess It Up

S E P T E M B E R   2 3 R D   2 0 1 1

Beneath the imposing facade of the precinct, I paced back and forth, my heart's rhythm echoing the urgency of my repeated calls into the void of my silent phone. "Pick up! Pick up! Pick up!" Each desperate syllable reverberated through the stillness of the village, a testament to the weight of my anxiety and the depth of my desperation. Ever since the line fell silent, I had been ensnared in a relentless cycle of dialing and redialing Maile's number, clinging to a fragile thread of hope that threatened to unravel with each unanswered call.

In the midst of the chaos that consumed me, every spare moment was consumed by the singular mission of reaching her, of hearing the sound of her voice once more, of ensuring her safety in the face of the unknown. Each unanswered ring felt like a blow to the gut, driving me deeper into a pit of anxious unease where my thoughts spiraled out of control, painting vivid and terrifying scenarios that haunted my every waking moment.

"Alex," a voice broke through the cacophony of my thoughts, and I turned to find Reid standing behind me, his concern etched into the furrow of his brow and the lines of his face. "Are you okay?"

Summoning a strained smile, I made the effort to reassure him, though beneath the facade of composure, doubts and fears gnawed at me. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine," I muttered, but the hollow echo of my words rang loudly in my own ears, a stark reminder of the lies I told myself.

The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave, its weight threatening to drown me. My feeble attempt at deception was as transparent as glass, its flaws glaringly obvious to any who cared to look beneath the surface. I couldn't help but wonder if a profiler, with their keen insight and razor-sharp intuition, would have effortlessly seen through the facade, dissecting the intricacies of my falsehood with surgical precision, leaving me exposed and vulnerable in the harsh light of truth.

"What's going on?" His voice sliced through the oppressive silence, a sharp interruption that tore me away from the tumultuous storm brewing within my mind. His gaze bore into me with a penetrating intensity, as if he could see through the facade I desperately tried to maintain and delve into the depths of my soul.

A weary sigh escaped me, the weight of my concerns pressing down upon me like a suffocating blanket. "When we were on the plane," I began, my words stumbling over the chaotic rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me, "Maile called. But then... someone entered her room, and the call abruptly ended." The memory of that pivotal moment loomed large in my mind, each detail etched with a sense of foreboding that sent a chill coursing down my spine.

"I've been trying to reach her ever since," I confessed, the admission heavy with unspoken fears and uncertainties that gnawed at the edges of my sanity. "But..." My voice trailed off into a pained silence, the weight of the unspoken anxieties that hung between us suffocating in its intensity.

A bitter taste filled my mouth as I forced out the next words, grappling with the conflicting desires that waged war within me. "I know it's probably nothing," I acknowledged, though the nagging doubt that lingered at the back of my mind refused to be silenced. "And logically, I should let it go. She's an adult, perfectly capable of taking care of herself." The words felt hollow, a feeble attempt to convince both myself and the one who stood before me of their truth.

"But..." The word hung in the air like a heavy anchor, pregnant with the weight of all that remained unspoken between us. "But I just got her back," I finally admitted, the raw vulnerability of the confession laid bare for all to see. After years of separation and longing, the thought of losing her again was a specter too terrible to contemplate, threatening to engulf me in a sea of despair.

Despite the logical part of my mind urging me to stay calm, my heart refused to obey, its frantic beats echoing the urgency of my fears. The image of Maile, vulnerable and alone, haunted my thoughts, igniting a primal instinct to protect her at all costs. Yet, amidst the chaos of my emotions, a flicker of hope still burned bright, a tiny beacon in the darkness that whispered of the possibility of her safety and return.

His question lingered in the air, heavy with implications and laden with the weight of potential consequences. "Do you want me to ask Garcia to hack the cameras in the hospital?" His tone carried a gravity that underscored the seriousness of our predicament, hinting at the desperate measures we might need to take to unravel the mystery before us.

Despite the seriousness of his inquiry, a chuckle bubbled up from deep within me at the audacity of the suggestion. The mental image of Garcia, with her unmatched expertise in all things tech-related, effortlessly breaching the hospital's security system flashed before my eyes. "No," I replied, shaking my head with a wry smile, "it's alright. Let's just go inside and witness Hotch and Rossi weave their investigative magic. I have every confidence they'll have this perpetrator pinned down in record time."

The prospect of watching my esteemed colleagues in action, their determination and skill on full display, offered a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos of our current situation. "And afterward," I continued, my voice tinged with unwavering determination, "we'll locate the missing boys and ensure their safe return home by day's end." The thought of reuniting the children with their families, of bringing closure to the harrowing ordeal, fueled my resolve with newfound purpose.

He nodded in understanding, then gestured for us to follow as he led the way inside. The precinct hummed with activity as we navigated its bustling corridors, the air thick with anticipation and tension, each step bringing us closer to the heart of the investigation.

Watching Hotch and Rossi at work always filled me with admiration. Their presence commanded attention, radiating authority and setting the tone for the serious task ahead. Approaching the interrogation room, I felt a surge of anticipation, eager to witness their expert techniques in action once again.

Our instincts, sharpened through relentless investigation and intuition, proved right; the man we captured was indeed the elusive kidnapper and ruthless killer we tirelessly pursued. The weight of this revelation settled upon us like a heavy cloak, reminding us of the dark realities we faced. Despite the grim discovery, a sense of grim satisfaction lingered, knowing our pursuit of justice hadn't been futile.

With the perpetrator in custody, our focus shifted to rescuing the innocent lives he held captive. Following faint clues, we tracked down a secluded cabin by the tranquil lake. Approaching it, anticipation and trepidation mixed, the urgency of our mission weighing heavily on us.

Inside the dim cabin, a surge of emotions overwhelmed us. There, bound but alive, were the three missing boys whose faces haunted us. Relief flooded through us, washing away doubts and fears. In that moment of triumph, hope blossomed anew.

After reuniting the children with their tearful parents, we wrapped up our business at the precinct. Reports were filed, statements given, and final arrangements made with urgency and purpose. Boarding the plane home, a sense of closure settled over us, mingled with bone-deep exhaustion.

The aircraft's wheels made contact with the runway at Quantico Airport in the dead of night, the clock ticking past 2 AM. Yet, the lateness of the hour hardly registered in my mind. My thoughts were singularly focused: I needed to see Maile. The idea of visiting her surged through me with urgency and determination, pushing aside any concern for the late hour.

I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the decision to transfer Maile to the local hospital in Quantico. Though made hastily, driven by a desperate need for her to receive the best care, stepping off the plane into the cool night air affirmed it was the right choice.

Despite the exhaustion threatening to drag me down after a long and taxing journey, a surge of energy fueled me. I propelled myself forward toward the hospital with almost feverish determination. Each step brought me closer to Maile, closer to seeing her face, hearing her voice, and finding solace in knowing she was safe.

As I navigated the quiet streets of Quantico, darkness surrounded me like a heavy cloak, but I pressed on, unwavering. The thought of Maile awaiting me at the hospital spurred me onward, infusing me with purpose and resolve that drowned out any doubts or fears.

Finally, I reached the hospital, its imposing presence looming like a beacon of hope in the darkness. With quickened steps, I entered the building, my heart racing with anticipation.

Navigating the complex network of corridors within the hospital, I eventually found myself standing outside Maile's room, a mixture of relief and apprehension coursing through me. However, as I drew closer, the sound of a voice I recognized stirred confusion within me. It wasn't Maile's voice.

"Dad?" I uttered in surprise, my voice betraying my bewilderment as I entered the room.

To my amazement, my father stood up, a warm smile lighting up his face as he embraced me tightly. "You're back," he said, his voice carrying a hint of emotion.

Baffled by his unexpected presence, I couldn't help but ask, "What are you doing here?"

In response, he gestured towards Maile, who sat amidst a nest of pillows I had arranged for her comfort. Seeing her weakened state filled me with a whirlwind of conflicting feelings.

"I felt compelled to visit your friend," my father explained, his gaze shifting to Maile with a mix of gratitude and concern.

Confusion swirled within me like a storm, threatening to engulf my senses as I tried to make sense of the scene before me. My father and Maile, sitting together with an unexpected bond, seemed like strangers in a familiar setting, their newfound connection a puzzling anomaly in our shared history.

I wracked my brain, trying to recall any moment where they had even acknowledged each other's presence, but the memory slipped through my fingers like sand. Yet, there they sat, chatting away as if the invisible barrier that once separated them had never existed.

"She's quite funny," my father remarked out of the blue, his words hanging in the air with a surreal quality. "I understand why you're so fond of her."

I responded with a hesitant nod, my mind racing to comprehend the sudden turn of events. How could I reconcile this newfound closeness between them, this unexpected connection that seemed to have blossomed in my absence?

Glancing at his watch, a faint crease formed between his brows, silently signaling the passage of time slipping away. "I reckon it's time I head back to the hotel for some well-deserved rest," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of exhaustion from our shared efforts.

He turned to Maile, offering a reassuring smile, a promise to return evident in his eyes. "I'll swing by to see you the day after tomorrow before I take off," he promised, his words resonating with duty and solidarity in our mission.

"Got it, Captain," Maile replied warmly, waving him off with a silent acknowledgment of the bond that bound us in our pursuit of justice.

Before leaving, he turned to me once more, a wordless farewell speaking volumes of our camaraderie and mutual respect. With one final embrace, he bid me goodbye, marking the close of yet another chapter in our ongoing journey of challenges and victories.

"How was the case?" Maile's voice, soft but laced with concern, pierced through the fog of my thoughts like a ray of light cutting through the darkness. Startled, I turned to meet her gaze, grateful for the distraction she offered from the tumult of emotions swirling within me. Yet, as she posed her question, a floodgate of pent-up frustration and fear burst open within me, washing away any semblance of calm I had left.

Instead of a simple reply, a torrent of words poured forth from my lips, an outpouring of emotion I couldn't contain. "You... You can't do that again," I began, my voice quivering with a blend of anger and relief. "I was going insane all day. I called you countless times, and you didn't pick up. Not once! I feared the worst. I almost considered reaching out to Garcia, begging her to hack into the surveillance cameras just to catch a glimpse of you, to reassure myself that you were okay." Each word carried the heavy burden of the fear and uncertainty that gripped me in her absence.

With a groggy hand, she reached out for her phone lying on the nightstand, its faint glow offering the only light in the dim room. As she scrolled through the notifications, her brows furrowed in confusion, but soon, recognition dawned on her, followed by a pang of guilt that shadowed her features.

Looking over at me, she attempted a sheepish smile, as if trying to downplay the seriousness of her actions. "Oops?" she offered tentatively, the word hanging in the air like a fragile apology.

"Oops?" I repeated incredulously, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and disbelief. "Yeah, oops! That's exactly it! What were you thinking, hanging up like that and leaving me in the dark?"

"I'm sorry, Alex. Truly," she murmured softly, genuine remorse coloring her tone as she met my gaze with earnest sincerity. "I didn't realize you'd be so worried about me."

Her words, laden with regret, lingered in the air like a delicate offering, a fragile attempt to mend the rift that had formed between us. Yet, despite her apology, I struggled to calm the storm of emotions raging within me. Each syllable she spoke seemed to dredge up the fear and uncertainty that had gripped me while she was gone.

A single tear traced a silent path down my cheek, a silent testament to the turmoil within. I reached up to brush it away, a feeble attempt to hide the depth of my vulnerability. I hadn't planned on crying, hadn't anticipated the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me, but in that moment of honesty, my carefully constructed facade crumbled.

"It's not just about worrying, Maile," I murmured, my voice choked with emotion. "It's about feeling like I'm teetering on the edge of a precipice, watching everything I cherish hang in the balance. It's about the terror of losing you, again. I can't bear that. I can't lose you like that again."

As she shifted over to the left side of the bed, a silent invitation hovered in the air, tempting me to join her on the opposite side. The gesture evoked memories of simpler days, of childhood sleepovers filled with giggles and innocent bonding. But this moment felt different. This time, a new kind of excitement coursed through me, a yearning that thrummed beneath the surface of my every thought.

While I approached and settled beside her, each step closing the gap between us, I marveled at the evolution of our friendship over the years. Once, we had shared secrets and aspirations, but now, there was a palpable tension crackling in the air, an unspoken acknowledgment of the feelings simmering just beneath the surface.

She extended her arms toward me, silently inviting me to find comfort in her embrace. I hesitated, feeling the weight of uncertainty bearing down on me like a heavy burden. But her words, gentle yet tinged with playful humor, broke through the tension like a ray of sunshine piercing through dark clouds. "Don't worry, I won't bite," she quipped, her voice a soothing antidote to the inner turmoil I was experiencing.

With a chuckle, I allowed myself to be enveloped by her embrace, the warmth of her touch wrapping around me like a protective shield. In that moment, as I leaned into her, I was overcome by a profound realization that reverberated within the depths of my being: I was deeply, irrevocably in love with Maile Crane.

A mischievous grin played across her lips, a silent nod to the playful banter that had always characterized our interactions. "At least not yet," she added, her voice carrying a teasing tone.

#alex blake #criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #david rossi #derek morgan #bau team #criminal minds fandom #bau #dr alex blake #fxf #ssa blake #ssa hotchner #ssa reid #dr reid #ssa morgan #ssa rossi #ssa jareau #original character #alex blake x female character #alex blake x original character #alex blake x original female character #alex blake x fem!character #wlw #fic #fluff #angst

[youngadultreflections]

When i look at my body i can’t accept it. When i wake up in the morning i hate that i have a body and eyes. Eyes which i call eyes and with which i can see but cannot see them themselves. I find this incredibly frustrating. To have eyes but not see my own eyes. This stupid arduous journey for self identity. I am pathetic but I wish I could accept that with all my might.

All i really need is attention. If only. And I am grateful. For what i have. But is gratefulness just a hypocritical way for not admitting you are scared that things can go worse for you? I think it is a possibility. I never really had a goal and I still don’t. At one time I thought I was just genetically brewed in a way that I am really not ambitious at all. I used to look at my cousin and he was very lazy and unambitious and I would think I was also like that and it ran in the family and I was even more pathetic than him because at least he accepted his laziness and didn’t strive towards something he is not. Whatever. Here you go. And i also wish. Well I’m scared all the time. Im afraid Ill lose things. My intelligence. My sanity. My family. Stuff that is important to me. Why am i scared all the time? Im paralyzed by fear. Fear. What is fear anyway? Just a supposition. A before. Before stuff even happens.

Also, fuucccccckkkkkk soccciiaaaalll meedddiiaaaaaaa. Ffuuuuuckj itttttt haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard.

And people who ask why amilessly.

[x-pair-o-dice-x]

Saw you asking for prompts. Monster, House, Orphans. Do want to see some vore in this one.

hoooo boy, this one is a big guy!!!!!!! so big, in fact, that typing this out is taking five years, since tumblr is lagging so much. not even an exaggeration. so!!! gonna be splitting this up into two parts, for my own sanity.

part two can be found here!!!!

is it more logical to do prompts in the order you got them? yes. am i instead going the most recent one i got? yes. in my defense i have more ideas rn for this one than the other ones.

also the moment i saw monster and orphans in the same sentence, you know exactly who i’m gonna be making the giant.

warnings for: soft vore, mentioned child abuse and neglect, fear of death, mentioned hard vore and digestion(none happen!), dehumanization(calling a sentient being an “it”).

——————————

if anyone asked how ranboo’s day had been going, he’d say it had been pretty good.

…that is, if by pretty good, you meant going out of the house into the woods to escape his foster parent for a bit, only to get lost in said woods, accidentally fall into a rushing river he somehow didn’t notice(which the experience was made even better if you added in the fact that he couldn’t swim), get swept away by the current for what felt like, and honestly probably might have been, hours; and when he finally managed to crawl himself out of the rapids, he found himself with multiple bruises and scraps, in an area he couldn’t even hope to begin to recognize.

and that’s not even mentioning the fact that right now, it looks like it’s about to rain — as if he wasn’t soaked enough.

so yeah. great.

he’s been walking around aimlessly for a while now, trying to find something, anything, that could help him. maybe a path, a sign, a cabin in the woods, whatever. but there was nothing around but trees, as far as the eyes could see.

and…. he could almost swear the trees were bigger than they were supposed to.

..no, no they were definitely bigger than the ones he was used to seeing. uh…. maybe, it’s just…. a special kind of tree? that just.. grows really big? that seems reasonable.

a sudden crack of thunder startled him out of his thoughts — he didn’t even notice the lightning. shoot, was it going to be a thunderstorm? that’s way worse than just rain. there’s no way he’s staying out in the forest for a thunderstorm, he needs to find shelter, and fast.

ranboo looks around, before choosing a random direction, and starts speed-walking that way. he keeps his eyes on his surroundings — he’s not falling into a river again, not today!

speaking of, he’s still incredibly soaked, and incredibly cold. the storm brewing above him certainly isn’t helping that much.

it’s a couple minutes of walking — and.. is it just him, or does everything seem… bigger….. — when he thinks he sees something in the distance. he squints, only just about making it out through the trees, even with his glasses(which, can he just say, it’s a miracle he even has them, after the river), and-

that’s..

that’s a house.

that’s a house!

shelter!!!!

he laughs disbelievingly, and starts rushing his way over to it. and not a moment to soon, he can feel the rain start to drizzle through the leaves.

it’s a bit of a walk, but he’s sure he’ll make it in time before the rain really starts to pour — not that it would make much of a difference, really, but he’d like to avoid getting more wet, thank you very much.

he can’t believe his luck — being able to find a cabin however deep in these woods they are. hopefully they aren’t like, an axe-murderer or something — oh, that would really suck actually. please don’t be an axe-murderer. hopefully they’re okay with him barging in like this, because he doesn’t think there’s any other shelter nearby. maybe they’re nice, they might let him stay the night? maybe even help him find his way back to his foster’s house, afterwards? it’s not the best place to be, but it’s better than nothing.

he wonders if his foster even noticed he was gone.

he wonders if they even care.

..nope!!! nope, he’s not thinking about that!! that’s too depressing of a thought for right now. right now, he needs to focus on getting to the cabin.

…uhm.. speaking of……. shouldn’t he, be there by now?

he shook himself out of his thoughts, and refocused on the surroundings, with a closer eye. the house certainly looks closer, but.. he’s still a decent distance away.

it uh… looks kinda big, actually. like the trees.

he finds himself getting closer.

it’s…. getting.. bigger…..

he gets closer.

it gets bigger.

dread starts to fill him.

closer.

bigger.

he’s still a good.. maybe five-ish meters away, when he finally stops. the rain, while not quite steady yet, has gotten to a bit more than a drizzle now. he finds himself looking up at the cabin.

he finds himself looking……. way, way up at the cabin.

it’s bigger than any house he’s ever seen.

the door is bigger than anything he’s ever seen.

he feels like an ant staring up at it.

this…. this isn’t a normal house.

at all.

………….

…….well. at least ranboo can probably rule out the axe-murderer?

………….

yeah, no, he can’t really think of a good positive about this situation.

he flinches as he sees a light flashing, followed by a loud thundering boom a few seconds later. the rain is getting harder.

he can’t afford to stay out here.

but… can he really afford to go inside?

he looks inside the windows — or, as far inside as he really can, at this angle. the lights… look like they’re turned off? whoever lives here — and isn’t that a scary thought, that there’s someone big enough to actually live in here — might not be home right now. or, worse case scenario, they’re just asleep right now.

the ideal scenario would be that no one lives here at all, and this was just some left over prop from some movie set or something someone decided to leave in a forest in the middle of nowhere.

………he doesn’t know which one is more unlikely.

lighting flashes again, the thunder following more quickly than last time. he flinches.

…either way, he can’t see this ending out good for him.

……he.. supposes he’d rather go with the unknown of the cabin, than with the certainty of staying out in the rain and getting sick, if he hasn’t already.

luckily for ranboo, there were multiple little cracks in the wall he could crawl into — not even crawl, actually, he could just walk through them, he was so small.

as he entered, he found that things looked….. surprisingly.. normal, from what he could see.

just…….

big.

there was a counter to the far left, cutting off into another room — a kitchen, perhaps? he could see trinkets and stuff on top of the counter, and littered across the house, though he couldn’t really make himself focus on them all that much. there was a couch near his right, a small table right in front of it. and further still, right up against the wall, was a bookshelf, filled to the brim with… well.. books. there were even a couple shelves, also holding various things. he couldn’t quite see any photos from where he stood.

if it weren’t for the fact he didn’t seem any bigger than a candle, he would have thought this was a normal house.

he hears the thunder crash again, and is reminded about why he was in here to begin with.

he needs to find some place to bunker down for a bit, even if for a little bit.

should.. should he reveal himself to whoever lives here, if anyone even does?

well, maybe he can rule out the fact that no one lives here, this place does look lived in, and he can’t see any dust, so someone’s definitely been visiting this place recently, at the least.

as for that first question……. he…. doesn’t know.

there’s no guarantee they’d hurt him, but… there’s also no guarantee they wouldn’t, either. especially after in trespassing their home.

he knows other humans have hurt him for less.

ranboo doesn’t want to risk it.

the couch seems like a good starting spot to hide, for now, unless he can find somewhere better. the bookshelf might be useful, too, but it’s a bit far away from where he is right now.

though, as he’s about halfway over to the couch, he hears a sound, something that almost seems to stop his heart.

floorboards creaking.

they’re here.

instantly, he sprints the rest of the way, and almost skids to a stop under the couch — hopefully, the sound of the rain pouring down masked his footsteps.

ranboo can’t quite see whoever is here from where he stands, though he does hear the floorboards pause for a moment, before starting back up again. he lets out a breath.

they seem to be heading over to what he thinks is the kitchen — looking for a late night snack, perhaps? oh dear.. he hugs himself closer to the foot of the couch. he really, really doesn’t want to get caught if they’re hungry. granted he doesn’t really know if they eat humans, they might not! but.. he doesn’t want to take the risk, at all.

though… he is curious on what they look like. sue him, he’s never seen a giant before — and that’s what they are, aren’t they?, he thinks as he lets it fully sink in, a giant. — he never even knew they existed. forgive him for wanting to take a quick look, see if they were similar. maybe, if they looked similar enough, he might actually be safe. maybe all this giant is is just one really big human. granted, ranboo hasn’t had the best track record when it comes to people, but surely he’d have a better chance now. hopefully.

he leans a bit into the open, careful not to go out too far. he scans his eyes above the counter, trying to catch a glimpse of the giant. for a moment, he can’t quite see anything, and for a moment he wonders if they are still even in the kitchen, when suddenly, the giant comes into view, and-

he gasps suddenly, fear striking deep into his chest.

that’s not a person. that’s not a person in the slightest.

he can’t see too much, but from the ragged pink fur, the pointed ears, the scars and tusks-

it’s head shoots up, ears flickering.

shit, shit he was heard. he darts back under the couch, pushing his back against the couch leg, putting his hands over his mouth. his heart was beating fast, too fast, it felt like it was going to jump out of his chest. he could practically feel the fear radiating off of him.

how did it even hear him? the rain should have masked any sound he made.

did it just have advanced hearing? fuck, could it hear him right now, with his lungs heaving like every breath could be his last?

his heart stop when he hears slow footsteps on the wooden floor.

no, not footsteps.

hooves. those are hooves.

and they’re getting closer.

ranboo backed away from the edge of the couch as he heard the giant sniff the air — shit, is that how it knows where he is? it can smell him? that’s not good, that’s not good at all.

as he reached the middle of the couch, he saw the hooves of the beast stop, just near the spot where he was before.

suddenly, the creature leans down, and all he can see is a glowing red eye staring right at him. his breath picks up, and his heart races.

it found him.

it found him.

shit shit shit shit.

they stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, the world around him disappearing as all he can focus on is the blood red color, until the eye disappears from his sight, as the beast stands up. he can hear it grabbing the couch, and immediately, he snaps back into his body, heart working on overtime. it’s going to move the couch, it’s going to reveal him, it’s going to grab him, it’s going to-

instantly, he turns tail and runs, runs as fast as he can away from the giant. the bookshelf, that’s the only other thing he remembers seeing, the only other shelter he could access — the door was too far away, he can’t risk going there.

ranboo can hear the instance the beast realizes what he’s doing, the scrapping of the couch stopping, and the sound of hooves following in pursuit.

he’s over halfway to the bookshelf now, and he can see a small gap between the wall and the back of the shelf, just big enough for him to fit inside. hopefully, the shelf is heavy enough that it couldn’t be moved easily, granting him enough time to get a better plan.

he’s almost there now, he can hear the loud hoovesteps behind him, but he just might make it-

something wraps around him, suddenly, knocking the breath out of his lungs, and in an instant, he feels the feet leave the floor — he’s being picked up. he’s been grabbed.

he’s been caught.

“no, nono no no, nononono-” he stumbles, struggling as much as he can to get out of the grip — it burns, almost, worse than the usual burn he feels whenever he’s touched. all around him, in the grasp of the beast, it’s uncomfortable in more ways than one.

he feels as if his stomach is doing flips as he goes up, up, and up, higher off the ground, until he finds himself slowly coming to a stop.

he looks down at the wooden floor, he has to be fifty- no, eighty- a hundred feet, maybe, up in the air, he thinks with a shudder — well, he may not be too good at math, but even he knows that, no matter the exact number, there’s no way he’s surviving that fall.

and, reluctantly, he forces his eyes up at the beast who holds him in it’s grasp.

it’s terrifying.

the first thing ranboo finds himself staring at is the large scar on it’s face, over it’s left eye and sneaking over across it’s snout — the snout that, when combined with the ragged pink fur and animal-like ears, makes the giant look an awful lot like a pig. or, perhaps more like a boar, with the tusks that protrude from it’s mouth.

it’s eyes, though, it’s eyes are what truly scare him. a blood red iris, surrounded with a yellow, almost golden sclera, with pupils more akin to a snake than a human with how narrowed they were. it’s eyes were terrifying.

it’s eyes were staring down at him, staring through him, almost into his soul.

his breath hitched.

prime, he isn’t getting out of this, is he?

he shouldn’t have gone into that forest, he should have just dealt with his foster, he’s done it before, why did today have to be the exception-

“uhhhhhhhh,” the beast deadpanned. “what are you doing in my house?”

he blinked.

it.

it talks.

it.. talks.

it….. talks?

“i… what?” ranboo said hopelessly confused.

“what uh. what are you doin’ in my house?” the giant repeated itself.

okay.

okay!

it can talk, he guesses.

maybe he can reason with it. maybe he can get it to let him go.

(that is, if he knew where his conversation skills went.)

(ha, as if he ever had them to begin with.)

“it’s, uh.” ranboo said, nodding is head towards the window. “raining.”

the beast looks up briefly, though he doesn’t really think it needed to, even he can hear the sound of pouring rain from here.

“so it is.” the giant hums.

there’s a brief silence that follows. lovely. this has been a riveting conversation so far.

“that doesn’t, uh. explain why you’re here, though.” the giant says. “in the forest.”

ranboo’s shoulders hunched.

“i got lost,” he admitted. “wasn’t really looking where i was going, and fell in a river.”

the beast hummed, nodding to itself. “yeah, i suppose that’d do it.”

another moment of silence.

“i uh, don’t suppose you’d let me leave..?” ranboo asked. it might have been a bit too early to ask that, but… he really just wanted this all to be over with. everything was so overwhelming.

as the words left his mouth, the two could hear a sudden crack boom around the cabin — he swears he felt the thunder in his chest.

“…now, i don’t know about you,” the beast starts, “but i don’t think i’d want to go out right now. just a thought.”

his shoulders slumped. prime, it was right, he hated that it was right. going out right now would almost be worse than staying in here.

he hated that it didn’t even really answer his question, either. he hated how terrified that made him.

the beast seemed to analyze him again, seemingly looking for something. he didn’t like how small he felt under it’s gaze.

he didn’t like how small he was in it’s grasp, either.

“you look cold.” the beast stated suddenly. it was only then he realized he was shivering — he supposes after washing out of the river and the mess that followed after, he didn’t have the time to fully realize he was freezing.

or, well. it could be the fear that made him shake like a small wet dog. that too.

“i- well, i did fall in a river.” ranboo shrugged, as much as he could in it’s hold. “the rain didn’t exactly help me warm up, either.”

the giant hummed again, before it looked around. it’s eyes seemed to land on what he believed to be a fireplace. he can only assume that, as there didn’t actually seem to be any wood or kindling in the fireplace.

he could hear the beast mutter under it’s breath, something about how it ‘should have brought the logs inside’. no doubt the wood would be too damp to use by now.

he jumped a bit as the hand briefly held him closer to it’s chest, the beast mumbling, “could keep it close while i nap,” before shaking it’s head, putting the hand back down, “no, don’t wanna accidentally crush it in my sleep.”

it was then ranboo realized it was thinking up of ways to warm him up. a little bit of his fear dissipated at that. maybe.. it wasn’t going to hurt him? surely, if it was, it wouldn’t be trying to help him.

the beast huffed shortly, saying, “could put you in the oven, that’ll warm you up for sure.”

he froze, fear rising back up in an instant. no no, god please don’t-

“ah shit- hey hey, kid, calm down, i was kidding.” the beast brought him closer to his face, concern and a tinge of regret in it’s eyes. as he let the words sink in, his breathing slowed down, he wasn’t even aware he was hyperventilating.

oh. it.. it was a joke.

pretty bad joke, if you ask him — though, he’s certainly not gonna say that out loud.

“alright, that’s on me, shouldn’t have done that.” the beast spoke up again, now that he calmed down slightly. “my bad.”

“it’s... it’s fine.” it wasn’t, not really, but he wasn’t quite going to be honest when he was literally in it’s grasp. he already felt like he was walking on a thin line with how he broke in.

the giant went back to looking around, but unfortunately, it didn’t seem to find anything that would satisfy it.

the beast huffed again, and ranboo’s panic grew a little. what happens when it decides to just cut it’s loses in him? what happens when it decides he’s not worth the effort?

“uh- you don’t, you don’t have to do anything for me, i’ll be fine.” he hunched his shoulders, “i can- i can manage on my own, i don’t wanna be a- a bother, i can leave, i won’t- i can-”

“kid, i’m not gonna make you leave.” the beast cut him off, “it’s raining down hard out there, you could get sick. hell, you might already be sick.”

ranboo’s shoulders hunched further, but before dread could really sink into his gut, the giant continued.

“i don’t mind you staying here ‘till the rain stops, it’s not gonna be too much of a trouble. ‘sides, looks like it’s not gonna stop for a while. you really don’t wanna be out there.”

his shoulders slumped, as he looked outside again. yeah, no, it’s right, he doesn’t think he would make it even halfway out of the forest now, let alone all the way over to his foster’s house, wherever that even is.

he’s stuck in here with something a hundred times his size.

something that could kill him without even trying.

god, he wants to go home.

he doesn’t even know what home is to him, anymore.

the beast looked deep in thought again, he can only assume it was still looking for something to warm him up. it’s... nice, almost, that it was looking out for him. not a lot of people in his life actually cared for him, or his needs, beyond the bare minimum.

it was an unfamiliar feeling. he didn’t know how he felt about it.

why did this.. this giant, something out of a fairy tale, something that he barely knew for.. what, ten minutes, now? care more for him than all of the adults he met combined?

it didn’t really feel fair. why now? why, after all this time? why this?

ranboo was getting too worked up, he needed to calm down. the last thing he needed was to breakdown in the grasp of a giant beast.

..should he still be calling it a beast? it can clearly talk, and communicate. calling it an, well.. it, seems rude now, even if it was only in his head.

he looked back up at the giant, who now seemed to be staring at him with a contemplative, almost hesitant look in it’s- their eyes.

that.... that can’t be good.

“i.. have an idea, of how to warm you up.” they started. “but i don’t know if you’ll like it.”

oh, well that’s definitely not a good sign!

“wh… what is it…?” ranboo asked tentatively.

the giant paused, a look of confliction in their eyes. dread was filling in his gut again. he didn’t think he wanted to know anymore, actually, thank you very much!

“i-i’m fine, you don’t need to do anything, honestly, i’ll live! just, wrap me up in a blanket, or- or something.” ranboo stammered, trying his best to hunch into himself.

“you’re freezing to the touch, kid, there’s no way you aren't sick.” the giant said, raising him up a bit. “the blanket won’t do much if you have hypothermia.”

ranboo paused at that. he hated how the giant was right, he’s so cold that his teeth aren’t even shattering anymore, but.. why were they so hesitant about it?

“look-” the giant started, before stopping themselves. they were still for a minute, thinking about something, before sighing. “kid, you’re gonna be fine, alright? i’m not gonna hurt you. you’ll be safe, safe, ‘kay?”

well that isn’t concerning in the slightest.

“wh- what are you doing?” ranboo said, his squirming picking up again, albeit weaker than before.

the giant sighed again. “this isn’t going to go well,” they muttered under their breath, before steeling themselves, and lifting him up again. higher, higher and higher than before, closer to their face.

his squirming intensified, terror and confusion and dread rising steadily. he didn’t know what the giant was planning and that scared him.

“p-put me down, p-please-!” ranboo yelled, trying to free his arms from the grip — he can’t do it, he can’t do anything, he doesn’t know what’s happening.

“you’re gonna be okay, kid,” the giant says softly to him again, before opening their mouth wide.

that’s when he realized what was gonna happen to him.

#mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #my writing #tiny!ranboo #giant!techno #asks #vore tw #cabin in the woods au #i started this the night after i first got it; and it’s been almost a week since then dindkdbsknsksn #<< update it has now been two weeks since i got this #i started this to procrastinate on my three secret santas that i thought we’re good ideas to sign up for #and THEN i started procrastinating on this #i’m a mess /lh didnkdbsks

[pleasantanathema]

Zeke Yeager | Give and Take

Pairing: Zeke Yeager x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Spitting, Degradation, Established Relationship, Smoking Cigarettes, Zeke has leather gloves 

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: This is part of my Nine Muses Event to celebrate 9k! Follow the link to read more fanfics I’m writing to celebrate. 💛

          “I’m going to devour you,” the leather was cold, the black stitching methodically tracing over naked skin, “piece by little piece.”

           Gloved fingers pressed into your cheeks, “Open your mouth.”

           But you liked denying him, got the same sick pleasure brewing in your stomach that he did from the chase.

           He had you on your knees—again. He always liked you in some subservient position, something that made it look like you were willing. You could still smell his cigarette smoke from your place on the floor, the cherry burning like hellfire in a dark room. Zeke leaned forward on his couch, thighs spreading wider, thumb sinking deeper into your soft cheek.

           “Open your fucking mouth. And I swear to god if you say ‘make me’ I’ll unhinge your fucking jaw.”

           You reluctantly did as you were told, even letting your tongue loll out of your mouth just how he liked. The taste of leather, of pine and tar and something chemical, hit your tongue, his gloved thumb and index finger pulling at the wet muscle, “and I want you to say thank you, this time.”

           There was no time to protest, the muffled sound of swishing hitting your ears just before a string of spit pooled against your pulled, awaiting tongue. It tasted like smoke and ash, like the menthols he smoked. It always tasted the same, tasted like Zeke.

           He released your tongue and you made a show of swallowing thickly, letting that gulp satisfy him.

           You didn’t give him thanks. You didn’t want to, just like you told yourself you didn’t want him.

           “One day you’ll do as you’re told,” his glove wrapped around your throat, thumb pressing below your jaw as he pulled you up, had you clambering into his lap.

           He was fully clothed, pristine dress shirt untucked from designer pants, brands only a conceited business man wears in winter. And that’s just how he liked it; he felt the power in having you strip in front of him and kneel before him naked. Even if it meant your drooling pussy would leave a stain on his trousers before he was done.

           “Why don’t you see how you taste?” You pulled at his blonde head, fingers tying in his hair like knots.

           Glasses glinted in time with his glare, something snarky ready to spill from curling lips, only to be stifled when you plucked the cigarette from his mouth to puff on it yourself. Smoke filled your lungs and nicotine made your head feel high, fuzzy, just enough to cement your courage.

           “Open your mouth,” you mimicked him, pads of your fingers pressing into bearded cheeks.

           “Dangerous game you’re playing, kid.”

           “What? Afraid you’ll like it?”

           You didn’t wait for his smart answer. When full lips parted, you pushed your open mouth against his, letting spit drool onto his tongue and spill from the sides of his mouth. The leather of his gloves warmed against your hips as he gripped you tighter in response, hard cock straining against his belt.

           The cigarette in your hand felt heavy as you kissed him, sloppy with spit and messy with mewls and groans. For a moment you thought about ashing the smoldering stick against his skin, to watch him burn and hiss. But you weren’t mean, not like him. Instead you let it drop carelessly into the wood of the floor, left to fade out as you two came alive.

           “Think you’re clever,” Zeke purred into your mouth, coarse hairs of his beard scratching at your cheeks, his fingers skimming over your hips, thumbs circling over your lower stomach before venturing farther south, “stupid little whore.”

           He didn’t even prep you, he knew he didn’t have to, already knew you were wet and willing as he pushed two gloved fingers inside of you. You gasped as he breached that first tight ring of muscle, your hand in his hair twisting as your back arched from the pleasure. He pumped the digits a few times, letting your slick coat and stain expensive leather. Those long fingers curled inside of you, felt both foreign and familiar as the thick textile petted your most sensitive, spongy spots.

           “Fuck, that’s not fair,” you whined as his other hand wrapped around your breast, leather creaking as he toyed with your nipple.

           “All’s fair in love and—”

           Your nails scraped against his face in warning, “Don’t finish that. This isn’t—” you lost your words when his thumb swiped across your clit. Hot, piercing pleasure raced down your legs, making them shake. Your knees sunk deeper into the cushions and you held on to slim, broad shoulders for balance.

           “Oh please, you love my fingers stuffed in your cunt,” your head fell as he spoke, panting against his neck as he continued his assault, “and let’s not forget how much you love my cock.”

           You were ready to melt, little drips and pulls of ecstasy blooming over your body and following his cruel fingers. He spread his fingers apart inside of you, slick sloshing and squelching with every push of his hand, lewd sounds making you whimper as you tried to tighten your muscles and hold back an impending orgasm. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of making you cum on his fingers—again.

           “I feel you squeezing. Fuck, want that tight pussy on me. Unbuckle my belt.”

           Your hands acted on their own accord, sliding down his chest as he continued to play with you, your hands fumbling with the metal frame before pulling at his button and zipper. You masked the hitch in your breath by sucking at his neck when your hand snaked around his fat cock. It was unfair that he was given something so big to back up his attitude.

           “Getting needy?”

           You didn’t have to answer, he got his satisfaction from feeling your teeth bite into his throat when he replaced the thumb on your clit with the heel of his palm, letting you grind down against him for friction as his fingers speared up into you. You were so close, so, so close to falling off the edge, the steady build of orgasm ready to burst with just the right touch.

           But Zeke had the power to take away that pleasure, and he did, removing his fingers from your hole and swatting your hand away from his cock so he could pump the shaft and smear your slick across the head. Just as he was able to take, he was able to give, not wasting time to pull your hips down to have you start sucking in his cock.

           “Z-Zeke,” it was just a hot breath mumbled into his throat, your sanity fading as he slowly started to fill you. Your pussy burned from the spread, every thick vein pumping against your walls and making you crazy. He always felt so good, like liquid sin, like something that crawled out of Pandora's box that you weren’t supposed to have.

           “Like how my name sounds in your mouth,” he grunted, head falling back against the sofa as his gloved thumb found your clit as your pussy fluttered around half the cock inside of you, “say it again and I’ll let you cum right now.”

           You, however, hated how his name filled the spaces in your mouth, hated how it felt too heavy on your tongue, hated how it was so stupid that his name was just Zeke. Not Ezekiel. Not even fucking Zachary. Just Zeke and all his arrogance and pride and unbearable hubris. But you’d be damned if he didn’t have the best, most filling cock, one that was making your mouth go dry even as he continued to sink inside of you.

           Your lips found his again, letting his eager tongue lick at your teeth and swallow your sounds.

           “Please, Zeke, pl-ah,ah,” he drew fast circles on your clit, open and ready for him to abuse from where it was spread over his cock.

           You broke within seconds, screaming, clenching, clawing at his shirt as you were punched in the gut with euphoria. You felt too tight, like you were wringing the life out of him as you went numb with pleasure and creamed around him.

           Zeke was caught up in your waves, being drug down into your current, even though his cock was barely seated inside of you.

           “Holy fucking shit, s-so good, fuck, fuck.”

           Your body took from him just like he took from you, the pride draining from his face as you milked his cock from the strength of your orgasm alone. You were sure that your bliss extended just from the sweet burst of victory you felt in your chest, a smile breaking over your face as your high spiraled.

           “God, you’re so fucking weak,” you chided, feeling his cum start to leak down his cock to pool in blonde curls. Your wet cunt finally took all of him in, making him groan from the sensitive feel of having you envelope him fully. His glasses were slipping down his nose as he stayed silent, chest full of deep breaths.

           “I’m just getting started,” he rocked your hips in his lap, cockhead brushing your walls, “want you dripping with my cum for days.”

#Zeke Yeager smut #Zeke smut #Zeke x reader #Zeke Yeager x reader #Zeke yeager #Zeke jeager #zeke jeager x reader #snk zeke #aot zeke #aot #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #Zeke Yeager fanfic

[the-last-kenobi]

Hi, how are you? Hope all is well) Can you please write "Where have you been" with Anakin and a very very depressed and sad Obi?

Of course!

From this various prompts list.

I admit I wasn’t sure exactly which angle you were hoping for, but this is the one my brain liked, so here we are.

_

Anakin’s hand shook slightly as he ran the cloth over the glass mug, turning it in his hands. Water beaded up in the wake of his first attempt, so he went back again a little slower, making sure he left no smudges behind. Then he carefully placed it in the cabinet where it belonged, each shelf lined with different mugs, most of them glass, a few of them seemingly random — porcelain, wood, something that looked like clay, a deep red crystalline substance.

Anakin knew that the ones that weren’t glass had all, once, belonged to Qui-Gon.

They were used rarely. Carefully. Cherished like treasures.

The rest, the glass, those were Obi-Wan’s.

He liked the perfection of glass, its transparency, the way he could watch the teas he brewed and steeped changing, colors swirling and fading beneath his fingers.

Anakin found them difficult to maintain and hard to clean.

His hand shook again, and he quickly put down the towel and set aside the next mug, turning away from the still untidy kitchen.

His gloved metal hand raked through his hair.

It was late.

It was very late.

He walked to the window and brushed aside the curtain with one hand, confronted first with his own ghostly reflection, and then focusing on the view outside. It was pouring down rain. A rare enough occurrence here on Coruscant, and tonight, of all nights, when Obi-Wan could be out there.

He could be anywhere.

Anakin didn’t know.

Obi-Wan had been missing for twenty-nine hours.

He had walked out of their shared quarters while Anakin was visiting Padmé, sometime in the early evening yesterday, leaving his cloak behind, leaving his lightsaber behind.

And then he was gone.

Anakin had searched all the usual places. He’d reached out to Dex, and alerted Mace Windu and Healer Che, and sent Ahsoka to check with the crèche and Initiates dorm in case he was there playing with and teaching the little ones. He’d contacted Bail and Padmé, and gained permission after the twelve hour mark to examine the security holos.

There was nothing.

It was as if Obi-Wan Kenobi had stepped over the threshold of their door and just fallen out of existence.

Anakin watched rain lash against the window, scattering his pale reflection into twisted fragments, and tried to remind himself that he had already been searching for twenty-five hours straight. That he hadn’t slept or eaten. That Master Koon had forbidden him from going out into the storm to search, when they already had rested and armored troopers doing a steady sweep of the Temple perimeter, even when they didn’t know if Obi-Wan had actually left the grounds.

The Temple was massive.

He could be hiding in an unused wing, or in the depths of the dustiest levels, or in the back of the Archives, or the towers.

No, not the Archives. Master Nu had already searched there and that woman would never miss so much as a hair out of place in her domain, much less a High Councilor.

Anakin had heard Master Mundi making noises about a possible trap or an abduction.

And while that was bad — nightmarish — to contemplate, Anakin had his own fears, and they felt much more realistic, much too close for comfort.

Anakin flung himself down on the sofa with his head in his hands and tried not to admit that he was frightened.

He had seen Obi-Wan like this before. Back when they were a new partnership and Qui-Gon was dead but there was still so much of him living in the Temple, like the mugs, one still the on the countertop with a faint imprint of his lips staining the rim, or his spare cloaks and boots, and the trinkets and potted plants that filled every available space. And Obi-Wan had...

Well. Whenever he thought Anakin wasn’t paying attention, he was so quiet. He barely slept for days and then slept too much. He hardly ate and then ate random things at random times. He hardly smiled.

He wandered off.

Alone.

The worst time had been when Anakin was six months in to his apprenticeship. He had woken up with a terribly bad feeling to find his Master missing from his bed, and with the unerring instinct of a worried child, he had shot off in search of Master Yoda, who had quietly raised the alarm amongst the older Masters. It was Master Windu who had found Obi-Wan, quiet and shrunken and apathetic, concealed in one of the many gardens, letting the life of the garden conceal his dimming force signature from view.

Anakin had clung to him like he was about to disappear, and Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed to really process that he was there...

Eventually he had pulled out of it. Anakin didn’t know how.

But this...

Anakin had been worried since Geonosis that he would lose his Master to death on the battlefield. Then there had been Ventress and Jabiim and Grievous and Dooku and Maul — Maul — and suddenly it felt like Obi-Wan was never safe. The war and his enemies chased him everywhere.

But Obi-Wan had lost friends and peers and younglings he had once taught or cradled in his arms when they were so very small, and his Master’s murderer had come back like a resurrected demon to plague him, to threaten his life and sanity and everyone he loved — and Satine had already paid with her life.

Others might.

And when Anakin had come racing back home from 500 Republica when he’d heard the news, it was already too late, and Obi-Wan had gone off all alone stars knew where.

That was enough.

Anakin leapt to his feet, his body trembling with fear and nausea, determined to ignore orders.

Damn their kindness and responsibility, damn the fact that he’d probably only get soaked and miserable, he was going out searching again.

Anakin strode towards the door on shaking legs.

It swung open before he neared it, and there was Obi-Wan.

Anakin gaped at him.

Obi-Wan stared blankly back. “...Anakin?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed, staring at him, taking him in. He was without his cloak and lightsaber, as he had known he would be, and was soaking wet — completely sopping, as if he had swum in a lake rather than wandered about in a rainstorm.

“Obi-Wan,” he said again, his voice strained. “Where have you been?”

His Master continued to look blank. “I went out.”

“You went out? You’ve been gone for well over a day!” Anakin cried out. “Where have you been?”

Obi-Wan shrank away from the shouting. His blue eyes flickered around the room as if looking for an answer, or perhaps an escape, and still his expression was utterly detached. “I... I don’t know, really. Here and there.”

A pause.

“Was I really gone for so long?” he asked. He sounded distantly, disinterestedly bewildered, and Anakin broke.

“Yes!” he shouted, his face screwed up in anger, in an attempt to hold back childish tears. “Yes you have! You disappeared! There are people looking for you, and the Council was worried you’d been taken, and I was so— I was — so — I— you can’t do that to me, Obi-Wan, please, I was losing my mind!”

Obi-Wan’s blank expression finally shifted.

A look of confusion and worry built behind the vague blue eyes, and Anakin launched himself at his friend like he had all those years ago, locking his limbs around him in a fierce hug.

For a long moment it was like hugging a statue. A very cold, very wet statue that shivered ever so slightly.

But Anakin held on, determined to keep Obi-Wan right here, to keep him safe and warm, to make him understand that he was needed, that he could also rest, that it would all be okay if he just stayed. Stayed like he had before. His tunics began to absorb some of the icy moisture coming off his Master but he kept holding on, his face buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

And slowly, Obi-Wan came to life.

His hands inched upwards to rest against his Padawan’s back, and he tilted his head so that he was leaning against Anakin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I had no idea you’d be so concerned.”

“I wasn’t concerned, you absolute idiot, I was scared,” Anakin hissed, the confession both bitter and relieving on his lips. “How would you feel if I vanished with no word? For thirty hours?”

A long silence.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “I would be impressed with Padmé for not getting bored of you long before that.”

There was a dead silence.

Then a spluttered, incredulous laugh, and it took Anakin a moment to realize it was he who was laughing. His shoulders shook with it, with shock at the revelation of what Obi-Wan knew, that he wasn’t angry about it, that he was cracking stupid, mean, dumb jokes about it when Anakin was trying to be mad at him.

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, and Anakin laughed harder, delighted that his friend was smiling, if only a little.

“You’re not off the hook you know,” he mumbled, guiding Obi-Wan to his rooms, planning on forcing him to take a hot shower and drink warm tea and maybe pull out one of Qui-Gon’s old cloaks, because that always helped.

“Neither are you,” Obi-Wan mumbled back, and squeezed his hand every so briefly.

~

When Plo Koon dropped by to check on Anakin, very early the next morning, he found him sleeping soundly on a chair, snoring quietly, his feet propped on the arm of the sofa, where Obi-Wan was fast asleep with an old cloak that was far too large for him draped over his body.

It was easy to forgive them to forgetting to inform the Guard to call off the search.

Mace could pretend to yell at them during their next Council meeting, during which, he was sure, the two friends would stand side by side, mischief in their eyes.

~

#star wars fic #my writing #prompt fill #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obi wan and anakin #qui gon jinn #master & padawan #more hugs needed #tw depression #tw disassociation #angst and fluff #everyone loves obi wan #literally everyone #mace pretends to be cranky with them but mostly he’s just #amused #and tired

[harrysweasleys]

know-it-all // g.w

summary: Could you please write a fluffy fic about George and a Ravenclaw reader arguing about an answer on an exam or an assignment. And in the end it turns out George was right. And I would love it if you could include the exchange, "Don't say it!" "I told you so." "I said don't say it."

warnings: mentions of food

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i am back with my twin fics! woah! it’s been a while, sorry about that. life has been wild and i didn’t have much motivation but here we go! i hope you all enjoy!! x

[i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other platform!]

For what felt like the billionth time of that afternoon, you dropped your head onto the table and let your forehead smack against the solid wooden surface. You could feel different sets of eyes peering in your direction from other tables in the library, all silently questioning what was wrong with you. 

The answer was simple: Potions.

Snape had set out a stupid assignment that, to be completely fair, was way out of your league. For every time you thought he was an awful professor, he sunk remarkably lower. 

The topic of said assignment was one that you guys hadn’t even covered yet, and given by Snape’s tone of voice when a student had brought that very point up in class, he really couldn’t care less. It didn’t help that you were already ridiculously occupied with other end-of-year assignments — you didn’t want to get stuck teaching yourself a whole new branch of potion-making as well. You were barely sleeping nights and only showed up to dinner every second day, the library study hours becoming your very best friend. 

It was just a lot. 

It also didn’t help that you could see the golden rays of the sunlight pouring in through the dusty library window, signalling that it was once again the end of the day, and tomorrow, bright and early, you’d be handing in the assignment that you were nearly certain you’d botched. 

Dinner was likely being prepared in the Great Hall right about now, the wonderful smell of roast potatoes and pumpkin juice running through your mind, but you honestly weren’t up to eating. You were feeling rather down in the dumps, forehead still pressed against the wooden table, and your mind reeling around the assignment.

“You look like you could use some assistance.”

You lifted your gaze, sure that there was now a bright red spot on your forehead, and glared over at George, who had just taken the seat across from you at the table. His grin was wide but his eyes were tired — you knew he was busy working on assignments of his own, as well his summer plans for opening the shop. Yet somehow he always found time to help you. 

He tilted his head to the side when you gave him an exhausted stare, blinking rapidly before you processed his question. 

“Do you remember doing this last year?” you asked, sliding over the assignment paper, giving a small cough to clear your dry throat. George, being in the year ahead of you, had quite the knack for Potions. He liked to say it was because it was just utterly fascinating and he was a purely, genuinely, naturally gifted student, but you knew he only did so well because he’s been brewing his own disastrous concoctions since he was a young boy. With practice comes skill, you always said. 

And you prayed to Merlin that said skill would come in handy right about now. 

His eyes scanned the paper and he gave a small shake of his head, “No, but I think you’ve got this wrong. You wrote Leech Juice here, but I’m pretty sure the answer is actually Acromantula Venom.”

You frowned, snatching the paper back from him — making him flinch and take a quick look at his fingers for any paper cuts — and stared down at your answer, “What? No. The obvious answer is Leech Juice. This was the only question I understood. I know the answer to this one, it’s the others that I can’t seem to figure out.”

He raised an eyebrow, “It’s Acromantula Venom, darling. That I know for sure.”

Though you were grateful for his presence and the fact that he was willing to help, you knew he was wrong about that one. Any first year could tell the answer was Leech Juice. But you didn’t feel like arguing with him any more than necessary with time running low, so you just gave your paper back and frowned.

“Can you help me with any of these? Professor Snape hasn’t said a single thing about any of these topics, and I’m sick of flipping through book after book, not even sure what I’m looking for,” you let out a sigh, “It feels like he’s purposefully setting us up for failure,” you muttered the last part under your breath, not wanting anyone other than George to hear your complaints.

His hand reached across the table and linked with yours, his soft fingers calming down the rapid, stressed-out beating of your heart, and gave you a small smile, “If he hasn’t taught you this, I’m sure that you’re not the only one having a hard time.”

You groaned, trying to pull your hand out of his, unfortunately failing as his grip was stronger than yours. 

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you said, voice low, “I don’t want to fail, even if everyone else does. That’ll always show up on my reports.”

He pursed his lips, giving you a small nod, “Alright, I get that. Why don’t you take a break? We’ll go eat, and then finish this up later, yeah? You can head over to the Common Room with me after dinner, I doubt anyone will say anything.”

A sigh left your lips as you began to place your parchment and books into a pile, George grabbing your ink bottle and quill — which had kindly left little indents in your hand due to aggressive use — and the two of you began to make your way to the Great Hall. 

After leaving the library, you could feel a weight lifted off of your shoulders. As if the tense study environment that you had felt stuck in had now been leeched away from you. As if you could now think clearly. You gave George a small smile, thankful that he arrived when he did. 

Merlin, why was sixth year so difficult? If it wasn’t for George’s calmness and sanity, you’d probably be a melted mess of failed papers and shining blue robes on the floor. 

As you made your way into the Hall, heading towards the Ravenclaw table, George pressed a kiss to your forehead and muttered, “Acromantula Venom,” against your skin, shooting you a wink before he made off to his own house table. 

You gave a small scowl, mouthing “Leech Juice” right back at him. 

— —

“Oh, well, now would you look at that,” George grinned, looking down at the assignment you were shoving in his face. A bright smile donned your lips as you flashed the score, a bright red E. 

Exceeds Expectations. 

It wasn’t the O — Outstanding — that you were hoping for, but Merlin, did the E feel good. That meant you had done better than Snape was expecting — and better than a majority of the class, by the looks of it. They had all walked out with solemn faces and shoved their papers in their bags as quickly as possible. Even the Slytherin girl who sat behind you, the one who always bragged about perfect grades and how much Snape favoured her, had left without saying a word. That fact alone really boosted your pride. 

“No thanks to your brilliant boyfriend,” George gave himself a pat on the back, giving you your now-crumpled paper. 

“Oh, sod off,” you gave him a nudge in the shoulder as you sat down on the couch next to him, the Gryffindor common room rather silent for this early in the evening. Despite being a Ravenclaw, passing students didn’t mind your presence in their house. After three years of dating George and always being in the space, they barely even noticed the blue of your tie amongst the red ones anymore. 

“Wait, what’s this?” George rapidly snatched the paper out of your hands — revenge for when you did it to him, most likely — and his eyes lingered on question number four, “Oh, well, would you look at that?”

You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest in preparation for his comment, “Don’t say it.”

His grin was so wide, you swore his cheeks would split, “You got Leech Juice wrong! And right here, scribbled in Snape’s hardly-legible writing, what does that say? It looks like A-Acro-,” 

“Don’t,” you didn’t meet his eyes, a sour expression on your face as George rubbed it in. 

“I told you so,” he leaned forwards, pressing a light kiss against your temple, arm slinging around you to bring you against his body. His warmth radiated through his sweater and it wasn’t helping the pettiness you were feeling in your chest. 

“I said don’t say it,” you grumbled, snapping your head away from him and staring at the blank brick wall next to the fireplace. His laugh vibrated through your body, and it took everything in you not to turn around and laugh with him. 

He placed one of his hands under your chin and turned your gaze to meet his, “Come on, I’m only playing. I’m proud of you, and I knew you’d do well. You were worried for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing!” you flailed your arms, letting them fall on your lap, “He sprung this out of the blue. Of course I was worried.”

“And you did brilliantly,” he pressed another kiss to your temple, sparks fluttering across your skin as his loving touch, “You always do, my brilliant little witch.”

You cracked.

A small smile made its way onto your lips as you leaned into his touch, loving the feeling of being close to him. And it felt even sweeter knowing that you hadn’t failed — that this was a victory hug. 

“Love you,” he mumbled against your hand, bringing your knuckles up to his lips and pressing a kiss on each one. You leaned your head on his shoulder, bringing your lips to his neck to mumble the same words against his skin. 

A victory. 

taglist

@grierpilots @hxfflxpxffs @mikumana @msmimimerton @pit-and-the-pen @diary-of-an-onliner @thoseofgreatambition @theweasleysredhair @haphazardhufflepuff @awritingtree @thisismysketchbook @valwritesx @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @phuvioqhile @marvelettesassemble @shadowsinger11 @breadqueen95 @hahee154hq @inglourious-imagines @amourtentiaa @barneswidow @spacexcowgirl @lumos-barnes @gcdricreads @bolaurel​ @almostweepingbanana​ @ickle-ronniekins​ @iprobablyshipit91​ @wand3ringr0s3​ @susceptible-but-siriusexual​ @amhyeah​ @a-castle-of--glass @freddie1978 @lumosandnoxwriting​ @rosaliepostsstuff​ @darthwheezely​ @parseltongueswriting @pandaxnienke​ @esmeralda-a @freds-slut​ @slytherinlovesgryffindor

#george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley one shot #george weasley one shots

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X READER - Waffle House Pt. 1

You're a server at the south's greatest and best-loved institution: Waffle House. The graveyard shift can be tough, but you can usually find ways to entertain yourself. Turns out tonight's entertainment is named Bo, and he wants to know if you're on the menu.

I wrote this especially for my friend Zin! This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2 is NSFW (and in Bo's POV!)

Soundtrack: Diner Ambience ; Rain ; Faint Hard Rock

Words: 3,269

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

***

READER POV

It was raining when he came in, a light rain that tapped on the windows and made you want to leave your shift at Waffle House early to crawl into your warm bed. He was just some guy—average, white, brown hair, blue eyes. And yet you felt compelled to watch him as he tapped his dripping boots against the door and shook out his hat.

Wow.

You were new to the overnight shift. It was mostly truckers coming up and down the interstate, guys who just wanted to tuck into a warm meal and leave. They tipped well, too, so you didn't mind. It wasn't like your sleep schedule wasn't fucked anyway. May as well make some money while you were up all night.

This was the first time you'd had a physical reaction to any guy who'd walked in. You completely forgot about the orange juice you were in the process of putting away. You could feel your heart race as he gazed around the restaurant, and when his eyes found yours and he flashed you that grin?

Wow.

He took a seat at the breakfast bar, right in front of you, like he could sense your pulse quickening. "Evenin'."

Right, you were supposed to greet him. "Hi, there. Can I getcha some coffee?"

"That'd be real welcome, [miss / sir]." His crow's feet wrinkled, and he set his hat aside on the counter. His twang sounded so good mixing with the classic rock pouring from the speakers that you had to bite your lip to keep from sighing. "Sure is comin' down out there."

"Yeah," you agreed with a breathless laugh. God, did you sound stupid? You turned quickly, retrieving a mug and the fresh pot you'd just finished brewing. "How do you like it?"

"If you bring me the fixin's, I'll do it up," he said easily. When you turned and handed him the mug, his eyes found your chest, staring at your name tag for an extended moment. Then, his gaze crawled to yours. "Y/N."

Your face was so hot you wondered if he could see you blushing. Rather than say anything stupid, you practically shoved ramekins of creams and sugars at him, then mumbled some excuse or another before disappearing into the kitchen.

Pressed against the wall, you took a few deep breaths. You saw a hundred men every shift, some of them quite handsome, and yet this guy was standing out to you. Why, you had no idea, but you had a table of college kids to wait on and three other people at the counter ... you couldn't be fixated on this one person.

The cook glanced up at you, then did a double take, frowning. "You okay? Look like you're about to pass out."

Worried your Average Man had heard him, you cleared your throat and announced, "I was just getting some straws," before grabbing a handful and exiting.

You shoved the straws in your apron, trying to avoid eye contact with the man ... but as you poured refills and took orders, you found it hard not to glance over at him. He was just sitting, enjoying his coffee, but every so often, you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye.

You knew you couldn't put off talking to him for long. You had to take his order, after all, and he'd been patient. As you walked back to him, he looked up, smiling brightly. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." Why were you thanking him? Jesus Christ, you sounded like an idiot. "Ready to order?"

He laughed a little, carding a hand through his slightly damp curls. "Once you give me a menu, darlin', I reckon I won't be long."

"Oh, sh— shoot." You scrambled to grab him a menu, slapping it down in front of him. "Sorry. It's been a long night."

"No worries." As he flipped the menu open, he nodded to his coffee cup. "Can I get some more a that, sweetpea?"

"Of course." Man, you were really fucking up this serving thing tonight.

By the time you'd grabbed the pot and refilled him, he'd set the menu down and was ready with two white packets between his fingers. He tore them both open in one motion, then looked at you, smirking. "Extra sugar. Don't tell."

Shit, you can have all the sugar you want. But your mouth was not half as dirty as your mind, and so you just smiled back, trying so hard to keep from giggling. "So, what'll it be?"

"I'll get the, uh ... Texas bacon patty melt with hashbrowns."

"Sure. How you want those hashbrowns?"

"Just plain. Actually, make 'em smothered. Oh, an' a side of biscuits 'n' gravy, please."

"You got it." You jotted the order down quickly and passed it through the kitchen window, readying yourself to move on to the next customer for your own sanity.

But it was the man's voice that drew you back to the counter: "Hey..."

You turned. He was about to ask you a question, you could tell from the tone of his voice. "What's up?"

"I'm not really from around here." His smile was friendly enough, but his shocking blue eyes seemed almost calculating. "S'pretty late, an' I don't feel like sleepin' in the truck again. You know any good motels 'round here?"

It didn't even occur to you in the moment that he could be flirting. "Well, there's a Motel 6 not far from here ... a Red Roof a few miles down the interstate. Those'll probably be your best options in terms of good quality."

His expression shifted a bit, but then his smile widened, crow's feet wrinkling again. "All right. Thanks, sugar."

Sugar. You weren't new to being called that—you lived in the south, after all—but something about the way he said it...

You tried to get him off your mind the rest of the night, but it was kind of difficult. Even after he'd finished his food, he lingered, draining coffees and flipping through a newspaper someone had left on the stool next to him. He got up to go to the restroom a couple times, but besides that, he stayed planted right in front of you, where it was impossible to ignore him.

It was an hour and thirty minutes later that your shift ended. You gathered your things, and as you headed toward the door, you weren't surprised to find him still there.

For some reason, only then did his lingering presence give you pause. Why was he hanging around a Waffle House at 3 a.m., anyway? He'd said he wasn't from around here ... had he gotten kicked out or something? Chosen a direction on the interstate and just started going?

Poor guy. You bit your lip, going back and forth with yourself for a few moments before your pity won out. "Hey, sir."

He looked over his shoulder, forehead wrinkling.

"Um, you take care. Lindsey'll ring you up whenever you're ready."

He cracked a smile and waved. "Take care, darlin'."

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at those words.

The sky was just beginning to turn the color of dusk, but it was still raining as you exited the restaurant and headed to your car. Your keys jingled as you wrestled them out of the pocket of your jacket. It took you a moment to find the keyhole in the driver's side door, squinting through the rain like you were.

The inside of the car was blissfully dry, and as you slammed the door and blocked out the pounding rain, you closed your eyes and pushed out a long breath. It was time to go home—have some dinner of your own, maybe some tea, then collapse in bed.

That thought finally moved you to put the key in the ignition and turn.

And turn.

...And turn.

Well, you were the only one turning, because the engine certainly fucking wasn't.

Dread crawled up your spine and gripped the back of your neck. What? How could something like this happen? You'd just paid through the nose for a ton of repairs and an inspection. How could your engine just...

Anxiety floated you as you climbed out of the car, braving the rain to look under the hood. But hell, you barely knew which one was the engine, let alone how to fix it if it was broken. Your hands shook as you fumbled for the hood prop, heat climbing your face and stinging your eyes. How were you gonna get this fixed? How would you even afford it? Below minimum wage and tips from truckers wasn't going to cut it.

You turned, leaning against the side of the car and taking your cellphone from your other pocket. The tears finally fell once you realized that you didn't have anyone to call. You slammed the hood of the car and covered your face.

"Hey."

The voice, raised over the downpour, made you jump. You'd been standing in the rain for a few minutes, sobbing your eyes out, and you were completely soaked through. The rain and the heat of your tears fogged your glasses so bad, you couldn't see who was there no matter how you squinted.

"Hey," he said again, much closer now. You recognized the twang.

Quickly, you grabbed your glasses off, wiping them against your shirt before replacing them. You could see the Average Man much more clearly now, watching you but keeping his distance.

"Hi," you managed, sniffling hard.

His face fell. In a few seconds, he was beside you, offering you a hanky from his back pocket. With a little mumble of thanks, you wiped your face and blew your nose. The hanky smelled like motor oil and musk. He was close enough for you to smell him, too, feel the heat coming off his body.

For some reason, that made you cry harder.

He clicked his tongue above you. "Why you cryin', darlin'? It's pourin' out; you're gonna get soaked."

"My ... my car," you managed, gesturing helplessly.

"Oh? Somethin' wrong with your car?"

"Yeah. And I don't know jack shit except the model and year." You vented your frustration in a hard exhale, wringing his hanky. "I just got it inspected, too."

The man paused for a moment. "Well, hey, I'm a mechanic. I could take a look if ya like."

You raised your head, wiping your glasses again. "I— no, it's fine. It's raining out, you don't have to..."

"I don't mind," he said dismissively, opening the hood with one hand and propping it up. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't cry like that."

Again, you found yourself staring at him. This man definitely gave off an ... energy, calling you pretty while fixing your car. For a stranger, he was certainly taking control of a situation he hadn't even been aware of a minute ago. You'd been well aware he was attractive and compelling, but this was a whole new level. You were so taken off guard you couldn't think of a response.

"Go ahead and climb in front," the man said, waving you that way. "Try 'n' start it when I knock on the window."

"Okay." You slid into the front seat again, waiting for his command. He knocked once, and you turned the key.

No luck. You hesitated before knocking back.

Another knock. No luck. After the third, he rapped on the driver's side window instead, and you opened the door for him.

He was soaked. His clothes were drenched to his skin, his hair curling wildly around his ears and forehead. "No luck, darlin'. Think your engine's shot."

You felt your face crumple, any hope you'd had now crushed. It was four-something in the morning. Where were you going to get a ride home let alone a tow truck? And then how were you going to pay for it all?

"You gonna be okay?"

His words shook you out of your reverie. Your chest felt cold and numb ... the beginnings of a panic attack starting to take hold. "I just ... I don't know what I'm gonna..." You clenched your hands, freezing and trembling, and inhaled shakily.

"Listen," he said after a few moments, glancing up at the sky. "It's real shitty out, if you'll pardon my French, an' I don't feel right leavin' you all alone out here..." He sighed, almost grimacing. "You want a ride? I can getcha home, you can rest an' make your phone calls in the mornin'."

Getting into a stranger's car ... it was the most stereotypical thing in the world, but you didn't see any way you could turn down the offer. He seemed nice enough, and if it came down to it, you could run if not defend yourself...

At this point, you'd risk anything to be somewhere warm and cozy instead of in this stupid, freezing parking lot.

"I don't want to ... inconvenience you," you said weakly.

"It's no bother." His smile tightened a bit. "I'd rather you say yes or no so I can get out of this downpour."

You slipped out of your car, shutting and locking it behind you. Hopefully it would be alright for the night. "As long as you don't mind, mister."

The man simply smirked in response, slamming your hood and heading for his truck. It was a beat-up Chevy in dire need of a paint job, but it was running, which was more than you could say for your own vehicle. He opened the passenger side door, then shut it behind you, hurrying himself out of the rain. The pickup's vintage interior smelled faintly of cigarettes as you slid into place, buckling in.

He swore softly as he climbed in beside you and started the truck. Heat blasted through the air vents, and you relaxed a little. It smelled musty and old in here, but the engine sounded good, and whatever problems there were were easily smoothed over by the handsome company and the rock droning from the radio.

"Name's Bo, by the way." He spared you a smile as he backed out of his parking space. "Only fair you know mine since I know yours." When you balked, he laughed. "Your name tag, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Duh."

The man—Bo—took it in stride. "You must be beat as hell, shift like that. Betcha can't wait to get home and curl up in bed."

"Yeah," you replied, giggling awkwardly.

Bo smiled. God, he was so pretty. "Don't blame ya. I'm dog tired myself. Do just about anything for a drink and a soft bed right now." A chuckle. "Guess I'll just have to settle for a beer and a motel mattress."

Again, you giggled awkwardly.

On the other hand, he wasn't awkward at all. In fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable carrying the conversation, as if he'd gotten the script before you and rehearsed his lines a thousand times. "So where'm I headed?"

"Oh, uh, take the next exit..."

You continued to navigate for him, but you were working from memory, your eyes barely on the road. You couldn't help but watch his hands as he maneuvered the truck. They looked strong and warm, with fine hairs near his wrist, and on his right hand, a signet ring glistened in the low light. When he stroked and squeezed the steering wheel, his muscles and skin shifted beautifully over his knuckles.

You kinda wished you were that steering wheel.

Eventually, the truck pulled up to your apartment building, engine purring as it idled. "This the one?"

"Yeah." You clutched your things closer and smiled over at Bo. "Thank you for this. Really, I don't know what..."

You'd been about to say I don't know what I can do to repay you, but the state he was in, it wasn't hard to guess what he needed. Not only was he drenched, but he looked half-dead with exhaustion despite that easy smile of his.

Even as you opened your mouth, you knew this was a crazy idea.

"Do you ... want to come in for a minute? I can at least get you a towel, um, and maybe some cash for taking you out of your way."

Bo paused. He had an expressive face—you could see him weighing his options. "What the hell," he sighed, giving a tight white-guy smile before cutting the engine. "Sure."

Your heart leapt. You had half expected him to turn you down out of politeness, but you supposed you had inconvenienced him. Excitement mixed with terror at the thought of having this man—a stranger—in your apartment. Alone with you.

But it was a little too late to back out now. You slipped out of the truck and led him quickly up the front steps, then the interior stairs to your apartment. As always, your building smelled like Second Floor's cats and First Floor's cheap weed. Bo only stood behind you, hat in his hand, nice and polite as he waited for you to unlock your door.

"Home sweet home," you said, laughing awkwardly as you stepped in.

Bo gave a cursory glance around the place but didn't seem to feel one way or the other about your decor, simply smiling at you. He sure did know how to make people feel at ease. This almost didn't feel like an insanely stupid idea.

"Make yourself at home. I'll go get a towel. Um, and I can get you a drink. What do you like?"

"I'm not fussy, but I'll take whiskey if you have it."

Your place was so small, you were able to carry on the conversation while you hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a fresh towel from the cabinet. "I think one of my friends left some behind the last time she was over. Wild Turkey? It's bourbon?"

"That'll do." When you brought him the towel, he gave you one of those dazzling grins in return. "Much obliged, darlin'."

God, you just wanted to stand there and take him in while he toweled himself off, but you forced yourself not to, instead going into the small kitchen and fetching the whiskey. You weren't much of a drinker yourself, but you'd seen your friends drink plenty, so you poured a couple fingers in a wide glass and brought it out. He had already made himself quite comfortable on your couch, leaned back, legs spread, arm across the back of it.

"I hope it's not irresponsible of me to give you a drink when you're gonna be driving," you said as you handed him the whiskey.

He chuckled. "Don't you worry about me. I've pro'lly driven worse off a thousand times." He threw it back in one go, and you watched his slightly stubbly throat bob as he swallowed smoothly. He practically moaned, "That's it," before wiping his mouth. Looking you up and down, "None for you, sugar?"

It took you a moment to find your voice. "I don't really drink much. Tastes like paint thinner to me."

That drew a laugh from him. "Sacrilege." Then a hum. "You don't have to stand there, y'know. It is your house."

Sitting next to him would mean his arm was practically wrapped around your shoulder. An edge of wariness was beginning to press against your thundering heart. This was such a terrible idea, for so many different reasons.

You approached slowly, lingering before him. The way he looked up at you through his lashes, body sunk into your couch, nearly made your mouth water. He lifted his glass slightly. "Think I'm good for one more ... if ya don't mind."

***

Part 2

Masterlist

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher imagine #bo sinclair imagine #written