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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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Hangover 3

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

The music adds to the distortion of time. It feels like he’s been driving for hours but it may only have been twenty minutes. At least long enough to get to the outskirts of the city.

You slide forward and hit the partition, “Officer Storm,” you holler above the stereo, “sir, please–”

He cranks the volume even louder and you cover your ears as you fall back against the seat. You shudder as you cram yourself into the corner and make yourself small. Your adrenaline spikes as fear floods your veins. You just want to go home. You want to see your son one last time.

You close your eyes as you fight the brewing tears. Don’t lose it. You can’t fall apart. Don’t panic.

You rock as the car turns onto gravel, the crunching dull beneath the blare of music. You keep yourself scrunched up, arms bent around your head as you keep your eyelids squeezed tight. The tires slow as shadows flicker over you.

You dare to look, the sky dimming by the minute as evening sets in. You peek ahead as the headlights shine across a cluster of trees. Finally, he comes to a stop and shifts into park. The engine continues to run as he twists the knob and lowers the volume.

“Wallet,” he slides back the small window again, not looking back as he presents his palm expectantly.

You hesitate. What’s going on? You know better than to ask. Speaking only seems to agitate him.

You fish your wallet out of your bag and shove it through the slot. It misses his hand, bouncing off and hitting the seat. He sighs and snaps the panel shut. Your lip trembles until you suck it in,, forcing it still. You wring your hands as you try to see what he’s doing.

He flips on the compartment light and grabs your wallet. He opens it up, searching through the few pieces of change and clutter of cards. He takes out your license and drops the wallet back to the seat. He angles the small monitor mounted to the dashboard and types in a number as he holds up your ID.

He sniffs as nothing comes up and considers your license. He pulls his phone from his front pocket and takes a picture of the card. Your eyes glisten. You don’t understand what he’s doing.

“Officer Storm,” you utter softly, “please, whatever I did–”

He ignores you as he tosses your license onto the seat and puts his phone back in his pocket. He opens the driver’s door and gets out, zipping up his coat as he lets out an emphatic burr. You can see the cold mist rising from the earth in the beams of the headlights.

He opens the back door, “out.”

“Sir–”

“I didn’t ask you a question so I don’t need an answer. Get out of the car.”

You suck in a breath and sidle over the seat. You drag your purse with you and as you get out, he snatches it away. He whips it back into the car and grips your upper arm. He moves you as he slams the door.

You whimper as he marches you past the car into the bright cones cast by the cruiser’s headlights. He puts you in the crisscross of the spotlight and lets you go. You sway on your feet and turn to face him.

He doesn’t say a word as he grabs your collar and tears open the zipper of your coat, busting the tab off of it. You squeak as he strips the sleeves down your arms and lets the fleece drop to the gravel. He’s going to kill you. He’s just getting rid of the evidence.

All this because what? You tried to help him? How can one man’s ego be so brittle?

“Please,” you whisper.

“Shut up,” he grows.

He rips your shirt out of the top of your pants, peeling it up your body. You try to hold your arms down and he growls, tugging harder. You’re forced to raise your hands as he roughly pulls the fabric over your head. He throws it to the dirt as well and quickly turns his attention to the top of your black slacks.

Your breath hitches and your chest rises and falls rapidly. Your heart hammers in your temples as you feel the terror taking over. It’s as if you’re watching yourself from above all while being trapped inside your body.

You shiver as he exposes you to the frigid air. He reaches around you, fumbling to undo your worn out wonderbra and scratches your arms as he yanks it off. He grabs the elastic of your underwear next and shoves it down to fall into the rumpled pile of your pants still around your ankles.

You bring your hand up to catch a sob as it breaks free. You hiccup as you blink back tears, failing to stem the flow of horror. You part your fingers just slightly as Officer Storm steps back.

“I have a son,” you croak.

“Yep,” he reaches into his pocket, retrieving his phone, “so, he wouldn’t want to know his mom’s a whore, would he?”

He holds up his phone and the flash blinds you as he snaps a photo. You try to cover yourself as you hear the shudder effect on repeat. He stops and forces your arms down.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he huffs and grabs the cuffs from his belt. “Put these on, behind your back.”

“Please–”

“Do what I fucking tell you or you’ll be charged with resisting,” he warns.

You nod and swallow down your protests. You take the cuffs and lock the first around your wrist. You put your hands behind you and get the other closed around your other arm.

He continues to take photos as you shake like a feather in the nightly chill. The temperature is dropping fast, your skin prickling with hard goosebumps as your breath clouds visibly before you. You sniffle as he walks around you, continuing to capture your nakedness from all angles.

You’re horrified to be so exposed. You look down at yourself and see the stretchmarks on your chest and stomach, extending down your thighs. The loose flab you could never quite lose and the sagging that came from the years.

He’s so young, he must be disgusted. You are too.

He stops behind you.

“Bend over,” he orders.

You shudder and let out a whimper. He nudges you with his phone, cold from the air, and you do as he says. You bend until you feel the temperature nip between your legs. He takes several more photos as you struggle to keep your balance.

He snorts and a new silence rises. He lingers at your back as you stay frozen and prone. You flinch as you feel the warmth of his hands close around your hips. He steps close, brushing his crotch against your ass.

“I could do so much more,” he snarls and lifts a hand to brush his fingers along your spine, “think about what I could do right now.”

Your eyes widen as you shake even more, staring at the ground as your fear bubbles up in violent hiccups. He hooks his fingers around the cuffs and lets go of your other hip. He unlocks them, the metal falling away from your wrists.

“Get dressed.”

#johnny storm #dark johnny storm #darkjohnny storm #johnny storm x reader #drabble #series #au #the club #hangover #fantastic four

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dukeoftheblackstar · 7 months

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Update on my Plo Koon army who will continue to block the view of my extended monitor while I work but have not the heart to not put them in view's way.

I now have Season 1 Plo beside Hasbro!Plo and I got another Hoodie!Plo (I hid the hood for safekeeping) which has the Council's logo because the other one doesn't (thems two between Winter!Plo) and Commander Wolffe!!!

Oh and the HOME art by @amorfista remains my browser background ♥ Forever.

Oh! And the custom crochet!Plo that I might just name Kiv and Koa from @veny-many's Post-66 AU with Kel Dor bebbies ♥

And yes, Vader is still there because I don't want him lonely on the side.

The goal is to essentially get so many Plo Koons on my desk dashboard so I'd have absolutely hindered visibility and render my extended monitor useless except for displaying Plo Koon art.

I love him a normal amount. A very normal amount.

@saengak @amorfista @exosorcery @plokoonsdisapprovingeyebrows @ghostperson69 @battlekilt @starrrgazingbunny @kimiheartblade @sofir-kefir @76historylover @sinisterexaggerator

#♝#plo koon #kit fisto #plokoon #kitfisto #commander wolffe #koon army #kiv and koa #post-66 au #kel dor

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junkissed · 1 year

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campus cat dad

member — uni bf!vernon x reader genre — fluff, humor, college au word count — 1.9k warnings — vernon calls reader his girlfriend but no pronouns mentioned, vernon is precious i’m gonna cry, the cat has the funniest name ever notes — lowercase intended. this is based off an actual club at my university that feeds and neuters feral cats on campus because i thought vernon would definitely be a part of it, he just likes the kitties <3 alley cat allies is also a real organization! if you’d like to help protect cats around the world you can donate here. this post isn’t sponsored or anything just a cute idea :)

thanks to @hyucks-rose for helping brainstorm :D

one reblog = one cat i will personally adopt

“i told you, babe, i don’t have time to join any clubs! i have calculus homework!”

“but vernie, i know you’ll like it! just come to one meeting, please?” you protest, putting on your best pout.

he sighs, giving you a pout of his own. “just because there’s cats doesn’t mean i’ll like it.”

you tilt your head and give him a look.

“okay, okay, fine!” he relents. “i probably would like it. but i just don’t have time.”

“oh, just like you don’t have time to play games with wonwoo every day?”

he glares at you, but you can see the smile in his eyes. “one meeting. that’s it.”

you grin triumphantly. “are you driving or me?”

he grabs the keys from the hook by the apartment door, shoving them in his pocket and holding up a finger. “one meeting!”

“hurry up! we have to make sure they’re still there!”

four weeks (and many meetings) later, you’re being hurried out the door by vernon, on your way to the south end of campus, having received a tip on the club’s website about a kitten sighting.

despite his early protests, vernon has quickly become the mascot of your campus’s chapter of alley cat allies, an organization that feeds and neuters feral cats and kittens before returning them to where they were found or helping them get adopted.

vernon volunteers to drive everyone out for trappings and vet appointments, keeps bags of dry cat food in the trunk of his car, he even helped design club t-shirts for everyone. he dotes on the cats, and the club dotes on him. they’ve never had a member so enthusiastic about… well, everything.

the car rolls to a stop at the dorm parking lot and vernon jumps out, grabbing the traps and blankets from the backseat.

you follow him back behind the buildings, tiptoeing as quietly as you can so as not to startle any kitties you might come across. it's late, later than you've been out trapping before, but vernon didn't want the kitten to spend another night outside.

you yawn and help him latch the trap open, filling a bowl of aromatic wet food to attract the cats before laying it inside the trap, surrounded by blankets. it’s the time of year when the nights start to get freezing, plus covering the trap makes cats less wary of going inside, so he always makes sure there’s plenty of thick, warm fabric in his car.

vernon positions a small camera on the branch of a nearby tree, angled at the trap so you can monitor it from the warmth of his car. some days you’ll be out there for hours, hoping to trap a cat someone reported, but to no avail.

after putting the trap in a secluded spot, you head back to the car. vernon turns the car on and flips the heater on, stretching into the backseat to grab another blanket and stretch it across both your laps.

his phone is set up on the dashboard so you can watch the camera, so you grab the aux cord to plug in your phone to play some quiet music while you wait.

after over an hour and not so much as a rustle on the camera, you’re starting to get tired.

“vernie, it’s late, we gotta go home,” you yawn, shifting in the passenger seat. “we can’t stay here all night. and you told me you have an exam tomorrow.”

“it’s just geography, it’s not that hard,” he says, waving it off. “besides, it’s too close to winter. if we leave them out here they’ll freeze to death. c’mon, please,” he whines. “just a little longer. you can sleep, i’ll do everything.”

you sigh. “fine,” you say, settling in and pulling the blanket up higher around you. “but wake me up if anything happens.”

what feels like only seconds but is probably more like an hour later, you feel a hand gently shaking your leg. “baby, wake up! they’re here! it’s time!”

“who? santa?” you ask groggily.

“the cat!!”

a car door shuts as you sit up, rubbing the little bit of sleep from your eyes after your catnap. indeed, you can hear quiet mews coming from his phone, still monitoring the camera.

before you know it the passenger side door opens, blasting you with cold air. grumbling, you throw your blanket in the backseat and climb out of the car, where vernon is waiting.

carefully the two of you go searching into the trees, walking as quietly as possible until you reach the spot where you hid the trap. and sure enough, there’s a little friend hiding inside.

“hi, baby,” vernon coos, lifting the cage gently to speak to the kitten. “it’s okay now, you’re safe. we’re gonna get you all cleaned up, and some nice warm food, and then…”

he keeps talking but you stop paying attention and the words fade out as you watch how enthralled he is with the kitten. the excited little face he makes and the sparkle in his eyes as he tells the kitten all about the wonderful life they have ahead of them.

he points the cage towards you, bringing your focus back. “this is my girlfriend, and we’re gonna take good care of you, little buddy.”

you giggle and tug on his arm, pulling him back towards the car.

back at your apartment, you take the cage upstairs and carefully transfer the kitten into a cat carrier as vernon runs some warm water to give the little guy a bath.

as president of the club, new cats always stay with you and vernon in your shared apartment until you can take them to the vet to get neutered and given all their shots. despite his calculus homework, he insists on driving you and the kitties to every appointment: the vet, the adoption shelter, the pet store. you always warn him one day he’ll get too attached, but he always laughs and gives you a kiss, telling you he already is.

“can we keep him?”

you look up, your hands still submerged in warm, soapy water.

“vernon, you know we can’t.”

“but why not?” he pouts. “we have to keep him over the weekend until the vet opens on monday, anyway. and you always said you wanted to get a cat together.”

“i didn’t mean right now!”

“at least wait til after the weekend. please? he’s so cute… we can’t just put him up for adoption. who knows how long he’ll be in there.”

you pull the plug from the sink, letting the water drain out as you hand vernon the kitten, where he’s waiting with a big fluffy towel to dry him off.

“he’s a kitten. kittens get adopted fast. if we’re gonna get a cat we should adopt an older one,” you say.

“why not have both?” he grins.

there’s a sudden mew, and you both look down at the kitten. “see, he agrees with me,” vernon says.

you sigh. “we’ll see what happens at the meeting tuesday."

the weekend comes and goes, and vernon spends every second he can with his new friend. you come back from work saturday to see him sitting on the couch on his laptop, the kitten sleeping soundly in his lap.

you sneak a peek at his computer screen as you walk past, and hold in a laugh when you see the pet store website pulled up, browsing collars.

the next time you catch him researching, he’s on your apartment complex’s association website, reading about their rules on pets while he flicks a toy on a string around and the kitten bounces around happily.

when you climb in bed that night, vernon yelps and tugs the blankets from underneath you.

“hey, be careful! you almost sat on vernard!”

you almost spit out your tea. “vernard? are you joking?”

he grins. “it’s cute, right?”

you snort. “no. and he’s in my spot.”

“it’s his spot now. sorry, he claimed it.”

you roll your eyes and pretend to sulk away. “wow. can’t believe i’m sleeping on the couch because of vernard.”

he reaches out, grabbing your wrist before you can walk away. “no– wait! uh… vernard changes his mind. he’ll snuggle with me," he says. "and so can you," he adds quickly.

you giggle and get back in bed, gently petting the kitten now in vernon’s lap. “oh, how very generous, thank you, vernard.”

as usual, vernon drives you to the cat’s vet appointment, but instead of sitting at reception and cooing at the other pets in the waiting room like he usually does, he insists on coming with you, saying “he doesn’t want to leave vernard by himself because he might get scared.”

he’s attached to the kitten, you can already tell; he treats him like his son. and when vernon shows up to the club meeting that tuesday, you know there’s no way you’re putting that kitten up for adoption now.

vernard’s been blinged out, wearing a sparkly black collar around his cone that stands out against his light fur. vernon carries him carefully in his arms and sits at the front near you so you can open the meeting.

instantly the room fills with awws as the members rush to see his new friend. the kitten yelps at the attention, turning its back to everyone and curling into vernon’s arms, hiding its face.

after everyone’s done fawning over vernard and giggling about the little cone on his head, you explain the successful trapping over the weekend, as well as his successful vet appointment yesterday.

unlike usual, vernon’s noticeably quiet the whole meeting, and when you glance over, he’s gently running his finger behind vernard’s ears. he’s purring so loud, you’re sure the entire room can hear.

you clear your throat. “one last thing for today’s agenda. seeing as we’ve become so… attached, to this kitten, i’ve been reading up on our constitution, and there’s nothing that explicitly says we have to release every cat we find. but if we choose to keep the cat instead of putting them up for adoption, we have to go to a vote.” you smile at vernon, who’s beaming proudly from his chair. “i motion we allow one of our members to adopt this cat. can i get a second?”

one of the members speaks up eagerly. “i second the motion!”

you nod. “all in favor?”

every hand in the room shoots into the air. no one would dare ask him to part with his best buddy, and the vote passes unanimously.

you grin. “alright, then the motion has been accepted.”

vernon turns around, waving the kitten’s tiny little paw at the members. “welcome to the family, vernard!”

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christopher-bangnaldoskzz · 1 year

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2:09

Chan and Felix x reader

Genre: 🌶️

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: what would life be without friends, when you get into an accident and your two best friends comfort you.

Warnings: none really, just some cuteness. Friends, comfort fic.

A/N: this was a request ☺️ I got this through my DMs so thank you my love for your message and I hope this gives you some comfort.

All you can remember from that moment was when the bright lights flashed in your side window. You also remember the beep of the horn as the car came screaming towards you. You tried so hard to swerve off the road however, the vehicle clipped you, making the car spin out of control.

You scream as the car comes to an abrupt stop, shooting you forward, and your head hits the dashboard. All you see before you are knocked out is a person running towards you.

You wake up and can hear the hospital monitors beeping. This brings you back to reality quickly.

"Excellent…welcome back", the nurse said, smiling at you.

"What happened?" You asked as a sharp pain shot through your head.

"Well, you are a fortunate young lady…. You were in a car accident, and it looks like you've had a concussion," she said, reading your chart at the bottom of the bed.

"Oh god….was anyone else hurt?" you said, attempting to sit up.

"Just some cuts and bruises from the other driver," she said, looking at the monitor for any changes.

"Y/N…" you heard from the doorway.

"Hey, Lix", you try to smile.

"Thank god you are okay….Chris, she's in here," he yells down the hall.

Chris pushes his way past Felix and quickly reaches your bedside. Grabbing your hand and pressing his lips to your knuckles. "Do you know how scary it was getting that phone call?" You had forgotten you had even put him down as an emergency contact.

"I'm sorry…I didn't want to scare anyone," you said, tearing up.

"So what happened?" Felix said, sitting on the other side. You started to recall the accident, and Felix grabbed your other hand.

"Poor thing," Felix said, brushing your face. Chan had your hand firmly in his.

"So you have a concussion?" Chan asked, confirming your diagnosis.

"That's what the nurse said."

"Well then, I guess you are coming home with us," he said confidently.

The truth is that Chan and Felix were like your only family. It warmed your heart that they wanted to take care of you.

"Oh, Channie, you don't have to do that", you smiled at him.

"Please…let us take care of you", Felix inserted himself.

……

When you got released from the hospital, Chan drove you and Felix back to the dorm. They walked you up to the dorm room, where they sat you on the couch.

"Okay, so Felix will take the afternoon shift…then you and I can cuddle tonight," Chan said, kissing the top of your head. You smiled as he caressed your face and grabbed his keys.

"I'll be back in time for you to leave, lix….take good care of our girl," he says as he walks out of the dorm.

Felix was the most caring carer you could ask for. "babe do you want any tea?" He would reply knowing the answer and putting on the kettle.

"Yes, please," you said, lying on the couch. Moments later, Felix comes over with a cup of hot peppermint tea. You sit up, and your head spins slightly from getting up too quickly.

"Wow," you said, holding your head.

"You okay?" Felix said, bending down to steady you.

"My head is killing me" Felix got up and walked into the cupboard to give you some Panadol.

"Here, take this and water… I'll turn on the TV...we can watch a movie", he smiled, sitting down next to you.

You lay your head on his shoulder as you cuddled up against him. He wrapped his arm around your waist, gently kissing your temple. "It's all better," he said in his silly voice, which always made you giggle.

"I'm so tired, lix," you say, yawning on his shoulder.

"Well, you can't go to sleep yet….so we better get you up," he said, lifting your head so he could get up.

"I'll make you some lunch," he smiled.

Felix made you some food and brought it over to the couch. "Here, have some of this", he smiled, handing you a plate of Bibimbap.

Felix would talk to you for hours. He would make sure you had water as well as your medicine, and even gave you his hoodie when you said you felt cold.

"Chan should be home soon… did you want to shower… I'll give you some clothes" you nod your head, and Felix helps you off the couch.

"Here, use channies shower" he gave you a towel and led you to his room.

You walked in and turned on the hot water. "Y/N, I stuck some clothes on the bed for you," you could hear through the door.

"Okay, thank you," you shout back.

You walk into the shower, warm water running down your body. You stay there for 5 minutes, then turn off the water and step out to dry yourself off.

Putting the clothes, Felix paid out on Chan's bed for you. When you walked out into the living room, Chan was sitting on the couch "hey beautiful", he smiled, putting down a bag of food.

"Felix had to go….so it's just you and me," he said, shoving chips into his mouth. He patted the couch cushion next to him.

"Come and eat," he said sweetly. His smile lit up the room.

You sat down next to him and started to eat slowly as, at this point, you were just super tired and wanted to get to sleep.

"You okay?" He stopped eating and turned to face you.

“ just tired” you said yawning while looking at Chan. "7 pm... you should be able to sleep now,actually." You continued to eat and when you finished, Chris picked your bag up and threw it away.

Your eyes start to become heavy. Chan slides his hand around your waist and picks you up bridal style. "Let's go watch TV in my room," he said, kissing your temple. As he carries you to his bed, you bury your head in his neck.

"Sorry, we don't have somewhere else for you," he said, placing down on the bed.

"It's okay, Channie", you smile. Chan tucks you in before walking to the other side of his double bed.

"What movie do you want to watch?" he asked, turning on the TV. You move closer to him, snuggling into his side with your head on his chest.

"I just want to sleep," you said, rubbing his stomach softly. Chan wraps his arms around your shoulder and shifts down the bed turning the TV off.

"We can do that," he said, rubbing your shoulder.

It was quiet for a moment before Chan placed a kiss on the top of your nose. "I couldn't stop thinking about how I almost lost you today" this made your heart flutter just a bit.

"Please promise me you'll be more careful…I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

"I promise," you whispered before he pulled you into his chest, and you fell asleep in his arms.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading :) please enjoy.any comments likes or rebolgs are appreciated.

Taglist: @daceydeath @katwinchester64 @armystay89

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kickingitwithkirk · 6 months

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Restless Man -Pt 1

Summary: Beau Arlen finds himself in the middle of a case with more twists than a country road.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Reina Cetanwakuwa-Stanley

Word Count: 1357

Warnings: cursing, show level violence, derogatory remarks (some in native languages)

Square Filled: @jacklesversebingo -Escaping Their Fate

A/N: The inklings for this started the first time I heard Jensen singing Restless Man. This work is partially from historical information and canon elements from the Big Sky series.

*Set after the series finally 3:13 That Old Feeling.

A/N II: All Native American words/sentences in this part are Lakota resourced from freelang.net and glosbe.com *some algorithmically generated on these sites.

*Translation: lala -grandfather Cetanwakuwa -attacking hawk or to hunt and chase

*divider by @firefly-graphics *no beta -all mistakes are mine

prologue masterlist

“Hoyt slow down!” Arlen grabs the dashboard as the vehicle rounds a sharp curve too fast. “You good? Where’s your head at?”

“Nowhere. I’m all good.”

“All good my ass. You’re still a bad liar, Hoyt, can’t help noticing you white-knuckling that wheel over there. You know I’m here to listen if you want to talk about whatever it is between you and this Rihanna...”

“Her name is Reina and I told you there’s nothing to talk about.” He gives her a look. “Jesus, Beau, you're like a dog with a goddamn bone. Drop it!” The blonde snaps at the handsome man in her passenger seat making him laugh. “Not the first time I've been told that. Okay, I’ll let it go for now. But the offer stands.” Arlen changes the subject yammerin on about his latest video chat with his daughter, reminding Hoyt of their first meeting.

***

Hoyt walked into the Sheriff’s Department already put out before meeting Walter Tubbs' temporary replacement and Cassie’s warning that Arlen was very Texan proved true. Not to mention the man was a never-ending chatterbox. Eventually, as she constantly reminded everyone, the temporary acting sheriff allowed some of that veneer to peel back, exposing a little of the man underneath.

A man who loved too hard and had too many ghosts clinging to him, something Jenny Hoyt was way too familiar with. Her feelings shifted after a few months of working together and she began contemplating what a relationship with the transplanted Texan would be like.

Then things went sideways when Cassie was hired to find a missing hiker.

Her inquiries led to a glamping excursion run by Sunny and Buck Barnes, where coincidentally Arlen's daughter Emily and her stepfather were staying. The case also reopens a decades old unsolved murder and the discovery of fifteen million in stolen Crypto. They all became intertwined revealing Buck as a serial killer who kidnapped Emily and Denise and ended with his, and several others, deaths.

Arlen paid a surprise visit to Hoyt's home in a quandary the night after their rescue tells her that his ex-wife Carla had taken their daughter back to Texas leaving him unsure about staying in Montana. After a few beers, things started getting close to crossing the professional/private line between them. He left saying neither was clear-headed enough to make any rational decisions that would change them from colleagues and occasional confidants.

A week later, Arlen was served court papers stating that he’d allowed their daughter to remain in a place of known danger and Carla was granted primary custody with all communication between them monitored by a court-appointed third party.

Arlen had what Cassie calls his tantrum then sought legal counsel from a lawyer he knew back in Houston. The lawyer advised with his checkered history in law enforcement and at home, to follow the stipulations to the letter if he hoped for a chance in hell of regaining his parental rights before Emily turned eighteen.

***

Arlen felt Hoyt’s skeptical side-eye before she asked. “So how much did Denise tell you?”

“That Reina is the black sheep for not going into family business. And something about the Stanleys being descendants of the Four Georgies?”

“The Four Georgians,” she corrected, pulling into the Jefferson City First National Bank’s Park lot. “In 1864, four prospectors found gold in Last Chance Gulch and agreed to keep it quiet. But a few months later, more miners started arriving.” She finished summarizing Helena’s origins as they entered the bank and were assailed by a harassed-looking bank manager.

Several hours later

Lewis & Clark County Sheriff's Department

Sergeant Madge Crowder greeted the returning duo with, “Got a visitor, sheriff.”

Arlen gestures around the empty waiting area, “There's no one out here,” and she comments, “Was a minute ago.” Before he could ask, Deputy Mo Poppernack popped up nervously glancing between Hoyt and Arlen. “Everything okay, Popcorn? You seem kinda,” Arlen says waving his hand.

“No sir, I mean yes sir...Beau, I’m good. Someone is waiting in your office to see you.” Still eyeing the fidgety deputy, Arlen addresses both, “Let me know if we get anything on the getaway car,” and heads off to meet his mystery guest.

***

Entering his office, Arlen spies the Stetson from that morning sitting upside down on his desk.

“Hello, I’m Sheriff Arlen. What can I,” and something that rarely happens happens when its owner turns, and Arlen loses his voice. The partially open blinds cast his visitor in light and shadow as his chartreuse eyes drink in every accentuated detail, bone structure hinting of being descended from the indigenous peoples but other ancestries contributing to the lighter hueing of skin, eyes, and hair.

“You must be the infamous Reina Stanley.”

“I see my reputation proceeds me,” her voice has the distinctive native Montanan drawl held out her hand, "I would appreciate it if we could keep this matter between us for now Sheriff.” Arlen shakes the offered hand surprised at the firmness of her grip.

“Call me Beau. Please,” he gestures for her to sit as he settles into his chair, “I assume this has to do with earlier?” She raises an eyebrow and he elaborates. “A friend and I caught some of that public performance this morning and said they thought it was you.” An amused smile graces her lush lips reminding him of pink beautyberry fruit.

“I see Denise Brisbane is still the town gossip.” Arlen chuckled, “She does have her ear to the ground. Denise didn’t go into details but mentioned your family has substantial influence in this state.”

“You’re mama brought you up right. Most people aren’t so polite about saying the Stanleys are not to be fucked with.” Arlen couldn’t stop the flash of surprise crossing his features. “Okay then. I'm guessing your visit has something to do with that brouhaha this morning?”

“Yes and no. I’m here on behalf of lala; my grandfather, who requested I give you this,” she handed him a sealed envelope. “I don’t recall meeting any of your kin.” Arlen remarks pulling out a letter with a small key taped to it reads it out loud. “I had a safety deposit box put in your name Beau Arlen and ask you to take my granddaughter with you when examining its contents. You will understand why I had to take these precautions and do what is necessary with the information enclosed. Gerald Centanwakuwa-Stanley” He looked up in surprise.

“Hold on, Gerald was your grandfather? The same Gerald I’d go trout fishing with?”

“Walter Tubb’s said you were quick on the uptake. Lala Gerald chose to use his given name outside of business.” The sheriff tipped his head. “Right, you're a transplant. The Stanley descendent who settled here left a will stipulating that all direct descendants maintain the family surname to keep their inheritance, including any man marrying in.” Reina paused scrutinizing him giving Arlen a fluttering he hadn't felt in years.

“Tubb also said you have a set of huevos for taking the job even after getting an earful about the undersheriff.” Arlen chuckled, “Yeah, Tubb had a few things to say about Hoyt. But she knows to stay between the lines, I’ll have her back.”

“Jenny Hoyt doesn’t know the meaning of staying between the lines. Excuse me,” she fishes out her phone and frowns, “Fuc...fraken lawyers, ‘cuse my language. When will you be free to check out that box?” There was a knock on the door and Poppernack stuck his head in. “Sorry to interrupt sir. We got a call that the First National getaway cars been spotted headin' down I-15.”

“And that's my cue to leave.” Reina gestures to his phone, "May I?” Arlen nodded, “I’m leaving you my personal number,” she hands it back, “Text me when you’re free to deal with that matter for lala.”

Several officers, along with Arlen and Poppernack, appreciatively watch her retreating form. “Please tell me all female Rangers as good looking as her?” Poppernack asks, “‘Cause if they are, I’m booking my next vacation in Texas.” Arlen turns and says...

“I’m sorry..she’s a what?!”

tbc

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @akshi8278 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

@deans-spinster-witch

#beau arlen #sheriff beau arlen #beau arlen x ofc #jenny hoyt #cassie dewell #densie brisbane #mo poppernack #big sky #jensen ackles

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bellarkeselection · 1 year

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In My Momma’s Memory

Request from @yes-bitchxxxmarvel-stuff Beth and Rip have a daughter but when Beth and her daughter get into a car crash coming home Rip can only save one. Due to a previous conversation she told him to save their daughter first. When the daughter wakes up her and her father come to the reality of what happened. 😭❤️❤️ Okay this is actually the hardest request ever now. I hope that I wrote it how you saw it.

Tonight was just a girls night between me and my mother Beth Dutton. I had just turned sixteen yesterday so we were out celebrating since she had to work late and my father Rip was moving cattle with my uncle Kayce and grandpa John tonight so we decided to go out to dinner since I couldn't drink yet. “We should taken my daddy’s helicopter to avoid dealing with these idiots on the rode. Honestly they are driving like dumbasses!” Mom cursed gripping the steering wheel while I closely watched a semi driving in front of us. “Mom, watch out!” She hit the horn right before three vehicles in front of us slammed on their breaks but we didn’t hit ours in enough time. My hands hit the dashboard with me hitting my head against the headrest seeing my vision blurring together. My mother hit the steering wheel before the car basically got smashed into the back of the semi.

Blinking my eyes opened every part of my body hurts when I attempted to move in my seat. My seatbelt was holding my tightly onto the seat. There was blood coming from my forehead and some from my stomach. Someone yanked open the door of my side of the car where I grunted seeing my uncle Kayce and my father who was shouting at him. “Get her out of there, Kayce now!” My uncle drew out a knife cutting the seatbelt where I collapsed into his arms not being able to stand on my own. Death gripping his shoulders with what strength I had I began searching for my mother not hearing anything from her. “Mom…mom?” Finally locking my eyes on her I shuttered in honor seeing my father sobbing with my mother in his arms. She had multiple cuts on her body and some pieces of metal sticking inside her stomach bleeding out fast. "Dad, dad!...what's wrong with mom...is she still alive. Mom...mom!" I started crying until I felt weak passing out from seeing her possibly dead in his arms.

The sound of a hospital monitor beeping in my ear is what wakes me up from my deep sleep. Leaning my head back I blinked my eyes a few times seeing a blurry version of my father sitting at my bedside with his face in his hands. "Dad....what happened...is mom alright?" I slurred my words still half out of it from whatever drugs they had me under from surgery or something. He gently grabbed my hand dropping his black hat from his hands pulling me in for a hug starting to cry into my blonde hair that I had gotten from my mother. I had gotten his deep brown eyes and his love for horses. "I'm sorry sweetheart...she told me long ago to look out for you. That...if anything happened I would save you first. She's.. she's gone Y/n!" Hearing the words leave his mouth I released a ear shaking cry flinging myself into his arms sobbing. "No! Dad, I'm sorry...I...I know what we have to do. We have to whoever did this...to the trainstation." He nodded kissing me on the forehead where I buried my head underneath his chin.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

@darling-seraphina @whateverthecostner @the-morning-star-falls @rosie-posie08 @hcwthewestwaswcn @kcloveswrestling @kaymudd

#yellowstone #yellowstone series #yellowstone show #yellowstone tv #yellowstone tv series #yellowstone tv show #rip wheeler x daughter reader #rip wheeler #rip wheeler x beth dutton #rip x beth #beth dutton #cole hauser #kelly reilly #rip and beth #beth and rip #rip wheeler x reader #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated

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gatheringfiki · 4 months

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The following ficlet was written by @marigoldvance based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, Teen, A Journey of Stars AU

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Christmas in Orbit

—

It has been a year since the dismal reclaiming of Erebor—or, as the UCF now categorizes it, Aulëan-LM2741. Kíli isn’t sure how he feels about everything that transpired; Thorin’s demise at the hands of his own greed or how he’d almost brought everyone down with him.

All the lies and omissions made in an effort to return to the idea of a place that no longer existed. After the hazardous journey they’d endured to get there, Erebor wasn’t the haven it had been made out to be over the span of Fíli and Kíli’s lifetime, lacking the glory and splendor Thorin had promised.

The planet was sick, the air contaminated with disease that melted flesh and corroded bone. Even now, it isn’t much better, though Dain is making progress, his biorestoration efforts funded by private corporations with a lot to gain should the technology work.

Still, Kíli prefers to observe Erebor from a distance. That being from the safety of the restored Journey, the ship that had seen them through most of Thorin’s sullied quest. He isn’t alone in his wariness, joined onboard by Bofur and Nori and his mother, Dís. A few others as well, hailing from the settlement on Ered Luin where Fíli and Kíli had been raised.

Fíli…

Kíli sighs, an ache in his chest that he tries to soothe under the pressure of a palm. He stares over the navigation dashboard, into the endless swirls of stars beyond the upper arc of Erebor’s atmosphere.

Fíli isn’t onboard the Journey, having chosen to assume the duty thrust upon him by Thorin’s last words. Initially, he didn’t give them much credence, desiring to stay close to Kíli in the aftermath of that valarforsaken battle. But, once the smoke settled and the blood was rinsed from the ground, it seemed Fíli had a change of heart.

Something called to him to help put Erebor back together.

Although Kíli wholeheartedly disagrees with Fíli’s thoughts on the matter, he could never abandon his brother, no matter how much has been done to pulverize any hope of Kíli warming to the planet. So, he stays. Floats high above his brother who chose to see their uncle’s dream through to completion.

A pressure builds behind Kíli’s eyes that he refuses to acknowledge, blinking several times as he composes himself. He wonders idly if he’ll die on this ship. The others, he knows, are simply waiting for the right time to descend and make Erebor their home, but Kíli can’t bring himself to make the effort. Not even for Fíli.

His Fíli.

Who may or may not love him as wholly and completely as Kíli loves Fíli.

It’s been months since they’ve seen each other, really seen each other; face to face, in the same space. Months of tinny voicecalls over the coms, or static-fuzzy videochats on the monitors in their respective chambers. Once in awhile, if the tech cooperates, they share whole-bodied, HVRS—that being holographic virtual reality streams. If Kíli pretends hard enough, he can almost feel Fíli’s breath on his cheeks, or Fíli’s whiskers tickle the skin around his lips as Fíli presses lazy kisses to his mouth.

It almost feels real.

But it never squashes the immense distance between them. A distance Kíli fears is growing vaster by the day.

⁜

Fíli groans, stretching his arms across the bed and feeling around for a body his mind slowly registers isn’t there. Disappointment pangs through him, stinging through his heart to his gut like an electric shock. He squints against the pale morning light and swings his legs over the side of the bed, resting his feet on cold stone.

It startles him briefly before he acclimates, sheets and duvet puddling beside him as he greets the day. He scratches his bare, furry stomach, stands, and yawns widely, before moving toward the tall, narrow window of his chamber.

Glancing outside, he balks at what he sees.

The world beyond is blanketed in a thick powdering of snow, making it seem like Erebor is at the doorstep of the Valar. It’s heavenly, sparkling under the weak winter sun, and Fíli is reminded of childhood snowball fights and forts built with friends. And caroling and icing cookies their mother baked for them, and slurping overfilled mugs of hot chocolate topped with fluffy cream.

Yule.

Kíli’s favorite holiday celebrated even when they were chasing scraps in deep space. Kíli would find a way to make it special no matter where they ended up. A hesitant smile tugs the corners of Fíli’s lips at a particular asinine memory: Kíli had welded a tree together out of bits of metal they couldn’t sell and had decorated it with vibrators and dildos (some of the many items they’d pilfered from a pirate’s unmanned craft). They’d used a different toy each day leading up to Yule, like some kind of pornographic advent calendar.

Fíli regrets that they hadn’t had a lot of time to enjoy the newness of their intimacy before Thorin had called upon them to join his quest.

And that’s when a plan takes root in Fíli’s mind, grows and unfurls and demands his attention.

He’s dwarf enough to admit he hasn’t committed as much time or focus on Kíli as he should have of late, occupied with reestablishing a government and restoring relations with other members of the UCF. Bringing Erebor back from the dead has been hell and Fíli committed his whole self to the ordeal.

His relationship with Kíli became collateral damage in the face of everything Fíli had to do.

Look out at the snowy landscape, Fíli sets his jaw, squares his shoulders, and recognizes that it’s time to make things right. He understands Kíli’s reluctance to join him on Erebor, hasn’t been able to lend any energy into convincing Kíli otherwise.

But, being without his brother, his bunnel…Fíli’s soul weeps in Kíli’s absence. He can’t allow the distance between them to continue. He won’t.

Decision made, Fíli hurries to his wardrobe, cutting through the middle of his hung clothes and sweeping the two parts aside. He reaches into a box buried in the back under extra blankets and digs for his flight suit. The leather has been buffed out and mended since the battle that almost cost he and Kíli their lives.

A triumphant day tarnished by grief and malice.

Fíli bows his head. If only he’d noticed his uncle’s sickness sooner—but that’s not a road he wishes to travel down, not now.

He has work to do.

⁜

“Unidentified craft approaching. Unidentified craft approaching. Unidentified—”

“For fucksakes, I heard you.” Kíli grunts, typing his authorization code into the panel. The door swishes open and he runs across the flight deck to the main station where he punches another series of buttons to get a visual on the screen above him.

The coms crackle to life and a familiar voice filters through the open link, “Think you could let me in or do I have to break the door down?”

Kíli’s eyes widen in surprise, his stomach somersaulting in a mix of excitement and anxiety.

“Fee?”

“Unidentified cra—”

Kíli slams his fist down on the AI control board, not caring if he breaks anything.

A deep chuckle resonates down the commlink and washed over Kíli’s skin, goosebumps flashing down his nape to his wrists.

“Fíli.” He says, choking on the name. Quickly, he manually enters the docking sequence and listens as the AI narrates the procedure back at him while it follows through with his request.

The instant Kíli is certain Fíli’s craft has safely entered the launch bay, Kíli bolts out of the flight deck and down the long corridor, swings into the stairwell and down the stairs, the sounds of his boots clapping metal bouncing off the bulkheads.

He flies through the door of the launch bay and skids to halt on the catwalk above the landing zone, just in time to see the top of Fíli’s craft yawn open. Kíli rushes down, jumping the last few steps and hitting the ground with a heavy thump.

He can’t believe it. He can’t believe Fíli’s here.

Fíli’s in the process of removing his astroflight helmet when Kíli shoves the bay operator attending Fíli’s craft out of the way and clambers gracelessly up the side. Just as Fíli places his helmet in the footwell, he finds himself practically crushed under the weight of his brother.

Kíli scrambles into Fíli’s lap, legs astride Fíli’s thighs, and pulls him into a fierce hug. The embrace is borderline violent, but Fíli won’t protest, having missed the feeling of Kíli’s body against his. His hands find purchase on the slight flare of Kíli’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh, and he drags Kíli closer.

“Bunnel…” He whispers, lifting his chin to meet Kíli’s watery gaze.

The air is thick between them, filled with a thousand confessions, hundreds of days worth of unbridled love and need and heat unleashed in a single second. Kíli dips his head, lips parted, and pressed his brow to Fíli’s.

They breathe each other in in strong gulps, Kíli’s hands roaming over Fíli’s shoulders, collarbone, finding their place on Fíli’s broad chest. Slowly, in tiny increments, they tilt their mouths together. A gentle, too-soft brush of sensation, then back for a beat, before surging together in a deep, wet fury of tongues and lips and teeth. Kíli rolls his hips down against Fíli who grabs Kíli by the hair and pulls, forcing Kíli’s head to the side to expose the expanse of his neck.

Fíli trails the tip of his nose along Kíli’s throat, panting, tasting the scent of him. Vala, Fíli missed him. He releases Kíli’s hair, moves his hand to cradle Kíli’s cheek delicately, a gesture Kíli leans into with a soft, glossy expression.

“You’re here.” Kíli says, sounding somewhat lost.

Fíli wants to whimper for the burst of pain in his chest. Instead, he smudges a gentle kiss across Kíli’s lips and says, “I am.”

Kíli leans back, takes Fíli’s hand in his and dots little pecks across Fíli’s knuckles, over the flight gloves Fíli’s still sporting.

“What are you doing here?” Kíli asks, suspicious despite the elation erupting inside him. “Don’t tell me it’s just because you missed me.”

Fíli grins, bops the tips of their noses together, and answers, “Partly because I missed you, then.” He grabs Kíli’s hand as he’s about to swipe at him. “And partly because I have a case to plead, and it deserves to be done in-person.”

Kíli considers Fíli for a moment and then decides, “Alright, I’m curious. Plead away.”

“You don’t want to do this somewhere else?” Fíli questions, looking around them at the partially populated launch bay. There a few technicians and operators milling about, most of them forgoing politeness and outright watching Fíli and Kíli’s reunion with wide, cheeky smiles.

“Right here’s fine, I think.” Kíli says, draping his arms over Fíli’s shoulders. “Speak.”

An earthy chuckle bubbles from deep within Fíli, filling Kíli with a happiness he thought could never be remade.

“Alright, you terrible creature.” Fíli concedes, delivering a hard pinch to Kíli’s backside. Then, he says, “You remember Yule on Ered Luin?” Kíli nods, quietly waits for Fíli to continue. “It��s snowed, Kee. The capital looks gorgeous, just like Nogrod.”

Kíli feels a sticky coldness trickle down from his throat to his gut. “You want me to go down there?”

“You don’t have to, bunnel. You never have to if you wish it. But…It would mean so much to me if you came to see it, even if it’s just for a minute.” Fíli implores, blue eyes alive with so much love and sincerity, Kíli finds it difficult to argue.

Fíli, though, senses his concern and addresses it head-on, just like he does most things.

“How about we take tonight to think about it.” He cups Kíli’s jaw, sweeps a thumb lightly over Kíli’s stubbled cheek, washing it back across Kíli’s lips.

“Oh,” Kíli smirks, raising an eyebrow, “You think you can convince me by, what? Sucking my brains out through my cock?”

Someone chokes and coughs in the background, the sound followed by a few snickers.

“That was the plan.” Fíli admits, only half joking. “Let me at least try, and if you still don’t want to, I won’t force you.”

Kíli eyes Fíli for a long moment, taking in Fíli’s features. He hasn’t changed much since they were last together like this, but there’s enough of a difference that makes Kíli’s heart cringe. The crinkles in the corners of Fíli’s eyes are more permanent that they used to be, his beard longer and less tamed.

Kíli hates that he didn’t witness those changes as they happened. Hates that they’ve been apart even for a day, never mind the months that have stretched between them.

“You have one chance to convince me, nadad.” Kíli presses this point by lifting a finger and bringing it close to Fíli’s face. “One, no more than that.”

A breathtaking smile spreads across Fíli’s lips, all perfect white teeth and crinkly eyes, “I’ll take what I can get.”

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but they manage to disentangle themselves and climb down from the craft. The small crowd that watched them dissolved, going about their business now that there isn’t anything to gawk at.

“Right, come on then.” Kíli says, skipping up the stairs to the catwalk the lines the perimeter of the launch bay. “You have a lot of convincing to do before tomorrow. I suggest we get started.”

“Shouldn’t we eat first?” Fíli asks, thinking it must only be around suppertime.

Kíli whirls around and pins him with a glare. “Am I not feast enough for you?”

Fíli raises his hands in defense, “I misspoke.” He crowds Kíli against the railing, holds him there long enough to kiss him hard and dirty before separating with a smack. “Lead the way, my succulent roast.”

Kíli barks a laugh, “That’s awful!”

Fíli shrugs, moving and gesturing for Kíli to go ahead of him, “You started it.”

Together they make their way to Kíli’s chambers, located on the third floor of the ship. Fíli understands he has more to prove to Kíli tonight than simply convincing him that Erebor—or, at least, it’s capital—is worth visiting.

He has months to make up for. Too many broken promises and unintentional hurts to soothe. And he intends to mend it all. One touch, one kiss, one soft vow of love at a time.

#submission #Gathering 12 Days 2023 #Fili/Kili #FiKi #Durincest #the Hobbit

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walugus-grudenburg · 2 months

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How the hell do you like/reblog my posts so fast. I'm not mad I'm just curious (and a lil bit giddy)

I think I've gotten this enough times to say "I get this a lot" lol (not a complaint btw it's just amusing) I think it's that I'm at my computer for large swathes of the day, with a second monitor that's usually on Tumblr, and that I use the dashboard-unfucker extension's ability to re-add the new posts notification by the home button

This means I can see immediately when someone posts without having to refresh every two seconds, and while being able to do something else at the same time

#thanks for the ask!#thecactisaurus asks

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transcenddashcamera1 · 6 months

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The Transcend dash camera is a type of automotive video recording device designed to capture footage of your vehicle's surroundings while driving. These cameras are typically mounted on the dashboard or windshield of your vehicle and continuously record video, which can be useful for various purposes, including documenting accidents, providing evidence in legal disputes, and monitoring driving behaviour.

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nitannichionne · 8 months

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Ransom's Redemption (A Chris Evans Fanfiction), Chapter 26: Going Home

I hug Sy on sight.

"Hey, li'l bro," Sy hugs me back, chuckling deep. "I gotcha." He frowns at me. "You alright, man?"

I nod and say, "I just wanna get home."

"Me, too," he looks around. "I've been watchin' the Doppler, and this storm is no joke, it's gaining speed. These people need to get out of here pronto or find a hotel." He looks around again and I see it: he wants to do something, to help. He shakes it off. "Let's go."

For some reason, I felt like a "li'l bro" just then. He really is a soldier-trying to solve problems, do something. He really is someone to look up to, be like. "I'm sure the train people are monitoring it. They'll figure something out."

"They better, or the Guard will be out here," he sighs. "C'mon."

We get in the car, and we're gone. I mean, gone. "Learn to drive in the service?"

Sy laughs. "Well, I learned a different kind of drivin' in the service. Times like this, I'm pretty glad I did. That and--" he pats the dashboard. "buying Baby here. Made some modifications on her myself. She's the--"

"Fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy!" we both laugh.

"So, how was New York?"

"Got the shoot done," I say.

"Well, that's good, right?"

"Yeah," I agree. "but my photographer..."

"He sucks?"

"No, no, just... we were friends before, and--"

"You don't think he can accept that you've changed."

"Yeah."

"Well, you can always keep it professional or get another professional."

"That's what I'm trying to decide," I shrug. "What happened with Damien Pierce?"

"You know the guy's name, huh?"

"Hard to forget the name of the guy Mimi broke an engagement with."

"Not much," he shrugs again. "He just popped up to say hi, I made sure he was just poppin' up to say hi, and we sent him on his way."

"Made sure?"

"He might have had a plan," Sy half shrugged. "I just backed Mimi's play. There was no plan."

"What happened?"

"Well, you know, Damien saw Maira and Mimi on TV, and when she gave your last name, he knew you two were married. For some reason, he didn't believe it."

"Believe what?"

"I guess he did a little recon," Sy shakes his head. "You just got out of jail, you got married in no time after. He always hoped he would get her back someday."

"And he comes the weekend I am gone?" I tense.

Sy laughs. "Well, we all got friends, man. Friends who can give us a lowdown on the low-low."

"What happened?"

"She turned him down flat, offered him coffee and a sandwich." Sy went on as a matter of factly. "He said his last wife cleaned him out in a divorce, even took his truck!" Sy laughs, shaking his head. "What kind of woman takes a man's truck?"

"But she didn't take the dog," I point out.

"Naw, she didn't take the dog," Sy shook his head. "Anyway, he said he has property down south, an off-grid place where he could live and maybe start over. I'm not sure but I think he asked her to come with him. She said she'd help him, and she put him to work over the weekend. He slept in the basement. We paid him cash for labor, Mimi doubled the cash and bought him a plane ticket, too. I got the dog carrier, gave him some old clothes and he was gone."

"Heh," I shrug. The stories matched.

"Is that why you're comin' home so fast?"

"I missed her."

"Aww, ain't that somethin'."

I smile. "It is. And I finally figured out what song she put on my phone."

"Oh, yeah, I Get Weak."

"Does everybody know?"

"Amaira and I have ringers too." He smiles. "My ringer on her phone is Home by Daughtry."

I think of the words: The miles are getting longer it seems the closer I get to you. I've not always been the best man or friend for you, but your love remains true...and I don't know why. You always seem to give me another try. I'm comin' home to a place where I belong, where your love has always been enough for me. "More than enough."

"Huh?"

"Nothin'," I take a deep breath.

"You're really not the same guy, Ransom," Sy says. "and that's alright. In fact I'd I think I'd kick the old you's ass."

I laugh. "I think I might have, too."

@nuggsmum @messyinsomnimaniac @jencanbeyouryengeralt @sweetdreamsofgelato @@mary-ann84 @omgkatinka @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @keanureevesisbae @henryobsessed @summersong69 @sunshine96love @michelehansel @thelastsock @tumblnewby @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocks @daydreamin83 @musicartmayheminmyheart @kaatelyynn-blog-blog@forallthebrokenheartedthings @alphacancrii @liquorlaughslove @designerwriterchic @tamychm @nikkilynn303 @circesgirl1 @xoxohannahlee @pixie88@fckdeusername @maan24 @kaatelyyynn @october505 @absentmindr @introvertedmouse @sassy-pelican @griscka75 @kebabgirl67 @its-carlerr

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #ransom drysdale #knives out #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fluff

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technowledge · 9 months

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New Google alert will tell you when you appear in search, help remove personal information

Want to know if your information is popping up on Google? It will alert you.

The company is rolling out a new dashboard to alerts users when their personal information appears online, or when a new search result appears, giving users the chance to remove personal information immediately.

The dashboard, which Google said will launch in a few days, is an improvement on the "Results about you" tool the company rolled out last year to help users stay on top of their information and remove results containing their personal email address, home address, phone number, directly from the search results page.

Removing a Google result will not wipe it from the internet and the tool is only available in the U.S. in English only for now.

How do I remove personal information from Google?

In the Google search results, if your personal information like email address, home address, or phone number appear in a link, click the three vertical dots next to the result, and select "Remove result."

You can also remove results that show incorrect contact information or are likely copyright infringement, by answering questions on a detailed removal request form.

Users can monitor the removal request status in the Google app, the browser, or in the "Results about you" page that shows whether the request is in progress, approved, denied or undone.

Google users can also initiate a removal request of personal identifiable information that could lead to doxxing, such as a Social Security number, bank account numbers, images of identification documents, medical records, images of handwritten signatures, and confidential login credentials.

Users can ask to remove explicit imagery

Google's newest policy allows users to ask that their personal, explicit images no longer show up in the Google search results. Users can also request the search removal if it’s being published on a different website without approval. The policy doesn't apply to content the user is already commercializing.

Earlier this year, the company announced the SafeSearch setting which operates by default for users under 18, and blurs explicit imagery, such as adult or graphic violent content when it appears in the Google search results. It will roll out globally this month, and can be turned off at any time, unless the setting is locked by a guardian or school network administrator.

#artificial intelligence #google #technology #search engine optimization

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 2 years

Text

A King’s Ransom, Part Eight

Word Count: 3175

TW: Brief mention of smut; angst; white-collar crimes. 18+ only.

AN: Part of an unfinished series. The series masterlist here.

Nevada called you moments after you arrived home, and it made you smile: his men had dropped you off, so he obviously knew you made it back safely. Big, bad Trujillo – maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

You took a shower, wincing at the pleasant ache between your legs. Then you settled in at your desk to work. You booted up the laptop and pulled up the schedule for tomorrow – most of your pro-bono work. You opened up your projection software and set it to run some scenarios to run past a few clients.

Then you booted up your desktop.

Your laptop was just a run-of-the-mill Apple; light and easy to carry around, a big screen to show clients different projections and colorful charts. Your desktop was custom built for your other business.

You opened up the VPN client and allowed it to mask your IP address, then you started. First you checked your account balances – all of them. You had numerous accounts offshore under different LLC’s; none had a balance large enough to trigger suspicion, and the inflows of cash were offset by outflows to your various causes. To a casual observer – and even an investigator – everything looked completely above board.

Then you opened up the termite program.

You called it your termite, but your clients – the ultra-wealthy ones, that is – thought it was just a flashy dashboard that allowed them to monitor their balances in real-time. It was, at its surface, a sophisticated little program. It linked in to the New York Stock Exchange, the overseas markets, the Chicago Mercantile, the bond markets. It took the client’s balances and investments and showed one, giant number that updated by the minute. Clients loved it because it simplified a very complicated world for them, and in typical wealth-driven ego, they could look at that giant number at any moment and know how rich they were.

Underneath the surface, though, it was even more sophisticated – hence the termite. Once installed, it sent little tendrils of code throughout the client’s computer – and now, in the world of cloud-based sharing and syncing – their smart phones, tablets, and anything linked to their computer.

The code allowed you to spy on them. You read their emails, you scrolled through their private photos, you peered into their dark inner lives. The program was a termite – a tiny little thing that could bring down a big house.

They weren’t all explicitly terrible. The vast majority of your ultra-wealthy clients were just boring. They were wrapped up in their boring little lives, going to events that they didn’t care about, socializing with friends that they didn’t really like. You checked on them from time to time, but mostly left them alone. You just invested their money and did their books and let it go at that.

It was the few explicitly terrible ones that you focused on. They were the ones you couldn’t let go.

*****

When Nevada got to the club the next day, he went through the papers you had left him. He had tossed them on his desk before he took you home, but now he had time to read through them.

It was a fucking plan for going straight. Hypothetical of course – you had framed it like a business case, but it was all there. Incorporating and separating his business from his personal finances. Moving his cash into an offshore bank. Running the cash from his illegal activities through legitimate cash-based businesses – the club, the new sports bar. You listed a few more options he could consider purchasing as money-laundering outfits as well.

Then, a pivot to legal marijuana. You had run preliminary numbers on everything he’d need. Land, a building for a grow operation, a testing lab. Nevada Ramirez, King of the Heights could be a fucking honest businessman within a few years or so. He might as well buy a pair of fucking khakis and join the Rotary Club. Maybe sponsor a kids’ soccer team like a fucking idiot.

He tossed the papers aside, then called in one of his guys to handle an errand for him. He wasn’t going to enact your plan. If you thought you were gonna turn him straight, you had another thing coming.

-----

The next day, Nevada was out, making the rounds on his delinquent accounts. He was in a shitty mood. He woke up with a headache that never improved, despite shot-gunning aspirin, and he was antsy from nicotine withdrawal. And he had slept like shit, tossing and turning and running over your fucking scheme to make him a lawful businessman.

As his guy drove him from place to place, his irritation grew. Fucking women. Here he was, uncomfortable and changing his entire fucking life, and what were you doing for him? Not a damned thing. All you did was give him business advice that he was never going to take. Make him feel like a piece of shit for being a criminal.

When he returned to the club that afternoon, you were waiting for him. You sat in your normal seat near his desk, and you flipped through a copy of ‘the Wall Street Journal’ while he sent his guys off for a coffee and settled in at his desk.

“Afternoon,” you said, greeting him. When he grumbled in reply, you added, “Tough day, your highness?”

“Just business,” he barked. He rubbed his temple and reached for his cigarettes, then thought better of it. You noticed.

“You can have one if you need one,” you said. “I’ll survive.”

Nevada took his pack and shook out a smoke. He lit it and held the smoke in for a moment, relishing the sting in his throat and in his sinuses. You gave him a slight smile as he exhaled. “Better?” you asked.

He gave a curt nod. “Yeah, real fucking generous of you to let me smoke.”

Your smile widened. “I knew cutting back would make you cranky.”

“Yeah,” he repeated. “You know so much.”

You folded the newspaper and slid it into your bag with a sigh. “Is this about the business plan I gave you? Our discussion the other day?”

He nodded again, and you continued.

“It’s only a suggestion,” you said, cocking your head at him. “I’m not sure why you’re so upset about it.”

He took a final drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out before shaking out another and lighting it. “I’m not going straight,” he declared after a moment. “Not for you. Not for anyone.”

You shrugged. “Okay.”

“You know all about my business but I know nothing about yours,” he added.

“That’s fair. What do you want to know?”

He leaned back in his seat, smoking and looking you over. You were in one of your usual business suits, a well-tailored grey thing with a light blue silk shirt underneath. Your hair was only half up, the sides clipped up and away from your face. When he didn’t reply, you volunteered some information.

“Most of my business is accounting and investing work. I also rob from the rich and give to the poor, and I find ways to punish certain evil-doers.”

He laughed without mirth. “Liar. You give me a fucking list of things I need to change about myself and you can’t even tell me the fucking truth.”

“How can you even know what the truth is? You make a lot of assumptions.”

He pointed his cigarette at you. “I know your type. Women like you, they like a fucking project. Like to wreck a man’s life. Tear him down.”

You scoffed at him. “How have I wrecked your life? I haven’t forced you to do anything, and I’ve never - ”

He cut you off. “No, but that’s how your type operates. You act like a cock-tease, then give me just a taste. Then you lay some business plan on my desk. I know what comes next. Next you start to put the screws to me, pressuring me to change. Meanwhile, what are you doing for me?” He looked you over in an exaggerated manner. “You can’t even dress right for me even though I’ve told you to a hundred fucking times.”

“And I’ve told you a hundred times,” you countered, your eyes narrowed at his outburst. “If you want some young dumb thing in a tiny dress to worship you from her knees,’ then have at it.” You swept your arm towards his door, indicating the variety of women that came to his club every night.

“Maybe I will,” he snarled. “At least they don’t pretend to know my business.”

“Pretend?” You leaned forward, half-pressed against the edge of his desk. “Oh, Nevada,” you said, drawing out his name with venom. “I don’t need to pretend to know your business. It’s a half-assed operation that won’t last. Your main source of income is going to drop out from under you in less than ten years, you keep your cash stored at your apartment and your warehouse, and you are needlessly violent. You’re never going to live to a ripe old age, and for what? You enjoying your life as a criminal? Geared up in all black, tooling around in an Escalade with the bass booming? Is that everything you dreamed your life would be?”

Nevada felt his blood boiling as you stood up. You reached across his desk and plucked the business proposal from a stack of papers, and you stuffed it into your bag. Then you pointed vaguely at his neck, and he reached up to prod the bruise you had sucked there only a few nights before.

“I don’t share,” you told him with a withering glare. “But by all means, go find someone new. Someone who won’t pressure you to change. I’m done here.” You turned without a second glance and left.

-----

He assumed you were bluffing, but one day passed, and then another. He didn’t hear from you, and you didn’t stop by. He put a guy on your tail – you still had your regular business, and when you went out for a drink, you just went to a neighborhood bar in Inwood.

You took your various self-defense and fighting classes with your roommate. Nevada went out one night and watched you through the big plate-glass windows of your boxing club. He watched you and Jules spar, and he watched as the two of you laughed and joked around while others were fighting.

Halloween night at the club, Nevada almost thought you were there. From his perch on his balcony, he caught a glimpse of a woman that looked like you, dressed up in a skimpy school girl uniform. Catholic school girl, nun – same difference. But when he got a closer look, it wasn’t you at all.

Nevada was furious, so he had his guys bring him a woman that kind of looked like you. She was plenty willing, and she was thinner and had bigger tits. When she pressed herself against him, though, he felt nothing but irritated, and not the hot-irritated he felt with you. Just angry-irritated. When he pushed her head downwards, his cock remained maddeningly soft. He had to close his eyes and imagine you on your knees in front of him, and even that only half worked. He ended up shoving the woman away with a string of curses in Spanish, leaving her to stumble down the stairs in tears.

“Fuck!” he yelled, kicking at the chair on the balcony. He ordered a bottle of whiskey and took it into his office, downing half of it until he fell into a drunken slumber on his new fucking couch.

*****

You didn’t bother dwelling on the Nevada situation. Was he amazing in bed? Yes. Did you enjoy the verbal back-and-forth with him? Also yes.

Were you going to start wearing low-cut dresses to keep him interested? No. And were you going to bother arguing with him over his life choices? Fuck no. If he wanted to get gunned down over some old-fashioned turf war, over marijuana of all things, let him. In ten years, you could always go smoke a legal, recreational joint from a boutique shop over his grave and tell his bones, “I told you so.”

You had bigger issues anyway. Your termite program had drudged up some horrifying information, and you had to mull over what to do.

You were the financial planner for Meredith’s family – her father, Gaines, and her brother, Alastair. Christ, their rich-person names alone were enough to provoke homicidal feelings. But after Nevada had blown up at you, you had gone home and launched your spy program, making digital copies of their devices.

You worked through their email – the usual pile of invitations to charity events and golf outings and long weekends overseas. Nothing worth exploring.

Then you noticed that Gaines’ computer had an external disk drive plugged into it when you made the copy. Your program had copied the external drive. You opened up an innocuous folder labeled “Taxes.”

It wasn’t taxes. It wasn’t spreadsheets or documents at all. It was one terabyte of photos – pictures that you would never be able to unsee, pictures that made you sprint to your bathroom to throw up until there was nothing left in your stomach.

Gaines was in some of the pictures, and in some of the others was Alastair. The pictures were high-res, and both men were clearly identifiable – Gaines’ thick mane of silver hair and signet class ring, Alastair’s coke-bloated moon face. Not that you had any faith in the criminal justice system to prosecute and convict them. Gaines’ brother was a judge with the second circuit, for fuck’s sake, and that didn’t even scratch the surface of all the money their family gave to police organizations.

You saved the photos to a clean disk drive and contemplated your next steps. Sometimes when you had no faith in any institution, you could only count on yourself. And your roommate Jules, of course.

*****

Nevada tried texting you first, and when you didn’t respond, he tried calling. You didn’t respond to that, either, so he sent flowers. He sent so many flowers that Gabe had to tell him that the florist was reporting that you were refusing delivery. You had apparently told the florist to divert the flowers to a nearby old folks’ home, and to spite you, Nevada let the deliveries go there for an entire fucking week.

Nevada rarely ever felt bad about his actions. He was almost pure id; most of his decisions were based around the pleasure principle. If it felt good, he did it. Fucking, smoking, drinking, beating the shit out of competitors.

For some reason, he felt bad about the last time he spoke with you. His head had been killing him, and he was chafing under the belief that you were trying to mold him into something he wasn’t.

He hadn’t meant for it to escalate as it did. He didn’t really even mean what he had said about your wardrobe choices – in fact, now that he knew what you looked like naked, he almost enjoyed your business suits. They made him feel like he was in on a secret, knowing what you looked like underneath them.

More practically, even if he didn’t want to give up his life choices, you had pointed out that he may not be able to stop it. His own fucking brother-in-law in Santiago had brought up similar concerns during a call a few days earlier. He had praised Nevada’s decision to buy that second bar. Nevada had the good sense to feel a bit (just a bit though) ashamed to take the credit for that.

You were ignoring his texts, calls, and flowers, so he camped out outside your boxing club on Thursday night. He watched you and your roommate walk in and shed your outer layers and warm up. He watched Jules take to the ring to spar with another woman while you worked on the heavy bag. You laid out a steady pattern of punches, your eyes narrowed and your face intense in a way he hadn’t seen before. He watched you eventually take to the ring, sparring with a much larger man, your gloved fists a flurry against your partner until the instructor broke you up.

He watched the class end. You and Jules pulled your outerwear back on, grabbed your bags, and made your way outside. Nevada climbed out of his Escalade and slammed his door loud enough for you to turn and look. He watched your eyes narrow as you saw him, then you turned and murmured something to Jules. Your roommate nodded and stood back while you made your way over to him.

“Stalking me now?” you asked. You crossed your arms, and Nevada gazed at you. You were in workout gear – a heavy, oversized sweatshirt that enveloped your top half, and black compression tights on your lower half. Your hair was up in a ponytail, and a few loose tendrils framed your face, limp with sweat.

“You gonna return my calls?” he bit back.

“No.”

Nevada nodded in the direction of the giant windows of the boxing club. “You pretend that you were punching me?”

The corner of your mouth twitched as if you were fighting a smile. “Not this time.”

“You want to punch me now?”

“If I did, it’s only because you deserve it.” You shifted on your sneakered feet, kicking at the cracked sidewalk. “What do you want, Ramirez?”

So you weren’t on a first-name basis with him anymore. He sighed and looked back at the SUV to make sure his guys couldn’t hear him. “I wanted to apologize,” he muttered.

You tilted your head at him, scrutinizing him for a moment. “For what?” you finally asked. “For making assumptions about me? For getting on my case about my wardrobe choices? Don’t bother.” You turned and nodded over your shoulder, and your roommate walked over to join you.

“Let me at least give you a ride,” he said. He hated the pleading edge in his voice.

“No, thanks.” You and Jules turned and started to walk away.

Nevada felt the all too familiar flush of irritation at you. He had apologized, and Trujillo never apologized. And yet you were walking away from him anyway.

“You’ll want to be careful,” he called out after you. “There’s a lot of big, bad guys out in the dark. A couple of pretty things like you might not do well.”

The flush of irritation was replaced by a chill as both you and Jules turned around at his comment. Your faces wore twin expressions of cold assurance, and he felt nailed in place by your icy smirks.

“We’re the pretty things that the big, bad guys should be afraid of,” you replied. Your voice was low, and you stared at him for a moment before turning away.

“Get home safe, Trujillo,” Jules added with a slight smirk before she joined you in walking away.

#nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez imagine #nevada ramirez x reader #nevada ramirez x you #trouble in the heights #trouble in the heights fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

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