#them: a man can take and its fine but if a woman demands her rightful place it's evil

[mynamesdrstuff]

.

#i usually really like the spirits podcast but sometimes they say something that is soooo. everyone involved was a white woman. #just finished the women and other monsters episode and the ghsjjfjd.... 'the story tells that these people came onto this strange land and #took the cows they saw there and then the harpies came back and saw what was theirs was stolen and they confront the men and im surprised #this obvious connection isnt talked about more' #me: yeah thats a dead ringer for colonialism #them: a man can take and its fine but if a woman demands her rightful place it's evil #.... obviously the influence of the patriarchy cant be denied but that threw me. and no mention of colonisation hfjdjfj #also it just reminded me of that 'a man can laugh but a woman must chuckle' or whatever tweet

[rosedom]

AHHHH HELLOOO sorry i usually dont request much, haha this is actually my second request in all of my tumblr story ever but...i saw you decided to write for gaming and i just couldnt resist, i love your writing a lot and i just think its so immaculate hahaa. Could you write an scenario where male reader is stressed from work (imagine he has an important job like a doctor or something whatever you want is fine :)) because he has been working days nonstop, so much that his boyfriend is all worked up and horny for him so when reader comes back he finds himself straddled by him while hes begging for fucking? With cockwarming, breeding kink and cowgirl position. Could that be with Gaming, Lyney and Gorou? SORRY IF IM ASKING MUCH I DONT WANT TO BE A BOTHER😭😭 i just dont know how to request but thanks for reading all of rant. And again, thank you and sorry for bothering😔 have a nice day/afternoon/night!

"an unnamed player has invited GA-MING, LYNEY, and GOROU to play . . . an apple a day

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!male!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!characters, vaginal sex & riding, breeding kink + creampies, creaming (lyney), gratuitous praise + petnames .

A/N : aa u are never a bother !! i am SO SORRY this took so long for me to get to, omg . . . but i had sm fun with this (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Patient after patient after patient, each one with a more downright stupid trouble than the last. Your day had started with a young man, clearly fresh out of Millelith training, complaining of a tummy ache, of all things! He had clutched his stomach and moaned and groaned, and all you could prescribe him was bedrest. It’s not like you were going to waste medicine—medicine that some people needed—on someone who ached because he didn't eat fucking breakfast. 

The next patient was an older woman, here only for her biannual check up. You'd greeted her, said a sweet, “Good morning, madame,” but all she did was turn her snobby nose up at you and demand you not waste her time.

“Madame, you have a serious—” 

“I know, young man.” You had heaved a sigh, letting her boss you around for the length of her appointment before sending her off with the exact same specifications as last time: take vitamins, get ample rest, stop talking back to people just doing their jobs. (Though, that last one there was merely something you wished you had said.

Too bad the customer—in this case, patient—is always right, huh?)

But, by the end of the day, you wish, instead, that you had simply elderly after elderly; their disrespect pales to the absolute headache that the rest of your patients put behind your eyes, pounding at your skull—bam, bam, bam.

Wham bam-thank-you-ma'am, all throbbing incessantly behind your eyes and making you wanna hurl—except, god, you’re the fucking doctor, and who’s there to take care of him when he’s a little under the weather? You’ve got your boyfriend, of course—your perfect boyfriend, light of your life, apple of your eye, yet he’s home, and you’re here, and you’re bloody exhausted. 

“I need to go home,” you murmur—quiet, lest your own voice make you lose the last of your thin-threaded sanity—, already stripping yourself of the itchy scrubs you wear during the long days. 

“But sir—” the nurse asks, meak, but her voice is still too loud, too shrill for right now. 

You huff. “I’ve worked for fourteen hours.” The tired gruff to your own voice makes you cringe. You can feel the way it tumbles from your chest, rattling you, your overly sensitive eyes and brain and head and fuckin’ everything, at this point. “Refer to the doc on duty, now.” 

The nurse nods, once. “Have a good night, doctor.”

You bid farewell—a kind apology with a promise to make it up to them, to bring them coffee, maybe, or some cookies—, and you take the slow walk home. The sky is dark and the fireflies are out, the gentle glow illuminating the path. With nothing but your own thoughts and the night to accompany you, you feel your headache gradually ease. It throbs, still; but each bump in your skull is gentler, now: it’s easier to ignore. 

Although the porch light is too strong—the lantern bright and attracting the nighttime bugs and moths—, the foyer of your home is dark. Your aching head is grateful for the reprieve—for the silence that envelops you in totality the second the door clicks quietly shut behind you—, but something other than tiredness pulls at your heartstrings: your sweet boyfriend, clad in only a shirt of yours, toeing into the entryway. 

“Honey?” He wipes the sleep from his eyes, softly smiling at you. “Hi.”

“Ga-ming, honey—” honey, because Ga-ming unabashedly stole the pet name from you, first, “—you didn’t have to stay up for me.” 

As if on cue, his jaw cracks open in a yawn: this, you do not need the lights on to see. Your heart aches with your head, knowing that he had stayed up just for you. “Honey,” you repeat, sliding off your jacket and stepping up to him. You take his waist in your hands, bunching up the shirt he stole from your closet.

“Quit with that,” he murmurs, tilting up his head for a soft kiss. You grant it; but when you go to pull back, to keep the kiss gentle and chaste, Ga-ming presses forward, darting that little tongue out to lick at the seam of your lips; his hips, too, come bumping against yours, pressing into your thigh, pant to skin—

“Ga-ming?” you repeat, breath leaving you in a low huff. “You’re—” bare. 

Utterly, wholly bare: an expanse of warm, slick skin against your clothed leg. “‘m ready,” he mumbles while he takes to mouthing at your throat. His lips soothe you, somehow; it’s a reprieve, a stark contrast, to the pounding at your skull. 

“Ready?” you whisper, tilting your head back, letting your hands guide the steady roll of his hips onto your lap. 

He nods. “Ready for you,” he enunciates as he softly whines. 

Ga-ming—your Ga-ming—, your boyfriend, your love and light of your life: right here in front of you, on you, all needy for you, offering himself to you, wholly ready for the taking. 

“So please,” he continues, his cock dragging heavy across the seam of your pant; “fuck me.”

“Oh, honey,” you murmur; then again, an “oh, honey,” because you’re still half-dressed up in your clothes—though they’re only soft and bland, made to fit under the rough scrubs you had abandoned at the office—, and Ga-ming is naked save for the shirt draping across him, the low hemline covering the absolutely sinful way he grinds down. It’s a dirty move, a down, down, down that gives his sensitive cock friction against your pelvis. 

“Please, please, ‘m ready, I said—” his words abruptly drop off, a high cry in his throat that sends him to hide his overly-warm face in your neck. His skin burns against you, a feverish-hot that makes you chuckle, makes the throb in your head go away, just-so. “I said I-I was ready, so, please!”

You coo, quiet, bumping your hips up once. The jerking motion makes him cry out, but he manages to keep himself upright, right-side up but entirely unmoored on your cock. “Go on then, little lion. Take what you need, yeah?”

Whimpering a quiet, “Y-yeah,” he begins riding you, slow, steady—but slightly off-balanced—rolls of his hips that makes him whine, makes you groan low n’ deep in your chest. You let your hands rest on his hips, the fabric of his shirt falling over your wrists, and gently guide his motions. Once you’ve helped him establish himself, he begins riding you harder, more desperate.

Silent tears—though, are they truly silent, loud as he is moaning out for you?—dribble down his cheeks, falling to his shirt and soaking the collar of it in salty evidence of his abject pleasure. His abdomen is tensing and relaxing and tensing and relaxing again, all in a rapid loop, in and out and in n’ out, and then there’s a fucking bulge right below his navel when he sinks down hard n’ deep on your cock; and you’re sent over the edge at the sight, moaning through your teeth as you fill Ga-ming up with hot, sticky cum.

“Oh, oh—” he cries, grinding down harsh to get all your cum in as deep as possible, deep ‘nuff to breed him— “bred me, bred me so well, oh—” You groan at his desperate babbling as his thighs jerk around your hips, just before they give out on him entirely. He falls bodily into your chest, heaving through his own orgasm as weak mewls tumble from his prettily parted lips. Each sound is smeared into your throat while you laugh, light and breathless, jostling his overly-sensitized body and making him flinch. 

“Sorry, honey.” You kiss at his temple, and, the whole while, his small cunt is left to unconsciously milk your cock, left to assure that loud, insecure part of his brain that he’s wanted, that he’s bred all nice n’ full because he is loved. You’re long done, now, but the undulations make your body warm, soft, safe—just like Ga-ming is, comfy in your lap and wholly protected. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head against you, nuzzling into your throat with a heavy sigh. “You don’t have—hafta thank me,” he mumbles, a lick at your Adam’s apple to seal the deal. “I wanted ta.”

Tucking up the blankets around him, you grin. “Then can you warm my cock, lil’ dragon? Just for me?” You run your fingers lightly up his clothed spine, delighting in the shiver you can feel, one that runs the length of your cock as he’s snug on it. “Since earlier was all about you?” You raise the end of your sentence in a lilting tone, meant to tease, and Ga-ming huffs at you. 

And, n further retaliation, he clenches around you; the soft squeeze—all wet n’ warm, smearing your own cum across the base of your cock and leaving the mess of both of yours to dribble down the minute space between your bodies—forces you to calm your breathing, to take in the delicate scent of what is undeniably Ga-ming mixed with the smell of your own shirt, your own cologne. 

You laugh, then. “‘m sorry,” you say again amidst giggles, ones you’re careful you confine only to your upper chest lest the movement be too uncomfortable on both of your oversensitive groins. 

He doesn't reply, snuggled up comfy on your lap and stuffed full of your cock n’ cum both. Instead, he only noses into your neck further before his breathing steadies, lulling you to sleep, too.

It’s in your final moments of consciousness that you realize your head no longer hurts. 

(You suppose you now have the evidence that, yes, an orgasm is sufficient enough a cure for headaches.)

Under Lyney’s palm, a small floor lamp clicks silently on. The light is admittedly dim, but, to your sensitive eyes, the bulb is blinding. You cringe and cover your eyes; but it only serves to shield you slightly, because you’re still upright in the foyer, and your body is rather weak. “Lyney,” you tiredly murmur, lifting your palm just enough to see the ground lest you trip. 

You bump into him, laughing lightly, but his worried hands jump to your arm. “Hey—”

“I’m okay.” You’re quick to calm him, placing your free hand on his in a tender gesture as you make way to the living room. “Just a headache, ‘s all. Ya shouldn't have stayed up f’r me.” Earlier, it hurt to even think; but here, with him, the pain is easy to ignore, in the face of his own self destruction.

He grumbles at you, though, says something you can’t quite catch and drops his hands, pads over to the lamp to flick it off. The return of darkness is soothing. 

He smiles at you, then; or, at least, you think he does. It’s difficult to see in the dark, and you can’t strain your eyes without hurting yourself. “I wanted to!” He takes three long strides before he’s standing in front of you, draping his arms across your shoulders. The position makes his (your) shirt ride up on his belly, and— ”I missed you, y’know,” he murmurs, suddenly all soft n’ deep, looking up at you and bumping his forehead against your chin. “A lot, really.” 

“Lyn—” 

He quickly silences you with a kiss. Against your lips, he pulls back, murmurs, “I missed your cock, especially.”

Laughing against him, you lean up ‘til he can no longer reach you. He pouts at you when you reply, faux-snark, “only my cock, huh?” Your bottom lip juts out—a mirror of Lyney’s own, a magic trick of his you took for your own; it’s a devilish trick, one you play right alongside puppy-dog eyes you know he’s soft to. “How cruel.” 

He huffs at you, pulling you down by the collar of your shirt to kiss the mirth off your lips. “I was tryin’ to be seductive,” he grumbles, knocking against your chin and beginning to push you backwards into the living room. “But nevermind!”

You want to say, “Hey, now:” disagree with him and keep on pouting and go, “hey, hey, hey,” all offended, but the backs of your knees come into contact with the edge of the sofa, and you’re well and sufficiently distracted from that idea.

“Sit,” he gently commands you—merely the illusion of choice—, giving you no choice in the matter with the way he’s pressing you down into the cushions. You go easily; you sigh in relief when the softness begins enveloping you—a pillow’s snug right in the middle of your back, and you briefly wonder if Lyney had planned this. He murmurs, “there you go,” quiet n’ soft, and you’re taken by the way this man gives to you. 

He wears his heart on his sleeve, truly; except, right now, the sleeve is yours (just like his heart belongs to you and yours to him in turn), and it's bare, and so is the expanse of his long, pale thighs, the hem of his boxers peeking out beneath the shirt. He stands in front of you, between your legs, makes sure you’re down and that you’re gonna stay down, but your eyes aren’t really tired, not anymore, staring at Luney—your Lyney—before he huffs and sits bodily onto you, straddling your lap with his knees sinking into the cushions on either side of you.

“Lyney,” you murmur, reaching out to take hold of his thighs. The position makes the shirt rise up on his belly, exposing the soft, rippling muscles there; but, in the dark, all you can go by is what you feel against your own stomach, his bare skin pressed to your thin shirt. “I was kiddin’, sweetheart.”

“I know you were,” he snaps at you, mean-like, but he brings his arms around your shoulders all sweetly and nuzzles into the side of your head. “But I wasn’t. I—I really did miss you; and your cock. If you—if you wanna, of course.” 

“Of course I want to, Lyn,” you mutter, tilting your head up to kiss beneath his chin. “I’m just a little tired.”

“A little?” He huffs, again, before sighing. “Just—let me do the work, alright? I’m already...” he pauses, tilts his head to the side, breathes in and out sharply.

You hum at him to go on. 

“‘m already prepped.” Oh. 

“Oh?” You grin, bringing your tired arm up to cup his cheek. He leans into your palm and his eyelashes flutter, brushing against your skin. “Go ahead then, sweet thing.”

And go ahead he does, smiling into you before he abruptly leans back ‘nuff to chuck off the shirt. You whine, say, “hey!” but there isn’t any bite left on your tongue when Lyney starts tugging his boxers down, too. He’s impatient, pulling at the seam and groaning curses at the fabric—as if it’s the damn boxers’ fault that he’s in a position that prevents him from taking them off. 

He relents, tilting this way and that and finally—after painstaking minutes later, ones that, under no circumstance, should be arousing, but the anticipation, the wait: it all makes your dick chub up in your own pants—Lyney’s left naked in your lap. The fabric hangs off his foot, and you reach down to tug it the rest of the way off for your sweet boyfriend as he busies himself unbuckling your own belt, loosening the tough leather enough for your pants to droop and enough for him to reach a hot hand into your briefs. 

“Eager, huh?” you tease, lifting your hips—and, subsequently, him—to let him get your dick out of your pants. Neither of you bother pulling down your own pants, not after Lyney spent so long on his boxers alone. He doesn’t dally. “My sweet Lyney.”

He sighs, again—he’s rather dramatic tonight; but, then again, when isn’t he? It wouldn’t quite be your Lyney without some theatrics—, spitting into his palm and lathering up your cock with it while he makes to straddle you more fully. “Thought you were tired,” he grumbles, hovering his, indeed, wet n’ slicked up and entirely prepped cunt over your thick cockhead.

“Mhm.” You set your hands on his plush thighs once he hooks the head of you into his loosened hole, groaning low and pleased in your throat while he softly whimpers at the barely-there stretch. He prepared himself well. “But when you’re lookin’ so pretty for me, I can’t help being wide awake. Wouldn’t wanna miss this sight for the world.”

With your eyes now adjusted to the light—and, oh, you consider how the throb of your head is a bygone memory now—, you can see the way his cheeks darken just-so, puffed up in exertion as his groin meets yours. You’ve got your cock stuffed up balls-deep in him, and he leans into you once he’s fully settled. 

He moans, less out of outright pleasure and more out of total contentment, comfy and warm on your lap as your arms knead at his thighs. His arms squeeze around your shoulders, and he quietly asks, “Gimme a minute.”

Nodding, you simply bask in the steady heat of him, letting him adjust and recognize that, yes, you’re home, now, and you hadn’t really left him at all. “I missed you,” you murmur rather suddenly, your voice quiet but still stark in the silence of the night. “Thought about you durin’ my shift.”

“You did?” His voice is rough but wispy, a little out-there and entirely gone. He’s slipping into that mindset he always does when he’s left to warm your cock—regardless of if it were by his volition or your own—, but he begins to subtly grind his hips against you, mewling at the hot sparks of rapture from his cock rubbing just right against you. 

“‘Course I did,” you continue, moving your hands to his hips instead to help move him along. His arms tighten around you and he moans directly into your ear.

From then on, it’s quiet: quiet, that is, save from the obscene slick noises of the lube Lyney used to prep himself earlier with his own slick, your pre-cum mixing up and making a mess of thick liquid between both of your thighs. His moans are barely audible, these soft, gentle lil’ uh, uh, uh’s punched out of him with each tender grind down. 

You think, even, that you’ll both cum like this: quiet, nothing but the sounds of your connection and heavy breaths, moans, groans as you fall over the edge. But then Lyney starts bumping his groin against yours even harder, grinding down deep on your cock and rubbing against your full balls, and he starts babbling for you to “breed me! Please—”

“I-I’ll breed you,” you groan, leaning your head back into the sofa cushions and chasing your release, chasing the release you both want, the one he wants so desperately stuffed up deep inside him. “Gonna fill you right up, just like you want, sweetheart.” 

He babbles more—a mix of syllables and words, more pleas for you to breed him—until he’s silenced by his own high-pitched whine, cumming around you and slathering you in creamy-white. The steady clench and release of his cunt forces you to your own end, thick cum slowly leaking out from the edges of his cunt and your cock. (You can hardly tell what’s your leaking cum and what is his own.)

“Thank you,” he mumbles, already beginning to doze. “Th’nk you:” quieter, more muddled against your ear.

You grab the throw you have across the sofa’s armrest, rucking it up around the two of you; you cocoon Lyney safe in your arms and on your softened cock. He’s nodded off, now, and he misses your words: “You don’t have to thank me,” you say anyway, even if he doesn’t hear you, “I love you.”

The cum’ll be sticky, later, when you wake up; but for now, it’s perfect. It’s perfectly warm and entirely cozy, wholly snuggled up with the love of your life. Your headache, the stressors of the day—they’re all forgotten in his presence. 

You’re so, so glad to love him. 

“Hi, puppy,” you coo. The sound of your own voice grates you, but you ignore it to sweetly smile at your beloved. He stands there, motionless for a moment right there at the threshold before the foyer, until he shakes his head with a barely-there laugh. “Gorou?” 

He tilts his head to the side—this you can see, the silhouette of him in the moonlight—before he takes a tentative step forward. 

Then another. And another. Another, another, another, ‘till he’s standing in front of you and leans up to kiss your jaw. “Hi,” he repeats, voice ruff (hah!) and hoarse, a little too much so. “Missed ya.”

You tilt your head back to let him mouth at you, and your hands subconsciously come to clutch at his hips, and— “Oh, Gorou,” you mumble, pleasantly aghast, because your hands come into contact with bare, slick skin. “Pent up?”

With a quiet whimper, he tilts his hips forward, into you, pressing against the contact of your fingers on him. You slowly slide your one hand around, sneaking a large handful of his ass before you dip into his cleft, shuddering when your fingertip easily glides across his slicked, open cunt. 

“I-I wanted you, so bad,” he starts to mumble, shy, tucking his head into the meat where your shoulder meets your neck. Without any prompting, you adjust your stance, pressing your knee into his cock and making him jerk forward with another whimper high in his throat. “Oh!”

Slowly, his hips begin grinding—it’s a weak movement, testing, making sure you're really okay with this, right now. He moves unsure against you until you begin bumping your knee, letting his slick make a mess of your pant leg. “Go on,” you goad him on, soft, holding him snug against you. You can feel his cunt clench even through the fabric of your pants, a rapid rat-a-tat-tat against you that is oddly reminiscent of the headache you can feel begin to dissipate. “Take your pleasure, pup.”

He nods vehemently against you, beginning to hump as his tail swishes side to side, side to side, hypnotizing you just slightly. It’s hard to parse it out in the dark, but the shadow of it is undeniable behind him. Each bounce of your leg makes Gorou whimper, and he’s quick to crane his neck up for a kiss to muffle himself. You grant his request easily, but only for a minute; after, you gently part from him to murmur, so quiet that only he could possibly hear, those big, soft ears of his twitching as he strains, “What else do you want, honey?” 

“Want you,” he whines, grinding harshly once, twice. “Want you inside me, want you to breed me.” 

You didn’t expect that, but you’re a doctor, after all; it’s kinda in the job description to roll with the punches, so you do. “You wanna get fucked full of pups?” you ask, teasing and light, but Gorou’s mouth parts as a loud whine crawls out of his chest.

“Yes! Please.” Thick tears begin to drop from his eyes, saltwater dribbling onto the bare skin of your throat. “Now, now—breed me now,” he begs, and you coo at him, bringing your hands to curl into his hair, rubbing soothing circles into the base of one puppydog ear. 

“Patience, pup.” 

And, because he’s Gorou, and Gorou is nothing but a good boy, he nods, rapid-quick movements of his head, and begins to slow on your thigh. Heat shimmers low in your belly as he steps back from you on shaky legs, a wet splotch across your leg from his cunt. You bring a hand down, meaning to scoop it up off your pant, but your finger brushes two distinctly different textures: his natural slick, and fuckin’ lube. “Did you prepare yourself for me?”

“Y-yeah,” he mutters, tail tucking itself between his legs. You almost cringe at that, knowing he’s smearing himself into his own fur, but if he doesn’t mind, then you won’t either; besides, it’s hard to truly care when your boyfriend is so bashful in front of you. “I—I missed you, ‘nd wanted to be ready for you.”

The image of Gorou, ass up on the bed with four of his fingers stuffed up inside of himself flitters across your mind, makes your cock throb in your britches. Your erection was easy to ignore, earlier; but now it’s abject torture. 

However, it’s not nearly as torturous as it was for your boyfriend, and you know this. You know he didn’t cum, know his fingers are far too short to truly reach in deep and press against his g-spot, know his wrist can’t comfortably bend to jerk himself off and finger himself at the same time. So you coo, soft, “Sweet boy. Where’s your toy?”

“Charging,” he mutters. 

You grin at that: it’s perfect. “Can you go get it then, puppy?” 

With an audible swallow, he nods, rushing for your bedroom. You follow behind him, lethargic but so, so turned on; and while he’s grabbing the vibrator from the corner, you shuck off the rest of your clothes and plop yourself down on the edge of your bed. 

He must not expect you to have followed him, however, because once he turns around, he jumps, ears flattening to his head in embarrassment. You only laugh and pat your lap. “C’mere.”

Quickly—and toy in tow—, he shuffles over to you. He stands awkwardly in front of you for a moment before you murmur, “I said c’mere,” and tug him to straddle your lap. The position immediately forces his cock—slick n’ thick, out of its hood and throbbing incessantly—against yours, and he mewls helplessly for a moment, grinds once, twice again, before he grabs the lube to the side of you. 

You hadn’t even noticed it there, but now that he’s grabbed it, pointed it out, you feel other wet spots beneath you. He fuckin’ masturbated here, right on the duvet you both sleep under, thinkin’ about you and only you. You’re taking out of your musings when he slathers up your cock in lube, messy and sloppy, and then he’s rising, positioning you, and sinking right on down.

“Mm!” he cries out, swiveling his hips to take you in deeper, deeper, deeper. You groan at the lube-slick combination that smothers your cock in Gorou, Gorou, Gorou. “Breed me, breed me!” Each meak plea makes your cock pulse inside him, and he mewls at each throb inside him. “Please!”

“I got you, pup,” you murmur, your edge so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. “Just make yourself feel good, and I’ll breed you, okay? Okay, puppy?”

“Okay, okay—” 

You grin. “Good boy,” you say, and then he’s tumbling over the edge and bringing you right down with him. You groan into his throat, feeling the vibrations of his whimpers n’ whining moans as he’s getting thoroughly bred. Your hands ruck up his shirt to hold his sides and soothe him down from his high. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. Bred you just like I promised I would, hm?”

He weakly nods. “Thank you,” he mumbles, nosing at your throat. 

And, well. You’re bloody exhausted, and you promised to breed him, and he can’t keep on being bred if you pull out. You tell yourself you’re only upholding your promise as Gorou falls asleep on your cock, breathing deep on your lap: tell yourself that it’s the lingering tiredness that suddenly seems to hit you in full-force that keeps him warm and snug on you. 

Really, clean-up can wait. 

i got a lil' carried away on lyney's part ,, o(*^＠^*)o also, none of these were really cowgirl 'cos reader was sitting up for it . . . i couldn't think of how to have him lay flat in these scenarios LOLL

13 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】 #i used to have very frequent headaches and the only way i could abate them was: #1) midol (god's gift to earth i stg) #and 2) jrking off. #so !! #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #sub gaming #gaming x reader #sub lyney #lyney x reader #sub gorou #gorou x reader #lord . #top reader #dom reader #amab reader #male reader

[theplottdump]

ＳＩＤＥ ＰＬＯＴＴ - ＰＵＲＥ ＨＥＤＯＮＩＳＭ - PART 2 🔞 - 𝙶𝚎𝚗 𝟼: 𝚅𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚍 -

heat level: 🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 (It's Smut with a Plot) content warnings: simdick, choking, graphic depictions of gay sex, I'm literally warning you now!!

Forward: This scene is something that I wanted to write anyway for the main plott eventually, and the PG-13 parts will end up popping up again in the main storyline - but for Valentines smut sake I thought it would be fun to jump ahead and take way farther than reasonably necessary. Godspeed. Don't say I didn't warn you.

PART ONE: ( The One with the Plott, Rating PG ) PART TWO: ( The One with the Smut, Rating R )

~ continued from part 1 ~

Leanne nodded a goodnight to her boys and left the room as wordlessly as she entered it. They might have taken the time to actually notice her departure if their eyes weren't fiercely locked on one another, both mentally preparing for the battle to come.

"Valerian, you're overreacting again." "Kindly explain how." "You're sure you want to do this right now?" "I'm not afraid of you darling."

Ask any couple about the secret to a long happy relationship and they'll likely explain the importance of communication and compromise. Sure, the two had their fair share of arguments and disagreements over the years, especially when it came to raising their baby girl-

-but they communicated and compromised just as much as any successful normal domestic relationship.

The only caveat: their communication and compromise skills often presented themselves in more… explosive manner.

And it was at this point as Chad studied Val's practiced stony expression that an idea started to take shape.

Tonight, he wasn't going to compromise. Oh no, Tonight he was going to 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙢.

Chad rested his forehead against Val's temple, looking up at him like a fox playing with it's next meal.

"We don't have to make it into a big deal, just some friends and family on the beach." "I don't have friends."

"You'd get to dress up, Sexy lil suit, Sunny can be our flower girl... I'd only have a few demands."

"Demands?" Val studied him, attempting to predict his partner's next move. It was like a mental game of chess, but if all the pieces spelled out 'this man is going to eat you.'

“I want a cake animation that doesn't work, flowers we forget to use-“ “Okay, fine.” “I want to try that mod that lets HANSEL walk down the aisle with a bouquet” “Maybe.” "And I want Poppy there." "No." "I want 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 to walk me down the aisle." "I said no."

Chad snaked his arms around Valerian's waist, pulling him to his hips, effectively closing any distance between them that might have led Val to believe he was getting out of this easily.

"I believe is what you actually meant to say is 'Yes Chad. Whatever you want my darling.'"

"You're delusional if you think I'm going to let that woman anywhere near my happiness. She would just poison it like she poisons everything good in her life." "You're just mad because she read you like a book. I do the same thing Val." "Yes, but I actually like you."

"Mmm, yes, I can tell." Chad slowly starting to grind his hips against Val's thigh, slipping two fingers into the waistband of his joggers and giving them a quick 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱.

Val's eyes darkened again as they fought, rain against fire- Chad smile grew as he observed his favorite little cracks starting to form on Val's evil mask of concentration.

Yes, the Agent decided, this was going to be quite fun for him indeed.

"You're being ridiculous-" "Then tell me to stop." Any lightness in Chad's tone had been completely lost, leaving only a deep predatory growl in its place.

Val raised a hand to protest, his partner snatching it from the air without breaking eye contact, holding him close. Chad continued on in his low growl, "But know this 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳. If you concede, 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗻."

"Those rules hardly seem fair."

Val's demeanor had retained it's cool quality so far, but the cracks in his facade were growing deeper and more fractured. Through the gaps between the pieces, Chad could see his beautifully soft overgrown edgelord, and feel the prize for all his coercing stiffen against his leg.

He slowly brought Val's captured wrist to his lips, keeping a dedicated eye on the man's face. Chad wanted to watch his favorite part of their little dance. Mouth met it's target as tongue tasted heartbeat- villainous mask falling to the ground, leaving Val vulnerable once more.

His heart, which Val professed died long ago, was beating deliciously faster than the man wanted to let on. Persona broken, Chad earned an involuntary shiver from his beautiful, overzealous, and positivity fucked supervillain.

"Oh my love, you know I never play fair."

( concluded on Pillowfort - explicit content ahead 🔞 )

#sim spice #side plott #valerian plott #chad chinsley #spice level: absolutely fucked

[taizi]

where nothing hurts and nothing breaks

one piece word count: 3k written for the its pirates server sake exchange ! my other giftee was @incomprehensi-bull who asked for zoro and sanji interaction. sal i really hope you enjoy this <;3 title borrowed from safe by banners

read on ao3

x

“Remember,” the pretty girl with tangerine-colored hair says for the fifth time, her smile a fixed, gritted thing on her face, “Sanji is very small right now. The Devil’s Fruit effect isn’t going to wear off for another week at least. If you try to roughhouse with him the way you usually do, he will get hurt, and I will kill you with my hands. Understood?”

“You could try,” the green-haired man replies mildly. 

“Why are we leaving Zoro in charge of babysitting again?” the man with the long nose says, to no one in particular. “I mean, we can all agree that this is going to be an absolute disaster, right?”

Zoro scowls, but the skeleton says, “Right,” at the same time the man with the long white hair and bright orange horns says, “I mean, yeah,” and everyone else nods along. 

Yonji would have been furious to be made fun of in any capacity. Sanji holds his breath and waits for Zoro to snap at the rest of them, to use his size against everyone smaller than he is, but all he does is lean back against the railing and cross his arms. He looks unbothered to the point of falling asleep standing up.

It’s weird. 

“I’m not a baby,” Sanji thinks it’s important to point out. He’s eight years old, which is a lot of years. He thinks his years are longer than most people’s, because he hasn’t felt like the little kid he used to be in ages. That little kid grew up when mama died.

“We know,” the tall woman tells him, her eyes very gentle. She always looks at Sanji like she understands him completely. It’s nice, even if it makes him feel kind of sad. He wonders if she had big brothers who hated her, too, or if it was just her dad. He thinks it wouldn’t be polite to ask, so he doesn’t. “You’re practically a gentleman.” 

“Sanji can come shopping with us if he wants!” the reindeer says eagerly. He’s sitting on the robot’s broad shoulder and pats it like he’s inviting Sanji up there, too. They’re both small enough that Sanji could probably fit even without asking the rabbit-girl on the robot’s other shoulder to get down to make room. 

Weathered yellow fills his vision as the brim of a worn straw hat slips over his eyes. 

“Nope, it’s Zoro’s turn!” the captain replies brightly. That’s Luffy, with a scar under his eye that curves like a smile, and arms that don’t really look strong but can hold Sanji forever without getting tired. Sanji tips the hat back in time to look up at Luffy’s grinning face. “He and Sanji will have fun today and tonight they can tell us all about it!” 

Everyone heaves a sigh, but no one argues. Luffy doesn’t throw his weight around like Captain Chas on The Orbit does, but he’s very stubborn in a way that reminds Sanji of the spoiled little kids on the cruise ship who get underfoot at dinner and demand dessert before all their vegetables are gone. In similar fashion, Luffy mostly gets his way because his crew loves him too much to deny him. It’s a strange sort of authority for a pirate captain to have, but it seems to work for them just fine. 

Sure enough, Zoro’s shoulders go back just a little, and he levels Luffy with one unblinking dark eye. Accepting the terms and conditions. 

Sanji tries not to be nervous. It isn’t fair to compare Zoro and Yonji just because they look similar. 

Zoro looks like the kind of person Yonji is going to grow up to be���has grown up to be, somewhere else in this strange future Sanji is living in—and he seems to enjoy scathing arguments as much as Yonji does, too. But he hasn’t hurt anyone smaller than him that Sanji has seen. 

In fact, the smallest member of the crew clambers around on Zoro like he’s a walking jungle-gym, and scolds him viciously when he doesn’t take care of himself, and looks up at him with round, bright eyes all the rest of the time. Chopper acts as though Zoro is among the very last people in the world he would ever have cause to fear. 

Sanji’s so used to being afraid that he hardly knows how else to be. The people here who call themselves his real family make it hard to be, though. He absorbs their brightness and silliness and fondness every day and slowly learns how to stop holding his breath. 

The Sunny is docked for the day at a busy, bustling resort island, with enough lights and billboards that you can see the shine of it for miles across the water. There’s a big map on the wharf, twice as tall as Franky, that notes all the places of interest—shrines up in the mountains, a sprawling sea-side spa to the west, an amusement park further inland, the bright green and yellow loops of a rollercoaster visible above everything else, and hundreds of shops and restaurants scattered all in between. 

The Strawhats—that’s who these pirates were, who Sanji himself was, apparently—split up in twos and threes where the road forked but Sanji and Zoro didn’t even make it that far, because there was a market selling produce and all kinds of fresh fish and local goodies right there in the port, and Sanji only had to cast one curious look toward a cart towering with brightly-colored fruits for Zoro to start walking that way. He clears a path for Sanji through the bustling crowd like it’s nothing. 

“If you buy more than you carry, don’t cry to me about it,” Zoro says in the same indifferent tone he says everything in. 

“I won’t!” Sanji promises, not sure if he means he won’t buy that much or he won’t cry about it. 

He was given money—real, actual Bellies—and told in no uncertain terms to come find Nami if he ran out. He doesn’t see how he could! There’s so much in the bag she gave him! 

He says as much to Zoro, half-afraid to spend it all just in case it was a mistake. Zoro replies, “Our grocery budget is half of what it usually is while our cook is on vacation. We’re eating simple.” He nudges Sanji’s head with his elbow without taking his hands out of his pockets. “We don’t usually survive off sandwiches and eggs and soup, you know.”

Sanji figured that must be true, because of how grand their ship is, and because his grown-up friends seem to have fun taking turns cooking meals but they’re just clueless enough in the kitchen that it’s obvious they don’t spend a lot of time in there.

“I can cook,” Sanji says for what feels like the hundredth time. “I can cook for all of you.”

“What part of ‘vacation’ did you miss?” Zoro tells him without missing a beat. “Shut up and look at that weird fish.”

Sanji looks before he can help it. That sure is a weird fish! He forgets to keep arguing his case in favor of darting over to ask the fishmonger a dozen rapid-fire questions about their catch that they answer cheerfully. 

Contrary to what he said before, Zoro carries all the shopping. The vendors hand the goods over Sanji’s head every time, even though he’s the one forking over the gold for it. The swordsman is very big and strong, and probably all those parcels and purchases weigh absolutely nothing to him, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

Sanji tries to imagine Yonji carrying anything for him at all just to be nice. The daydream falls apart instantly, because Yonji only ever took things from Sanji to break them. 

“Do you promise you’ll give it back?” he musters the courage to ask, clinging to the cookbook a kind old woman just sold him, unwilling to let it go without making sure. She had smiled and said she was certain her family’s recipes would be in good hands with him and Sanji doesn’t want to prove her wrong before he gets a chance to even try. “You have to promise.”

Zoro gazes down at him with that inscrutable look on his face he’s worn all day. He could probably take the book from Sanji pretty easily but he doesn’t yank it away or twist his wrist until he lets go. They just stand there, sizing each other up. Sanji’s nerves mount with every second but he doesn’t back down.

Yonji would have hurt him already and laughed about it. The first mate of the Strawhat crew simply says, after enough time that Sanji knows he’s taken it seriously, “Promise.”

Surprised, Sanji lets the book go, and watches it get tucked away in an oversized tote bag with the rest of his little treasures. Then Zoro just stands there looking at him, one eyebrow higher than the other, waiting for Sanji to go chasing after the next thing that catches his eye.

Back on the Sunny, Zoro was goaded easily into fights with his friends, and seemed short-tempered any time he wasn’t napping on the grassy deck or drinking from bottles Sanji wasn’t allowed to touch. He didn’t cause problems on purpose, the way Sanji’s younger brother enjoyed doing, but he seemed to have sharp edges and Sanji didn’t know how to get close to him without getting pricked. 

But he thinks about how Chopper looks at Zoro. He thinks about the mice in the castle that would run from his siblings but cozy up in Sanji’s hands. Animals know. And then he thinks about the way Luffy trusts Zoro, how he doesn’t have to look to know Zoro will be right where he needs him. Everyone on the crew is quick to tease him and make fun and none of them are scared. 

Zoro could have gone with Luffy and the others, but he’s spending the day with Sanji instead. He hasn’t even been mean about it. Sanji abruptly feels really bad about not handing the cookbook over right away.

“My brother has green hair,” he blurts, then stares at the cobblestones beneath his shoes in acute mortification. Why did he say that?

“I know,” the swordsman says, the last thing on earth Sanji expected him to say. “I heard all about your brothers.”

He says it like he’s not impressed by them in the slightest. It’s a weird way for someone to talk about Sanji’s brothers—they’re the best, they’re everything they were supposed to be, and Sanji is the one that went wrong. 

Abruptly, Zoro points at a bench. “Go sit. I think your blood sugar is getting low. If you pass out on me, I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Sanji finds himself bundled onto the bench with the tote bag in his lap. Zoro set it there as if it was a paperweight that would keep Sanji from blowing off somewhere. That was kind of annoying! Sanji isn’t a baby and he isn’t gonna run off by himself, he’s not stupid. 

But the swordsman is only gone for a few minutes when Sanji’s attention is grabbed by something across the street. There’s a grizzled-looking man lounging in the shade of his stall, flicking through what looks like a waterlogged ledger. There are a bunch of crates and cages stacked around him that are empty—except for one. 

There’s a distressed bird crammed into a cage so small that it can’t move except to shuffle in place, its head ducked so that its long narrow beak doesn’t hit the bars. It’s making a harsh ticking noise, high and tight and anxious. Sanji shoves the bag off his knees and jumps to his feet, weaving through the crowd and ducking down to his hands and knees before the man behind the stall clocks him. He crawls the rest of the way to the birdcage and lifts it down from the cart into his lap. 

The bird stops vocalizing, looking up at him with darting black eyes, its chest heaving. Sanji whispers, “I know how you feel. Let me help.”

But there’s a lock on the cage, and even as Sanji tugs at it, he knows it’s useless. He’s decided to just take the cage away with him when a fist closes in the back of his jacket and he’s hauled all the way off his feet.

He yelps, flailing in midair, and only barely manages not to drop the bird. 

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” the man asks, sounding more bewildered than angry. He wrenches the cage out of Sanji’s hands and then drops him. 

Sanji lands with an oof on the street, and he automatically curls his limbs in, making himself a smaller target. If he tucks his fingers into fists and hides them under his arms, there’s less of a chance his brothers will break them just for fun. He curls his hands into fists but he doesn’t hide them. The fear is in the back of his mind, but it’s not the loudest thing in there. He’s lived on the Sunny for days now where bravery and goodness come before everything and he must have absorbed some of that, because he’s shaking under the sharp eyes of a big, unfriendly stranger, but he still says, “You should let it go.”

“What was that?”

“You’re not taking good care of it,” Sanji says, louder, “so you should let it go.”

The man’s mouth twists in an unkind sneer. “And I should just toss my Bellies into the Blue while I’m at it, eh? That’s not how it works, whelp.” 

The bird is moving around in the cage again, making that dry clicking noise again and rucking its orange and blue feathers up in its anxious bid to get free or somehow create more space. Sanji remembers being tossed behind bars, no respite and no rescue and no one left in his life who cared if he was hungry or cold or afraid. He can feel the metal helmet that encased his head as clearly as if it’s still there. He remembers crying so hard it made him lightheaded, clinging to those bars and wishing he was anything like his siblings, if only so he was strong enough to save himself.

“It’s not your bird, it’s its own bird,” Sanji shouts. “It wants out!” 

The man shifts his weight. Maybe he was going to step forward, or turn around and go back behind his stall, or maybe he wasn’t going to move at all. Sanji will never know, because at that moment a shadow falls over him, and he knows without having to look that Zoro has come back. 

“There a reason he’s on the ground?” Zoro asks. He almost sounds conversational. “Hope it’s a good one.”

The man obviously feels much differently about giving Zoro the same attitude he gave Sanji. He hesitates to answer right away, staring up at the swordsman the way that little bird probably stared up at him when he stuffed it into that stupid little cage. The way Sanji looks up at Judge and hopes for anything else besides what he knows is going to happen.

“He started helping himself to my wares,” the man settles for saying. “Maybe you ought to teach him a bit about how the world works before you let him loose on it. He’s gonna get himself into trouble running his mouth at the wrong guy.”

Sanji is waiting for the moment when he’ll have to defend himself, to make his case, but it never comes. Zoro doesn’t even ask what happened, he just plants himself like a tree in the middle of the confrontation and lets Sanji shelter safely in his shadow, as steady and immovable as the castle walls of Germa Kingdom.

“And are you the wrong guy?” Zoro says, very interested in the answer. He’s got some grilled skewers in one hand and the tote bag that Sanji abandoned in the other, but even without easy access to the swords at his hip, he is not a person anyone would want to get on the wrong side of. That grumpy sleeping dragon that lounges lazily on the deck of the Sunny is gone and the creature left behind is wide-awake and hungry.

Speaking a little faster, the man says, “Look, mate, I’m just trying to make a living here. If I gave away my beasts every time a tender-hearted little brat teared up over them, I’d be out of business.”

Zoro just says, “He’s eight years old and already more of a man than you’ll ever be. You put your hand on him, and you still have your hand. That is more good luck than most people get in a lifetime. Make it count.”

Sanji is not actually surprised when the man snatches up his ledger book and the handle of his cart, ready to make tracks. The bird is left behind, and Sanji picks himself up and hurries over to scoop the cage back into his arms. The bird makes a sound at him like something is rattling in his throat, but it sounds slightly calmer than before. 

When he looks up at Zoro, he finds Zoro already gazing back down at him. He holds out the birdcage and says, “There’s a lock. Will you help?”

“I could break it open, but it might cut itself on the metal. It’s not safe to let it out here, anyway,” Zoro says. “Let’s head back home and get Usopp to pick it open. For now carry it in one hand and eat some of these, tough guy.”

Sanji agreeably accepts a skewer of grilled squid and walks close enough to Zoro that he bumps into him every couple of steps. The bird sticks its beak through the bars and snaps at one of the curly tentacles, sneaking a bite so cleanly that Sanji laughs in sheer delight. He shares the rest of that skewer, as well as the next one Zoro passes him with pieces of tender zucchini and shrimp. 

“Didn’t know you liked birds,” he says.

“I don’t really,” Sanji says. “I just like this one. Do you know what kind it is?”

“Robin will,” Zoro replies with the unremarkable certainty in his nakama that Sanji is still in the middle of learning. “What makes this one so special?”

“We understand each other, that’s all,” Sanji says. He focuses on keeping the hungry beak away from his fingers when he adds, “I was in a cage, too.”

Zoro stops walking. Sanji doesn’t want to look up at him and see the face that he’s making, because then he won’t be able to force the truth out. And he wants to. He feels safe enough to do that now, for the first time since he woke up in this strange, bright, wonderful, silly family. He thought it would be Luffy he told, or Robin, or little Chopper, but it’s not any of them. 

It’s Zoro. The one who lets his siblings crawl all over him and poke fun and start fights, and only ever turns his teeth on any person outside their family who means them harm. The one who never steps in where he isn’t wanted, but keeps careful watch for the moment that he’s needed. Of course it’s him. 

“My brothers are mean to me,” he admits in a whisper. “Yonji likes to hurt me. I’m sorry I thought you were like him. You’re not.” 

There’s a moment of stillness, the two of them standing in an out-of-the-way corner, the noise and bustle of the market all pushed into the background. And then, without warning, for the second time that day, Sanji is lifted right off his feet. He squeaks in surprise, but he’s settled on Zoro’s shoulders a second later, and grips at his green hair to steady himself with the hand that isn’t clutching the birdcage. 

He stares, wide-eyed, out at this view he’s never been given before. 

“Next time we see your brother, I’ll beat him up,” Zoro says without preamble. “I won’t stop until you’re satisfied. And that’s a promise.” 

Sanji hugs the bird closer, and breathes in a deep lungful of air that tastes like salt and brine and certain freedom. He can see the ocean from here, and their colorful ship bobbing on the water, waiting for them no matter how far away they wander. 

“But you’re on your own with Nami when she sees that bird,” the swordsman adds plainly. 

Sanji holds the little bird a little closer and smiles. He understands his nakama much better now than he did even earlier this morning. Zoro might say one thing, but he really means another. Sanji is not on his own at all. Maybe he hasn’t been on his own in a long time. 

(A week later, with the Devil's Fruit effects finally negated, Sanji is searing scallops in the kitchen, following one of the recipes in his new cookbook, and Zoro is day-drinking at the table, and Stella the common kingfisher is sticking her nosy beak into spice jars where it doesn't belong.

Sanji says, “I’m releasing you from your promise.” When Zoro glances at him, he adds, “You don’t have to beat up my brother. I’m more than capable of doing that myself.”

For a moment, the swordsman doesn’t speak. He and Luffy can have entire conversations in a few seconds of absolute silence, but Sanji is not quite there yet. He waits with newfound patience for Zoro to come to whatever decision he’s making, rewarded when Zoro says, “No, I’m going to. I have it on good authority that he was mean to a friend of mine.”

Sanji scoffs and looks away, busying himself with the food, so that no one sees his helpless smile except for the obnoxious little bird that his present friend harangued Nami into letting him keep.)

#one piece #opfic #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #my writing #incomprehensi-bull #op

[swordsandarms]

This is a reply in regards to this post, which highlights the high likelihood that, whether people are fine with the author's choices or not, RxL is written by him with romantic nuance as far as the text goes. @sahtinekryze

And I think this fandom really needs to have a honest analysis of the idea of "selfishness" in narrative choices such as this, which is that when it comes to how the whole "duty vs love" scenarios Martin writes, he does not actually writes it with some wide spectrum ranging from selfish to sacrificial. There are usually no other choices than the two.

Could one define the alleged choice of breaking a noble marriage contract that would have negative political influence at the least, had it been the best case scenario (which one would logically assume the two might have hoped for instead of very lots of people dying including themselves) as 'selfish', which in its very definition is doing something for one's self, though it may not be advantageous for others? Yes.

But as I said, Martin doesn't write a middle ground. There's that, or Lyanna marries an unwanted man and is hence forced to have a non-consensual relationship with him, and forced to carry children out of a noncon relationship, so that her male relatives can reap benefits of political power, as well as her groom through her womb. And as shows inspired by these books love to show us very graphic such cases (like Daenerys in GOT, or the storyline given to show!Sansa, or the changes for show!Alicent in HOTD), I am sure fans should have learnt better about the accusations usually thrown at Lyanna in fandom spaces in regards to being another woman marrying against her will in a society where a woman cannot say no, marital rape isn't recognised, and a husband is "just taking his rights": that "this is just being whiny". (There are many other examples in the books; the author is also not holding back on what unwanted or unsuitable marriages mean to women.)

Against the fanon idea that she is some wild, demanding, conceited girl, she doesn't rage, she doesn't bite. She has a tentative, soft spoken conversation with her brother about it and her reluctance in the matter, and is (nicely) dismissed.

Had she not (allegedly, while all is unconfirmed) fallen for the Crown Prince and he for her, there is no one else powerful enough to extract her from her situation (her male relatives having made up their own minds in the matter), nor anyone else to go from where she cannot be recovered by a powerful and connected family and fiance. No one else she could marry/sleep with that wouldn't be shut down and covered (as seen with Tyrion or Lysa) to preserve the higher price for which her womb can be bartered. Just no other viable choice that wasn't the other end of the scale: a woman being sacrificed by men, for men's uses.

As I said at the start, this is simply how Martin writes these conflicts of "mind and heart". He corners the characters. There is no light at the end of the tunnel that isn't also sort of "selfish" and "dumb" looking on the surface.

This can be applied to more such situations in the text-

Catelyn undoes the already precarious state of her son's campaign by releasing their most valuable captive. She has not even a guarantee that her 'selfish' act for love will work. But there are no options she's given. No one else cares to make it a priority to get her daughters back. The only other choice is to let it be and let 2 girls be sacrificed in marriages of ill intent to use their wombs and discard them, unsure if she will find anything left of them but Lannister named babies when this is over. It is "selfish". It is "dumb". Yet she's cornered.

Jon makes the decision to go fight Ramsay Bolton because he's run out of options and he's cornered. Arya is allegedly in the hands of the family that have viciously killed a number of Starks and taken Winterfell. She is 11 and allegedly married. He is made sick at the thought of what is being done to her. He's tried the "lesser" tactics of getting her rescued without being seen as trespassing the status quo of the NW publicly, by sending others for her. But it was always going to come to this. Ramsay guesses (or finds out) that his escaped bride would make it to the Wall. Keeping "peace" and "doing his duty" instead of "being selfish and dumb" is handing over "Arya" himself if she even makes it to appease the Lord of Winterfell, sacrificing a girl to an unwanted marriage meant to use her for her womb and discard her.

There are no actual choices when there is no actual scale in between "selfish and dumb" and the sacrifice of a girl (or, you know, 2,3, as many as Westeros would swallow as it did for millennia for this or that Lord or King to amass and keep power), whether they are Lannisters trying to get Winterfell, or Starks extinguishing the line of the Warg King.

#asoiaf #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #arya stark #jon snow #catelyn stark

[nescaveckwriter]

Moonflowers & Werewolves - Chapter 3 🐺🥰

A/N: Awww y'all, chapter Three is here. Yayaness, I had so much fun writing this, one, I hope y'all will love it as much as I do 🥰🐺

Side Note: Thank you, feels so empty🥹, but thank you for every like, comment, reblog even those adorable bugsies just reading, 🥰 it means the world to me.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, severe violence, action, fighting, slight swearing used, hospital scenes, fire.😱 Anything else let me know

"Derek, It's me Argent" he warned

"Dammit Chris" he roared

"We need to get you out of here, now" he demanded

"Yeah about that, I'd might need a little help" he sighed

As Chris glanced over at the werewolf, he saw multiple arrows all over his back. "Wolfsbane" he questioned

"Yeah, most probably" he whined

"I'll hold them back, you make a run for it" he suggested

"Hell no! Your not doing this alone" he replied

"I'm not, I brought some help" he smirked

"He forced me to come, and its not like I had any plans" he said sarcastically

Derek furrowed his brows "Peter?" 

"Yes, I've came to save the day once again" he mocked

Derek collapsed to the ground, letting the woman fall out of his arms, his face tired, expression shocked "Madison"

Throwing his hands up in the air "great now we have to save a human"

Growling at Peter "She didn't ask for this"

Looking down at the woman not making a sound, "is she even okay"

"Peter, do not! Of course I  protected her" he sneered, giving her a once over, she's unconscious, her heartbeat slowed, catching the whiff of blood, pure human blood, knowing it must come from her, searching for a open wound, "Noooo!" He let out a violent roar, "they've hit her too" glaring at the arrow that's pierced through her chest.

Chris looks over to a defeated looking Derek. "Go on, get her to the hospital now! Me and Peter will hold them down and away from you"

They exchange a concerned look, but then Derek, gathers his last bit of strength, as he gets up, and starts running out of the forest, straight towards the hospital. As far as he runs, with his free hand, he pulls out the arrows from his body, he keeps saying, underneath his breath "I'm so sorry Maddie"

Back into his human form, he runs through the ER doors, glancing over at the nurses station. Melissa sees, him holding the injured woman. ''Derek! Get in here'' gesturing towards an empty bed.

He gently places her on the hospital bed. Feeling weak himself he collapse down in the nearest chair. Grabbing Melissa's arm, ''I need Parrish'' he demanded

Puzzled she looked at him ''I will phone him right away''

His eyes are heavy, his voice painfully low ''Is she going to be okay''

Smiling ''Of course, I'll let a doctor see her immediately''

As Melissa walks out, she almost walks into Parrish, ''What?''

A half-smile on his thin lips, ''I had know Derek needs me''

''Oh yeah, I almost forgot, you get a sort like premonition of these things'' letting out a nervous chuckle, gesturing his in the room.

A determined look on his prominent face as he walks closer towards, the closed door. Already feeling his body heat up, he can honestly say, that with a lot of training him and Cerberus has a mutual understanding, he doesn't take over him so much anymore, he is still conscious enough, to know what his doing. 

''Derek'' his voice croaky

''Jordan, I need you too heat up man!'' his brows drew together, his face pain stricken 

''No, no way in hell Derek, its too much'' he warned

''Parrish you listen to me, if you don't burn this freaking wolfsbane out of me, my son will have to grow up with out his father'' his voice rough and low

''Fine! but we will need to move you first'' sliding his arm underneath Derek's side, helping him to a stance.

Derek looks over to were Madison lays, underneath his breath he whispers ''please be okay''. As they walk out Melissa and a doctor storms in, to help her, Melissa just gives him a assuring nod in the passing.

As Jordan takes Derek, down to the basement of the hospital, he starts to feel, the poison, getting closer, knowing if it reaches his heart, he'd be dead in a few seconds, ''Now, do it now'' he roared

Parrish, starts to heat up, wrapping his arms, around Derek, his whiskey brown eyes, now a yellow-orange, fire dancing in his pupils. 

As the fire engulfs Derek, he roars loudly, his eyes a electric blue, his fangs and claws are out as he can't help but to shift, under this amount of pain. With the flames dancing around there bodies, he can feel the poison burning away. With the last bit leaving his veins, Jordan, lets go of Derek, making him plummet to the ground. The hellhound who was just covered in flames, is now only covered in ash, the only visible sign of fire, is the orange red, rushing through his veins, defining the muscular build. 

He picks up a unconscious Derek, carries him towards a empty hospital bed. Letting Melissa know, where he is, he runs to help Argent and Peter. On his way calling his girlfriend, 

''Hey babe!'' her voice delighted

''Love, listen I'll explain later, but you need to go and check on Eli, be careful'' he warned

''On my way, you too'' she bolted towards Derek's house, entering through the door, catching a glimpse of three men, probably hunters, cornering Eli, his frightened face is one to much. 

''Hey idiots, why don't you pick on someone your own size'' she hissed

Laughing as they walk closer, weapons in hand, ''What are you going to do little girl?'' the giant man mocked.

Getting into a fighting stance, she throws her hands down, letting her short nails, turn into her claws, as she roared it revealed her fangs, her dark brown eyes, now ice blue. 

''Oh you must be the were coyote'' the man laughed

Without hesitating she rushed towards the giant man, digging her claws into his forearm, throwing him against the wall. The other two, runs towards her, a older looking man, slices her cheek with a silver knife, ''Argggh'' she groaned,   as the younger man, fires his gun, but the bullet misses her by centimeters, hitting a serene painting. Eli runs closer to help, his eyes a slight yellow, but no claws and no fangs. ''Stay back Eli'' she warned

As the three men gathers around her, and Eli, she starts to think of a plan, to overtake them all, not wanting Eli to get hurt she stands in front of him. She growls at them. The men agrees that they should capture the were coyote and the wannabe werewolf, they walk closer and closer, but then all of the sudden a voice makes them turn around. 

''Hello Sweetheart, daddy's here'' he mocked as he pounced on the larger man, ripping out some flesh, the man scream in agonizing pain, but Peter just knocks him out with a jab to the jaw.

Malia just rolls her eyes, sarcasm, evident ''Thanks for the help daddy dearest'' as she picks up the younger man and throws him into the kitchen, his body hitting the island, blood pulsing down the back of his head. Eli grabs a chair, smashing it over the older man's head. As the three stood there, glancing at there handiwork, Eli, looks at Peter and Malia, ''Where's my dad'' he asked

Before Peter could answer, Jordan crashes through the door, in his arms Chris Argent, his voice hoarse ''he's been shot, it's bad, we need to get him to the hospital'' they all hurried, jumping into the jeep, speeding up the street, towards the hospital. Then out of nowhere, a truck hits the side of the jeep, making it spin out of control and flipping it on its side.

Chapter Four Here :)

#derek hale #peter hale #jordan parrish #melissa mccall #malia hale #sheriff stilinski #teen wolf #chris argent #moonflowers-&-werewolves #d nesca #bugsies #Spotify

[only-lonely-stars]

A Bride for the Prince (Chapter 2 - Festival)

[Prologue] // [Chapter 1 of 9] // [Chapter 2 of 9 - you are here!] // [Chapter 3 of 9] – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there lived a faithful and hardworking girl named Pixal Borg, who worked every day to satisfy her demanding stepmother. For years, she cleaned and cooked, giving no argument, until the day came when she met the prince. A Pixane Cinderella retelling.

Chapter summary:

Prince Zane appears, and the King suggests a celebration to help him choose a bride.

The castle of the Central Commonwealth stood tall above the surrounding towns, the colorful capital city likewise dwarfed by its majesty. Tall towers flanked enormous walls of white stone, silvery in the morning light and dew. Great shadows fell on the far side, and in the shade herds of cattle grazed upon expansive fields. Parapets extended from every tallest point. Many shuttered windows were present on every side, looking at the countryside. The only window without such decoration was a great stained glass expanse, which depicted a falcon flying through snowfall, visible best from the throne room.

Inside the throne room, two men stood, talking intently, one older and one younger. The older had silvery white hair, swept back and pinned down with a simple yet kingly platinum crown. He stood tall, with a presence of intelligence and wisdom and strength. However, his face was lined as a consequence of laughter, belying his wisdom. No matter where he looked, his intelligent gray eyes were intent on anything he saw. The younger man looked just like the older in nearly every aspect, even to his platinum blond hair, likewise swept back and crowned with a simpler silver circlet. His blue eyes were alike to shattered ice, calm and intelligent, and his back was straight as a ramrod. Both men carried themselves with dignity, as befit their royalty, and spoke with fondness to one another.

"How was your journey, my son?" the king asked.

"It was most productive. Our eastern towns shall not go hungry under our care," the prince replied.

"Very good. I am proud of you, Zane. You have grown to be a fine leader for our people." The king put his hand on his son's shoulder. "You bring honor to the Julien name."

Zane bowed his head in thanks. "It is the least I can do for our people. Without them, our rule means nothing."

"You are right; it is by their desire that we govern. I only wish that your brother Echo could have seen the man you have become." The king smiled, a tinge of sadness to his face.

The prince's face fell. The sound of his brother's name was a bittersweet one. After a few moments, he schooled his features back to calm. "What would you have me do next, Father? Shall I go with the diplomatic mission to the southern kingdom?"

"No, they have already departed. I would like to speak to you about a different matter." The king folded his hands pensively. "My son, I am growing older with every passing year. Time has served me well, but I cannot live forever."

Zane nodded. "Has your health suffered while I was gone?" he asked, concern flooding his voice.

"No, thank the First Master. However, I have had time to consider the future." The king met Zane's eyes, every aspect of his countenance sincere. "My son, you are by no means a child any longer. We have reached a point where you should begin considering whom you will marry."

At this, Zane shook his head. "I do not know any noblewomen who would be fit for the task. I cannot take a wife from among them." His eyebrows creased in distaste. "I will not marry a foreigner, either, or any woman who is not of our people. They must be ruled by one of our number."

"Your wisdom is beyond your years, my son. However, you must choose someone eventually, despite your misgivings." The king began to pace. "Perhaps some sort of event might be arranged, that you might meet a fitting woman from among the people. Perhaps a contest, or a ball, where you might meet candidates for the role."

"An event, Father? What sort do you suggest?" Zane's mind whirred. "Perhaps a festival would befit the need better than a ball."

The king smiled. "That is an excellent proposal. We shall host a long festival; three days in which you might meet the women of the kingdom and find someone fitting." The king's eyes twinkled. "I will put you in charge of it, so all the events might fit the qualities you seek in your wife-to-be."

Zane bowed his head in agreement, pushing down his warring feelings of trepidation, dread, and excitement. "I will do my best. When shall it be?"

"The week after next, if you are able to organize it so quickly. Will that suffice for you?"

"It is more than enough time." The prince paused, but came to stand before his father once again. "Thank you, Father, for allowing me to be so particular. I know it has been difficult for you. I will find someone who will rule well, like Mother did."

The king smiled, a slight bit melancholy. "I have no doubt you will search far and wide until you find her, my son, no matter how long it takes. Trust yourself, and it will be easier."

"I will do my best."

-----

In the intervening time before the festival, Prince Zane rarely rested, overseeing every part of the festival planning. During the three days, the population of the capital city and the surrounding towns would be welcome throughout the fields around the castle, where there would be games and spectacles. There would be many things to indulge in, such as delectable foods from all over the Commonwealth, and the finest or artisan craftsmanship where any merchant could sell his wares.

In the center of the field, an arena was set up. It hosted many seats, and a tawny soil floor, such that all the kingdom's knights and squires could do their best to prove their worth. Zane would also compete each day, jousting with the winners of the earlier matches. As per an agreement with his father, he was to take the favor of a woman he saw fit to consider, but no other. Throughout the rest of the tournament, he would also be present, whether as a competitor in the games or an attendee, meeting as many ladies as he could without the fear of appearing as a womanizer.

As the days of the festival approached and the announcements were sent out, Zane's trepidation grew. For years, he had felt free, as the need to find a bride had been a faraway concern. He had been able to travel, to study, to learn, and to begin to rule without concern of a woman who would monopolize his attention. Any knowledge in the world was at his disposal, and even the farthest corners of the world were within his grasp. Now that he had to find a fitting bride, were his days of freedom over? How could he live his life as he had before?

He tried to shake his worries, but they were unceasing. As a husband, he would be required to set aside the time to tend to his wife, and everything that she entailed to him. She would take up his time, energy, attention, and more personal things than those, some of which he feared to even think about. How could he please a woman while also pleasing himself, whether in mind or body? No matter how he considered the problem, it seemed impossible.

In any time he could take to himself, Zane delved into prayer and meditations, but they rarely helped. Instead, his mind was filled with images of his future. Of course, once a courtship began, he was to spend time with his wife-to-be. Then his wedding day would come, with all its trappings and traditions. As of that day, he would be tied to that woman, and there would be no leaving her. The visions he imagined turned toward the further future as he realized that any travels he would take would be with his wife, unless toward war– First Master forbid. His children would be raised to ascend the throne, and would be his pride and joy. When he was aged, one would be crowned…

Slowly, his fears began to slip away. The prince thought about his future, and suddenly felt as if his concerns were small. If his life was to be spent with anyone, a woman with whom he could speak and learn would certainly not be poor. His kingdom would live well under the rule of a learned and graceful woman, if only he could find one.

Despite the prince's warring feelings, time marched on, passing under his nose as the kingdom prepared. The first day of the festival grew ever closer, and Zane could only watch and wonder.

#ninjago #ninjago pixal #ninjago zane #pixal borg #zane julien #pixane #ninjago fanfiction #OLST fanfic #OLST writing #ninjago fairy tale au #a bride for the prince

[gcthvile]

Nothing lasts forever

summary: the heartbreaking reunion of the doctor and charlotte forces them to face buried feelings, but her duty on earth could keep them apart forever despite their timeless love that transcends worlds.

couple: charlotte barlowe (OC) x the tenth doctor

fandom: doctor who

warnings: none

It was a typical day in London when the Doctor ran into trouble. He was scanning for anomalies with his sonic screwdriver when it started beeping frantically, indicating something very not good was happening just down the street. "Ah, what have we got here then?" he said to himself, rushing off to investigate.

Around the corner, a strange creature was towering over people, letting out an unearthly screech. The bystanders screamed and ran away in fear. The Doctor peered at the monster - it was unlike anything in his databanks. Orange and spiky, with six legs and a gaping maw full of razor-sharp teeth. Definitely not from around here.

He darted forward, sonic at the ready. "Leave these people alone!" he yelled. The creature turned with a roar, angling its body toward the new threat. The Doctor grinned with excitement at the challenge. This was going to be fun.

He was just about to sonic it when suddenly, out of nowhere, a posh blonde woman ran right in front of him, nearly causing him to crash into her. "Watch where you're going!" she snapped.

"Get into the TARDIS, it's not safe!" the Doctor urged Charlotte, grabbing her hand. But she wrenched it away.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to my outfit? This silk was imported from Paris. And look at my hair!" Charlotte fussed, unaware of the danger mere feet away.

The Doctor gaped in disbelief. "There's an alien attacking, and you're on about your hair? Come on, inside, now!" He tugged her toward the TARDIS.

"Unhand me at once!" Charlotte glared at the stranger. She took in his disheveled appearance with disdain. "And just who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm the Doctor," he replied impatiently. "Now will you please get in the box before that thing eats you?"

He gestured to the creature, which was starting to notice them again. Charlotte followed his gaze and gasped. "Good lord, what is that monstrosity?"

"I don't know yet, but I intend to find out. Into the TARDIS, it's a ship, just trust me!" He pulled open the door.

Charlotte peered inside, stunned by the massive interior. But she held her ground. "Not until you tell me what's happening. I demand an explanation."

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair in frustration. The creature took a lurching step toward them. "Fine! That's an alien, I'm a Time Lord, this is my ship, and if we don't leave right now we'll become its lunch. Now please!"

Charlotte hesitated only a moment more before hurrying inside. The Doctor slammed the door, engaging the locks. "That's better. Hold onto something, it could get bumpy!"

He raced to the console, punching buttons. The TARDIS shook as it dematerialized. Charlotte grabbed a coral strut, eyes wide. "You...you can travel in time and space?" she breathed.

The Doctor grinned. "Welcome to the TARDIS, Charlotte. The whole of creation is ours to explore."

Charlotte couldn't believe this strange man called the Doctor was actually telling the truth. Yet here she was inside his incredible ship. As he flew them away from danger, she found her courage.

"Take me back," she said firmly.

The Doctor frowned. "I'm not risking you against that creature."

"I can distract it while you do...whatever it is you do." Charlotte met his gaze steadily. "I want to help."

He hesitated, then sighed. "Very well. But you do exactly as I say!" The TARDIS landed with a thump.

The Doctor opened the door a crack, peering out. "Coast is clear. When I say run, make as much noise as possible to draw it away. I'll be sonicing its brains out."

Charlotte nodded, steeling herself. The Doctor grinned. "Now!"

She took a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs, running pell-mell down the street. The creature roared, spotting her immediately. It gave chase.

Charlotte chanced a look back - it was gaining fast on her high heels. Where was the Doctor? Up ahead she saw an open manhole - she dived into the sewers just as sharp claws slashed the air above.

In the darkness, she heard an unearthly wail, then silence. Light flooded the tunnel as the Doctor removed the manhole cover. "All done! You were fantastic. Bravest human I ever met." He grinned, offering a hand. "Fancy another trip?"

Despite being out of breath and covered in muck from the sewers, Charlotte couldn't help but grin back at the Doctor. "That was...invigorating!" she admitted. "Though I think I'll skip the sewers next time."

The Doctor chuckled as he helped her climb out. "Wise choice. Now, how about we get you cleaned up? The TARDIS has hundreds of bathrooms." He led her inside the massive blue box.

As Charlotte explored the wonders within, she began to understand this wasn't just some parlor trick. This Doctor and his ship were truly something beyond her comprehension. And the idea of seeing even more of the universe was intoxicating.

After a refreshing sonic shower (she didn't even want to know how that worked), Charlotte met the Doctor in the console room, dressed in a spare outfit the TARDIS provided.

"So where shall we go next?" he asked eagerly. "An ancient civilization? A future colony? A planet made of diamonds?"

Charlotte hesitated. As exhilarating as this all was, could she really give up her life? But when she looked into the Doctor's smiling face, full of enthusiasm and hope, she knew she had to try.

"Show me something amazing, Doctor," she said. He punched coordinates and off they flew once more into the unknown. Wherever the TARDIS took them, Charlotte knew her world would never be the same.

The TARDIS landed with a jolt, and the Doctor threw open the doors. "Ancient Egypt, 30 BCE!" he announced.

Charlotte gasped at the sight before her. Massive pyramids towered against the orange sky. People in colorful linens walked the dusty streets, palm trees swaying in the breeze.

"It's just like I dreamed!" she breathed. The Doctor beamed, delighted by her reaction.

They spent the day exploring the bustling cities and temples filled with hieroglyphs. Charlotte showed a surprising depth of knowledge as she rattled off facts about artistic styles and pharaoh lineages. The Doctor was impressed.

"Not just a pretty face, hm?" he teased as the sun started to set.

Charlotte blushed. "Father insisted I have a well-rounded education. I never thought it would lead me here, though."

They watched the sun dip below the pyramids, bathing the land in golden light. The Doctor turned to Charlotte, suddenly serious.

"You belong among the stars....Travel with me?"

She hesitated. As thrilling as it was, could she leave her whole life behind for such uncertainty and danger?

"I'm afraid that path isn't for me," she said gently. "But I'll never forget our adventures together, Doctor. Thank you for opening my eyes to wonders I never dreamed of."

The Doctor nodded understandingly, though he felt a pang of disappointment. Still, her smile made the day worth it.

A sad mood fell over them as the TARDIS faded into view on the Cairo horizon. The Doctor and Charlotte walked slowly back to her, savoring their last moments together.

"I'll miss having you aboard," the Doctor said softly. "You fit into the universe so well."

Charlotte looked at him with regretful eyes. "Part of me wishes I could stay. But my place is elsewhere." She squeezed his hand. "Thank you, my friend, for everything. I'll carry the memories of our travel forever."

They stopped before the TARDIS doors. Suddenly the Doctor pulled Charlotte into a hug, resting his chin on her head. "If ever you change your mind, the TARDIS will be here," he murmured.

Charlotte hugged him tightly, fighting back tears. Then she stepped back, offering a brave smile. "Goodbye, Doctor. Go save the universe."

He returned her smile sadly. "Farewell, Charlotte. You've made this lonely old heart lighter."

With one last lingering look, she turned and walked away down the street, soon disappearing into the dusk. The Doctor watched her go, loath to leave but knowing he had to respect her choice.

He patted the TARDIS console. "Onwards, my friend. The stars won't wait." With a heavy sigh, he pulled the lever, locking the door on this chapter.

A few years later, when the Doctor had to come back to Charlotte's time since another issue appeared, he, one day, saw Charlotte sitting in a cafe, talking to her current boyfriend and laughing. She looked a bit older but catched everyone's attention nonetheless, natural light blonde hair, naturally wavy, captivating light blue eyes, and a touch of freckles, turned heads effortlessly.

As the Doctor passed by Charlotte, he stopped for a minute and his eyes became wide. He knew that it must've been her, given how similar she looked to the woman he met in the past. She still had the same natural light blonde hair, wavy and captivating, as well as blue eyes and a few freckles that made her look even more beautiful. He wanted to approach her, as well as make sure that he was correct in assuming that this was Charlotte, but he didn't want to interrupt her conversation with her new boyfriend.

Charlotte looked outside for a moment and froze, stopping her conversation as she noticed the Doctor outside, on the other side of the road, her smile faded immediately as she didn't expect to see him at all. The Doctor noticed how Charlotte's expression suddenly changed and was able to tell that she had recognized him quickly and was surprised by his appearance. He remained still and waited to see if she would approach him, as he didn't want to interrupt their moment and make her feel uncomfortable.

At the same time, he hoped that Charlotte would come towards him, as he wanted to speak with her again and maybe even reconnect with her once more. Charlotte shook her head and cleared her throat going back to her conversation, pretending like she didn't see him, but nonetheless, she seemed a bit nervous. The Doctor was a bit disappointed by the fact that Charlotte seemed to ignore his presence and didn't approach him, given that he was very eager for them to speak again after all of these years and was hoping for a reunion between them. He understood that the situation might be a bit delicate for her, so he simply stayed there for a few more moments, in case she changed her mind and went to speak with him.

Charlotte and her boyfriend stood up and walked out of the cafe, her boyfriend offered her a ride but she refused kindly and said that she'd walk home. The two exchanged a soft yet passionate kiss before parting ways. The Doctor was surprised by the sudden change of events, as she now refused the offer to go home with her boyfriend and wanted to walk instead. The Doctor thought there was an opportunity for him to go and try to talk to Charlotte again. So, he followed her from the distance and tried to catch her attention.

"Charlotte?" he called her name, quietly, as he walked closer to her.

At the sound of that familiar voice, Charlotte froze. Slowly, she turned to face the Doctor, eyes wide.

"It's...it's really you," she breathed. He strode towards her with that signature grin, but she could see the question in his eyes - had seeing him upset her?

Charlotte glanced behind her, as if part of her wanted to continue walking away from this moment she hadn't expected. But something drew her feet toward him instead.

"What are you doing here?" she asked softly. Her mind was in turmoil - happiness at being reunited with her dear friend, sadness at everything left unsaid between them long ago.

The Doctor stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. "Just saving planets, you know how it is. Wasn't expecting to run into you though! Looks like you've been doing well."

His gaze flickered to her lips, still flushed from her lover's kiss. Charlotte looked away, swallowing. When she met the Doctor's eyes again, she said gently, "It's...complicated. A lot has changed."

A sadness echoed in his ancient eyes. "I know. But I'm glad I got to see you again. You look as radiant as ever."

Charlotte blushed, heart swelling at the familiar tender tone she'd never forgotten. Then she sighed. "What am I doing? I really must be going."

Yet she made no move to leave his side. The Doctor watched her, hopeful. "Fancy a trip in the TARDIS? Just for old times' sake. I promise to get you back in no time."

Charlotte hesitated, longing and reluctance warring within. How many times had she dreamed of this moment, of seeing the Doctor again? But so much was at stake now.

"I don't know..." she said, though she made no move to leave. A familiar curiosity glinted in her eyes.

The Doctor grinned, sensing an opening. "Come on, just one little trip. No danger, I swear. Unless you count the Lorini Falls on Nexia - most spectacular sunset in the cosmos. I'll have you back before tea."

She tried to maintain a stern face, but it broke into a reluctant smile. How could she resist that boyish enthusiasm, or the siren call of adventure? Her life had become so ordinary of late.

"One trip," she conceded with a sigh. The Doctor pumped his fist in triumph.

Her heart raced as they strode to the familiar blue box. Inside was as amazing as ever. As the engines powered up, Charlotte breathed deep to steady herself. One moment of madness couldn't hurt...could it?

The Doctor beamed. "Hold on tight! Next stop, Nexia." Adventure was calling them both once more. Charlotte clutched the console, excitement and trepidation coursing through her veins. She was home.

The TARDIS landed with its usual jolt, causing Charlotte to stumble into the Doctor. He caught her arms with a smile.

"Steady there. Welcome to Nexia!" He bounded to the door. "After you."

Charlotte stepped outside and gasped. They were atop a shimmering purple cliff overlooking an ocean bluer than any on Earth. As the twin suns dipped low, the water glowed with iridescent hues.

"It's breathtaking," she said in awe. The Doctor beamed, thrilled by her delight.

They sat together, legs dangling over the edge, as the suns sank below the horizon in a brilliant show of color. For a while, only comfortable silence passed between them.

Then Charlotte spoke quietly. "It's easy to forget life's realities here. But I have responsibilities now."

The Doctor took her hand gently. "I remember the cares you left behind to choose this. And I understand if your path has changed. But know that a place will always remain for you here, should you want it."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. More than ever, she wished things could be simple. But her head and heart were conflicted.

As the first stars emerged, the Doctor smiled softly. "No need to decide tonight. One more heavenly sunset won't hurt. The present is a gift..."

Charlotte returned his smile, resolving to live fully in this moment of peace. Tomorrow would come soon enough to face reality again. For now, adventure called, and with the Doctor, answers would keep.

Still, the Doctor felt a bit sad because he thought they could reconnect again. That's why he asked, in a serious tone.

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" he replied, while waiting for her answer, as he was slightly hopeful.

Charlotte heard the note of hope and sadness in his voice, and it tugged at her heart. She turned to meet his earnest gaze, seeing the longing there as plainly as he must see the conflict in her eyes.

For a moment she allowed herself to dream - of abandoning convention, of traveling the stars in the TARDIS with him forever. But reality was not so simple. With a sigh, she replied gently:

"You know I care for you dearly, my friend. These memories we share will stay with me always. But I have another life now, responsibilities I cannot walk away from. No matter how far my spirit longs to roam free as it once did."

She took his hand. "You must let me go, as I must. Our time together was a gift; I will cherish it forever. Please, don't make this parting harder than it must be."

Beneath her words lurked deeper feelings, left unsaid. They shone in her eyes as clearly as the galaxy rose behind her. Her heart was torn, but her choice was made. All he could do was accept it, as she must accept his nature in turn.

Charlotte smiled softly as a few tears sparkled in her eyes. "You, Doctor, were the most wonderful experience of my life. I will cherish our adventures together forever."

The Doctor gazed at her sorrowfully. "And you were everything. Your brief time on board meant more to me than you'll ever know."

He had seen so many planets, met countless people over centuries of traveling. But with Charlotte it had been different - she had made such a profound impact on him in that short time. Her wit, courage and spirit had reignited something in his soul that he thought long gone.

"I'm used to companions coming and going," he continued. "But losing you - knowing I won't be part of your life again - that's the hardest thing. Please know that despite the years I'll live on, your memory will stay with me, keeping me smiling through even my darkest of days."

Charlotte froze at his heartfelt words, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, hesitantly, she asked the question that's been haunting her ever since their reunion, "Doctor...were you in love with me this whole time?"

The Doctor met her gaze, unflinching in his sincerity. There was no use denying it anymore. "Yes," he said simply. "From the moment I saw your true self in the Ancient Egypt, inquisitive yet brave, you stole a part of my hearts that I never thought I could love again. Being with you was the greatest of gifts."

He reached out to gently cup her cheek. "I understand if that changes things. My feelings don't diminish or excuse the choice that is yours alone to make. All I can do is lay my heart bare, as you so deserve after gracing me with your light in my lonely life."

A sad smile crossed his lips. "I vow no matter your reply, our friendship will remain. And should you ever need me, for any reason, the TARDIS doors will open as they always have."

The TARDIS landed outside Charlotte's home with its familiar groan. She turned to the Doctor with eyes filled with tears, now freely falling down her cheeks.

"I never wanted to hurt you, my dear friend," she said softly. "Knowing your heart now only makes this harder."

The Doctor brushed away her tears with a gentle thumb. "Do not fret for me. I lived many years alone and will continue thus, if that is your desire. All that matters is your happiness."

She leaned into his caress, closing her eyes. There were so many things left unsaid between them. But she had made her choice, for better or worse, and could not go back now.

Taking a shaky breath, Charlotte stepped back. "Farewell, Doctor. Wherever the universe may lead you, carry a piece of my heart with you, as you'll always have a place in mine."

He nodded, smiling tenderly through his own sorrow. "Until the stars go dark, Charlotte. You splendid, remarkable girl - go and live your life to the fullest. I love you."

One last lingering touch of her fingers to his cheek, then she turned and walked away through the TARDIS doors without looking back. The Doctor watched her go, hearts fit to break, before reluctantly piloting away into the vortex once more. Though apart, their bond would endure across time itself.

well, hopefully you liked it! I'm still new to the doctor who fandom, so I hope I could portay the doctor correctly 🚶🏻‍♂️

@missstrawbs2001 @jackiequick @blueboirick @mallowbee4 @meiramel

#oc post #oc rp #oc rpg #doctor who #doctor who x oc #doctor who oc #the tenth doctor x oc #doctor who rp

[lemmetreatya]

I love all your writing and I really love the way you write ererei. I was curious, what type of relationship do you think Karina Braun and Eren would have. Cuz I once saw a tweet that said the best punishment for Karina Braun would be having Eren as a son in law 💀 I have to know your thoughts on this 😂

OMG!! thankies!! 💙❤️ I love writing ererei! Theres just something about two broken men finding each other and making it work that has a place in my heart tbh! And I really do think Eren would be Karina’s worst type of punishment 😭💖 She’d absolutely hate him but being the passive woman she is, would ‘tolerate’ him just for Reiner’s sake

content: bimbo!reiner, slight manipulative!eren, mlm relationship, kinda cracky 😭😭

for starters, eren would butt into every conversation uninvited 😭 would intentionally be crude enough to remind karina that he is in fact in sexual relations with her son!!! doesn’t fail to add that reiner occasionally receives either and karina has to physically remove herself from the room/conversation to stay sane sskdk

“reiner, you’ve got to be eating properly. you cant just have a plate full of meat and call it a meal! i dont care about no gym diet, just eat properly.”

karina eyes reiner’s fixed plate with a face of concern. the blonde man only has time to look down at his plate with a pout before hes being spoken for. eren is quick to pop his head around reiner’s build to watch karina in her two eyes.

“don’t worry about how he’s eating. i make sure he eats well enough at home.”

and karina absolutely hates how shes being spoken to because its almost as if eren is indirecting, insulting, her ways.

“im his mother and have been feeding him for a fine majority of his life.” karina gestures to her son’s tall and buff build. “don’t i have a right to be concerned that he’s suddenly not eating balanced meals!?”

reiner can only mutter a soft ‘ma…’ in embarrassment because he’s not sure that her exposing that he’s never fixed his own plate a day in his life is not looking good on him right now. either way, eren doesn’t care. his face scrunches up as he looks karina up and down, ready to stand up to her.

“okay and im his partner who lives with him, cooks most of his meals and usually has him hands on knees begging for me to go deeper. and look at him — fine!”

reiner now looks to eren with a gasp, a scandalous ‘r-ren?!’ leaving his mouth as karina can only look on in shock. clearly eren isn’t too phased and only pushes reiner along so that he can go and eat his food.

“in this instance, i dont think your parent status matters so keep it to yourself next time.” he mutters in karina’s direction, and the woman is simply too stunned to speak.

despite karina not necessarily approving of their relationship, she still very much loves reiner so she tries to be as understanding with him as she can but its every hard with someone like eren who actively wants to make her life difficult. very much lacks manners for his elders

“oh you two look very dashing in those! stand together so i can take a picture!”

karina smiles wryly, her phone already raised in hand as she moves her other one to signal them to stand closer. both reiner and eren move on her demand, fixing their paper crowns so that they look presentable.

“okay lets take one!” she quips

just as shes about to take the photo, the boys start shuffling around

“reiner, grab my ass for this.”

“like this?”

“yeah, that’s it, like that.”

karina moves her head pass her phone screen to glance over at the two. with a frown, she watches as eren has his body pressed against reiner, but makes sure that his hand was taking a handfull of his ass which was now the main focus of the picture.

“uh… lets do a family friendly one first! we can… do a funny one afterwards.” she tries.

giving her a raised eyebrow, eren pretends to be taken aback.

“you think this isn’t family friendly, karina? you think its funny?”

the woman stutters for words. she doesn’t want to be crude but this isn’t exactly a picture she’d be okay sharing with her sister and niece.

“i…well-“ she tries.

“coz i dunno. if i didn’t know any better, id think you were kinda coming across a bit homopho—“

“his hand is literally on your ass! rei— reiner get your hands off his ass!” she practically squeals and reiner fumbles around due to no longer being able to play a passive role.

“o-okay.”

he doesn’t even know where to put his hands and so karina guides for him.

“just…bring it higher if you must, god.” she whispered the last word in absolute agony.

most of all, eren is the best punishment for karina as a son-in-law because shes no longer the most avid voice in reiners life. with other relationships, he would have still listened to his mother’s advice over his partners but since eren came along, she practically has no more influence with reiner’s choices

“i don’t think you should take it on. especially since you’ve got a lot on your plate recently and you’re still adjusting to your new role at work. maybe another time.”

reiner hums as he looks over the volunteer chick feeder opportunity that flashes on his phone. he’s always wanted to feed small baby animals, he thinks, but he just didn’t have the time to do that. either way the offer just looks so tantalising.

“but theyre so cute…” he pouts, his eyes sparkly as he looks onto the shutterstock photos of yellow baby chicks being fed.

“i know they are, darling.” karina stresses. “but you just dont have the capacity to do that right now.”

she wasnt even focusing on the conversation. she didnt think she’d have to say or do anything drastic for reiner not to take the job on. it seemed pretty self explanatory.

“yeah…yeah you’ve got a point.” he mumbles.

this however also seemed to be the wrong time that eren happened to walk in and glance over his lover’s shoulder. within three seconds, he’s gasping with a soft sigh.

“omg is that a chick feeding opportunity?!”

reiner enthusiastically nods as he looks back at eren with wide eyes.

“yeah! it just opened up 12 miles away and i was wondering if i should give it a go…”

karina looks over at reiner with a credulous look.

“12 miles?! for a voluntary job? reiner, i dont think thats—“

“reiner this has literally been your dream for the past 2 weeks. fuck work, you never know if tomorrows your last day. go for it!” eren butts in.

karina looks between the two with a face of confusion because this had to be a joke they were playing on her, surely. yet, as reiner looked back down at his phone and the badly designed flashing ad looked back at him, he couldn’t help but press apply button.

“yeah. yeah you’re right eren. i never know what tomorrow might bring.” he coos, and karina cant help but cover her face in agony.

where on earth did she go wrong?!

#reiner braun #eren jeager #reiner x eren #ererei #attack on titan eren #attack on titan reiner #attack on titan

[mephystophyles]

"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm 139:13) "Yet you are he who took me from the womb; you made me trust you at my mother's breasts. On you was I cast from my birth, and from my mother's womb you have been my God." (Psalm 22:9-10) "Did not he who made me in the womb make him? And did not one fashion us in the womb?" (Job 31:15) Also, when Mary visits her pregnant cousin Elizabeth, she says "For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy." (Luke 1:44) These are only a few examples. In Genesis, when God made ADAM, the first man, *his* life began with the breath of God. After that, we see a great deal of examples in the Bible that either outright say or heavily imply that God forms us and knows us IN OUR MOTHER'S WOMB. And just as a disclaimer, I am not disagreeing with your stance on abortion - I am saying your arguments that use Scripture need strengthening, because what you are currently saying is not true. Wishing you a good day, and God bless.

Okay, but literally none of those are about abortion. They're mentioning that babies are developed in the womb.

Exodus 21:22 is, however, a part of the Bible that actually does mention the fetus.

“When people who are fighting injure a pregnant woman so that there is a miscarriage, and yet no further harm follows, the one responsible shall be fined what the woman’s husband demands, paying as much as the judges determine. If any harm follows, then you shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.”

This is fascinating because it outlines specific punishments for specific crimes. If a pregnant person is hurt in a struggle and then has a miscarriage, the penalty is a fine, a mere financial payment. But, if there is further harm, likely meaning the person has long-term and serious injuries or even dies, then the culprit could be killed.

Granted, the story has somewhat limited application to the current abortion debate since it deals with accidental and not willful pregnancy termination. Even so, the distinction made between the pregnant person and the fetus is important. The pregnant individual is valued as a person under the convenant; the fetus is valued as property. Its status is certainly inferior to that of the pregnant person.

This passage gives no support to the parity argument that gives equal religious and moral worth to the pregnant person and fetus.

In other words, the life and well-being of the pregnant person, is of much greater significance than those of their unborn child.

Furthermore, an excerpt from Numbers 5:11-31 actually mentions a ritual involving "bitter water" that will induce a miscarriage. This ritual, by the way, was conducted by a priest:

"He shall make the woman drink the bitter water... The priest is to take from her hands the grain offering, wave it before the Lord and bring it to the altar. The priest is then to take a handful of the grain offering as an offering and burn it on the altar; after that, he is to have the woman drink the water. When she is made to drink the water... it will enter her, her abdomen will swell and her womb will miscarry"

In terms of the Bible, other than the bit about life beginning at first breath, that is about it. We can dig away at some other scriptural references to try to justify various positions on this issue, but they’re all somewhat tenuous and none of them make an ironclad argument. It’s not that the Bible demands abortion rights, more that it simply doesn’t have anything pertinent to say about the subject.

Of course, if opponents of abortion were genuinely to live by the commandment that we must never kill, they would oppose wars, the military, the death penalty, and policies that lead directly to poverty, hunger, ill health, and death. To the contrary, the anti-abortion movement has become increasingly politically conservative over the years—it was, for example, one of the bulwarks of the Donald Trump presidency—and tends to be solidly behind the military and an aggressive foreign policy. It’s usually supportive of the death penalty as well. Contradiction and inconsistency. Abortion isn’t murder, murder is murder. Abortion isn’t a holocaust, the Holocaust was a holocaust.

A person's right to choose is a person's right to choose, and it’s downright unbiblical to try to twist scripture to argue against it.

#abortion #civil rights #roe vs wade #roe v wade #pregnancy #Bible #Christianity #christian faith #politics #political activism #womens rights #trans rights #discourse #social justice #actually #critical thinking #pro choice #pro life #scripture #praise the lord #jesus christ #anti choice #biblical #god #religion #religious doctrine

[starfall-spirit]

Renaissance Masterlist

Words: 1035

Summary: A marriage façade leads to a destination honeymoon in Florence, Italy. Vacationing in the Tuscan hills shows Feyre there's more to Rhys than meets the eye—maybe even a man she could come to love.

Chapter 2: Wine and Dine

“You look like a nervous wreck.”

Feyre sighed, refraining from telling him she had spent more than an hour getting free of paint and sweat—generally trying to look like a suitable date. As best she could, living out of someone else’s apartment.

There had indeed been an unexpected visitor at her apartment complex. A photo Rhysand’s eyes there sent back revealed Tamlin staked out just across the street. Were she the type to be careless about open curtains, he could have been watching her dine until he lost his patience and came knocking.

So, she had taken Rhys’ offer, accepting his guest room and taking the time their friends were elsewhere to get to know him well enough to survive this lunch. And she did. Whether his family withheld their nosiness today or thoroughly grilled her, she had learned all Rhys had deemed important for his wife to know.

Still, she was nervous.

Though he was right to comment on it, her displeasure must have been apparent, because he was quick to amend his statement. “You look lovely. Now you just need a bit of confidence. We’ve got a story, now it’s a matter of selling it to two hopeless romantics and my father.”

“I’ll be fine.” He nodded, leading her out to his car and opening the passenger door. “What should I be most worried about?”

“My mother and sister will adore you as a person. My father…” His father wanted Rhys to do better than a no name artist. Fake or not, that stung a bit. “Don’t let him get under your skin, darling.”

Feyre stilled both at the tone of his voice and his proximity, having stooped down to eye level. She couldn’t help but mark the new note to the endearment now. She supposed things should sound more advanced than flirting, if she was to play his wife.

“I won’t.”

Nodding, he shut the door, running around the front of the car and sliding in to turn the ignition. The downtown restaurant the Stern family had selected was small, classy, and far from the fast food places she and Mor frequented during and after college. Rhys cut the ignition. “Shall we?”

Joining him in front of the car, Feyre took his offered arm and let him escort her through the doors and up to the hostess. “Good afternoon,” a young woman greeted us. “Your name?”

“Stern. Josiah Stern.” The girl’s brows rose slightly and she rushed us through. “My father has been a regular customer for years,” Rhys murmured, hunched down so his mouth was at her ear. “He can be… demanding, as I’ve expressed.”

“He owns the place, doesn’t he?”

Rhys smirked, usurprised I’d seen the reality. “And expects his staff to be punctual and flawless.”

“Hosting us here?”

“Another display of control, of course. If you think I preen, Feyre, just you wait.”

~~~~~

Rhys watched Feyre taking in the fine details of the restaurant with that keen artist’s eye. Though she may be a painter before all else, the intrigue he saw in his date was understandable. Small as the place may be, it was extravagant in design. Balancing sleek and modern glass and steel with a classy layout brought a unique appeal to the place.

Just as he saw Feyre part her lips to remark on something, a squeal rather improper to the upscale setting was heard. The hostess had hardly cleared the space in front of them when his sister came barreling towards them. Rather than throwing herself into his arms as usual–since they saw each other so rarely–Avyanna’s focus was entirely on his alleged bride.

“You must be Feyre,” she said, the excitement in her voice hardly tempered by her respectful volume. An attempt to lessen their father’s scolding, no doubt. “My God, you’re even more gorgeous in person. How did my brother manage that?”

Rhys scoffed, watching Feyre’s lips pinch as she surprised a laugh, its mirth lingering in her eyes as she glanced in his direction.

“Avyanna,” their father finally barked, jaw tight. “You’ve made enough of a scene, haven’t you?”

Rhys watched the teen reign in a huff, dropping his hold on Feyre as Avy pulled her to the chair to her right, leaving the one to Feyre’s other side open to him. She smiled in thanks as he pulled the chair. The basic courtesies of a gentleman were one of the few lessons of his youth Rhys did value.

Perhaps because his mother had been the one to take the time to show him how to treat a woman.

He let his family note the featherlight brush of his thumb at the back of Feyre’s neck before he took his own seat, squeezing his mother’s hand softly. “Feyre, my sister, Avyanna. My parents, Victorie and Josiah.”

“If we’re finished with that spectacle.” Feyre stiffened slightly, perhaps only now realizing how serious Rhys had been when it came to his no nonsense raising. It was a blessing Avy was flying the nest with her high school graduation around the corner. Eight years ago he had done the same thing, regretting only the isolation from his mother and sister. “Feyre,” his father purred, "tell us about yourself.”

And she did, accepting his not-so-subtle challenge to meet or surpass the bar set. And she tried, chin high and rarely flagging as she told her story from her father’s highs and lows in the world of trade to her breaking from her family to forge her path as an artist.

“Mor and I have been friends since freshman year and she thought Rhys and I would hit things off from the start. It took a little work to woo me, but here we are.

“In hindsight, not projecting our relationship early on was a mistake, but…”

“There isn’t much to be done about that,” Rhys finished, trying his best to look apologetic.

“We can always plan a ceremony of our own in a few months' time,” his mother offered.

“Well, I—”

He squeezed Feyre’s thigh and she paused. “That sounds lovely, Mom.”

As they sat around the table, partaking in the interrogation and gossip, he could help but smile. This might not be so difficult after all.

Now he just had to win Feyre’s heart for real.

~~~~~

Tag List: Comment/ask/message me if you’d like to be added or removed.

@faeriequeensuriel // @reverie-tales // @pandavelaris

#acotar #feysand #fanfiction #fake marriage #honeymoon #ao3 fic #event fic

[greyfrey3]

domesticity, pro heroes, bk & dk trying to remain anon and it does not go well, fluff 

There’s an unusual buzz in the grocery store tonight. 

Typically, any kind of energy this late is unheard of. Most people just slog through their daily chore, too exhausted by the odd hour to notice much other than the food items in front of them. Katsuki is one of those people, drowsy and fatigued. But he’s also a pro hero, highly attuned to subtle shifts in the environment around him. It’s why he can anticipate villain attacks sometimes without even looking. It’s why, right now, he’s dragged out of his half-awake stupor, suddenly perking up.

Something is amiss. It’s like a hum of energy in the air—he can sense it but can’t nail down its source. It takes him a few minutes more than normal to place it. That fact alone puts him on edge. But when he realizes what’s happening, he switches to downright irritated.

“Honey, honey! You’ll never believe this!” A woman passes by him, whispering urgently to her boyfriend. “Hero Deku is shopping in the next aisle!”

“What? Really?? How do you know?”

“Yeah, how do you know?!” Katsuki demands, wheeling on them. His tone is far more annoyed than the other man’s, but not enough to scare the couple off.

“I saw his face!” she squeals, excitement making her eyes shine.

Katsuki slams the bag of rice noodles down into his basket, too loud for a sleepy grocery store. An aisle over, he hears a familiar voice squeak.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” she gushes. “He’s got those freckles and dimples and everything!”

Katsuki snaps, “What a dumbass!” and slams another bag on top of the first.

The couple blinks at him before slowly turning towards each other, choosing to ignore him simultaneously. They continue their hushed, lively exchange without Katsuki. But that’s fine by him, he’s got an idiot to strangle.

When he rounds the corner of the next aisle, his husband practically runs into him.

Crimson eyes glare at him, suspicious. “You were seen.”

Izuku goes to scratch his cheek but is blocked by his mask. He drops his hand to his side, clearing his throat nervously. “I was? That’s so strange, Kacchan!”

“I told you to keep a low profile.”

“I am!” The Number One hero insists. “Look! My disguise is still in place.”

He adjusts his ballcap, pulling it lower over his bright eyes. It partially covers his vibrant green hair too. Overall, it doesn’t do much to hide that unique color… except now that Izuku has cemented his place in the Top Ten, many people have dyed their own hair to imitate him. Everywhere Katsuki turns these days, he sees green. That alone shouldn’t be enough to give him away.

Katsuki narrows his eyes, noting the sweat beading on Izuku’s brow. They got off shift a while ago, and it’s not that hot out. He’s also shifting his gaze away from him, refusing to meet his eyes. If he was wearing a sign right now, it would flash ‘GUILTY.’

But, of what?

“Izuku—“ As he starts to interrogate him, the couple from before pops around the opposite corner, watching them curiously. He doesn’t want to attract their attention, so he waves Izuku away. “—go get the fish. I’ll meet you there.”

He waits until Izuku is around the corner before addressing the couple. “Not him,” he declares, watching their faces fall before he goes back to his own shopping.

Katsuki thought that would be the end of it. But then, a few minutes later, he hears another remark. This time it’s a worker, muttering under their breath. When he checks on Izuku, his husband shrugs sheepishly, but admits nothing.

When Katsuki’s picking out vegetables, he overhears an older lady chattering excitedly into her phone about Hero Deku. But the other hero just shakes his head in confusion when Katsuki corners him in the dairy section.

“They’re recognizing you somehow!” Katsuki hisses. He’s not opposed to fan interactions, but the hour is late and they’re both bone weary with exhaustion. All he wants to do right now is go home, slap together some stir-fry and call it a day.

…And his silly husband better not screw up their plans.

“I’m being careful!” Izuku squeaks. They’re close enough that Katsuki doesn’t miss the extra open and close of his jaw. Like he’s chewing something.

“What are you eating?”

“N-nothing!” Izuku turns bright red, backing up quickly. “I’m gonna go grab the frozen peas!”

He manages to stumble over a box of packaged chips, sending a few scattering down the aisle.

“Can you get those, Kacchan?!” he yelps, directing his request over his shoulder as he practically sprints away from Katsuki.

…this guy. Katsuki pinches his brow, managing to tamp down his knee jerk reaction to throw the nearest hard object at him. He could knock him down and interrogate him, forcing out whatever he’s trying to hide. But that will definitely draw unwanted attention. Besides, he can always just follow the dweeb.

He takes his time cleaning up and meandering to where Izuku is supposed to be, giving his idiot husband plenty of time to assume that he’s safe. Along the way, he eavesdrops on two more customers, both raving about spotting the green-haired hero.

He does so himself minutes later when he’s tailing him through the frozen food section.

“Sir, would you like a sample?” A blue-aproned worker asks him. She’s standing at the end of the aisle, behind her tray of warmed up pastries.

Katsuki watches in shock—a feeling that quickly morphs into outrage—as Izuku glances around, making sure the coast is clear. Then he lowers his mask and grins. “Sure!”

That idiot!!! is all Katsuki can think as he stomps angrily towards him. He’s absolutely going to throttle him!

“Ah! Kacchan!” Izuku yelps when he spots him. And then in a move that makes Katsuki’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, he stuffs whatever he’s holding into his mouth in one bite.

Katsuki is on him in an instant, practically wrestling him in the middle of the store. “What are you eating?!”

“No’ fing!”

He has to squeeze Izuku’s jaw to force his mouth open, much like he does to their puppy waiting for them at home. When he does, he instantly recognizes the sight and smell of crispy puff pastry and seared meat.

“You’re eating a CORN DOG?!”

Izuku swallows quickly as Katsuki releases him from the headlock. Their fight is far from over as he straightens up, fixing watery green eyes on him. It’s a below the belt hit—Katsuki is weak to that expression, and Izuku knows it.

“Kacchan!” he whines. “It was just one corn dog. A sample. How could I say no?”

“It’s horrible for you!” Katsuki counters. “Loaded with preservatives and carbs that you don’t need!”

Izuku’s plump bottom lip quivers. What a cheap ploy. “You never let me eat any of my favorite stuff.”

Katsuki’s heart feels like it’s been stabbed when Izuku looks at him like that. It rivals something Smol Might (their mixed breed puppy) might pull after he makes a mess on the carpet.

“That’s because it’s all bad for you,” Katsuki counters. But he’s not telling the entire truth.

The real reason is because he didn’t make it for Izuku—someone else did. The kitchen is Katsuki’s kingdom, and he wears his crown with pride. He shops, preps, cooks and plates every scrap of food that goes into Izuku’s mouth. He relishes in it, enjoying every moment. And not just because he loves to cook.

It’s because he loves Izuku unconditionally, and because he wants to take care of him for the rest of their lives.

Lives that’ll go without corn dogs, thank you very much.

“Pretty please, Kacchan?” Izuku begs. Katsuki grabs his husband’s mask where it’s dangling under his chin.

“No,” Katsuki tells him, much softer than before. The dumbass really can toy with his heartstrings when he tries.

Katsuki presses their lips together in an apologetic kiss. When he backs away, he tugs Izuku’s mask sharply, elastic band snapping it back into place.

“Aww…”

“Go grab some beef. We have what we need at home. I’ll make my own version,” Katsuki orders succinctly, compromising. If Izuku wants to eat junk, he can eat Katsuki’s healthier version of it.

“Yay!” Practically skipping away, Izuku drops the sad act, happiness restored.

When Katsuki passes by the sample lady as he follows the love of his life, she asks him, “Was that…? And you’re…?”

In exchange for her silence, he autographs the box of corn dogs. The things he does for Izuku…



/end reposting some old drabbles

#bkdk #dkbk #bkdkbk #dkbkdk #fluff #okaeri 2022 #reposting old drabbles

[mythical-illustrator]

I am swooping in to ship Grace and Waxer, I can't explain - I just have a feeling.

Thots? 👀

Grace and Waxer.... 🤔

Grace (half twi'lek night sister turned Jedi healer) and Waxer( clone trooper of the 212)

Okay - so Grace would meet the Ghost crew when she would be assigned to the 212 for a temporary medical relief - mostly for Kenobi because he keeps getting kidnapped by scientists and has an aversion to medical.

She spends a lot of time training with Kenobi, sipping tea.

They learn she has a similar style of tactics as kenobi - using words and negotiations before violence.

Depends on when they meet up- but if she over hears waxer or Boil(cuz they're inseparable) call her a tail head - she's gonna have words with him and it won't be pretty.

But waxer would start talking about the little twi'lek girl he and his brother Boil adopted (adopted by more likely. He definitely Mando adopted her, that's his kid now) on Ryloth and it makes Grace smile.

She has a soft spot for children.

So they talk about her and how he exchanges letters with her and is trying to learn their language from kenobi (she has to break it to him she's from dothmir and doesn't know the twi'lek language)

She gives him pointers on little girls- head tail growth, etc and reveals she worked in the creche in the temple before the war.

She starts giving him and boils subtle tips on how to prank kenobi when the mood strikes them.

Eventually they move away from talking about kids and cadets and talking about other things. Planets they've been to, cultures they'd love to see again and study. Brothers.

I think Waxer would make the first move towards a relationship but try to be subtle about it.

Hey I found this cool planet/rock/object in this planet and thought of you. I checked it isn't dangerous.

Grace just now has a collection of strange odds and ends from him and she cherishes every single one.

Boil rolls his eyes a lot but will be his brother's wing man for the Jedi.

"its doomed brother of mine, you clone, she Jedi! Alright she can fight good and is really pretty, no it's fine I'll help. If Skywalker can make this work you can't fudge it up to bad."

Boil starts looking up how to woo a Jedi. Cody starts side-eyeing him in confusion. He has to awkwardly explain.

He gives up and tells waxer to keep giving her shiny rocks.

Waxer makes the mistake of telling Numa- and then sending her a picture and now Numa- is also trying to be a wing man and demanding to meet her.

I'm not sure how but definitely Grace gets permission to take waxer, and boil to Ryloth to visit Numa- and Numa- and waxer full sail parent trap these two.

Something something, she demand Grace stay with them for the visit. Then cuddles with her (waxer is already smitten and now this woman is cuddling his baby, he's done , ship him home ) and then she stows away on the ship.

Anyway, she draws them kissing and gives it to them just before she leaves and Grace blushes so hard her skin changes and then waxer smooth af

"well if the kids wants it" then just WW2 shoulder dip kiss her right there in the tarmac.

Numa- and boil high five.

Hope that tickled your fancy. Thanks for the ask.

This came out so much softer than I thought it would. 💜

Tag list

@anxiouspineapple99 @dangraccoon @clonemedickix @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @secondaryrealm

#star wars #the clone wars #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #clone trooper waxer x oc #clones and jedi #jedi oc #shipping head cannons #ask game

[ivansergeyevichturgenev]

reasons i'm considering leaving my job before i graduate, all taken from today:

(under a readmore bc i'm being driven borderline insane and the fact i took the time to write this out probably makes me crazy)

- a table that didn't understand why their reservation of 4 didn't guarantee them a table for 5. their children were entitled brats and shoved their menus in my face. i asked them multiple times if they need x, y, or z. they told me no to my face but would wave me down screaming ma'am!!! ma'am!!!! we need this NOW!!! like five times. and btw, they weren't things i could have anticipated. how was i supposed you needed a tonic with your dinner? finally, they pay, but the woman claims i never gave her a receipt to sign. i thought that was weird because it automatically prints and i would never not give someone their receipt? anyways i reprint it for her and she says in the most condescending tone, "it's okay. we all make mistakes" guess where the receipts were? in the fucking floor. at her feet.

- had a 6 top. they order apps immediately but say they need time on drinks. i get their drinks. they order a wine to come with dinner. i was going to bring it a little before but they said NO. it was to come with DINNER. not at all before. okay, got it. you're not getting your wine until dinner is on the table 🙄 like i get it but also this is not that type of restaurant i do not have a super small section to give completely perfect service. actually, we're incredibly short staffed tonight bc one server didn't feel well and all of the high schoolers forgot to ask off and all called out before their shifts. so my apologies. a couple at the table ordered a salad to share before dinner. they each got steaks. now, dear reader, i need you to know something: work in this industry long enough and you will realize that people will go off their fucking rocker to suggest that soup and salad can come any time than before their meal. salads and soups are starters unless otherwise specified. i heard them say we'll get a salad to start. anyways, salad comes out, i notice they aren't touching it. i ask what's wrong. they say it was supposed to come with dinner. who the fuck is ordering a salad with their dinner, unless they ordered several apps or a side. they ordered full meals. i gave people round two of silver because i could tell they wanted new silver which was fine. that included soup spoons for the man who did actually order soup for dinner and his wife because he said they were sharing. well dinner comes and he doesn't understand why everyone doesn't have a spoon to share his soup. what? WHAT? oh also, i did their bottle service right after their food arrived. same man, (not even the one who ordered it), demanded to know where it was. Um, coming. since you said you wouldn't have it until food was on the table? the one actually egregious thing i did to these people was i broke a glass on their table. never in my life had i done this before. i profusely apologized, cleaned it up, and comped some of their desserts. upon leaving, this man finds my boss to tell me how awful i was from the salad to the wine to the fact their empty wine glasses were on the table too long for his liking? but they still had a little bit of wine in the bottle. i did take them once i realized okay they were done but like? they just seemed very difficult. and i pride myself on giving each guest a great experience. but the glass breaking didn't even make it until his spiel about how awful i was. sorry i'm not a mind reader! sorry this isn't fine dining! nobody told you to spend over $500 at this restaurant where we wear jeans and t shirts! plus my bottle service was literally spotless.

- i totally have an ear infection that i can't do anything about until monday bc i do not have urgent care money. i am in pain and contemplated yelling this at the above people because the restaurant industry is a shitshow in this country and it only functions by not paying its waitstaff and not giving anyone benefits. feel free to explain insurance shit to me but i have never once been able to go to urgent care and not receive a $1000 bill so my ass won't be going! the people who serve you fine wine and good food often come into work sick and in pain because we can't fucking afford not to.

- what is even crazier is the fact that the other half of my tables wrote rave reviews about me, claiming i was a wonderful server. so i know i wasn't on my a game tonight bc i felt like shit, but it cannot all possibly be me.

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 3: Hairs Breadth from Death

Whumptober masterlist

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 792

Warnings: Mission gone wrong, uncertainty, saying goodbye, sad and ambigious ending

Summary: Jack had been waiting on you to return home from a short mission but a call from Ginger turns all hope into despair.

Gun to Temple | “Say Goodbye.” | Impaled

There is nothing more that Jack Daniels appreciates more than a good glass of whiskey (preferably from Stateman though he sometimes indulges in bottles imported from Islay), a fire roaring in his library and a good book in his lap. Warmth from the fire easing some of his aches while the drink warms him up from the inside. A true spot of heaven in the middle of Kentucky. 

The only thing missing is a fine companion by his side, but that will be remedied once your mission ends. Jack is a patient man, he can wait until then. And your mission is an easy one - low stakes - so you should be done in a few hours. Then he can have you in his arms again, basking in the nearness of someone he loves by his side.  

He takes a sip from the crystal tumbler before returning to a world unknown. A world of beasts and men and fearless warriors saving the world sounds right for tonight and it’ll make time go faster. Flipping a page, Jack allows himself to be swept deeper into the story. The fire clicks and crackles softly in the distance, casting the orange glow around the room but he hardly notices. 

Jack’s left his Statesman glasses on the side table, a habit of the past to keep them near his person at all times, but when they start vibrating gently he doesn’t pay any attention it at first, too absorbed in the novel. When the vibrating continues and grows more insistent, he turns his head quizzically. He’s not on call, why would his glasses indicate an incoming message? Curious, Jack places a mark on the page and picks up the glasses.

“Hello Ginger. Who do I owe the pleasure of your call tonight?” Jack drawls when the image of Ginger appears in front of him, the bluish tint around her holo flickering lightly. She is dressed sharply, not a single thing out of place. Except for her expression which seems displaced on her beautiful features. 

“I’m afraid I have bad news, Agent Whiskey.” Her tone is wobbly, matching the uneasiness in her eyes, and Jack is immediately on guard. Sitting up from his relaxed position, Jack’s eyes narrow and his gaze focuses on the dark-skinned woman who has saved his hide far too many times to count. In seconds, he’s gone from relaxed to alert. 

“Tell me, Ginger.” 

“It’s agent Gin. There’s been an…” She hesitates a moment, eyes flickering across multiple screens in the distance, reading something not visible for Jack. When her round eyes return to him, there’s a heavy sadness in her voice. “An accident.” 

The air is sucked out of Whiskey’s lungs, a sucker punch in the gut that takes it all out. He feels like doubling over, cradling his stomach as heavy set of anguish wreaks havoc inside. 

You are Agent Gin. 

The accident happened to you. 

He repeats his words in a growl, demanding more information, already moving away from the library and towards his wardrobe to dress. There is a sense in him that tells him to be in the headquarters as soon as possible. He throws the door to the master bedroom open, almost taking it off its hinges in his hurry. 

Ginger’s words become jumbled a little, her own emotions taking over, but she powers on, detailing what they know already. Multiple lacerations, possible internal damage, suspected brain injury after you had cracked your head in the battle. Gunshot wounds? Maybe, they don’t know yet. But what they do know is that the team has airlifted you and are en route to Stateman infirmary. It’s bad enough to warrant the operating team in full on stand by. 

“Alpha gel?” 

“Not good enough, too much wrong internally. Using it would interfere possibly with other injuries,” the denial is another punch in the gut and Jack stumbles over some of his boots. He stops frozen, his jeans still unbuttoned. This can’t mean what he thinks it means. 

“Are you calling me in to…” He swallows hard, his voice cracking and bleeding like you must be in that medicopter right now. No, he can’t think of you bleeding out now, he must remain calm. He closes his eyes, banishing the memories of a call similar to this all those years ago. He can’t fall apart now. 

“...say goodbye?” Jack finally manages, his voice tight like a string on a guitar that’s been tuned far too close to snapping. His hand shakes violently as he drops to the ground and dry sobs break free from his lungs, the sound of an animal wounded echoing in the wardrobe, when Ginger lowers her head and whispers the final blow. 

“I’m sorry Agent Whiskey. I am.” 

#Mwhumptober #whumptober 2022 #nro.3 #say goodbye #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x reader #kingsman fanfiction #agent whiskey #whump #ambigious ending #hopeamarsu #whumptober2022

[anarcho-occultism]

Egregiupsaltes

“EGREGIUPSALTES-He is an infernal Duke of immense power and appeareth akin to a man with red skin and horns extending from his ears and chin. He causeth all who surround the summoner to engage in song, dance and other such merriment for as long as the summoner can bindeth him and provides inspiration and talent in the arts of musical composition and stage performance. He is capable of pushing men to reveal hidden secrets that they would otherwise keep concealed. He governeth 20 Legions of Spirits and is summoned by a seal imprinted upon a talisman. Knoweth this should ye summon him: Egregiupsaltes, while oft of good humor, demandeth burnt offerings. If they are not received any personages around thee may be compelled to dance until they burn. Egregiupsaltes also doth from time to time demand a bride, whom he shalt take to his realm if he is given one.”

-Excerpt from De Vermis Mysteriis by Ludvig Prinn, 1269

“NEW YORK, NEW YORK-NYPD sources have confirmed that popular nightclub singer Reno Sweeney was found dead in her apartment this morning at the age of 42. Sweeney, a former evangelist and ex-fiancé of British Lord Evelyn Oakleigh, was found burned to death. The circumstances of Sweeney’s death closely mirror the circumstances surrounding the demise of champion gambler Sky Masterston two years ago, though the cause of Masterton’s death likewise remains a mystery. Sweeney’s funeral is scheduled for next Sunday.”

-Obituary for Reno Sweeney found in the Daily Bugle, April 17th, 1939

“Yes folks, you’ve got trouble! Right here in River City! And that trouble is Satanism! I have found proof—definitive proof—that members of this town have been consorting with dark forces! I want to assure you fine folks that I will work tirelessly to uncover who is responsible for unleashing dark forces on your fair community, so long as I draw breath!”

-Excerpt from a sermon by Reverend Elmer Gantry, 1921

“Blue Rose Case #046-Localized Musical Phenomenon. Seem to manifest in close proximity to teenaged populations (see Rydell High School and Jets-Sharks incidents files). Potential ties to the music of Conrad Birdie under investigation but remain unconfirmed. Known impact on Agent Everett Scott in course of 1959 investigation into alien phenomena. Dr. Scott’s opinion is that aliens in question may venerate a particular infernal entity possessing the ability to create this.”

-Excerpt from a briefing memo sent by UIU Agent Kent Mansley to FBI Director J. Henry Lux, 1961

“The immolation of the gigantic Triffid responsible for terrorizing New York is still under active investigation by authorities. As of this time, police and federal officials remain uncertain as to how it was that the entity formerly known as Audrey II met its demise. Initial rumors that the Justice League was responsible for doing so have been debunked.

Speaking of which, as the Triffid invasion seems to be cast into memory alongside the Mollusc, Kanamit and Furon attacks, we are continuing our efforts to encourage people to help people find missing loved ones. If you are in the Baltimore area and see this woman—Penny Lou Pingleton—please contact the number you see before you…”

-Broadcast by Howard Beale on UBS Evening News, March 16, 1962

“My father’s papers have concealed within them some most foul and infernal documents. I have chosen to destroy them rather than let future generations be forced to confront his mistakes. The ring he had given Anna…was that a token of affection or a curse he sought to pass off? Either way I have ordered it buried in a remote part of Indochina. Hopefully it stays buried.”

-Excerpt from the diary of Thai King Chulalongkorn, written in December of 1868

“No, please, I can get you more sacrifices! I was able to give you a busload before, remember? NOOOO!! AGGGH!”

-Last words of Cory Radison, 2011

“SCP-7172 is not solely responsible for localized musical phenomena. It is estimated that at least 40% of LMPs occur due to the radiation of dimensional energies from the Land of Oz in areas where the boundaries between worlds wear thin for instance. However, SCP-7172 is responsible for a very high number of instances of LMPs including documented instances in:

-Albuquerque, New Mexico, centered on East High School. No casualties documented.

-Salt Lake City, Utah-Centered on the Latter-Day Saints Church Missionary Training Center, effects followed several elders on missions to Uganda, Japan and Norway. 3 casualties documented (2 in Norway, 1 in Japan)

-Cladwell, New Mexico-Effects were felt by the entirety of town. Notably SCP-7172’s impacts were indirectly responsible for the Water Riots of 2011 and the subsequent destruction of the town. Direct casualties: 6 Indirect Casualties: 732.”

-Excerpt from SCP-7172’s file, declassified 2038

“Hehehe, Ol’ Jack hasn’t got anything on me. My sweet muse, my sweet aide, he accepts my blood offerings as good as the fire. And he helps me stay clear of Mr. Noose—more’n he did for Mr. Todd, eh?

Warmest regards,

Mack the Knife.”

-Letter from Mack the Knife to London Police, sent 1890

🎵 Assassins, kitties, prophets—I’ve got range

I made Romans indulge in styles quite strange.

Even if they don’t know all the arts,

Everyone has a song in their hearts.

Theatre troupes, AIDs patients, naval ships,

Revolutionaries, newsboys, even SQUIPS.

I strip away every shred of their doubt

Take that energy, and let it all out. 🎵

#buffy the vampire slayer #once more with feeling #musical theater #musicals #mega crossover #league of extraordinary gentlemen