#vol. dampening the noise

[comfort-questing]

Now that you’re caught up on Vol 7 *looks at menu* Winter fainting from a high fever (preferably in Ironwood’s office) with Qrow taking care of her. Wholesome, soft and *just* a dash of angst (aka the whole damn bottle of angst). That’ll be all, thank you :3

(caught me on a quiet day! here’s part 1... 2 should be along tomorrow. - crow)

If it had been anyone else, she would have said they were coming down with something, first thing that morning. But it wasn’t; it was her, Winter Schnee, the General’s right hand, who had far too much to do to spend time being sick. Especially now that her little sister was in Atlas again training with her team, and the Amity project was getting near its finish, and she had to be ready at any time in case the Maiden’s power needed to transfer to her and… Well. It was far too much to do.

So she put on an extra sweater under her jacket, to quell the chills shivering through her, and tucked a tissue in her pocket just in case her cough …it had started last night and she’d ignored it then, perhaps just too much talking? … just in case it allied itself with a sniffle later. The edge of a headache would be allowed an extra cup of coffee at breakfast and sort itself out with that concession.

Penny’s chatter that morning grated more than usual at first, because of the headache, which did not sort itself out. Winter resented this, faintly, insofar as she was able to. Morning training brought up a sweat on her, to her surprise and embarrassment; this sort of thing should by this time be easy. Penny hadn’t gotten that much stronger since yesterday.

But by the time General Ironwood required their presence for a visit to a machine factory, Penny’s voice had faded to a sort of background noise, almost a pleasant hum. Winter rubbed her aching head with the tips of her fingers as she stood in the lift, then shivered again. She had just enough time to stifle a cough before the doors slid open. 

“General.”

Penny was looking at her. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right, Penny. Thank you for your concern.”

“Concern?” Ironwood said, standing up from behind his desk. “Did something happen?” His normally brusque voice hadn’t softened, but then, the piles of papers on the desk explained the grim mood.

“Not at all, sir.”

“Miss Schnee has coughed at least twelve times since I joined her this morning,” said Penny, a touch reproachfully. “But she keeps saying she’s all right.”

Winter straightened up further, ignoring the sudden cramping pain that ran down her back at the motion. Her headache seemed to be taking up residence in her spine and hips now. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Excellent.” Ironwood brushed a gloved hand through the front of his hair, leaving a few strands sticking up, and gave a withering glare towards the clock display on the desk. “We’re having to parade around the Camber Metalworks plant today for a few hours, so there’s no rest for any of us yet.”

No rest. There you had it; no rest. Winter swallowed hard, subduing the urge to cough again because Penny was still watching her, and turned to follow Ironwood down the hallway and towards the transport.

*

Winter remembered the beginning of the Camber Metalworks tour, anyway - the vast facade of the factory building, the clatter of machinery as they stepped inside, the respectful voices of the workers as they greeted General Ironwood. But the further into the long hallways she walked, the less clear everything seemed to be: as if it were beyond a curtain, or a window. And it was so cold - why was it so cold? Surely nobody could work in such a place. Of course Penny didn’t notice, and the General would never show he was uncomfortable, so Winter gritted her teeth and clenched her muscles against the shivers of chill. There was a metallic taste in the air, too, which must have been what made her cough. At least it was loud enough inside the room that nobody could hear her.

She permitted herself to close her eyes when they reached the transport again at last, because the lids felt so heavy. All of her felt heavy, her achy bones weighing her down. Tired - she must be tired, that was it; she would be sure to sleep early tonight...

Penny was poking at her. “Miss Schnee! Wake up!”

“What do you mean? I wasn’t - “ And then she noticed the transport had stilled again; they were back at headquarters. Her mouth was dusty dry and her tongue sticky as she licked her lips to dampen them. She raised her head, balanced against the throbbing in her skull, and put both hands on the bench to help herself stand up. “Thank you,” she said, and coughed. “I’m quite awake.”

That was a gross exaggeration, but she wasn’t going back on it.

Lunchtime followed, or rather something that passed for lunchtime, as she stood behind Ironwood’s desk while he filed papers and ate a sandwich when he remembered it was there; Winter wasn’t hungry anyway. Then a delegation from a citizens’ interest group in Mantle, which she tried to listen in on as she knew she should - though she couldn’t follow the thread of the discussion in the least. The humming in her ears was louder now in every moment of silence.

Was every heating unit going bad that day? Winter shuddered again, a full-body shiver that made her achy head spin.

Reports. A report from one of the military commanders... a report from one of the engineers working on some new model of armor or other, or at least Winter guessed that was the purpose; she’d completely missed the introduction. Before she managed to figure it out, they were saying farewell and leaving the room; Winter took the moment to let out a discreet (she hoped) cough into the elbow of her jacket. Moving her head made her dizzy again, and she fumbled one hand out for the wall to steady herself.

And then the doors slid shut behind ... Winter blinked, forcing her tired eyes to focus... oh, not that one.

“Huntsman Branwen reporting on the last shipment of supplies to Amity, General.”

That was the last thing Winter heard, before the world twisted itself up around her and dropped her unceremoniously into a soft empty fog of unconsciousness.

(p1/2)

#whump #lady whump #whomp #rwby whump

[abigailtamayo]

Short Stories

Story 1: Daydream, Vol. 7

Fiona joined her boyfriend Michael in the living room at around 11:45 p.m. She’d finally finished and submitted her final paper for her gothic literature class online, just barely meeting the deadline. She was exhausted by then, wanting nothing more but to cuddle with Michael and play on the switch to de-stress.

Her and Michael played ten rounds of Mario Kart on their switch (should have been five but Michael threw a tantrum after losing three games in a row). Still, Fiona came out as the definitive winner having won six rounds against Michael.

While Michael washed the dishes she went ahead and got ready for bed. She downloaded the Mario Kart game on her phone while doing her skin care and got herself started in between steps. The game didn’t seem too bad so far but she could see where Michael’s complaints about the dodgy controls were coming from. She wondered if there was any way to fix the steering and drifting in the settings to give her more control. Luckily there was and she quickly did that.

“This map is so hard,” Fiona mutters. She’s been lying in bed, sitting upright against the pillows having played a few maps now. Michael eventually enters the room appearing tired but relatively content. She’s stuck on a map and was tilting her phone and trying to drift to pull ahead of her opponents.

Michael, understandingly, looked confused.

“That doesn’t actually help, you know,” Michael says pointedly. He begins to get ready for bed while watching Fiona flail around. It amuses him to the point of laughing while planting half of himself on her to see what place she’s in.

“I changed the settings so you steer by tilting your phone and you tap to drift. It’s loads easier for me now,” she tells him as she tilts her phone on a hard left turn. She accidentally elbows Michael’s cheek in the process. “Oh- shit– sorry,” she apologizes over each abrupt motion she makes.

Michael chuckles and pays no more mind to her jerking motions and continues to lay his head in her lap to watch her play. The tower fan is on, pointed directly on Fiona the way she likes it, and truthfully feels quite nice on his face. He never liked the white noise of the fan running in his sleep and his exposed feet tended to get the butt-end of their deal, but he let her have this one thing figuring it’s gotten her to stay around for this long.

Story 2: Walking Contradictions

Harry thinks he knows his wife Bambi well, after being together for nearly a decade. So, when she came into their living room one summer morning, her eyes suspiciously aglow for someone who had to go to the pharmacy to pick up his antidepressants, Harry knew that she was up to something. He could see the cog wheels in her mind turning as he met her eyes from across the room, and his questions were answered upon spotting the small skeleton doll she was holding. It appeared to be made mostly of tiny (he hopes are fake) bones and a barbie-size head. Only the head is missing a face, and had a head full of matted black hair. ..

“That’s creepy,” Harry makes a pinched expression as he looks at it up close, “isn’t it a bit too early for shops to be selling Halloween decorations?”

“It’s never too early for Halloween,” Bambi disagrees as she takes the doll from him, taking it to the fireplace to place it on the mantle.

-:-

The house begins to look like a haunted house well before October 31st.

Harry didn’t really bat an eye when Bambi continued bringing home small Halloween related pieces like ceramic jack-o-lantern models and a practical witch’s spell book, but he felt he needed to step in once he saw her carrying a familiar bust into their living room.

“You are not putting that in here,” Harry immediately takes the bust from her, maneuvering it away from her grabby hands as they reach for it.

The bust was from a shoot he did for his first year, special effects makeup class in university. He had to create a prosthetic of his face; a mask, essentially. It turned out a little wonky since Harry didn’t have the experience he has now, and he might have been high while working on it. He would have thrown it away if Bambi hadn’t wanted to have it, and now he’s strongly reconsidering his decision to keep it.

“Come on, you know how much I adore that thing. It’s art!” Bambi huffs as she tries for the bust with Harry’s face again, but he only holds it above his head where he knows she won’t be able to reach it. “Hey, careful with him!” She gasps, making the jump to grab the bust from Harry which she quickly runs and places on the coffee table.

“But, it clashes with my Michaelmas Daisies,” Harry huffs motioning to how the fleshy bust dampened the soft nature of his purple flowers.

-:-

On Halloween morning, Harry wakes up alone with his face pressed into Bambi’s pillow having rolled onto his right side at some point overnight. He can tell because he can smell her Cloud perfume on the pillow covers.

Harry wanders through the hallway, his socked feet sliding over the recently installed floor boards just for the sake of it, while he takes in the lingering scent of their new walls as well. He mindlessly admires his handiwork. He’s wrapped up in his lavender dressing gown as he makes his way downstairs where the temperature drops, and he wonders if the thermostat is being faulty again.

What he finds in the hallway leading towards the rest of the house is worse than a faulty air con. Among the corny Halloween decor, is the words ‘YOUR NEXT’ painted on the walls in thick fake blood (he hopes).  

“Babe?” Harry calls for his wife as he blinks at the mess on the wall.

“Yeah! I’m in the living room!”

“Come here a minute!” Harry says as he stares at the wall.

The pitter patter of her feet follows his request and soon Bambi meets Harry in the hallway, her hands still covered in the fake blood she’d smeared on their newly painted walls. She’s still carrying a plastic Tupperware container of the fake blood with her.

“Morning baby,” She greets him nonchalantly as she looks at him for his reaction to her work on the walls. “What do you think?”

“You used the wrong ‘you’re’,” Harry sighs as he takes the Tupperware container from her and dips three of his fingers in it. He begins to fix her mistake, adding the apostrophe between the ‘U’ and ‘R’ and an ‘E’ at the end.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize. I was honestly half asleep when I started in the hall,” She admits with a giggle as she takes the Tupperware container back from Harry. “Come see the living room.”

Harry laughs quietly, smiling softly to himself as he follows her, completely endeared by the sight of his wife enjoying herself, even if she was dripping fake blood all over their floors. You wouldn’t have guessed that he didn’t find Halloween very fun, though he’ll admit that over the years he grew to appreciate the spooky season more and more for the way it never failed to make Bambi’s eyes light up with pure happiness. The essence of the spooky season never really leaves, so long as Bambi has anything to do with it. Harry doesn’t mind, after all, Halloween is just another Thursday night for the pair nowadays.

#writing #writing:2020 #course:visualstudies #project:sequenceassignment

[daresplaining]

Luke Cage Countdown: 6 Days

Misty Knight, Armed and Dangerous

    At long last, MCU Misty Knight is getting her sweet bionic arm! This is essentially her origin story, and as such, it will have huge consequences for her life moving forward. Here’s a brief look at her disarming, recovery, and powers in the comics.

    As in the show, in the comics Misty Knight starts her career as a promising young cop, top of her class at police academy, ready to change the world. She serves on the NYPD for six years... until the unthinkable happens. 

Caption: “Memories... years gone now, yet still terribly fresh, clear... Patrolwoman Misty Knight, twelfth precinct, NYPD, working the day shift.”

Bystander: “My god-- that man-- he’s thrown a bomb!”

Caption: “Reaction. Fast... instinctive. Futile.”

Iron Fist vol. 1 #6 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Karen Mantlo

    Misty is unable to dispose of the bomb in time, and her right arm is caught in the ensuing explosion. Her partner, Rafael Scarfe, manages to keep her alive until paramedics arrive, but she wakes up in the hospital irrevocably changed.   

Misty: “Damn you, Colleen-- I’m half-a-woman now, a freak!”

Deadly Hands of Kung Fu vol. 1 #33 by Chris Claremont and Marshall Rogers

    Misty is shattered by the loss of her arm. She sinks into a deep depression, feeling like she is now weak and worthless. Her best friend Colleen attempts to bolster her spirits and help her regain her self-confidence, both through encouragement and some well-intentioned butt-kicking, but Misty remains convinced that she’s damaged goods and no use to anyone. This attitude, along with the painful memories of her accident, haunts her for years afterward. The violence in her life often plunges her back into that moment of pain and loss, and she harbors a sense of anger and loathing about everything surrounding the event and anything that reminds her of it-- including her own perceived deficiencies. 

“Misty Knight, first in her class at the academy, B.A. in criminology at John Jay... holder of the NYPD Medal of Honor... twice wounded in the line of duty... and forcibly retired after six years service. After all, what good is a one-armed lady cop?”

Iron Fist vol. 1 #7 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Bonnie W.

    Much later, when Misty's arm is damaged again, she reacts in much the same way, showing that on a subconscious level, she’s still recovering.  

Colleen: “You’ve crawled up inside your head... again. Focus your anger on something positive.”

Misty: “Colleen, save the zen master speech. Seriously. I don’t want to hear it.”

Colleen: “Your father wouldn’t understand why you’re not a cop anymore. [...] You could go back to the force right now and they’d be happy to have you, but the problem isn’t in your arm, it’s in your head.”

Daughters of the Dragon #4 by Justin Gray, Jimmy Palmiotti, Khari Evans, and Christina Strain

    Misty leaves her police career behind, and starts a slow healing process, largely facilitated by the creation of (K)Nightwing Restorations, a freelance detective agency she co-runs with Colleen. This new career gives her a chance to prove to the world, and more importantly, to herself, that she is still capable of working and making a difference. 

    In addition, though it serves as a daily reminder of what she has lost, Misty’s life is also improved by her brand-new super-awesome robot arm! 

“The girl had said Misty’s arm had exploded. Well, why not? Why shouldn’t a robot arm explode when it’s riven with nuclear fireblasts? Because that’s what it is-- a robot arm. On a human woman.”

Iron Fist vol. 1 #3 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Don Warfield

    In the comics, by the time we meet Misty she has already had her arm for several years, so we miss out on the details of its initial installment. But we know that it is Stark technology, and thus state-of-the art for its time. It is super durable, operates with all the ease of a real arm, and it grants Misty a degree of super-strength only limited by basic physics. Since the rest of her is squishy and human, she can push, pull, and smash with her arm, but it doesn’t allow her to lift extra heavy things, or do anything that would put tension on other parts of her body. 

Misty: “Blast! I’m overshootin’ the wall. Gotta grab this stanchion as I go by-- use my bionic arm to stop me-- an’ hope the non-bionic rest o’ me can take the strain.”

Power Man #49 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, F. Mouly, et al.

    However, over the years her arm has been upgraded to be more than just extra muscle. 

Tony: “This arm is a superior design. I should have called Misty for an upgrade sooner, but I’ve been busy. The exterior is diamond interlaced with Vibranium. It is harder, lighter and stronger. I’ve had them install a pain dampener so if something like this happens again her nervous system won’t be harmed.”

Daughters of the Dragon #4 by Justin Gray, Jimmy Palmiotti, Khari Evans, and Christina Strain

    These days, it can do such fancy things as generate magnetic fields and energy blasts, and interface-- both physically and at a distance-- with computers. It operates as essentially a Swiss Army arm, making Misty an even more formidable crime-fighter than she already was. 

Misty: “These originals were mechanized, a mix of Stark tech and counterfeit crap. Plenty of brawn. But no common sense, apparently. Fine. I’d just have to do the thinking for them. [...] I had Stark tech of my own. Made me very persuasive to A.I.”

Black Panther and the Crew (2017) #1 by Ta-Nehisi Coates, Butch Guice, and Dan Brown

    Plus, of course, it looks awesome. Initially, likely due to her insecurities, Misty had a flesh-colored coating over the arm, disguising its true nature. But nowadays, she usually keeps the metal exposed-- probably for a variety of reasons: It’s common knowledge among the superhero and supervillain communities that she has a bionic arm, so hiding it would be pointless, it looks cooler this way, and her attitude toward it has changed. The arm is a part of her now, and she is no longer ashamed of it. 

    99.9% of the time, Misty’s arm is presented as a permanent fixture. It is attached to her body the way a biological arm would be, when it is damaged she experiences pain, and it presents serious problems when it... say... gets caught on giant electromagnets. 

Misty: “It’s no use! That magnet is stronger than I am. The only way I’ll get free is by pulling my own arm off.”

Power Man and Iron Fist vol. 1 #66 by Mary Jo Duffy, Kerry Gammill, and Glynis Wein

    However, the remaining 0.1% is Jeremy Whitley’s approach in his Secret Wars: Secret Love story. Here, the arm is presented more like a typical prosthesis, and is removable. In the final scene, we see Misty relaxing with her arm off-- which seems way more comfortable than the alternative. 

Secret Wars: Secret Love, “Misty and Danny Forever” by Jeremy Whitley and Gurihiru

    Since this interpretation is in the minority, and directly opposes the way her arm is presented everywhere else, it likely will not stick. However, there is something appealing about it. Misty is a disabled character, and her bionic arm tends to feel like a quick fix-- a super cool quick fix, of course, but there are a lot of comics where, in terms of both art and writing, it’s easy to forget that she’s even an amputee. “Misty and Danny Forever” does a great job of spending what little time it has on exploring Misty’s life experience as a disabled person. It doesn’t rehash her trauma and self-loathing from the earlier comics-- she has largely healed from that, as is natural-- but it does bring up little day-to-day inconveniences that most Misty comics don’t address. 

Misty: “It looked so beautiful in the store.”

Colleen: “It is beautiful.”

Misty: “I know. It’s me. It’s the arm. It slides right off the metal. [...] Colleen, I can’t do this.”

    Whitley discusses his reasons for this change in this interview: 

“I think for the most part that comics view disability as a thing to be fixed. If a person is injured, their parts can be swapped out for cybernetic ones or they can be magically healed and everything is better. The reality of living with a disability is much different. While her cybernetic arm makes her super strong, it is also bound to have effects on her life. Self-image is just one of those things. [...] It was also very important to me that in the last page, Misty does not have her arm. She is having an intimate night with her husband, getting her hair done, and snuggling up to go to sleep. First off, we’re talking about a large, bulky metal arm. Secondly, the thing has a lot of moving parts and is sure to make noise. I think the visual of a superheroic woman of color with her arm missing is very powerful.” 

    Again-- this is one isolated, unique interpretation. But we’ve always found it compelling. 

    Now, we are finally getting Misty’s sweet robot arm in glorious live action, and we cannot wait. To start, it looks great. The design is fantastic-- still futuristic, as it should look to emphasize its state-of-the-art-ness, but it also looks realistic. The fact that it seems to be some form of plastic/carbon fiber rather than metal, and the sleeve-like part where you can see how it’s attached to what’s left of her biological arm, both provide the illusion of this being actual prosthetic technology. It’s possible that this arm will, just like 616 Misty’s first arm, only be super strong. But there ain’t nothing wrong with that.  

    (The level of detail on this thing is breathtaking. Wow.) 

    We also know that this new arm will be-- gasp-- Rand technology! We’ve been excited about this idea for a long time, so we were thrilled when it was hinted in the last episode of The Defenders. Usually we’re sticklers for comics accuracy, but this change makes perfect sense. It keeps Misty’s story tied to the Netflix corner of the MCU (we’d love for these shows to cross over with the movies, but in this case staying close to home will allow for more freedom in telling this specific story). It is also a wonderful bit of bonding between Misty and Danny, who have had distressingly few interactions so far in this universe. The whole idea of him commissioning the arm for her makes us all warm and fuzzy, and regardless of whether this will actually lead to them interacting in this show, it still presents a form of personal connection, which we appreciate. Go check out this delightful Rand Enterprises spotlight on Misty, if you haven’t already! 

    This will be a new chapter in Misty’s life emotionally as well. She will have to cope with having lost a limb, and all that that implies. Like in the comics, she should be in for a difficult time, because experiencing this kind of trauma is world-altering. There have been several shots in the trailers that suggest a Misty who is coping well and recovering, which is a big relief. But that can’t come too quickly, because that’s not realistic. We also have moments like the one above, which suggest turmoil. We also have this great Daughters of the Dragon scene, which suggests that Misty may be suffering from insecurity, and which Colleen may be using tough love to treat (just like in the comics). And while we know that Misty will still be operating as a cop in some capacity, it will be interesting to see how she approaches this, and how long it will last. Misty’s story is only just beginning, and for us, she is one of the people we’re most excited to see again this season.   

#Luke Cage spoilers #Netflix Luke Cage #Misty Knight #Commentary #LC Countdown

[friskynotebook]

My Love Brought Me Summer on a Grey Winter’s Day: A Han/Leia Fanfiction

Written for @fisherford40 for the @hanleiasecretsanta holiday exchange for 2017! Thank you for being such an amazing space twin all year round—love you!

Special thanks to @theorganasolo for the killer beta and to @hansoloorgana for letting me pretend she was my giftee :P

The title for this comes from “My Love Brought Me Summer on a Grey Winter’s Day” by the “Beautiful” 2016 Broadway Cast. You can find the song on Carols for a Cure, Vol. 18.

With all that said, on with the show!

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Han groaned at the persistent sound coming from the med centre equipment. The absolute last place he wanted to be was in a kriffing hospital bed on Fete Eve—especially when he practically broke the sound barrier trying to get back to his wife in time for the holiday.

But no—he just had to come down with a case of the Sullustian Sniffles. Despite the cutesy name, the Sniffles were no laughing matter. Han could think of the worst symptoms from any other galaxy-wide cold or flu, and they would pale in comparison to his relatively mild incarnation of the Sniffles—constant nausea, pounding migraines, a stuffy and runny nose, and aching muscle cramps were all par for the course.

Han closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the standard-issue pillows. As much as he didn’t want to deal with his idiot med droid, he really did need—

Creeeeeak. “Han?”

His eyes flew open. “Leia?”

His wife closed the door behind her and walked over to her bed. “Hey, hotshot.”

“Honey,” he whispered. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you gonna get sick?”

“The Sniffles aren’t contagious, remember?” she reminded him gently, stroking his sweaty forehead with her thumb.

“But what about the baby?”

“Baby’s fine, I’m fine,” she reassured him, taking off her coat to reveal a nightgown flowing over her swollen belly. “As long as he’s inside me, he’s good.”

He nodded, accepting this. “But why'd ya come all the way here? It’s late.”

“Because after all the trouble you went through, there’s no way in hell I’m not spending Fete Eve with my ridiculously adorable husband.” Leia dampened a washcloth and started wiping his face.

Han sighed involuntarily at the cool cloth touching his skin. “Feels nice.”

She smiled softly. “Are you in pain?”

“Not anymore,” he replied smoothly, trying to ignore the liquid slowly escaping his nose. He sniffled valiantly.

Leia smirked at her husband’s bravado, setting the washcloth aside. She dampened another cloth and gently wiped at his nose, getting the old and new snot off his face. When she finished, she held the cloth to his nose. “Blow.”

He widened his eyes. “What?”

“You heard me. Blow.”

“Leia, I don’t wanna.”

“Why not? You’ve done it in front of me before, many times—especially during your last cold . . .”

“Because you’re catching the snot—isn’t that gross? What if it gets on your hand?”

“I’ll wash it off, like most people do when their hands are dirty,” she replied, giving him a coy smile.

He sighed. “At least let me hold the cloth.” He tried lifting his arms, then groaned at the pain shooting through his muscles.

“Han,” she murmured, still holding the cloth. “Taking care of you is never gross—even when your snot is bright green,” she smirked. “Besides, if our son is anything like you, he’ll be getting sick all the time. Consider this practice for me.”

After a moment, he blew his nose loudly into the cloth, not missing Leia’s face relax as she heard the noise. She cleaned him up, then dumped the cloth into the laundry bag and washed her hands.

“Better?” she asked, going back to wiping his face.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

Han silently watched her wipe his face, too exhausted to speak anymore. He closed his eyes, letting the soothing motion relax his body. When the motion stopped, he opened his eyes again.

“I’m just going to get you some more medicine before bed,” she reassured him, slipping her coat back on.

“No, don’t go,” he protested, getting nervous when he saw the coat.

“I’ll be back,” Leia promised. “You don’t want the droids seeing an Alderaanian senator in her nightgown, do you?”

He relaxed. “Nope—I saw how K4 was lookin’ at you.”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” she teased, quietly leaving the room.

Han had barely started drifting off when his wife returned with the droid.

“Would you like me to set your room to sleep mode?” the droid asked as he administered the drugs.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, biting back a snarky remark when he saw Leia raise her eyebrow.

The droid adjusted the room settings. “Goodnight, General Solo,” he hummed, leaving the room as promptly as he entered.

Leia took off her coat and carefully lowered one of the arms on the bed, climbing in.

“Sweetheart, the bed’s not that big—”

“And when has that been a problem for us?” she asked, wrapping her right arm around his left.

“Point taken,” he smirked.

She took his other hand and gently guided it to her belly. Their son gave a sharp kick.

Leia chuckled. “He’s saying, ‘get better soon Daddy! You need to annoy Mommy before I come along and take all her attention!’”

Han coughed out a laugh at her high-pitched vocal impression of their child, then closed his eyes.

“Don’t worry, kid—I’ll be annoying both you and Mommy before you even know it.”

#fisherford40 #hanleiasecretsanta #han x leia #my fic #fic #fanfiction #scoundress #han x leia secretsanta #han solo #leia organa

[athoughtfulmindwrites]

Risk For Reward (Finn Balor) Vol. 8

Prompt: You are the new make-up artist for WWE. You have no prior knowledge of Finn or the work that goes into creating the demon. With a whole new world to discover is there room to be anything but professional? Your biggest test will be fighting your new demon(s) and showing that’s this job was made for you. Even if resisting Finn will be harder than you first thought.

Pairing: Finn Balor & Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warning: As of this installment (Volume 8), the smut has began. It’s a light dose of it to start off, but I do think as this series progresses it will get a lot dirtier :O!

Those who wish to be tagged! @ambrosegirlforever, @valeonmars, @thebadchic, @nickysmum1909, @vsturgeon5489, @jade4062022

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged! I’d be more than happy to add you! :)

The bright rays of the sun beamed into the room as the morning rose to shine its glory onto the city. You were facing the windows regretting not shutting the blinds as the morning light glared into your tired eyes. Flicking them open you groaned and tried to stretch, but a set of strong arms were securely wrapped around your frame. It all came back to you in flashbacks until it all banded into a cohesive unit of information.

You didn't have sex with the demon. You managed to uphold enough lady like class to hold true to your values. Sure you were almost bare in bed with the man, but it still held a degree of innocence. You didn't bother to move as you listened to the whistling of Finn's breath slumbered behind you. You wondered what he was dreaming about or if he was dreaming at all. Was this a dream? Were you still drunk and hoping that this was the outcome. Pinching the skin of your forearm you winced quietly and smiled. He was there with you in all of his glory or most of it at least.

You felt him stir and grumble something in his thick Irish accent that made no lick of sense to you. His soft lips came to claim the skin of your neck and jaw, peppering soft kisses in its wake. Scooting back to get closer to him his lips moved to your shoulder. Your hands rubbed over the tops of his that were housed around you hugging your waist. If this was how it could be? It was an adjustment you'd happily accompany into your new life.

“Mornin' my sweet” His voice was husky and deeper than you remembered. It had only been a days period and you felt as though this voice had been following you around forever. “How did ya sleep?”

“Like a drunk baby,” You laughed turning your body around to face his. Without thinking you leaned in and pressed your lips firmly to his as if you were searching for validation from last night. You had to know what those lips felt like without alcohol fueling them together in a heated lust. His hunger for you was apparent in how his hands moved along your body. How his lips devoured every inch of skin you allowed him. The passion being exchanged was palpable. Your throat echoed out a moan that vibrated into his mouth to consume. Your arms had been snaked in a tight grip around his neck. A set of fingernails scratching at the base of his hairline. If this was all you would allow for now? It was enough to get you through the anticipation of later events.

In a slew of swift motions, Finn had you pinned under him with his knee managing to separate your legs so he could fit between them. This was escalating to a higher degree, but you had no red flags waving to halt the actions. The fabric of your underwear was lacy thin not leaving all much to the imagination as his budding erection contacted your folds behind his briefs. In your head, you were screaming how thankful you were about the fabrics guarding him away from taking this further. A leg hiked up to hook onto his side securing the movement of your hips grinding in unison as your mouths continued to openly explore each other.

A knot was swirling in your gut feeling a tension build that had a timer counting down to detonation. You had yourself in control until Finn let out the sexiest noise you had ever heard erupt from another human being. A guttural growl was a shot straight down to your middle making you a new kind of weak. He was as solid as steel now gyrating his hips down into yours.

You couldn't breathe. The air was stifling hot and suffocating you in the best way you could have ever imagined. Your head fell back onto the pillows caught up in every fraction of movement. All you wanted was to kiss him and claim the lips you wanted only for yourself. This was off the beaded path and you had to get back on track. Your body had other plans though. It was close. It was a steamrolling train that wasn't going to stop until it blew out its last billow of smoke.

“F-F-Finn!” You gasped out as you stared down the cliff behind your closed eyes that you were close to jumping off. You throbbed significantly between your legs. You could taste the release that was as tempting as the lips who got you into this trouble.

“Say my name again, sweets. I wanna hear ya lose ya self with my name” He moved to your neck to bite and mark up the skin, tagging it as his own. “But as ya come for me, love? Call me Fergal” Your body shuddered as his voice was liquid sex to vulnerable ears pulsing electricity to your core with every thrust he rubbed into your folds that had soaked through your panties. It took a mountain of self-restraint not to reach between the two of you and fetch out the cock that was bringing you so much pleasure. How could dry humping accelerate you to such heights? This man was showing you new parts of sex that you believed to be myth.

“What have you turned me into? How did it come to this?” You questioned through hard breaths that heaved your chest upwards and down, repeating at a rate that was sure to make you sore once this was over. “Fergal..I'm so cl--” His hips vigorously molded into yours with a new found purpose. Your toes were beginning to curl. It was seconds away from taking off.

“Mmm tas' it. Let go, show me just how good I make ya feel” His voice was a guiding force to the freedom your orgasm would grant you. You whined out a soft plea and then it hit you like a force of nature. “Fergal!” You moaned without abandon feeling your body be swept up from head to toe. The spasm of muscles and release down below pooled onto your panties and the sheet beneath you. You writhed and moaned shamelessly. Finn hadn't stopped or slowed down as you rode the coaster that was your climax. It felt like forever had passed before you came back down to earth.

“Finn...Balor...what..was that!” Your eyes rolled back from the bliss your body was gifted. “I just wanted to kiss you” You rose your head up to see Finn sitting on the back of his legs perched above you like a sexy statue you didn't feel worthy of viewing. His bulge was bigger than your mind led you to feel. The very tip of his cock poking out of the top band of his briefs.

“That was just the beginning” He grinned down at you and got up. His hand cupping his erection, squeezing and adjusting in his only piece of clothing.

“Come back..” You sat up on the bed watching his tight end head for the bathroom.

“I can't do that, lovely. I had to show you how good it could be wit out ya thinking I'm only in this for the center of the lollipop” Your jaw dropped open in surprise. Was this man really going to hide himself from you as he reached his own end? You whimpered and reached down to skimp out of the dampened garment.

If this was the start of a game? You couldn't wait for what round two would present.

#finn balor #wwe #fergal devitt #writing #prince devitt #bullet club #balor club #rfr8

[firearmsforwriters]

Firearms Dictionary Vol. 1

This glossary is intended to be a reference for any and all firearms terminology that may be used in posts on this blog. While this is not a complete firearms terminology dictionary, I will continually update this list with definitions.

Action: An action is the part of the firearm that feeds, fires, and extracts the ammunition.

Ammunition / ammo: The collective term for the projectile and propellant used in a firearm.

ATF: The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.

Barrel: The tube down which the projectile or projectiles travel down as the firearm is fired.

Bayonet: A pointy bit of metal attached to the end of a rifle to create a ‘makeshift’ spear. There are a few types of bayonets, the primary two being sword/knife bayonets and spike bayonets.

Bore: The inside of a barrel.

Bullet: The projectile of a rifle or handgun.

Caliber: The diameter of the bore of a firearm or the diameter of the bullet, usually expressed in hundredths or thousandths of an inch.

Case / casing / cartridge / shell: In modern firearms, a brass or steel tube that contains primer, propellant, and projectile. Casing also refers to the empty metal housing. See also: Paper casings.

CCW: Acronym for “Carrying Concealed Weapon.” This often refers to carrying a concealed firearm, or having a license to do so. It can also refer to handguns commonly used in CCW type situations.

Chamber: The portion of the barrel or firing cylinder that a cartridge is inserted into before being fired.

Choke: A device put in the muzzle of a shotgun to limit the spread of the shot or pellets fired from it, primarily used for hunting and competition shooting.

Clip / Stripper clip: A thin, sometimes flexible piece of metal for loading an amount of ammunition into a firearm’s fixed magazine quickly. NOT a magazine. See also: Fixed magazine, Detachable magazine.

Detachable magazine: A stamped or molded piece of plastic or metal with a spring inside used to contain and feed a quantity of ammunition into a firearm. This magazine can be removed for reloading of either the firearm with a different magazine or reloading of the magazine itself. Commonly found in modern handguns, rifles, and some shotguns. NOT a clip.  See also: Clip, Fixed magazine.

EDC: An acronym for everyday carry, usually a firearm, knife, and flashlight combination that you would carry with you every day, where permitted.

Firing pin: On modern firearms, a firing pin is a piece of metal that is slammed into the primer on a case with enough force to set it off, discharging the firearm.

Fixed magazine: A magazine that cannot be removed from the firearm, commonly found on lever-action firearms, turn-of-the-century handguns, military infantry rifles as late as the 1940s, and many modern shotguns. Also NOT a clip. See also: Clip, Detachable magazine.

Gauge: Gauge is used to refer to shotgun bore size, by the weight of a lead ball that will fit into the bore of the shotgun. So, a 12 gauge shotgun can fit a lead ball that is 1/12 of a pound, a 10 gauge can fit a ball weighing 1/10th of a pound, and so on.

Grain: The weight of a bullet. 100 grains roughly equals 0.229 ounces. Historically, a grain is the weight of one seed of a cereal, such as wheat or barley. I have no idea why we as a firearms society didn’t switch to ounces or something.

Hammer: A piece of metal that, by way of spring pressure, is slammed into the firing pin, causing the firing pin to set off a cartridge’s primer.

Muzzle: The very front of a firearm.

Muzzleloading firearm / Muzzleloader: A firearm that is loaded from the muzzle. Ex: Muskets.

NFA: The National Firearms Act, signed into effect in 1934.This act places restrictions on certain types and/or aspects of firearms.

Nipple: The part of a firearm where a percussion cap is placed on percussion-lock, also known as caplock firearms.

Paper casings: A projectile, powder, and occasionally, primer wrapped and contained in paper for easier storage and loading of the firearm. Earliest use of paper cartridges dates back to the late 14th century. Made obsolete by the invention of the self contained metallic cartridge in the mid-1800s.

Percussion cap: A small, metallic cap filled with a small amount of shock-sensitive explosive that is placed on the nipple of a percussion-lock firearm, that acts as the primer for the firearm.

Primer: A shock-sensitive explosive used in percussion caps, and later, self-contained cartridges, to ignite the gunpowder and discharge the firearm.

Rifling: Grooves on the inside of a barrel of a firearm to impart spin on a projectile.

Receiver: The part of the firearm that houses all of the bits that make up the firing mechanism.

Safety: A mechanism on and/or inside a firearm that prevents the firearm from firing.

Slug: A term for a singular, solid, projectile fired from a shotgun, with its weight usually being measured in ounces.

Shot / pellets: Spheres of lead or steel fired from a shotgun that spread out after they leave the barrel.

Stock: The rear of a rifle, shotgun, and some pistols that the operator presses against their shoulder to dampen recoil and aim more accurately.

Suppressor / silencer: An object attached to the end of a firearm to reduce the amount of noise produced by a firearm discharging.

READ THIS, IT IS IMPORTANT:

https://firearmsforwriters.tumblr.com/Disclaimer  (For mobile, copy/paste or type this into your browser.

#Firearms Dictionary