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natsaffection · 1 year ago

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Kingdom of Secrets | Prologue | N. Romanoff

Knight!Natasha x younger!princess!Reader

MINOR DNI!! (18+!)

warnings: age gap (Natasha is 16 when she comes to the palace and the reader is 4 years old. At the end of this chapter Natasha is 33 and reader 21) fingering, begging, crying

word count: 4,5k

A/n: welcome to the prologue of Kingdom of Secrets! (Yes the title has a meaning) This is just the opening chapter. So it's not the first real part. It cost me already tears because I wanted it to come across the way people spoke back in the Middle Ages..so please give feedback!🫂

In the heart of the great kingdom of Celestria, where emerald fields stretch as far as the eye can see and spires kiss the sky, there was great anticipation in the royal court. King Alistair and Queen Seraphina Dawn, the beloved rulers of the realm, had long yearned for an heir to carry on the legacy of their noble lineage. The palace echoed with the whispers of courtiers as news spread of a momentous event.

Queen Seraphina was expecting a child.

Months passed, each one accompanied by prayers and whispered hopes echoing through the halls of the palace. The kingdom collectively held its breath, waiting for the joyous news that would bring new life to the royal family. The gardens adorned with blooming flowers bore witness to the ebb and flow of the seasons, reflecting the anticipation within the palace walls.

And then, as the golden colors of autumn tinged the landscape, the long-awaited moment arrived. Like a melody of hope, the announcement resounded through the kingdom and spread from town to town. Queen Seraphina had given birth to a daughter, a shining beacon of joy in the embrace of her parents' love.

The kingdom erupted in jubilation. Banners swayed in the fresh breeze, their colors dancing to the rhythm of the joy that flowed through the streets. The citizens rushed to the gates of the palace in their finest clothes to join in the royal rejoicing. The sweet scent of flowers was in the air and the distant sounds of musicians tuning their instruments heralded the great celebrations to come.

Inside the palace, the little princess lay in her mother's arms, wrapped in a tapestry of delicate silk. Queen Seraphina's eyes, glistening with tears of happiness, met King Alistair's gaze, a silent exchange that spoke volumes about the unspoken journey they had traveled to reach this blessed moment.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the palace gates opened to welcome the many well-wishers. The Great Hall, decorated with golden tapestries and crystal chandeliers, shone in the light of a thousand candles. Laughter and chatter filled the air as nobles, commoners and dignitaries alike joined in the celebration.

In the midst of this splendor, the little princess lay in her crib, surrounded by a symphony of admiration. Her tiny fingers, like rose petals, grasped at the air as if reaching for the love that surrounded her. The flickering candlelight painted her delicate features and cast a warm, ethereal glow on her.

Y/n, as she would later be called, became the beacon of hope that united the kingdom. Her laughter echoed through the palace like silver bells, eliciting smiles from all who basked in her innocent radiance. The court musicians, attuned to the heartbeat of the celebration, played melodies that blended with the collective heartbeat of the kingdom, a harmonious testament to the unity created by the birth of the princess.

Over the years, the princess's birthdays became a cherished tradition. The kingdom celebrated with greater fervor each year, turning the anniversary of her birth into a grand spectacle. The gardens, where once the whispers of anticipation could be heard, now bloomed in vibrant colors that reflected the princess's exuberant spirit.On her birthdays, the people of Celestria gathered to honor their beloved princess. The streets were lined with stalls selling sweet treats and enchanting trinkets. Musicians played lilting melodies and performers brought fairy tales to life through dance and theater. But amidst the splendor, it was Y/n herself who was in the spotlight.

Her laughter, the elixir that had breathed life into the kingdom years ago, echoed through the air. The joy that emanated from her was infectious and transformed the celebration into a mosaic of smiles and shared happiness. Y/n had become the living embodiment of the kingdom's dreams with her sparkling eyes and a heart full of kindness.

As Y/n grew, so did the kingdom around her. The once silent halls of the palace echoed with the footsteps of a vibrant princess whose spirit danced like the sunlight that fell through the leaves. She became a symbol of hope, bridging the realms of royalty and commonality - a beacon of unity for a kingdom that had waited with bated breath for her arrival.

And so, under the golden skies of Celestria, the royal court and citizens celebrated the birth of their princess, whose laughter echoed throughout the kingdom, mingling with the melodies of joy that had marked her grand entrance into the world.

But a shadowy group lurked in the hidden corridors beneath the splendor of the kingdom. Unseen and unheard, this gang shrouded in mystery plotted insidiously to infiltrate the royal house.

In the dimly lit chamber adorned with ancient symbols, the agents of the group - Shadows of Darkness - received a chilling instruction. The leaders, shrouded in the cloak of shadows, readjusted their strategy. Princess Y/n, an unforeseen variable, demanded an adjustment to their malevolent plans.

As Y/n's laughter rang through the palace, the group's secret game unfolded on an invisible chessboard. The birth of the princess upset their carefully laid plans and brought an element of unpredictability into play. Beneath the surface of the festivities, a calculated dance played out, where joyful echoes collided with the malice lurking in the shadows. Citizens and royalty revelled in blissful ignorance, unaware of the ominous threat lurking in the hidden corners of the palace. A dangerous dance began. One in which the laughter of a princess served as an eerie soundtrack to a covert operation that would reshape Celestria's destiny.

As daylight bathed the kingdom in golden hues, the shadowy group moved in secrecy. Their ominous influence extended to unsuspecting future queens. The dark puppet, manipulated by unseen hands, infiltrated the royal court and left a menacing presence.

The king, who had followers in every country, became aware of the terrifying power. Fearing for his family and the future of his country, he had his troops strengthened and also looked for a guardian for his daughter. So he spread the word throughout the country that a tournament was to be held in the late evening and that the bravest and strongest fighters were to take part.The anticipation of the great tournament was in the air that day. The king, seeking the perfect protector for his most precious treasure, gathered warriors from faraway lands. Men vying for the honor of protecting the jewel of the realm presented themselves in the arena.

The tournament, a spectacle of skill and courage, began with the clash of swords and the thundering hooves of warhorses. Knights from all corners of the realm showcased their skills, a dance of blades played out under the watchful eyes of the royal court.

As the dust settled and countless fighters succumbed to the skill of their opponents, there was a quiet tension among the spectators. The king, seated on his magnificent throne, surveyed the remaining warriors, his keen eyes searching for the one who would serve as a shield against the impending danger to the princess. Then, amidst the remaining fighters, a lone, young figure emerged, clad in armor that seemed to absorb the essence of the shadows. The air fell silent as this knight stepped forward, exuding an aura of fear and admiration. A murmur went through the audience, a collective acknowledgement that a formidable force had entered the arena.

The king, mesmerized and wary, leaned forward in his throne, a silent question etched on his regal countenance. "Tell me, what is a child doing on the field?" he asked his 1st in command. He bowed to his king, "Forgive me, my majesty, but you emphasized that the gates were open to anyone carrying a sword." The king forced the moment back into his mind and now looked further down, at the person.

At that very moment, the mysterious knight removed the helmet, revealing a cascade of fiery red hair framing a face marked by the scars of countless battles. Her piercing gaze, a mixture of steel and determination, met the king's eyes with an unwavering intensity. A murmur went through the hall as the realization set in. "Lady, Natalia Alianovna Romanoff," someone breathed, the name inspiring both awe and fear. As the first young woman to be knighted, Natasha was widely known, and her accomplishments on the battlefield were whispered about in saintly tones. The king, who also learned of her presence, widened his eyes.

As she approached the king, Natasha dropped to one knee, a sign of respect and submission. Her armor bore the marks of countless victories, and the sword at her side was a testament to her skill as a warrior.

"Your Majesty," Natasha's voice, a symphony of authority and humility, echoed through the arena. "I am Natalia Alianovna Romanoff, sworn to protect those deemed worthy of the Empire's protection. I offer my skills and loyalty to defend your princess, the jewel of Celestria." The king, observing the steely determination in Natasha's eyes, pondered her words. Isn't she too young to be a knight? Presently good..She could form a bond with Y/n. He thought.

The court remained in a collective breathless pause, awaiting the monarch's decision. After a moment's thought, the king nodded, a gesture that echoed through the arena like a decree.

"Lady Natasha Romanoff, rise. You have proven that you are an excellent Fighter. May the realm be witness to your service as my daughter's protector."

The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and whispers in appreciation of the gravity of the moment. Natasha rose from her knees and hid her features behind her helmet again. With measured steps, she returned to the ranks of the assembled knights, her presence leaving an indelible impression on the tournament and setting the stage for a new chapter in the kingdom's saga. Since then, the unique bond between the young princess and the fearless knight began to grow. Y/n, a little bundle of joyful energy, zoomed through the flowerbeds. "Tasha, look, I can fly!" she cried, spreading her tiny arms. Natasha, with a smile on her lips, leaned down. "Really? Show me, little whirlwind." And chase her through the field.

"Tasha, why are you so strong?" asked Y/n three years later, while they were playing in the halls. Natasha, with a mischievous smile, replied, "Strength comes not only from muscles, but also from courage and determination, my Princess."

The royal parents, from their thrones, watched the scene with warm smiles. "Look how Natasha is teaching our daughter," said the queen. The king nodded proudly. "A bond strengthened not only by duty, but also by the heart..I could not have chosen anyone better."

In the shelter of the pavilion, Y/n and Natasha talked about the years of shared experiences. "Promise me, Natasha, that you will always be by my side," Natasha, serious yet tender, replied, "As long as I breathe, I will watch over you, Princess."

Over the years, not only did Y/n grow up, but so did the love between her and Natasha. Adventures together, laughter and tears formed a bond that blurred the boundaries between princess and protector.

At the age of 20, Y/n found herself in the midst of an inner turmoil. The years had passed since Natasha had taken up residence as her protector, and a subtle change was creeping into the princess's mind.

In the quiet moments when the sun slowly disappeared behind the palace walls, Y/n discovered a growing urge to seek Natasha's closeness. Every look from the knightess, every gentle touch, seemed to break through an invisible barrier within Y/n.

The glances Natasha cast across the ballroom as they shared in royal festivities carried a deeper meaning. Y/n recognized the warmth in Natasha's eyes, which came not only from her proximity to the king, but betrayed something more intimate. Uncertainty gnawed at Y/n as she thought about these growing feelings. Society, royal expectations, all created a veil that kept her growing affection for Natasha hidden.

The Royal Mother observed the subtle changes in Y/n's behavior, but the secret remained hidden between the lines. Y/n felt her heart beat faster when she faced Natasha, and the soft sighs that escaped her were carried on the winds of fate.

One day, Natasha, bathed in sweat from the rigorous training session, gracefully moved through the courtyard, effortlessly wrestling each knight that dared to cross her path to the ground. As Y/n strolled through the palace, she unexpectedly caught sight of Natasha in action, sans her usual formidable armor.

Mesmerized by the raw power and agility on display, Yn found it challenging to look away. Natasha's every move seemed like a choreographed dance of strength and finesse. It was the first time Y/n had seen her like this, vulnerable yet invincible

Natasha, engrossed in her sparring session, sensed Y/n's eyes on her. Mid-wrestle with one of the knights, she subtly shifted her gaze to meet Y/n's, exhaling almost imperceptibly. In that brief connection, Natasha's intense focus softened, and a ghost of a smile played on her lips, as if she had caught Y/n in the act.

Y/n, startled by Natasha's awareness, quickly averted her gaze, pretending to be absorbed in the palace architecture. The blush on her cheeks, however, betrayed her attempt to conceal the intrigue Natasha's athleticism had sparked.

She continued her training, each movement deliberate and powerful. Y/n, despite her efforts to remain discreet, stole occasional glances, hoping Natasha wouldn't notice..

When a maid approached, unaware of the silent exchange, Y/n stammered, "I-I was just, you know, walking around," as she tried to divert attention from the fact that Natasha had momentarily captured her focus. Natasha, still engaged in her training, shot Y/n a knowing look, her eyes betraying a hint of amusement, silently acknowledging the unspoken connection while respecting Y/n's attempt to keep her feelings concealed.

Several hours passed, and Y/n immersed herself in the demands of royal duties. As she diligently attended to matters within the palace, she couldn't shake the memory of Natasha's training session. Much to her surprise, as she returned to the main hall, there was Natasha, seamlessly transitioning from warrior to protector, resuming her role by Y/n's side.

Their eyes met once again, and this time Natasha's expression spoke volumes. A playful glint in her eyes suggested a shared secret, referencing the earlier stolen glances. Y/n couldn't help but smile in response, a subtle acknowledgment of the connection they had formed.

Weeks later when the moon towered over Celestria, Y/n dared a tentative look into Natasha's eyes. It was as if the universe melded their souls together, and in that moment, Y/n knew it was more than mere reverence for the brave knight. The realization that her heart was following a path of love was like the blossoming of a delicate flower within her. But the world she lived in demanded secrecy - a love that blossomed in the shadow of royal duties.

Another year passed and Y/n's duties to the throne drew ever closer. Her parents now saw her as an adult woman who would later rule the people. However, this could not be done alone and the time had come to find a suitable mate. So they embarked on various journeys to neighboring countries to consider their princes and princesses. A point Y/n is proud to show. With all the fuss she secretly has about Natasha, her eyes opened to another part.

It was a sunny day when the royal family were visiting another kingdom. The family was welcomed with joy. But the festive atmosphere was pervaded by an underlying tension. As Y/n strode through the hall in royal garb, she was swarmed by the polite remarks and advances of the foreign prince. The looks he gave her were full of obvious interest, and the smile on his lips betrayed intentions that went beyond polite courtesies.

Natasha, standing in her imposing armor alongside the royal family, felt a flame of jealousy flare up inside her. Every passionate look, every touched hand, felt like a stab in her chest. In a quiet moment, when the prince engaged Y/n in a private conversation, Natasha could hardly bear the sight. Her hands clenched into fists as she inwardly fought back the burning sting of jealousy.

Finally, the festive gathering broke up and the royal family returned to their chambers. The opulent chambers of Y/n awoke to the pale glow of candles as the evening shrouded the royal estate in an atmosphere of twilight. The prince, wearing a polite facade, had made his intentions clear. But Natasha sensed the unease in the air. When the prince attempted to cross the boundaries of politeness and seek out Y/n in her chambers, Natasha turned cold as ice. Her eyes, normally as impenetrable as the darkness, bore into the young nobleman. Without a word, her gaze spoke volumes, and the prince retreated as if he had entered an invisible barrier.

When Natasha entered Y/n's chamber, the discomfort was reflected on Y/n's face. "Thank you.. I was so uncomfortable, but I didn't mean to be rude," Y/n murmured, her voice low in the intimate atmosphere. Natasha stepped closer, her touch cooler than the night breeze blowing through the open window. "My princess, you never have to compromise for politeness."

In a calculated move that blurred the line between protector and seductress, Natasha lifted Y/n's hand and stroked her fingertips over the delicate skin. "Don't let anyone enter your world if you don't want them to. You deserve respect and so much more."

The darkness of the room seemed to tighten around the two of them as Natasha continued, intensifying her own touch. "And maybe, there is someone..who is willing to go deeper than politeness allows."

The words echoed between the walls as the coolness of the night turned into a dance of desire. Y/n sensed the play of shadows as Natasha, took on the role of seductress. A passionate revelation that in the twilight of her chambers revealed a connection that transcended the duties of the royal hall.

The room lost its dimensions in darkness as Natasha and Y/n were caught in a mesmerizing dance of tension. Y/n's heartbeat quickened as Natasha's words sounded like a breath in the night, a promise that implied more than it stated. "Natasha, I don't know what you mean..." whispered Y/n, her voice caught between curiosity and an underlying desire that lingered in the air. Natasha stepped closer, her gaze like the dark veil of night that hid everything and yet revealed everything. "I speak of desire that goes deeper than any protocol that exists within the walls of a palace."

The atmosphere thickened as Natasha began to loosen Y/n's royal robes with deft fingers. "You can feel it, can't you? This suppressed energy between us. It's time to explore the shadows that lurk in the corners of our connection."

Y/n's breathing quickened as the warmth of Natasha's hands touched her skin. A mixture of fear and desire flickered in her eyes as she embraced the unknown.

"N-Natasha, I... Is this right?" asked Y/n, but her reticence was swallowed up by the darkness.

Natasha replied with a cool smile that betrayed a deep, hidden passion. "Right or wrong, Y/n, does not exist in this world of shadows. There is only what you desire and what you are willing to experience." The air between them was charged as Natasha gently placed her lips on Y/n's. A passionate kiss that burned down the blurred lines between duty and desire. Still, Natasha paused for a moment and looked her princess in the eye, “I notice your looks, your breath when I sneak up on you..you’re begging when I retreat to my chambers..” Natasha pushed the princess onto the bed. The redhead had Y/n's legs wide open. Open for her to devour.

Natasha licked her lips, staring at Y/n's underwear, a hungry look in her mouth. Y/n still felt the slight urge to protest. What is she doing here? What happens if her parents find out about this? Are they allowed-

But all words of resistance melted into a moan in her mouth as Natasha opened her entrance with her tongue. She lay down in front of Y/n, lifting the princess's legs by her thighs onto her shoulders. Natasha's tongue turned her princess's moans into groans and then shouts of ecstasy. After tasting Y/n for long enough, Natasha lifted her head. Her mouth was covered in Y/n's fluid, giving her face a glow that Y/n found simply intoxicating.

"How are you feeling? Can I continue?" Natasha's eyes widened as she saw the sight of her ruler. Spread wide and with her hands clenched in the pillows, "K-Keep going please..” Natasha smiled and climbed up to Y/n to take off her dress and while she undressed Y/n, Natasha kissed Y/n and she tasted herself on her lips. Without breaking the kiss, Natasha inserted two of her fingers into Y/n. In response, the young princess let out a deep moan into Natasha's mouth as she slowly penetrated her. As Natasha alternated between driving her index and middle fingers in and out of Y/n's cavity, Y/n was disturbed by the amount of armor Natasha still had on and set about removing it.

Natasha smirked again as she realized what Y/n's plans were and sat back up, "You could have asked, my highness..." Y/n's eyes were wide as she watched Natasha remove every single piece of metal from her body. Eventually it just tinkled on the floor and Natasha stood before her in a white shirt. She wasted no more time and pounced on the young girl again.

"What do you want me to do, princess?" Natasha now asked, breathing in unison with her aroused ruler. She had already slipped a hand between Y/n's thighs and was leaning on her shorts. Y/n knew what Natasha wanted to hear. "Please.." she begged, "fuck me." Natasha watched Y/n's flushed face. It was so, so lewd. This time, however, Natasha stroked a finger over the edge of her labia and felt how far the wetness had spread.

"You really want it, don't you?" said Natasha with a hint of smugness in her voice. Y/n knew it wasn't to humiliate her, but rather to increase her sense of exposure.

Yes, I really fucking want it, Y/n wanted to say, but managed to hold back. Natasha, however, didn't miss the look on her face before she leaned in and slowly kissed Y/n again. She began to run her fingers up and down the wetness between Y/n's legs, stroking slowly and rhythmically.

Y/n held back any sound that wanted to come out of her mouth, knowing there was more to come. A touch slipped past a certain spot so briefly and lightly that Y/n's body flinched in response. Natasha had to keep her senses together, just a little longer. The stroking and kissing gradually became faster, without either of them noticing against the backdrop of their growing arousal. Natasha's fingers were touching Y/n's clit more and more frequently now, and Y/n couldn't keep up, the tension between her legs growing and her mouth remaining slightly open.

"A-A-hh..." she gasped, and her body arched back more and more. She was crying out now, twisting and turning, her clit at the center of the movement, her hands wrapped around Y/ns, her face pressed into her shoulders, her upper body arched so that her breasts and erect nipples moved against Natasha's body in the same rhythm as the caresses between her thighs. "Nat-..Natasha...!" She cried out. "I'm... ah, I'm..."

Natasha kissed her neck in response and concentrated fully on bringing Y/n to climax. She wanted to hear her princess scream, to feel her thrusting against her body in a frenzy of pleasure. She wanted Y/n to lose all inhibitions and move against her hand like a horny slut. Y/n couldn't take it anymore. Her hips and buttocks began to move against Natasha, thrusting towards her with desire, begging her not to stop. It felt so dirty to cooperate and beg so earnestly, but Y/n didn't care about any of it. Natasha moaned along with Y/n and couldn't hold back either after listening to Y/n feel this way about her.

“Cum for me.”

When Y/n heard Natasha's soft and loving voice moaning like that, she shook with pleasure. Her mind went blank. The room disappeared, the bed vanished. The world consisted only of her body, which contracted and pulsated to release all its pent-up arousal in one go. Y/n didn't know how much time had passed while she trembled and shook and moaned, even though she didn't want to. All she knew was that Natasha had been holding her the whole time and watched every single facial feature of her beloved princess.

TAGLIST: @taliiiaasteria @natty-taffy @natashaswife4125 @lifebyinez @aemilia19 @natwifesblog @clearcoloredlenses @ragoshmog @eringranola

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

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ultram0th · 1 year ago

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31 Days of Derek Hale

Day 31: Tyler Hoechlin to Derek Hale TF

Info │ 01 │ 02 │ 03 │ 04 │ 05 │ 06 │ 07 │ 08 │ 09 │ 10 │ 11 │ 12 │ 13 │ 14 │ 15 │ 16 │ 17 │ 18 │ 19 │ 20 │ 21 │ 22 │ 23 │ 24 │ 25 │ 26 │ 27 │ 28 │ 29 │ 30 │ 31 🎃

Happy Halloween everyone! I hope you all enjoyed this Derek Hale Tf Marathon! It was so much fun to make, and I hope that you all liked what I put out!

-- -- --

Actor Tyler Hoechlin filtered through some emails to waste time before he had to get ready. The actor was supposed to make an appearance at some celebrity Halloween party for photo ops. He wasn’t above taking a picture here and there, but he hadn’t even began to think about a costume, nor had his assistant just grabbed one for him.

“I could just wear a bedsheet and go as a ghost?” Tyler chuckled to himself, thinking that it’d be so lame that it’d be good.

He deleted several emails from casting agents who thought that he’d be great in one of their low-budget horror movies that was supposed to go straight to steaming services. Tyler couldn’t help but grimace at doing anything horror related.

After spending so many years being cast as Derek Hale on Teen Wolf, the last thing he wanted to do was something spooky-ish, lest he risk being typecasted. Already, the actor played Superman on Superman & Lois, but he still had several people on the street referring to him as “Derek”. Of course, Tyler was grateful that so many fans appreciated his work on the MTV series, but there was a part of him that was ready to let the role go.

Which was why he’d frowned deeply at the email from Jeff Davis, the creator of Teen Wolf. Tyler begrudgingly clicked on it, scanning it a little until he got to the reason for the reaching out:

“…MTV is interested in rebooting the Teen Wolf series, and after the negative reception of the movie, the producers have decided not to count it as canon. Can we count on you to return as Beacon Hills’s resident Alpha, Derek Hale?”

Not even bothering to respond to it, Tyler moved the mouse towards the garbage icon to delete it. Before he could click it, his laptop screen flickered and an odd electric shock sparked out, actually shocking Tyler.

The actor recoiled his hand at the sensation, the electric shock sending a tingling feeling throughout the rest of his body for a brief moment.

“What the hell?” Tyler wondered aloud. He closed his laptop and shoved himself away from his desk, making a mental note to buy a new laptop tomorrow since his was obvious short-circuiting.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed, seeing that he was supposed to start getting ready for the party. Tyler rubbed his temples and walked towards the bathroom so that he could start getting ready.

As he undressed, the actor could feel a little apprehension starting to seep into his bones about attending the party. The normally social Tyler Hoechlin, for some unknown reason, began to frown at the thought of being at a stuffy Halloween party that was going to be packed with people, wall to wall. The thought of being trapped in a room, shoulder to shoulder, with other people made Tyler shudder, and he began to think of reasons to bail. He thought that it was odd, but he chalked it up to his social battery just being abnormally low that night.

Still, Tyler told himself that he couldn’t just be a no-show. He’d promised his friend and previous costar, Dylan O’Brien, that he’d show up and the two could catch up over a drink.

Tyler could’ve sworn that his heart started to race in his chest for some reason, his limbs tingling with excitement. “What’s going on?” he mumbled to himself, confused as to why he seemed to be so giddy to see Dylan. “It’s just Stiles. I saw him last week…”

He coughed and cleared his throat, having no clue why he’d accidentally referred to Dylan as his old character, Stiles. Tyler shook it off and hopped into the shower. As he bathed, Tyler couldn’t seem to get Dylan out of his head.

“What is going on with me?” he asked himself, wondering why he couldn’t get the man’s dimples out of his mind. What was even weirder to the man was that his cock started to plump up, sticking straight out in front of him.

Tyler had never had a gay thought in his life, and despite seeing all of the Sterek fan art online, he’d never entertained the thought of him and Dylan together. Yet, for some unknown reason, the more he pictured his toned, mole-spotted body, his cock throbbed even harder.

“Fuck it,” Tyler grunted as he wrapped his fingers around his cock, pumping away.

Tyler was so lost in the pleasure that rippled throughout his body as he jerked off, bellowing out low moans the entire time. His free hand ran over his muscled chest, his fingers running through the thick pelt of chest hair—

“Wh-what?” Tyler grunted as he looked down, still playing with his throbbing cock as he stared down at his previously smooth chest. Despite having just shaved his pecs earlier that morning for some pictures as the smooth-chested Superman, Tyler’s chest was now covered in thick, black chest hair. The hairs covered his meaty pecs and ran down his stomach, connecting to his bush by a noticeable happy trail. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

Tyler’s confusion was briefly forgotten when all of his large muscles tensed up, and his cock erupted with a spray of cum, shooting a large load against the linoleum of his shower.

The stud was left panting, leaning against the other wall of the shower as he tried to catch his breath. Tyler ran a shaky hand through his wet hair, trying to piece together the fact that not only was his chest hairy, but he’d also just jerked off to another guy— one of his past costars at that.

“I guess Stiles is kinda cute,” he begrudgingly muttered, flinching for a second. “Um, I mean Dylan.”

Tyler finished up his shower and dried himself off in a daze, struggling to wrap his head around what was going on. He knew that something was up, but whenever he tried to concentrate on it, a new growing part of his brain told him not to worry about it. Even as he dried off his hairy chest, his panic that he knew should’ve been there was barely audible.

The actor was puzzling over it as he lumbered back to his bedroom to get dressed. He opted to grab a nice designer suit of out his closet, one that was supposed to make him look like 007. Yet, when Tyler pulled on the white button shirt, he huffed in irritation over how tight it felt.

“Damn it,” he grunted, unable to close the top four buttons of the shirt over his broad chest muscles. He tried his best to suck in his stomach in order to make himself smaller, but his fuzzy pecs were too large to fit into the tiny shirt. His wide back muscles were far too wide, and his biceps threatened to tear the expensive fabric to shreds. Tyler could’ve sworn that the shirt had fit him perfectly at the store, yet now it was at least two sizes too small for him.

With an annoyed huff, Tyler tossed the shirt to the floor and stomped over to his wardrobe to find something that would fit over his muscles. As he stared at the expensive clothes in his closet, Tyler couldn’t help but feel a large bubble of animosity start to form in his gut. The thought of parading around in such garish and over-priced threads was almost repulsive to him.

Without a second thought, Tyler hurried over to his dresser and yanked on a tight, gray tank top that barely fit over his large muscles. He pulled on some worn blue jeans that hugged his butt nicely. As the finishing piece, Tyler snatched a black leather jacket out of his closet and shrugged it on, feeling much more at home in it than he would some brand name suit.

Tyler paused to look at himself in the mirror before exiting his house, noting that he looked like he was wearing his usual outfit that his character Derek Hale wore on the set of Teen Wolf. He snickered and rolled his eyes, but then gasped.

“What the hell…?” his voice trailed off when he leaned in closer to the mirror, his eyes honing in on his teeth. As impossible as it seemed, Tyler could’ve sworn that his canines were bigger. They stood out much more prominently than the rest of his teeth, looking like the actor was wearing caps over them, trying to make them look larger and sharper. “I, uh, I guess these are supposed to be the sharper teeth… Shit!”

Tyler jerked back in surprise at the way his smooth, freshly shaven chin was now covered in a trimmed beard. The way his sideburns connected to it indicated that Tyler must’ve been growing out his facial hair over the course of a few days, maybe even weeks. However, he knew for a fact that he’d shaved his face not even an hour ago, letting him know that something was indeed wrong.

In disbelief, the hairier hunk grabbed at the hairs covering his chin, shocked that they were real and attached to him.

His heart began to race in his beefy chest, but he was quickly distracted when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Despite himself, Tyler snatched it out and glanced at the screen, his stomach doing flips when he read that it was a text from Stiles/Dylan.

Hey! I’m at the party! You’re coming, right? it read.

Tyler couldn’t ignore the giddy excitement that rippled through him, and he caught himself smiling like a goofball, his larger canines poking out of his mouth.

On my way, he responded, grabbing his keys and leaving his house.

Tyler rushed over to his garage and opened the door, not even thinking twice before hopping into his black Camaro instead of his Tesla before he sped down the street towards the party, eager to see Stiles— or Dylan.

He floored the gas pedal as he rushed to the party, irritated when he hit a red light. Tyler groaned impatiently and rested his head against the headrest in irritation. His eyes glanced towards the rearview mirror, and Tyler gasped at what he saw.

He almost tore the rearview mirror off of its fixture as he leaned closer, seeing that his brow appeared much more prominent than it should’ve. That, and his eyebrows were missing for some reason. His ears had elongated, ending in points that protruded far off his head.

Tyler ran a disbelieving hand over his facial features, feeling ridiculous. He had just enough awareness to recall looking in the mirror on the set of Teen Wolf, seeing the same exact look whenever he was made up into Derek Hale’s beta form. Yet, he could feel the nerve endings whenever he touched his new canine ears, paling at what that indicated—

HONK!

The car behind him blared its horn as the light turned green, snapping Tyler out of his panic.

Tyler just bared his teeth in the mirror and continued on his way. All of the cars on the road, the bright lights of the city, and the too poppy songs on the radio all seemed to get under the stud’s skin, and a firm scowl planted itself onto his handsome face.

It wasn’t long until Tyler pulled up in front of a large convention center that had a valet service up front. He stopped and got out of his Camaro, unable to hold back the intimidating snarl when he tossed the valet his keys.

“There better not be a scratch on it when I get back,” he muttered, noting the deeper quality to his voice. He cleared his throat as he walked up towards the entrance where a large bouncer stood, clipboard in hand.

“Name?” the bouncer asked.

“Derek Hale,” Tyler answered automatically, flinching and clearing his throat again. “Sorry about that, my name’s Der— er, Tyler Hoechlin.” He didn’t know why saying his name seemed like some Herculean feat, the actor having to clench his fists in order to get it out of his mouth.

The bouncer simply looked down at the list on the clipboard before nodding and ushering Tyler inside.

Tyler rubbed at his temples as he tried to piece together what was happening. However, the second he stepped foot inside, all of his senses appeared to have heightened as they were all assaulted at once.

Tyler winced at the onslaught of stimuli: the lights in the room were far too bright and he had to nearly squint in order to adjust his sight; the music was blaring out of the speakers, blasting at a near deafening volume; and the stench of overpriced alcohol singed his nostrils, making him grimace. The stud was ready to about face until a familiar scent wafted by.

It took a few seconds for Tyler to realize that he’d been sniffing at the air like a search dog, blushing once he’d been made aware of the other celebrities eying him confusedly. Still, the familiar smell of curly fries alerted him to someone else’s presence, and he found himself barreling through the crowd towards the source.

Tyler’s gaze honed in on Stiles, the cute guy standing over by one of the tables. He was dressed in a suit that had a red coat that made Tyler’s heart flutter in his chest. Immediately, he felt his scowl starting to loosen up the slightest bit, and the more he approached, the quicker Tyler noticed the other guy talking to Stiles.

“Grrr…” Tyler growled out of instinct. As soon as the animalistic sound left his lips, the shocked stud slapped a hand over his mouth. He had no idea why he’d literally just growled like a dog, but once he looked back over at Stiles and the other man talking, he couldn’t prevent the sound from uttering from his lips once more, his large chest vibrating from the noise.

Stiles picked up on the noise and looked over in his direction, smiling and waving him over. “Hey!” he called.

Tyler ceased growling and couldn’t prevent the wide smile from growing on his face as he hurried over to his boyfriend— or past costar. As Tyler was trying to figure out why he was so eager to see the other guy, he wasn’t even aware of the fact that he wrapped a possessive arm around Stiles’s waist, pulling the smaller guy closer into him.

Stiles turned to the other man. “Jeff, you remember Derek, right?” he asked before furrowing his brow in confusion.

The other guy just looked over at Tyler and nodded. “I sure do,” he grinned, holding out his hand for Derek to shake.

At first, the werewolf just sneered at the other man’s hand, jealousy still coursing through his veins. However, after a slight nudge from Stiles, Derek begrudgingly took it and squeezed it tightly, enjoying the slight wincing from the other man. “Nice to meet you,” he grunted.

Jeff didn’t look too fazed. “As I was telling Dylan, er, Stiles over here,” he said, “I was hoping to hear more about your stories in Beacon Hills. I’m with a large production company that would love to—”

“Not interested,” Derek interrupted, having absolutely zero desire to have his pack’s business advertised in any manner. He was as anti-social as they came, and the idea of talking to some big shot production guy made his headache grow.

Jeff frowned. “…yeah, I guess I did write him like this…”

Derek ignored that, and instead held on tightly to Stiles as he led him out of the crowd of people and towards the exit. They left the convention center and handed the valet the ticket.

“Der,” Stiles piped up, looking just as confused as he was, “um, how the hell did we get in LA?”

Derek’s brow furrowed too as he scratched at the back of his head. He felt like something was wrong, hearing some quiet voice in the back of his head that said that he wasn’t an alpha werewolf. For a brief second, his hairy muscles felt far too big and he wondered why he was so turned on by another man. However, the voice was immediately silenced when Stiles interlocked his fingers with his.

“No fuckin’ clue,” Derek finally said, shaking his head as he took the keys back from the valet. He and Stiles got into the Camaro, and Derek sped down the street back towards Beacon Hills.

The alpha werewolf rested his arm around the headrest of Stiles’s seat, the motion making his large biceps stretch his leather jacket slightly. Stiles leaned in closer to him, resting his head on his broad shoulder. Derek couldn’t help but puff out his hairy chest with pride, his inner wolf howling with content.

Derek Hale smiled widely, absolutely loving his life.

#31 days of derek hale #Derek Hale #Derek Hale TF #dylan o'brien #Sterek #stiles stilinski #Teen Wolf #Werewolf #Werewolf TF #Character TF #Muscle #Musclegrowth #Hairy #straight to gay

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elspethdekarios · 5 months ago

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This is my first time doing this so I hope it's right, for the intimacy prompt, some good ole fashion fluff

59.41.21.9.25 if those are too many whichever ones you'd like ❤️

Thank you for the ask! I'm sorry it took me so long to answer. I decided to make this 10x more difficult than it needed to be and combine all of these into one short little fic. I hope you like it! <3

Intimacy prompts:

9. Watching movies/tv shows (I wanted to keep this in the Realms so I took some liberty with this)

21. Listening to someone’s heartbeat

25. Falling asleep in their arms

41. Washing each other’s hair

59. Height difference

The Lightsinger Theatre was bustling with life, a shining beacon of bright gold in a dark winter evening. Young workers in threadbare coats shoveled heaps of snow from the main street to make way for the nobility and otherwise wealthy attendees arriving by horse and buggy. Elspeth and Gale walked hand in hand from the nearby restaurant where they had shared a bottle of bold, red wine and indulged in the finest cheeses and cuts of meat this side of the Chionthar.

“It isn’t even our anniversary,” El had laughed as she saw the rich feast laid out on the table.

“I have something in mind for that,” Gale smirked, taking another sip of wine. “Don’t you worry.”

“I’m sure it’ll be marvelously simple,” she teased. “A bouquet of roses and some chocolates. A kiss on the cheek. An otherwise normal day.”

“You know me. I’m very practical and not at all ostentatious.”

No, this date wasn’t to mark a special occasion. Gale had bought tickets to a traveling production of The Gilded Unicorn, a renowned grand play of Amn that he had always been eager to see. The two of them spent the past month taking turns reading the play in written form aloud to each other, and finally got to the end just the previous night. All day they discussed how fantastical scenes would be translated to the stage, with Gale particularly curious about whether or not the production would include magic: You know, they could use a minor illusion spell for the stars. Or, better yet, a powerful illusion spell for the Unicorn! I once saw a production where….

Golden lights glowed from the Lightsinger’s entrance, guests mingling as they clutched their cloaks and hurried inside. It was a grand building, with marble columns and a large arched doorway gilded with golden filigree. As they entered, they joined the queue moving slowly up the atrium’s ornate staircase. Gale kept a protective hand on the small of El’s back, and urged her to the step in front of him when the line moved.

She looked at him over the shoulder of her embroidered coat, smiling. “Look who’s taller now.” But when the crowd shifted, Gale joined her on the step, the top of her head level with his nose as usual.

“Still me,” he said, and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Are you, now?” she asked, stepping up again when the line moved.

“Hmm,” Gale mumbled into her shoulder, which was eye level with him now. “I’ll let you win this one. I like a dominant woman.”

“Gale!”

The play was magnificent, and the seats Gale secured with his position at Blackstaff (and a hero of Baldur’s Gate, no less) were some of the best in the house. They watched with their hands clasped together, Elspeth holding his right hand in her lap with both of her own. He held her cold fingers and radiated a faint warmth from his palm, something he’d grown accustomed to doing since the year or so she’d been in Waterdeep with him. The Baldur’s Gate winters she was used to were much less harsh. They held onto each other even as they left the theatre and walked home, recounting their favorite parts of the play.

“That night sky was so beautifully painted, they didn’t even need magic,” Gale said as they neared the Dock Ward. The well-to-do patrons who lined the streets around the theatre had given way to worn-out sailors and merchants smoking their pipes outside of whatever inn housed them for the night. “I’m sure magic would have improved it, of course, but it was lovely on its own, don’t you think?”

When they reached the tower on the corner of the street,, they fell mindlessly into their nighttime routine, trekking up three flights of stairs to the bedroom as if the night were any other—but the conversation was still lively, their giggles frequent, and their bellies fuller than usual.

“I suppose we don’t need to take a bath tonight,” Gale stifled a yawn as he untied the laces on the corduroy vest layered over a long-sleeved shirt.

Elspeth waltzed in front of him, half undressed, wearing only a thin chemise over her leggings. “But think of how warm and cozy it would be,” she said, grazing his hands with her own, gently lifting his arms towards her. Snow was beginning to fall outside the window, and she craved nothing more than a hot bath in her love’s arms to ward off the chill.

Gale slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her into a hug. “If you insist,” he grinned, resting his chin on the top of her silky blonde hair.

The washroom took only a few moments to steam up the room and fog the mirror. They settled into each other in the water, familiar and warm and safe. It was one of their favorite things to do together—lying in the bath and staring out the window Gale had enchanted so they could see out but others couldn’t see in. Tonight, the view of the waterfront street below was peaceful, with only a few passersby huddling up in their coats and hurrying home, or to an inn, or to nowhere at all. It was a game they played with each other—who is that person and where are they headed? There were the familiar faces of course: the elderly grandmother nextdoor who brought flowers home with her at least once a tenday, the children who gathered along the docks playing make-believe pirates, the grumpy middle-aged man and his equally grumpy wife on their way to the market with toddler in tow. Tonight, though, the few citizens who passed were strangers.

“I reckon he’s on his way to the Empty Keg,” Gale said, pointing at a stout man staggering his way down the street, a pipe in his hand.

“He should probably be heading home, by the looks of it,” El laughed as she dipped her head into the water. Gale worked the soap into her hair, his strong fingers massaging into her scalp. He took his time, his movements deliberate. She swore her hair was always cleaner after Gale washed it.

They switched positions in the tub, Gale nestled now between her legs as she returned the favor. She took extra care to scratch his scalp with her nails, savoring the way he sighed and melted into her.

“Why do I ever wash my own hair?” he mused, putty in her hands.

“I was just asking myself the same question.”

Lying in the dark, freshly clean and hair still wet, they settled into each other's arms, the bed exceptionally comfortable as it can only be after an eventful day. El brushed her feet against the soft sheets absentmindedly—a habit she’d had since childhood to help soothe her to sleep. When they first began sharing a bed (or bedroll, rather), she tried to stop, worried the movement would bother Gale like it did her previous lover. But as she became more comfortable, as they bonded so closely that she no longer felt the need to hide any part of herself, she realized how ridiculous it was to keep something so simple and mundane from him. Especially when she struggled to fall asleep, plagued by the occasional insomnia that came with her half-elf heritage.

There is something that helps me fall asleep, she told Gale one restless night in bed at the Elfsong. Repetitive movements.

Like you do with your feet?

I… how do you know about that?

You do it right before you fall asleep and right before you wake up, he said so nonchalantly that she was taken aback for a moment.

And it doesn’t bother you?

Why in the world would it bother me?

Now, more than a year later, she rested her head on her husband’s chest, feet fidgeting under the covers as the beat of his heart thrummed in her ear. Her husband, alive and healed and happy. She smiled to herself, his arm warm around her shoulder, his pulse rhythmically lulling her to sleep.

#ask #fic #my writing #bg3 fic #gale #gale fic #gale x tav #bg3 fanfiction

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puppetmaster13u · 1 year ago

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One-Word Prompts

Mostly for DC, DCxDP, or DP, but can be used for any sort of fandom or original world as well. Go wild! (Each day has two prompts to choose from, feel free to skip or use something else if you don't like something!)

Day 01: Enigma | Silence

Day 02: Celebrate | Pet

Day 03: Gods | Ghosts

Day 04: Family | Alone

Day 05: Hope | Courage

Day 06: Wings | Nest

Day 07: Levitate | Melody

Day 08: Spectrum | Overwhelmed

Day 09: Fire | Gun

Day 10: Mystery | Birthday

Day 11: Ice | Heat

Day 12: Night | Day

Day 13: Hurt | Brick

Day 14: Picnic | Shadows

Day 15: Gargoyle | Rain

Day 16: Fangs | Claws

Day 17: Cat | Dog

Day 18: High | Beacon

Day 19: Free | Fault

Day 20: Formula | Smile

Day 21: Sand | Leaf

Day 22: Songbird | Glass

Day 23: Home | Friday

Day 24: Lurk | Charm

Day 25: Reflection | Teeth

Day 26: Witness | Haunt

Day 27: Scar | Rest

Day 28: Drive | Safe

Day 29: Picture | Shatter

Day 30: Wish | Forgive

Day 31: Risky | Invite

Day 32: Trust | Dance

Day 33: Focus | Kiss

Day 34: Neglect | Connection

Day 35: Solitude | Bone

Day 36: Cook | Crystal

Day 37: Stare | Clouds

Day 38: Luck | Wander

Day 39: Mimic | Visit

Day 40: Dig | Blade

Day 41: Radio | Friendly

Day 42: Letter | Glasses

Day 43: Slump | Snack

Day 44: Vault | Candy

Day 45: Wreck | Ancient

Day 46: Sweater | Tarot

Day 47: Circus | Missing

Day 48: Quarrel | Dance

Day 49: Hug | Cry

Day 50: Disaster | Fireflies

Day 51: Explosion | Injury

Day 52: Meeting | Stars

Day 53: Invisible | Drift

Day 54: Aura | Mind

Day 55: Worry | Guilt

Day 56: Train | Tranquill

Day 57: Rescue | Enemy

Day 58: Breathless | Wave

Day 59: Glow | Explore

Day 60: Flashlight | Lightning

Day 61: Portal | Alarm

Day 62: Fantasy | Orbit

Day 63: Blue | Compromised

Day 64: Grave | Stain

Day 65: Friend | Dreams

Day 66: Exhaustion | Loss

Day 67: Love | Present

Day 68: Chaos | Glitter

Day 69: Rebel | Camp

Day 70: Empty | Beauty

Day 71: Book | Doodle

Day 72: Solitude | Prophecy

Day 73: Lie | Treasure

Day 74: Lost | Cold

Day 75: Crime | Cut

Day 76: Sick | Haunt

Day 77: Task | Glory

Day 78: Chain | Machine

Day 79: Shiver | Outlaw

Day 80: Hospital | Fragile

Day 81: Drink | Fight

Day 82: Stiff | Smoke

Day 83: Green | Blood

Day 84: Faith | Vision

Day 85: Whistle | Fog

Day 86: Hide | Window

Day 87: Breath | Crawl

Day 88: Trap | Armor

Day 89: Antidote | Splinter

Day 90: Race | Piano

Day 91: Border | Electrical

Day 92: Savor | Phantom

Day 93: Evening | Spell

Day 94: Unknown | Chase

Day 95: Hold | Disconnect

Day 96: War | Fall

Day 97: Party | Blood

Day 98: Thrive | Goodbye

Day 99: Mask | Fear

Day 100: Youth | Journey

#prompts #100 days challenge #100 day prompts #writing prompts #art prompts #drawing prompts #dailyprompt #batman au #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #once again can be used for any fandom #dc #dcu #batman

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shefanispeculator · 3 months ago

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Jul 21, 2021

Blake: “I hope that’s not too far down the road,” Blake admitted in March. “Ten years sounds like way too long to me. I’d like to see that sooner than later. We’ve both pretty much taken it to the limit as far as our careers go. It’s been fortunate to accomplish a lot of things, but hopefully at some point, we’ll get to live some life. And I think we’re both ready for that, honestly.”

Gwen: One thing that comes with growing older is you sort of, because right now I am not really focusing on career as much. I feel I like rang that bell a few times. Once you ring It is the great. But you really realize it’s journey you are one opposed to winning. Number 1 feels the same as being in the garage or the Beacon Street house. It kinda doesn’t change anything . Having the freedom financially of winning financially is wonderful. Then you can continue to be creative and be indulgent. Of course that is a great thing to happen. you can be

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beardedmrbean · 11 months ago

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When dozens of protestors halted traffic on a major Los Angeles highway this week, it was the latest in a string of major public calls for a ceasefire in the Israel-Hamas war. The demonstration, led by the notorious anti-Israel group IfNotNow, followed a vote for a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas from 153 countries (the U.S. voted against) during an emergency special session of the United Nations General Assembly.

As an Israeli Jew who helped Palestinian civilians during my five year service in the Israeli Defense Forces, I would love nothing more than for our two peoples to live side by side in peace. Innocent Palestinians deserve every freedom and to realize their national aspirations. Sadly, the only thing standing between us and a ceasefire is Hamas, a terrorist organization whose raison d'etre is to eliminate Israel and kill Jews.

For this reason alone, calls for a ceasefire are neither a commitment to human rights nor an effort to preserve life. Instead, they are a demand that Jews not defend themselves from genocide.

To pretend that this isn't the case not only ignores the reality on the ground but is deeply antisemitic and an outright denial of the Indigenous connection and national rights that Jews have to Israel.

Public demands for a ceasefire will do little more than serve an aggressor who has violated past ceasefires at will, including on Oct. 7 when Hamas violated an existing ceasefire in order to kill, torture, rape, and kidnap thousands of innocent people. In 2014 alone, Israel agreed to nine truces were implemented during a 51-day conflict. Even a poll from the Washington Institute of Near East Policy on October 10th showed that a majority of Gazans themselves did not support breaking the latest ceasefire agreement, something Hamas leadership did without regard to the agreement or the lives of citizens on both sides.

A ceasefire requires not one but two partners, yet the international community continues to turn its head away from the fact that a ceasefire is not a goal for Hamas. Hamas' objective is to kill Jews, an objective its pattern of breaking past ceasefires has made clear. As unpleasant as the reality is, calls for a ceasefire are calls to perpetuate and promote antisemitic violence against innocents.

One can criticize Israel without being antisemitic, the pro-Palestinian faction says. I agree with that statement. But calling for a ceasefire at this juncture is not criticism; it's a dogwhistle, a demand that Jews to lay down and accept the attacks against them.

Calls for ceasefire also conveniently ignore the connection between Israel and Jews. Zionism is a movement for the re-establishment of the Jewish nation of Israel following centuries of Jewish diaspora. Formally established in 1948, Israel became a beacon of hope for Jews worldwide experiencing persecution.

My own family exemplifies this reality. Concurrent with the Holocaust in Europe, Jews in the Middle East faced violent dispossession just for being Jewish. My Iraqi grandmother was just a child in 1941 when she experienced the Farhud, a two-day pogrom against the Jewish population of Baghdad. During these days of antisemitic violence, my grandmother witnessed her best friend being raped and murdered in the streets of Iraq, just for being Jewish. Meanwhile, Tunisian Jews like my paternal grandfather were conscripted to detention camps and forced labor in a gulag, where conditions were barbaric.

Even though we and the world have seen all this before, Israel nevertheless committed to a ceasefire on November 21, an agreement that included an exchange of all hostages taken on October 7 as well as Hamas putting a stop to all missiles launched into Israel. Predictably, Hamas began firing rockets into Israel fifteen minutes into that ceasefire. They also slaughtered four Israelis on Nov. 30 in Jerusalem, and continued attacking Israeli soldiers in Gaza.

To those with genuine hearts who just want the suffering and carnage to stop, know that I am with you. I understand the hurt you are feeling and pray every day for an end to this war so we can begin the difficult process of healing and peace.

As hopeful as I am, I am also realistic: Hamas started this war on Oct. 7, and the only thing that guarantees an end to all the pain and suffering for Israelis and Gazans is for Hamas to lay down its weapons and release the 135 hostages.

Pressuring Israel, which is on a rescue mission to release its citizens from captivity and bring a group of barbaric death agents to justice, will do nothing to bring peace of mind to humanity or peace to the region.

I am certain that this is clear to many of those calling for a ceasefire. But much like the chant "from the river to the sea," the calls for "a ceasefire" have turned into another thinly veiled euphemism for the destruction of the Jewish state that is meant to fool the American public.

Hen Mazzig is a Senior Fellow at the Tel Aviv Institute and the author of The Wrong Kind of Jew: A Mizrahi Manifesto.

The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.

#nunyas news #maybe call on hamass to ceasefire #every once in a while

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sl-newsie · 3 months ago

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Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 21: Court's In Session

Previous: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/744620213809594368/behind-masks-dr-jonathon-crane-x-oc-masterlist?source=share

Ka-boom!

The loud noise startles me and I nearly fall off the ledge I’m sitting on. A strong rumble shakes the ground and in the distance I hear a choir of screams. What the Hell was that?

“It’s done!”

In the alley below someone sprints over to whisper to a man standing behind a dumpster.

“All the cops are buried!”

Are they serious? Gordon actually went through with that malarkey? I thought the news was joking. But no, they’ve corralled the entire police force into Gotham’s tunnels and now they’re stuck. Hm. I wonder what comes next? Any idiot can figure that out.

I slip off the ledge and down into the streets, making a beeline for Selina’s place. Please be home please be home-!

Knock knock.

“Keith, if that’s you I’ll break your other wrist,” Catwoman drawls from behind the door.

“Sadly I’m not him. It’s Calico.”

The door pulls open and Selina tugs me in before she slams it shut. Is it just me or is she packing? What’s the suitcase for?

“You’re leaving before it’s complete anarchy,” I put together. “This was the storm, wasn’t it?”

“Yes and I don’t have time for questions,” Selina speaks quickly. “You can have my apartment. Use whatever you want. I’m leaving. Sorry but I only have one ticket.”

The old me would be sad and appalled that she’s practically abandoning us in this mess. But the new me is surprisingly cool about this upcoming fate.

“The Reaper thrives in chaos.”

And so chaos arrives. It’s been a week since that explosion buried the cops. Turns out that wasn’t the only explosion. Several others destroyed all but one bridge to prevent us from leaving. Queensboro Bridge is the only one left to provide supplies and act as a false beacon of escape. Word is that an armed nuclear bomb is hidden within the city, ready to detonate if one of us tries to leave. Tanks patrol the streets to ‘upkeep order’ but it’s really just the League abusing their power over Gotham’s citizens. Oh, the citizens. Selina was right. Utter chaos. The poor are rich, the rich are poor. A fight against equality has broken out.

Only a few leftovers of law enforcement are still trying to help. Every few days I see Blake, Gordon, and a few others trying to maintain peace. I want to join them but it’s out of my hands. They’ll only see me as a hooded villain adding fuel to the fire.

Speaking of fire, another fun tidbit of information came my way yesterday. Turns out the League wasn’t the cause of my apartment’s destruction. It was Harley Quinn. Before Bane’s robbery she broke in and trashed it. Don’t ask me why. I’ve been unable to track down the lunatic and interrogate her.

If any other villains remain in Gotham they’ve kept low. Honestly this must seem like candyland for some of them. No cops? That’s every villain’s dream. And, as usual, the only itching question is what’s become of my favorite doctor…

General POV

Dr. Crane didn’t know what to make of the mess when it unfolded. Does he flee? Does he stay and prey on the rising fear? That is a reasonable perk.

Now, hidden in the Gotham library with Nigma, the fear doctor is starting to reconsider. Spreading fear is one thing but when you’re fighting tooth-and-nail for a roll of toilet paper then it gets less intriguing. And, as usual, the itching question is what’s happened to the lovely Dr. Prentiss- Um, favorite test subject.

“New riddle! The more there is, the less you see. What am I?”

Crane hardly hears the Riddler’s question. He’s too busy staring out the window half-hoping to see a hooded figure pass by.

“Answer: Darkness, which is what we’ll be in if you don’t get more batteries,” Nigma scolds and holds up a flashlight. When Crane still doesn’t respond he rolls his eyes. “Calico isn’t here.”

“Huh?” Crane looks over.

The Riddler cackles. “You can’t let her go, can you?”

Dr. Crane resumes his stern expression and looks away. “If she's still here she’s acting on her own accord. I’m not keeping her here.” A few seconds go by and he thinks out loud: “How can someone so stunning be so aggravating?”

Riddler, contrasting to Ivy, has never seen a reason why these two can’t be together. They’re both intellectual and attractive. Yes Callie’s a coldblooded killer and Crane is, well, Crane. But all the more reason why they might need each other to bring a sense of sanity to their lives. A complex social riddle if Nigma ever saw one.

“You miss her. Don’t you?”

Dr. Crane dismisses himself to end the conversation, but not before Nigma overhears him mutter: “Somehow she makes up a part of me I didn’t even know I was missing.”

That’s the trigger. If the apocalypse is going to transpire then at least it should tie up some very needed loose ends.

“Dr. Crane?”

A new voice from the doorway shocks the villains. Riddler pulls out a gun and Crane prepares to throw a toxin bomb. A brutish man in a bulletproof vest steps in with his hands in the air.

“No threats, gentlemen. Dr. Crane, we’ve got quite the offer for you.”

“Oh really?” The doctor asks apprehensively, still poised to strike.

“I promise it will be well worth your talent.”

Calico’s POV

Gotta say, outsmarting the League’s goons is fun! All day I’ve been swiping food and equipment from under their noses and they have no clue! I give the supplies to the citizens, a gesture that I hope will make up for a fraction of my sins. And right now I’m watching the sunset across the frozen bay on top of what’s left of the bank. If it weren’t for the tank driving by this would be a touching moment.

Screeee!

A new siren wails through the city. Ugh. I shouldn’t investigate. But I have nothing else to do at the moment. I slide down to the icy pavement and walk towards the courthouse. What- What the Hell is going on?

“Justice!”

“Come witness our law!”

People are yelling all down the street. Curious. I try to get a better look but the crowd is making it impossible. I slip on my hood and sneak behind a distracted lady.

“What’s going on?” I ask her.

“Oh! Bane’s establishing a people’s court!” she answers happily.

People’s court? Run by these people? We mine as well elect Arkham patients for government too. Bang up job, League of Shadows. You’re going to have a human zoo in a concrete cage.

“...Judge Crane is sentencing.”

My head jerks up. “Did you say Crane? As in Dr. Crane?”

The man speaking shakes his head. “It’s Judge Crane now. He’s been chosen to sentence the guilty.”

I have to see this.

After fighting my way through I finally reach the large doors. It’s even more crowded inside. Lord, how many trials are they running? I mean there’s plenty of charges to deal with but this is overdoing it. I turn the corner and- Oh my.

“I leave for a few weeks and you turn into a judicial puppet,” I taunt. “Had me worried for a second.”

There, right in front of me, stands Dr. Crane wearing a judge’s robe. How the tables have turned.

He flinches at my voice and whips his head around. My eyes look up to meet his familiar crystal blue ones. He’s just as astonished to see me.

“How are you still here?”

“I’m stuck here the same as everyone else, Dr. Crane. Talk about a dead end. Though not literally of course, because I am still breathing.”

He looks… good? As far as it goes in today’s world, I mean. His suit is tattered and stained but he makes it work. His unkempt hair looks decent. As for his face there’s no mistaking the stubble that’s starting to grow. Despite this Dr. Crane still manages to pull off making rugged look sexy.

“How have Bane’s plans been treating you?”

Crane’s jaw tightens. “Most poorly. And you?”

I shrug and remove my mask to get a better look at him. “Any day I can breathe is a gift. Discovered any new fears?”

He steps closer, shaking his head. “All ordinary. Any new methods of death?”

“Aside from those who already offed themselves with a gun? No. I’m not killing anymore.”

“Really?” He asks, intrigued.

“There’s enough despair spreading without me helping,” I mutter. “I thought you’d be the one gaining something from it.”

Crane chuckles at my small joke. “I think the fear of death is most popular.”

In the background we hear a guard groan. “If this is how you guys flirt then I never want to see it again.”

Uhhh…

Oh thank God he’s walking away. Jeez. I thought Harley was the romantic! From the way Dr. Crane cringes I can tell he’s fazed too. Hm. I go from all-out fearing love to gagging at it like a child.

Crane changes the subject. “So you’re retiring from being a vigilante?”

I nod. “I’m through with that. It’s every man for himself now. Bane hasn’t figured out who I am and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Crane smirks. “What happened to helping others?”

“It got boring and pointless,” I drone darkly. “I do my good deed for the day and then I clock out. If you’d like to taunt me with my past failures then I’m afraid I must take a raincheck.”

As good as it is to know Dr. Crane’s alright, our shambles of a social relationship aren’t exactly set in stone. For all I know he’s planning to poison me again. And with all the disorder raging about that would not be the craziest way to die.

“Are you going back to Ms. Kyle’s?” Crane asks when I start to leave.

“It’s mine now. She left to get on a plane the second Bane took over.”

“Left? Without you?”

I turn around to face him again. Do I detect a hint of concern? Jonathan knows I can survive perfectly fine on my own. Why the sudden interest?

“I don’t have anything waiting for me elsewhere,” I reply. “I got an offer for a job in Central City, but it didn’t seem right.”

“And now you’re stuck here,” he says, trying to look away but is still staring at me.

“Now I’m stuck here.” I gesture to his new ‘uniform.’ “What’s your pay here?”

He scoffs. “Gotham’s been plunged into complete anarchy. It’s practically the apocalypse, and you’re asking that?”

I tilt my head in consideration. “At least you’re not dead.”

Crane looks to the floor and busies himself with fiddling with a spray bottle of fear toxin. “That might be a better option.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I try to encourage him. “From what I hear you’ve got an important job, Judge Crane. That means you’re protected.”

Crane meets my eyes again. “It means I’m under constant surveillance,” he whispers.

Oh. I didn’t think of that. They must have been watching Crane to select him for this position. Does that mean I’m on a list too?

“I should leave while I still can,” I murmur as I discreetly look around for cameras.

“You should,” Crane agrees, still adjusting his sleeves. “It will be less stressful without you.”

Despite my efforts to ignore him my heart is still tugged by his cold words. “Gee. It’s nice to feel wanted. Goodbye-”

“Don’t go!” he blurts.

“Why?!” I fire back, feeling very confused.

His icy blue eyes flash a sudden mix of panic and despair. “I don’t know! Just- don’t go.”

“You can’t order me around!” I hiss.

“Crane! Is this bitch giving you trouble?”

Too late to keep things quiet. Now I have another guard staring me down!

“Hey! You got a name, tootz? If you ain’t one of us then you aren’t allowed here.” When I don’t flinch away he leans in closer with a malicious grin. “You don’t fear death.”

My eyes remain cold and unblinking. “Death is unavoidable. In a twisted place like Gotham, it’s bred constantly. Death would be a welcomed friend.”

Just then another guard with a beard walks over and touches my hood. “Ah, I recognize this! You’re the Raven?”

Seriously? “Reaper,” I grunt.

The guard waves it off. “Right, right. Well Reaper, we’ll let ya slide once you sit in for this next hearing.”

I’m pushed away towards the hallway. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” the guy answers. “C’mon, move it along.”

Oh my God. This is far from a normal courtroom. A giant section for citizens is off to the left while a giant pile of furniture covered in trash and toilet paper stands at the end of the room. A single chair is placed in the center. Maybe it’s my twisted humor but it’s going to be hilarious to watch this play out.

“Coming through! Next client coming through!”

I slip over to stand near the back as somebody makes room for a slimy-looking rich guy. He’s shoved into the chair and waits for the procedure to begin. Across the giant room a familiar face appears on top of the makeshift judges bench. Dr. Crane is obviously enjoying this. As if his ego can't grow any bigger. Crane bangs a gavel to signal for silence.

“Take me to Bane! Where is Bane?” The client asks.

“There’s been no mistake, Mr. Striver. You are Phillip Striver, Executive Vice President of-” Crane takes another look at a document. “Daggett Industries? Who for years has been living off the blood and sweat of people less powerful than him.”

Did I hear that right? The rich are getting sentenced to what they deserve? This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for! Who knew it had to come to this for my dream to be granted?

“I, I am one of you-” Striver tries to convince Crane.

“Bane has no authority here. This is merely a sentencing hearing.”

Um, I’m not caught up with too much, but Bane is literally standing in the same room. Right over there. Wow Crane, you’ve got guts.

“Now, the choice is yours. Exile, or death?” Dr. Crane asks with bored glee.

The crowd erupts into roars of name-calling and Crane has to make them quiet down again. Striver isn’t looking so well.

“Ex-Exile.”

“Sold!” Crane bangs the gavel and the crowd cheers. “To the old man in the cold sweat.”

Always the lover of fear. Striver is pulled out of the chair and pushed through the crowd once more. After all this I might have to tip my hat to Crane for accepting such a role.

“New clients coming through!”

Who will it be now? Mr. Garold? Judith Lexington? It’s- Commissioner Gordon? And his small gang of rebels? Striver I understand but why them?

“Gordon’s arrested?” I ask a man next to me. “On what charges?”

“The people of Gotham have taken action,” he says.

“To do what? He’s trying to help us!”

“No lawyer. No witnesses. What sort of due process is this?” the gruff Commissioner demands.

“Your guilt has been determined. This is merely a sentencing hearing,” Crane explains nonchalantly. “Now what will it be: death, or… exile?”

This is how they execute? All because some people disagree with how bad things are? This isn’t anarchy and this isn’t a people’s court. It’s a dictatorship!

Gordon isn’t impressed either. “Crane, if you think that we’re going onto that ice willingly, you have another thing coming.”

Dr. Crane nods in a sarcastic way. “Death, then.”

“Looks that way,” Gordon clarifies.

What? No! Not Gordon! He’s one of the only good cops left!

“Very well. Death!” Crane orders, then smiles blankly down at him. “By exile.”

Son of a bitch.

The group is led out just like Striver. All I can do is restrain from jumping in. I’m no match for all the brute muscle here. If I was going to intervene it would have to be an inside job. I should have known Crane would exercise loopholes. He’s probably had it out for Gordon ever since he was fired from Arkham. A compassionate city meets the special needs of its citizens. Gotham does nothing. At this point I wonder if there’s anything I can do at all to fix this mess.

“So this is how liberty dies,” I murmur as everyone around me leaves to watch Gordon’s guilt walk. “With thunderous applause.”

As much as I want to look up to Crane in his new role it still feels wrong. He is a high-authority figure, but a psycho figure nonetheless. The rioting crowd dies down and now only Crane and a few guards are left. He walks closer and the mere sight of him is making my heart fight my brain.

“Well? What did you think?” The devilish judge asks.

Bastard! Hero? Psycho! Genius? I don’t know anymore!

Suddenly a brutish man in a hoodie stomps up and roughly taps Crane’s shoulder, giving me a stern glare.

“Hey, miss. We need to talk about the next case.” He looks between Crane and I. “Alone. So can ya scram?”

My legs agree but my mind’s still spinning. What? We aren’t finished!

Jonathan leans in quickly and whispers: “Meet me in the back alley.”

Oh dear.

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world-of-wales · 2 years ago

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─ •✧ WILLIAM'S YEAR IN REVIEW : JUNE ✧• ─

1 JUNE - William attended the Senior Colonels' Conference and Dinner at Clarence House.

2 JUNE - William took part in The Queen's Birthday Parade on Horse Guards Parade along with other members of the Royal Family at which The Queen's Colour of the 1st Battalion Irish Guards was trooped. On the conclusion of the Parade, they rode back to Buckingham Palace where he appeared on the Balcony along with Catherine and their children to witness a fly-past marking the Queen’s official Birthday. In the evening, William was present at the lighting of the National Beacon at Buckingham Palace to commemorate the Platinum Jubilee.

3 JUNE - William and Catherine attended the National Service of Thanksgiving for Her Majesty's Platinum Jubilee in St. Paul's Cathedral. After the Service, they a attended Reception at Guildhall given by the Rt. Hon. the Lord Mayor and the City of London Corporation.

4 JUNE - William and Catherine along with George and Charlotte visited Cardiff Castle where were received by Her Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of South Glamorgan (Mrs. Morfudd Meredith). Later they attended the Platinum Jubilee Concert at Buckingham Palace.

5 JUNE - William and Catherine attended the Platinum Jubilee Street Party at Kensington before attending the Platinum Jubilee Pageant in the Mall. They later appeared on the Buckingham Palace Balcony along with their three children.

7 JUNE - William held an Investiture at Buckingham Palace on The Queen's behalf.

8 JUNE - William was spotted selling the Big Issue Magazine in London.

13 JUNE - William and Catherine attended the Order of The Garter Service at St. George's Chapel in Windsor.

14 JUNE - William attended a Duchy of Cornwall Meeting at 10 Buckingham Gate. Afterwards, he attended the Grenfell Tower Five Year Memorial Service along with Catherine.

15 JUNE - William visited the Lionesses team at St. George's Park ahead of the European Championship where he was received by Mr. James Leavesley (Vice Lord-Lieutenant of Staffordshire).

16 JUNE - He held a United for Wildlife Meeting at Kensington Palace.

17 JUNE - William and Catherine attended Day Four of Royal Ascot.

19 JUNE - Kensington Palace released a new photograph for Father's Day featuring William with his three children.

21 JUNE - A special issue of the Big Isuue magazine was released to mark William's 40th Birthday. He also visited Dave Martin, the Big Issue seller with whom he sold the magazines in London earlier in the month. William and Catherine held a Meeting with the Lord Hague of Richmond, Mr. Simon Patterson and Ms. Amanda Berry (Chairman, Vice-Chairman & Chief Executive, The Royal Foundation) via video link.

22 JUNE - William and Catherine visited Brixton House Theatre where they were received by Mr. Christopher Wellbelove (Deputy Lieutenant of Greater London). Afterwards, Her Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Greater London (Sir Kenneth Olisa) recieved them as they attended the unveiling of the National Windrush Monument at Waterloo Railway Station.

23 JUNE - William and Catherine spent their day carrying out engagements in Cambridgeshire. First, they were received by Her Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Cambridgeshire (Mrs. Julie Spence) as they visited Fitzwilliam Museum where their first joint portrait was unveiled. Afterwards, they visited East Anglia Children's Hospice - Milton where they were received by Mr. Benjamyn Damazer (Vice Lord-Lieutenant of Cambridgeshire). Subsequently they were received by Mrs. Caroline Bewes (Deputy Lieutenant of Cambridgeshire) at Jimmy's Cambridge. Later Williama and Catherine spent their time at the first-ever Cambridgeshire County Day at Newmarket July Course.

24 JUNE - William held an Investiture at Buckingham Palace.

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thesightstoshowyou · 1 year ago

Text

A Volunteer

Lochlan Smith (OC) x F Character (NSFW)

(Character bio here)

Warnings: Heavy, brutal, graphic noncon, slut-shaming, spitting, fingering, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation, mentions of blood, forced anal, nonconsensual hypnosis, throat fucking, mind fuck. Lok is mean. Please proceed with caution.

The body on the table twitches. Lok watches closely, expression apathetic. Reaching out, he adjusts the headphones covering the victim’s ears.

They’re deep in trance, his voice emanating from the speakers and filling their thoughts. It’s an experiment, an attempt at reprogramming. They’ll stay this way for a few days until he’s sure the message burrows as deeply into their mind as it can.

Lok winces and shifts. Hand sliding up his thigh, he palms the throbbing hard on in his pants. He’s neglected it so long it’s beginning to hurt, steadily becoming a burning ache deep in his belly.

His gaze drifts back to the slumbering form on the table. Too easy. He needs the fight or he won’t cum. Then he’ll just be back in the same place he started. Plus, he doesn’t want to disturb them and fuck up all the work he’s put into rewiring their psyche.

He’ll have to find another, it seems.

Lok departs and closes up his workshop. Heading home, he showers, dresses, styles his hair, spritzes on a little cologne. Quickly, he drinks a cup of coffee before heading back out into the night.

He cruises around the area, scoping out bars. Lok prefers them busy but not packed. Too much noise and he won’t be able to concentrate.

He settles on one at the end of the block. The Beacon, it’s called. Divey, but not dilapidated. A group of college-age kids hang out near the front door, sharing a cigarette. Lok parks on a side street out of view of any cameras and heads inside.

Classic rock blasts from the jukebox in the corner. Billiard balls clack, ice clinks in drink glasses, students laugh and chatter. A few girls, probably barely 21, dance and giggle at the other end of the room.

Lok seats himself at the bar and orders a drink he won’t touch. Sharp, green eyes scan each group of patrons. Two hopefuls immediately stand out: A shy-looking boy clutching a drink and standing next to his buddies—likely a freshman frat pledge—and one of the dancing girls, a blonde, innocent little thing.

The girl makes the decision for him. She glances in his direction and quickly looks away when he flashes her a smile. Bingo. A volunteer.

Mouth curling into a smirk, he spins in his chair to face the bar and fiddle with his drink. He won’t have long to wait. She’s tipsy and young; caution has yet to taint her decision making.

“Can I get a vodka cranberry please?” a sweet voice pipes up next to him. Lok turns to find the blonde leaning over the bar, purposefully not looking at him. He’s expected to make the first move, then.

“Hey there,” he greets, turning to face the girl completely and leaning back in his chair. He takes great care in crafting his expression; charming smile, kind eyes, relaxed posture. Non-threatening.

She faces him, a shy grin tugging at the corners of full lips. “Hi.”

“I’m Lok.” He holds out his hand. She takes it, gives him a delicate shake in return. She says her name but he forgets it immediately. Just the feel of her soft palm in his reminds him of the burning need in his groin.

“Lemme get this one,” he says, handing cash to the bartender when he returns with the drink. The girl grins wider and thanks him. Lok must clench his jaw when she wraps her lips around the straw.

Leaning in a little closer, he asks, “You have a boyfriend, sweetheart?” Tucking hair behind her ear, she nods and quickly glances at her friends. Nervous but curious. “Where’s he, then?”

“He wasn’t feeling well.” Lok hums, feigning pity.

“His loss then.” The girl giggles and Lok can just make out the pink tinging her cheeks in the low light. He continues with the small talk, asking about classes, about her major. She gives answers he instantly purges from his brain. He needs to hurry it up or he’s going to lose it right here in the bar.

Meeting her gaze, he inches just a little closer to her. “Let’s go make out in my car a little.” Momentarily, her eyes go out of focus and she nods absently. “Tell your friends you’re going to the bathroom. Meet me out front.” Dazed, she nods again and turns on her heel in a rush to complete her assigned tasks.

Excitement itching under his skin, Lok slips unnoticed from the bar and waits near the alley. Not a minute later, the girl appears and he crooks his fingers in a come hither motion. She hurries to him, her little skirt ruffled by the breeze, and titters when he wraps his arm around her shoulders. Together, they make their way down the darkened side street to his car.

Ever the wolf in gentleman’s clothing, he opens her door first before sliding into the driver’s seat. When the engine thrums to life, she shoots him a questioning look. Lok relishes in those first few moments of uncertainty, the tiniest traces of fear trickling into the crevices of her mind.

“I thought we were just going to your car?”

Lok looks directly at her before speaking. “Don’t worry. We don’t want anyone to disturb us, right?”

“Oh. Yeah, you’re right.”

“That’s a good girl.” Lok steers the car from the alley. He takes them to a vacant lot nearby, making sure to park under a grouping of trees that obscure their view of the main road. Now, they won’t be bothered, no matter how loudly she screams.

Flashing her a disarming smile, Lok climbs over the center console and into the back seat. Laughing breathlessly, the girl blindly follows. He grips her waist and seats her in his lap. His fingers tingle, thoughts of what he’s going to do to her racing through his mind.

A little sliver of moonlight shines through the back window, illuminating her face and the anticipation glittering in her eyes. Gently, he tucks her hair behind her ears and cups her cheeks before pressing soft kisses to her lips. She sighs, leaning into him and opening her mouth to deepen the kiss.

His tongue slips past her teeth to lave against hers. He swallows the breathy sound she utters. The corner of his lip slowly curls up in a smirk.

Pulling away, he finds her flushed and a little breathless. Her eyes meet his and he murmurs, “You wanna be my good girl, right?” She bites her lip and mutters a quiet “Yes.”

He continues, “You look a little tired, baby.” She frowns in confusion, but nods anyway. “Mmm hmm, you look really tired. Relax a bit for me.” Under his palms, her muscles soften. “That’s good. Just relax. You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re dropping deep into comfort. The sound of my voice makes you relax. Go a little deeper…keep going….”

Gradually, the girl’s eyelids droop. Her arms fall limply to her sides as her eyes glaze over. Lok keeps speaking softly, lulling her until she’s a limp doll waiting to be controlled.

“You’re doing so well. What you’re feeling now is called ‘drop.’ Whenever I snap my fingers three times, you will revert to this state. Three snaps is your cue. Now, I want you to return to consciousness, like nothing happened at all. I will count backward from ten, and when I get to one, you will be fully awake and alert. Ten…nine….”

“…One.” She blinks. Her eyes focusing, the girl sits up straight and looks around. The perplexed look etched in her expression makes him chuckle.

“Welcome back.”

“Back? What…did I…what’s going—

“Shut up.” She reels back in shock at his words. Lok strikes, roughly gripping her jaw and bringing her face inches from his. “I am tired of your vapid rambling.”

When she tenses to push away, his other hand tangles in her hair to hold her firmly in his lap. “Nope. You have a job to do, little girl.”

“D-Don’t….” She presses weakly against his chest and Lok watches in delight as reality comes crashing down around her. Tears well in her eyes and a grin creeps across his face.

The hand on her jaw slides down her front, fingers sneaking under her skirt and dipping into her underwear. He clicks his tongue when he finds her wet from his gentle kisses. “What a little slut, huh?”

She tries to twist and close her legs but his hand in her hair yanks her down, pulling a yelp from her throat and keeping her firmly seated in his lap. He brings his lips inches from hers to hiss, “What did you think was gonna happen, dummy? Leaving alone with some guy you just met? Does your boyfriend know he’s dating a whore?”

The girl sobs, arches, and wiggles, but only succeeds in grinding his cock to life. Lok groans and drags his tongue through the tears now clinging to her cheeks.

“Open your mouth.” Instantly, she obeys, a look of bewilderment crossing her face when she does. Lok spits her tears onto her tongue and plunges his fingers into her cunt at the same time. She snaps her mouth closed, shakes her head, pushes away, but he crooks his fingers and attacks her g-spot until she’s gasping against her will.

“Poor, sick little slut. You like this, don’t you? You like strange men forcing their fingers inside you.”

“No! N-No, no I don’t, please—

Lok doesn’t let her finish. Instead he rips her off his lap, spins her, and smashes her cheek down onto the seat. A hand on the side of her face keeps her pinned while the other hikes her hips up, grasps a handful of her panties, and rips. She screams then, legs flailing. They don’t connect, not with how he positions himself behind her.

Leaning down over her back, he rumbles against her ear, “It’s a good thing that filthy pussy is so wet or else this next part would hurt a lot worse than it’s already going to.”

Lok reaches between them to work open his pants as the girl shrieks and struggles. He sighs in relief when his cock springs free from the constriction of his jeans. Beneath him, she wails when she feels the hot flesh resting on her rear.

Chuckling, Lok slides his fingers up her slit, gathering up her juices and smearing them his along his length. When he leans back a little and presses his cockhead to her asshole, she chokes on a cry. Fight renews and she bucks and claws and screeches and thrashes, but his grip on her head is unyielding, his legs crushing hers until it hurts.

The scream she emits when he buries himself deep in her ass nearly makes him cum on the spot. “Ohhhh fuck…fuck,” he grunts, stilling inside her to get himself under control. So hot, so tight. Beneath him, she sobs, her legs frantically trembling.

“Hard to believe no one’s fucked you in the ass yet, but—Jesus—you’re so tight it’s almost painful,” he taunts, chuffing. He pulls back, nearly all the way out, eyes glued to the way her hole stretches around his girth.

Brutally, Lok snaps his hips forward again, shoving her further up the seat and pulling another blood-curdling scream from her lungs. He leans over her again, rutting into her and growling, “That’s good, scream just like that, baby. You’re bleeding. Can you feel it?”

“STOP, please stop, it hurts—

“I thought you were gonna be good for me? Good girls take it even if it hurts.” He sits back, grips her hip with his free hand, and starts up a feverish pace. The sound of skin slamming against skin fills the car.

The girl’s cries grow hoarse and strained, the seat beneath now soaked with drool and tears. The widows fog with the panting moans that spill from Lok’s lips.

Pressure builds in his gut, beautiful, scorching pressure heralding that much needed release. Thighs shaking, he glances down at the girl. Her blubbering isn’t quite enough to push him over. He needs more….

Digging in his pocket, he locates his knife. Snapping the blade free, he bends over her once more, the hand on her face sliding around to grip her jaw. The blade he sets against her throat pulls a terrified squeak from her quivering lips.

His mouth finds her ear and through gritted teeth he snarls, “You got kinda quiet there. I think you’re starting to like my cock shredding your ass, aren’t you?” She shakes her head, pitifully whimpering in response. “You do. Don’t lie to me. I bet you’d even like it if I cut you open and fucked you from the inside, right? Should I kill you? Defile your corpse? Answer me, cunt.”

That does it.

“PLEASE, PLEASE, I’ll do anything please don’t hurt me, please, I don’t! I don’t want it, I don’t—

Christ, he’s gonna cum. Lok sucks in a breath, snaps, “Sit up—no, look at me—SIT. UP.” Instantly, she does as she’s told.

Lok tears himself from her ass and shoves her down so her knees crack against the floor of the car. Hand returning to her hair, he guides his cock into her gasping mouth, grips the sides of her head and rams into her throat. All it takes is one, two, three pumps and he explodes, hot pleasure roiling in his belly and racing up his spine until his eyes roll back. A strangled groan leaves him as thick ropes of ecstasy pour down her throat.

Chest heaving, Lok finally cracks his eyes open. He can’t help the snort that leaves him at the sight of her. She’s a wreck; mascara bleeding down her cheeks, lipstick smeared, drool dripping off her chin, hair a tangled mess. She shakes in his grip, watery eyes wide and filled with terror.

With a contented sigh, Lok flops down onto the seat and pats the spot next to him. Warily, she eases off the floor, wincing and sniveling when she attempts to sit. Snickering, he decides to put her out of her misery. For now.

Snap, snap, snap.

The girl’s face goes slack, her shoulders slumping. Her eyelids droop as she regards him blankly. Lok clears his throat and scoots closer to smooth the hair away from her face.

“You don’t remember my face, my name, or my car. You never will. You will go straight home and take a shower, thoroughly scrubbing yourself from head to toe. You’ll brush your teeth twice.” He pauses, thinking. With a cruel grin, he adds, “You might not remember the details of tonight, but you will always know something very bad happened to you.”

Leaning past her, he opens the car door. “Now get the fuck out of my car. Go home.” The girl clambers out, stumbling when she tries to stand.

Lok slips back into the front seat. He stretches and groans in relief as he watches his little blonde stagger off down the street. He’ll follow after a while, learn where she lives.

Who knows? He could use a volunteer like her again.

#lochlan smith #lok smith #slasher oc #slasher original character #thesightstoshowyou

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badbirep · 1 month ago

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okay i couldn't wait and started reading the little family info dump before i finished my own research and lol i was missing a brother sorry archibald!!!!! for anyone interested in the little family, plz plz go look at the cold boys research central :D

i can't overstate how happy i am to be reading this, it's like getting a present! not only i feel self satisfied bc all things considered i did a pretty good job :) but i get more info!!!! like ohhhhhh that's where the children's names come from! also it took me until today that literally THREE of edward's relatives are called "cornelius hater" this is hilarious. I also didn't find the James C fleeing on horseback element in my own research and frankly? truly a mad lad this one

a couple things that i found interesting in my own search, but full disclaimer i didn't crosscheck this stuff nearly enough, so there's always the risk that it's just someone of the same name and similar enough location/dates.

The UK Poll Books and Electoral Register for 1834 lists Simon Little as owner of Fleetland Farm and a Mr. Edwards as his tenant, if i understood properly!

now the whole reason why i looked into this is blantantly to imagine more of my blorbo's life so here's stuff that made me go :'o

Edward starts as an officer on the HMS Donegal, in 1837. He's 26 yo! and his younger siblings are 22 (Charlotte), 20 (Archibald), 18 (Richard), 15 (Ridley) and just 13 for Janet! Jane Elizabeth, the eldest, is 35 for comparison.

So in the 1841 census, listed as living in the same house are both parents, Jane Elizabeth, Sarah Magdalen, Margaret Anne, Charlotte and Louisa. Like the info dump points out, none of sons are listed as living with them. What were they doing at the time?

Eldest son James Cornelius enlisted on the HMS Asia in 1828 (at 21), but by 1841 he's on the HMS Beacon as Paymaster just like dad. He also signed up for the freemasons in 1943 in malta! Very exotic

i didn't look up archibald bc i didn't know he existed at the time!

Couldn't find anything on Cornelius Hayter, Edward's closest in age brother, except birth and death dates unfortunately, and he's listed as living on Ker Street in Devonport, (same place as his family in 1941) on his burial record the very next year :(

His death was listed in april may or june of 1842 (i did find his burial records but i can't read the month listed as his death :/).

That's during Edwards' time as a lieutenant on the Vindictive (1 year 6 month and 1 day!). I found (with difficulty like damn) the following info on whatever the fuck the vindictive was up to during this time :

"[NICOLAS, JOHN TOUP (1788–1851) commanded] the Vindictive, on the East India station, from 1841 to 1844, returning to England by Tahiti, where he was sent to protect English interests during the arbitrary proceedings of the French (Ann. Reg. pt. i. p. 256)."

However Edward, who finished his posting on the Vindictive on the 20th of oct 1843, might have not seen tahiti!

[nevermind all that about the vindictive, i found a very thorough source thanks to the cold boys research center HOWEVER edward isn't nominatively mentioned as one of her officers so maybe i got his posting wrong?]

Richard John Strachan, his first little brother, is listed as living in the St Helier District General Hospital and Workhouse in the 1851 census when he's 31 yo. His family lives in the same town, so that means that he was ill enough to stay at the hospital full time.

He's listed as a "boarder" and his profession as "annuitant", which is understand as meaning that he recieves money each year, and which is the same thing several of his unmarried sisters are listed as in censuses. on that same page of the hospital census, several people are listed either as "pauper lunatic" and "pauper idiot" (compared to his "boarder") which makes think he was a long term (pure speculation) resident, but for a physical illness? i should look at the 1861 St Hélier Hospital census to see if he's still listed as a resident there, and if i don't find him, try to find his burial because i never found any death info for him, nor a naval career of any sort. mystery!

and lastly, the babiest brother Simon Ridley was a 2nd lieutenant in the royal navy but posted at the Plymouth Headquarters in 1841.

another thing of interest is that out of his 6 sisters (six!!!!), only 2 married :o

As the info dump details, Margaret Ann married a commander who later made captain. she's listed as 28 on her marriage certificate but she was actually 34 lol

and the babiest sister Janet married a commander also, at the respectable age of 51 and the guy got promoted up to vice admiral :o in 1881 when they were living with his adult son from a previous marriage, they had both a cook and housemaid! when she died at 85 yo, she left part of her effects to Alice Maud, her spinster niece (one of margaret's daughters!)

both married sisters had navy husbands, and it made me wonder how they met, like was margaret's husband serving with her older brother? or they were introduced at a navy function while her baby brother was trying to get a good commission? very jane austen

anyway thank you to the person who compiled all this neat info on the little family AND thank you to tumblr user noughticalcrossings who replied to my post with the cold boys research center!!!

#edward little #jayspeak

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magnoliafalls · 9 months ago

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— welcome to magnolia falls...

Nestled on the banks of the Atchafalaya River in southeast Louisiana, Magnolia Falls is less of a town than it is a loose collection of inhabitants who've occupied its land for generations. Their history lies buried deep beneath the bayou, strangled by the roots of skeletal bald cypresses that have lived and breathed and held their secrets for centuries.

Weathered clapboard buildings constitute the town's main street, but they're little more than a strip of hot asphalt forked off of Route 90. When the local folk speak about the real Magnolia Falls, they're referring to the shotgun houses with their doors misaligned to confuse wandering spirits, and the river delta that plays host to a variety of opportunities not available through official town commerce. They speak of the local cemetery haunted by moonshine-drinking teenagers; of the cicadas that sing at dusk from the tops of mossy oak trees; of the swamp water that tastes like cherry wine when the moon is full and is rumored to let you live forever with just a few brave gulps.

Magnolia Falls is many things. Some say it's smack in the middle of everywhere—66 miles southeast of Lafayette, 62 miles south of Baton Rouge, and 88 miles west of New Orleans—even if there are more angel oaks around these parts than there are human beings. Others claim it to be a labyrinth; unrelenting in its hold on every resident who's tried to leave, only to end up back in town limits sometime in the decades that followed. Of course, what most people don't realize is that, more than anything, Magnolia Falls is a beacon home to beacons—playing host to the very witches who greedily soak up the magic inlaid deep within its roots, and the beastly creatures who derive from that magic.

a 21+ discord supernatural rp

https://discord.gg/AgJyRrY53r

#discord rp #supernatural rp #rp #roleplay #oc rp

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anonymityisfunwriter · 2 years ago

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The Twin Flame - Chapter 21: Sad, Beautiful, Tragic

"Hang up, give up, for the life of us we can't get back..."

CW: Brief discussion of past SH, blood, wounds, first aid, needles

It was probably because the man who framed him for bombing the UN was currently sleeping in the room just down the hall from him.

Being on guard was completely rational, even if the situation he found himself in was not.

It could also be because you were incredibly pissed with him. Or maybe because you did not once emerge from your room for the remainder of the evening. And also, maybe. slightly because you kept calling him Bucky.

Even the unfamiliar location could be blamed, the mattress that felt too lush, so soft it felt like it might consume him as he slept, those were all good reasons that he was up in the night, tossing and turning, laying in bed even though he knows it's completely futile.

But he knows the real reason.

As an insomniac super soldier who hadn't slept a full night since he'd returned from Wakanda, he knows sleep wouldn't come even if Mr. Sandman himself came and brought him the sweetest of dreams.

Bucky gives up laying in the suffocating bed at around 2 AM.

He tears off his blanket with an annoyed huff. His bare feet hit the cold floor and he honestly has no idea what to do with himself. It's too quiet in the dead of the night. The shadows seem just a little darker in the unfamiliar space. The demons lurking around the corner seemed just a little too frightening to stay in this room.

He dresses himself, prepared to wander the halls all night until someone makes an appearance.

Somewhere in his tired, muddled head, thoughts begin slipping in. Because who knows, maybe you'll be wandering the halls too. And maybe he'll be able to convince you to tell him what's going on. Maybe he'll coax out some of the secrets that haunted you to help you carry that burden.

He knows he sounds like a crazy person. The overthinking, borderline plotting, on some strange off-chance he might run into you.

He tries telling himself that maybe your insomnia was short-lived and that you were now peacefully sleeping through the night. He audibly scoffs at himself as he exits his room.

As much as he wants that to be true for you, he knows it's not.

It's like a strange sixth sense. He just knows it. He knows you lie awake at night. He knows you've also counted ceiling tiles while you laid in bed waiting for a reprieve that you know will never come, stared up at a bright midnight moon until the sun chased it away, watched lonely cars pass through even lonelier streets.

And with that final thought, he knows he's going crazy. A few conversations and a sense of familiarity that tugged at his soul did not mean he knew you. It meant he was crazy. And that's all it meant.

At least that was what he was telling himself. When he was being honest with himself, he knew it was just a way to feel less shitty about the way he left things with you.

You stand in the kitchen in the dead of the night, gritting your teeth as you unravel the bloodied bandage that covered the gun shot wound on your arm.

Pain was easy for you. Pain you knew like the back of your hand. Pain was familiar, like an old childhood friend that just wouldn't let you go.

It was the emotional stuff that you weren't good at. Or at least, you weren't good at anymore.

You were so good at ignoring the pain that now radiated up and down your arm, that by the time you stood over the kitchen sink, slowly peeling the bandage off of your skin, your arm was weak, trembling as you exposed the wound to the cool night air. The muscle beneath it twitched and your hand shook of its own accord.

You crane your neck to get a look at the entire wound and you don't have to be a doctor to know it's really not good. “Damn it.”

Your small hiss of pain cuts through the silent dead of the night. It's like a beacon, calling out to Bucky to follow the sound. Without thinking, he feels himself being pulled into the kitchen to the sight of you hunched over the sink, your right arm extended out as your left hand tightly grips the marble counter.

“Wow… " Bucky quietly, teasingly whistles, unaware of the questionable first aid you were administering to yourself. "Now you’re swearing? Going rogue really changed you.”

“I did not go rogue,” you huff, dropping the the bandage on the floor as Bucky's voice cuts through your isolation.

“Not according to Sam," Bucky quietly grunts, slowly padding over to where you stand. The second he leans himself against the kitchen counter, he sees where your arm is extended as you try to disinfect and re-bandage your arm by yourself. He sharply inhales when he catches the sight of your wound. Blood is caked all over your arm, bled through the bandage that lay on the floor, all down your arm. And beneath the dried blood, see that the wound looks so painful, even to him. It's angry, clearly infected and inflamed. "Jesus...how long have you been walking around like that?"

"Since the bar," you reply, barely looking at him as you rummage through the small first aid kit for gauze and something to clean the wound.

"That was two nights ago."

"And Sam's dramatic," you redirect, pulling out multiple pieces of gauze along with several cloths you found in one of the cupboards.

"Yeah, he is," Bucky half-heartedly chuckles. His eyes expectantly flicker back down to your arm, "And the gash?"

"It’s nothing,” you mutter, running the cloth under warm water. He forcefully eyes you, like he knows you're trying to avoid the subject. You feel his glare burning holes in the side of your head. You roll your eyes with a sigh, "People just don't like it when you trespass on private property."

“Yeah, sounds about right," Bucky breathes. He takes a look at your arm again, how you're trying to twist it to clean it but can't because it probably hurts too much. "Here let me.”

“Don’t do that.”

He falters, stopping just short of making any physical contact with you. He looks up at you questioningly, his hand still hovering less than an inch away from touching you. “Don’t do what?”

“Be sweet to me when I’m trying to be mad at you two.”

“Would you prefer I yell at you like Sam?”

"I'd prefer it if you didn't lie to me."

"Touche." His hand slowly moves closer to your arm. Hovering so close to your arm he can feel the warmth radiating off your skin, he looks up to you for permission before touching you. You reluctantly nod, finally accepting the help he offers. His right hand closes the distance, trailing the six jagged, crooked stitches up your arm. His touch is feather light. You can just barely feel the rough, calloused pads of his fingers as he lowers himself to tenderly examine the wound. "You popped a stitch or two... Three, actually. What'd you have a pre-schooler stitch you up or something?"

You school the shudder that rakes through your body as Bucky's breath trails down your arm. "Joaquin, actually."

"You've been spending a lot of time with Torres?" he probes, his eyes flickering away from his examination and back to you.

And just as quickly, you shut his inquisition down. "We're not doing that."

"What?"

"That," you pointedly repeat. "We're not going to do the whole catch up, find out where I've been, thing."

He stands up from his examination, a gently demanding look on his face. "And why not?"

"Because I'm tired. So not tonight."

He nods, his mouth twisting in a sad smile that almost breaks your resolve. He clears his throat, "It's infected."

Though he's not used to touching people anymore, particularly not with his metal hand, he raises it, pressing the cool vibranium against the heated, angry wound.

You breathe a small sigh of relief, the coolness alleviating some of the pain you've been desperately trying to ignore. "Thank you."

"Any time."

As he stands there, his face inches away from your arm, his eyes wander the wound again. They trail up and down the arm and that's when he notices it. The litany of scars, scratches, imperfections littering your arm. Some so old they are barely visible to him. Years of fighting, of surviving, all worn on your skin.

He knows that some are new, some would fade and no one would ever be able to tell. He also knows that some would never fade, some would always be there to serve as a reminder of battles and wars you probably wanted nothing more than to forget. And that was only talking about the physical scars.

One sticks out to him. One that he knows would never fade. Not physically, not emotionally, and certainly not mentally. Not with the way it's embedded into your skin. Not with how far up your forearm it goes. One straight line. Decisive. So deep that another person couldn't have done that to you. You would have moved away. It's human instinct to move away. Even if you were held down, the angle, the placement. The conclusion screams so loudly that it can't be ignored.

When you feel a hitch in his breath still ghosting down on your arm, your eyes flicker to him for a moment. You don't really have to. You already know what he's seen. You don't meet his eyes as you raise your hand to cover the scar, you quietly murmur, "It was a long time ago."

Still holding his hand to the wound, he asks, "Did you mean it?"

"It was a long time ago."

He waits for it. For you to tell him that you didn’t mean it. That you don’t feel that way anymore. That, now, you were happy to be alive. That you wouldn't do that again.

But you don’t. You don't say anything.

He remembers moments from what felt like several lifetimes ago. A person who told him some of the most personal, most vulnerable moments of your life, just so he wouldn't feel so alone. Just so he could know that even if you didn't know him, you still knew him, you still understood him. You trusted Bucky when few others did, you held his hand when most were too scared to stand within a 100 foot radius of him.

It's clear that you weren't that person anymore. He just couldn't figure out if that person was actually gone or simply lie dormant to protect the heart that was much too soft for the life you'd lived.

He figures that's also his fault. Why would you offer any vulnerability, allow any moment of weakness after what he did?

In that moment, he decides to return a little piece of the vulnerability that you once showed him. Just a little piece that no one, not even his therapist had ever heard.

"Steve was the reason. My reason. Of why I didn't... you know?" he lowly stammers out. He figures that you don't need much more of an explanation than that, if anyone could understand what he's trying to say, it'd be you. You look up at him, finally meeting his intense gaze. There's a vulnerability in them that you can't reject. That you can't for the life of you shut down. You silently nod, not encouraging him to continue, not for anything except to offer a quiet understanding. He shrugs, grabbing one of the suture kits in the first aid kit. "I just couldn't be selfish. After everything he did, I couldn't. I know it was rotten work, but he did it anyway. I owe him that much."

The words hang in the air for a moment before you reply, "Steve didn't see it like that. I hope you know that."

"I know." For a moment, he allows the silence to overtake the room, for the vulnerability to envelope the both of you. He clears his throat just a second later, focusing back on your injury. "You're gonna need to be stitched up. Do you see anything there to numb you up?"

Without even sparing a fleeting glance to the first aid kit laid out beside you, you shake your head. "No. I don't need it anyway."

His face furrows, unable to hide his repulsion at your suggestion. "What?"

"It's fine," you flippantly restate. "You can do it without it. I'll be just fine."

"It's infected," Bucky explains, hoping this is just some miscommunication and that you're not really offering to have him stitch up an infected wound without any sort of pain management. "It'll hurt like a bitch. A hell of a lot more than a fresh wound would've."

"I know, I can handle it. Promise."

"I'm not interested in testing your pain limits," he vehemently refutes.

"I'm telling you, it doesn't bother me," you insist.

"And I'm reminding you that you're still a person," he angrily counters, frustrated by your general lack of concern over your own well-being. "A human, that as far as I know, sure as hell feels pain."

You sigh deeply, rolling your eyes at him like all of this is complete overkill, because yes, you felt pain, but you weren't lying when you said it didn't bother you. It wasn't that it didn't actually hurt, it was that you'd had decades of practice ignoring it.

You used to do it to yourself. Hurt yourself as punishment. It was ingrained within you, taught to the people that locked you up like an animal. It was what you had earned for the darkness that lurked beneath your skin, or at least, a darkness others claimed you had within yourself.

You recall a time long ago when you were first living with Sam.

Even now, you remember the situation so clearly. He'd just slammed the door shut. Still, the sharp noise startled you, and the glass in your hand shattered at your feet, shards scattered all over the floor, over your shoes.

In retrospect, it wasn't anything that couldn't be easily fixed, but as a newly minted person in the outside world, you felt guilt overwhelm you, for making his life harder, for breaking things in his home, for being a burden when he so kindly took you in.

The following action was reflexive. Turning on the stove, holding your hand over the scalding flame, it was second nature. You weren't proud of that. You remember how quickly he yanked your hand away from the stove, and throughly lectured you about how wrong that was.

Pain was not punishment. And there was no virtue in suffering.

You never did it again. And to you, that was progress.

You didn't welcome pain into your life, you just tolerated it when it was there.

That was improvement.

"Yes, I feel pain," you concede. "But it doesn't even bother me."

"Did Torres stitch you up without numbing it?" Bucky furiously demands.

"No."

"Well, I'm not going to either." He storms to the other side of you, furiously raking through the first aid kit that seemed to be packed with everything a person could need for an emergency - except for something to numb your arm. "If I can't find anything, then I'm taking you to the hospital myself."

"No!" you frantically object, startling Bucky. His gaze widens in shock, flickering over to you. You take a split second to compose yourself. "No hospital. No doctors."

"You're hurt."

"No hospital. No doctors," you repeat, dropping your tone back to just above a whisper. You look up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him to trust you. "Please."

He silently acquiesces by continuing to search through the first aid kit. He stops when he sees a tube of some numbing cream, over the counter, a low dose of pain relief, but it's all he has unless he's going to let you walk around with a gaping, bleeding wound. He looks at you with a concerned, deeply apologetic expression. "This isn't going to do much, but it'll help. It'll be better than nothing at all."

"Okay."

You push the thought of pain out of your head as he gently but thoroughly coats the wound in the numbing gel.

"We should give it a few minutes to give it it's best shot."

"Okay," you agree with an extended exhale and a reluctant nod.

The waiting seemed to make it all the worse. The anticipation of that pain that would come. Waiting here, Bucky standing there, so close to you. You weren't sure the last time you were this aware of his proximity.

Actually, you were. You knew the exact moment he was this close to you. And then you remember how terribly that moment ended. So terribly that he cut you out of his life. The remembrance is grain of salt in the wound.

And now he was here. Standing so close to you that you were almost positive he could hear your heart racing.

To put the slightest amount of distance between the two of you, you whirl around to face the counter behind you where you'd placed one of Zemo's nicer bottles while rummaging for the first aid supplies. You haphazardly twist the cap, pouring yourself a generous serving in one of Zemo's crystal glasses.

You turn back to find him watching you with a questioning look in his eye and an amused grin lighting up his face.

"Hey, you're fixing the outside wounds, I need something for the inside wounds," you dryly joke.

"Inside wounds," he says, trying his best to maintain a serious inflection. He breaks only a moment later with a short but hearty laugh. "I never thought you were the time to drink your troubles away."

"Maybe you don't know me as much as you think you do," you quip, your words carrying more weight than you intended.

"Or maybe I know you well enough to know when you're deflecting."

You're taken aback by his quick retort. You're so unused to anyone seeing through you anymore, but even in the way he says it with such ease. His words are callous, offhanded, like he's telling you the color of the sky, as though it's basic fact to him.

He sees right through you like he's known you all along.

But you'd spent months convincing yourself that you made that feeling up, that you saw things that were never there, felt things that weren't real.

You're not vindicated by Bucky's words, by the knowledge that he does, in fact, know you. It still doesn't change any of it, not what transpired, not where you were, none of it.

Because if he did, if he really did know you, then that must mean he just didn't like what he saw. And from a person you thought you'd shared something with, you couldn't accept that, you couldn't accept the fresh batch of fears and insecurities that your new conclusion would force you to wade through.

"Or maybe I just had to grow up. Maybe I had to learn to stand on my own two feet for once," you bite back. "That's what everyone wanted, right?"

The words exchanged are bittersweet, it's sad, beautiful, and tragic all at once.

It's a victory that you're still speaking to him. A loss that you're so angry with him. Devastating because he knows the role he played here. But maybe he doesn't know you as well as he thought he did.

Even now, he swears there was a moment he did.

In just these few short days with you, that feeling keeps bubbling up, threatening to seep out, for the words to pour out of his mouth. Before he can stop the feeling from dripping out into his words, he quickly and quietly responds, "Not everyone." He waits a beat, hoping that an ounce of courage will seep in, just enough for him to finish the sentence. He wants to say it. He thinks it over and over, 'I didn't want you to be different'. The bravery doesn't come. "But maybe-"

"I think that's enough maybe's for tonight," you cut him off, a small laugh embedded in your words.

He chuckles with an awkward smile. "Probably."

You laugh along with him for a second. You jut your chin up towards the small cupboard just off to the right, "Grab a glass."

"Sure." He grabs one of the crystal glasses, placing it down right beside yours. The corner of his mouth twitches up as he watches the heavy hand with which you pour his drink.

He raises his eyebrows, silently challenging you, not quite believing you'll drink your glass in its entirety.

"Wow," Bucky laughs, watching as you down the drink without even a wince. He smiles tipping his own glass in your direction as the liquor passes through his lips. He does his best to school his wince with a forced clearing of his throat, "I'm impressed."

"You don't befriend Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff without learning to hold your liquor."

"You're different," Bucky wistfully observes, a conflicted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe you just don't know me as well as you thought you did."

"Maybe I don't." His words are bittersweet. Because maybe he doesn't know you as well as he thought he did. But there was a moment all those years ago that he swore he did. He never told you. He never told anyone that. It didn't change that the feeling thrummed beneath his skin every time you were near. He decides to do what he does best, ignoring his own confusing feelings for the sake of the mission. He softly shakes his head as he opens the small suture kit, "I'm gonna start. You're gonna tell me if it gets too bad and you need me to stop, okay?"

"Okay."

"Swear?"

You softly chortle, agreeing with a small nod. "Swear."

"So tell me then, tell me what I don't know, what I'm not understanding."

"I thought we weren't doing this tonight," you chuckle, trying to focus on anything but the sensation of the needle digging into your flesh for the very first stitch.

"What's going on with you?"

"With the powers?" you ask, though you get the sense that's not what he's actually talking about. You exhale as the worst of the first stitch is over. All you feel now are the odd sensation of thread tugging at your skin. Though that's not really what he means, it's still something, so he nods, watching for your both your response and to check to make sure you're still okay. "I don't know. I've been like this since we've been back."

"You didn't say anything."

"No, I didn't."

"Is this why you left Louisiana?" he gently prompts, hoping to distract you as he begins the second stitch.

"No - Partly - I- I don't know, I guess I was looking for something." You don't know how to articulate what it was that you were searching for. Sure, there's the actual logistics of what you were searching for: a birthdate, biological parents, place of origin. Answers - that's all you were looking for. But what you searched for was far more difficult. Something intangible. A feeling. An idea. Something that felt like the bittersweet waves of nostalgia that often washed over you. Something that felt like home. Something that you couldn't ruin. Or infect. Or destroy. Something that wouldn't leave. Something that couldn't be taken from you. "Something bigger than myself. To hold onto... It sounds stupid when I put it like that."

"It's not stupid. It's - That sounds perfectly reasonable, actually," he assures you, tying off the second stitch. "But can I ask you something?" You look at him with a challenging expression and an unimpressed smirk. "Just one. Please?"

The corner of your mouth pulls up at the sight of Bucky's pleading expression. You loll your head once, reluctantly agreeing to another question. "Maybe just one."

"Isn't that what family is for?" he muses.

You halfheartedly smile. "I don't have a family. Remember?"

His eyebrows pull together, the corner of his mouth slightly pulling up as he goes back to finish the third stitch. "Really? Because that's not what that looked like to me. Earlier with Sam, I mean."

"I'm not Sam's family. Sam has a family."

He stops himself from rejecting your words out of hand. He knows how untrue they are, but it's clear to him that you don't. He thinks of the only thing that's even comparable to you and Sam. "You know, me and Steve used to fight like that."

"That's not the same and you know it. To Sam, I'm - well, I'm just Reckless Idiot #1."

"Steve was punk, I was jerk," he cheekily offers.

You gently push his shoulder as he takes one of the damp rags to clean up the rest of your arm, a small laugh bubbling out of your mouth, "Shut up, that's not true."

"It is! Most of the time, we were assholes to each other. We used to piss each other off all the time. I'd yell at Steve for getting into fights he knew he couldn't win. He'd yell at me and tell me that it wasn't my job to protect him. It didn't stop me from doing it. And Steve... well, Steve never stopped getting into fights. It doesn't mean he wasn't a brother to me."

"Maybe I'm just tired of fighting wars we'll never win," you unexpectedly offer, the confession surprising even yourself.

"We did win," he gently reminds you.

You look up at him with a vaguely pained expression that has nothing to do with your newly stitched up arm. "It doesn't feel like much of a win, does it?"

"No, it doesn't."

You quietly inhale. "People just don't get it, you know? Constantly going from one fight to the next. Waiting for the next thing to happen because it'll always happen. Something's always going to be lurking around the corner. We're always just going- "

"From one fight to the next," Bucky finishes for you, remembering how those exact words left his mouth only weeks ago.

"From one fight to the next," you repeat, your voice dropping as you look, really look, at Bucky for the first time all night. You keep speaking, holding his intense gaze, "And sometimes all I want is to be done. To have a little bit of quiet, to try and be happy for once, to- to have- "

"To have peace."

"Peace," you softly breathe.

The word feels odd in your mouth, the taste of it is unfamiliar, the syllables don't sound right as it leaves your mouth. You've known for quite a while that you were not meant for peace. Your only hope was that you wouldn't ruin anyone else's hopes for peace. And that included Bucky.

Without looking away from you, he grabs a fresh bandage, gently wrapping it around the wound. "I understand."

"Thank you."

You mean it for everything, for taking care of you, for sharing parts of himself you weren't sure he'd shared with anyone else, but mostly, mostly for understanding you in a way that you weren't sure anyone else ever could. It reminded you that, on the few times he allowed you to see it, his soul looked so much like your own.

"You're welcome."

"We should try to get some rest. Big day tomorrow," you whisper, looking down at his hand that lingers on your skin though the bandage is already secured.

Though he notices you don't say anything about sleep, he doesn't point it out. He knows there's a very good chance the two of you will lie in your lonely beds until the morning sun finally ends your nighttime misery.

He drops his hand slowly, trailing your skin for a second longer, "Yeah, that's a good idea."

In spite of your words, you both remain standing there, in the dimly lit kitchen, for another long moment. The tension is palpable, electricity crackles in the air.

And even now, you can't help but notice that Bucky's ocean blue eyes are like a current that just kept pulling you back in. The thing was, you couldn't risk getting swept up again, you couldn't take another goodbye, so you finally gather the will to look away. "Good night."

"Night."

The Twin Flame Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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doomalade · 1 year ago

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RWBY but fighting game like MK

Character roster:

1)Ruby / 2)Weiss / 3)Blake / 4)Yang / 5)Jaune / 6)Nora / 7)Pyrrha / 8)Ren / 9)Qrow / 10)Raven / 11)Ozpin / 12)Glynda / 13)Ironwood / 14)Oobleck / 15)Port / 16)Emerald / 17)Mercury / 18)Neo / 19)Cinder / 20)Roman / 21)Sun / 22)Neptune / 23)Cardin / 24)Coco / 25)Salem

DLC Roster:

#1: 1)Tyrian / 2)Watts / 3)Hazel / 4)Tock

#2: 1)Clover / 2)Marrow / 3)Elm / 4)Vine

#3: 1)Adam / 2)Velvet / 3)Robyn / 4)Maria

Crossover Roster:

1)Deku / 2)TMNT / 3)Jessica Cruz

Arenas:

1)Beacon Courtyard/ 2)Vale Streets / 3)Amity Arena / 4)Kuroyuri / 5)Branwen Bandit Camp / 6)Argus Limited / 7)SDC Mine / 8)Atlas Academy / 9)Forever Fall / 10)Emerald Forest Ruins / 11)Junior’s Bar / 12)Rose-Xiao Long Home /13)Grimmlands / 14)Red Prince Chessboard / 15)Ever After Tree Portal / 16)Vacuo Outskirts

Character Skins:

Ruby - Beacon Uniform, V1-3, V2 Huntress, Dance, V4-6, V7-9, Pajamas, Ice Queendom, Summer

Weiss - Beacon Uniform, V1-3, V2 Huntress, Dance, V4-6, V7-9, Pajamas, Ice Queendom, Winter

Blake - Beacon Uniform, V1-3, V2 Huntress, Dance, V4-6 (coat on/off option), V7-9, Pajamas, Ice Queendom (Nightmare Adam version also), Kali

Yang - Beacon Uniform, V1-3 (prosthetic arm remains), V2 Huntress, Dance, V4-6, V7-9, Pajamas, Ice Queendom, Tifa

Jaune - Beacon Uniform, V1-3, Dress, V4-6, V7-8, Rusted Knight, Pajamas, Ice Queendom

Nora - Beacon Uniform, V1-3, Dance, V4-6, V7-8, Pajamas, Ice Queendom

Pyrrha - Beacon Uniform, V1-3, Dance, Ice Queendom

Ren - Beacon Uniform, V1-3, V4-6, V7-8, Dance, Ice Queendom

And that’s what I got for now

#rwby #doom.txt #long post

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themelonlad · 1 year ago

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*slides into your ask box with an arm full of questions* why hello, i come bearing gifts :)

Tav question’s for Donnie: 6+7 + 10 + 17 + 20 + 21 + 38 + 43 + 63

🧡🧡🧡🧡

Okay so im gonna go ahead and put this under a readmore so I don't obliterate everyone's dashboard-

Donnie's story starts sad, but gets better! Its also a pinch cliche cause I decided to be a bit more indulgent and wanted to make a good ol fashioned corny paladin background.

Donatello was an unexpected- and unwanted- half-drow baby. He was abandoned in the streets of Baldur's Gate at an early age (we're talking like age 5) by his birth mother, where he managed to get by on the charity of strangers for a couple years. Eventually, looking to get out of the rain, he stumbled into a local Lathander temple, right into the leg of someone who appeared to be a cleric there for a visit. This someone was a man named Peter.

Peter, being a follower of Lathander, took Donnie in without hesitation. Donnie was a shy, nervous, but sweethearted kid, and at the end of his business in the city, Peter found himself unable to take his mind off the orphan on his journey home. He ended up turning around to find Donnie again, and asked Don if he'd like to come home with him. Donnie happily said yes.

Peter brought Don home to his village and his wife Marianne, a drow woman who's parents defected from Lolth, and left the underdark to raise their child on the surface. (Specifically because I enjoyed the idea of a follower of the Morninglord falling in love with someone from the Underdark. love that shit) He meshed into their lives with ease, and quickly came to adore his new adoptive parents. Peter was his idol, and Donatello aspired to be a protector like him. Wherever Peter went, if Donnie could get away with it, he wouldn't be far behind. Somewhere along the way he picked up his father's faith too, finding comfort and community in Lathander's people. Things seemed picturesque, for a time.

Fast forward to Donatello in his mid teens, he's started to learn how to fight, how to defend, take the first real steps of following his dad's path. Peter gets called to Baldur's Gate again, for reasons he's unable to tell his family. He assures them its alright, but he may be gone a while as it may be dangerous business. He strictly tells Donatello not to follow. Donnie, brokenhearted, agrees. Its a choice he regrets for a very long time.

Peter never comes home.

Donatello and his mother contact the flaming fist and anyone who'll listen with pleas to find Peter, but it garners nothing. The more they dig the more walls they find, and they return home to find their village in disarray, vulnerable without its main protector. Donatello finds himself at a choice to make, riddled with grief, faced with the legacy of the man who took him in. He silently makes the decision to step into his father's shoes, and in doing so, makes his oath of devotion, marking him as a Paladin.

Its a role he wears with pride for years, until one fateful day, he finds himself faced with the threat of mindflayers, their terrifying nautiloid screaming overhead.

(this is a very TLDR version of his BG and I do not give a fuck if its not DnD lore compliant)

The moment he met his father. Peter took him in when he'd been overlooked by dozens, and showed him what it meant to be selfless, kind, and brave. He sees his father as a beacon of everything he wants to be as a person, and even after as far as he's come, he still at times feels like he's chasing his father's shadow.

He'd likely still be acting as sentry for his home, and if not that, I think he would have gone into some kind of craft. He's the type that enjoys creating something that takes some time and effort and sweat. I could really easily see him going into pottery or textiles.

This one was HARD. Donnie believes very heavily in second chances and judging people by their character rather than appearance. I think out of all the companions, he'd actually trust Shadowheart and Laezel the least. Not because he thinks they're lying or anything, he believes them about their why's and how's. No, he doesn't trust them because he's not unconvinced they won't kill each other the moment he stops wrangling them like a pair of hostile cats. He regularly asks Wyll to go on babysitting duty when he can't always be around, and later, when he's a bit more stable, your durge Sylas.

Gonna lump these together cause they go hand in hand- Donnie romances Gale! Don falls first for sure. Under all the ego Gale has a very real passion for his work and realm of expertise, and that joy and fascination shines when he gets to talk about it. Donnie finds himself letting Gale infodump to him about the weave time and time again, and when he sees the way Gale's face lights up when he chimes in with something he's successfully remembered, it makes something flutter. The vibe is very much

Gale doesn't totally realize he's developing feelings at first. He's a bit too absorbed in his lamenting about Mystra, and himself. He finds he seeks out Donnie when he's feeling a bit lonely, but convinces himself they've just become fast friends. He knows Don can't quite keep up with everything he says about the weave, but appreciates the fact he legitimately tries to listen and remember, and his patience when his ego makes something come out a bit meaner than he intends. Where he'd be irritated with a pupil for not recalling something perfectly after one explanation, Gale finds he doesn't mind re-explaining things to Donnie.

His feelings hit him like a freight train the night after Elminster's fun little Your-Ex-Wants-You-To-Explode-Yourself'o gram. Donnie catches him wandering off alone and follows out of concern, and before Gale can stop himself, the wizard hears himself laying his insecurities bare. And when Donatello takes his hands and tells him he's worth more than this, that he deserves better than this, something about it all forces Gale to finally realize how he feels about the Paladin. He asks Don if he'd be ok with keeping him company, as he can't sleep, even if he wanted to. Donnie does, always happy to be Gale's quiet company. It takes almost dying in the fight against Ketheric for them to FINALLY become a thing though. (Sylas wins so much bet money)

Winter! Donatello's a devoted Lathander Paladin, but sunrise happens a bit later in the winter time, and it means he gets to sleep in a bit more than the rest of the year.

Mint and tanned leather.

I don't think Donnie really thinks about legacy. He never really does anything with the intention of being remembered, just that its the right thing to do.

I think, if asked, he'd say he hopes when he's remembered, his family's remembered in the same breath. That his name and their names are inseparable, even after he's gone. That never changes, but the people he includes in his definition of "family" does. (And Sylas is the first to be added to the list.)

#leaflets #idlenight #OC tag: Donatello Arivae #OC tag: Sylas Maeve - Idlenight #ask #BG3

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