#Fire proof safe box

[kmhonco]

Digital safes

Filedex Marketing (S) PTE LTD provides fire proof resistant security safes, including Booil, Eagle, Burglary, Mechanical, Cupboard, Filing cabinet, Digital safes, etc. for protecting your important documents and valuables in Singapore at reliable prices. Our security safes are suitable for home, Hotel and office use.

[localplaguenurse]

What Could Go Wrong?

Mothman Dottore X Fem Reader Smut (Kinktober Week 3)

Give it up for week three! FINALLY I write Dottore smut after two years jfc. Harpyttore was very tempting, but part of the challenge is that I can’t write anything I’ve already read in another fic. So Mothman.

WARNINGS: Moths, inaccurate/inappropriate use of moth facts, scent kink (?), mating/in heat, I think this one is actually pretty chill compared to the last two, more silly I think

Minors DNI

“I know you’re smarter than this,” you hear your lab partner and best friend remark, “you have to know this is stupid, right?”

You finish loading your film into the kamera and delicately put the spare film back in your bag with your notebook, your pencil case, lamp, fire starting kit, jasmine oil, jar of honey, and a vile wrapped up in cloth and secured in a wooden box. There are other supplies in the bag, but these are absolutely essential for your task tonight. The little box is especially important.

“You can’t honestly believe there is a man sized moth living in the forest,” they continue as you take inventory of your gear. 

“I’m skeptical too,” you say, “but can I call myself a lepidopterist if I pass this up? Or even just an entomologist?”

“You even admit it’s bullshit!” “Hey, I said I was skeptical, but not why,” you state. “Do I believe in a man sized moth? No. Do I believe there is a large species of moth living deep in the Dharma Forest that has yet to be properly discovered and identified? That’s more likely.”

“Even then, the driyoshes who came screaming about seeing the moth admitted later that it was probably just a large bird of sorts.”

You close your bag up. “You can just say you’re not coming with me,” you tell them, “you can just say you don’t believe it and don’t want to come, but you don’t have to talk to me like I’m dumb.”

“I just don’t want you getting eaten by tigers while you’re out there.” “I know which paths to avoid, and I’m pretty sure the driyoshes were on one of the safer ones.”

Your friend shakes their head in defeat. “I can’t convince you otherwise, can I?” “Nope.”

They pinch the bridge of their nose. “Just… explain the thought process behind what you’re bringing.”

You smile. “Okay, so the kamera, the notebook and my camping supplies are self explanatory. I’m camping out there for the next few days, and I need actual proof this thing exists.”

“Okay.”

“The lamp is for navigating in the dark, and the fire kit is for camping out in the forest,” you continue, “but they also double as sources of light and heat, which can attract moths.”

They nod along.

“Jasmines are a commonly liked flower among moths,” you say, “so I figured the smell of jasmine oil would attract them. Honey is a food source.”

“And your source for that?”

“Adult moths primarily consume nectar or sugary substances if they have mouths,” you state, “especially the death’s-head hawkmoth. They actually create a squeaking noise similar to queen bees that allow them to sneak into hives and eat their honey. Not that I think this is a death’s-head, but it can’t hurt.”

“And that little box you snagged from the Amurta labs?”

“You make it sound like I stole it,” you say. “I have permission to use it.”

“Well, what is it?”

“...” You sigh. “As a last resort… I’m packing a vial of distilled moth pheromones.”

At this, your partner’s eyes widen and they bury their face in their hands, embarrassed for you. “Like mating pheromones?”

“Yes, like mating pheromones.”

“Okay, cool, interesting,” they say, “very important question though; what the fuck are you going to do if a horny, man sized moth swarms you thinking you’re a potential mate?”

“That… is a bridge I will cross when I get there.”

“Are you going to–”

“I’m not going to have sex with the giant moth,” you quickly interrupt, “I don’t even know how that could happen.”

“It’s a man sized moth, anything is possible.”

“I’m not that dedicated to my research,” you state, face burning. 

“Whatever, just… be safe, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll only be three days,” you tell them, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You heave as you lift your bag up, and offer your partner a smile.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

—

You’re thankful the moths seem more interested in your light and the honey you set out, but the stray little males still flutter up to you as you eat. You gently swat the fortieth one away, and two more come looking for the fertile female they’re smelling. You swat them away as well, ad infinitum.

At some point in your trip to your designated camping spot, the vial of moth pheromones had broken and leaked out of the box you kept it in, seeping into your clothes. The vial wasn’t that large, but by the great wisdom given to the researchers who made it, was it ever potent. It’s so potent, in fact, that there are several different breeds of moth trying to mate with the clothes you hung up to dry. You were hoping and praying the rain that suddenly came down last night would have helped wash away some of the smell, but no matter how much water you wrung from them, the pheromones are still noticeable to every moth in the vicinity. 

Your pajamas weren’t too affected and dried quickly, but clearly they still smell if the moths are still trying to get your attention. You’d wear the clothes from yesterday, but they’re just dirty in general and not ideal for sleep. It’s not like you’re getting much sleep, though. The flapping of hundreds of moths is getting annoying. On the bright side, at least you have something interesting to tell your partner when you get back to the Akademiya.

You finish up your little meal and begin tidying up. You pack away your dirty dishes while moths continue to harass you. Yeah, this was probably a really dumb idea, trying to hunt down a big ass moth. You’ll pack up and head back home tomorrow morning, still being swarmed by moths.

You manage to shoo the moths out of your tent before you secure the flap. You sigh and crawl into your sleeping bag. You shut your eyes, listening to the fluttering wings and little chirps.

Wait, chirps? Moths don’t squeak unless they’re trying to throw off predators like bats, or they’re trying to steal honey from bees undetected. As you sit up, you can hear the squeaking is getting louder, and the flapping of little wings is growing faster, more frantic.

You hesitantly peak out of your tent to see swarms squealing and screeching as they begin to escape into the night sky. Astonished, you step outside and look up. There are so many they nearly blot out the light of the moon, still squeaking in absolute terror. Your blood runs cold. It makes sense that once one moth lets out the alarm of a predator, others would follow, but with this many moths still drowning in the pheromones staining your clothes? This many moths in general?

You get your answer when a massive, solid shape blocks out the moon, and like a divine plague, the moths go into a desperate and swarming frenzy, pelting into your body and your face as they frantically make their escape. You drop to the ground and cover your eyes and mouth as the storm rages. You can only imagine how this looks from the outside. You wonder how far the eclipse of frightened bugs can be seen.

You lift your head up when the flaps quiet down, and the squeaks grow distant, and you’re no longer being violently bumped into. You look up to see clouds of moths literally eclipsing the moon and disappearing among the stars in the sky. You stand, looking around your campsite, at the surrounding treeline. Something is horribly wrong, what was that big thing in the sky? You only saw it briefly, but it was much larger than any man. There’s no way, it can’t be–

You snap around when you hear rustling in the shrubbery behind you. You swear you see something move in the shadows but it disappears too quickly to get a grasp on it. You try to recall the story of the monster the driyoshes told. It was a large, shadowy winged beast, and the only other thing they saw before they bolted were a pair of big, red eyes.

You dive for your pack, pulling everything out until your fingers make contact with the kamera. You yank it out and stand, eyes darting around at every little noise and movement. Then it’s quiet, and it stays quiet. You look up at the sky, and you can’t see the moths anymore.

A twig snaps behind you. You whip around and hit the button on the kamera. The flash blinds the red eyed creature, and it snarls and covers its face with a black arm. You scream and stumble back, falling on your ass and attempting to scramble away. 

It’s not a man sized moth, it’s a moth man.

He stands tall, black wings with pale blue patterns along the edge flying open in defence. Black fluff covers his shoulders and chest, and though his arms and legs, clawed and covered in fine little hairs, are black, his torso is primarily pale flesh coloured, as is his face. His scowling face is surprising human, save for the pointed teeth and large, glowing red eyes. His hair is pale blue, like the patterns on his wings, and the feathery antennae sprouting from the top are black.

You get a much better look at his features when he descends upon you, pinning you beneath his barely humanoid form, claws grasping at your wrists and holding them down to the ground. You feel shivers run up your spine as he stares at you, antennae twitching. He tilts his head, and leans in closer to your face. You close your eyes tight and turn your face away, scared he’s going to bite your face off.

You’re surprised when instead, he curls his body so he can rest his head on your chest, His antennae brush against your neck, and begin shivering. You squirm at the ticklish feeling. Then his wings begin to shake, and he lets out a deep groan as the rest of his body shudders. He lifts his head, lips pulled into a large grin that borders on predatory as he just stares.

“Oh… how lovely,” he purrs, “I can’t recall the last time I had the chance to mate.”

Your eyes widen, skipping over the fact this man-thing speaks common and jumping right to the meaning behind his words. “What?!”

He chuckles. “Your scent,” he clarifies, “it’s strong enough that it has brought almost every mature male moth to your location, myself included. But I know that’s not your natural scent, is it?”

You nervously shake your head.

“Of course not, you’re human,” he says. “And you’re one of those Akademiya students. That’s how you acquired those pheromones, no?”

“Y… Yes.”

“And you know what they do, don’t you?”

“I-I’m a lepidopterist,” you tell him, “I p-primarily study moths. I know what the pheromones do.”

Blood rushes to your face when the monster nuzzles his cheek against yours. His breath fans over your ear, and you question the flutter in your stomach when you hear the rasp in his voice.

“Then I have to wonder what your intentions were…”

You recall your roommate asking what you’re going to do if you encounter a giant horny moth, and you stating you would not fuck the giant moth. Well… he’s not really a full moth, is he? He’s pretty humanoid, oddly handsome at that, too, and is a self aware being. He’s into you, so… fuck it, why not. It’s not like you promised you wouldn’t have sex with a moth person, just no giant moths.

“I-It was intended as a last resort to see if you were real,” you say, “but accidents happen. Might as well m-make the most of it, haha…”

The moth just laughs. He lets go of one of your wrists and grabs the front of your shirt. With one pull, he rips it open. You squeak in surprise as the cool night air hits your skin. Rough, almost scaled hands grasp your breasts, and he trills at the squish of your flesh. You whine when he presses his body against you, slotting between your legs with willing ease.

“So soft,” he purrs, “so warm. Though I prefer my solitude away from humans, I must admit your body heat is divine.”

You don’t say anything, simply letting out breathy moans as he kneads your breasts, clawed fingers occasionally pinching your stiffened nipples. He doesn’t seem to mind, rather he relishes your little noises and fidgets. He lets out a little laugh when you try to lean into his touch some more.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and Archons, his fur is softer than you expected. He seems perplexed by the gesture, and a surprised little noise gets caught in his throat when you pull him into a kiss. You wonder how often he’s done something like this with another human or perhaps moth person when he slithers his tongue into your mouth. His tongue tastes sweet, sort of like honey with floral hints, perhaps he feeds on nectar and honey?

You stop wondering why he tastes sweet when you feel him rock his hips against you, feeling something grind into your clothed sex. He grunts into your mouth as he humps against you, and before you can process that, you jolt when you feel it shake. You pull back and try sitting up to look. You blink, face somehow getting warmer at the fascinating and arousing sight.

It’s a decent size, bigger than what you’re used to but not completely out of the realm of possibility. It’s dark, the ridges fading from black to red at the tip. It’s coated in a layer of slick, which you think you can attribute to the dripping slit it’s protruding from. When he chuckles, his twitching cock vibrates, but only in a short burst.

“W-Wait, you can–”

“I’m sure you know that trait is meant to ward off predators in most moths,” he states, “but since I have no natural predators, and am not a measly little moth… well, past humans I’ve mated with have found the trait useful.”

It’s true. Some moths, primarily male hawkmoths, rub the scales near their genitals to make a chirping noise that confuses bats. With that in mind, it sort of makes sense that this moth man has a similar ability that is simultaneously very different. You think a less horny and somehow less rational version of you would immediately sit up and ask a hundred questions, but all you can ask is how is that going to feel when it’s inside?

The moth’s antennae twitches, and he chuckles. “Oh? Eager, are we?”

“What?”

“Your pheromones are becoming stronger moment by moment,” he states, trailing a hand down to grasp his cock, “especially after observing this.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Such a lovely scent, I think I prefer it over the moth pheromones.”

Why you find that so flattering, you don’t know, but you do know from the pulse in your core that you want that thing in you as fast as you can get it in. You lift your hips up so you can slide your pajama bottoms and your underwear off. You barely get them off before the creature grabs your thighs and forces them apart, exposing your dripping heat. He wastes no time, urging you to wrap your arms and legs around him as his tip nudges against you. You let out a little whimper as he slowly grinds against you, then stills his hips. You gasp at the burst of vibration against your clit, and he chuckles.

“Oh, you’re going to be a fun little thing.”

Without any real warning, he presses the tip against your hole, pushing into you slowly. You jolt when he finally slips inside, moaning softly as he sinks deeper into your warmth. The ridges rubbing all along your walls are a feeling quite unlike anything else. Very different, and not at all bad. He groans so sweetly in your ear as he works his way down to the base. You whine at how full you feel, barely fitting him. The pressure of it all without adequate preparation makes you ache, but no sharp pains or anything of concern. You attribute that to both your bodies’ natural lubrication. Still, even with the ache, or perhaps because of it, you feel a deep arousal, a deep want for more, more, more.

He doesn’t wait for you to give the okay before he begins thrusting. You yelp as he sets a surprisingly quick pace. Your hands claw at his back in an attempt to orient yourself. He’s not even being that rough, just quick, but with his size still stretching you and the ridges grinding against your sweet spot when he draws back and slips back in, trying to focus on one thing or another is already a little overstimulating.

He buries himself to the hilt, and you’re embarrassed at the loud, high pitched sound that rips out of your throat when you feel him shudder inside you. He laughs, and his tone seems almost mocking as he draws back, slams back inside, and does it again to hear you squeal and feel you shudder. He leans down, pressing his fluffy chest against your soft chest, so he can really see every little reaction to his little trick.

“S-Stop teasing!” you cry out when he does it a third time.

“This is the most effective way for me to– ngh… do this,” he tells you through a clenched grin. “I can only do it in quick bursts, not continuously.” To emphasize his point, he does it a fourth and fifth time, relishing in the feeling of your walls clamping down around him. “Do you want me to stop?”

He does it a sixth time, and you try to shoot him a glare, but with how smug he looks about it and how you imagine you look right now, it has no effect on him. You just pull him in closer, nuzzling your face into his neck fluff to hide your face. He does it one last time before he returns to his regular thrusting, making you moan in pleasure and relief.

Your fingers brush against his wings, and he stills for a moment, his breath hitching. It gives you an idea. When he starts up his tempo again, you rub along the scales where his wings connect to his back. He shudders against you, and his voice pitches slightly higher. He immediately stops moving, looking down at you with his shining red eyes. You offer a smug smile, but your lack of confidence is very evident. He chuckles.

His hand moves up your thigh and his thumb finds your clit. Your hips buck when he begins to rub it in quick circles, and that’s when he slams down to the hilt and you feel his cock’s vibrations again. This time, he stays buried inside you, his cock vibrating in shorter, but more frequent bursts. You cry out, the heat in your core quickly growing too much for you to handle.

“Wait, w-wait, stop!”

“Why should I?”

You sob as he presses as flush against you as he can, somehow reaching even deeper, rubbing and buzzing against your sweet spot even more. You try to move away, but his other hand holds you in place. “T-Too much,” you tell him, voice cracking as he continues to quiver inside you. “I-I’m gonna cum if you keep– hah!”

“No one’s stopping you,” he teases, “so feel free to let yourself go.”

You try to hold yourself together, but that’s when he starts rocking into you while he’s already so deep inside you, when he keeps convulsing inside you and starts rubbing your clit faster. You feel tears welling up in your eyes as you shudder and claw at his back desperately, unable to hold your moans. 

Your back arches obscenely and your hips buck when the moth man pushes you past your limit into climax. You imagine your debauched cries can be heard throughout the forest, but the white hot pleasure shooting through your nerves makes you unable to care.

You’re not even through the first waves of your orgasm when he starts thrusting into you again, making you actually start crying out as overstimulated tears slip out of your eyes. He’s at least let up on the vibrations and rubbing, but his cock is too much when you’re still reeling from the overwhelming pleasure.

“My turn,” he grunts out before you can ask what the hell he’s doing. You wouldn’t have been able to ask anyways, as each thrust knocks the wind out of you, building up your next orgasm quicker and quicker while you’re still riding out your first. You want him to stop, to slow down, to keep fucking going because you’re never going to feel this good ever again with a human cock and you need to sear this into your memory.

He lurches forward, and his sharp teeth clamp down onto your shoulder. You scream, and he slams hard into you as your eyes roll back with your second climax. You whine, the sound almost pathetic, as you feel warmth flood your core. He holds you still so he doesn’t slip out, but there’s still so much that his seed leaks out anyways.

In the stillness, you can finally get some air in your lungs as you pant. You feel the moth man pull his teeth from your shoulder, his tongue lapping at the blood. You feel your body going limp, only to tense up again and sob when you feel another burst of movement inside you.

“I hope you didn’t think that’s all it would take,” he goads, lifting his head to meet your gaze. Red stains the corners of his lips. “I don’t often get the opportunity to mate, so I intend on properly breeding you while I still have you here.”

You swallow nervously, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You don’t hate the idea, Archons no, but at this rate, you’re going to be fucked too stupid to think of an excuse for what happened here when you return to the Akademiya. Would they even believe you if you said you had sex with the giant moth in the forest.

Another shudder snaps you out of the last rational thought you’re going to have before you return, and you simply brace yourself for more.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 5

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, Ransom Drysdale x F!Reader

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

 You left Bucky dumbfounded after you tried to hit him. You were so angry after hearing that you got fired and lashed out at him.

If he wants to report you, so be it. You don’t care. You have lost everything. You’ve got nothing to lose.

You went to see your dad, who was arranging flowers for the next family.

“Dad, I’m going back to the city today,” you said, your voice tight.

“What’s the result?” Tom asked, remembering today was the day for the investigation results.

You rubbed your nose with your finger and cleared your throat, trying to hold back tears. “They let me go, but I got fired instead. But hey, at least I got my money back.” Your bank account had been unlocked by the judge, and you wanted to go back to the city to get all your stuff and sell your penthouse.

Tom looked concerned. “You want me to go with you?”

You shook your head. “No. I will come back after two days.”

“I’ll drive you to the station,” Tom offered, his voice filled with worry.

You headed back to the car and noticed Bucky wasn’t there anymore. As you drove to the station, the silence between you and your dad was heavy with unspoken words.

When you arrived at the station, you saw Natasha again. She looked at you with a mixture of curiosity and jealousy. “You’re using the train? Why didn’t you use the car that Bucky gave you?” She felt bitter since Bucky never offered her his car, yet you, who had just come back, could use it.

You knew from her tone that she was jealous. You just said, “It’s too slow.”

Natasha scoffed, “Yeah right.” Then she left.

You rolled your eyes; she hadn’t changed at all.

******

You arrived back in the city. Once, you thought this place would be your home. Now, you just wanted to leave it behind.

You didn’t want to set foot in the company again. You told your secretary to throw away all your stuff. Besides, there was nothing important. You had already secured everything in your safe deposit box. That’s why you had to clear your name to get access to your bank account back.

Early the next morning, you went to the bank. All you needed was the pen drive. It held all the leverage you might need. If someone tried to put you in a bad spot, this would be your last resort.

As you entered the bank, you felt a sense of relief mixed with determination. You approached the safe deposit boxes and signed the necessary forms. The pen drive felt heavy in your hand, despite its small size. It contained all the proof of strange transactions and could clear your name or take down those who had wronged you.

After securing the pen drive, you took a moment to breathe. Once a place of dreams and ambition, the city felt like a battlefield you had barely escaped.

After that, you got into the taxi to go back to your condo. As the car stopped at a red light, you saw the tall building—the headquarters owned by the Drysdale family.

You used to come here every morning, even sleeping in your office sometimes. But now, it was all in the past.

It still left a bitter taste in your mouth. After everything you did, they just threw you away. You wondered who would replace you since you knew your skills were unparalleled. No one could match you.

What made you so upset was Ransom. Until now, he hadn’t replied to a single message or email you’d sent him.

To be honest, you saw it coming. The friendship between you two had long since deteriorated. There was a time you liked him, but those feelings vanished after overhearing a conversation at a party where Ransom talked with his friends.

One of his friends had asked, “What’s up with you and her? We’ve noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together.”

Ransom scoffed, sipping his whiskey. “Nothing. I only see her as numbers. She’s the key to making me lead the company.”

“Wow,” his friend had replied, impressed.

You were heartbroken when you heard that. But part of you had expected it, knowing that Ransom was out of your league.

You arrived at your condominium and began packing. You had once thought your life was sad because your place was so empty. But now, you were grateful since it meant you could move out quickly.

You gathered everything into your luggage and boxes.

'Ding.Dong'

Then you heard the doorbell. You wondered who it could be. Besides your assistant, Ransom was the only other person who ever came to your place. Could it be him? But he never replied to any of your texts.

You looked at the camera by the door and saw Ransom on the screen. He looked a mess.

Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of anger and confusion bubbling up. You hesitated for a moment before opening the door. Ransom stood there, disheveled, his eyes hollow and tired.

You were confused. Should you open the door or not? On the other hand, you needed answers too.

Holding back your anger, you opened the door. Ransom was taken aback. He didn’t seem to expect you would actually open the door for him.

You stood behind the door, opened your arms as if welcoming him, and said, “You owe me an explanation.”

Ransom, hesitating for a moment, put his hands into his coat pockets and walked into your condo. He noticed the luggage and boxes scattered around the living room.

“You're leaving,” he observed.

Ransom scratched his head, frustration evident, then put his hand on his waist and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You gave him a stern look. “Why are you upset? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He turned to face you, his eyes red and tired. “It's for the best.”

You scoffed, incredulous. “That's it? After years together, you just throw me away like that?”

You pointed your finger at him, anger boiling over. “I knew it was you who framed me for insider trading.”

Ransom walked past you, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. He drank slowly, as if buying time to gather his thoughts. Finally, he opened his arms and leaned against the marble counter. “It's more complicated than you think.”

You crossed your arms tightly. “I'm not in the mood to solve a puzzle.”

Ransom sighed. “Three days before the FBI raided your office, my family heard Harlan’s will.”

After Harlan’s funeral, his will wasn’t read immediately. It was his last request to delay the reading.

“What’s that got to do with me?” you demanded.

Ransom’s eyes bore into yours. “Because Harlan chose you!”

You felt like the ground had been pulled out from under you. “Me?” you gasped, speechless. Now, it all made sense—why none of the Drysdales were willing to help you. They were angry, feeling like you had stolen their birthright.

“It was my mom and her siblings who contacted the FBI and got you fired,” Ransom admitted.

“And where were you?” you yelled, hugging yourself tightly. “You’re no different from them! You left me alone.”

Ransom took a step closer, placing his hands on your shoulders gently. “I was captured.”

You raised your head, eyes wide with disbelief. “Really?”

He nodded, his expression sincere. “They let me out after they finally got what they wanted.”

"For you to get fired," Ransom began, his tone sympathetic as he addressed the issue.

“Why? I also didn't know that Harlan chose me. If you had asked me, I would have refused it,” you expressed, your voice tinged with disbelief and frustration as you crossed your arms tightly, your body language mirroring your inner turmoil. Your brow furrowed, and your shoulders tensed as you spoke, emphasizing the weight of your words.

“I know. That's what I told them,” Ransom replied, pulling you into a hug, his embrace offering both comfort and reassurance as he wrapped his arms around you securely. You stiffened momentarily in surprise at his gesture before relaxing into the embrace, your body melting into his as you allowed yourself to be comforted.

“Their plan backfired though,” Ransom continued, a wry smile playing on his lips as he spoke, his eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and exasperation at the situation.

“Huh?” you responded, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, your body tense with anticipation as you awaited his explanation. Your arms remained crossed tightly over your chest, a defensive stance reflecting your skepticism.

“The employees made a petition for you to come back,” Ransom revealed, his tone tinged with amusement at the irony of the situation, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

You were left speechless, the news catching you off guard. You had always kept to yourself at work, never realizing your impact on your colleagues, your eyes widening in surprise as you processed his words.

Ransom chuckled softly. “You're the reason why we got triple profits and they got bonuses. Why would they want to lose you?” he remarked, admiration evident in his voice, his gaze locked on yours with a mixture of fondness and respect. You offered a small, hesitant smile in response, your body language softening as his words sank in.

For the last few years, the projects that you and your team worked on have consistently generated significant profits, earning you the respect and appreciation of your colleagues, a sense of pride swelling within you as you recall your past achievements.

You nodded slowly, a sense of validation washing over you as you acknowledged the impact of your work.

“And I'm here to tell you that you're not fired,” Ransom declared, his words carrying a sense of relief and sincerity, his eyes searching yours for any sign of acceptance or understanding.

You were supposed to be happy when you heard that, but with your father's condition, you had second thoughts.

You pushed Ransom away, whispering, “I'm sorry.”

Ransom looked puzzled. “What?”

You struggled to explain, “The reason why I said no is because of my dad. He's got cancer.” And you're still hurt by the betrayal from the company you've worked for a long time.

Ransom's eyes widened. “You went back home and met your dad?”

You nodded your head.

Ransom couldn't believe this. He had never heard you mention your dad until now, and it was the first time he saw you being vulnerable.

“Alright. I can't stop you,” Ransom said resignedly. He knew you had to go, but he was going to miss you. It would be difficult to find a talented person like you.

“Wait. Does it mean you've met the people who made your life miserable?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“You should show them the new you,” Ransom suggested. Having attended the same high school, he had witnessed what they did to you.

You looked at Ransom, considering his words. It was strange hearing him advise you like this, given your complicated history. But there was a sincerity in his voice that made you pause.

“Maybe,” you mumbled, still uncertain.

Ransom nodded, his expression softening. “They don't know what they're missing out on. You've grown stronger, more resilient.”

You managed a weak smile, appreciating his attempt to boost your spirits. Despite everything, there was a flicker of gratitude for his unexpected support.

Join the taglist? 🩷💙🩷

@bagoffeelings

@darkofimagination

@starsofcloud

@cherrybubblebullet

@winterslove1917

@thezombieprostitute

@namoreno

@sagebarness

@tenaciousathleteoperatorgarden

@unaxv

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@hopeful-daydreaming

@freshlemontea

@eat-limes-bitches

@kandis-mom

@scott-loki-barnes

@winters1917

@differenttyphoonwerewolf

@arunabraganza

@ordelixx

@esposadomd

@sapphirebarnes

@cjand10

@bellabarnes1378

@thetravelingtyper

@buckitostan

@mostlymarvelgirl

@5upersoldiers1xt

@jjanereid

@cakesandtom

@queen2234

@learisa

@springsheep

@mrsstuckyboo

@read-just-cant

@loki-laufeyson68

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[see-arcane]

So. What was the deal with the vampire in the graveyard versus Orlok’s Nosferatuing around?

SPOILERS INCOMING CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SCROLL AWAY

Von Franz mentions something vague about there being different rules depending on the region with the whole ‘sleep by daylight’ thing being the only consistent rule…

…except that doesn’t add up with what Thomas saw.

He followed the hunting party at night. He saw them open the coffin with the vampire still resting in it, cue the iron stake piercing him, the blood, the scream, Thomas’ startled cry—and then an immediate cut to him coming awake in the inn’s bed, now wearing a cross at his neck (which he tosses) and mud on his boots (proof of his excursion). He saw what he saw.

How did that vampire in the graveyard come to be? Was he one of Orlok’s making? Or was he never Nosferatu at all? Von Franz refers to Nosferatu exclusively as a type of undead that brings plague. That does seem to be Orlok’s gimmick, but the guy in the graveyard had no rats for company. The people Thomas encountered were out and about, hale and healthy, no fretting over plague. So what was he?

I might have misheard, but I think there was a moment as Thomas entered the inn for the first time where the woman doing an exorcism/healing rite involving garlic mentioned the word strigoi. It didn’t pop up in her subtitles, so I won’t swear to it, but it’d be interesting if Eggers went digging around in the Dracula and other vampire lit lore to fish out other variants of vampirism to play with.

But the thing is.

The thing is.

While it would be a good Easter egg hint that Thomas’ notion of hunting Orlok down and staking him in his big rat box was doomed to fail~, it would only add up if we’d gotten concrete on-film evidence that he was really mistaking one kind of vampire for another. All we have is Von Franz’ word that ‘he doubts it will work.’ Thomas, meanwhile, has seen it work and has the memory of Orlok snapping awake and actively stopping him from bringing the pickaxe down on him—if being impaled did nothing, why would Orlok bother to stop the blow?

It leaves the possibilities split down the middle.

Version A: Von Franz was right. Orlok the Nosferatu needed the Death-By-Maiden-and-Sunrise trap to be destroyed and what Thomas saw was an entirely different vampire being slain by its own methods. Potentially a vampire made by Orlok, but not a full Nosferatu plague carrier (possibly something that needs Scholomance study), or else turned by completely unrelated means. tl;dr: Thomas Staking Orlok Would Have Failed

Version B: Thomas was right. Had he been able to stake Orlok through, he might have put him down, or at least left him weak enough for them to bring on blades and fire to make sure nothing was left. Chuck the leftovers in a river for good measure. And Ellen would never have had to die.

Naturally, the latter isn’t as cinematic or thematically satisfying. It isn’t as meaty as Version A. But I can’t help picturing Thomas turning the what-ifs over and over in his head. What if he had been faster with the pickaxe? What if Von Franz hadn’t stalled them past sunset and they had found Orlok still in his box rather than Knock? What if Ellen could have been here and alive and safe if only he hadn’t been too slow, too late, too trusting?

What if…

What if both men were wrong?

Or at least failed to see the entire picture. To really wonder at the how and why of Thomas’ affliction being so different compared to every other non-Ellen victim of Orlok’s. To wonder just what Orlok intended by his drinking of Ellen as consummation by consumption. Surely he did not intend to kill her. Rather, to let her remain dead.

(The broker yet lives.)

((As a man.))

(This is no ordinary plague!)

((Plagues.))

Orlok was a cadaver who lived. The undead must first be dead. Is it not so for every form of vampire, no matter their region?

Ellen is dead. The Maiden become Death.

(He left you to the wolves yet you prevailed!)

((The wolves only came for him by daylight. When sleep ended and Thomas’ heart still beat. The work unfinished.))

Von Franz departs, head hung. Dr. Sievers will stall the formalities of the mortuary. There are dead enough to busy himself with. Let the boy grieve.

Let him think.

Of corpses that are not corpses. Death that does not stick. The sun moves between blinks as he banishes the shriveled carcass of the Count from the room, breaking and burning it.

His love is dressed anew. Clean, for she was never unclean.

(Her breast.)

((There is no bite.))

The sun sinks. Thomas holds a cold hand. Now it grips his back, their wedding bands gleaming. As she kisses his breast, he thinks perhaps it is not so terrible to be mistaken, all told.

They can be wrong together.

[quinnysnursery]

when the party's over,, move-in day・₊✧

summary : the triplets (and nate) move into their dorms! meet some new friends and nate's a worry-wart (rightfully so)

warning/extra tid-bits : crying, explicit language, i think that's all?

word count : 2,318

divider credit : umm i found all the photos on pinterest :3 (pointy & leafy thing from @saradika-graphics)

a/n : FIRST PIECE OF WTPO LITERATURE RAAAAA (not proof read, i'm just a girl!)

“Alright,” Jimmy let out a stereotypical “dad-groan” as he stood up straight, cracking his back. “That should be it.” He said, clapping his hands together as he examined the dorm room he’d helped his youngest son and Nathan set up.

Mary Lou had decided to help Matt and Nick, since it was clear that Matt was overly anxious about move-in day and so was Nick- though he’d never admit it- which meant he’d be extra snippy with Matt…a recipe for disaster. 

“Thanks Mr.S, it looks good!” Nate smiled, admiring the work the three of them had gotten done. “Home sweet home, right Chris?” He smiled, nudging Chris’ shoulder. Chris laughed softly, “Not for long, rush week starts tomorrow.” The youngest triplet replied. Heart set on moving into the Kappa Nu house.

Jimmy smiled fondly, he’d been a part of the well-known fraternity when he attended NESE. Chris (and Matt and Nick, if they weren’t so stubborn) would be legacy. “Just remember to be yourself, don’t go getting expelled trying to impress the president.” Jimmy reminded his son, pulling him into a side-hug. 

Chris nodded, rolling his eyes. “I know, I know.” He grumbled, tired of being told the same thing repeatedly.

 “Oh wow!” An unfamiliar chirpy voice came from the doorway, startling the two younger boys. Chris unintentionally reached for Nate, quickly scolding himself. He couldn’t do that, not here- at least not now.

The dorm RA was standing in the doorframe of Nate and Chris’ door. The youngest triplet vaguely remembered meeting him when touring the school last year. 

Larri. His name didn’t match his vibe, nor his looks at all. It was an old man's name and well, Larri was maybe 21 at the oldest.

“You're giving the room across from you a run for their money.” Larri joked, earning a deep chuckle from Jimmy. “Those are actually my other sons.” He explained, earning a shocked expression from Larri. “All three of your sons go here?!” He asked excitedly, Jimmy nodded- pushing Chris in front of him, away from the safety of Nate. 

“Triplets.” Jimmy smiled proudly, Larri’s head whipped to Matt and Nick’s dorm- confirming what he’d just been told. 

“I’m…woah.” He breathed, eyes filled with amazement- Chris wondered if it was just a show Larri put on for the parents during move-in day. 

“Well, it’ll be nice having some siblings on this floor. NESE doesn’t see siblings often.” Larri hummed before pointing to Chris’ nightlight that Nate had just plugged in moments prior. “Is that bulb LED?” He asked, eyes flickering between both freshmen.

“Uhm…” Nate thought back to when he’d bought it for Chris a few Christmases ago. Did the box say LED? Or CFL? What was the difference? Why did it even matter?

“If it’s not LED then I’ll have to ask you guys to unplug it when you aren’t around.” Larri explained, “Dumb fire hazard rule.” He added- earning a furrowed brow from Jimmy. 

“I mean! Very cool and safe fire hazard rule.” Larri corrected himself, earning a laugh from Chris. Larri was funny, even if it was just an act for move-in day. “Will do.” Nate said, unplugging the nightlight and tossing it into a drawer. Chris stopped himself from whining about it. 

He was a freshman in college, he could survive without seeing his night light plugged in. 

Larri bid his goodbyes after that, and not long after did Mary Lou and Jimmy offer to take the boys out to eat before officially leaving them on their own.

“Mom, don't cry.” Nick laughed softly, as Mary Lou pulled all her boys into another hug. “You know she can’t help it.” Jimmy scolded gently, hugging his boys as well. Nate included.

Mary Lou pulled away, tears in her eyes. “You four look out for each other, yeah?” She said, wavering a finger in their faces. “Nick, go to bed at a decent time.” She started, earning a playful eye roll from her eldest. “Matt,” Mary Lou placed her hands on Matt’s shoulders. “Remember to take breaks studying, yeah?” The middle triplet smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah, ‘kay mom.” 

Mary Lou let out a loving sigh as she turned to face her youngest son, her last child. “Chris, don’t forget to wash your socks.” Chris couldn’t help but laugh, pulling his mom into one more hug, “I won’t, promise.”. 

The triplets mom turned towards Nate, who’d been right next to each one of her boys nearly their entire life. “You look after my boys, okay?” She asked, earning a firm “Yes ma’am.” from Nate. 

After a few more teary hugs, the triplets and Nate watched as their parents got into their car before driving off campus.

“Just us now.” Nick sighed, turning around and beginning to walk back to his dorm. Nate, Matt and Chris all glanced at each other before following the oldest triplet. “What now?” Chris asked- trying to hide the looming feeling of anxiety. 

“I’m going to the library!” Matt smiled excitedly, pulling out his student ID with a toothy grin. “The library?” Nate asked, furrowing his brow. “Yeah! NESE holds the world record for the biggest college library!” The brunette smiled, earning a stifled laugh from his younger brother- “You are such a nerd.” Chris poked, frowning as Nate elbowed him in the side. 

Matt rolled his eyes, flipping Chris off playfully as he split off from the group. “What about you Nick?” Nate asked, subconsciously making sure Chris was walking in front of him.

“I wanted to finish editing those photos I took at our going-away party.” Nick said as they all entered the elevator, pressing the 4th floor button. Nate nodded, glancing at Chris with concerned eyes. 

‘Ding!’

Nick quickly exited the elevator, rummaging in his pockets for his dorm room keys. Nate did the same, saying bye to Nick before he and Chris slipped into their dorm.

It wasn’t a huge room by any means, but due to NESE only accepting the very best of applicants- it was bigger than an average dorm. Enough room for both Chris and Nate to spread their arms out and still not feel claustrophobic. 

“You good? Feeling little?” Nate asked the youngest triplet as Chris flopped onto his bed- letting out a deep sigh. Chris quickly shook his head, “What? No, I’m good.” He defended, crossing his arms over his chest as he scowled at Nate.

Nate’s brow quirked upwards, “It’s fine if you are Chris, it’s been a long day.” The shorter boy sympathized. He didn’t want to push regression onto Chris, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that today was stressful and stressful days typically led the boy to regression.

“I’m fine, Nate.” Chris grouched, turning to face the wall. Nate’s shoulders slumped as he sat on his own bed and grabbed his phone from his pocket- opening tiktok and beginning his doom scrolling. 

Matt clutched a leather-bound book to his chest, gulping an anxious knot down as he searched for an unoccupied table in the library. For NESE holding the world record for biggest library, you’d think that would be an easy task- Sadly for Matt, it was not.

“You can sit here.” A confident voice spoke to the right of him, Matt turned and his eyes landed on a tall girl with braids and a tan boy with fluffy black-ish hair.

The boy’s eyes were fixated on a laptop screen, Matt couldn’t see what was playing though. But the girl with braids had a few textbooks and notes sprawled out around her. “We don’t bite.” She joked, the brunette man let out a breathy laugh as he sat across from her and the dark-haired boy. 

Matt kept to himself for a few moments, eyes scanning the words on book’s parchment- flipping through the pages. It was a book on BPD and how it affected the brain. Matt was only a few pages in, but the author was doing a good job at not demonizing the mental illness.

The library was just as beautiful as the pictures on google showed, the high ceilings and shelves that required multiple rolling ladders- a general golden glow in the air that made Matt feel like a student at Hogwarts.

It wasn’t until Matt heard a low whine followed by some whispering that he looked up from his book. He was met with the sight of the tan boy whispering into the girl with braids ear- she scooted the laptop over a smidge before typing in something and pressing the spacebar. 

“There.” She smiled, rubbing the boy's shoulder before turning to return to her book- that’s when she caught Matt’s eyes.

“Sorry!” Matt’s face flushed with embarrassment as he forced his gaze downwards, praying she didn’t hate him. There was a painful silence for a few moments before the girl spoke again, “What’re you reading?” She asked, closing the current textbook she was reading out of.

Matt blinked up, his brain taking a moment to register the question he’d been asked. “Oh uhm, ‘s just a book on BPD.” He shrugged, picking up the book to show her the cover. The girl nodded, “I’m Quen.” She smiled- reaching her hand over the table.

Matt stammered over his name for a moment, quickly shaking her hand. ‘Good going, you’re making a fool of yourself.’ His brain told him- he did his best to push it down.

“Let me guess…psych major?” Quen smirked, earning a quiet laugh from Matt as he nodded. “Yeah…what about you?” He asked, making a mental note of the page he was on before closing the book. “Business, it sucks.” She sighed, waving a hand over the mountains of textbooks she had sprawled out.

Matt nodded- understanding, his dad had been a business major. His eyes flickered over to the tan boy sitting next to Quen, “His lucky ass has a film scholarship.” She joked. Matt had to cover his mouth to stop his laughter. 

“You a freshman? I haven’t ever seen you around.” Quen commented, earning a nod from Matt. “Yeah, just moved in today.” He explained, already smiling at the thought of telling Nick how he’d managed to make a new friend.

Quen nodded- beginning to pack up some of her things. “Are you gonna rush on monday?” She asked, Matt quickly shook his head. “My brother is, but ‘s not really my scene.” He explained, recalling the various times Chris told him just how lame he was for not wanting to be in a frat.

“It’s awesome! Parties every weekend, brotherhood-” “Chris you already have brothers.” “Shut up!”

 Quen thought for a moment before speaking, “Triplets?” She asked, causing Matt to stop. How did she know that? “...Yeah?” 

Quen nodded, “Larri told me, we hang out a lot.” She explained as she zipped up her lavender Fjallraven backpack before reaching over the boy in front of her and taking the laptop from him- much to his dismay.

“Quen!” He whined, pulling off his headphones. His face blushed a light shade of pink as he finally recognized Matt was sitting across from him. Quen realized this, motioning to Matt and the boy.

“Matt, Ben. Ben, Matt.” She introduced as she stuffed the laptop Ben had been using into the corresponding compartment of her bag. Matt smiled, offering Ben a small wave.

Ben’s lips quirked upwards into a smile before Quen informed him they had to go if they were going to catch dinner with Larri and Tara. 

“Bye Matt, good meeting you! Hope your brother gets into KN.” Quen smiled before grabbing hold of Ben’s hand and leading him out of the library. Matt sighed, leaning back in the wooden chair- did he just make a friend?

The next day, Chris (surprisingly) woke up before Nate. Which was good, because that meant Chris could spend as long as he wanted choosing the perfect outfit for meeting the brothers of Kappa Nu for the first time.

He knew if Nate had been awake he’d tell Chris to just “be himself!” but his brain stopped accepting that advice the moment he saw the Kappa Nu house in person during his first ever tour of the school.

Chris would do anything- or be anyone- he had to to get inside that house. 

The youngest triplet opened the drawers of the shared dresser he and Nate helped Jimmy set up yesterday, his eyes landing on his beloved night light that Nate had thoughtlessly shoved into the drawer after the RA asked him to unplug it.

A small frown formed without Chris’ permission, causing him to slam the drawer shut out of frustration. It was a nightlight. He was being ridiculous.

“...Chris?” Nate croaked, sitting up slightly in his bed. Chris turned to look at his friend, feeling bad he’d woke the shorter boy up.

“...’s 6 am, go to bed.” Nate murmured, laying back down and burying his face in his pillow. Chris rolled his eyes, continuing to search the dresser drawers for a specific pair of jeans. Suddenly, Nate shot back up- eyes full of concern that only a caregiver could have.

“Are you little? Do you need something, bud?” Nate asked, “No!” Chris argued back. Nate sighed, raising his hands in defense. “Then what’re you doing up?” The shorter boy asked, now fully awake. 

“Pickin’ out clothes. Gotta make a good first impression.” Chris explained, smiling as he finally found the perfect pair of baggy jeans. Nate nodded silently, legs dangling off the raised bed. 

“Just be yourself, they’ll love you.” Nate smiled, hopping off the bed and placing a comforting hand on Chris’ shoulder. Chris shrugged his hand off, grabbing his shower caddy and starting towards the door. Nate watched sadly as his best friend slipped out the room. It was clear that Chris would do whatever it took to get into Kappa Nu, and that terrified Nate.

taglist !! :

@mattssturnz @littlestar44 @graceslittlecorner @zivall

@hrtz4alex2211 @bimbob1tch @sturnsxplr-25 @cherry-red-heart

@pr3ttyf4wn @frlinbruh @jazminepetit-homme @raynaaxx

@tyummyz @starri-nightss @cyberskulzzz @nicksbestie

@urfavbestiee @nicksloverrr  @ducklingsandlambs

this one-shot is apart of my agere frat/college au! find more info on it, here!

[treasurehuntbuck]

Drabble for #19

god first one out the bat and its a doozy.

#19 - Not Strong Enough by boygenius,

The Diaz kitchen is kind of like a liminal space. The soft light never feels too harsh. It smells perpetually of some combination of allspice and the citrus dish soap Eddie prefers. It's always warm, and sometimes Buck swears he can feel the floor beating beneath his feet, the heart of the house, entrenched in the love Eddie has poured into it. It's always been a safe haven, protecting from the horrors of the outside world, a safe harbor in the storm. The day Eddie blows their lives up the house doesn't lose even a little bit of that warmth, that safety, despite the fact that Buck can feel his own heart shattering where it's trapped in his chest. But he forces a smile, cracks a joke, sits on the couch next to Eddie and listens to a very nice woman talk about the Texas heat, about accommodations and school districts and yard sizes. He laughs in all the right places, gets weirdly intense about bathroom tile, and tries to hold himself together long enough to get out of there without setting fire to the rubble that Eddie has inadvertently left in his wake. Buck refuses to panic until he's back at the loft a few hours later.  He stops dead in his tracks once he's made it inside, sighing, all the fight, all the emotion drawn out of his body with his breath. The thing is– Eddie's not leaving Buck. He knows that. He knows that Eddie is going after Christopher, which is what Buck had been silently begging him to do since Chris got on that fucking plane three months ago. So, it's a good thing! Or it should be. Chris is worth it, he's the most important person ever. Not just to Eddie, but to Buck too, aside from Jee, maybe. That doesn't mean Buck's heart doesn't feel cleaved in two, because Eddie might not be leaving Buck. But he is leaving. And Buck is always the one who gets left behind. He'd never seen this one coming though, it had blindsided him, and he doesn't know how to picture a life without Eddie right there next to him. Losing Chris to Texas had been one of the hardest things Buck's ever dealt with, but it was always supposed to be temporary. If Eddie leaves– If he goes to Texas, if he sells the little bungalow on South Bedford Street, if he packs up his truck and drives halfway across the country? If Eddie leaves, takes Buck's heart right out of his chest, and doesn't come back? Buck doesn't know how to be strong enough for this. He isn't sure how he's supposed to smile through it. How he's supposed to help his best friend box everything up, even the pictures on the fridge, every scrap of proof that they're a family, little and cobbled together, but family. Buck doesn't sleep well that night, or the next. Two weeks later Eddie leaves him standing outside LAX, double doors closing on his heels, with a sense of déjà vu so intense it makes Buck sick to his stomach. He has a hard time getting back into the jeep, the imprint of Eddie's touch still lingering on his shoulder, his reassurance ringing in Buck's ears. He desperately wants to believe him. He doesn't really remember the drive back, but Buck ends up at the Diaz house– his home, their home.   Without thinking, he crawls into Eddie's bed. It still smells like him. Buck sleeps. Three days later, Eddie comes back, one belligerent teenager in tow. When they come through those double doors, Buck has tears on his cheeks and a confession clogging his throat.  It can wait. He'd rather get his boys home.

the spotify wrapped drabbles :)

[assassinmidnight]

Flufftober day 22: Heirloom

Jason/RedHood xVigilante!AFAB!Autistic!Reader

Not proof read, I have dyslexia (sorry for any mistakes)

“Hey, Bruce?” Jason knocked on the mahogany door, waiting for a moment before hearing a grunted “come in.”

Upon entering the office, Jason looked around, eyes grazing over the photos on the walls, picture perfect family photos of the Waynes. He’s surprised to find himself in a few of them, dressed in a merlot suit, next to Dick, who was in a neat azure suit. Tim, Damian and Bruce were all dressed in black suits, typical if you asked Jason. They all had matching handkerchiefs in the pockets though, white with embroidered initials, golden of course. 

“Richard did say you were planning on stopping by, although he didn’t mention why,” Bruce signs off on some paper before looking up at Jason, motioning with his hand for him to sit down, “He did hint at it being connected to young Score and your current living arrangements,” Jason noticed the glint in the older man’s eyes. “Thank you for letting us borrow the cabin and for letting us get out of that event, the’res still not fully used to it,” Bruce smiled at the words “I’m hoping to meet them again soon, Alfred has informed me of their food preferences so there won’t be anything to worry about there.” Jason wanted to respond but Bruce continued “But you’re not here to thank me either, so why are you here?” Jason stood up, hands clamming up with sweat. “Um, Dick said that you, um, had a jeweller, a family one,” he took a deep breath “I need a ring.”

Bruce felt a wave of emotions go through him, he hadn’t expected this. Maybe he would ask for a house for them, so they could finally move out of that one bedroom apartment that Score had, or maybe even ask for a better suit for them. He hadn’t expected this. 

Jason watched with nervous eyes as Bruce stood up and walked over to one of the photo frames, it was one from a family dinner a few years back. Pushing it to the side revealed a safe, and after a minute he came up to Jason. In his hands was a jewellery box with a glass lid, inside a multitude of rings, in different sizes and cuts, were visible. “My mother got a lot of rings from my father, and I have very little use for them,” Jason looked up and saw Bruce smiling at him. “I would recommend a pearl for the engagement, and a diamond for the wedding,” Bruce pointed first to a ring with a white pearl on a silver band then to one with a diamond with a gold band. “But you know their tastes best.”

~

“Jay? I still want those almonds,” your voice brings him out of his thoughts, grabbing your hand he slowly leads you away from the crowd and the bonfire. “Yeah, I’ll bring you this time so I don’t forget,” you smiled at him and followed with a pep in your steps.

The two of you eventually sat down on a bench, one bag of roasted almonds each. “This has really been perfect,” you say, chewing on the almonds while watching the fire, Jason nodded, watching you. 

“Remember when I said I could make sure there's a bonfire on our anniversary?” Looking at him you respond “That’s not exactly what you said,” 

“No but it's what I meant,” you can’t help the smile growing on your lips and nod, “Well, what if today was our anniversary?” 

“And which anniversary would that be?” Jason sees the confusion on your face and moves from beside you to in front of you, on one knee.

“Our engagement anniversary?” He holds out a little red velvet box, opening it to show a pearl ring. “Princess, will you marry me?”

--

*I DO NOT ALLOW THE PLAGIARISM OF MY WORK, FOR IT TO BE USED IN AI OR FOR IT TO BE REPOSTED ELSEWHERE*

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Would A Fennekin Be A Good Pet?

It’s Indigo Disk release day! Or, well, it sort of came out last night where I live. But anyways! I hope everyone who plays has fun with it! For today’s Indigo Disk Week post, let’s take a look at the fantastic fan-favorite fennekin! Anyone familiar with this blog won’t be surprised to hear that fennekin, a fire-type starter, gets a B rank. While some particularly prepared people may be able to handle a fennekin, they might not be the best pets for some owners.

They check all the pet compatibility boxes that all starters have so far. Fennekins are the perfect size to be a pet, and their friendliness is second to none. As common first partner pokémon for trainers in the Kalos Region, fennekins have a long history of being great companions open to training. Also, unlike some fire-type pokémon, fennekins don’t have any open flames on their bodies. While they are a bit of a fire hazard (more on that later), they aren’t as rough as some. That being said, be very careful when handling a fennekin: their huge (adorable) ears act as vents for hot air generated when they eat that can reach temperatures as hot as 390 degrees Fahrenheit (X)!

Unfortunately, there isn’t very much data in the pok��dex about wild fennekin behavior. We do know that they like to munch on twigs, which allows them to build up the hot air inside their bodies which they can use for various means (X, Y). It’s unclear if twigs are the only thing that fennekins eat. I’d suggest feeding your fennekin alternative snacks in order to prevent the build-up of dangerous heat, but there isn’t enough information to decide whether or not fennekins need to eat twigs or build up said heat to survive.

The heat that fennekins build up can be used in battle to make use of a variety of fire-type moves that present significant risks of harm to you and your home. Fire-type starter classics like Fire Spin and Flamethrower are there, as well as a handful of psychic attacks for good measure. If a fennekin were to attack you, the results could be disasterous. As far as we know, this species isn’t particularly aggressive. When facing a threat, they first try to intimidate their foe with puffs of hot air through their ears (Y), so at the very least you would have some warning before an attack occurred. With proper training, the risks associated with keeping a fennekin may be mitigated (and who knows, maybe they don’t need their twig snacks to survive anyways), but we do need to consider these risks. Accidents happen, as do tantrums and play that gets out of hand.

If you are someone who is prepared to take on the risks inherent to fire-type pokémon (and invest in some fire-proof furniture for good measure), you should be able to handle a fennekin with little issue. However, if you are inexperienced with this type of pokémon, a fennekin might be too big a challenge to meet safely. All that being said, I know I’m not gonna stop anyone from adopting a fennekin. It’s fennekin!

[kitcat992]

Identity Within︱Chapter 12 - Wedding Crashers (PREVIEW)

“No!”

Peter’s shoes came to a screeching halt against the parking garage pavement. Any harder and he was sure they would’ve caught on fire.

“No, no — c’mon, no!” His index finger tapped relentlessly and repetitively against the device, practically smashing his bone against the already cracked screen — if his outburst caused more damage along the way, he honestly wouldn’t have known. “You had enough juice left to turn on! C’mon, turn on!”

As many times as Peter tried, the little bit of ghost power he managed to capture was all but gone. It didn’t matter what button he pressed, how long he pressed it for, how many times he smashed his fist against the screen — definitely causing a crack that time.

“Turn on again, please turn on again, please please please just turn on again!”

The parking garage captured his voice in an echo.

It was the only response to his plea.

Peter ran a shaky hand through his hair, careless to how the fidget in his fingers messed up the style he had perfectly created earlier that morning. A large strand fell in front of his eyes; undoing hours of work and almost blocking his view of the black screen from the device held in his hand.

The reflection of his face against the dead cell phone was almost enough to make him say a very, very bad word.

This was not good.

This was not good at all.

“Oh, Mr. Stark’s going to kill me.” Peter threw his head back with a groan that rattled every rib bone in his chest. And yet still, not even that was enough to vocalize how bad things were.

Bad was running late for Mr. Stark’s wedding — a wedding that over a year ago he would’ve never dreamed to be invited to, let alone be a part of the ceremony. Bad was running even more late because he couldn’t find where the groom’s suite was, and bad was needing the bride to walk him there, inducing an amount of embarrassment he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from.

Bad was even forgetting how to dress his tie — but this?

Losing Mr. Stark’s wedding rings?

Peter’s face grimaced tight enough that his eyes squeezed shut and his eyelids felt like were starting to rip apart. Mr. Stark had made those wedding rings. He couldn’t believe he lost those rings, the same rings he watched Mr. Stark personally handcraft — handcraft with material that wasn’t exactly something he could pick up at any ‘ol store, as if the rings could be easily replaced and remade.

The thought was harsh enough that Peter could feel his teeth ground even harder together.

He knew those rings came from the arc reactor that got Mr. Stark home from Afghanistan.

He knew all about how Pepper was the one to insist Mr. Stark keep it, turning it into a memento that stayed with them throughout the duration of their relationship.

During their first lab nights together, Peter would always catch eye of it across Mr. Stark’s workshop, in awe of what he got to see in person — always noticing how the lights created a glare against the words that were encased safely inside a glass box — ‘Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart’ always on display, up until now.

He had to find those rings.

“Okay, I have like….twelve minutes to figure this out. I just need to find whatever room Ms. Potts was in, and then retrace my steps from there.” Peter squeezed his phone tightly, while his other hand scratched roughly at his head — any hopes of maintaining his hairstyle long gone by now. “This can’t be too hard, right? I just gotta remember which direction May went before we split up…”

While the parking garage was barely a minute’s walk to the cathedral, Peter knew once he got back to the church, any direction could lead him just about anywhere. He’d already wound up lost in the building before, now he didn’t have a single second to waste finding his way around the building.

The parking garage went one of two ways. Peter looked left, then right, then left again, before—

—a sharp tingle sent goosebumps throughout his skin—

— Peter spun around, instinctively, impulsively, without thought—

“—sleeeeeeeeeepppp.”

A hand yanked at the back of his head, tugging at his hair, forcing him still as something pressed firmly against his mouth — sealed around his mouth, leaving no room for fumes to escape anywhere else but inside the depths of his lungs.

Peter’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as his knees slowly sank to the ground, eventually collapsing onto the pavement; with the hold he had on his cell phone growing weak and lax, until it fell away from him completely.

His vision went as black as the cracked screen of his phone.

[kitsunesakii]

The Stranger

Part one!!

Printer Issues, Lunch Date, Flower Shop, ur here, Pt.2, Pt.3, pt.4,

It was supposed to be a normal day. Sasha had gotten up before her alarm, managed to remember to eat breakfast, get to the bus station on time and got into the archives without running into any worms. Which she hadn’t thought much of. She was supposed to look into the digital footprint about some Joe Bloggs that she believed could have been connected to one of the statements. She didn’t have an actual name but supposedly they lived on hilltop road and no ones gotten ahold of them in years. Sasha was quite determined to try and figure it out. Jon was currently reviewing a statement in his office, Martin was making tea and Tim was on lunch. Overall it was a normal, quiet afternoon.

That is until all hell broke loose.

Jon had started yelling and there was a crash. Martin was closer and entered the office first, Sasha quick to follow.

Worms. Everywhere. White wriggling things that were pouring in through some hole in the wall behind a few boxes. Even looking at them made her own skin crawl and heart hammer in her chest.

Martin was quick to lead them out and into what he called a ‘worm proof’ room. Sasha knew this wasn’t a viable solution. They were practically cornered and- Sasha heard a separate door open. Tim.

Shit.

Sasha swallowed the nausea in her throat and tore the door open, moving towards where she could hear him. She paused in the hallway for a moment. She had expected Tim, had expected worms, but she had not expected the husk of Jane Prentiss coming through the hole in the wall. Complete with worms pouring out of her skin and moving underneath. She didn't have time to think. Quickly moving towards Tim and grabbing him by the collar. Together they sped through the hallways before she started up the stairs.

Her brain was in flight mode. Shooting up the stairs until she busted out and into the lobby. A few students gave her a weird glance before going about their business.

Sasha paused for only a second. Tim wasn’t behind her. She didn’t have time to worry about that. She needed to get everyone out of the building. Sasha looked around, noting the reception desk, the elevator, a few civilians leaving the library and passing the fire alarm.

The fire alarm.

She sprinted over and near ripped the lever off its hinges. The sound exploded throughout the institute and cracked through her mind. But she wasn’t done yet, she needed to get to Elias, they needed to get to the fire valve in the boiler room. Jon had been the one to suggest C02 in the pipe system as a fail safe if they were attacked and Elias had the keys.

Elias had been in his office and he was full of questions when she ripped his door open, panic in her voice and her heart in her ears as she explained as fast as she could that they needed to get to the boiler room right now. Then before she knew it they were running down some different corridor she wasn’t sure of and barreling towards the back of the institute. She prayed that Martin and Jon and TIm were ok.

Please Lord let them be ok. Let there have been enough time.

She wasn’t entirely sure when she had lost Elias in the long corridor but before she knew it she was in artifact storage. Damn it.

Sasha slowed to a staggered walk and set her palms on her knees, dropping the tape recorder she had forgotten she was carrying and trying desperately to not fall over as she caught her breath. Her lungs were screaming for a break and her knees were jelly where she stood. It was quiet, considering artifact storage was a part of the original building and didn't have an electronic fire alarm. Leaving her alone with her ragged breaths as the only other sound. Beads of sweat trickled down her face and burned her eyes. She forced herself to stand, swaying slightly as she walked through the aisles of cursed objects. Sasha noted the antique table in the corner. She bit her lip, there should have been an exit somewhere nearby. She turned around and stopped dead.

Something was watching her.

The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar. The institute came with its own brand of edge that she was used to brushing off as superstition or simply the atmosphere of the archives. Tim called it ‘spooky.’ and he wasn’t wrong. But this wasn’t some off taste of static in her mouth. This was tangible.

She did a careful 360 and felt a bout of nausea when she noticed a shadow in the corner of the room. Just great. Sasha took a subtle step backwards.

“Hello?” She swallowed, anything to get the pathetic tone out of her mouth. “I can see you!” She tried to make her voice louder. Helplessly aware that she didn’t have a fire extinguisher, if it was Jane Prentiss, and it didn’t look like Jane. Which laid out a completely separate set of problems that she wasn’t prepared to handle right now. God she wished she knew the layout of the storage rooms better.

Sasha took another step backwards as the thing took a step towards her. Her vision was blurring at the edges, her body feeling tight when she moved. Her joints are stiff. She tried to take another step but miscalculated and steadied herself with a hand on the old table. She tried to ignore the fact that she couldn’t feel anything with her hand.

“H e l l o?”

Panic was lighting her on fire as she tried to move, to do anything. And she needed to, because It sounded like her.

It sounded like her.

It lunged at her, and for a moment she could actually hear herself screaming, then her vision swam and it felt like time stopped.

Sasha blinked, the movement heavy and took a painful amount of energy. She was on the floor and looking up at the back of a secondary creature, no, Micheal, now stood between her and that thing. It hurt to look at him. He was all sharp edges and fast moving patterns spreading over his skin and through his hair like a blanket of texture. He was taller than normal, his form curling in odd shapes. She realized after a moment that one of his hands was wrapped around her middle, carefully keeping her in place without hurting her. His arm was a tangled mess of loops protruding in impossible directions yet somehow meeting back with his shoulder. It was getting harder and harder to hold her focus.

“D i s t o r t i o n?” The thing's voice weakened.

Micheal’s laughter was numbingly sharm and spread spots over her vision. She closed her eyes and tried not to flinch. The fuzz that was billowing through her ears made it hard to catch his words.

“You are quite stupid with how you choose to act. The circus truly is full of clowns.”

“W h y d o y o u c a r e? W h a t

b u i s n e s s d o y o u h a v e w i t h h e r?”

“I will not allow her to be forgotten. You do not get that satisfaction.”

"W h a t, y o u c a r e a b o u t h e r?"

“Yes.” A pause. “And she does not deserve to be changed by the likes of you.”

Sasha could feel herself starting to fade. She was sure he said something more, but it was fuzzy and swam along with her focus. She was drowning, losing herself. But it felt nice, wrapped up in limbs too long to be real and yet still comforting. Did she have a name? Maybe it didn’t matter. She let herself go to the darkness surrounding her.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Micheal moved towards the writhing thing full of limbs and teeth. It was cute, how it tried to be scary. He laughed at its audacity. He felt the girl in his grasp go limp as he attacked the ugly thing. It was easy, it was already weak since it missed its original target and Micheal was quick to sink sharp claws into it. It made an odd sound and Micheal pushed the thing into a hallway that stretched like taffy. Once it was in the maw of the spiral Micheal tore into the table. Such a conundrum. Such a mess. It made Micheal giggle.

He turned and scooped up the tired thing wrapped around his fingers. It would take her time, after being under the haze that thing seemed to exfoliate, for her to come too. Time. Another silly thing. He hummed and moved into a pastel hallway that didn’t exist. Her skin was warm against his own. Although it wasn’t really skin. Another silly thought. It was Micheal’s skin. Just drawn out like a cow to leather. He moved through the corridor until passing through a hallway into a bedroom.

He laid her out carefully in the bed and pulled the covers to her shoulders. Such a pretty thing, the cold wouldn’t take another innocent. He giggled, the sound just natural for him. It was nerves, which he was sure he shouldn’t have or feel. The discomfort pooling out of his mouth as a sound and resting around them.

He knew she would do better if she woke up without his uncomfortable distorted unreality. And even though three real days have passed it won’t feel that way for her, he still stayed an extra moment. Watching the way she shifted in her sleep. She would be ok. She was alive. Micheal finally left her alone.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last time Sasha had a genuine hangover was in college, she remembered the feeling as she jerked straight up in bed and instantly regretted it. Gripping her head and breathing through her teeth. Her eyes hurt and her vision split into fractals, swimming as she tried to look around. Too much, too fast. She shuddered and froze in place, shutting her eyes and counting to ten.

She needed to stop trying to think. Sasha couldn’t explain why every sliver of thought seemed accompanied by a dead static that made her head hurt even more than it already did, but that didn’t seem to stop it. It took a long moment before feeling seemed to break past the back of her throat and she could breathe. She managed to make it into the kitchen and fill a glass with water, chugging it before sputtering and coughing. Nonetheless it woke her all the way up and she managed a small sigh of relief.

It took her another half hour to reorient herself. She took a long scalding hot shower and tried desperately to piece together the day- it was only one day, right? Either way she forced herself to remember the blurry events at the institute. The hot water did seem to help. She rested her head against the shower wall and tried to relax her shoulders.

She was at the institute when Jon discovered the worms.

She was separated from Elias and ended up in artifact storage.

That's where the details got weird.

She remembered talking to someone. Maybe. Although every time she tried to remember past that, she was hit with a wave of nausea and static spots in her vision. She was obviously in her apartment. Had Tim dropped her off? He was the only other one that knew where she lived, but…she dropped the thought for a moment.

Sasha managed to get out of the shower and into clean clothes without actually throwing up. Even more so, she managed to coherently open her phone and notice the missed calls from Martin, Jon, Tim, even Elias had called her. Well there goes the theory that Tim dropped her off.

She chewed on her lip a moment before calling Jon back, it felt like the dial tone was mocking her.

“Hello?”

“Hi-” It shocked her how raw her voice was. “Jon? It’s Sasha, what-”

“Sasha?! Where have you been? Christ what happened, where did you go? Elias said you were in artifact storage- Were you attacked? There were some things broken, including a tape recorder-” Jon paused to breathe, Sasha rested her hand over her eyes. “Where are you?”

It was like his words cracked the dam in her mind. And she remembered the thing and Micheal and Micheal protecting her. She remembered it sounded like her. The thought made her shiver.

“Sasha?”

“I’m- I’m at home. I-”

“Christ Sasha it's been three days! What have you been doing?”

She rubbed her head in slight frustration. “Damn it Jon, I don’t need you interrogating me like I killed your bloody dog!” Her eyes shot up at her own outburst and she scowled at nothing. She continued slightly calmer. “I passed out. Someone must have dropped me off at home.” Micheal. “I’ve been in bed since then, trying to tend to a bloody headache.” She didn’t have the energy to hear Jon question her why Micheal was saving her from mysterious creatures when she could barely understand it herself.

“Tim’s been worried sick.”

Sasha let out a dry chuckle. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been comatose in bed for the last few days I would have called sooner.”

“I’m sorry, Sasha, we are all on edge- Martin found Gertrude’s body and- I’m just glad to hear you alive. Elias is giving everyone time off and I’m sure you’d rather hear it from me so don’t try to show up for work, maybe the hospital though?”

“No, no I’m ok. Send my regards to everyone else. I might have caught a minor cold, I just need sleep. You need sleep.”

“Fine. Just take care of yourself.”

[tomtenadia]

Detours to You - Ch 12

Good weekend everyone!!! Ready for an another chapter?

MASTERLIST

Two days had passed from the fire and Rowan’s house had been transformed quickly in a chaos of toys. Although Maya was good at tidying up at night before bed, during the day his house was mayhem. And he was happy. His two girls were still recovering from the shock. Aelin had taken a couple of days off work after Elide and Lysandra had forced her to. Maya had been quieter than usual and that worried him. Both of them were struggling to sleep and in the past two nights he had found himself sandwiched between them. Maya would climb at his front and just cling to him, while Aelin played big spoon and rested against his back. He knew they were both struggling. He would have loved to stay at home with them but there was so much to do and he was helping the police with the investigation on the building fire. The previous day he had gone and collected the last few belonging boxed in the flat and finally closed that chapter of their lives. Rowan hated not being with them but he knew that Aelin was going back to work and would take Maya with her. They had called the school and explained the situation and Rowan had gone to the school to get Maya’s homework and the last lessons she had missed. Being in primary school it was still basic stuff but he felt that it was important and he and Aelin had been helping her at night.

That morning he was standing outside the tall block of flats and waiting for Captain Falliq and the chief of OFI. They were meant to go inside the building and try to find more proof of what caused the fire. They had the mechanics but now they had to discover the why and Nersys was positive it was arson.

Connall Moonbeam was the first one who met him. He was Fenrys brother. They had all done the academy together. Fenrys was still on active duty at station 3 but Connall had to retire from active duty after an accident during a fire that left him with bad lung problems and a problematic leg so he found a permanent position in the office for fire investigations and slowly made his way up the ladder.

“Morning Con,”

“You really are back, I thought Fen was taking the piss.”

Rowan laughed “Yes, I am.”

“And Chief nonetheless. Good, we did need a change of leadership.”

The both remained in silence while they waited for Nersyn to arrive.

“Do you really think it’s arson?”

“Nes thinks so.”

Connall sighed “You know how hard it is to prove and from what you told me this building was badly managed anyway. I need to make sure that the actual cause is human intervention and intentionally caused.”

“I know, I did try and explain to her but she believes Hamel was trying to get rid of this residential building to transform it into a business one,” he added with restrained fury “Apparently flats are not profitable. No matter that the monster charges an extortions for rent.”

Not long after, the captain emerged from her car and Rowan smiled at her wearing safety shoes and a hard hat. He had explained her the risks of entering a building after afire.

“Good morning guys, Sorry I am late but I was checking an anonymous tip we got about this fire. The person believes this was intentional. Apparently someone else had eyes on this building to make it commercial.”

Rowan was furious. Where were people meant to live if every rich bastard decided that buildings in the city centre were only good for business?

The three of them entered the building and slowly made their way to where overhaul had identified the origin point. 

Rowan walked to the main switchboard and with his torch illuminated the panel “It originated here,” he showed them the scorch marks of the origin point. Slowly he removed the panel and showed them the mess of the cables.

“That is not safe.” Added Connall, staring at the mess of badly tangled cables, they all looked ruined by years of bad maintenance but there was nothing pointing to arson.

Rowan would definitely jail the bastard just for negligence.

“Rowan, go back there, please?”

He pointed the light back to where Connall had indicated and they spotted a cable with a clean cut “This has been snapped with tools. And see the protective plastic around? It’s peeled back to expose the cables but it’s far too perfect and neat. This was deliberate.”

“Do you think they keep maintenance logs? Any trace of who was the last person to come down here? Only technicians have access keys to this panel.”

Nesryn took some notes “I am sure I will be able to find that for you.”

Rowan walked around the ruins of the place until his feet ended up in a puddle “Water, the guy had mentioned water too.” With his torch he followed the trail and noticed that the wall had all the marks of an internal water leak. With his axe he hit a specific point and water burst out with force, beneath it the electrical wiring was fried. Connall helped him to open the hole a bit more and with their torches they inspected the inside “If I remember the blueprint correctly, this is just below the flat that was the epicentre.”

“Shall we go upstairs?” Prompted Rowan, while already moving. The other two followed suite. As per protocol the flat had been boarded up but Connall and Rowan were two people who had the authority to go in so they slowly took down the boards and stepped in. The flat was a mess of burnt items. He could still see the signs of a family living there. A mother and her eighteen years old daughter. Their dreams, their hopes. All destroyed because of one man’s greed.

According to the report from his men, the fire in that room had been brutal. The kitchen had gone up in seconds and for the two women there had been no escaping. Rowan and Connall moved the appliances and found traces of sparks too and then water. They inspected the building for a good hour while Nesryn followed them in silence and took notes of their theories. The cut cable was a definite proof of a deliberate act, but the rest seemed like gross misconduct. Now it was her turn to piece all the details together and build up a case strong enough to jail Hamel forever.

When they finally exited the building the cop took a deep breath of fresh air, while Connall removed his white face mask to prevent him breathing dust particles that would cause him issues.

“This was very interesting and I have collected a lot of images and notes to help with my investigation. I have the copies of your reports as well so hopefully I will have something more solid soon.”

They thanked the cop and both men remained alone “This was sick.” Added Connall.

Rowan’s stare was on the top floor where Aelin and Maya lived. A barrage of what ifs crossed his mind. They had been quite far from the fire but still… If… If… If… Now that flat lay empty and his two women were safe at his house, he had to concentrate on that, for the sake of his sanity.

“I will send you and Nes any updates as soon as we analyse the samples I took.”

“Keep me posted, please.”

The two men said goodbye and Rowan jumped back in his pickup and drove to the bookstore.

*

Working helped. Aelin felt much better after a whole morning surrounded once again by books and her two friends. Maya had been in a better mood too and spent the morning in the children section or helping her mum shelve books.

She was busy helping a customer when she spotted the white shirt and dark jacket of the chief of the TFD entering the premises and Maya’s scream of joy at seeing her father.

“Dad!!” She ran to him and Rowan lifted her up effortlessly.

“Hi munchkin, how are you?”

She lifted Elf “we have been helping mum with all the books.”

With Maya still in his arms, he walked to the counter to greet Elide and Lysandra.

“We kept an eye on them, being busy helps a lot.”

“Dad, I fixed the kids section.”

“You did?” He kissed her “Show me.”

Father and daughter walked towards the back of the shop and Aelin joined her two friends.

“He is so adorable with her.”

Aelin stared at Rowan listening to what Maya was saying and agreed. Rowan was amazing with her.

“Lorcan asked me if I want one too.”

Both women squealed “What did you tell him?”

“Yes, of course as long as they are not a grumpy little thing like their father.”

“Now we have to convince my cousin Aedion to pop the question and make Lys a married woman.”

Lys rolled her eyes “If he doesn’t get a move on I am going to propose.”

Elide clapped her hands happily “Look at us responsible women.”

“Rowan needs to pop the question too.”

Aelin stopped “Rowan and I… it’s complicated.”

“In what universe? You already have a daughter and now live together too. You are basically married without the paperwork.”

“And didn’t you kiss the other night?” Added Elide.

“It was just to comfort me. It was sweet but it had nothing sexual about it.”

“Sure, but it moved something, eh?”

It did. Old feelings had started to come back quickly and being in the same house with him was not helping. She was torn between the version of five years before who was madly in love with him and the new version who was still struggling with his return and was scared of trying again.

“Maya is the most important thing just now. My needs can wait.”

“Until you two are alone in that big house of his and he can finally have your way with you and make you scream so hard you scare the squirrels.”

Aelin burst out laughing “Lys, you definitely read too many romance books.”

“No such thing.” She added quickly.

“We are just saying that the sexual tension between you is thick and we are expecting fireworks when you finally decide to stop being stubborn.”

Rowan came back with Maya half holding three books in her hands “dada bought me some books.”

“You are a bad influence,” joked Aelin, while taking the books from her daughter.

“As long as she is asking me to buy her books, I am happy to indulge her.”

“Also, I come here with an invitation,” he started “The annual hockey game between TFD and PD is on the 22nd. I know you are closed like all the shops for a couple of days and you are invited.” He turned to Lys “Aedion is welcome too if his job at the academy allows him to.” Aedion had been in the army for a very long time and when he retired he was offered a job as trainer for the recruits.

“It’s a good thing that you are back. We have been loosing for the past few years and Westfall has been a dick about it and brags to no end.”

Aelin glared at Elide for the D word and the young woman froze.

“Mama what is a dick?”

The adults froze “Maya, auntie Elide meant a stick.”

The girl seemed to accept the answer and went back browsing her books in silence.

“I will let you know all the details and give the tickets to Aelin.”

Rowan then kneeled beside Maya “I have to go back to work, but you keep company to mum and I will see you tonight.”

Maya wound her arms around his neck “Thank you for the books,” a kiss on his cheek.

Rowan kissed her back then stood and then pulled Aelin to him depositing a soft kiss on the crown of her head “I should be home by six.”

In response she leaned against his chest and nodded “be careful.”

“Always.” He pulled back, saluted the women and disappeared.

“Sure, no feelings.” Added Elide.

“He is totally disgusted by you.” Continued Lysandra.

Elide lifted Maya on the high chair “What do you think, little one? Your mum and dad like each other?”

The girl nodded energetically “Yes. Mum is happy.”

Aelin stared at the door where Rowan had disappeared and thought about her daughter words. Yes, since he came back she had felt happier. She had found herself craving his presence.

Maybe she was too afraid for nothing.

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127

[vorish-wonderland]

You're really cold today... you really just want a nice snack to keep you warm... luckily, you find the exact person who can solve your problem! Now all you have to do is... convince him to let you do it...

Includes: soft/safe vore, semi-unwilling prey

★✦Nice And warm!✦★

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

It's so cold out today...

You could really use a nice, warm snack right now.

Nnnnm... but what could you get that is easily available?

"Hey, uh... you sure about this, Ortho? I-I could just send out the drone and pick up our order from the school store... w-we don't have to go out..."

There we go. Idia Shroud, the boy with fire for hair... he'd warm you up quick!

"Come on, big brother!! You have to get out sometimes! I know you like to stay inside but that isn't healthy!!" Ortho pouts.

"What if I get kidnapped by ghosts agaiiiin?!"

"That's why I'm here with you!"

The brothers enter the school store together... and you follow close behind.

The brothers pick up a manga box set, and you pick up a potion that both shrinks someone and can pretty much protect them from everything for about a day. Sam really does have everything, huh?

Both you and the brothers pay for your items and leave.

Alright, time to inquire.

"Hey, Ortho, can I steal your brother for today?" You ask, finally making yourself known to the two.

"Hm... are you gonna hurt him?"

"No."

"Are you gonna try to marry him?"

"No."

"Then I don't see why not!"

"WHAT?! ORTHO, YOU'RE JUST GONNA LET THEM TAKE ME LIKE THIS?!"

"You need to interact with people more, big brother! It's healthy!" Ortho pushed Idia towards you.

"I-I interact with people! I go to b-board game club meetings, r-right? A-and Muscle Red, w-we interact, e-even if it's just o-online!!" Idia seems desperate to just head back to his room. "And Ortho, w-we just picked up the full manga set of MGIATTSPCF20,000YITF! W-we were gonna read it together-!"

"We can read it tomorrow, big brother!!"

"Oh by the way Ortho I'm gonna eat him. Don't worry though! I'm gonna make sure he's safe!" You hand the robot child the potion you just bought. "Here's proof!"

Ortho looks over the bottle.

"Ok! But if you hurt Idia in any way, I'll surgically open you and remove my brother from your stomach, understand??" Ortho closes his eyes. You assume he's smiling, but you can't be sure because you can't see his mouth. Regardless, he looked cheery.

"I understand!" You grab Idia's hand and start to drag him off. "I'll bring him back to you later!"

"I'll bring our box set to your room, ok big brother? I'll be sure to keep it safe!!"

"Uh... alriiiight..." Idia sighs as you drag him off.

You bring Idia back to Ramshackle and feed him the potion. After a while, he's no bigger than the palm of your hand.

"H-hang on, before you do anything, w-why eat me of all people?!"

"Because I'm hungry and chilly. You look like you'll fill me up and warm me up."

"Y-you do realize my hair isn't real fire, right?"

"...whatever, you've already drank the potion." You gently pick up Idia. "In you go."

You place him in your mouth and swallow him.

"I feel like I watched something like this once... except it was a lot more violent... and you're fully clothed..." Idia sighs. "And I'm not gonna die, which I guess is a good thing? Meh..."

"Uh... ok. Anyways this is pretty nice and warm, even if your hair isn't real fire like you said... thanks for this!"

"You pretty much forced me into this but uh... no problem???"

[pasdasin]

Entanglement ch 7

levi x reader

summary: revaltions come to life

cw: hospital, wound, cursing, bad writing (didn't proof read)

an: omg finally done with finals and on spring break. curse u quater systems and sorry for not updating 😭

read under the cut

previous -- next

Levi stood in shock. The blood was seeping out of your wound slowly but the longer he stared he couldn’t move. He was going to loose you at this rate. Right when he got you back. Suddenly the door busted open and Hange looked at the sight in front of her. 

“Levi what are you doing? What happened?” Hange sprang into action trying her best to do a patch job with what they had available to them. Levi still couldn’t move. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Suddenly he was slapped in the face.

“Pull your self together or she will die.” Hange yelled at him. Levi was finally pulled out of his trance. 

“She was shot. I’m going after them.”

“Levi, no, she needs a hospital. C’mon there is a infirmary in the capital.” Without another word, Levi grabbed his 3DM gear, grabbed your unconscious body, and left. Hange was left in the room, surrounded by your personal effects and a giant pile of blood. 

She quickly looked around before leaving the room. As she left her eyes lingered on a small box on the dresser near the room. It seemed like a jewelry box but with what little was inside it, it could hardly be called that. However, a small velvet box stood open, and inside was probably the nicest ring she had ever saw. Shaking her head, she left the room and gathered the rest of the squad, telling them that they had to leave. It was no longer safe.

----

On the surface the squad quickly rushed to the closest military infirmary and met up with Levi. He was standing next to a room, his eyes were lost in thought. Hange called out his name and he looked up. 

He was an entire mess. His eyes were bloodshot and red from constant rubbing. His perfectly manicured hair more resembled a bird's nest, and his shirt was covered in blood. Your blood.

“Levi,” Erwin breathed out. “You have to tell us what is going on. This isn’t like you at all.” Levi looked into the eyes of his closest companions. Biting the inside of his cheek, he slid down the wall behind him and sat, his legs close to his chest. 

“Please captain,” Eren said, a hint of urgency in his tone. “Y/n wouldn’t want this. How can you act like this?” Levi sent a glare to the titan shifter. 

“How dare you? I am your captain. You don’t even know her.”

“If you’re my captain then act like it!” Levi gritted his teeth. Standing up he walked over to Eren, a newfound fire in his eyes, before kicking him in the shin. Eren smiled through the pain, happy to see his captain finally act like himself. 

Suddenly a nurse came out of the room. She looked at the group in front of her before her eyes went wide in amazement. 

“Captain Levi,” She called out, pushing a hair behind her ear. “She is ready for you now.” Levi directed his attention to the nurse and headed straight into the room. The rest of the team followed him in, Armin acknowledged her before closing the door behind him. 

Inside you were sleeping soundly. From the way you were wrapped up, you were gonna make it. Levi moved towards the head of the bed and sat in the chair. He grabbed your hand softly before turning his attention to the people in the room. 

“I guess I should be honest with you guys now. Especially after everything that just occurred.” The rest of his squad got comfortable while he tried to find the right words. Never in all of his time knowing these people did he ever think that he would be forced to be so vulnerable, so open. He took a big breath in and decided to just be blunt. 

“Y/n is my fiance.” The room got so quiet after that, you could hear a pin drop. “When I joined the survey corps, I had left her in the underground. I was going to bring her aboveground when I was told she was murdered. I only just found out she was alive.” Another round of silence filled the room. No one was sure what to say. How could they find the words to comfort their captain? They just found out about this whole new side of him. They didn’t need to find the right words though, since in the moment after he told them the truth, you had woken up. 

[ranchracoon]

Devour Ch. 13: Celebration p.1

Master Post

Chapter 12

Your arms are numb, pins and needles cause excruciating pain but you do everything in your willpower not to move. Daniela is asleep on top of you with her face buried in your chest, Bela is on your left, and Cassandra on your right. However, the alarm on your clock has other plans, all three of the girls groan in annoyance until Cassandra reaches up and stops the ringing.

            You never knew just how needy all of them are until now as they rearrange back against your body, all of them tightening their hold on you. You are responsible to wake the daughters every morning so it wouldn’t hurt to sleep in a little longer. When Lady Dimitrescu talks to you that morning you answer carefully, and keep your face neutral, she doesn’t bring up her daughters again. While assisting their mother one of the daughters will drag you behind a closed door, or in Cassandra’s case, behind a painting to steal kisses.

            The morning of the celebration is different, there is energy and excitement in the air for the celebration tonight, even the girls can hardly contain themselves. Flies sputter around their forms, unable to remain solid for more than a few minutes. You go to the bathroom to freshen up for the day but when you come out the girls are gone, and replaced with an outfit wrapped in plastic with a large white box next to it. There’s a note on the top with familiar swirly hand writing on it.

            Wear this tonight for the celebration. No peeking until then. – love B, C, and D.

            You smile at the note, put it in your nightstand and set the box inside the closet for safe keeping. The outfit in plastic is your new uniform; you strip off the clothes from last night, and carefully put it on. The black pants fit on you perfectly, snug around the thighs and slightly loose around your calves, suspenders are included too. The clips are gold and the stretchy material the same shade of black as the pants with a golden stripe down the middle. They hang loosely against your legs as you button up the white, collared shirt all the way to the top. The neck doesn’t choke you like your old uniform, the sleeves are crisp and reach your wrists; your old one was too short in the arms and often got stuck on your forearms. You pull the suspenders over your shoulders, then button the vest on top, and admire how it curves over your breasts, rather than squish them.

The final touch is a blood-red bowtie, you haven’t worn a bow tie before and it takes longer than you wish to admit to figure out how to tie it. You notice no jacket present, and as you run your hands over the vest, you slip your fingers into the pocket and feel a piece of paper in it. Using the lantern in your room, you hold the note up to read it better. The handwriting is neat with large, looped letters but not cursive like how the girls write.

Here’s a uniform to get you through until I finish the others, I also have some casual wear for you as well. My sister requested that the material be ‘tear proof,’ which means you’ll need specific cleaning instructions. You’ll find them on the back of this note. - Donna

Underneath those words is sloppy handwriting, similar looking to that of a small child.

Thank you for playing with me! I can’t wait to see you again! - Angie

You laugh at the splots of ink and wrinkles on the bottom of the note where Angie had written. After you turn the paper over, you scan over the instructions before tucking the note with the other. As the drawer closes Lady Dimitrescu calls your name, it sounds close meaning she must be in the Opera Hall. You glance at the time, seeing it’s a quarter past breakfast, and that lights a fire under your feet. You sprint to the sound of Lady Dimitrescu’s voice, only slowing when you are within eyesight of her, you fix your new uniform and steady your breathing.

The lady stands in the middle by the piano, maids and other workers surround her as she gives them orders. All of them run off in a hurry, none of them looking at you or the lady as they leave. The lady turns to you as you approach, you respond by bowing deeply to her.

“Apologies my lady for my tardiness, I’m not used to a bowtie and was having some difficulties tying it.” You explain.

She waves her hand, swiping your excuse from the air, “never mind that now Y/N. As you know tonight is the celebration for Mother Miranda and her daughter Eva, and we have a lot to get done. My daughters are excited and you know how distracted they get when they are like that. I need you to control yourself enough to double check everything is ready then report to me in my chambers when done.”

You bow again, “of course my lady. I will make sure nothing is out of place.”

She faces away from you and you beam with excitement too, you fall straight back into the position you are very familiar with: being head maid. You’re running around the castle all day, taste testing that all the food is prepared properly, ensuring no dirt is present on walkways, aid in hanging decorations, and most importantly making sure fires are lit everywhere.

The sun lowers toward the horizon, guests begin to arrive and maidens are dressed in clean, freshly pressed uniforms to greet them all. You hurry to the lady’s chambers, brushing a droplet of sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand before knocking on the door.

“​​Enter.” The Lady answers.

You push the door open to find the lady in front of her vanity in only a robe, you avert your eyes immediately.

“I’ve come to inform you that guests have started to arrive and everything is ready to go.”

“Thank you. Now come help me dress.”

Lady Dimitrescu points to a wrapped dress on her bed, you grab it while she puts on a black lace bra with matching underwear and garters that buckle around her thighs. You hide back a smirk at the matching set, curiosity makes you wonder who she is really getting dressed for. Definitely not Mother Miranda. Her dress is sleek and black with long, transparent trains that hang off the sleeves and it’s accompanied with a red corset. She steps into the dress while you climb up a step ladder and help her zip it up, then tighten the corset to her liking. She shakes the dress tail out so that it’s spread out behind her, then faces you so you can put on her signature, black gloves over her hands.

She keeps her hat off and instead allows her curls to breathe and stretch, they fall across her cheeks when she leans over the vanity to apply her red lipstick. The final touch is her house crest necklace which she hands to you, she pulls her hair to the side for you to clasp the necklace around her neck.

“Thank you Y/N. You may go get ready now, be down in the main hall within an hour. I do not want you to be tardy for Mother Miranda’s arrival.”

“Yes my lady.” You reply.

You bow and retreat to your own chambers, bathe off the sweat as fast as you can, your eyes flicking to the clock every few seconds to watch your time. You approach your closet and take the box out, setting it on your bed. You remove the lid, move the tissue back to reveal a dark navy and white suit. It’s the most beautiful article of clothing you’ve ever seen other than what Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters wear; and it’s all yours. Your hands tremble as you lift the surprisingly light suit, then lay everything out neatly on top of your bed. At the very bottom of the box is a brand new pair of leather shoes, if you had more time you would admire the detail of every piece of fabric.

First you put on your best pair of underwear and the only non-sports bra you have, then the white button up shirt. It doesn’t have the top two buttons; you think it’s a mistake so you feel around for them or any sign that buttons are supposed to be there. Instead, you feel the Dimitrescu crest embroidered on each point of the collar, your fingers trace the intricate design. That would explain why you didn’t see a tie with the suit, it’s to remain open and you are grateful that you have at least one bra that makes your cleavage pop.

Next is the navy-colored pants that hug every curve of your legs with just enough slack so that the pants don’t rise up too high when you sit. There is a black belt with a golden clip rather than suspenders, and you tighten it around your waist where the pants sit. The same-colored vest has six large, golden buttons that are parallel to each other, but only three are the actual buttons. The fabric is smooth and soft under your hands, ritualistically you brush them over the front of you then pick up the jacket. The left side of the jacket is embroidered with golden roses and thorns that shimmer in the flickering light. You tie the black leather shoes on first, button the single button on the jacket, and spray the perfume over your neck. 

Music can be heard all the way to your chambers, you grimace at how loud it’s going to be in the main hall. By the time you reach the courtyard there are more people gathered but the bulk of guests are in the main hall. The music is more tolerable than you thought, the live jazz band play their hearts out while dancers flood the floor. When the song ends everyone looks toward the foyer above you, you follow their gazes to find Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters.

Your heart stops, as does time. Bela is first, her golden hair down her shoulders with one lace braid circling her head like a crown. Her dress is red, with a slit up to her mid-thigh and golden embroidery flows around in swirls looking like a sea of red and gold. Her lips are red with speckles of glitter that reflect the light, accompanied with glitter over her eyes and cheeks. Cassandra is next, she has a golden suit, the jacket buttoned up to just above her navel, with a white button up underneath that is left unbuttoned at the top like yours. Her hair is braided and twisted into a circle in the back of her head, with azure jewels braided in. She gives you a smile, not her usual huntress smile, a genuine smile that is only enhanced by her golden lipstick. Then Daniela, she is radiant in a phthalo green dress that has a cut in a low V with a long trail behind her. Her hair is left down with a small, silver crown resting upon her head. She beams at you, her lips and the dusted eyeshadow are the same color as her dress, there’s reflections of silver within them.

Your mind wanders, that you are a canvas and their lips are the brushes that paint you in strokes of gold, green, and red. At the end of the stairs you wait, you hold your hand out to be the first one to greet them as they descend the stairs. Lady Dimitrescu offers her hand, you bow and kiss the back of her hand as she takes the final steps.

“You look beautiful as always my lady.” You compliment.

She nods her head to you, blinks her eyes slowly in acknowledgement then makes her way through the crowd of people who do the same as you. You can hardly contain your excitement when you take Bela’s hand, heat courses through your body when you kiss the back of her hand.

“Lady Bela, like a forest fire you’ve consumed my entire soul and heart. You look ravishing.”

“Save that sweet tongue for later.” She whispers back, then walks past you.

Your heart skips a beat again, goosebumps rise under your skin when you hold Cassandra’s hand. Her gaze pierces through you, the smell of trees pouring off her as you bow to kiss her hand.

“Lady Cassandra, you shine like the sun, and I am just a sunflower begging for your warmth.” You whisper against her hand.

When you look back up, a blush has made an appearance on her cheeks. She says nothing and simply smiles at you, but her eyes swell with admiration The second Daniela squeezes your hand, it’s like a lightning strike, the electrical currents course through your veins.

“You look amazing.” She whispers to you.

“Lady Daniela, you stole the words out of my mouth. Nothing written or spoken could describe the imprint you’ve made on my heart.” You whisper back.

Daniela giggles as you watch them greet guests, they follow in their mother’s wake through the crowd. The strong stench of fish passes by you, you glance over at the deformed man who walks by, eagerly asking for when Mother Miranda will arrive. You recognize him as Lord Moreau from his portrait in the church. You look around for any of the other lords but give up after some time from the sheer amount of people. The music starts up again and you too your way through the crowd, you use Lady Dimitrescu as your homing beacon knowing that the girls will be near her. Just as you suspect, the three of them turn their gaze to you, their faces hold happiness and excitement as they see you but quickly change to worry as you approach Lady Dimitrescu. The lady finishes her conversation with another woman before she looks down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes Y/N?” She asks, her voice softer than normal.

“Lady Dimitrescu, I would like to ask you for permission to dance with your daughters.”

She ponders your request, she purses her lips while in thought just like Daniela does, and now you know who she gets it from.

“Very well. Which one would you like to dance with?”

“All of them. A dance each.”

The muscles in her jaw flex with tension but you hold your ground, your eyes never leaving hers as they examine your face. You know she will question you about this in the morning, but now you only care about Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela.

“You have my permission to dance with my daughters.”

You bow your head, “thank you my lady.”

You swivel on your heels, approach Cassandra first and offer a hand to her. She happily takes it and you can feel her restrain herself from dragging you onto the dance floor. The song that plays is one you know by heart; you practiced it as a child in the village while watching the adults perform it. Cassandra follows your lead; your muscle memory comes in full swing as you never take your eyes off her. Your pair of hands are raised while you have your other hand on her waist and she has hers on your shoulder, your bodies twirl around the other dancers like they aren’t there. It’s only you, Cassandra, and the music that drowns the conversation around you into a dull roar.

“I wish I could kiss you right now.” Cassandra lowers her head closer to your ear so no others can hear you.

“Believe me, I want nothing more than to kiss you too, love. Judging from the look Lady Dimitrescu is giving me though, I take it I wouldn’t make it to morning.” You respond.

“I know she likes you, otherwise you wouldn’t be here right now. I want her to know about us so we can stop hiding, but also, I want to keep you all to myself.” She breathes in your smell before you feel her nonchalantly press her head against you and rub it.

“What was that for?” You laugh.

“We aren’t the only monsters here you know. I want everyone to know that you’re off limits, you might not be human but you still smell like one.”

You smile, tilting your head against her as she rubs against you again and the song ends with a final spin. The people around the dance floor clap as new dancers take the stage and Cassandra is replaced with Daniela. She also restrains herself; she’s tense as she approaches you but her eyes hold excitement. You wrap an arm around her waist and grip her hand as she does the same, the next song is a faster pace and unfamiliar to you. Daniela reassures you as she leads this time, you mimic her steps and the gestures of those who dance around you.

“Did you see who mother was talking to?” She asks with a giggle.

“I’m afraid I wasn't paying much attention, beautiful.”

“Look now.” She giggles again.

You look over her shoulder to see Lady Dimitrescu next to a regal woman who wears a purple dress with a golden shawl over her shoulders. She has dark brown hair that’s tied up and she’s smiling up at Lady Dimitrescu, there’s a faint blush on her cheeks even from this distance.

“Who is that?” You ask.

“The baroness of Hungary.” Daniela replies, “I don’t know much about her except from what I’ve read while snooping in mother’s office. Apparently, they’ve been corresponding for months now and I think mother is head over heels for her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She called mother by her first name. The only other person allowed to do that is Mother Miranda.”

The surprise on your face makes Daniela giggle again, she spins away from you before twirling back into you. Lady Dimitrescu’s laugh roars over the crowd, it’s a deep, belly laugh that you’ve never heard before.

“I guess love really is in the air.” You state.

Daniela pecks a quick kiss against your cheek then presses her jaw against your head in the same manner Cassandra did. You sigh, lean against her as she leads you in the dance until it ends. Claps erupt once more in the main hall, and now Bela joins you. Unlike the other two, you face opposite directions with your right arm in a 90-degree angle against her left arm that is also held the same way. You walk in circles with your arms together, looking at each other before you switch and bow, then conduct the dance officially.

“You look absolutely stunning, my dear.” You compliment.

“As do you. Daniela chose the color, Cassandra chose the cut, and I chose the details. I’m especially appreciative of the view I get, you should wear your shirts open like that more often.”

Heat coats your cheeks and you clear your throat, “if your mother allowed it then I just might.”

Bela smiles at you, leans down close to your ear, close enough you feel her breath inside your ear.

“Your suit would look even better on my floor.” She purrs.

“Only if your dress is next to it.” You quip back.

 Bela giggles and you dance with her in comfortable silence, this dance requires the two of you to be further from each other but each time you come together she brushes her head against your neck. When the music and claps stop, Lady Dimitrescu holds up her wine glass and taps it to get everyone’s attention. People from the courtyard trickle into the hall to listen better as the lady clears her throat.

            “Thank you everyone for joining us this evening, and now the woman everyone has been waiting for. Mother Miranda and her daughter Eveline.”

Continue Reading

[insertsickusername13]

General concept: Brooke comforts Jake after the fire

Word count: 1969

Warnings: kind of alludes to suicide, but it's like... very implied and not at all said

Jake's apartment is probably more important to Brooke than it is to Jake. After November 1st, when she woke up to her parents shaking her awake at 8 am telling her something terrible's happened. Are you friends with Jake Dillinger? she's forced to function under the constant, ineffable, unavoidable assumption that no matter what she does—how kind she is, how happy she can be—something terrible is going to happen again, and this time there is going to be no boy to pick up from the hospital, no wheelchair to help him set up, no trips to the mall to buy countless flowers for Rich. Only black dresses and rainy skies and silent lunch tables. 

The apartment is proof he's alive. He's going to recover. He isn't being taken by social services and isn't moving in with his Aunt in Virginia. He's here. He's safe. She still has her best friend (aside from, of course, Chloe, but that's a different situation entirely).

Jake doesn't appreciate it as much. He's silent as his landlord hands him the key with a pitying 'good luck' smile, silent as they sit in the pre-furnished living room, Brooke on the overstuffed couch and Jake in his wheelchair. Brooke's planning out ways to make the place Jake's: posters on the walls, pictures on the shelves. Repaint a couple of walls and redo the beach-themed bathroom. Her voice is so loud it echoes through the apartment.

"The windows are nice, the curtains are definitely giving off unfulfilled middle age mother though, don't you think?"

She turns to Jake for approval, smiling brightly at her own joke, only to be met with a blank, red-eyed stare and delayed laugh.

She decides getting him out of the apartment is probably for the best. Maybe it's just too stuffy, or too fast. He just needs a distraction—some time to process everything. Nothing terrible is going to happen as long as she stays by his side.

She can just talk it away. She can do his nails, buy more flowers. She'll paint the walls yellow and waft away every cloud in the sky until the world is bright with sunshine. Just as long as nothing terrible happens. 

She takes him to the mall first, thinking perusing the isles of Ikea might excite him. Pretty furniture, pretty setups. 

"How do you feel about these 'yellow star twinkling' fairy lights? The LED strips look cheap, right? So these are definitely better. But the LEDs change color, so...?"

Brooke holds the two options up in front of her. There's an entire shelf of other lights behind her, but the rest are erring on the side of too feminine, and she has the feeling that even a Jake who no longer has Rich constantly chastising every decision that isn't 'manly' enough won't appreciate them.

Jake points silently to a box behind her, barely doing more than lifting a finger. Ecstatic to finally get a reaction out of him, Brooke spins wildly to see a box of butterfly-shaped lights. 

Oh. Maybe it wasn't too feminine, after all. She notes that for later. 

Eagerly, she picks up the box. "These?"

He nods. She tries not to look at him too long as she skips over to their cart. If she studies him for any more than a moment she'll be forced to confront the bags under his eyes and the glazed-over, empty look in his irises, either a result of the medications or the knowledge he'll never be able to run like he used to or see Rich the same way.

"Great! Are we gonna look at posters too? Personally, I never thought of you as a poster guy, but I might be wrong. Maybe polaroids? Or paintings! Paintings would be awesome."

She ends up buying post-it notes. She lost Jake somewhere between the desks and beds, and by the time they finally reach another section of the store with more bedroom decor, he's only responding with sharp, one-word answers meant to slice her away into submission and eventual surrender. The terror of something going wrong keeps her smile on her face and a pep in her step, and eventually she gets him to say he wants neon pink post-it notes. 

He doesn't. But it's an answer, and it's clear on his face he thinks that might be enough to get her to finally leave him alone. 

It isn't.

She sits crisscross on his bedroom floor once they get back to the apartment, squished in the far corner between his empty dresser and equally as empty desk.

"I bet we could paint it," Brooke offers as she sits next to the splintering wood of his dresser. Jake hums from his bed, having reverted back to nonverbal answers. He's laying on his back, hands clasped over his stomach, legs propped up on a pile of pillows Brooke had bought at Bed Bath & Beyond. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, resisting the urge to flurry over and roll him over onto his side, because what if he takes too many pills? What if he overdoses? What if he does it on purpose? What if something terrible happens?

Her grip on her pen tightens as she writes you're amazing!! on one of the post-it notes and sticks it to the edge of the corner.

On the next, what do you call a tower of cats?? —a meow-tain!!

You're really brave!!

I love you

It'll get better

A cartoon sun. A flower. A llama. 

It's nothing. It's stupid. Even someone as naive and innocent as Brooke can identify just how little it will help someone in Jake's situation, but her hands shake as she writes you can do this!! and she realizes, blinking back tears, that this isn't for Jake at all. 

She takes a small, shaky breath. She's as quiet as she can be, not ashamed that she's about to cry but knowing she can't in front of Jake. He's the one who lost his house and best friend. It isn't her place to cry, to be scared. 

But she can still see her parents' faces as they told her he was in the hospital, can still hear her mother screaming as she sped through a stop light on the way there, vision so blurred the red light almost looked like the blinding sirens on an ambulance. She can't let anything terrible happen again.

A sob escapes her—short and scared. She immediately tries to muffle it with her hand but it must be too late. She hears rustling from the bed behind her and the sound of Jake's raspy voice saying, "...Brooke?"

She swallows another sob as she turns, a sunflower smile on her face. 

"Yeah?" she says, and it sounds so simple, so pure that she sees Jake doubt himself for a second. The flicker of confusion on his face at the distinctive difference in her smile and posture from the way it had been a second ago. She tries to smile wider—better he be confused than concerned. He already has too much on his mind, so much that it's spilling over the edges in the form of flashing nightmares and constricting lungs (she knows, even if he won't say it). 

"Are you okay?"

It might be the first full sentence he's said since the fire.

Brooke gets up from where she's sitting and needlessly wipes her hands on her jeans as if ridding her palms of the scary feelings creeping into the sunny spots of her soul. 

"Great! I'm a little hungry though, maybe we should head out and get some pinkberry? Or pancakes. I'm kind of in the mood for those. Maybe IHop?"

Just to avoid looking at him, she takes out her phone and opens google maps, scrolling through all the options for restaurants as if she isn't nauseated by the thought of not being able to take Jake anywhere too crowded because the noises might send him spiraling in a way it never would have before. 

She can take him for ice cream in the park if he refuses IHop. Make sure he eats at least something, even if it's unhealthy. He might like the cold of it, the complete opposite of the fire.

Jake nods and sits up a little straighter. He opens his mouth, intention clear in every movement. Brooke watches him carefully and braces for rejection. She can make something small here. Even if it's just a snack. She won't take the excuses, won't falter even though she knows it must be difficult for him to comprehend the idea of continuing on with life without Rich at his side.

But Jake says, "Can I have a hug?"

Brooke's not sure she wants him to feel just how uneven her breathing's becoming, but if it makes him feel safe, if it makes him happy, even if it's only for a moment, then she'll do what it takes. 

She sits on the edge of his bed and hovers, unsure if he really means this, especially because the burns (not nearly as bad as Rich's) on his forearms have yet to fully heal, but the second she's within reach he pulls her into his hold, arms circled around her waist and face burrowed into her hair. She can feel his lips trembling against the skin of her neck as he shifts so she's on his lap, as close to him as he can get her. 

He's shaking. His fingernails dig into the crook of her shoulder blades and she takes in a small, sharp breath suppressed by just how tightly he's holding on to her. With nothing left to do, she cradles his head against her chest and runs soothing hands through his unwashed hair. 

"It's okay," she whispers against his hair. She tries to kiss the top of his head but he's hanging on with such a grip she can't shift without disturbing him, so she kisses thin air and pretends he feels it. 

"I don't—" he chokes, and it takes Brooke squeezing him to get him to breathe again. "I dunno if I can come back from this one, Brooke."

Something terrible's going to happen. 

"What's that supposed mean?"

Her voice is trembling. She closes her eyes to try and stop the saltwater from burning. 

Jake nuzzles closer as he says, muffled by her shirt but not by sobs, "I could deal with my parents. Could—could handle living on my own. But he's—how could he—?"

How could he?

She knows Jake means it as a genuine question, but when the words wrap around her tongue she feels her stomach clench with an anger she's never come close to experiencing before. How could he do this?

"I don't know," she says aloud, "I really don't know, but it's gonna be okay. I promise."

"How?" 

And this time she can hear the tears in his voice, feel them on her shirt and in her hair, a stain against her skin she'd rather tattoo onto her than let forever reside alone on Jake's face. They're made of poison. His words are made of poison, and she wants them spat against her shoulder just to stop them from festering in his mouth.

"Well," she says. The lump in her throat tries to stop the words and fails. "We're going to decorate your apartment, and we're going to rehearse for the play, and we can buy Rich more flowers. And he's gonna wake up and explain why he did it, and you don't have to forgive him, but at least you'll hear him say he doesn't hate you, that there's some misunderstanding. And—and I don't know, but I promise— I promise you, I'm gonna make it okay."

He tries to pull away from her, but she has to hold him still for a moment longer to wipe the tears off her face before he has the chance to see them. When he does finally pull back to look at her, his face is puffy and swollen. 

"Really?"

"Really. Really, really, really. Nothing terrible's ever going to happen to you again."

---

i rlly told someone to draw richjake inspired by safe and sound by t swift then decided to fully take rich out of the picture and write brooke and jake instead. btw go listen to safe and sound i stared at the ceiling for like half an hour listening to it then sat up and wrote this. hope u enjoyed!! it's sad. I'm sad. Their relationship is great.

[greatdragonorion]

In the Court of the King

The jury sat in the box, shifting in their chairs and glancing at the exit. All eyes pointed towards the king who sat in the chair lined with jewels that glistened under the LEDs. Frowns lined each of their faces. They say you’re supposed to have an unbiased jury, but when it is against your ruler, is it even possible to?

The clock struck three and yet the plaintiff was nowhere to be seen. The judge looked at her watch, the clock, then the watch again. 

The king’s face grew a smirk. “Looks like the supposed accuser is too afraid to face me.”

The doors burst open, all eyes on the figure. He hurried to his chair and tossed a heap of papers onto the table. He tried to sort the monster, though gave up as it grew larger. He adjusted his tie, though that proved fruitless to mask the mess of oil on his shirt.

“Sorry I’m late, the taxi driver’s horse died so I had to walk instead,” huffed the man. “Anyways, let’s get on with the case of Lord Heffer of Heidenburg, I don’t want to make this go on any longer than it should.”

“If this is the guy, then this will be quick!” Laughed the King.

“Yes it will, my Lord,” replied the man. “Though, please just call me the Kingslayer”

The crowds looked at each other and chuckled.

“Let us begin!” The judge banged her gavel.

The “Kingslayer” sorted through a handful of papers. He threw a few here, there, on the floor, in the air, mumbling throughout. The Jury watched with an awe that rivaled children watching monkeys throw their shit at the zoo. How could you not stare? Newspapers talked about the man who brought down monarchies and yet here he is still wearing breakfast.

He pulled out a paper from the pile, “Ah, here we go! I would like to bring your attention to Article 8, Sub-Article 4, of the International Regulations and Rulings of Monarchies, which states the following…” The man squinted at the paper, “‘No king is entitled to the collection of more than the livings of any fellow person or beast.’ Did I read that right? I sure hope I did.”

“Yes, I am aware hobbit. What about it?” Lord Heffer remarked.

“I have heard word that you did not follow this agreement.”

“That is a lie. I would never do that.”

The Kingslayer laughed, “Never?”

“Never.”

“So you wouldn’t lie about the war?”

The king’s face hardened, “No, never.”

“Or the unwanted assault against the poor?”

“Propaganda created by my enemies.”

“Or the hanging of innocent protesters?”

Fire burned across the King’s face and smoke billowed from his ears. “What are you suggesting sir!?”

The Kingslayer stood up, looked to the bench that watched with interest, and gestured to the king. “As we can see, Lord Heffer has violated the agreement not once but on numerous occasions. This man has besmirched the name of the kingdom and is undeserving of the role of king!”

The anger faded from Lord Heffer’s face and was replaced with a smirk. “Very good claims sir, but I’m afraid there is no proof of these crimes. No documents of it remain after the great fire a few weeks prior. Such a shame that hearsay is not allowed in court.”

The doors burst forth once more and stumbling through came yet another stack of papers with a lady behind them. The jury stared, the judge stared, the kingslayer stared, but the Lord Heffer stared the most. The papers fell upon the king’s table, charred and ripped.

“I brought the documents, my liege!” The lady exclaimed with utmost excitement.

“Did you make sure there was enough room on the pages for another name?”

The lady chuckled nervously and glanced at the Judge. “They were in that safe you had me install in case of emergency, my Liege.”

The king sat in silence.

“What do these recovered documents say?” The Kingslayer asked.

“They list every single…”

Lord Heffer coughed.

“...person’s address. This is just census information”

“May I read them?” The judge requested.

“Absolutely not! These are for royal eyes only. You are not of a high enough position,” Lord Heffer challenged.

The judge looked at the king, the clock, which, sadly, had hardly moved, sighed, looked to the heavens, and muttered. “Your Highness, this is the royal court.”

The scribe grabbed the stack, eyes glazed toward the king, never looking away, and handed the stack to the Judge. The judge pulled them away but the lady’s arms came with it. The judge tugged the hands free.

“What do they say, my judge? Surely, they don’t violate the law?” A smile grew along the Kingslayer’s face.

The court went silent as her face grew pale. The clock screamed as it ticked away. She raised her head to face the Kingslayer and shook. “Nothing good.”

“Perfect.”