#He's such a princess how can he possibly be grubby

[eggsyneedssleep]

It's kind of weird to think about Egon actually making all the proton packs and other gadgets, because to do so he has to be pretty handy with power tools etc. and I find it funny to imagine him, this very well groomed man who wears a pristine suit 24/7, being in a greasy dusty workshop type environment and actually doing manual labour. Like I can imagine the manual labour part but I imagine him doing it in his nice suit which is amusing

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Hypnotic

a/n: This one is based on a request one of you lovelies sent in! Absolutely ate down with this, baby, I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope y’all like what I did with it. This did take me way longer than expected, exams on top of work and everything else is a lot babes. I didn't put any of the other boys in this one because I didn't really see how to put them in. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy it, love you babies 😜

pairing: fratboy!dom!Niall Horan x fem!reader

CW +18: swearing, oral (m receiving), piv unprotected (wrap it up!), dom Niall, reader gets really fucked out and cockdrunk because it’s Niall obviously, degrading (not much, slut is only used like three times I think), praise (we can have both, shut up), Niall is COCKY and we love it

word count: 4.3k

You hated this fucking bar.

You came here for a drink. One. Singular. Drink. Not an endless barrage of insecure members of the male species unleashing their arrogance on you.

It was exasperating, to say the least. Really, how difficult could it possibly be for a man to simply ask you out? Must they, instead, employ foul innuendos and caress you with their grubby hands, as if that would make you more inclined to their advances? If they did believe that, they were so painfully incorrect.

A couple of them had, admittedly, caught your eye, but the moment they opened their mouths the mirage had been spoiled. The story of your life, frankly. When wasn’t a perfect vision ruined by reality?

Most of the men had kept their attempts relatively tame, with one or two drunken exceptions. That was to be expected, of course, but not tolerated in the least. What woman would find an absolutely plastered stranger fumbling for the zipper of her dress in the middle of a bar even remotely attractive, or wanted for that matter? No one you knew of.

You hadn’t even come here in search of a one-night stand. You hadn’t even worn your sexiest dress, for fuck’s sake. It seemed only the seediest of patrons had chosen this location tonight. To be fair, you had chosen it in a rushed reverie to achieve some semblance of rest after the day you’d had. Rest, unfortunately, is that last thing you were finding.

“Two Guinnesses,” A voice sounded from beside you, the thick Irish accent slicing through the din to reach your appreciative ears. It was nice to listen to. Furtively, you shot a glance at the stranger, catching a few blonde tips in your peripheral. As you threw back a swig of your now embarrassedly watered down drink (the ice melted, okay?), you felt the stranger’s eyes on you. He didn’t stare for long before fully turning his body toward you, leaning on the bar like some character out of an 80s romcom. Someone call John Hughes, you thought; I sense a new leading man.

“Hey there, princess.” Princess? Christ. You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as he shot out that nickname right off the bat, instead politely shifting your gaze to him.

“Can I help you?” You truly had meant the words to sound more kind, but fuck if you weren’t tiring of endless pick up lines and bad jokes. You had endured them for the better part of two hours, after all. 

The smirk on his face almost made you blow your top then and there. What the fuck did he think he was accomplishing? This was practically harassment already, in your eyes. He looked like the typical frat guy: backwards snapback, loose white shirt with cutoff sleeves, and surprisingly acceptable-looking jeans. Tufts of blonde hair (likely bleached) peeked out from under the hat, concealing what were surely fading roots. You had always regarded men who dyed their hair to be walking red flags; you were sure this one would be no different. His eyes were striking, truthfully. You didn’t recall ever seeing such an intense blue, before. They were bright, ocean-like. Manipulative. Woah, there’s that feminism creeping in again. You realized you probably shouldn’t judge him so quickly, with such little basis, but at this point you had learned to trust your instincts.

“Actually, I think the question is how I can help you.” And there it is. You huffed out a sigh, rolling your eyes as you spun in the stool back towards the bar. His hand flew out to catch the seat, preventing you from escaping his hungry gaze. “Not so fast, love.”

“I’m not interested.” You shot back, avoiding his tempting eyes at all costs. You were strong, but not that strong.

“Not yet.” He corrected with a grin, craning his neck in an attempt to catch your gaze. “You’re quite pretty, you know that?” You shut your eyes for a moment, setting your drink on the bar before crossing your legs and allowing yourself to face him.

“How sweet.” Your words were not sincere, and he clearly understood that. He also clearly didn’t care in the slightest. He must��ve been quite confident in his “wooing” capabilities. He merely chuckled at your dismissive response, gripping the bottom of your stool and tugging you closer. Now, your knees clashed with his at the proximity, and you couldn’t easily look anywhere but his eyes.

God, his eyes. They were actually fucking hypnotic. You didn’t like that, not one bit. You felt attacked, cornered, and he hadn’t even touched you. Not that you wanted him to, it was just bizarre. You weren’t even conflicted, only acutely aware of the dilemma you might be facing had you not been blessed with such an iron-clad will. You were stubborn, and you liked it. Unfortunately, it was starting to seem like he did too.

“I’m Niall.” He tilted his head as he waited for you to reply, searching your features almost respectively.

“How nice for you.” You mumbled, scooting as far back on the stool as the uncomfortable seat would allow. Whoever owned this bar desperately needed to invest in better furniture; your ass was practically numb. He chuckled again, releasing his grip on your seat now that you didn’t have anywhere to go.

“It’s nice to meet ya’. What’s your name?” You couldn’t deny he had a lovely voice. Speaking voice, that is. His accent lilted through the air like a melody, one you wouldn’t mind hearing over and over. You muttered your name reluctantly, crossing your arms with a huff. What was wrong with you tonight? Usually your resolve was infinitely stronger, but perhaps you had met your match. Perhaps he was just as stubborn as you, if not more. Perhaps…no. No. You would not give in. You couldn’t. You were better than this.

He tested out your name in his tongue, smiling to himself at the sound of it. He liked it.

“Pretty name.” He complimented simply, leaning in so that his breath fanned over your ear. The warm sensation sent a tingle down your spine, and you tensed your muscles to hide the shiver that threatened to dance over your body. “I wouldn’t mind moanin’ that tonight.” He had to ruin it.

“Freak.” You insulted, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted expression.

“Hardly.” He laughed. Like, a genuine laugh. And you hated that you loved the sound. It was so real, so childlike. 

“Look, Niall.” I began firmly. “I have a boyfriend, s-” “No you don’t.” He interrupted, shaking his head knowingly. I cocked an eyebrow, sending him an incredulous expression.

“Excuse me?” He shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing, whatever he was so defiant about.

“You do not have a boyfriend.” You opened your mouth to reply, only to be halted by his finger on your lips. You could feel the calluses on his fingers scratch against your lips as you closed them; maybe he played an instrument of some sort, you thought. “I know this because if I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of this perfect little body for a single second. We wouldn’t leave the fucking house.” This was starting to get a little intense. He sensed the tension on your muscles, dropping his hand to rest on your arm and rub soothing circles into your soft, lotioned skin. For some reason, you didn’t even feel uneasy. You were…intrigued.

“Why so persistent?” You cocked your head to the side, knitting your brow together in curiosity. A playful smirk spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with the expression.

“Why so resistant?” He retorted, seeming to hold back a chuckle of amusement at his own reply. I rolled my eyes, the cycle of becoming intrigued, then frustrated, then intrigued, was quickly becoming annoying on its own. He faked a pout at your poor reaction, hooking a finger under your chin and turning your gaze to his. He leaned in close (too close for a stranger, perhaps), his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Why don’t you come home with me, princess, hm?” He hummed, his hand slowly dropping to your thigh, giving you plenty of time to reject his touch if you so desired. But he was finding that you weren’t seeming to be so averse to it; he didn’t understand the switch up, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. His calloused fingers traced absent little shapes into your plush thighs, staying only just a respectful distance from the hem of your dress.

“I don’t go home with anyone.” You whispered back, allowing him to continue touching your leg. Why were you allowing this? You had absolutely no clue. It had to be those fucking eyes.

He smirked slowly (his signature expression, it seemed), as if he’d just gotten the most genius idea of his young-adult life.

“You ever been fucked in a bar bathroom, love?” His filthy words sent a shiver down your spine that ran straight to your core, which you were just now realizing felt a little warmer than usual. You fought the urge to clench your thighs together, knowing he would immediately give you shit for doing so.

“Can’t say I have.” You replied vaguely, leaning back slightly to look in his eyes again. Big mistake.

“Tonight’s your lucky night.” He slid out of his stool, holding a hand out for you as if he hadn’t just suggested thoroughly ravaging you in a public bathroom. You somewhat hesitantly looked him over before taking his hand, trying to decide if your morals would weigh into this decision. The only response you could come up with is what morals? 

You placed your hand in his delicately, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom situated at the back of the bar. God, it’s going to be fucking disgusting in there, you thought. Upon walking into the women’s bathroom, Niall locked the door behind you, and the scrunched look on his face told you that you had thought correctly.

“You’re not a germaphobe, are you?” He asked, wrinkling his nose as he glanced around the dingy space.

“I just agreed to fuck you, a complete stranger, in not so many words. I think I’ll be okay.” He rolled his eyes at your attitude, unable to keep a slight smirk from creeping back onto his lips. 

“Don’t be a brat, princess. I don’t appreciate the unwarranted attitude.” His tone held a hint of warning as he stalked closer to you, tossing his snapback onto the counter (that would need to be disinfected) and running a hand through his unruly hair.

“Then don’t ask stupid questions.” You shot back dumbly. Maybe not the best idea. One calloused hand flew to tangle in your hair, gripping it tightly before he tugged your head back. You yelped at the aggressiveness, allowing yourself to be cornered against the cold bathroom tiles. The sudden coolness sent a shiver down your spine, raising goose bumps along your back and neck.

“What do I have to do to shut you up, hm? Such a pretty mouth, you should use it more wisely.” He chided patronizingly, not loosening his hold in your hair. It stung a little, but you were oddly turned on. You didn’t like that.

“How would you suggest I do that?” I really need to shut up. One of his hands slid down to your hip, and he shoved you against the wall again, rather roughly.

“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.” Oh? Niall didn’t miss the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth, or the subtle clench of your thighs at his words. “Oh yeah? You like that, princess? Want me to shut you up nice and good?” He mocked in your ear, pulling back just slightly to observe changes in your expression. You didn’t respond, a little shell-shocked. You knew he was cocky, but you didn’t expect him to be quite so dominant. 

“On your knees.” What?

“What?” Why the hell am I asking questions? He tugged harder against your hair, the stinging in your roots returning. “Shit.” You muttered.

“On your fucking knees.” He hissed, stepping back to give you more room. Despite your pride shouting at you to disobey him yet again, you sunk to your knees, peering up at him in wait. “Good girl.” He muttered, combing his fingers through your hair. You lost his touch for only a moment while he tugged down his shorts and boxers, his throbbing length slapping up against his stomach. He let the useless clothing pool around his ankles, his hand cupping your cheek with a surprising tenderness. Just as you were reaching out to wrap your small hand around him, he caught your wrist.

“Not so fast. You haven’t earned it yet.” You furrowed your brow, momentarily confused, before realization dawned on you.

He wanted you to beg.

You parted your lips to speak, your breath catching with hesitation. He looked expectant, arrogant, staring down at you in such a pompous manner. You desperately tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs, the dampness trickling out of your poor, neglected little pussy. It had been a long time, and as much as you usually hated begging, you found yourself continually entranced by those ocean eyes, those pretty blue stars that glittered with excitement at what he knew you were about to do. He knew how fucking good he was; maybe for once, a man’s arrogance wasn’t completely unfounded.

“Please, can I…” You stopped yourself, your voice meek with the unfamiliar words spewing out of them. This dynamic was so foreign to you, but so delicious. You swallowed thickly, taking in a breath before trying again.

“Please let me touch you.” You could’ve sworn you heard a low rumble echo from his chest at your plea, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before sliding his gaze back to you.

“Not good enough.” He rasped, and you could tell the denial was forced. He had wanted to accept then and there, but he wanted to draw this out as long as possible. He wanted this to last, and he was already sure that once your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock he would come like a fucking high school virgin jerking off in the middle of the night.

“Let me, fuck…please let me suck your cock.” You tried to hide the whimper that shook your tone, but it couldn’t be hidden from him. God, every fucking noise out of your mouth made his dick twitch in anticipation, his tip already angry red and leaking with precum. He sucked in a sharp breath, composing himself.

“Give me one more, princess.” He breathed, wrapping his fingers around your hair to pull it out of your face. How gentlemanly of him.

“Please…sir.” That was fucking it for him. That was the last word he expected to come out of your mouth, but fuck did it sound pretty as it did. He couldn’t hold back a groan, turning so that he could lean against the wall as you sat up on your knees to get closer.

“Go ahead, baby, use those pretty lips for something good.” You let out a sigh, using one hand to brace yourself on his thigh and the other to wrap around his length. You twisted your small hand around him once or twice, earning a couple of gasps from him. Maybe it was the risque nature of it all, perhaps even the way he could see straight down your dress from his current angle. He was a little bit of a perv, but let’s be honest. Who isn’t?

The moment your moist lips encircled his tip, he was forced to bite his tongue to stay quiet. Your tongue swirled around his little slit, collecting the salty liquid and filling your mouth with the taste of him. He tasted good, and you were almost embarrassed at the way a little whine escaped your lips, your pussy currently ruining your panties.

God, I’m a slut.

You flattened your tongue against the veiny underside of his dick, sliding an inch or two of him into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you wasted no time in bobbing your head up and down, reveling in the slickness of your lips against his spit-moistened cock. 

Niall’s breaths were coming in heavy pants now, his gaze fixed on the way a strap of your dress slipped off of your shoulder, exposing the swell of your breast to his hungry eyes. He could just make out the circle of pink surrounding your pert nipples, admiring the way they poked through the thin fabric of your dress. That would be off soon enough.

Without warning, his hips rutted forward, causing his tip to hit the back of your throat and pulling a gag from you. He was fully face-fucking you now, lost in the bounce of your tits with each thrust, pulling your top further down and soon freeing your chest from its pesky confines.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” He rasped hoarsely, selfishly chasing his release and ignoring the way tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the depth. “Feel s’fuckin’ good around me.” He slurred, grunting as he felt that knot in his stomach continue to grow. He was almost there. He was so fucking close he could almost imagine it. But shit, he couldn’t imagine that.

He couldn’t imagine the way his orgasm would rip through him as he abused your poor, small mouth, or the way you oh-so-obediently swallowed every drop of his come without being asked. What a good girl you were. Fucking made for him. 

He steeled himself against the bathroom wall to avoid collapsing (God, that would be embarrassing), releasing your hair as he floated down from his high. His jaw nearly dropped as he drank in your appearance, hair severely tousled from his grip on it, lips plump and swollen from their use, tits hanging out of the top of your dress so damned perfectly. You were gorgeous.

Lost in his own admiration, he almost missed the way your hips subtly rocked against the heel of your shoe as you knelt before him, trying to pay some attention to your neglected and dripping pussy.

Almost.

“You need something, princess?” Shit, he still managed to be cocky after that. You nodded pathetically, blown-up irises flickering down to his still-hard dick before meeting his gaze once again. “Stand up, sweetheart.” He coaxed reluctantly, already missing the sight of you on your knees for him. You wiped your mouth off with the back of your hand as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes flitting over your flushed face.

He was enamored.

“Want me to take care of her?” He hummed, cupping your heat underneath your dress as he held your gaze. Your breath hitched as you inhaled sharply, nodding furiously. “Need you to use your words, love.”

“Please, need you.” You whined shamelessly, bending your knees ever so slightly to achieve just the slightest friction. He smirked evilly, very amused and pleased with himself at how cockdrunk you were after a fucking blowjob. He hadn’t even touched you yet.

“What a fuckin’ slut.” He practically growled, roughly grabbing your wrist and pulling you to the counter. He took off his tank top and laid it on the counter, and you realized he did that for you. “Sit.” He ordered deeply, causing another jolt to run straight to your pulsating core. You hopped up onto the counter, appreciative of the thin but sanitary barrier he had placed down for you. He hooked onto your plush thighs, the uppermost parts of them already soaked with your overwhelming arousal. He yanked you forward to the counter’s edge, quickly tugging your dress above your hips.

Just by the look on his face you already knew your panties had become transparent, absolutely ruined by your slick seeping out of you. Without a word, he hooked your panties to the side, breathing out in a way akin to surprise.

“Cute little pussy, huh, princess?” As if you were in your right mind to actually answer him. “Gonna fuck her so good she’ll be ruined for days.” Good fuck. This man knew exactly what in the hell he was doing to you. “Open these pretty legs.” You obeyed embarrassingly quickly, spreading them as wide as your hamstrings would allow. “Good girl.” There it fucking is again.

He ran a finger through your slit, collecting your wetness and spreading it over your puffy folds. You writhed and arched on the counter, mewling softly at how teasing his actions felt. You needed him inside of you this instant. Just before you could plead with him again, the wind was absolutely knocked out of you as he slammed his cock into your delicate pussy. You cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, his hand immediately flying to cover your mouth and muffle the sounds.

“Careful, princess, we’re - fuck - in public.” He panted, allowing you only a second or two to adjust to his size before he fucked into you relentlessly. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, the lewd sounds of skin smacking echoing off the graffitied walls. Your muffled moans punctuated each buck of his hips, greedily pushing your ass back for more, harder.

“Greedy fuckin’ slut.” A low groan escaped from his lips, his grip on your hips becoming almost bruising as he not-so-reluctantly began to oblige your silent plea for harder. You had never been fucked so roughly, or so well, to be frank.

You could feel your walls pulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him. You could feel that thick vein on the underside of his cock dragging across your insides, his swollen tip punching your cervix every time, filling you up indescribably well.

“Ahh, please - shit - faster.” You moaned, your lips unintentionally kissing his palm as you forced out the words. You could swear he actually growled the moment he heard you, not even having the energy to chide you for your neediness right away.

“Squeezin’ me so good, sweetheart. Fuck, like this pussy was fuckin’ made f’me.” His pants turned into grunts, and you knew he was feeling as good as you. And you were feeling fucking euphoric.

“Please, please, please…” You chanted in desire, your hands gripping onto the edge of the counter for support. If you hadn’t found something to hold onto, your head would have smashed into the sink’s mirror with the intensity at which he was fucking you. Your toes were curled, your eyes slammed shut, your back arching off the counter and wrinkling his shirt that he laid underneath you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Such an overwhelming fullness, so deep at that.

“Takin’ me so fuckin’ well,” He huffed out, his pace not faltering for a moment. But with the way his cock twitched inside of you told you he was close. How you were coherent enough to form that thought, you had no idea.

The knot in your stomach had become unbearable, your walls clenching around his cock so tight you were sure it hurt him. But by the fucked-out look on his face, you decided he was feeling fine. His eyes were locked onto the bounce of your tits, those pretty nipples pink and swollen with arousal.

“M’so close, so close…” You moaned out, your knuckles white against the counter.

“C’mon, baby, want you to come f’me.” His thumb flew down to your clit, pressing harsh yet precise circles against it. “Wanna feel that pussy come all over my cock.” If his hand wasn’t covering your mouth, you were sure everyone in the bar would be able to hear your pornographic moans, or at least the squelching sounds of him fucking into you with how wet you were. The pressure of his thumb abusing your clit, the jolt of his tip slamming into your cervix, just the fucking expression on his pretty face, it was all too much.

“M’coming, m’coming…” Your voice came out in more of a squeal, just barely forcing out the words to begin with. That must have been the final straw for him, because with his thumb still on your clit, he quickly pulled out of you, thick ropes of come shooting out onto your heaving chest. Your orgasm followed half a second behind, ripping through your body with an overwhelming intensity. 

As you were still floating down from you high, Niall cleaned the both of you up with wet paper towels, his gentleness in after-care actually a little shocking considering how he just fucked you. He slipped a hand underneath your back and pulled you to a sitting position, tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You okay, princess?” He asked gently, rubbing small circles into your hip and cheek. You nodded with a tired smile, too blissed out to actually respond. He chuckled at your response, admiring the state of you. “What made you change your mind?” He asked genuinely, tilting his head curiously. You huffed out a small laugh through your nose, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Those eyes.” You began, almost reverently. “They fucking hypnotized me.”

[alltheotherblogs]

So, Regular Show.

Apparently it's getting some kind of pseudo-reboot. A new series tacked onto the ending of the last with some returns from previously featured characters. This is not necessarily bad news! But, the reasons for fans being skeptical are obvious.

One of the most important examples of a good idea gone sour is... Adventure Time. It doesn't take a genius writer to see that they blatantly disrespected the themes they started with. I had a chance to analyze, and criticize the series from a new and fresh perspective. And so as I jumped into it for the last time, I quickly used an analytical eye to spot the things I had missed as a child. One of these things was Princess Bubblegum. Coming from an abusive background, I can spot abusive behaviors the moment I see them. And P.B. is textbook. The various ways she manipulates the Candy people, the main cast, and Finn himself... It's scary familiar to a lot of the controlling tactics used by abusive parents. I don't have any specific examples and if I'm gonna be honest I don't desire to find any. But one thing that always comes to mind is how she attempts to manipulate the Flame people using these same tactics, and it fails... This is where an inconsistency pops up in the writing, Flame Princess and Marceline have similar father figures with similar motivations for how they operate and their family dynamic. The main difference I want to call attention to here is that Flame Princess didn't just overcome it but decided to rise to the occasion and take over the Kingdom. Marceline distanced herself from her origins as much as possible... I think you can see where I am going here. Where Marceline comes to accept her father, it only happens after he changes. I don't really think Flame Princess ever accepted her father. And so when Flame Princess sees P.B. blatantly stealing, and attempting to trick her and her subjects, she gets pretty reasonably angry. A manipulative woman pulls up into your abode under false pretenses and tricks you and everyone else so that she can get her sticky grubby fingers onto some SERIOUS ancient tech. Acting like someone as tyrannical as P.B. is anymore trust worthy with it than anyone else is delusional.

From here it's not very hard to draw a comparison to real world behavior. For once you have a character that is reacting reasonably to something instead of being absurd. And then you have the last episode where Marceline just magically, for no reason and with very little buildup, just falls into P.B's arms like some sick individual with a different KIND of authority issue. Marceline has an issue with authority not an issue without it. Even in the very first episode, this is how P.B. is setup. An authoritarian with a very skewed moral compass. The fact that she is completely different by the end of the series yet lacks any real character development and still commits the same sins she did at the beginning, it isn't some clever subversion or smart multilayered writing... It's just bad writing. That is why I get so mad whenever people say "oh you are just bigoted that's why you don't like it." If you are one of those people who unironically thought THAT was the reason the ending didn't go over well, you are more stupid than your teachers and parents thought. It wasn't hard to notice that they just inserted a relationship between two incompatible characters right at the moment the rest of the shows writing began to suffer.

Haven't finished J.G. Quintel's other show, "Close Enough" but I'm working on it. And it has good parts, which makes me confident this new show will have a good energy and a positive impact on the series as a whole. Since it'll serve as a sequel rather than a reboot, we have a lot to look forward too in terms of new characters and unique dynamics.

Regardless, the history of this kind of thing cannot be ignored. In recent cinema everything is getting a crappy reboot. It's gonna take a few times before they learn, what made the old thing work was not that it was the old thing, but how it was the old thing. You get what I mean?

People don't like same shit different wrapping. They like same wrapping different shit. They want to see skillful talented writing. They don't want cringey politically motivated garbage and marvel-quality one-liners. They want actual comedy, they want in-world belief systems to help the characters play off each other. They want creativity and a well built world. Not Helluva Boss, not Hazbin Hotel, neither of those cringey politically driven shows with TERRIBLE writing. People want the first five seasons of Adventure Time! They want Golden Era KOTH! they want good comedy delivered without pretentious snark... While it isn't HARD to do this, with studios breathing down peoples necks, and the people who give orders being corrupt scumbags with what I like to call "Wrong Beliefs" it is super difficult to actually make something good. But, Smiling Friends did it, Adult Swim continues to produce quality, Newgrounds continues to let loose incredible people, and talent always rises to the top regardless of what corruption is going on in the western media. It takes some time for these mega corporations to fall, but sure enough, hollywood is failing as everyone predicted. The games industry is failing, as everyone predicted. What happens when Hollywood and the Games industry fail? Indie creators come up to bat. Not all of them are going to hit it out of the park, but strike while the irons hot, and you just might see sparks.

What I'm trying to say is, just don't fuck it up J.G.

[princessmadafu]

Eagerly awaiting Spare 2: The Chamber Pot of Secrets

Now that the media furore has died down a bit and we've all had time to think, what can we say about the Spare?

Well, first of all, I'd say Harry has been set up.

Again.

And he's too dim to see it, because he's being told (by someone in particular and probably a few other hangers-on as well) that "his truth" is important. And he believes it. Harry's "truth" has been filtered by money-grubbing bottom-feeders, and now H prefers to believe that "their truth" is "his truth"; that they love him more than anyone else; and they know what's best for him.

So:

(1) Harry can't distinguish his truth from reality. We've known this for a while, but so many new *facts* coming out... it's really taking the pee-pee. "Harry's Truth" isn't the same as facts. A fact is a piece of information that can be proven to be true; it stands up to rigorous scrutiny, especially by rigorous professional fact-checkers, who quickly noted that bit about the XBox, of which I freely admit I know nothing, but even I managed to check it out on the internet in about ten seconds. Did nobody fact-check Spare? Oooh, apparently not. Why not? And King Henry VI... And the Queen Mum's death... and the rest of it. Which leads us on to:

(2) Harry took (and is possibly still taking) Class A drugs and assorted forms of happy-juice, even to the point of stoking himself up on the wife's gas as she prepared for labour, which is despicable. He's such a feminist he took her meds for her!!! A**hole. I gave birth three times (homebirths, without meds; Princess Madafu wasn't around at the time so I did the painful "manly" work of squeezing babies out of my bum all by myself...) and I just want to deck Harold for interfering with his wife's meds. But drug use messes up your brain, Harry. So do grubby compliant therapists, by the way, who are rubbing their hands in glee at all the $$$ you hand over - they're on to a good deal and it's not in their financial interests to sort you out by Month 6 of Therapy when they can trick you into Year 6 of Therapy... or Year 16... or Year 26...

(3) He's envious of William and Catherine. This shines through. His older brother married the love of his life, a woman who has devoted herself to her man and the RF and between them they've produced three gorgeous well-grounded little ones and a firm base on which to take the RF forward. The Prince and Princess of Wales have learned from the mistakes of the unfortunate previous generation of royals, whereas Harry is now an "Oh dear" in the footnotes of the monarchy. And this leads us on to:  

(4) Harry has no respect for Charles and Camilla. The Queen Consort is and always has been Charles's lighthouse and security from the storms of public life. Charles should never have been pushed into marrying the naive teenager Diana, but that's how it was back then - that's how history works! Charles was expected to marry a blushing virgin bride he hardly knew. Harry, aren't you glad you were allowed to marry a several-times-up-the-maypole divorcee? You learn from history, right, so that you don't repeat the same mistakes. Of course that involves being aware of history, which Harold isn't; he's only aware of how time healed his frostbitten todger and saved it for someone who could use it to her advantage. Over-sharing, Harry! Please shut up! Nobody wants to know! And then there's:

(5) Harry has no respect for the British Public. Or the Commonwealth. Or the army. Even enemy soldiers have families; mothers, fathers, wives, children - they are not chess pieces to be removed. Personal remembrance: my Gt-grandma's brother was KIA in 1916; my Gt-grandad served in the same war but never spoke about it; my Grandad served in WW2, never spoke about it - he showed me his medals, once. Once. Once only. The only things I remember him saying about the war were the "safe" bits - that he spent some of it in Canada training Canadian troops and got to see Niagara Falls, and mailed all his chocolate rations back to his wife and infant son. My late brother in law served in the Coldstream Guards, never spoke a word about how many men he'd had to shoot; he took all that to his early and leg-amputated death. What happens in the army stays in the army, Harold; it's not for personal validation.

(6) He hates the British Media. Supposedly because his mother was killed by paps (in France; not British paps) when the world knows she died because she wasn't wearing a seat-belt in a car that crashed at speed driven by a DUI driver. Oh and he also hates the British Media because Meghan is Diana.2 and... wait, what? No she isn't. She wants him to believe she's Diana.2. If it's not drugs doing his head in it's Megadiana. How many paps have tried to run Catherine off the road in a tunnel in Paris? How many paps have tried to take topless pictures of her - ooh, there was one, but it wasn't in Britain, I'm pretty sure it was in France and the magazine was sued for it, so not in Britain then. Not British Media. Not British paps. And let's not forget that Diana was more than capable of manipulating the pap shoots she wanted... remind you of anybody?

(7) He still has mummy issues, decades later. This is just not normal for a grown man. I'm sure Harry loathes being compared to his brother but what the heck, I'm going for it! Two young boys, both suffering from the untimely loss of their mother. Yet William doesn't have mummy issues, or at least if he does he doesn't hang them out to dry for a voracious public airing. It's no good saying that Harry is more sensitive, he's not - he just hasn't grown up, and those around him are keeping him trapped in the net of mummy issues instead of allowing him to mature into the adult he should be; he's not the man he thinks he has become. And I still keep coming back to why, so let's move on to:

(8) His therapy isn't working and he needs a proper psych evaluation. The people he thinks are helping him just aren't. They are milking him for the cash cow that he has become. The RF and whatever PR they use appear to have done everything to protect Young Harry from this, right down to convincing us that he was a high-spirited Jack-the-Lad, fond of a little tipple but devoted to his country and the army veterans he served alongside. Take away the RF and the carefully scrutinising PR machine, and he is ripe for the plucking. And boy, is he being plucked. Every last feather.

Now this next one is a bother:

(9) He can't see his own hypocrisy, has zero empathy for anyone, and cannot see how "his truth" - his own words - can damage others. Others including his own mother, his father and step-mother, his wider family, his army colleagues, the wider British public who are all a bunch of racists, apparently. Harry has a lot of short-comings. No doubt there'll be "Spare 2: The Chamber of Secrets" and he'll blame his short-comings on his frozen todger, but the lack of self-awareness is pathetic. He cannot see his own failings, refuses to take responsibility for his own actions, and blames everyone else. So what can we say? Is he really so stupid? Or is he in some sort of "Cult-Of-Himself" delusion, promulgated by his Feather Pluckers?

(10) The awful wife wears Harry's man-bits and is conspicuous by her absence, as she journals and squirrels away evidence for her divorce lawyers. Yep, I think we're all agreed on that one!

My personal opinions only, as they say in reputable circles.

Love and peace.

[rendellstreet]

A while back you made a post about Eugene and the royal court and I'm curious do you have more headcanons about that

Anon I know you asked specifically for Eugene, but the more I think about this, I am going to take a detour and go on a head-canon / world building tangent about Corona and Frederic

To back it up, the original post was inspired by my knowledge of the French court at Versailles, which is known for the Scandal, Gossip, and Intrigue. Louis XIV put up and center himself in this Rich French People Drama as a means to weaken the nobility and consolidate his power as an absolute monarch. 

Back to Corona, while I know some people aren’t keen on the idea, but I do like the idea of Frederic (and to a lesser extent Rapunzel) being a descendant of the Herz der Sonne, but not a direct descendant.

My head-canon is that der Sonne and Shampanier (who doesn’t have a name, but I like the name Zsófia so) were in love and got married, but neither one had real interest in... starting a family. They were pressed to have children but ultimately they were no kids, double income.

Fortunately, der Sonne did have brothers, five of them, and Frederic can trace his ancestry to the fourth one, because he ended up inheriting the throne*

*(Brother 1 died of illness, Brother 2 had a crisis of faith because of Brother 1 and become like, the Coronan version of a monk, Brother 3 and 5 died of illness 2: the electric boogaloo)

Now, as far as the royal court goes, Corona is this your typical court, with titled positions and whatnot. I do like the idea of Nigel and Captain being some kind of noblemen, Nigel’s family always were the stewards of Coronan kings, Captain coming from a family whose knight got titled and land or something,

But as a whole the Coronan courtiers are not particularly... friendly people, once you get past the smiles and etiquette, because this is a cutthroat business of getting the best position and putting yourself as close to the king and queen as possible. There WILL be blood and tears.

So where does Eugene fit in all of this?

Well, when Rapunzel went missing, there was a lot of anguish and distress Frederic and Arianna experienced, and the court did nothing to help but make it worse by jockeying positions as they always do, but thinking a distraught royal couple would be easier to manipulate, but then also like, “Why don’t you just have another kid”, which is kind of like. Dude. She’s been missing for like a week Holy shit-   

Cut to 18 years later, Rapunzel returns! Everyone’s excited! But there’s also [squinting] at this fresh-faced girl who doesn’t know a lick of anything about Corona and more importantly she’s single. Cue a LOT of courtiers maneuvering themselves to be in Rapunzel’s favor and promoting their choice of a perfect bachelor to her -

Except. Eugene is there. And he and Rapunzel love each other very much. 

So a big chunk of the contempt Eugene gets is everyone finding him being an unsuitable partner for Rapunzel and fuming about their plans being ruined 

There’s also the fact that a lot of them know him as Flynn Rider, so for a while it’s an endless “Hey I know you, you stole-!”

Then of course, Eugene is poor and a common man, HIGHLY inappropriate for high society Corona, the transgressions of class and status. If they don’t hate Eugene for being Flynn Rider, they hate the fact that this common street urchin is moseying around the palace in his grubby little clothes and has the Princess of Corona eating out of the palm of his hand.

Several courtiers have gone out of their way to get rid of Eugene. But Eugene is 1) smart 2) sexy 3) stolen long enough from rich people to know how to play their games 4) forcing him out just makes his love for Rapunzel grow stronger and 5) he’s spiteful he’s not going anywhere :)

[samwrights]

Newborn

Sequel to Two Little Lines pt.1! If you haven’t read it, that can be found here. Enjoy!

Kenma;

Kenma had never put much stock into preferring a gender for his child.

Sure, people would say things along the lines like “boys are much easier when they grow up” or “girls cry way less”.

Stupid things that were far from fact.

But when Kenma meets his daughter for the first time he wonders if he would have loved the baby as much if she were a boy

Ofc he would but he’s a teensy bit emotional right now.

After all the struggle the two of you faced with conception, it was a miracle for both of you to be holding your baby girl.

10/10 Kenma would name your baby Hope—the Japanese equivalent would be Nozumu. You don’t have to roll with it but.

Kenma isn’t exaggerating when he says that his daughter is perfect.

Hardly cries, typically sleeps through the night, etc.

Yes they exist, I promise.

Kenma is actually the one to get up, if he isn’t already, if his daughter cries in the middle of the night. After soothing her, Kenma rocks her in her bassinet with his foot while playing video games.

Unless Kenma has meetings or anything that demands his presence, he stays home that way you can catch a break and pick up the house or return back to work, whatever you decide, Kenma is here for it.

Because of this, Kenma gets to present for all of the firsts—

First time she sits up, first crawl, first clap.

Kenma’s second favorite was the first time his daughter ever booped his nose, because boop was also her first word.

But his all time favorite was the Tuesday in the middle of August when he sat his little one in her high chair for breakfast. Her grubby little hands intermittently squeezing at nothing, reaching for Kenma.

When he came closer, his daughter poked his nose before saying, “boop dada.”

Kenma cried.

Kuroo;

The only world that could have possibly encompassed the feeling Kuroo felt when he met his daughter for the first time was princess.

From the first time he held her, she was his little princess—his whole world, already, after only knowing her for .367 seconds.

Kuroo’s parenting persona—the one that he uses to talk to his daughter, or his baby voice—is permanently on at this point.

Except when he’s lowkey trying to make another one because he loves his daughter so much that he wants more.

Kuroo is so in love with parenthood that he doesn’t mind that she’s a bit of a crier.

Your guys’ daughter would wake up every few hours in the middle of the night. Typically the two of you would take turns but as sleepless nights went on and you learned she wasn’t hungry, you surrendered wake up duty to Kuroo

Because apparently your daughter just really wanted her dad. But if she was hungry, he’d wake you up because we all know Kuroo can’t breastfeed.

Eventually, Kuroo has to go back to work, much to his dismay. And since you’re still on maternity leave, it’s just you and the baby 🥰

Though Kuroo is adamant on FaceTime calls during his breaks just so that he can see the both of you.

He may not be present, but he’s gotten to see her first steps and even her first words.

She’s actually quite the proficient talker like father like daughter

“Come on, princess, say ‘dada’” Kuroo tried every single night that he got home to finally get her to say his name.

It was kinda breaking his spirit a little.

“Koma” was apparently for uncle Kenma, and “Bo” was for uncle Bokuto.

He would go at this all night every night until he finally, finally, heard her say it.

“Actually, babe, I think she said ‘dabo’”

“You know what, that’s close enough.”

Akaashi;

Your daughter, despite being a pudgy ball of flesh at the moment, already looks like the perfect amalgam of the two of you and Akaashi was in love with her.

Akaashi secretly wanted a boy.

But, potential future aside, you and Akaashi adjusts to your life with your little one.

It was difficult since both of you couldn’t seem to get her on a regular sleep schedule or it would be time to feed her and she wouldn’t latch on or eat a full meal

Apparently she was a little trickster too, or just a brat depending on how you looked at it, since she would always want the other parent. Meaning that if you were holding her, she wanted Akaashi and vice versa.

However, the two of you tackled this by just doing everything together until she grows out of the habit.

As the days go on, you and Akaashi continue to watch your beautiful baby girl grow.

She’s still learning to walk and talk, but at least she has mama down.

Akaashi is sitting with your little one in the living room, watching Doc McStuffins, trying time get her to finally say “dada” while you’re making dinner.

Her voice comes out in squishy warbles, but she finally is able to form the sylablles to utter out “dada”

Akaashi is over the moon with excitement—eyes wide and jaw shattering through the carpet of the living room with how open it is.

“HONEY SHE SAID IT!”

Holding a wooden spoon over in one of your hands, you peak into the living room.

“Come on, sweetie. Say, dada.”

“Mama.”

You believe him, but you can’t help but laugh at the mortified, crestfallen expression that’s now replaced his features before returning to the stove.

“Say dada, princess.”

“Dada.”

It clicked.

Your daughter was an asshole—

Haikyuu!! Tag List!

@hihiq @dreamyjaems

[itsevidentvery]

Tagged by the fabulous @pianodoesterror Thank you so much!

1) how many works do you have on ao3?

49. They’ve crept up on me!

2) what is your total ao3 word count?

340,321. It’ll take a while before I hit the half-million mark but I’m working on it!

3) how many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

4: Silicon Valley, Good Omens (TV), The Terror and Hannibal (honestly Hannibal barely counts because I wrote one ficlet and got it out of my system).

4) what are your top 5 fics by Kudos.

Most of my top-kudosed fics are my Good Omens ones, and I don’t know if anyone follows me for those anymore. My top-kudosed in my current fandom (The Terror) are:

Two Houses, Alike in Indignity – aka my BritPol AU.

Da mi basia mille, deinde centum – kissing. Just… a lot of kissing.

A wounded deer leaps highest – an extended riff on the theme of Francis Crozier Submits to the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known. And also Being the Little Spoon.

Worthier than he knows – Mirror sex! Francis Crozier wriggling furiously under the weight of admiration and thirst! My apologies to TS Eliot, also.

An embarrassment of Jameses – Identity kink, James Fitzjames’s teetering pile of insecurities, and Francis Crozier’s altogether too many Jameses.

5) do you respond to comments?

I do! Not… well, or sensibly, because I love comments and they make me absolutely twitterpated, but I do respond.

6)what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Carnevale ends with unresolved heartbreak, insecurity and misdirected feeling. And this one’s not angsty, so much as grubby: a very nasty imagined interstitial between James Fitzjames and Francis Crozier after Cornelius Hickey’s flogging. And at least one of the possible endings of this Choose-your-own-Ending Fitzier is, er. Less than pleasant.

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I’m an unashamed wuss, so I tend to write fics with happy endings, or at least happy-for-now endings. I’d say it’s a tossup between two fics. The first is my Good Omens human AU where Crowley is a determined bookstore customer, because Aziraphale and Crowley get together AND Crowley gets to have the book AND Aziraphale gets to not sell it. The second is my Terror BritPol AU, where Francis Crozier and James Fitzjames get to U-Haul AND Brexit is averted. Okay, that might actually be my happiest ending.

8) do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've ever written?

I don’t write crossovers per se, but I have written a Silicon Valley Regency AU which riffed on both the Twelve Dancing Princesses and has vibes of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. And I’ve written another Silicon Valley AU which loosely spins off Henry II and Thomas Becket, and my Terror BritPol AU takes a lot of its beats from the National Theatre’s This House.

9) have you ever received hate on a fic?

Lord, no, never written anything popular enough, I don’t think.

10)Do you write smut? What kind?

I do indeed! The … messy … kind, typically. As in ‘Just throw away those sheets, they’re beyond saving’.

11)have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so.

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

I haven’t! Open invitation, lads.

13) have you ever co-written a fic before.

I’m a rotten collaborator. I can barely bring myself to the sticking post, I wouldn’t wish my erratic writing habits on anyone else.

14) whats your favourite ship?

Fitzier and Jared Dunn/Richard Hendricks will always have a very particular place in my heart.

15) whats a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

*looks guiltily* I don’t think, at this point, that I’ll ever finish my Good Omens fic where I trace Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship through the lens of the classic Seven Deadly Sins. Looking at it now, it should actually have been a series. But either way.

16) What are your writing strengths.

I think I’m good at dialogue and character observation. When I concentrate, I think I can pull off unexpected but illuminating word choices.

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

I think I should push myself more as a writer. For example, I’ve only ever written one reasonably plotty longfic – my Terror BritPol AU – and I’ve never written a puzzle-piece, or something that requires detailed worldbuilding. I also tend to default to a particular limited-perspective third-person present-tense style (with the exception of my dialogue-only Terror WIP), and I’d like to branch out more.

18) what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

I’ve only written scraps of dialogue in other languages in fic. If there were an easy way for readers to get the translation as they read, it’s something I’d love to see more. But in general I think the priority should always be the flow of the story. Writers can – and should – try to get across a change in language or idiom in a multitude of ways.

19) what was the first fandom you wrote for.

Silicon Valley! I unfortunately have a thing for Horrible Little Gremlins and Long Boys who Crave Validation.

20) what's your favourite fic you've ever written?

Ouf. This one’s hard to answer. My immediate instinct is to go with my Terror BritPol AU because it’s the first longfic I actually brought in for the landing, but I also have a soft spot for my Silicon Valley fairytale Regency AU and a Silicon Valley fic about emotional abuse told from the abuser’s perspective. The last one wasn’t an easy one to write but I think what’s on page is close to my conception of it, which is rare for me.

I suspect my Terror mutuals have already been tagged, but please do have a go if you fancy it! And I’ll tag @joycecarolnotes, @bitchardhendricks, @ladiesloveduranduran and @retrauxpunk if they fancy doing this.

[cagestark]

]WinterIron[

@silkystark :)

Warnings: NFF. Cumming untouched. Tech kink. All angsty topics are conveniently avoided because this is a fantasy land!!! This is just 1.5k smutty smut smut I wrote for silky. 

-

The first time Bucky lets him touch the arm.

They’re in Tony’s lab after a rough training session that has left Bucky’s arm improperly calibrated. As sweaty and exhausted as they are having come straight from the training room, it’s not a situation that can wait until morning. Uncalibrated as it is, Bucky isn’t capable of moderating his own strength. Three doorknobs shattered on the way to the lab elevator before Tony could convince Bucky to stop trying and let him get the damn door for once.

“It’s a simple fix,” Tony says, washing his hands-free of sweat. Bucky sits, a nervous, hunched mass dwarfing the tiny stool beneath him. He insists on wearing long sleeves even to train, so to have access to the arm, Tony had to ask him to remove the entire shirt—and when Bucky had shredded it thanks to his unchecked strength…well, Tony’s mouth had gone dry. That’s what he gets for not properly hydrating.

And the abs, damp with sweat? Tony’s pretty sure that a man with a heart like his shouldn’t be in the presence of them. It’s hazardous conditions.

The guy looks so fucking uncomfortable. Tony’s mouth can’t stop moving, trying to put him at ease. He rubs his palms together in a caricature of greed. “To be honest, I can’t wait to get my grubby hands on it, snowflake. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Bucky blinks. “Hardly.”

“I’m a tech guy, this is like porn to me—” He realizes his word choice a moment too late. If he could, he’d reach out and snatch the words right out of the air, but Bucky’s eyes are already doubling in size. Worse is the fact that despite the joking tone, Tony couldn’t be more serious; there’s nothing sexier to him than well-made tech. He holds up both hands. “Joking! I won’t accost you. Unless you ask me to—joking! Again—Jesus, I really can’t—wow, I’m on a goddamn roll tonight—how about we just get to it?”

Bucky nods stiffly, extending the arm. When Tony touches it at the shoulder, inches from where metal meets scar and then flesh, Bucky flinches. Tony works to gentle his touch, opening the panel that allows him access to the arm’s inner workings. Though he didn’t design it, he’s very familiar with Princess Shuri’s work. She’s a veritable genius herself, and it’s truly exquisitely made. Hydra had nothing on this.

He hears Bucky’s sharp inhale and glances up at the man’s face. It’s screwed in pain, eyes shut tight. Tony’s heart sinks. “I’ll be quick, okay? I already see the problem. Deep breaths, Buck.”

Bucky inhales audibly, nodding. Tony goes back to work, trying to be as gentle as possible without sacrificing speed. Reaching down, he takes the metal wrist in his hand and coaxes it to turn palm up to expose a different part of the arm. Bucky groans in his throat, head dropping forward until his chin touches his chest. Something about the sound nags at the back of Tony’s brain, the genius’s eyebrows furrowing.

Then he glances down and—oh.

There’s no mistaking an erection of that size, especially not in the soft sweatpants Bucky was wearing to workout in. Reflexively, Tony’s hand on Bucky’s wrist tightens in shock and the cock jumps beneath the fabric. This is turning Bucky on. Jesus Christ—Tony’s only half-formed arousal begins to wax.

Fuck. Focus. Focus. “I—I’m almost done, okay?”

Bucky nods, eyes still shut.

Tony lets go of the wrist gently and continues to reset the calibration settings, working hard to ignore the throbbing of his own cock. If Bucky opens his eyes, there won’t be any mistaking that Tony is hard either. Luckily, the ex-assassin seems far too distracted.

To continue, Tony has to coax the shoulder to turn, pressing ever-so-softly on the metal inner forearm. This time, Bucky’s head tilts up and then back, throat bobbing even as his mouth opens in a soft exhalation of ecstasy. Tony can’t help it. He can’t; his mouth runs away from him.

“Has no one touched you like this?” Tony asks lowly.

Bucky shakes his head.

Tony whistles. “How long has it been since you blew a load?”

Bucky groans, this time with embarrassment. The corners of his mouth flicker upwards though, like Tony’s baldness is amusing to him before it settles back into its typical line. “I can’t even remember.”

“Surely not since—before?”

“I mean—” Bucky pauses to swallow. “—there were physical reactions sometimes but that doesn’t really count.”

“That’s a damn crime,” Tony murmurs. He shuts the panel on Bucky’s arm, gently places his hand palm down in the other man’s open grasp. “All better, snowflake. Squeeze.”

Bucky squeezes as gently as if Tony were glass. The smile he gives Tony is small but genuine, and the fluttering Tony feels in his naval can’t be ignored. He should let go now, break the contact, but when he glances down at his palm where it rests in Bucky’s hand, he catches sight of the man’s erection still tenting at his sweatpants, and either Bucky is freeballing or he leaks like a fountain because the dark, damp spot of precum where his cockhead rests can’t be mistaken for anything else.

Tony licks his lips. He tightens his grip on Bucky’s hand and where he’s still gripping the arm just beneath the ball of the shoulder. Quietly, he says, “Stop me, if you want me to stop.”

The confusion in the pale eyes melts away when Tony drags one firm thumb down, crossing the crease of Bucky’s elbow, pressing against the inner forearm where the skin would be tender and sensitive. The reaction is instantaneous: Bucky sucks in a breath through his teeth and then his mouth drops, an aborted, raw sound slipping from his throat before he can stop it.

“Don’t stop,” Bucky whispers, eyes fluttering under their lids.

Tony wraps his entire hand around the metal forearm. He’s aware that he’s small for a man and that Bucky is bordering on large—obscenely muscular at least—but it still takes the breath from his lungs to see how he can’t come close to wrapping around the thick arm. He squeezes, hard but not looking to hurt. The sound that slips from Bucky’s mouth is obscene, the cock in his sweatpants jumping again, wet spot widening.

Not loosening his grip, Tony lets his hand move up towards the crease of the elbow and then back down toward the wrist. On someone else, it might be a motion of comfort, but all Tony can think of is how obscene it looks, how it’s too reminiscent of stroking a cock (the biggest fucking cock Tony’s ever seen, at that). Bucky’s chest heaves, hips jerking where he’s sitting on the stool causing the legs of it to shriek against the floor.

Bucky’s flesh hand reaches down, and for a moment the man’s cock is no longer shrouded in the mystery of cotton-polyester blend, not when he wraps a hand around himself through the fabric and the thickness of him becomes evident, the shaft clear, one thumb coming up to rub at the wet spot where the head rests.

“Don’t,” Tony whispers. Bucky’s hand freezes, cool eyes flittering open to assess him dazedly. Squeezing the arm gently, Tony says, “I want to see if you can cum just from this.”

The man honest to God whines. The sound goes right to Tony’s gut, right to his own cock that throbs, balls tight with arousal. This is without a doubt one of the most fascinating and sensual experiences of his life, and he wants to commit every detail of it to memory, wants to commit to the moment—

“I can,” Bucky says, breaths coming fast through his nose when he stops to collect himself. His hand leaves his erection though, making a fist and planting itself on his thigh. “Trust me, I can. I—I’m close.”

“Go ahead then,” Tony says. He coaxes the metal arm up, turning it so that he can place a wet kiss to the wrist. “I want to see it.”

Bucky groans, eyes squeezing shut. “Tony, please, God—”

“I’m not stopping you,” Tony says, letting his lips brush against the metal. He presses a more chaste kiss to the palm. Then he drags his mouth up, up—and takes Bucky’s first two metal fingers into his mouth, sucking firmly at the cool metal.

Bucky cums with a shout, head snapping back like a dog ready to howl. His face is twisted with the most painful ecstasy, and his cock jerks twice before he grabs himself again, jerking himself through the orgasm that soaks his sweatpants. When the pads of his fingers scrape against Tony’s teeth on the way out, he gasps again, a breathy, higher sound that has Tony half-mad with lust.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Tony murmurs, holding the metal hand reverently in his own. “Fuck, that was incredible. The hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Bucky laughs through his gasping. He flexes his fingers, lights from overhead glinting off of the metal panels. The hand reaches out and traces the waistband of Tony’s pants, right above where his erection is obvious and aching. “That was nothing.”

[bestworstcase]

18 & 20!

writer asks

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

WELL

bitter snow has the “cassandra raised by sirin” au which i’ve been meaning to talk about ever since i posted chapter 15, so might as well do that here: 

cassandra casāndra witnesses her parents’ arrests but is a little better hidden, so sir peter never finds her + she is adopted by aunt sirin instead

so sirin’s family is. sirin hároham, her partner mainé dathamar, their kids tathēdora (9) and cornaīn (7), plus cas who is 4. mainé and tath are both ill and mainé in rapid decline; sirin, cornaīn, and cas are all distraught; the socona community is decimated and reeling. it’s bad times.

mainé dies about a month after the arrest, while tath lingers in ill health, neither recovering nor getting any worse. (this is the norm among survivors of the crop sickness.) sirin channels a lot of grief into knitting the community back together + trying to scrape together some semblance of safety + taking care of the kids. 

so cas grows up in the thorn syconium/zhan tiri’s cult + all this trauma + the youngest of three siblings whom she loves but also, because she’s cas, has a bit of a rivalry thing going on with + her natural ambition and what all of that combines into is. cas is just as intensely loyal and eager to impress as she is with her dad in bitter snow and canon but it’s all directed at sirin / the cult / saporia in general and.. no one is going to arbitrarily stand in her way, and instead of Desperately wanting to be a guard she Desperately wants to be the one who frees zhan tiri vhbhjdfhbjsdf

anyway

rapunzel’s and varian’s backstories are the same

moira caine’s is also the same (her mom, lada caine, is disabled as a result of crop sickness, dad gets arrested, she and lada move in with fraternal aunt neasa, they’re dirt poor until caine hits her mid-teens and takes up piracy) with the exception that she and cas do meet as kids / moira and cornaīn are kinda friends and cas is their obnoxious tagalong. they don’t know each other Well because the caines are in alcorsīa and that’s a ways from socona but they do encounter each other every so often during big religious festivals etc.

because peter doesn’t have an orphaned saporian kid to occupy him when the search for rapunzel starts to range beyond corona, he ends up in vardaros the spring after the kidnapping, following a lead that turns out to be a dead end. while he’s in the city a grubby five-year-old tries to pick his pocket and that’s how eugene fitzherbert gets adopted by a sergeant of the coronan royal guard and grows up to be basically Flynn Rider, But A Cop

*deep breath*

tath passes away due to complications of the chronic crop sickness in 1669 PE, when cas is 17 and cornaīn is 20. the family is devastated; cornaīn takes off for alcorsīa with the vague intention of joining the separatists as kind of a way of retaliating, and through a series of shenanigans ends up reconnecting with moira + joining the crew of the zampermin + supporting moira’s subsequent mutiny + becoming first mate on the zampermin under moira’s captaincy

cornaīn is killed during a battle at sea three years later in 1672 PE. cas takes to wandering / exploring a lot while sirin sort of snaps; in bitter snow proper this is the point where sirin’s plans in benighted start to really take shape but in this au well. Guess Who Finds Rapunzel In The Tower.

cue “well okay i'll take you to see the lanterns but also, this is going to sound weird but bear with me, can we take a detour to free my god from her prison with your hair?”

so cas and rapunzel make a pit stop at janus point en route to herzingen and while the sundrop by itself isn’t enough to free zhan tiri completely they do make a nice big crack in the wall for her to squeeze through so. well. you know: 

- cas, rapunzel, pascal, and zhan tiri head to herzingen so rapunzel can see the floating lights zhan tiri can conspire with this excellent new disciple and get the sundrop on her side

- gothel, realizing what happened, goes to herzingen in a rage, finds what seems like an easy mark in eugene—who is a respected member of the guard at this point but also has a lazy streak and is a bit callous and interested to a fault in personal enrichment because, again, flynn rider but a cop—and gets in his ear about saving the lost princess from zhan tiri’s cultists and then he’ll have all the riches and admiration he could possibly ask for :) 

- basically her plan is to wind him up and hurl him at cas + zhan tiri so she can “rescue” rapunzel and vanish into the night with her

my elaborate musings on this au sort of peter out at this point but i like to think there’s some big messy confrontation + cas gets stabbed by gothel + gothel does in fact get away with rapunzel and then... something something reluctant allies eugene and cas go after rapunzel with varian + lance + caine all getting dragged into it and then it’s wacky eldritch adventures all the way home. nonsense. 

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

ohhhh boy.

- i love writing dream sequences in general and the ones in benighted are fun because they all come from the various. entities of the sublime realm. and i have just been having a lot of fun kinda... playing with the imagery and weaving in hints about what’s coming vis a vis the sundrop/moonstone and zhan tiri lore. all the dreams are important / have meaning beyond the obvious of freaking the characters having them out. 

- the characters didn’t mention it in the moment because it felt wrong for them to do so / they had much bigger problems but the final scene of chapter 19 takes place on varian’s 15th birthday, the 2nd of Sicáraen. i didn’t do this on purpose (the way i pin things down on the timeline is largely based on travel times between different locations and that scene falling on that day was coincidental) but jksdkjlkbhhjsdfj this poor boy

- in-universe, there are 42 days remaining until benighted ends. this isn’t important i just think it’s neat. 

[ohnojustimagine]

Queen for the Night

Sunil Singh/Reader/Samir Singh; smut, 2370 words

A very nice anon asked for some Singh brothers! Unfortunately that was so long ago that nice anon has quite possibly since moved on, but hey, I did finally finish it.

-

Sometimes you seem to spend half your working life trying to locate things that aren't where they should be. WWE is scarily efficient for a company that operates on a scale as vast as it does, but even so, stuff goes missing. Which is why you're currently somewhere in the depths of tonight's venue, checking the numbers on random equipment cases, trying desperately to find these parts for one of the lighting rigs before your director completely loses his shit.

And the last thing you need right now is to be interrupted, but apparently you're not going to get a choice in that, because it seems the Singh brothers have decided you're their next target. You're pretty sure that Sunil and Samir have tried hitting on practically every woman backstage at Smackdown, and maybe you should be kind of offended that it's taken this long for your turn to come around. But here they are, with their sunglasses and their attitude and that has-to-be-fake Bollywood award, sauntering towards you, and for fuck's sake, you mutter to yourself, taking a deep breath, willing yourself to be polite.

"Hey there, pretty lady," says Samir, leaning up against one of the cases. "You look kind of lonely."

"No," you reply, trying not to be too short with him, because however annoying these two are, they're still talent, which means you're way below them in the backstage hierarchy. "Just busy."

"Busy," Sunil repeats, nodding.

"Maybe you're working too hard?" Samir says. "Maybe you need to relax."

"Probably," you allow, because you can't argue with that.

"You know what's really relaxing?" he asks.

"What?" you reply, painfully aware you're not going to like the answer.

"Some Bollywood loving."

You sigh, because if this is their pitch then no fucking wonder they've been through the entire women's roster and most of the female crew without ever managing to get any. "Really?" you reply through gritted teeth. "And what would that involve?"

"The two of us," Sunil says, "and you."

"So, like, a threeway?" You look at them, unimpressed.

They both nod, almost pathetically eager.

"God," you say, laughing despite yourself, because well, at least they're direct. "I mean, couldn't you maybe ask me out for a drink or dinner or something first?"

You see them exchange vaguely terrified glances, and then Sunil says, slowly, cautiously, "Would you... like to have dinner with us?"

"No," you tell him. "No, I don't think I'd like that."

They both look down, and they seem so sadly, resignedly accepting of your answer that you feel a twinge of... something. You're not sure exactly what, and maybe you're just in a contrary mood or maybe it's just your current sexual dry spell clouding your judgment, but they are kind of hot. And, if you're honest with yourself, you're pretty over dating huge dudes with simmering anger issues and egos bigger than their biceps. Not that Samir and Sunil are lacking in ego (or, frankly, biceps) but there's something weirdly, almost charmingly misplaced about their hubris.

"But yeah," you say. "I would be down for some Bollywood loving." You shrug. "Why not?"

They both gaze at you for a second, like they're frozen in place, and then turn to stare at each other, wide-eyed in apparent shock.

"You'll be our Princess," Sunil stutters out, practically falling over the words.

"Queen," Samir corrects him. "You'll be our Queen for the night." He gives you a gallant little bow, and crap, you think, because you're actually kind of into this. "Would tonight work for you?" he asks.

"Yeah, I think it would," you say, wondering what the actual hell you've gotten yourself into, but strangely, surprisingly impatient to find out.

-

It's late by the time you make it to their hotel room, but they're ready for you, opening the door as soon as you knock, ushering you inside with murmured greetings.

They're both wearing black pants, Sunil's teamed with a purple shirt, Samir in blue, their hair wet and slicked-back, obviously freshly-showered, and they smell really good. You feel decidedly under dressed, still in your work jeans and a slightly grubby t-shirt, but they look at you with an almost glowing approval that makes you feel a whole lot more special than you're sure you have any right to.

Samir presents you with a glass of champagne, and you want to tell them they don't need to make a thing of it, act like this is some big deal, but you suspect that would be rude, so you keep the thought to yourself, instead taking a sip. And you're kind of taken aback by the taste, because it's obviously something expensive, way more upmarket than you're used to, and you don't know why, but suddenly, you're a little nervous.

They both drink, not saying anything, giving each other quick, awkwardly nervous glances, back and forth, and for a second you can't work out what their problem is but then ohhh, you realize. Because they very clearly don't know how to get started, which is actually kind of sweet.

"Maybe..." you say, and they look at you. "Maybe we could kiss? Make out for a bit, see where things go?"

They nod, in unison, and you're pretty sure you're going to have to hold their hands a little, lead them through this, which is more effort than you were expecting, but you've come this far, you tell yourself. You're planning on getting some dick tonight, and you'll do whatever needs to be done to make that happen.

So you drink down the rest of your champagne, and they do the same, the three of you setting down your glasses. "Okay," you say, taking a step towards Samir, who at least seems perhaps a tiny bit less apprehensive than his brother.

He looks at you, eyes flickering down to your mouth as you move even closer, holding your breath, uncertain, but then you kiss him. And there's a split second of awkwardness as you both take a moment to find your way into it, and then... then it's good. It's really good, way better than you were anticipating, because his lips are soft, and hot, his mouth opening to yours, your tongue tangling against his, slow and deep and sensual.

His hands are on your upper arms, sliding up over your shoulders, your neck, cradling your face, but then there are other hands on your waist.

Because for a minute you'd forgotten about Sunil, but you can feel him, standing behind you, and you pull back, turning to face him, leaning in to meet his mouth as he kisses you. He's more immediately demanding than his brother, though perhaps that's just the mood changing, becoming more electric, desire sparking between the three of you, something hot in the air around you.

They both stop, and though neither of them speaks, you see them exchange a knowing look, nodding slightly as if in understanding. And then Sunil's behind you, again, but this time he's taking off your t-shirt, pulling it over your head, whispering in your ear how beautiful you are as he unhooks your bra, and Samir's unbuttoning your jeans, slipping them gently down your legs, your panties going with them, every move as if smoothly coordinated between them, and perhaps, you think, you didn't give them enough credit, because they sure as hell seem to know what they're doing now.

When you're naked, they each take one of your hands, leading you towards the bed between them and somehow that's so very hot, the way they help you up, gently lie you down. Sunil arranges the pillows under your head and Samir carefully, almost reverently, moves your legs apart, stroking up your calves, caresses sliding across your skin.

You watch as they again look at each other in some kind of unspoken communication, something being agreed without words, and then Samir leans down between your thighs.

And you can't help sighing a little, kind of wishing he'd just fuck you because you're more than ready for it, but then his mouth is on you, and suddenly you're not wishing for anything else but exactly this.

Because holy shit but he knows what he's doing, and you can't even think, or breathe, or... you don't even know, because it seems his tongue is taking you to places you haven't been in a really, really long time. Possibly ever, but then, just when you're well on your way to a what you can tell is going to be a spectacular orgasm, he... stops. He just stops, and you whine in protest, grabbing at him, trying to pull him back down, desperate to finish, but instead he shifts up the bed until he's beside you, leaning down to kiss you.

And before you can tell him that isn't what you need, Sunil's taking his place between your legs, face pressed in close against you, licking you. And whoa, you think, because you don't know if they've compared notes at some point or if this is just some kind of freak genetic talent, but he's every bit as good at this as his brother.

You moan into Samir's mouth, kissing away the taste of yourself on his lips, his hands running up over your breasts, pinching your nipples as Sunil's tongue fucks in and out of you, teasing around the entrance of your pussy before moving back up to lap at your clit.

And though you try to breathe, slow yourself down, you quickly feel your orgasm building inside you once again, but at least this time you're not so surprised when Sunil stops, smiling up at you, licking his lips as he looks across at his brother.

They move around you, swapping positions so Samir's again eating you out and Sunil's kissing you, and maybe you should protest, try and take charge, because it seems they're not going to stop, not going to let you get off until they've had their fill of you. But, to your surprise, you kind of like it, this feeling of helplessness, of being taken care of, the way that every time you get even close to coming they'll both pull away, silently changing places with each other, two mouths on you until you're not sure you can tell who's who anymore, closing your eyes and surrendering to it.

Your pussy feels as if it's throbbing, the empty ache at your core seeming to intensify with every desperate breath you take, feeling as if you might come with every touch, crying out in frustration as you're denied yet again, whimpering until there's another tongue on you, licking hot and needy, sending you even higher.

But you're past the point of no return, now, and so you open your eyes. You've been too caught up to realize they've both already taken off their clothes, and you stare at them, hungry, taking in the sight of smooth skin and lean muscles; two hard cocks that only make the longing inside you even more urgent.

"Please," you say. "Please fuck me."

And they don't say anything. "I need you to fuck me," you repeat, prepared to beg for it if you have to.

"Okay," Samir agrees, and Sunil nods, reaching across to grab a box of condoms from the nightstand.

He keeps one for himself, handing another to Samir, and you lie there, waiting, watching as Sunil rolls the condom down over his cock, giving you just enough time to calm down a little, but even so, you moan loudly as soon as he's on top of you. You feel like you might sob with relief as he enters you, because you're so fucking ready for it, his cock filling you up just right, just like you've been aching for. He starts off slow, but you're way too far gone for anything so gentle, arching up your hips and grabbing his ass, urging him on to fuck you harder, faster. And he understands, giving you what you need until you're biting down on your bottom lip, trying not to scream as your long-delayed orgasm rushes up on you. Sunil thrusts into you even harder as you come, and you're writhing underneath him, feeling as if it might never stop, your whole body shaking. But he fucks you right through it and then beyond, muttering under his breath as he finishes, exhaling, closing his eyes, his cock deep inside you.

Samir's kneeling beside you, waiting his turn, his hand on his cock, stroking, and you look at him as Sunil rolls off you.

"Do you want..." he says, and you see him swallow, take a visible breath, as if he's having to consciously control himself, and that's so fucking hot. "Do you want to wait?" he asks. "Do you need a minute?"

And you don't answer, instead simply grabbing his hand, pulling him down onto you, opening your legs even wider and whining with the feeling of it as he pushes into you. He's maybe a little thicker than his brother, needing no encouragement to go hard, and you're really feeling it in just the right way.

You're maybe going to come again, so close to the edge of it, and god, you think, because you just want more, but you breathe in, holding yourself back, wanting to wait, make it last, for now only revelling in the sensation of being fucked like this. You scrape your nails down Samir's back, light enough to tease without leaving marks, watching his face as he comes, his moans filling the air around you, resounding inside your head until you're dizzy.

He pulls out, and you whine, but he's right there next to you, Sunil on your other side.

You lie in between them, catching your breath as their hands roam over your body, Samir kissing along your jaw, Sunil licking your ear, his tongue wet on your skin.

"Can..." you say, uncertain. "Can I stay?"

"Of course," they reply, in unison, looking up, smiling at you

"You really are our Queen," Samir says, and you laugh, happily, because what you feel like is a goddess, like you're in heaven, and you don't ever want to come back down.

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 52-55

Chapter 52

Valen interrogates Andi about his father’s decision to make her his rescuer, and instead of going “take that up with your dad because I don’t know his reasons for doing this,” Andi tries to be all apologetic about all the Kalee stuff and saying how she’s changed and Valen’s like nu-uh!

“It was a mistake,” Andi said again. “If I could take it back—”

Valen gritted his teeth. “Murder isn’t a mistake.”

Have I finally gone off the deep end or is this fucking funny?

“If I recall, you were the one who allowed your little sister and her friend to sneak out for a joyride on your father’s brand-new transport,” Andi replied. Her words were soft and casual, but her eyes were on fire.

“Spectre,” Valen said. “Spectre first, and always. You failed her as that.”

“Again,” Andi said, “it was a mistake. I’ve had to live with the cost of it.”

“Kalee didn’t!” Valen screamed. “She didn’t get to live, Androma!”

It’s honestly impressive that whenever I go into a chapter that’s relatively short and think it’s gonna be fine and I’ll just skim over it, Shinsay proves me wrong by including more bullshit that I just have to talk about. But hey, part of the reason I have this blog is so that people know what not to do and examining why certain things just don’t work, with the added bonus of having the context for it.

It’s also impressive how two women somehow keep making the wrong choice for the same one book, over and over and over. Every narrative choice in this book is wrong.

So, what’s wrong with this particular bit? Remember when Dex and Andi were having their stupid argument and Dex, right after trying to apologize for what he did and explain himself, turned around and started blaming Androma for it instead? Here it’s even more jarring, because Andi genuinely believes she was to blame for Kalee’s death and genuinely wants to atone (or she claims to want that, at least). So when she, out of nowhere, starts trying to defend herself and shift the blame onto Valen? That shit don’t make no sense, y’all.

I think this is a result of the book having too many pointless POVs. We’re in Valen’s right now, so obviously he needs emotional triggers to react to and start monologuing over. He needs to be provoked and damn logic and character consistency, he’s gonna get provoked! Andi’s words make no sense and will not be examined closer once we’re back in her POV, she just said this OOC shit for the sake of drama, yet given everyone’s awful characterization, even small things like these serve only to undermine the characters and their motivations even further.

Shinsay don’t understand that sometimes, no arguments is far more impactful than a dramatic verbal battle of cheap witticisms. Instead of this, Andi could’ve just sat there, quietly, letting Valen dunk on her because she feels she deserves it. Hell, this entire conversation could’ve been saved if only Andi’s blame-shifting line had been given to someone else! I didn’t even read it as her saying it at first and had to double-check and that’s when it fell apart to me.

God, I could go on like this forever. Feel free to send me asks if you want me to elaborate on dialogue and characterization, I guess? Let’s just move on.

The others try to figure out how Valen was taken and what happened when he was, asking him if he knows anything about Queen Nor, at which point Rage Unlocks Within Him, and he gets up and leaves.

I also want to mention that Valen talks about “things being tense after Kalee was gone,” but Kalee’s been dead for four years, while Valen was taken two years ago. Sooo uh ... huh? He makes it sound like it was two months after and not two years. He could’ve said things “changed” after her death and it would’ve sounded better. Idk just a preference I guess.

Also ... I just realized Valen’s been missing and tortured for two years. How he still talks normally is ... pretty bonkers, to say the least.

Chapter 53

Andi goes out to find Valen but finds Lon instead, his blue tiddies out.

Lon leads Andi to where Valen is, all while dropping hints that Lira has something to say to Andi and that Andi shouldn’t try to influence her decision. To her credit, Andi says she won’t, and that she loves Lira as her sister.

Andi and Valen sit around in nature for a bit and talk about Valen’s art. I don’t hate it?

“When I was locked up, I almost forgot what colors looked like,” [Valen] said, lazily brushing the stick back and forth against the mud. “Did you know that black is more than just a single shade?”

Anish Kapoor would like to know your location.

Valen says he can’t forgive Andi for what she did, but he can also not forgive himself for being part of those choices(????). Andi speculates that her accusation earlier must’ve struck him deep, but that’s all we get on that, no explanation as to why she accused him at all.

“In Lunamere, I had nothing to keep me company but my pain and my thoughts. I had lots of time to think about that night, and everything leading up to it. Time to realize that we were raised in a society where perfection is the only option. But that doesn’t mean it’s always possible. We all made bad choices that night, not just you. She got on that transport herself. And I chose to stay behind.”

Andi wanted to speak, but she feared it would shatter this strange, heart-wrenching moment they had somehow found themselves in.

Thanks for telling me it’s heart-wrenching, lest my idiot self got lost in all this emotion and forgot to realize what was happening.

Christ, even when Shinsay have a decent dramatic and emotional moment going, they just can’t keep their grubby little hands to themselves, huh? I know it’s your book but can you shut the fuck up for a moment and just let the prose stand on its own?

God, if only there had been an editor.

Both Andi and Valen admit they wish they’d died with Kalee and in any other more competent book this would’ve been quite touching.

“Without Kalee...” Andi began, finally voicing the realization she’d come to terms with these past few days. “Without Kalee, there wouldn’t have been a sentence for me to run from. And without that running, I never would have found Dex. And without him...”

“You wouldn’t be the Bloody Baroness,” Valen finished for her. “My father would not have hired you.”

It was a vicious cycle, one that Andi wished she could have undone before it had ever started. But it was her story. Her life.

Her life is a series of reactions to things outside of her control? Love that for a protagonist.

Listen, I know it’s supposed to be sad and stuff, but even Andi’s backstory reinforces her reactionary personality and the way the plot is driven by things completely outside of her control. It’s hard to feel invested in a character when they never make choices and instead only react to whatever happens to them.

Anyway, Valen and Andi seem to have gotten over their differences and go to the festival together. That was easy. I guess it’s to throw us off the scent and make it more surprising when he suddenly turns out to be evil? I’m honestly not sure. It’s pretty bad either way, but I don’t have to tell you that.

Chapter 54

We’re with Lira again and she’s staring off into the distance thinking about the festival. Lon appears again, tiddies still out, but now his muscles and “sculpted” chest feels kind of weird to comment on since we’re in Lira’s head? Whatever, maybe Adhirans are weird like that.

Lon says some cutesy shit about how technically Lira is this planet’s princess but she doesn’t reply or even think about how that would make him the prince? He just says he’s her brother and has to guard her. Maybe Adhirans also don’t let men have political power because that’s what Shinsay think feminism is.

Anyway, they join the other girls and head to the festival while Lira mopes about her decision and how she can’t have two families. Except you can. But whatever. Logic isn’t dramatic enough, I suppose.

“It’s time to let loose,” Breck said. “Lir, you look like you’ve just puked up a pound of Moon Chew.”

“Lira doesn’t puke,” Gilly said.

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone pukes,” Breck added.

“I’ve never seen her do it. And I spy on her, like, all the time.” 

Lon chuckled beside Lira. “I see it,” he whispered. “What draws you to this crew.”

I don’t.

Also they’re in the same close space it seems, so I have no idea how they 1) don’t bother to ask Lira what’s going on and 2) don’t notice Lon being all whispery and shit. Convenient!

Gonna gloss over the spying bit as well, I see. Hey, they do have those eye implants that you don’t need consent to activate. Maybe Gilly’s been using it to perv on the rest of the crew.

Lira decides ... not to decide, and just fuckin party down for tonight. I guess in this universe it means she’s gonna get blackout wasted, because That’s What Adults Do. I should also mention that she decides not to decide and then never has to decide anyway because the plot intervenes and the choice is made for her. Love that for a character.

*sigh*

Chapter 55

We’re in Dex’s POV and we get some decent descriptions of how cool the festival is with more incidental aliens and traditions. Dex spots the crew and thinks about how they’re his crew now and realizes he’s bonded with them. I’m glad this is spelled out because I would not have noticed it myself, and frankly I both do and don’t mean it this time.

They’ve only been together for a couple of days, tops. I guess extreme situations make people bond faster but I really feel like we’re jumping the shark here. At the same time I can tell that Dex clearly fits into the crew pretty well, and this just feels forced and redundant. All in all, this comment is just unnecessary. Let the characters evolve and grow closer naturally, Shinsay. You don’t need to convince us they’re a crew, you can just show us and we’ll believe it!

Dex spots Valen and Andi and of course we get a horny description of how cool and sexy Andi is and how impressed Dex is that she and Valen are already friends. Then he decides to get drunk and eat some meat.

Frankly? Relatable. Chapter? Pointless.

[acephysicskarkat]

This may be chapter 3, but it’s for day 5, and it’s called “Forgiveness”.

“For the love of the moons, Adora,” groaned Glimmer, “are you trying to bankrupt me?” She grabbed ineffectually at the sconce in Adora’s grip. “Be more careful with the fixtures!”

Entrapta dropped from the rafters onto Emily’s back, plucked the sconce from Adora’s unresisting hand, and quickly stuck it back onto the wall. “There, see? Good as new!”

The sconce began to turn slowly to one side.

Glimmer made some incoherent noises of frustration, then breathed out heavily. “Thanks, Entrapta. You don’t have to do that, you know. This is your party; you should be enjoying yourself.”

“I am!” Entrapta twisted the sconce back into position; it began to tip over the other way. “Don’t you guys enjoy fixing stuff?”

They looked at each other, and then Adora said, “Not usually at parties.”

“Oh well, more for me then!” Entrapta produced a toolset from nowhere and began reattaching the sconce properly. “I hope Bertha’s doing okay outside.”

‘Bertha’ was the name Entrapta had given to the colossal mech she’d brought back from Beast Island. Glimmer turned to Adora. “Adora, could you pop out and check on Bertha – just for a sec?”

There was a brief pause, and then Adora nodded. “Okay, Glim. I’ll be back in a minute.”

As soon as Adora was gone, Glimmer’s shoulders slumped. “Entrapta, can I…have a quick word with you?”

“Sure!” Entrapta could tell that something was happening here, but she wasn’t quite sure what. “What did you want to talk about?”

“You remember when Adora and Bow went to Beast Island to get you?”

“You mean when they…” Entrapta’s voice trailed off. Beast Island was pretty far from her favourite thing to talk about.

“They disobeyed my orders to do that. I told them not to.” She released a breath. “And I was wrong. I’m really sorry, Entrapta.”

Entrapta took this information on board with the air of a sapper opening a bomb casing, and decided, exactly unlike a sapper opening a bomb casing, to deal with it another time. She had a lot of feelings about Beast Island already, and she was going to go ahead and handle them bit by bit, like slowly grinding gears.

***

Something was subtly wrong. It was a feeling like she was being watched, and with a quick scan of the area, Entrapta realised from where. Spotting two gleams in the darkness above, one gold, one blue, she quickly scaled the support beams. Distantly, she heard Glimmer groaning as another sconce fell off.

“Hi Catra! What are you doing up here?”

“I wanted to check in, but I didn’t think you’d want me at the party,” said Catra, not meeting Entrapta’s gaze. “Not after…”

“Not after Beast Island.”

Catra nodded. She still hadn’t looked Entrapta in the eye.

Entrapta’s hand hovered near her mask for a few moments, before she lowered it and breathed out. “Don’t worry about it.”

Catra eyed her curiously. “You’re not mad?”

Entrapta wobbled a hand – and a second, larger hand, made from hair – in an ambivalent kind of way. “I mean, I am a bit, but it all worked out, and I got to see a First One ship, and learned about the Heart of Etheria, and made friends with Bertha! Oh, and Micah got rescued too. So…” The princess shrugged, an extremely expansive gesture coming from her. “I don’t really see much point in holding a grudge about it? It happened, and some of it was bad, and some of it was good, and you did say you were sorry about the bits that were bad.” She fiddled briefly with her data recorder. “Five times, actually.”

“You always were a lot smarter than the rest of us,” said Catra quietly, not looking at her. “Not holding grudges…I wish I’d figured that one out myself.” She raised her head. “Wait, where is Scorpia? It’s not like her to be this late.” She smiled, softly and sadly. “Gotta get the Super Pal Trio back together, right?”

“Right!”

***

A thunderous knock echoed through the room, and after a few moments, the door slowly toppled off its hinges.

Glimmer flinched. Entrapta could just about hear her mutter, “Moons above! Should I just have the whole castle replaced?”

There was a momentary pause, and then Scorpia moved through the door, dragging a fully loaded cart behind her. It juuuust fit through the door, and at some point, the wheels had either been removed by something or had failed to take the weight. It was leaving a trail of cracked tiles, and with every foot it moved, Glimmer flinched again. The whole assemblage was draped in a grubby tarp, but in a move that perfectly traced out the line between touchingly sincere and jarringly absurd, someone – presumably Lonnie or Kyle – had carefully tied a length of bright red power cable in a big friendly bow around it.

“Uh…hi.” Scorpia rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. “Sorry I’m late, but getting this thing through the Whispering Woods was harder than I expected. Never was much of a navigator.”

Entrapta’s eyes were possibly the largest they’d ever been. “Hi, Scorpia! What is it?”

“It’s your birthday present! Happy birthday.”

Entrapta descended upon the cart. The cable fell away, followed by the tarp, and a chunk of scrap metal toppled onto the floor and broke some more tiles. The cart was piled high with bits and pieces – mostly the stark white and green of Horde Prime, but a few chunks of corroded Fright Zone engineering jutted out.

“Freshly salvaged from the Fright Zone,” said Scorpia proudly. “Since we’re demilitarising and getting rid of the crashed ships and trying to get, you know, things growing again, there’s a ton of metal around the place we don’t really need. I had a good old dig through it, with some help from Kyle – he’s actually a really good engineer now – and this is some of the best stuff.” She smiled and patted Entrapta on the “forearm” of one of her hair-limbs. “If you wanna have a look through it yourself, you’re welcome to come over any time.”

“I LOVE IT!” Entrapta’s hair was all over the place, like she was attempting to hug Scorpia five times at once. “I’m gonna get Bertha to take it back to Dryl, make sure I can have a good look through it with all my tools there! Bertha!”

The ground shook, and Glimmer looked like all of her internal organs had spontaneously changed places.

Bertha erupted through the wall in a shower of fragmented stone. The mech reached out and picked up the heaped pile of Horde scrap, before disappearing out the hole, heading for the road to Dryl. While the roads weren’t exactly safe – too many ex-Horde veterans had turned to banditry after the war – two-ton robots tended to have relatively uneventful journeys; people jumped out at them from behind rocks, then immediately headed home for a nice rest under the bed and maybe a change of underwear.

Glimmer collapsed to the floor and curled up in the foetal position.

Apparently not noticing, Scorpia beamed at Entrapta. “So how are you doing, Entrapta?”

“I’m doing great! Emily and Bertha are getting along, everyone’s being really nice, and it’s great to be with friends again.” She paused for a moment. “Although everyone wants apologise to me and it’s kind of making me sad? I wanna spend my birthday hanging out with my friends, not being told again and again how sorry they are about Beast Island, you know?”

Scorpia grinned. “Well, how about you and I do something fun – after the party, I mean? Look, they’re bringing out the cake!” She took another look. “I mean cakes!”

Adora and Bow were bringing out a table, struggling to hold it exactly level. For Adora’s birthday celebration, just a few days previously, they’d gone for quite a large cake, with some cupcakes to the side as a concession to Entrapta’s dietary habits. For today, there were no ‘concessions’: the entire table was covered with cupcakes, some of which had candles jutting out of them. Entrapta had always had a soft spot for candles; they reminded her of the beacon tower above Dryl.

As the traditional song rang out, Entrapta took a deep breath and swept across the table, candle flames dying as she moved.

Adora smiled at her and said, “Did you make a wish?” “You can’t ask her that, Adora!” Bow sounded scandalised. “If she tells us what she wished for, it won’t come true!”

 I wished that we could all just forgive each other. And ourselves.

“Oh, you guys know me. The usual stuff!”

“First One tech, I bet.” Adora picked up a plate. “Now who wants cupcakes?”

Entrapta accepted the first plate with a gentle smile. The War had been big and confusing and troublesome, and neither she nor her friends had made it out unscathed. All of them had been hurt. Most of them had hurt each other.

But most of them had made it this far, and everyone was beginning to heal.

At the very least, it was a start.

[saxxxology]

THE CURSED - Ch.2

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~3000

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

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THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

The following evening, they came upon an inn. As they entered, a woman, tall, with graying brown hair, dressed in a brown and white tavern maid’s outfit looked up from the bar. When she saw Sam and Dean, she smiled, revealing rather straight white teeth.

“Well, I haven’t seen you boys in a while,” she reached over the bar to clap the boys on the shoulder with a grimy hand. She had a soft Scottish accent and had a glint in her eye that Y/N had often heard stories about. “I’d know that damned Winchester scent anywhere. Where in God’s name have you boys been for the past six months?”

Sam laughed and shrugged his fur cloak off before draping it over the stool next to him. “Miss Ellen, this is Y/N, Dean and I are escorting her to her… her wedding.”

“I thought you boys were bloody Rangers.”

“We are,” Sam explained, “but when you’re promised two thousand crowns…”

“Ahhh…” Ellen eyed Y/N as the girl perched on the edge of a barstool. “Pretty little thing, in’t she? And young.”

“Eighteen.” Sam smiled as the barmaid set down three tankards of mead. “Y/N, try the mead. Miss Ellen here’s got the best in the land.”

“God willin’,” Ellen crossed herself and smiled proudly before shooting a glare towards Dean. “And you, my Joanna Beth had better be safe and happy or I swear I’ll stop ye from knotting anything ever again.”

Despite the threat, Dean grinned. “She’s safe in Dolgellau, ma’am. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“And no babes yet?”

“I think we’d be quicker to tell you if there were.”

“I’d hope,” Ellen flicked her soft brown eyes to Y/N. “Tell me, Y/N, are you a prayin’ girl?”

Y/N nodded and sipped at the sweet liquor. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Ellen brought her kitchen towel down on Sam’s shoulder, making him jump and spill mead from his overflowing tankard on himself. “Better pray this young buck here doesn’t take you for his own.” She laughed as Sam blushed heavily and tried to wipe himself clean and Dean sniggered. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Winchester, we both know how y’are. And your brother was just as bad until he settled down with my little girl.” She looked at Y/N, who was watching the banter with a slight look of nervousness on her face. “Took her right behind my back without even askin’ me first."

“I’m not—” Sam fell silent at the look Ellen shot him and took a long swallow of his drink. “Well, we’re just passing through, but we could use a room for the night.”

“Keep two open all the time.” Ellen nodded and reached for two keys that hung from a belt around her waist, handing one to each man. “Always expect you boys to come around, they’re all yours for as long as you need.”

***

Sam insisted on sleeping in the same room as Y/N/ He couldn’t deny that Dean’s presence around her was bothering him, and Dean retreated to his own room after exaggerating a yawn, bading them goodnight, and shooting Sam a look that said don’t try anything.

Days of travel had caused them to become dirty, and Sam filled a small metal tub with warm water heated over the fireplace. Y/N, contrary to what Sam had initially believed, did not mind nudity. He’d expected her to be shy and fearful of exposing her naked form in front of a man she’d known for less than a week, but nevertheless, she tugged her muddy bodice and dress off and sank into the steaming water. Sam turned his back—out of respect, not because he wanted to—and occupied himself with cleaning his bow and straightening the feathers on his arrows.

Y/N quickly scrubbed herself with sweet-smelling lye soap before wrapping herself in a sheet and stepping out of the water. When she dropped it to put on a nightdress from her travel case, Sam couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of one small, firm breast silhouetted in the firelight before it was covered in soft, cream-colored fabric. If she knew he’d seen her, she didn’t say anything.

After Sam washed, they used the soapy water to rinse their muddy clothes and hung them by the fire to dry. By the time they were cleaned up and ready to eat, it was dark. Dean was nowhere to be found, so Sam and Y/N journeyed downstairs to take advantage of the roasting meat and fresh bread that had been rising in the kitchen when they’d first entered, and Sam soon left Y/N at a table to catch up with Ash, a scraggly barkeeper he hadn’t seen in a while.

She was halfway through her meal when a large, grubby hand took her by the arm and yanked her upwards.

“Mm…” a voice growled, in her ear, “you smell delicious, little Omega. Bet you’re ripe for the pickin’, huh.”

Too frightened to scream, Y/N froze in terror as another hand groped at her breast through the fabric of her dress.

“Young, too,” a different voice muttered, and Y/N looked up to see two very tall, very large Alphas staring her down. She trembled violently in their grip and winced as the Alpha gripping her breast gave her nipple a violent pinch. An audible gasp of pain and fear left her lips, and they laughed.

“Ahh, Tucker, I think she likes you.”

“Yeah, I think she does.” The man called Tucker gripped Y/N’s hair and tugged her head back. “What do you think, darlin’? I can smell your heat coming, you’re gonna be beggin’ for me to claim you when it's fully come ‘round.”

“Sam!” Y/N found her voice and cried out. “Sam, please, help me—!”

“Shut up!” Tucker roughly shoved her back against the wall and wrapped his fingers around her throat. Patrons were stopping to look, and Y/N felt ready to pass out from the panic racing through her. “Stupid little Omega, crying out for your Alpha.” He grabbed her still-damp hair and pushed it to the side, exposing her neck as he searched for a mark. “But you’re not claimed yet, are y—”

He fell away as something large and heavy slammed into him. He collapsed to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. Y/N looked up with tears blurring her vision to see Sam standing over her would-be attacker; he’d body slammed the man with every ounce of strength.

The powerful Alpha rolled his shoulders back as he prepared for a full-on brawl. “Get away from her.” He growled, and Y/N swore his eyes turned yellow, the pupils long and slanted in the golden orbs. “She’s mine.”

Tucker stared up at Sam, horror spread across his face. “You… what are you?”

Sam bared his teeth at the man and advanced, sending him scuttling back and into the legs of a stool. “Never mind what I am,” he muttered, “you were going to claim her against her will. That is a crime, you know that. From what I hear, the punishment is being put in the stocks and getting a hundred lashings before having the title of your crime branded onto your forehead.” He drew a dagger from his belt and traced it up the man’s chest and over his arms. “And I wager that I could bargain my way into bein’ the one to deliver both. Now, is that really worth claiming an Omega that rejects your advances?”

“I—” Tucker gulped and raised a hand as Sam stood over him. “I was only having a laugh, I swear, I wasn’t going to—!”

“Answer me!” Sam bellowed. “Is it worth it?”

“N-no!”

With a predatory growl, Sam slit the knife over the man’s cheek, leaving a deep cut that would inevitably scar. Tucker yelped and clutched at the wound as blood began to drip through his fingers.

“Take that as a permanent warning and get out.” Sam snarled. “And if I ever see your damned face again I swear on my life that I will rip you apart piece by piece and put your head on a pike. Do you understand me?”

The two Alphas left as fast as they could, pushing through the crowd and racing through the open door. Everyone stared after them as Sam turned back to Y/N, blue and green flooding the fiery yellow that had temporarily inhabited them.

“Come here.” He held out his hand and pulled her through the crowd and up the stairs, and the second they were safely inside their room, he locked the door.

Y/N was shaken up and repeatedly touched her upper arm and chest where the Alpha had brazenly grabbed her. “Sam, I didn’t provoke him, I swear—”

“It wasn’t you,” Sam rolled up her sleeve and touched her arm gently. “He could smell you, half the Alphas in there could. They just chose not to act on it.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears. “If you hadn’t come…”

“Don’t think about it,” Sam lifted her chin to look at her throat, rage burning in his chest at the sight of the reddening marks. “You’re safe now."

“But what was that?” Y/N asked, “your eyes, they turned… they turned yellow. Why?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“But—”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

Sam responded louder than he’d wanted to. Y/N shrank back and folded her arms protectively across her chest, and Sam apologetically reached out for her. When she flinched away, a pang of guilt filled his stomach.

“I scared you.” He knelt in front of her and bowed his head in shame. “I didn’t think. I let my emotions and my feelings control me and I did something in front of you that was… unbecoming. I am sorry.” Sam took a deep breath and waited for her to speak.

“I forgive you,” she murmured, “I admit, I wasn’t expecting you to react that way, but what’s done is done.” She took his hand and helped him to stand, and Sam noticed that although her voice was steady, tears threatened to drop from her eyes. “Come on, let’s get to bed.”

Sam’s chest ached when he saw her rubbing at her eyes as they settled under the thick blankets. Several minutes later, he was just about to doze off when he felt Y/N shudder next to him. Thinking that maybe she was cold, he turned to check.

The moonlight illuminated tears trailing out of the corners of her eyes, and she promptly wiped them away when she caught him looking.

“Y/N?”

“I’m okay.”

Sam rolled onto his side and raised himself up on one elbow. “No, tell me what’s wrong. I know that Alpha scared you, but he won’t touch you ever again, I won't let him. I won’t let any Alpha hurt you.”

“I don’t—” she sniffed and wiped her eyes on the pillow. “I don't want to get married. I won't be happy, I just know it.”

Sam swallowed and watched fresh tears spill from her eyes. He felt himself growing angry again; he didn't believe in forced or arranged marriages and Y/N was entirely right to be upset. But he wanted her, needed her. The actions of the Alpha downstairs had solidified that, and if his life and soul wouldn't be in danger afterwards, he’d solve the problem and make her his right there as she lay next to him.

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” Sam tilted his head and gazed at her. “You could always come and stay with us.”

Y/N shook her head. “I could be killed if I don't… or my family could be punished…”

She sniffed again, burying her face in the pillow. Sam gently touched her shoulder and felt her tremble at the feeling. It seemed like every time they touched, the mutual feeling they had grew stronger and stronger.

Sam shook the feeling off. “Are you more upset because it’s arranged or because he’s not an Alpha?”

“Both.” Her voice was quiet and thick with emotion. “I want to marry someone I love, not someone who won't be able to properly—”

“—satisfy you.” Sam finished her sentence for her.

Y/N nodded and swallowed thickly. “I’ve heard of Omegas dying because their heat makes them too ill and improper mates can't satisfy them… I don’t want that. I just want someone to love me and not treat me like some breeder they can use to solve their problems.”

Ignoring the throbbing in his gut, Sam pulled her into his arms and rubbed her back soothingly. She curled up against him and cried silently into his chest. “I'm sorry this is happening to you,” he whispered, “but you won't be alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think I'd just leave you there?” Sam smiled affectionately down at her. “I'd come by to see you, I'm not heartless.”

Y/N swallowed and tearfully returned the smile. Sam had to fight the urge to dip his head and kiss her. He doubted she’d ever been kissed before. Before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning in and pressing his forehead against hers. He breathed in her scent and closed his eyes as he reached up to grip her shoulder.

“Sam,” Y/N breathed, “what are you doing?”

He gritted his teeth and fought against the pull in his gut that told him to kiss her. “I… I can’t lie to you, I’m finding myself very attracted to you.”

She stiffened against him and he felt her press her thighs together. “We can’t, Sam. I admit, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t care. You saved me tonight, I’m thankful for that and I owe you…”

He shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Without a second thought, he kissed her, sliding his arms about her body and pulling her close. She pressed her palms against his chest, torn between pulling him closer and giving him a slap across the face for not waiting until she’d finished crying. When he deepened the kiss, taking her lower lip between his teeth, she felt a pang of need course through her, and she instinctively parted her lips to return the kiss, a small moan escaping her lips as she did.

When they separated, both of them stared at each other, breathless and in shock over what had just happened. Sam was the first to speak.

“We shouldn’t.”

Y/N nodded in agreement. “I’m betrothed.”

Sam chuckled and ran his fingers over her back. She was naked underneath the nightgown she wore, and he barely managed to restrain himself from grabbing handfuls of her ass and pulling her on top of him. “I know… but I don’t care about that.”

“I don’t want to marry, but…” she pulled herself from his grip, and Sam almost whined at the loss of her touch, “I can't do it, Sam, I just… I just hope that was enough.”

“Not nearly,” Sam gripped her hand and brought it to the base of his length, grinning as she trembled at the feeling of his cock, hard and warm through the thin fabric of his trousers. “This is what you’ve made me feel for days. I just refuse to act like that Alpha downstairs…”

She gazed up at him. “I’ve never…”

“I’m not asking you to,” he sighed as her hand withdrew from him. “I wish you’d allow me to touch you. Taste you.”

Y/N shivered. “I can’t, my husband would—”

“He’s not your husband yet.” Sam implored. “And he never will be. Just like you said, a husband loves his wife, cares for her. He doesn’t treat her like a piece of meat he can stick his cock in whenever he likes.” He rose up on his arm and gazed down at her. “Your heat is going to start soon, Y/N, and when that happens…”

“I know,” she replied, her eyes fluttering closed, “I know what I’ll want, what I’ll need. It scares me.”

Sam clicked his tongue and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “You needn’t be scared. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. But if it comes to your life, I’ll save it, no matter the cost.”

Y/N swallowed and turned her face against his palm. “I’m a virgin, Sam, you must know that.”

Sam hesitated. He’d only been with one virgin Omega before. The thought of hurting her scared him, but something more important ate away at his mind.  There was a wedding that needed to happen, if she was knotted before—especially by an Alpha of Sam’s size—her Beta husband would surely know on their wedding night.

“I don’t care,” he decided. “I wouldn’t care if you were whoring yourself out to every man in the world.”

Y/N laughed at that. “I can't believe we’re here. I never thought you even liked the idea of having to escort me anywhere, much less my own wedding.”

“Well,” Sam took the opportunity to press himself back against her, “I was very interested in the money, but then I realized I had something better than the money.” He kissed her again. “You.”

This round of kissing was softer, more tender, and Sam put everything he had into it, eventually pulling her atop him so that she lay across his chest, her arms at his shoulders. She was almost comically small, and that only made him want her more.

“Thank you, Sam,” she finally murmured, resting her head on the pillow once they’d broken apart.

He chuckled and let her rest her head against him. “You're welcome, Princess.”

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TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

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[trashy-greyjoy]

theonsa modern accidental pregnancy?? im a sucker for that shit

i have a severe pregnancy-phobia so uh i switched it up just a little l;sakdjf

“Now, you have to promise not to freak out.” 

That’s the first thing he says when she steps through the door. 

The very first thing. Before the latch even clicks, before she can drop her keys in the dish, he’s in front of her with that frantic look on his face and hands stretched out in front of him.

She freezes there, closing her eyes and sighing. She should be used to it by now, god, truly she should. Knowing him since he was a grubby twelve year old, and then living with him for the past year. Really, she should expect it.

She pinches the bridge of her nose as delicately as possible. Hoping more than anything it’s something small. 

“I hate it when you say that.”

“Promise,” he urges.

“Theon, what did you do?” she says it as evenly as she can. She does not want this to escalate, but her mind is running through every stupid thing he could have possibly done in the four hours since she last saw him.

The possibilities are… honestly terrifying.

“You have to promise you won’t be mad first. And you can’t yell, it’ll scare her.”

“Scare her? Who is her?”

“No. Now see you’re yelling,” he points out and it’s getting harder for her to remain calm.  

“Theon Greyjoy, if you don’t tell me what you did right now-” she doesn’t even get to finish the sentence. A tiny, high pitched whine sounds from behind her roommate cutting the sentence off at her lips. 

They both freeze.

“What is that?”

“Well, so, um…. I may have accidentally got us a dog.” He says it so nonchalantly, it takes her a minute to actually process it. 

“You accidentally got a dog?” she means to clarify. 

“Yes,” he nods. She can see he’s waiting for her to yell at him or throw a fit, the tension in his shoulders and how he keeps shuffling on his feet. 

(It’s a little cute. 

Maybe.)

The dog whines again, louder and so sad, and okay Sansa has always loved dogs so maybe it tugs a little at her heart. Just a little. 

And she’s never really been able to stay mad at Theon for very long either. 

“Where is she?”

The grin that breaks across his face makes her roll her eyes and smirk.

(And her stomach do that stupid thing it does when he looks at her sometimes.)

She’s precious. A tiny grey ball of fluff and bouncing legs and she falls in love immediately. She bends down and scooping the squirming puppy into her arms.

“Oh, you’re just the cutest thing aren’t you?” she coos. “Yes, you are!”

She licks sloppily at her cheek, smearing slobber into her skin and rubbing her wet little nose against her neck. It pulls a laugh from her chest, warm and soft and fuzzy just like the thing in her arms. 

(She reminds her of Lady, the day they got her all those years ago, and she feels a little sad too. A little nostalgic, but it disappears with more kisses.)

“So,” she starts, looking back up at Theon, where he’s grinning at her from the doorway. Smiling like an idiot. “How did you ‘accidentally’ come into the possession of a puppy?”

“Oh, well…” he scratches the back of his neck and looks down. “Robb and I were at the mall, ya know, dicking around, and I’m not saying I was high, but I may have smoked like half a joint on the way there, and we went into that pet store right by the entrance. And they were all so cute ya know? And fluffy and she just looked really lonely and sad and so I asked to play with her, just for a little bit because I felt bad.”

It’s the most unsurprising story she could have heard. Exactly his brand.

“Well, anyway, the lady kept coming over and asking if I was done with her yet, but I wasn’t and like I didn’t wanna say that. And she asked if I wanted her and I mean what was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry ma’am. I’m actually just stoned and wanted to play with a soft puppy for a little bit. I have no intention of taking her. I’ll leave now.’ So she brought me adoption papers and I just kinda… adopted her.”

“You got a dog because you were high and you felt bad about not wanting to adopt a dog?” she asks, barely containing her laughter. 

“Yes,” he nods, completely serious. 

(Impossibly, she thinks it might make her lover him more.)

“Of course you did,” she grins and he grins back, just as warm. Just as much like sunlight. 

What an idiot.

Later that night, they curl up on the couch, the three of them, for pizza and a shitty movie. She pretends not to notice the way he sneaks her tiny bits of the anchovies from his half (because he’s a Greyjoy with terrible taste). He pretends she doesn’t drop a piece of crust on purpose. 

Credits roll in the dark and she looks over and sees them there, asleep. Theon with his head lolled back on the arm of the couch, and Princess tucked perfectly against his side. They both look so soft and at home and she snaps a quick picture, or maybe several, while it lasts.

(It was, simply put, adorable. It was the cutest thing she had ever seen. It was perfect.)

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [680]

For as long as Bull has been a foster parent, and then later a long-term parent with kids who weren’t going to be taken back by anyone ever and were going to stay with him under his roof and be his responsibility and his on paper and in law and in everything else that really matters, birthdays have been important.

Birthdays were another year survived, another year lived, another year where his kids made it through something difficult and came out — if not stronger for it, then still a winner because they made it. Birthdays are an event where kids deserve to be spoiled because them being alive is a fucking amazing thing even if the circumstances around their birth and origins aren’t exactly as spectacular in a good way.

Even for the kids who have a more complicated, in the sense that it wasn’t all bad, relationship with their beginnings, it’s still important.

Bull’s always done his best to make birthdays a time when his kids could put aside whatever hurt them for a at least a few hours, and could enjoy something else. Whether that’s grilled cheese with pickles or being pushed on a tire swing for a few hours or going to the zoo.

He thinks his kids know how hard he tries, and his kids are usually a bit more conscious of certain things than most, because they’ve always asked him for the doable and he’s always made sure he can live up to that medium set bar. Sometimes he wishes his kids would ask for something harder, but he’s grateful that they ask for something at all.

Bull also thinks that his kids have absorbed the importance of birthdays because for every new kid that comes into their lives they make sure to indoctrinate them in the highest honor of being the birthday celebrant.

The only thing is, is that there are about a million kids that Bull calls his.

There are only twelve months in a year. Some kids happen to have birthdays pretty close to each other.

Bull still makes sure to do something special just for each kid on their day, but he’s had to condense some of the kids into one weekend per month to save on time and money. The kids understand.

Now that Ellana and Mahanon have joined the fold, the time is split even further, but Ellana has enough money to throw at making each birthday extra special for all that they sometimes get crammed together and Bull jokes that he’s with her for her checkbook and her line of credit. Ellana jokes that the trick’s on him because she’s with him for his body and their is a relationship of convenience.

All of the kids roll their eyes whenever these jokes are played out and make some variation on the comment of ugh, grown ups.

“So, what do you want for your birthday this year?” Bull asks Grim as they’re setting the table for dinner. It’s a long process for a long table.

Grim signs that he wants a ring.

Bull had been expecting something along the lines of a terrarium, a hermit crab, or maybe even some new camping gear. He was not expecting that answer. Bull glances at Ellana over the bobbing of several children’s heads as they bustle like worker ants around the kitchen to get dinner on the table and all the sooner into their black hole pits of stomachs.

Ellana looks just as dumbfounded as he does.

“What kind of ring?” Ellana asks.

A ring for a girl, Grim answers, and then pokes Dalish as she passes. Ask Dalish what kind. She knows.

Bull and Ellana pin their attention on Dalish.

“Dalish, are you extorting your brother’s birthday to get something? You only have to wait one more month,” Ellana says.

“I would never do that,” Dalish replies, sounding as affronted as a fourteen year old can be. “That goes against the sanctity of the birthday.”

From the kids present, there is a resounding murmur of agreement.

“What kind of ring for a girl?” Bull asks. Man, he thought he had a bit more time with Grim. Grim seemed like a slow starter kind of guy. He’s only twelve. Bull always knew Grim would be a lady’s man, he already gets a million PTA moms and random strangers coming up to Bull to compliment him on his handsome and charming boy. They grow up so damn fast, fuck.

“A diamond one,” Dalish announces.

Bull feels his eyebrows raise and Ellana is just staring holes into the back of their daughter’s head.

“Gold band, with a princess cut,” Dalish elaborates.

“Princess cut?” Ellana mouths at him. “Where’s she learning this from?”

Bull just stares back at her. Like Bull would know where Dalish learns anything?

“That’s…a little much, love,” Ellana says haltingly while she and Bull exchange a silent back and forth with just the panic in their eyes. “I don’t think little girls need that kind of thing.”

“It’s not for a little girl,” Bull didn’t know it was possible for a fourteen year old to sound so — well. No. He did know it’s possible for teenagers to sound that patronizing. It’s what makes them teenagers. He feels so fucking old.

And then Dalish tags on, “It’s for you.”

And Bull swears he’s having a stroke. He sits down immediately.

“It’s a wedding ring,” Dalish continues. “For Grim’s birthday he wants you to get married.”

“To who?” Ellana boggles.

All of the kids turn to look at her at once, all of them wearing the same exact face of consternation and absolute disappointment in Ellana’s apparent stupidity at asking that question.

Then they all point their grubby little fingers at Bull.

“Dad,” they all says in various levels of duh, mom, obviously voices. “For Grim’s birthday we all want you to get married to dad.”

Bull’s glad that he’s already sitting. Ellana, having been manning the stovetop, does not have that luxury. Instead she staggers against the counter, leaning heavily on it.

“Hoo boy,” Ellana says weakly, “You know there’s usually a part in the middle where the people getting married…you know. Talk about getting married. Usually one of them gets asked if they want to get married.”

“Yes, it’s called a proposal. It involves a ring.”

“I think your mom’s trying to say that the people involved usually talk about if marriage is something they want first,” Bull explains, “Before the ring comes into play.”

All of the kids look at him, still confused about why the grown ups in the room aren’t getting it.

“But…don’t you want to?” Mahanon asks, brow furrowed, “What else is there to talk about?”

Bull looks at Ellana. Ellana looks at Bull.

“Adult stuff,” Ellana says when Bull fails to come up with something to cut off this line of questioning from going further. “That your dad and I will talk about later. Come on. Dinner’s only going to get burned if we keep talking about other stuff. One of you get your brothers and sister from upstairs.”

[jessefandomunited]

i spy ( Nathan x reader) Part 7

The rest of the day moved uneventfully. I noticed after he finished whatever drink he had, he left for about a minuet then came back with the mug and put it in his desk. Now all I would have to do I wait for him to leave for the day. The others tried to give me space, aside from Nathan who kept trying to agitate me. My main problem at the moment was , I needed to find somewhere to hide out till he left. I poked around and found this utility closet right by his office, and After he had released us all for the day I went around the back , and snuck in. The walls were as thin as paper so I could hear pretty much everything that was going on. This meant I had to be extra quiet and completely still. The hours ticked by and I was beginning to get frustrated, when I heard the door open , lock, and him walk away. The lights under the door had switched off and his footsteps got quieter and quieter. I stayed there for about ten minuets just listening, then came out. No one was around. I sighed and stretched before beginning to work on the door. I really was getting rusty, it took me a good two minuets to pick the lock. I pushed the door open and strolled in. The room was completely barren aside from the desk, chair , and waist paper basket. He really left nothing to chance, well, aside from his mug. I started opening the drawers in his desk, finding a lot of pointless documents, pens, and paperclips, but on the final one, I noticed that it had a lock on it. This must be it. I worked away at the lock, finally getting it to pop open inside was his mug and a few other random office supplies, a stapler, another pen, some thumb tacks. I examined each to see if they were anything more than they appeared to be, but I found nothing. I arranged them back how I found them, and took out the mug. Now,there were a few ways to approach this , one would be to line the cup with the drug or I could put a little pin on the mugs handle, getting it straight into his blood stream. Since he is here pretty much all day I think the slow burn one would do just fine. I opened the case of what I called my potions and tugged on some rubber gloves. We invented this “sleeping potion” that was odorless , tasteless, and dissolve quickly in any beverage, we got the idea while watching princess bride. The only drawback is it doesn’t last long. Once it has taken effect, you have about 5 minuets to work before they came to.  I took out the vile I needed and poured a generous amount in it. I swirled it around the mug until it began to dry. When potion dried , it would cling to the inside of the mug creating this casing around the sides of the cup. I also added a bit to the handle , and the upper part of the mug, this helped in the event that he washed out the mug before he drinks out of it. I really hoped that that wouldn’t happen but in case it did, maybe some on this pen too would help. Finally, I was done. I placed the mug back exactly where it was before, locked the drawer , and exited the room and locking it before I started packing up my things. “ That was pretty cool,” A voice said causing me to whip my head around. I didn’t know why I was surprised anymore, there was Nathan in a t shirt and boxers holding a toothbrush and toothpaste. I rolled my eyes, unafraid of anyone believing anything he said, “ Why are you still here?” “ I could ask you the same thing,” He fired back. I rolled up my gloved and stuck them back in my bag, “ I really don’t need to tell you that. “ “ Can I guess? Because it looked like you were trying to poison our new Probation worker,” he said with a sly smirk. I shook my head grabbing my phone out of my bag , beginning to send a text to Hal saying I was ready to go.

“I really urge you to not stick your nose into my business”, I sighed slowly getting to my feet. “ Are you leaving now, I can walk you out,” Nathan offered. I was about to answer when my phone buzzed. I looked down at it and groaned at the text Hal had sent,” still in the office, will call you when done.” The reason he had told me 8 before was that was his break time, after that he was back to work, typically till 12. “ what’s wrong,” Nathan asked. “ my ride bailed, looks like I’m walking home,” I sighed slinging my bag over my shoulder. “ or , Nathan jumped in. “ or what,” I sighed, I didn’t like where this was going, I had already talked to him much more that I had wanted to. It was dangerous to get close to people, especially when you couldn’t tell them anything. Nathan quickly grabbed my arm and began leading me away. I was going to resist but honestly I was too tired to be bothered. I did request,” bit slower love, my leg is still a bit stiff.” He smiled back at me , “ so you want a lovers stroll then, that I can do.” He slowed down so he was right next to me, he shifted from holding my arm , to intertwining our fingers. My heart began to hammer against my chest but I maintained a stoic expression. My brain was buzzing only two options for this situation, beat this guy up or kiss him. I shook the thoughts out and cleared my mind. I tried to focus and be in the moment, a month alone can train your mind to wonder, which was very dangerous when you were in the field. I snapped back into reality and noticed we had climbed a set of stairs to a small loft. “ TAH DAH,” Nathan cheered . I was unsure of what to make of this. There was a grubby mattress , a small box with random things, and clothes strewn all over. I was incredibly confused, “ do... do you live up here?” He nodded,” sure do.” He was a bit too proud about being homeless. He strolled over and sat on a ledge that overlooked the main room of the community center. I followed suit realizing I had more than enough time to kill. I leaned on one of the bars, swinging my legs,” so why do you live here? No roommate could put up with you?” He shrugged and leaned back,” mom kicked me out.... moving on, I don’t like delving into personal stuff.” I chuckled, “ well that makes two of us, except mine isn’t by choice.” “ so you’re not going to tell me anything about yourself,” Nathan pried. “ nope, as I said it could get you in a lot of trouble,” I said simply. “ I forgot you’re shrouded in mystery,” he smirked. This conversation needed to shift fast before I spilt everything out to this dork. “ I bet I can guess your background,” I blurted. After taking a ton of psychology classes I found I had a knack of reading people. It came in very handy. “ ohhhh are you psychic ,” Nathan laughed. “ possibly, scared?” He turned to face me and shook his head,” not at all, try me” I studied him a moment and went over his actions of the past day and began,” I’m guessing you’re either An only child or the youngest because of your constant need for attention. You said your mom kicked you out, not your parents, I’m guessing your farther left when you were young and you took it upon yourself to protect your mom from everything and everyone, which means she probably has a boyfriend you didn’t mesh with well, that’s probably the reason she kicked you out.” I paused for a moment realizing Nathan hadn’t made a sound since I started. I looked over at him and saw his face was a mask of shock. I bit my lip unsure of what to say, I wanted to tell him about my life, tell him about my time in the orphanage and growing up int the agency, but I couldn’t. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this life anymore.