#Nightmare Time the bastard experiment

[second-best-sibling]

Fan made Nightmare Time episodes pt2

Pt1 episodes currently in progress

[wonder-worker]

I've been thinking about the tragedy of Elizabeth Woodville living to see the end of her family name.

I don't mean her family with her husband, which lived on through her daughter and grandson. I mean her own.

Her sisters died, one by one, many of them after 1485. When Elizabeth died, only Katherine was left, and she would die before the turn of the century as well.

All her brothers died, too. Lewis died in childhood. John was executed. Anthony was murdered. Lionel died suddenly in the peak of Richard's reign, unable to see his niece become queen. Edward perished at war. Richard died in grieving peace. For all the violence and judgement the family endured, it was "an accident of biology" that ended their line: none of the brothers left heirs, and the Woodville name was extinguished. We know the family was aware of this. We know they mourned it, too:

“Buy a bell to be a tenor at Grafton to the bells now there, for a remembrance of the last of my blood.”

Elizabeth lived through the deposition and death of her young sons, and lived to see the end of her own family name. It must have been such a haunting loss, on both sides.

[justafriendofxanders]

*breathlessly* i think a lot of xander's Stuff stems from a desire for dependability and stability and growing up in a volatile home situation where that wasn't guaranteed which is why he constantly seeks out validation from his peers and like, the CONCEPT of what it means to be Cool or Likable and later a Good Breadwinner/Husband because he doesn't have any other models of what it means to Be Okay (whether it's in role models or a personal philosophy) or the confidence (or frankly, especially in the earlier seasons, the emotional intelligence) to trust that he's enough as he is. and i think part of the fucking tragedy of why he ends up pulling the ultimate flaker move of bailing on his own wedding is BECAUSE he takes commitment seriously and he's all too aware of how people can fail in the promises they make to each other, himself included, and he doesn't trust himself to NOT hurt his loved ones.

but i ALSO do think he rushed into marriage because he felt like it was the right thing to do, rather than because it felt right to him, if that makes sense. i think this is related to the meta about the willow/xander arc, which is to say that when you are insecure and it seems like things are falling apart, and you derive a sense of security from your relationships with the people in your life, it makes sense to double-down on those relationships and try to lock them down, for lack of a better word. because what else are you going to do, trust YOURSELF?

and it's this insane cycle where if you're judging xander as a real person you would or wouldn't want to be friends with (as opposed to a fictional rubiks cube i guess), then it's very easy to pick up on his flaws and the ways in which he can be annoying or hurtful or act (apparently) without consideration for other people's feelings. which is like, fine, whatever, consume media however you want. i'm just personally fascinated by (read: tearing my hair out about) the rubiks cube of how xander most often appears selfish and self-centered when he is most insecure and craving some kind of external reassurance. like sometimes i feel like i'm watching this man run around in a rodent shock maze of his own creation.

[fangdokja]

The love interests were bad. The backup plans are worse.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Word Count. 1,555

You’re not an idiot.

You know by now that the main love interests will not tolerate competition. Not from their noble families, not from the church, not from the gods themselves. Certainly not from random side characters that you, in your infinite apathy, have decided to flirt with as an escape plan.

That’s why your new strategy is simple: pick men who are strong enough to survive.

Because let’s be real, your past attempts? Disastrous. The commoners you tried to seduce? Their corpses were unrecognizable by the time your ‘fiancé’ was done with them. The knights? Cut down in broad daylight, their armor melted to their flesh. The poor priest you smiled at for too long? Declared a heretic and burned at the stake.

You need powerful allies. Men who can actually put up a fight.

So here you are.

Testing your luck with monsters in their own right.

And you think you’ve finally outsmarted the system.

♡ Yandere! War Hero who should be the perfect solution to your ongoing nightmare. A battle-hardened general, the strongest knight in the empire, beloved by the people, and—most importantly—someone the Crown Prince actually respects.

♡ Yandere! War Hero who is your best chance at survival. Because if you’re going to seduce someone, it better be a man so powerful that even the Crown Prince wouldn’t dare to casually execute him out of petty jealousy.

♡ Yandere! War Hero is silent as you place a hand on his chest. It’s purely mechanical. An experiment. A half-hearted attempt at survival.

“Marry me.”

His eye twitches. Just a fraction. The scar running down his jaw pulls slightly when he smiles. The kind of smile that’s seen too many battlefields and decided life isn’t worth taking seriously anymore.

“Bold.” He tilts his head. “Do you make a habit of seducing tired soldiers?”

You stare at him, unblinking. “Do you make a habit of dying for a crown prince who doesn’t even like you?”

♡ Yandere! War Hero hums. “Fair point.”

It should’ve ended there. He should’ve laughed you off. He should’ve chalked it up to a desperate princess-to-be looking for a way out. Instead, he watches you the way he would an enemy formation—calculating, assessing, like he’s already five steps ahead of you.

And then, his gloved fingers reach up, brushing the side of your face. “Alright, then.” His voice is soft, amused, almost teasing. “Try me.”

♡ Yandere! War Hero who does not immediately fall for your charms like a weak-willed idiot. You are almost relieved.

♡ Yandere! War Hero who starts lingering around you. Not in a romantic way, but in the way an apex predator watches an unguarded piece of meat.

♡ Yandere! War Hero who doesn’t touch you, doesn’t flirt, doesn’t even try to talk to you outside of necessary interactions. He only waits.

♡ Yandere! War Hero who does not elaborate.

♡ Yandere! War Hero who lets you keep pretending you have options. For now.

———

♡ Yandere! Master Thief who is supposed to be your wildcard. The one person the Archduke can’t easily eliminate, because the bastard can’t catch him.

♡ Yandere! Master Thief who is infamous. A legend whispered through the criminal underworld, the man who steals everything—gold, secrets, reputations.

♡ Yandere! Master Thief laughs when you proposition him. Loud. Raucous. Like you’ve just told him the world’s funniest joke, “So you’re looking to get stolen, sweetheart?”

“Princess,” he grins, resting his chin in his palm. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m serious.” Your voice is flat. “If I’m marrying anyone, it’s you.”

His smirk sharpens. “And why’s that?”

You gesture vaguely at his whole existence. “Because you’re not a noble psychopath with an overinflated ego and too much power.”

The thief raises a brow. “Not a fan of royalty, huh?”

You stare. He laughs again.

It’s supposed to be a game. You’re supposed to string him along just enough to make the Archduke lose interest. But the thief is too clever for his own good. He plays along a little too easily, indulges you a little too happily—and before you realize it, he’s not just humoring you.

He’s invested.

“You’re an interesting one, princess,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as he pockets yet another one of your possessions—this time, the ring the Archduke gave you. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

♡ Yandere! Master Thief who pushes you against a wall one night, breath warm against your ear, and murmurs, “Tell me, what’s worse? Being kept in a gilded cage… or waking up one morning to find out you never really had a choice?”

♡ Yandere! Master Thief who disappears before you can ask what the fuck that means.

You don’t have time to process it before the Archduke orders his execution. But the thief is already ahead of him. Already laughing from the rooftops. Already slipping past every locked door. Already gone—except for the letter he leaves on your pillow, written in the same teasing script as always:

You’re a terrible liar, my love. I’ll be back soon.

———

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy who was once a ghost, an enigma, the empire’s greatest enemy. A man who has buried himself so deep into the enemy’s ranks that even his true name has been forgotten.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy where you're certain he is the safest bet yet. He has no reason to be obsessed with you. You have no reason to be on his radar. He’s an enemy of the empire, for crying out loud.

Which is why you don’t flinch when you sit beside him in the darkened corridor, both of you pretending not to exist as the Supreme Mage’s footsteps pass dangerously close.

“You could be executed just for breathing the same air as me,” the spy muses.

You sigh. “I’d rather take my chances with you than with him.”

Yandere! Enemy Spy who immediately recognizes what you’re doing. Who lets you slip into his world of whispered secrets and veiled threats. Who watches you with dark, unreadable eyes as you try to weave him into your escape plan.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy who finally, finally reacts to you after weeks of cold indifference.

The spy is silent. When he looks at you, it’s with unreadable eyes—like he’s looking at something fragile. Something dangerous. Something he doesn’t quite understand.

“This is a mistake,” he finally murmurs.

But it’s already too late.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy who does not look like a man who has fallen in love. He looks like a man who has figured something out.

The first sign is the way the Supreme Mage starts watching you with something colder than usual. The second is the sudden disappearance of a few imperial informants. The third is the spy’s voice in your ear, soft and dangerous:

“I was going to leave this country without a trace.” His breath is warm against your neck. “Then you went and made yourself my problem.”

You don’t need to turn around to feel the weight of his words.

You were supposed to be his cover. Instead, he’s burning his entire mission just to keep you.

———

♡ Yandere! Demon Assassin who has served the Demon King for centuries, a ruthless, efficient killer with no equal. He has no desires, no ambitions, no life outside of his work.

“Hey.” You press the knife against his throat, unimpressed. “Be my boyfriend.”

The assassin blinks at you.

The moonlight barely catches on his eyes, but you can see the surprise flicker there.

Then, slow. Amused. “Is this a marriage proposal or an assassination attempt?”

“Both, if you say no.”

He chuckles, low and dark. “What a terrifying woman.”

The Demon King’s wrath has been growing. He’s noticed your little game. He’s noticed your preferences. And now his most trusted assassin has noticed, too.

And yet, the assassin doesn’t kill you. Doesn’t report you. Instead, he laughs. As if he’s entertained by the whole thing.

You should have suspected something when he didn’t immediately gut you. You should have seen it coming when he started letting you win against him.

It’s only when the Demon King himself calls for the assassin’s execution that the final piece clicks into place—when the assassin smirks, kneels before you in front of an entire burning battlefield, and declares, “I was always going to betray him for you.”

The realization is a slow, creeping horror.

Your only options now are a yandere overlord or his yandere executioner.

There is no winning.

Only surviving.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Big Guy Big Belly

König is a big man, and with a big man comes a big appetite. We’re talking about a 6’10 man constantly maintaining his peak physique. He needs to be consuming as many calories and as much protein, carbs, fats, fiber and more to keep himself in fit and fighting shape.

At the canteen, he’s a nightmare. I bet that people rush to the cafeteria just to make sure they get something to eat before the big man on base rolls up. He’ll clear out the bins if he gets a chance. There’s a rumour on base that the reason König fought so hard to climb the ranks so quickly was just to be able to eat more and get away with it. Little do they know that they’re absolutely right, but König will never say that out loud. Ever. There’s some secrets you take to your grave. 

Either way, König is a menace in the canteen. He’ll pile his plate as high as he can when he gets a chance. He’s packing away all he can get in the shortest amount of time he can, and everyone has to suffer for it. The worst part is that everyone has to rush to get to the caf before König, and König knows exactly what others are doing, so he’s in a daily race against the entire base to eat his fill. It’s always a photo-finish to see who gets to the cafeteria first.  König currently has been slacking, so he’s not been eating like he normally has. Is he mad? Not really. He’ll clean out the snack cart later. 

He’s a monster late at night. Everyone knows that you need to leave the big man to his snacks, lest you face the wrath of the colossus on base. Well, wrath in a peculiar way. He just gets quiet and angry, but it’s still not a fun experience to try and fight him for a sandwich. If you take the last egg salad sandwich you’ll be at the top of his shit list for the next week. Don’t even think he won’t track you down. He’ll throw around his rank just to get his hands on the poor bastard. Nobody is safe, either.

Stiletto only once took the last pudding cup. Once. She never made that mistake again. For a week he was giving her dirty looks over a cold shoulder as he bumbled down the hall. She eventually had to give in and sacrifice a desert to be able to get back in his good graces. She still thinks he’s a massive bitch because of it. And you know what? She’s right. Everybody knows she’s right, König included, but he’ll keep going after whoever ‘steals’ ‘his’ snacks. They get along a bit better now that they’ve both advanced in rank and worked together, but there was a good period of time where Stiletto had to sleep with one eye open.

It gets a bit better for everyone when König finally finds a partner and doesn’t stay on base so often. Everyone takes a moment to pray for the poor soul who has to cook for König whenever he gets home from deployment.

See, during deployment, König can’t be such a massive bitch about food. He gets his rations, and that’s that. He can’t steal from anybody else, so he gets stuck with these pitiful MREs that barely fill him up. It’s miserable, and he’s losing weight like crazy when on the field. He’s running on fumes and burning calories like crazy as he’s risking his life out there. It’s gotten to a point where König has taken to eating with hostages post-rescue to ‘help them feel safer’ (read: get more food into his gullet). Thankfully, he puts his best foot forward when dealing with victims of trauma and ensures that he has somebody else do all the socializing while he plays with the kids after dinner. Apparently, after the inevitable shower of tears whenever kids have to face König, he becomes pretty popular. They love to use him as a jungle gym (and make fun of him) and he’s just happy to get more to eat. He’ll take being called ‘bigger than even my dad!’, being told ‘you’re weird’ or being asked ‘why are you so big and scary all the time?’ any day for a little extra to eat. He can tolerate a few kids. He won’t ever admit that hanging around them makes him want some kids of his own, or at least not to Horangi, who’s already teasing König about being a surrogate father to the kids. König tells him to keep it to himself, but Horangi is already buying things for the baby shower.

Once König finally comes home, that’s when all Hell breaks loose. This man has been starving and he needs food NOW. He won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t have something prepared, he’ll be ordering a massive order of takeout the likes of which you’ve never seen before in your life. He’ll hit multiple places on his way back to your place if he doesn’t think you’ve been able to get something together for him. If you can’t cook, he won’t even bother telling you to cook for him and just focus on getting a whole banquet of junk food ready for when he arrives home. He brings the pizzas in the door before he even brings in his own bags. You’ll have to go out and grab his bag as he sets up his personal buffet table. The worst part is despite how much he can shove down, he always buys more than he can eat, so you’ve got a couple of days worth of food to shove in the fridge at the end of the night.

If you can cook, this is a multi-day experience. Is it rewarding? Absolutely. Is it painful? Abso-fucking-lutely. He’s got you slaving for hours a day just to get him a nice home cooked meal. You’ll be going all out to get him a big enough meal. We’re thinking a tray of mac and cheese, a whole roast chicken, easily a handful of loaded baked potatoes. If you have something from your traditional cuisine, he’s not picky, he’ll gobble it up in a heartbeat. Knowing you made it for him is more than enough for him. Food is the way to a man’s heart, some say, and König will never let you go if you treat him like the king he is.

The good thing about cooking König such a big meal is that he gives back. He’s not a fan of cooking, but for the next few days he’ll take over cooking and cleaning in the kitchen. It’s just an easy way for him to give back, you know? He can’t thank you enough with words, so why not with actions?

But the best part of König giving back is that he’s an excellent cook. He cooks mostly traditional food from his culture, but he’s down for some french or italian cooking if you’re into it. He can make a mean lasagne. He does not skimp on the cheese, this man. No he’s a cheese fiend. If you’re lactose intolerant, you’ve got another thing coming for you. He will hand feed you lactaid just for the meal. If you have a dietary restriction, he’ll learn how to cook your types of meals in abundance. He’s perfect that way. Vegetarian, vegan, keto, no matter what, he’s got your back. He’s learned how to make an excellent spread for a dinner party, and part of learning to cater to others is to work around other people’s diets; his mother drilled that rule into his little head as a kid. He does it without complaint, too. For at least a week after coming home, he’s just so happy to be around food in abundance again. He’s absolutely thriving in the kitchen before the thrill wears off and he’s back to avoiding cooking like the plague again.

He loves to eat, but usually hates to cook. He’ll mostly eat takeout until he actually has to eat a nutritious meal again for a change. It’s not that cooking is awful, it’s just that he hates doing the dishes. He’d be far more inclined if he didn’t have to do the dishes afterwards. If you take over dishes, he’ll definitely step up his game for the both of you.

All in all, König loves to eat. He’s a big man with a bigger appetite, as hard as that is to believe. Once he retires he has to learn to cut back a fair bit, but he never loses his taste for sweets and snacks. It’s just something you’ll have to learn to live with.

[synthwayve]

YES PRE-DIVORCE CONTENT YES YES YES. THEM! There is so much to love about this oh my god 😭 as always your work is STUNNING!

Pre-divorce Micolaurence lives rent free in my mind now. Deal with it.

[yurinaa-world]

Sampo, Jing Yuan, Ratio and Gepard got body swap with female reader

"𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑜𝒹𝓎?!"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Sampo, Jing Yuan, Ratio and Gepard

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Body Swap?!

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: Sorry Im not posting too much, I've got so much work 😔

💫𝒮𝒶𝓂𝓅𝑜 𝒦𝑜𝓈𝓀𝒾 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓇-𝒯𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓊𝑒𝒹 𝒮𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓃"

This had to be some kind of nightmare, you shouldn’t have trusted Sampo at all, especially fighting a monster no less. Each breath you took felt like burning to your lungs while sharp pain hit your stomach.

Sampo, like the bastard he is, swoops in at the last second to take your glory, just to call it “teamwork.” Yet what both didn’t expect was the monster to explode and be sprayed like a fountain of gunk on both of your bodies, disgusting. Only to flicker your eyelids open to find a white-liquid-covered self staring back? Wait what’s happening?! 

Sampo doesn’t seem as freaked out as you do, honestly, he might just be enjoying this a tad bit too much, staring at anything that reflects your body, or saying things in your voice that you would never say! 

Yet, you’ll have to clean the gunk on your bodies soon. But that’s where the problem lies, it’s all Sampos fault.

It's funny, how you both stand in the bathroom, having a staring contest because you refuse to let him get in there, who knows what kinds of creepy things he’ll think about having all that “free access” To your body gives you the shivers. Your towel is wrapped around your chest even in Sampo’s body while he’s wrapped in a towel, note that it’s very loosely around your body as if it will fall off from a small gust of wind.

“You distrust me with your body that much? I thought we were close…”

No way this is going to work on you, not when your dignity is on the line.

“Not in the slightest do I trust you.”

“That’s just cruel, there’s gunk in my hair and there’s no way I’m spending my entire night smelling as if I’m from the streets.”

He was right, it’s not like you can avoid showering or he can either. The shower has been going in the background the whole time—it would be a waste of the already high water bill.

So the compromise is showering together, but you're pressed very close to each other, your chest against his—after all, he doesn’t want you to see his family jewels either…it feels weird holding yourself… so close, especially when it’s Sampo doing far too much while in your body.

“You call me a pervert but here you are…” you would never say that, never say in a tone like that, you would never make that expression…his hand goes to wrap itself around the back of your head, leaning down to only get the view of your face.

“Don’t…”

He was far too close, so close that you knew what he was thinking in that brain of his. Even when you tried to pull away he only pressed your foreheads together. “It’s just a secret deal between us,” He whispers in your voice, it feels weird looking at your face while in Sampo's body.

“Close your eyes.”

His lips still envelope your own, he made you experience from the outside in your body yet you, on the other hand, make him laugh with those shy, cheeks dusted with pink on your face.

“See, it doesn't feel so bad.”

The hand of your body lands on your chest while Sampo speaks through your voice in a sing-songy tone, which only gives shivers down your spine. “Don’t look down,”

💫𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒞𝓁𝑜𝓊𝒹 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈"

“Jing yuan! Could stop lazing around! I think I might die if this continues!”

You couldn’t last another day like this. Playing general while he lazed around in yours, is the worse! Honestly, you might just get charged with impersonation of The General of the Loufu. It’s bad that even Yanqing noticed the change and has been looking at you funny.

You're still determining how it happened. Like a blur in your memory, but you want out! Like right this instant! But again, Jing Yuan is having a relaxed time in your body, as if he’d already retired from being General. Laying in your shared bed, while wearing loose sleeping attire he would usually wear in his body.

It was too big for your body, falling down your shoulder, and buttons on the bottom of the shirt opened up showing your stomach. Yet all of this went over his head, does it matter what he’s wearing not as if he’s ever left the house looking like that, so no need to worry about your dignity. Just lay beside him and tell him your worries.

“Yanqing is always looking at me funny, I might be charged with impersonation soon! What will I do then!” you complain staring at the ceiling with vain on popping from your forehead. An expression that he would never wear but it’s funny watching you freak while he lays on the side, listening to complaints about your day as him.

“You worry too much, nothing will happen,” he chuckles,  “It must have been lonely without me right? I was feeling so alone in this house without you,” he mutters, pushing his body up with a soft grunt escaping from his lips. His face right against your own, funny, how you’ve switched places, him pleading for your attention. Things don't change.

Always thinking about affection even if your bodies switched, what difference does the feeling make? You still have that blush while he grins down at you, before stealing your lips for a taste, a little mishap won’t stop him from loving you.

💫𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈𝒾𝒶 𝒢𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒹"

“Looks like I’ve overpowered you this time, veritas.”

You seem to be having far too much fun with his body, far too much, looks like for the first time in your life you’ve actually “overpowered” him, in his body (not much of an achievement in life if you ask him). That smug expression you always make doesn’t suit the curvatures of his face in slightly. He would never act like that.

A scoff leaves his lips, crossing his arm, staring up at you with an intense gaze (that doesn’t suit you either) while you have him caged against the wall. He must commend you since you finally recreated a scene out of a romance novel under your current circumstances, you’ve probably been waiting to strike.

Yet even now, it seems like he’s overpowered you, giving you no satisfaction to your delusions. A scoff leaves his lips, well, your body's lips? Clicking his tongue while he’s at it. “You disappoint me with cheap tricks.” He mutters in your voice, staring at you like that, it’s bad that you can’t help but falter even though it’s coming to your body.

“Can’t you play along for once?!” You groan, feeling the awkwardness of his self-awareness. Completely letting go of your act just to complain about his unwillingness.  You truly are enjoying your time, so why doesn’t he as well? Even someone like you has advantages when it comes to your body.

After all, it isn’t all about strength, just a couple of cheap tricks (but it’s fine since it’s your body, so not too out of character). Watching you just roughly scratch the top of his head, ruffling the hair of his body. He just does the same thing you had done to him.

Pressing you against the wall, while his hand is beside your shoulder. Honestly, to anyone else, they would laugh hard at the sight of THE Dr. Ratio getting pinned against the wall as if it were a scene out of a romance novel.

“Veritas—“

“You talk too much, with such ignorance in your tone of voice.”

“Veritas! You put the shivers down my spine, seriously how did you do that in my body!?” You shriek like some kind of fan girl at a concert, just makes him frown at how you’re acting.

“Enough of this, are you even listening?”

💫𝒢𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝐿𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓊 "𝒞𝒶𝓅𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓃𝑒 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈"

“I'm so sorry, I can’t!”

He can’t do this to you. Not when he’s in your body and you can’t do the same to him either. Both of you are a complete mess from the frozen dirt and snow, which is why you're like this right now, clothes wet (even after wearing so many layers), bodies cold (just asking to get sick), and both of you flustered because a body switch. 

Just looking at each other with red blush on your cheeks; your clothes soaked to the brim with cold water dripping down. You both have to take a shower, or you both are waiting to get sick. He feels it’s wrong to undress himself in your body, he can’t do that to a lady! He’s some kind of creep! 

“You can’t just stay like that, or else you’ll get sick,” you mutter with the same embarrassing mindset he’s carrying, your hands going to the shirt buttons of your body, he instantly snatched his head to the side, feeling the welt cloth shirt slowly whisks off his body leaving him shiver in the cold. He can’t force himself to look to the front. Not when your body has the top left on.

“Can you help me take off my shirt?” you breathed, feeling your ears and face get unbearable hot even when you were drenched in cold water. He kept his head high, not looking down for even a second when the hands of your body gently unbuttoned his shirt while your eyes shifted while gazing into his eyes, which made things worse for the both of you.

You could hear his breath hitch at a moment like this, the eye contact looked much, even in his body your eyes still told him what you were feeling, right now it was a bad thing, he felt his heart skip a beat.

“I won’t look anywhere but your eyes,” he reassures you once more.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[pepperyduck]

some of the jjk men with a plus size/chubby girlfriend :3

warnings: my self indulgent writing, talk about insecurities, a little bit of suggestiveness on gojo & geto’s, not proofread. (18+ mdni!)

notes: i got a new vape today!

part 2 | masterlist

gojo:

gojo never really expected himself to be with someone plus size, in fact, no one did. he’s got the looks and personality of a cocky bastard that could get anyone he wanted. but there was just something when he first laid eyes on you — your pretty face, pretty figure, pretty thighs…he was immediately entranced. he approached you with the most confident smile and posture, flirting terribly and asked for your number.

he couldn’t care less about what his friends said and how meanly the jealous girls who wanted him stared at you; he felt like a king having someone as pretty as you latched onto his arm everywhere he went.

he buys you new clothes all the time, taking you into each and every store you look at — and if they don’t have your size, he makes a point to give passive aggressive comments about how “close minded” companies are. he becomes a retail worker’s worst nightmare if they dare upset you by saying they don’t carry your size. but, don’t get him wrong, he loves it when you buy something and go home to try it on, and it’s just a little bit too tight for your liking. oh, your sweet, sweet satoru is practically losing his goddamn mind seeing how that dress squeezes your tummy so well or how those shorts make your thighs look even softer. he has to control himself, and it’s so hard, he wants to just pounce on you in the very moment you turn around and mumble, “it’s too tight,” with a frown.

if you’re ever feeling insecure, he gives you a not-so-gentle reminder about how he’s literally the strongest man in the world and you’d have to be something special for him to be with you. he’s kind of an arrogant asshole about it, though. but do not fret, he will take his sweet time showing you everything he adores about you in the mirror all the while making you feel pleasure like you’ve never felt with any other parter you’ve had.

nanami:

oh boy, where to start with nanami.

he didn’t really have the chance to think about what he’d prefer in a woman, but when satoru finally convinced him to go out and drink, he popped the question since kento was severely lacking in romantic partners at his grown age. it took a lot of prying, and gojo finally snapped with a, “if you could screw anyone in here, who would it be?” nanami had to take a look around the room for a while, when his finger finally landed on a table consisting of you and your friends. you were out drinking, feeling nervous about the black dress you borrowed from your friend, and kento couldn’t look away when he found you.

“ohhh, the one in the green?” gojo asked, a sly grin on his face.

“no.”

“the one in blue with the long hair?”

“no. her.” kento’s finger got even more focused on you.

he thinks you are quite literally the epitome of “wifey material” (a phrase learned from gojo the night he first saw you) and he makes sure you know that. he just thinks you’re so…breathtaking every time he sees you. the honest man he is, he compliments you pretty much any time he thinks of it. he adores seeing you in those babydoll nightgowns, the pretty ones that are all silky and soft, with the way your hips fill them out and make it ride up every time you move. by the time you move in with him, it’s all you’ll be wearing around the house.

he also takes up cooking with you, learning your favorite meals and teaching you how to prepare the foods he likes the most. it becomes a sweet bonding experience for the both of you. and if you’re feeling self-conscious about your body, he feels as if he’s not doing enough to build you up, and he’ll leave you sweet notes in your lunch, on the mirror, in your car, etc. he’ll make you feel so loved and beautiful with that alone.

geto:

suguru thought you were just a sweet little thing when he met you for the first time. when he came into your job along with a few of the curses he’s obtained, he noticed how your eyes kept flashing to them but you still were so kind when you talked with him. he caught on quickly — and when he knew you could see curses while looking so adorably cute, he knew he just had to have you.

he thinks you look just like the paintings of renaissance women, the glamorous and gorgeous ones often depicted as goddesses or angels. although it’s cliché, he fully believes in the whole “more of you to love” thing. he enjoys how soft you feel in his arms, never failing to give you longing hugs from behind just so he can feel your squishy backside and snake his arms around to touch your tummy. he dreams of making you have a real mom bod.

and lord help anyone who dares to make you feel bad about the way you look. he spends more time berating those who hurt your feelings than actually comforting you. he’ll end up making you feel better from the stupid things he says about those people being “monkeys.”

“stupid fools shouldn’t even be allowed on the same ground as you, filthy monkeys, i should make sure their death is more gruesome than they ever imagined for hurting you.” he’d say, causing you to break your pitiful persona and begin to giggle. he doesn’t really understand why you think it’s so funny, though.

taglist: @kundere20000000 @missakward123 @cherriee-ee

let me know if you want to be added!

[hana-no-seiiki]

My first writing commission! This will be a multipart series for HOTD. Featuring yanderes, political warfare and overall mayhem. And perhaps?? some time traveling??

Thank you @dawntheday for commissioning this project.

// tw/cw: reader is not a targaryen. canon based violence, incest, sexism, the usual. canon divergences. reader is gender neutral but is described as ethereal. reader gets pimped out (implicit/short descriptions). seggs/light smut. basically a lot of disgusting shit happens.

AND THEN, THERE WAS YOU [PROLOGUE]

Childbirth was one of the most traumatic, painful and bloody experiences known to man. The sheer agony of a child being ripped out of your womb, kicking and screaming. And yet, so many deemed it miraculous event. All joy, love and positivity.

It was horrific to even witness.

But the Gods wouldn’t be satisfied for you to be a bystander. No. You would find out that childbirth was worse when you were the one being born.

Sentience was a curse. One forced upon you since the beginning. You could feel the push of your mother’s walls, constricting you, flattening you, forcing you out into the world. Her screams, your cries, and the panicking voices of the midwives as you finally, finally made it out were all too much. The blood all too much.

You never really forget that experience even as you grew older. Features of your youth melted away to reveal ethereal beauty. One that commanded worship and awe.

That was another thing the Gods made you have to torture you. Droves and droves of sick and twisted people at your doorstep as your birth parents watched in delight, their coffers filled to the brim with gold.

But perhaps it wasn’t always a curse. Your beauty, I mean. Now that you’ve stolen much of their earnings and escaped to another continent.

Westeros.

A journey by sea it took. For you to crawl your way into the newly conquered lands. Bloodied and battered from the journey. Exhausted yet eager to renew yourself in the new lands your feet would walk upon.

Your first ever job was at a Brothel. Taking in clients like the way your parents did to you not so long ago, but of your own accord.

That was where you met Aegon Targaryen. Aegon the Conqueror. Loud, proud, and scrotum heavy. You’ve heard of the classic old tale where the men of his family would visit this place to sow their oats. Bastards upon bastards littered the place. You knew that one of these days, you would be bear his spunk and parade it around like many others. Your ego ached for it even. To conquer the conquerer. To bear a dragon’s seed.

Little did you know, the dragon already knew you.

“I dreamt of you.” He said as he ravished you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t recognize. You certainly hadn’t seen in your family’s nor have your old clients. “Like I dream of the walkers. Of an apocalypse to come.”

You’ve heard of his rough and relentless way in the sack. How your fellow workers complained of the way they were treated, how they couldn’t walk any further than two feet after he was done with them. The man did not view them as anything more than objects after all. Something to toss aside when he was done.

But if anything, he’d been the most attached and sappiest man you’ve ever had the fortune of bedding. Disgustingly so.

“You. You are the calm amongst those nightmares.“ He was gentle, loving. Nothing like Aegon the Conqueror that you’ve heard of. Nothing like the Aegon the Conqueror that you wanted.

As soon as he fell asleep, you went and disappeared.

It is not long before he calls upon you. Again and again, murmuring about dreams and winter. You’ve even met his wives. All so eager to meet you. All so kind and benevolent. All so unlike the expectations you’ve set in your mind and heart. Expectations you were willing to brave through. Somehow, drama and your potential death was better than the constricting vice they held over you. Memories flashed through your head. Of your mother, of your birth. Of blood and viscera.

You try to leave but are sent back to Aegon’s chambers in an instant.

“You may leave. You may run. But nothing will stop you from finding your way back to the Dragon’s nest. Fate wills it so.” He said, but all you heard was a challenge.

“You’ll find that I’m quite stubborn regardless.”

You quickly find out that Aegon knew your movements from his dreams. Each plan of yours to escape had been foiled before it had happened.

And so you stopped, you let him and his wives coddle and fuck you when they wanted.

Years later, an opportunity presents itself. A cliff overlooking the ocean. So vast and wide. Yet to be taken and shackled by the man who took your freedom away.

You do not hesitate. Not for one moment.

“Come.”

You jump. You bet that Aegon did not foresee that coming considering he was too shocked to catch you. Your death would be swift you suppose. At least it wouldn’t be as arduous as repeating the same day over and over again.

Your eyes fluttered open, a meeting between [e/c] and purple. You grimaced as you see her platinum blonde hair and luxurious outdoor clothing. Blood across her face and a knife in her hand.

It can’t be . . .

Tears fall down your cheeks. Your broken cries echo through the woods.

a/n: future chapters will be longer because hotd is hotd.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Nightmare ships  

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Most terrifying ship I ever seen?”

Mordray repeated the question as he took a thoughtful bite of his xala and pondered the question.

“I’d have to say a Hive Node ship.”

Lithinio scoffed. “When the seven hells have you ever seen a Node ship?”

“I watched a documentary on it just last rotation.” Mordray countered rather defensively. “And having watched it I have to say I’m glad I never saw one in person since they eat entire ships whole.”

Ninten sighed and rubbed the ridges of his face. “Let me change the question then to “What is the most terrifying ship you have ever seen IN PERSON.””

Mordary took another bite as he took in the updated question while Lithinio stepped in with their own answer.

“I once saw a Dru Hunter Class while part of a convoy escort mission.” He took a sip of his drink and ran his hands through the air as if tracing the vessel.

“From bow to stern it was covered in spikes and upon each spike was a corpse. It was like a ship of the dead come to collect its toll of the living.”

“I heard the stories about those.” Ninten nodded. “Doesn’t matter if you were a victim, an enemy, or just some bad luck bastard in the wrong place at the wrong time; they’d spike you just the same. Where’d you see it?”

“The Dinar Campaign,” Lithinio replied, “they couldn’t beat our warriors on the ground so they’d send out small raiding space parties to hammer the transports and supply ships before ever reaching their worlds.”

“Lost a lot of good lads that war.”

The trio of crewmen turned to see the speaker at the table opposite them had turned around. They wore the uniform of an engineer but had several markings of honorary navy marine, honorary gunner, and even one for honorary helmsman. This could be none other than the legendary Midar Nus, the most famous crewman on the ship.

“Apologies for intruding,” Midar said sheepishly, “I was overhearing your conversation and it drew up some memories.”

‘You are more than welcome to join us sir.” Ninten said as his two comrades nodded and made room at their table for Midar to join. He smiled and took the offer, changing tables and nestling himself down in the now free space.

“No need for that protocol with me lad,” Midar spoke with a wintery grin as he eyed Ninten, “especially since you technically outrank me.”

“Experience counts for more than bars, sir.” Ninten replied without thinking.

Midar was taken aback by the boldness and for a moment Ninten thought he had overstepped himself. Instead, Midar let out a deep booming laugh and patted him on the back as Lithinio and Mordray let out a sigh of relief.

“We could have used a dozen more of you during that scuffle with the Dru; would have saved a lot of my friends.”

Ninten took the compliment and tried to redirect the conversation before he said something to ruin his now good standing with a living legend.

“What about you then? What’s the scariest ship you’ve ever seen?”

The trio listened in half expecting him to say something heroic like “I’ve never seen a ship worth being afraid of” or “I once thought I saw one, but it was really my mate’s in-law”. Instead, the old sailor replied without even pausing to think.

“The ones who piloted them don’t have a name for it officially; only a name they had given to them by a creature of their dark past.”

“Whose they?” Mordray asked as Lithinio smacked him for interrupting the answer.

“Humans crewed the things, though it’s been a thankful many years since I last encountered one of those damnable vessels.”

He leaned in close and slowly cast a frightful gaze across the three of his listeners.

“They called them “Frankenstein” ships.”

None of the three said a thing, partly because none of the three had any idea what that word meant. Midar saw this and further explained.

“There’s a story amongst humans about a human named “Dr. Victor Frankenstein”, and they were so focused on circumventing death itself that they began performing horrific experiments on the living and the dead.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ninten asked “How can you perform horrific experiments if the subject is dead?”

Midar shrugged. “Story goes the mad doctor took the chopped up pieces of several dead humans, sewed them together, and then brought the creature to life.” 

“Putting aside the continued depraved and discouraging nature of humanity,” Lithinio chimed in, “what does this have to do with their ship design?”

“Because,” Midar continued, “like their mad doctor humans have an infuriating habit carving up the parts from other ships and adding those parts to their own.”

He leaned back into his chair as he recounted his first experience. “The first time I found myself up against one of those ships was in the Delta Cluster. We just fought of a border incursion and were tasked with protecting the wreckage while we sifted for survivors.”

“We just finish a patrol when we got a strange energy signature return near the edge of the wreckage. So we went to investigate it and there we found a human ship the size of a frigate slowly drifting through the debris field using a variety of arms to grab bits and pieces of ships.”

“The captain ordered a scan of the ship and the returns were a confusing mishmash of technological parts.”

“A Thorian engine block, a Juriet power core, a Nexium stabilizer…” he said listing out a surprisingly long list of ship parts from different species.

“None of those parts are designed to work with other tech.” Mordray commented. He would know as he was part of the engineering crew and well trained in ship maintenance. “The Juriet power core alone would generate far too much power for a ship that size; dangerously so much that using it could trigger a system overload.”

Midar nodded at the crewman’s insight. “Indeed, were it not for the majority of that power also going towards a Feren Gel class shield system. We found that out when we tried to disable their engines and our volley bounced off the thing like oil on water.”

Lithinio let out a whistle in awe while Midar continued.

“After that the thing began to slowly turn to make a run out of system so we drove in hard ready to grab it with our tractor beams. We were just about to make it when a panel at the rear of the ship opened up and a turret protruded out of it.”

“One shot.” Midar remarked as he held up a single taloned finger. “It took one shot at us and shattered our shield, blew out our engines, and triggered a cascading system overload that left us dead in space as they plowed out of system and made a jump.”

Ninten grumbled as he pondered Midar’s words. “Must’ve been a Telkar railgun. It’d run the entire length of a frigate ship, but it’d pack enough of a punch to deal that kinda damage; but the recoil alone would’ve split a ship that size in half.”

“Which we later found out was counter acted by a Wu’l gravity displacement field. They jacked it to max just as the railgun would fire and the counter action would cancel out the recoil.”

“I’m still confused why these things are so scary to you?” Mordray asked with a hint of a mocking tone. “They sound like garbage barges held together with scraps.”

Midar took on an offended expression and straightened up. “They’re terrifying because you never know what you are going up against. Frigate size packing battleship class weaponry, a patrol craft that can launch mini black holes, a cruiser that interwove nanomachine and organic materials that could repair any damage; every and anything was on the table!”

The ships seemed beyond reason and logic but the enthusiasm with which he spoke there was some truth to each description.

Ninten took a sip from his drink and nodded in appreciation. “Only fitting for the species that defies existence to have ships that actively defy the laws of technology.”  

[drewharrisonwriter]

What Matters

Status: Complete.

Pairings: Javier Pena x Female Pregnant Reader

Word Count: 3,768 words

Summary: A late-night errand to the convenience store forced you to confront everything you thought you'd left behind

Author's Notes/Warnings: MDNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit content, gun violence, and themes of hidden pregnancy, inconvenient labor, and birth. Reader discretion is advised. I'm also not a medical professional nor do I have a background in medical procedures, I only have childbirth experience twice, and those are two different experiences that I pulled inspiration from for this fic. So sorry for any unrealistic expectations or mistakes on pregnancy and birth in this story. This is a fic requested by someone on Ko-Fi. I really enjoyed writing my first Javi Pena fic. But I also know the themes are pretty weird, so, if this is not your kind of fic or these things trigger you, please scroll away.

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist | Updates Blog | Ko-Fi

The fluorescent hum of the convenience store lights grated against her nerves, already worn thin by the rhythmic tightening in her belly. She’s so close to feeling overstimulated. She reached for the carton of juice on the shelf, her fingers trembling slightly as another wave rolled through her. I have time, she told herself. Babies don’t always come on time. But the pattern, sharp and increasingly regular, betrayed the truth she didn’t want to face.

She shouldn’t have been out here tonight, she should have driven herself to the hospital two hours ago. Yet, here she was, scanning the shelves for the electrolyte drinks and snack bars she'd forgotten to pack in her hospital bag. A ridiculous errand, in hindsight. She’d been too stubborn to ask for help. Too scared of the pitying looks, the probing questions if someone saw her. 

Too scared of seeing him.

And as if the world is playing some cruel prank on her, the bell on the store’s glass doors jingled and startled her from her thoughts, and her head shot up reflexively. The door had opened before she even registered the familiar silhouette, framed by the warm glow of the streetlights spilling through the windows and the ugly fluorescent lighting of this old convenience store. 

He says her name. 

His voice, low and rough, was unmistakable. For a moment, her heart stalled, her breath catching painfully in her throat. Javier Peña stood frozen in the doorway, his brown eyes wide as they zeroed in on her—and the obvious swell of her belly.

She hadn't seen him in six months, not since she'd sneaked out of his apartment before the sunrise and slipped away without so much as a goodbye. Not since she'd found out she’s carrying Bogota’s Cassanova’s bastard child the day before. Now, months later, here he was, Cassanova himself in the flesh but feels like a ghost pulled straight from her dreams—or nightmares.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, gripping the juice tighter and turning sharply away from him. She started walking away but the contraction clawed its way up her abdomen, making her wince, she straightened quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed and continued walking. 

“What the—?” Javier took a cautious step forward, his brows furrowing. He caught up with her and gently grabbed her hand and said her name again, softly. She took a deep breath and turned back to face him. 

His gaze flicked to her stomach, then back to her face, and the disbelief gave way to something sharper. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hey, Javi.” She sighed. 

“You’re pregnant.” He stated. 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

“I-it’s mine, right? It’s gotta be m–”

“Javi, I need to go.” 

“What the fuck?”

She tried to speak. She wanted to tell him that she knows a baby is not part of his plans, heck they’re not even exclusive. There were so many things she wanted to tell him at that moment, to cut him off before he could launch into the inevitable storm of questions, but the words wouldn’t come. 

He says her name again with a sigh.

“Look,” He started. “I think we need to talk.”

“I don’t have the time to talk, Javi. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about.” She tells him, tugging her hand back from his grip. 

“What the hell does that mean? You’re obviously pregnant, it’s obviously mine—”

She scoffed and shook her head. “I’m gonna stop you right there. Pena. I have shit to do. Forget you saw me tonight.” 

She turned away once again and started to walk away when another contraction rippled through her body, stronger this time, and she had to brace herself against the shelf to stay upright.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Great, he’s not budging. She could just drop these things and waddle as fast as she can to her car and drive away, far from him. But oh, this horndog’s child is pressing so low and the pressure is starting to feel too much. 

“I’m fine, just leave me alone.” She started panting and Javi trembled slightly at the scene. 

“Are you in labor?” 

“No,” she snapped, though the lie sounded thin even to her own ears. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating and leaning against the goddamn shelf,” he shot back, his tone climbing. “And pregnant. What the hell are you doing here?”

Her glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. “What does it look like I’m doing, Peña? I’m picking up—”

The sharp crack of gunfire outside drowned out the rest of her sentence. The air seemed to freeze between them. 

On Instinct, Javier yelled “Down!” and tackled her and his head whipped toward the door, his body tensing as he reached for the holster on his hip.

“Get down,” he barked to the others in the store, the command sharp and immediate. The cashier let out a strangled yelp before ducking behind the counter

She didn’t have time to argue. Before she could process what was happening, Javier had closed the distance between them, his hand gripping her arm as he pulled her toward the back of the store while hunched down. Her heart hammered in her chest, every contraction now fighting for dominance against the adrenaline flooding her system.

“This can’t be fucking happening,” she muttered under her breath, clutching her belly as she stumbled along behind him.

“Yeah, well, it is,” Javier snapped, his voice taut with focus as he scanned the dim aisles for an escape route. “And you’re about five minutes away from telling me why the hell you didn’t think to call me before any of this.”

She bit back the retort on her lips, swallowing the bitter taste of fear. Her body had other plans. Another contraction hit, and this time, the flood she’d been dreading broke loose. Warm liquid pooled at her feet, the unmistakable sign that there was no more pretending.

“Javi…” Her voice trembled, quieter than she meant.

He stopped, turning just in time to see the wide-eyed panic on her face. His gaze dropped to the floor, where the sheen of amniotic fluid glistened under the harsh lights.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she clutched her stomach. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, just—breathe,” Javier muttered, more to himself than to her, as he scanned the store. His hand tightened on her arm, steadying her as her knees threatened to buckle. “This is not the place for this.”

“No kidding,” she ground out, teeth clenched as another contraction raked through her. “This isn’t part of my birth plan.”

The gunfire outside grew louder, punctuated by the shattering of glass as bullets tore through the storefront. 

“Move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding as he led her toward the storeroom door at the far end corner of the store. His free hand hovered near his gun, his eyes constantly flicking to the front of the store. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him that moving felt like an impossible task when her entire lower body was on fire, but another round of gunfire stole her breath—and her choice. Javier pushed the storeroom door open with his shoulder, guiding her inside. The dimly lit space smelled of cardboard and spilled soda, and it was marginally quieter than the chaos outside.

“Got a magic escape route I don’t know about?” she bit out, clutching the edge of a nearby shelf for support.

He ignored her sarcasm, already moving toward the back wall. His fingers skimmed along the edges of stacked boxes until he found what he was looking for—a steel service door. 

“Stay here,” he barked, glancing back at her.

“Not going anywhere,” she shot back, doubling over as another contraction took hold. She let out a low groan, her nails biting into the shelf’s metal edge.

Javier paused, his jaw tightening as he watched her. For a moment, the hard edge in his expression faltered, replaced by fear, but this is not the time to let his vulnerabilities show. So he shook it off quickly, yanking the door open and peering out into the alley beyond.

“Clear,” he said, turning back to her. “Come on. We’re not waiting for the next round.”

“I—” She started to protest, but he was already at her side, one arm sliding around her waist as he guided her toward the door. Every step felt like climbing a mountain, her legs shaking under her weight. By the time they reached the alley, her vision was swimming, and the cool night air hit her like a slap.

“Javi,” she gasped, her fingers clutching his jacket as another contraction hit, this one stronger than the last. Her knees buckled, and he caught her, lowering her carefully onto the ground beside the wall.

“Shit,” he muttered, crouching beside her. His hand brushed her hair back from her sweat-dampened forehead, his other hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “How close are they? The contractions.”

She let out a shaky laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Close enough that you better start figuring out how to deliver a baby.”

His face paled, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” she bit out, her voice rising with the next contraction. “This kid is coming whether we’re ready or not.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, his hand hovering uselessly in the air. Then, with a muttered curse, he pulled himself together, standing abruptly. “The jeep. We’re getting to the jeep.”

“You want to move me now?” she demanded, her voice a mixture of incredulity and panic. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“We don’t have a choice!” he snapped, glancing back toward the convenience store as another round of gunfire erupted. “It’s either the jeep half a block away or right here in the dirt.”

She hated that he was right. Hated him even more for the way he grabbed her under the arms, hoisting her to her feet with surprising gentleness. Every step to the jeep was agony, the contractions relentless and unforgiving. By the time they reached the vehicle, she was panting, tears streaming down her face.

He opened the passenger door, helping her inside before running around to the driver’s side. “Hang on,” he said, his voice tight as he started the engine. The alley blurred past as he navigated the narrow streets, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on her thigh. She wasn’t sure if the contact was meant to steady her or him, but she clung to it like her life depended on it. 

“Oh no…” She gasped, “I can’t— It’s happening.”

His knuckles went white on the wheel, his voice a desperate growl. “Hold on. Just a little longer.”

But it wasn’t up to him. The jeep jolted over a pothole, and she let out a strangled cry, her body doubling over with the force of another contraction.

“Javi!” she screamed, her voice raw. “I can’t—oh God, I can’t hold her in!”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Javier gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “We’re almost there, just—breathe or something!”

“She’s coming, holy fuck!” she cried, her voice breaking on a sob. Her legs shifted instinctively, her body bearing down whether she wanted it to or not. “Oh my God, she’s really coming!” She pulled her dress up, revealing her contracting belly. 

The jeep jolted again, and she let out a guttural scream, her back arching against the seat as her body pushed on its own. Her legs spread as far as the cramped space of the passenger seat would allow, her hands gripping the edges of the door and dashboard like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry about the seaaaatt—hgggnnhhh!” she wailed, her head snapping back as another contraction hit like a tidal wave.

Javier’s startled laugh broke the tension, echoing in the enclosed space as he risked a glance her way. “You’re apologizing for the seat right now? Jesus, we’re having a daughter, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“We?” she managed between ragged breaths, glaring at him through the pain. “We aren’t doing anything, Peña—I’m the one—oh God!” Her words dissolved into a scream as the pressure reached an unbearable peak.

His eyes darted between her and the road, the hospital’s glowing sign barely visible in the distance. But her cries pulled his attention back to her. “Shit—okay, okay, just—keep pushing!” he said, his voice pitching higher as panic bled into his usual cool.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” she snarled through gritted teeth, her hands trembling as they pressed against her thighs. Another guttural cry tore from her throat as the baby’s head began to crown, the unbearable stretch making her gasp.

“Holy shit,” Javier muttered, his grip on the wheel tightening as he tried to stay focused. “She’s crowning! The head—it’s—oh, God, I can see her head!”

“Good for you!” she shot back, sweat pouring down her face. “Get us to the damn hospital before—aaahhh!”

Her body bore down again, her muscles screaming as the baby’s head emerged slowly, bit by agonizing bit. Javier’s focus faltered, his gaze darting between her and the road as he tried to process the surreal scene unfolding beside him.

“We’re almost there,” he said, more to himself than to her, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and panic. “Just a little further, okay? You’re doing—uh, great.”

Her glare was sharp enough to cut through his nerves. “If you tell me I’m doing great one more time, I swear to—aaahhh!” Her scream drowned out her threat as another push brought the baby’s head fully free.

“I can see the hospital,” Javier blurted, his voice barely audible over her cries. The glowing red sign of the ER loomed closer as he turned sharply into the entrance drive. “Just hang on—we’re almost there!”

Another contraction hit, and her body took over, her legs shaking as the baby’s shoulders emerged, followed by the solid bulk of her torso. The jeep skidded to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance just as she let out a sob of relief, the baby halfway out.

Javier threw the jeep into park and jumped out, shouting for help. “We’ve got a baby—she’s having the baby! Right now!”

A team of nurses sprinted out with a stretcher, their hurried footsteps a blur as they reached the passenger side. One nurse crouched beside her, calming her with a soothing voice as she braced her hands to support the baby’s tiny body.

“Push one more time,” the nurse instructed, her voice firm but kind.

“I can’t—” she sobbed, her strength wavering as the final contraction built.

“Yes, you can!” Javier’s voice was suddenly at her side, his hands hovering near her trembling shoulders. “You’re almost there. You can do this.”

With a final, raw cry, she pushed, and the baby slid free into the nurse’s waiting hands. The tiny, squalling baby with thick black hair was placed on her chest, all surprisingly heavy, slick and warm, as her teary laughter broke free.

“She’s here,” she whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion and joy. “Oh my God, she’s really here.”

Javier stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the scene as though he couldn’t believe it was real. Then, with a shaky laugh, he reached out to touch the baby’s head, his fingers brushing gently against the dark, damp curls. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The nurses sprang into action, guiding the stretcher toward the ER doors, but Javier lingered beside her, walking next to the stretcher, never leaving her side as they cleaned up both mother and child. 

Later that evening, she lay propped against a mound of pillows in her hospital bed, exhaustion etched into every line of her face, but her arms cradled her daughter lovingly. The baby let out a small sigh, her tiny hand curling around the edge of the swaddle.

Javier sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows resting on his knees and his fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes were fixed on the baby, his expression caught somewhere between awe and a simmering tension he hadn’t yet voiced. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice was low, but it carried a weight that made her chest tighten. She glanced at him, her fingers brushing over the baby’s soft, dark hair. “Javi, don’t—”

“No.” He leaned forward, his tone sharpening. “Please.” He sighed, and softly followed, “I at least deserve an answer.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she looked away, her gaze falling on the bassinet next to her bed. “What would it have changed?” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Everything,” he said, his frustration mounting. “It would’ve changed everything.”

“How?” She turned to him. “You’re not exactly a picket-fence-and-family type, Javi. I didn’t want to—”

“To what?” He sat back, his hands gesturing wide. “To let me know I have a kid? To give me a chance to step up?”

“That’s exactly it,” she hissed, looking down at the baby who stirred at her father’s rising voice and glared at him. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped and like you had to step up. I didn’t want my child to be an obligation you resented later. I know how you are. You would’ve done the right thing because deep down… deep, deep, deeeeep down… you’re a good man, but it would’ve eaten at you.”

His jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his face. “So what? You thought you’d do me a favor by deciding for me? By just disappearing?”

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to give up everything for something you didn’t ask for.” Her voice was firmer now, but there was a tremor beneath it.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he cut in, his voice rising slightly. “You don’t get to decide who I am or what I want.”

“I’m sorry…” She whispered, casting her gaze back down to her baby. 

Javier sat back, his hands falling to his thighs as he stared at her. “You really think I’d look at my daughter—our daughter—and see her as an obligation?” He shook his head, his voice dropping softer, but no less resolute. 

“I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out, baby. But I know what matters. And you’re wrong if you think I wouldn’t have wanted this.” She looked away, tears pooling in her eyes as her defenses began to crumble. 

“I didn’t want to mess up your life, Javi. I didn’t want to hold you back.” 

“Hold me back?” He let out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You didn’t even give me a chance. You just—what? Decided I’d be better off without knowing my own kid? You thought that was fair?” 

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think it mattered.” 

“It mattered,” he said firmly, leaning forward again. “And it still matters. I don’t care what you say, I should be on that birth certificate. She’s my daughter, and I’m not walking away from her.” 

Her tears spilled over, one hand trembling as she reached up to wipe them away. “I don’t know how to do this with you Javi. With how you live your life…”

Javier let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair as if to give her space, though his gaze never wavered. “I don’t either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But we don’t have to figure it all out tonight. We just… start. We’ll figure it out for her.”

She looked down at the baby, her tiny fingers curling against the soft blanket. “You’re sure you want this? You’re sure you won’t regret being tied to us?”

“Stop,” he said firmly, sitting up again. “I’m already tied to you, baby. I’ve been tied to you since day one, couldn’t shake you off my head even if I tried… and boy, did I try. And now…” His voice softened, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at their daughter. “Now, there’s no question.”

Her heart ached at his words, the raw sincerity in his tone. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to believe him and reach out, to close the distance between them, to let herself believe that this could be more. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. This is Javier fucking Pena. Bogota’s Cassanova. He fucks information out of women, he fucked information out of her once, too. 

“I’ll let you put your name on the birth certificate,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. “And you can see her. As much as you want. I won’t stand in your way.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though his brow furrowed as he studied her. “But?”

She shook her head, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “But that’s all this is, Javi. I’ll let you be her dad, and I’ll do everything I can to make that easy for you. But… we don’t go back to what we were. I can’t.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words settling over him. He nodded slowly, though his jaw tightened. “You’re still afraid I’ll mess this up.”

“No.” Her voice was firm, her eyes meeting his. “I’m afraid I’ll let myself believe in something that’s not real. That you’ll get caught up in this—in her—and think it means we should try again. And then one day, you’ll realize this isn’t the life you want, and it’ll break me.”

“Baby…” He leaned forward, his hand brushing the edge of the blanket around their daughter. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Maybe not on purpose,” she said softly, her lips trembling. “But we both know the life you live, Javi. And I love you too much to risk hating you later.”

Javi was left speechless by her confession. He didn’t even know if she meant to say that out loud…  She loves him…

The words hung between them, a truth she couldn’t take back. Javier’s expression shifted, he wanted to confirm if he heard her right, but he didn’t press her. 

Instead, he reached out, his hand covering hers where it rested on the baby. “Then we start here,” he said simply. “She’s what matters.”

She nodded, the weight in her chest easing just enough to let her breathe. “She’s what matters,” she echoed.

[hugevanserrass]

reasons to hate cassian

Cassian saw that Azriel was romantically interested in Mor, felt jealous over it, and agreed to have sex with her knowing it would hurt Azriel.

The first time he meets Nesta, he immediately passes judgement on her for letting Feyre hunt as a child, despite the fact that she was a child herself.

Tells her he doesn't understand why her sisters love her

Bonds with feyre over their shared experiences living in poverty but treats nesta like she's a stuck up rich girl, despite her living in the same mf hovel as feyre (why does he do this ??)

He gropes her in her own home despite her not wanting him to touch her.

He sees her on the verge of tears due to anger and despair when the human queens won't send aid to the humans in Prythian, and then a scene later says "She barely seems to care about anyone other than Elain."

Will not take no for an answer when Nesta tells him to leave her alone.

When they are both clearly feeling something for each other, he still rips his hand out of Nesta's when Mor walks in. Wtf was this about anyways?

He buys Mor lingerie despite knowing Nesta is his mate. This is just weird in general. Also calls Mor his sister, despite having slept with her in the past.

Judges Nesta for not getting over her trauma in a way that is both quick and convenient to him and the inner circle.

Admits to ignoring her claim that she is enjoying the music while he drags her, against her will, out of a "seedy" tavern.

Supports Feyre and Rhys in their decision to forcibly remove Nesta from her home and relocate her to the House of Wind, on threat of deportation.

Drags her to Windhaven to "train" even when she makes it clear she has no intention of training. As a result, she is forced to sit on a rock in freezing cold temperatures.

When Mor basically tells Nesta she is just like her evil father and the rest of the Court of Nightmares because she is mean to Cassian, Cassian does not defend Nesta nor call Mor out on it.

He brings up Nesta's dead father at breakfast because she won't eat her oatmeal.

He tells her everyone hates her.

He watches her fall down a very steep flight of stairs, and then laughs at her. She was bruised and had a black eye from this fall. Cassian thinks this is funny.

Whines constantly about being a bastard nobody despite Nesta only using "bastard" as a direct insult to him one time, and in that same convo he called her a haughty witch.

He is rude to Lucien for no reason. (unforgivable)

Despite knowing Nesta is vulnerable, he fucks her at the first opportunity, even though he knows she uses sex as a coping mechanism.

Snarls and bitches at Nesta when she talks about Rhysand in a tone he doesn't like, even after telling her he can match whatever she throws at him. (He can't)

Sides with Rhysand over her constantly, even when he is in the wrong.

Every time they do engage in some sexual act, he immediately bolts, leaving her alone and confused. Refuses to communicate his feelings, acts like an asshole.

Keeps secrets from her, and agrees to participate in a vote on whether or not she deservers to know about the swords she created, which directly pertains to her powers. He whines a little, but ultimately does what he is told.

When she voices her fear that she is not good enough for him and will never deserve him, he does not correct her.

When he learns of Nesta’s love for dance and how her mother twisted it into a tool to find her a prince, Cassian turns himself into the victim. (this takes skill tbh)

He interrupts the only true canon Neris moment to shove in and dance with Nesta. Will not forgive him for this. Get off the dance floor.

When they finally admit their feelings on solstice and have a passionate and meaningful night together, he STILL leaves immediately the next morning to go hang with his homies and doesn't see her for a week. She is left alone AGAIN. (Begging him to stop doing this.)

When Nesta has finally had enough of being judged by the inner circle, she decides to tell Feyre the truth about her pregnancy. Cassian is furious with Nesta, takes no responsibility for lying to Feyre, and does not react in the slightest when Rhysand threatens to KILL Nesta. (His mate)

When Feyre tells him that she is angry with all of them and not Nesta, he does not tell Nesta, even though it would be comforting to her while she is at her absolute lowest.

When Feyre tells him Rhys is secretly happy Nesta is going to hate every second of the hike, he has a nice little laugh with Feyre at Nesta's expense.

He makes her endure a back-breaking death march in which she is forced to carry an extremely heavy backpack as punishment.

He sees that Nesta doesn't care if she dies, and does nothing to get her away from the steep cliffs. He snaps at her the entire time, even while she is clearly spiraling and about to have a mental breakdown.

She collapses at the end of each day and all he says is "at least remove the pack so I can cook myself dinner." She has not spoken in days.

He works her to the point of passing out. She literally faints, face first, onto the hard ground and he yells at her for not drinking water instead of trying to determine if she's alright.

When she finally breaks down and cries and tells him how much she hates herself, he tells her how much he loves Rhysand as an attempt to relate to her suffering. (fuck you dude seriously)

He does not correct her when she says she is unworthy of love.

He says "there is nothing broken to fix" despite forcing her to obey him and change her coping mechanisms and behave in the way he approves.

When she tells him the word mate doesn’t mean anything to her because she’s human at heart he dismisses her instantly and says "that's bullshit." No attempt to understand her feelings whatsoever as he tries to force her to admit they are mates before she is ready.

Tells her he didn't ask to be "shackled" to her after she says she didn’t get to choose to be fae, and it was forced on her. (it was)

When she calls in the bargain he immediately thinks of a way to get around it. He does not respect the boundaries she sets for herself. He thinks something like "Easy enough command to work around. I'll tell her to word her bargains more cleverly." She says she wants a week alone and the very next day he shows up to Windhaven in order to force her to speak to him.

When he learns she has been taken into the blood rite, after a lot of sulking and one feeble attempt to disobey Rhys, he thinks something like "even if I could rescue her I wouldn't, I wouldn't take away her opportunity to save herself." Meanwhile Nesta is hoping that he will be coming to rescue her.

When Nesta finally saves him, and tells him she loves him, he does not say it back. HE NEVER SAYS I LOVE YOU.

He calls Eris a coward immediately after learning he was tortured by his father, and likely has been his whole life. In the same thought, he acknowledges that Eris was willing to be tortured to protect their alliance and STILL calls him a coward.

When Rhysand is yelling at Nesta AGAIN for helping Bryce save the entire world, Cassian does not stick up for her. AGAIN! (I stg you bitch)

Amren says to Nesta, in front of Cassian, "Pray to the mother that your sister changes Rhysand's mind tonight" ABOUT WHAT? IS HE GONNA KILL HER? And Cassian does...nothing.

"Nesta's mate shifted an inch closer to her, his eyes darting between the two of them, torn. Like he didn't know who to side with in the brewing fight." I hate him so much for this !!!!

Nesta tells Ember that Cassian is "the most furious with me of anyone" WHY? Nesta even voices that she doesn't think they'll kill her. This implies Rhys has yet again threatened her life because he disagrees with her choices, and guess what: CASSIAN DOES NOTHING.

[soaps-mohawk]

I just saw someone talk about Simon Riley being a rapist and the only way they tried to confirm it is by saying that he is a war criminal and all soldiers are misogynistic and sexist and they also talked about how he dreamt of hurting women in the comics when that's quite literally a normal reaction by being raped by both men and women (what I mean is that abused people sometimes dream of becoming someone they're not and don't want to be) but they conveniently forgot to mention how that "dream" was a nightmare. (Just wanted to rant about this and see your opinion)

The sigh I let out when I saw this ask this morning.

I'm so sick and tired of seeing this discourse. Not just in this fandom but in every fandom. Maybe it's just because I'm old and my frontal lobe is fully developed, or maybe it's because I was in fandom back in the days where there were no tags. You were lucky if you got a warning at the beginning of a fic. Most fics you walked in blind and if you didn't like something? You hit the back button and found something else.

This sudden mainstreaming of fandom has ruined these spaces. People come in, refuse to "learn the rules" that most of us learned by just existing in these spaces and watching others interact. There were no written rules back then. We learned by observing and occasionally being guided on fandom etiquette by those more experienced than us. Now it's just like people come in expecting fandom to be like every other space on the internet and then get defensive and angry when they realize it's not. Fandom is cringy. It's nerdy. It's happy and sunshine and it's dark and ugly like every media out there. Us creators and those of us more experienced in fandom have been screaming how to exist in fandom spaces from the rooftops but no one is listening and then everyone wonders why creators are leaving these spaces. Why fandoms keep getting abandoned.

All of that aside, this discourse about FICTIONAL characters pisses me off. Simon Riley is a FICTIONAL character. He has no morality, there is no right or wrong because he's FICTIONAL. You can make him do whatever you want to do because he's NOT REAL. You can give him wings and have him fly and guess what?? Cool, that can happen because he's NOT REAL. You want to make him a rapist? Cool, you can do that because he's FICTIONAL. You can make him whatever you want to make him because he's a character. He's not a living, breathing human being. There are no consequences of his actions because he's FICTIONAL!!!

Don't even get me started on this sudden discourse about dark fics and dead dove that's appeared recently. Dark media has existed for literal centuries. The Epic of Gilgamesh from 1800 BCE. The Odyssey. Mostellaria by Plautus. The Castle of Otranto published in the 1700s. Frankenstein. Dracula. The works of Edgar Allan Poe. Lolita. Hell, look at the Bible. The Bible, especially the old testament, is fucked up. Even in the watered down, bastardized King James version, the things the old testament "God" supposedly did, when you sit and actually think about them outside the lens of religious brainrot, are super fucked up.

People have been creating dark media for a long time. Horror has existed for a long time because it plays to our worst fears. It gives us a safe way to express those fears and to experience them without having to experience them first hand. You wouldn't bitch at a horror movie director for including things like rape and gore and murder in their movies?? So why is writing different? You think every horror movie director agrees with the things they portray on screen? You think every horror movie director would go out and murder someone just because they made a movie about it? No, because we're allowed to portray things in all forms of media, we're allowed to write things without morally agreeing with them. Guess what, most people that write rape or assault or violence, aren't going out and doing those things in real life. They don't support those things in real life. In fact, people that write dark fanfics are some of the loudest protesters against those things.

If you want to make Simon Riley a real person, guess what? He's not going to be even morally grey. Most people in the military are not good people. They're not. The people that are good people in the military, or were in the military, are the ones saying that the loudest. People that got tricked into joining, people that got promised things, people that did it because they had no other choice and then realized what it was really like after getting in? Those are the people to listen to. Not Call of Duty, not the people trying to convince you to join because they're glorified sales people and have a quota to fill. Look up videos of what happened in Iraq and Afghanistan at the hands of American and British soldiers. You would not like Simon Riley if he were a real person.

But he's not real. He's FICTIONAL. Even as a fictional character, he's not a good person. So many Call of Duty fans put on the blinders and ignore the fact that these men are out here committing awful acts of violence and killing people because they're "the good guys." People love to forget that Price literally kidnapped a woman and a child and had them held at gunpoint to get information out of someone. Not only that, he was okay with it. If he were a real person that did that, you would not be questioning if he were a good person or not. You can tell the people that have never played the games or watched playthroughs, who only know these characters through the lenses of fanfics and artwork and headcanons.

Call of Duty is military propaganda. They paint these men as heroes, make it easy to put the blinders up and ignore the things that are happening, the things they're doing so that they can convince young men that they want to do that and they should join the military so they can go out and do that too. That's Call of Duty's audience. That's who they're creating these games for. These young, impressionable boys who get excited by the violence and the action who will go on to fill quota numbers for recruiters. Call of Duty was not made for us, the people writing fanfiction and creating art for it. This side of the Call of Duty fandom will be the first to tell you all of this.

This side of the fandom creates fanworks which would turn Activision's eyes red. We babygirlify their military propaganda because it actively goes against what Activision is trying to do. It goes against what Call of Duty is at its core. Sure, some people water it down a lot, and others keep it more realistic to what these men would be like in real life, because it's FICTION. You can portray these characters however you want because that's what fiction is for.

And guess what, anon? Rape kinks exist. Consensual non-consent exists. It's well known. And guess what? Victims of sexual assault and rape can develop those kinks as a coping mechanism. Here's a study from the NIH website, and if that's too complex for you, here's a VICE news article that uses that study. People can write rape and rape kinks and CNC and noncon and not support it in real life. People can write those things to bring awareness to the fact that they happen to people in real life, or because people in real life have those kinks. People write those things to help victims, to support them. It's cathartic. Dark media most often is created for catharsis. It gives people an outlet, and it allows people to experience those things in a safe, controlled environment for whatever reason.

And that's the thing, anon. People don't have to give anyone a reason for why the consume that kind of media. Creators don't owe anyone an explanation as to why they create it. It's none of your business, and if you're not comfortable with it, then don't consume it. You can turn off the TV if a horror movie is too much for you. People walk out of theaters all the time because a movie is not what they were expecting, be it because it was bad or because it was too graphic or violent or disgusting. You start reading a book and you don't like it for whatever reason? You put the book down and pick up another. Why do people have such a problem with not reading fanfics they don't like? Why do people have such a hard time just blocking creators that make things they don't want to see. Most dark fic and dead dove creators put ample warnings on their blog and their posts. That's why those tags exist. You don't like it and you don't want to see it? Then block and move on and let others enjoy what they want to enjoy.

You pearl clutchers are ruining fandom and soon there won't be anything for you to enjoy. If you can't handle fandom, then don't be in it. There is no algorithm here. You're going to see things you don't want to see and it's very easy to just block and filter tags. There was a time on Tumblr where you couldn't filter tags. I remember those days. You had to download the X-kit extension to block things, and that only worked on desktop. The fact Tumblr gave us the option to filter tags on the site and on the app was a big deal when it was rolled out. I remember so many people that didn't want to use the app when it first came out because you couldn't block potentially triggering tags.

It's not a creator's problem if you were triggered by their media. Life doesn't come with trigger warnings and it's a blessing that it's become so normalized to include warnings at the beginnings of fics. There's websites that exist for other forms of media that will give trigger warnings. If you can look up trigger warnings for a movie and decide not to watch it, you can look at the trigger warnings for fics and decide not to interact with it. You're not out here emailing the directors and producers of movies that include triggers you don't like, telling them they're awful people for including those things in their movie and they shouldn't. Yet you have no problem coming into the comments and inboxes creators who do this FOR FREE because we wrote one dark fic. Because we wrote something that's triggering to you.

And yes, some abuse victims go on to be abusers, some people continue that cycle because they don't have the help and support to break it. It's a sad thing that happens, but it happens. It happens in the fictional world and it happens in real life. People can make that happen to fictional characters for whatever reasons they want.

I've written dark fics. I've written several. I consume "disturbing" media for fun. I've read books and watched movies that would send these pearl clutchers to the hospital. Hell, I've probably written things (some published, some that will never see the light of day) that would turn these pearl clutchers inside out. Guess what? That's okay because it's FICTION. It's cathartic. I don't have to give my reasons why because it's no one's business except those I decide to tell because I trust them and I know they'll support me. I don't support those things in real life. Just because I write for Call of Duty doesn't mean I support the things the game portrays. If you consume Call of Duty media be it the games or fanfiction, does that mean you support what the game supports? What the creators of the games support? What militaries around the world support?

Think about that next time.

I’ve made my stance very clear here before, but I’ll do it again. In real life, I am anti military, anti war, anti gun violence, anti genocide, anti fascism, anti terf, anti homophobia, anti conservative, anti rape, anti domestic violence, anti colonialism and pro choice.

Just because I may create or consume media with those things in it, does not mean I support them. It's high time some of these pearl clutchers learn that.

The next time you want to come into a creator's inbox or comments and spew hatred towards them because of the things they write, why don't you do something useful with your time instead.

This will be my only discussion on this topic. I will not be answering any more asks like this. I will delete and block anyone who tries to come "well actually"-ing into my inbox. If you don't agree with this stance, then get off my blog and block me.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

hey queen i love ur writing!!! i was just wondering if you’d be down to write anymore dad!sam monroe stuff? i read ur last one and i loved it! it’s so rare to find sam stuff, let alone him as a dad el oh el 🙋‍♀️ if not it’s rlly cool ! i’m a big fan of u diva 💜

Author's note: now that's a really sweet message. I HAVE FANS OH MY AND I AM A DIVAAAAAA (instantly have Beyonce song in mind that existence i found out from tik tok)

TW: sam being a dad (lmao)

Dad!Sam who definitely got at least (and at frist) being yelled at by his mother after she found out you're pregnant and sam's going to be a father! But from the beginning she was all supportive and willing to help you

Dad!Sam who got that hardened, sometimes distant look, but when it comes to his kid? Pure, over-the-top, protective dad mode. He might be rough around the edges but the second his baby is involved, you and everyone can see this warmth in his eyes.

Dad!Sam who's definitely the kind of dad to insult every other kid but not his cute angel. He'd also give this pure 'dad look' whenever someone wants to mess with his kid

Dad!Sam who's the type to stay up late, laying on his son's bed, the little one cuddled to his side and (depends on the age) babbling/lisping about his day or anything he has in mind. Although Sam is not great with giving adive, hell, he often doesn't want to do this (out of his experience in life - or his lack of confidence to be in position to give such) yet he'll try to be honest, in the kidness way possible for SAM MONROE, saying something like - "life's tough, but you're tougher than anything out there" in such gentle whisper

Dad!Sam who became such a cuddly bear with his son. Often he'll just scoop him up and hug him close, inhaling the toddler's soft hair and pressing a light kiss there. Or sometimes he forgets to tuck his baby boy in his bed because bed time is already over and his mother (or you) have to wake him up, the teenager that's all cudled under a blanket with his twin, only for sam to blink blindly as curse under his nose without thinking

Dad!Sam who, after building a house with his father, started loving those little projects for his kid - whenever it was fixing a bike, or building a treehouse, a swing in the garden, he cherished it.

Dad!Sam who definitely called his son "kid"/"kiddo"/"buddy"/"little man"/"little guy"/"sam junior" (although your son was far from being named sam)

Dad!Sam who may seem like a guy who won't take responsibilty for his child, especially in that young age and with problems he had dealt with, but sam wasn't such bastard. He was extremely present in his son's life and wouldn't miss any of his big or little achievements, So, your pregnancy really did mature him

Dad!Sam who has no idea how to cook but tries his damn best, especially when his mother tried to teach him some recipes. But, Sam being Sam, burns most of the food - especially pancakes that your son loves. "this can't be that hard, right?" he'll mumble under his breath when yet another pancake turned out to be crispy

Dad!Sam who's not exactly 'the father of the year' material but he swears he's doing his best. He might not know how to do all the "kid" stuff, but he'll squat down to his son's eye level, ruffle his hair and try to figure things out on the spot. There's this tough softness to him, the way he tries to talk to his son seriously, like the little guy gets it all, even if half the time he's just babbling back at him

Dad!Sam who isn't one for lullabies, but he'll sit by his son's bed in the middle of the night and again sam being sam, humming soft rock tunes while letting the boy hold onto his hand if he can't sleep or had a nightmare

Dad!Sam who doesn't mind his boy clinging to his leg or, when sam's sitting on the floor, the little guy clambering all over him, especially pushing himself under sam's arm so he'd hug him

Dad!Sam who tries to hide this gentlesness he has but it's clear it doesn't work whenever he'll fix the boy's shirt, or very gently dress him up, softly talking to the boy random things or when he brushes crumbs off his son's chubby cheeks

Dad!Sam who's obviously having this proud dad face when he sees his boy taking first steps with you. And when the giggling toddler will land on him, he'll just catch him, murmuring "now look at you, becoming a big guy already..wow"

Dad!Sam who's natural when it comes to showing his son simple things, like picking up sticks or skipping rocks. It's quiet, no big lessons needed, just Sam kneeling down, guiding his son's tiny hands and watching with that rare grin when he actually gets it right "just like that buddy" he'll say, pride in his voice as he watches his kid grope all over the tecture of rock. It's just two of them sitting by the lake like it's the most important thing in the world, while you are in the background with both his family and yours

Dad!Sam who every night, does that little routine, where he tucks his boy in, his big hands gently patting the blanket down. He'll smooth back his kid's hair, fingers lingering just a second longer, and whisper "goodnight, pal" his son reaches up, as usually, fingers trying to grab at his dad's shirt. So sam stays till those cute little fingers go slack, and when the little guy is all asleep, sam will kiss his forehead a few times

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

a Jedi Shadow!Obi-Wan AU

Introspection fucking sucks, according to Commander Fox.

The thing about him is, he’s been made out to be a bastard and ever since their batch found their calling or whatever he’s embraced that role.

Every batch needed someone who didn’t secretly want to be cuddled, who pushed others away so he could keep track of the big picture.

Cody had competed for the role for a while. As did Wolffe.

For Cody, his heart, big and fragile once you got to know him, got in the way in the end. He sees the whole picture, craves it so he won’t go crazy from the losses. But he believes in people and their goodness.

Fox doesn’t.

Wolffe made the mistake of getting the galaxy’s best General. General Koon shits rainbows and glitter, from what Fox has been forced to listen to.

Fox has… the Chancellor.

He takes a swig of water and wishes it were something stronger. But Quin is on the other side of Fox’s desk, reading glasses ever so slowly slipping down his nose while he’s crunching and tracking the numbers to prove the Chancellor is, indeed, siphoning credits off the Republic to giftwrap them for the Seppies.

He takes another swig.

Wouldn’t surprise him if Palpatine turned out to be the villain of the whole story.

Brought Fox to drink with the kind attitude, the cruelty so expertly hidden from first glance, cushioned in false promises and support.

Hadn’t been pretty. But it had been easy. You go to the right places, people are only too willing to shell out for some drinks. Entertainment and morbid curiosity what brings a clone to their knees.

Some found the lisp he has because of the scar that ransacks through his lips and tongue endearing but most hadn’t bothered with wanting him talking.

Some wanted to inspect the changes in the Corrie armor up close and cozy.

If shit hadn’t already multiplied, Organa came flouncing into the Guard offices every two weeks with a new design like they were his little dress-up dolls.

The last design, the one that stayed, had a dummy connector installed in the backplate.

Fox hadn’t mentioned it. Had stewed over how the Guard, already isolated from the rest of the GAR, wasn’t even considered for the neural network that would make them more efficient, more deadly if activated. Treated like scum on a pedestal, overlooked and taken for granted.

Fox takes every advantage he can squeeze from that.

Every batch needs a willing loner who’s got the big picture in his head at all times and doesn’t care for the minutiae.

Fox had been comfortable in that role, really. He saw Thorn and Stone and Thire and the rest of them making friends and lovers and heartbreak, and that was the last fucking thing Fox wanted.

And then came Vos. Appearing from the shadows like a designer nightmare.

For such a short time they’ve sure gone through a lot together.

To the point Vos became Quinlan became Quin became Vos again became someone Fox clung to while fighting fucking addiction and the realization that he is stupid enough to become addicted.

No matter what Quin had said, Fox was supposed to be the pinnacle of cloning and artificially creating the perfect soldier. Addiction is a weakness and fault.

Fox almost did something extremely stupid over that one.

Turns out it’s all part of the sentient experience.

Fucking sucks.

Quin had laughed at that, ugly and bruised laughter, continuing to comb his fingers over Fox’s head. “Tell me about it.”

An eloquent way to say Quin was going through withdrawal himself.

They got outside help after that.

“Hey, Depa,” Quin murmurs absently after answering his comm, pushes his glasses up.

“Quinlan, is your line still secure?”

“‘Course. Especially after Fox got his grubby little hands all over it.”

Fox shows him the middle finger of one of his grubby little hands.

“Good,” General Billaba clips out. Quin straightens up, and maybe Fox’s attention isn’t misplaced here. “Good. Commander Cody was activated by the Sith Lord and he’s bringing Obi-Wan to Coruscant.”

Activated.

Quin is silent. Blinks up at the ceiling. “Can you run that by me again?”

“Quinlan, we have reason to be believe the Chancellor is the Sith Lord.”

Hah. Fox got that one right on his bingo card, at least.

Cody got activated.

As they’ve learned, the neural network - battlefield mediation, in fancy Kamino speak - is activated by a designated Force using GAR personnel. Surprisingly, the status is even an optional display on the screens of every trooper’s vambrace. Or not so surprisingly.

Cody got activated by the Chancellor. Who is the Sith Lord the Order has been hunting.

Fox will deal with that later or never, whatever comes first.

He’s comming the Guard all across the planet, checking the weapons on his person, while General Billaba explains the situation. He appreciates her succinct manner, he’s gotta say.

“I’m on the way to detain Anakin. Mace is following the ship Commander Cody captured but we need someone to intercept them on Coruscant before he reaches Palpatine.” She halts for a brief moment. “Obi-Wan seems to believe the Commander has betrayed him when he knows about the neural link inside the clones. We are fearing the Darkness is deliberately attacking and clouding his senses.”

“I’m on my way,” Quin nods, adds with a calculating glance at Fox, “I’m not sure I have back-up.”

“Funny thing about the Alderaan design of the guard armor,” Fox comments, checking the plasma charge on his DC, and vows to give Senator fucking Organa a sliced fruit platter, “the Guard doesn’t have the connector to the neural link.”

He comms their resident medic next and orders every gundark-level tranquilizer delivered to him.

Cody got activated and is following the orders of a Sith Lord.

Stars help them.

[betweenstorms]

Where Ghosts Linger Obsessed!Simon x fem!Reader

In honor of both kinktober and spooktober, I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone to write something darker. Imagining Simon in this twisted scenario wasn’t easy, but I wanted to push the boundaries and see where it would take me. Hope you enjoy this eerie little experiment!

TW: contains themes of obsession, depression, alcoholism, violence, child abuse, self-harm and non-consensual behavior. It includes dark psychological elements and emotional distress. Please read with caution.

London. Fucking London.

A city that thrived on misery and despair, where the air was thick with the stench of piss and where Simon Riley found himself suffocating in his own personal hell. He hated the crowded streets, the gray, lifeless sky, and the dirty rain that seemed to wash away any trace of hope. London was a festering wound, and Simon was stuck in it, rotting from the inside out.

His apartment was a reflection of that rot. A shithole in Southwark that was as neglected as he was. The landlord didn’t give a shit about it, and neither did Simon. Why bother? This place was a bloody tomb, and he was just another fucking corpse waiting to decompose in it. The walls were stained with years of filth and smoke, the paint peeling off like the skin of some dying beast. He lived in dirt, where he belonged, surrounded by the remnants of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.

The medals on the shelf, once a source of pride, now sat gathering dust, their shine dulled by time and indifference. A painful reminder of who he had been, and who he would never be again. He’d been an elite soldier, a protector, a fucking weapon. But that life was over, dead and buried just like the people he’d failed to protect.

Now, he was nothing but a broken-down wreck, a ghost haunting the ruins of his own past.

How pathetic.

It had been a year since the army had tossed him out on his arse, like a piece of shit they couldn’t be bothered to flush. ‘Early retirement’ was the official story, but Simon knew better. He’d seen their looks, heard their whispers. They thought he was broken, fucked in the head. And they were right. The nightmares, the flashbacks, the undying rage that simmered just below the surface of his inked skin, ready to explode at the slightest provocation—they were all signs that something inside him had snapped. And it had.

The day Johnny died, the last bit of humanity in him had died too.

All that was left was anger, grief, and a deep hatred for the world and himself.

The military forced him out after he nearly killed a rookie during a training exercise. He could still hear the bone breaking, still feel the flesh tearing under his bare hand. It had taken four men to pull Simon off, and even then, he’d been like a rabid dog, snarling and spitting, desperate to finish what he’d started.

After that, there was no saving him. They gave him some bullshit about ‘rest and recovery,’ about how he needed to ‘take time for himself.’ But he knew what they meant. They wanted him gone, out of sight, out of mind. Another broken soldier thrown on the scrap heap, just another casualty of a war that never really ended.

Most days, he was angry. So fucking angry that it felt like he was burning from the inside out, like his veins were full of liquid fire.

He’d go out looking for something, anything to let the rage out before it consumed him. He’d pick fights in pubs, in alleys, in abandoned sites, anywhere he could find some poor bastard who looked at him the wrong way. It didn’t matter if he won or lost either.

On the days when the anger wasn’t there, he felt nothing.

Just a cold, hollow emptiness that left him numb and disconnected from everything. Those were the days when he couldn’t bring himself to leave his soulless flat, when he’d sit in that creaky old armchair and drink himself into oblivion with cheap whiskey.

Those were the days he feared the most too—the days when he didn’t care if he lived or died, when the gun in the drawer seemed like the only way out of the endless nightmare.

Something always stopped him before he could pull the trigger.

Maybe it was cowardice, or maybe it was some small, stubborn part of him that still clung to life, even though he didn’t know why. Whatever it was, it kept him going, kept him trapped in this limbo of existence. He would get up, go through the motions, take his pills, and try to convince himself that tomorrow might be different, even though he knew it wouldn’t be.

Sometimes, he tried to fight it and hold on to some semblance of a life. He’d wake up at dawn, like he used to, force himself to shave, to shower, to eat. He’d try to follow the old routine, the one that had kept him sane during all those years of deployment.

However, it never worked. He’d been a soldier, a man with purpose, but now he was nothing. Just a useless, sick in the head, broken piece of shit, abandoned by the only thing that had ever given his miserable life any meaning.

To ease the pain, he walked during the night and slept through the day. The only time he could find any peace was under the dark sky, the only time the voices in his head quieted down, even if just for a little while. Sometimes he was drunk, stumbling through the dirty streets like a wraith, barely able to keep himself upright. Other times, he was sober, the cold night air cutting through the fog in his mind, sharpening the edges of his thoughts. He wandered the shitty, empty streets of the worst parts of London for hours, sometimes until the sun started to rise, trying to outrun the demons that haunted him.

It was on one of those nights when he saw you for the first time.

It was a cold, damp night in October, the kind that seeped into your bones and made you feel like you would never be warm again. He was sober, or maybe he just felt that way due to the cold, because for once his mind clearer than it had been for a seemingly endless year.

His father’s face flashed before his eyes, twisted and angry, the same expression the bastard always wore when he was about to beat the living shit out of him. Simon could almost feel the blows, the sting of the belt, the sharp pain of a fist connecting with his ribs. He’d learned early on not to cry. Crying only made it worse. So he’d learned to take it like a man, to bury the pain deep down where it couldn’t touch him. But that pain had never really gone away. It had just festered, turned into something dark and ugly that had followed him his whole life.

And then there was the memory that haunted him most of all.

The day he’d come home to find lifeless bodies in his childhood home, his family slaughtered because of him. Because of a bloody mission that had gone sideways, because he hadn’t been fast enough, smart enough, good enough. He’d dug himself out of a grave with a fucking rotting jaw, only to find his brother, his dear mother, his baby nephew—all of them dead, butchered like mere animals because of him. He will never forget the sweet, nose-wrenching stench of corpses and blood that filled the house.

That was the day Simon Riley had died.

The day Ghost had been born.

He was so lost in these thoughts that he almost walked right past you. How could he do that?

Walk past you.

Oh you. You were standing under a rusty streetlamp, the rain forming a mist around you that caught the orange light in a soft, golden halo. For a moment, Simon thought he was seeing things. Maybe he wasn’t as sober as he thought, and the whiskey he’d downed earlier was playing tricks on him. Because you didn’t look real.

You looked like something out of a dream. A hallucination.

You were dressed simply, in clothes that were too thin for the cold weather, but Simon barely noticed. It was your face that held his attention, the way the light played across your skin, making it glow against the backdrop of the city. Your hair was wet, locks sticking to your cheeks and shoulders, but you made no effort to brush them away. They hid your eyes for a moment before you shifted slightly, looking down at your phone and he saw them—eyes that seemed to stare right into his pathetic soul.

For a seemingly endless moment, Simon just stood there, staring at you, feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under him.

You didn’t belong here, in this ugly, rundown part of London, in the middle of a miserable night. And then, out of the blue, a sudden, crazy thought flickered through his broken mind.

Maybe you were waiting for him.

The thought was absurd, ridiculous even, but it latched onto Simon's twisted mind with the tenacity of a pitbull, refusing to let go. Maybe you were there for him, a bloody angel in the midst of this wretched city, just standing there in the piss-poor rain as if you didn't belong to the same shitty world that had turned him into this... thing.

This broken, hollow shell of a man.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of desperation that clouded his better judgment, but it didn’t help. The sight of you had triggered something deep inside him, something he hadn’t felt ever. It was like a spark had been ignited in the pitch-black darkness of his mind, a tiny flicker of light that he was terrified would go out if he didn’t hold on to it. Maybe it was the booze still swirling in his body, maybe it was the years of torment and guilt twisting his brain into knots, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop himself from believing, if only for a moment, that you were meant for him.

He took a step closer, the soles of his black boots splashing in the cold, dirty puddles on the pavement, but you didn’t seem to notice.

Simon’s pulse quickened, his breath shallow and uneven as he moved closer, his steps soundless despite the wet pavement beneath him. He surveyed the area with practiced eyes. The street was empty, a desolate stretch of asphalt and crumbling brick, lined with decrepit buildings that looked like they hadn’t seen a lick of care in decades. There were no people nearby, no signs of life in the windows above.

Just him and you, alone in this forgotten corner of the city.

You were still oblivious to his presence, lost in whatever was on that bloody phone of yours. He watched you, hazel eyes narrowing as he considered his next move. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Part of him just wanted to get closer, to see you more clearly. But there was another part of him, a darker part, that wanted more.

Simon moved closer, every step deliberate, controlled.

He felt like a predator stalking his prey, his military training coming back to him in full force. It was second nature to him now, the way his mind cataloged every detail, every possible threat or escape route. He had been trained to hunt, to go for the throat, to eliminate, and those instincts were hardwired into his core, impossible to shake even after all this time. The lines blurred in his mind, his thoughts tangling up in the memories of past missions, of dark nights spent creeping through hostile territory, of the adrenaline that surged through him when he was on the hunt.

For a brief second, Simon could almost hear his old captain’s gruff voice echo in the hollow of his mind—a special forces operator’s worth is tested in blood. The words twisted in his chest, cold as the barrel of his rifle, his breath catching in his throat. A phantom touch grazed his shoulder, and for a heartbeat, he could almost feel Gaz there—tapping lightly to signal the breach. His brother, always at his side. But no, not anymore. He must be a lieutenant now...

Simon blinked hard, forcing the ghosts back into the shadows.

He focused on you instead, the only anchor left in the storm.

Just as he was about to take another careful step, a sharp, sudden sound shattered the stillness of the night. Your phone rang, the shrill tone cutting through the silence like a knife. Simon froze, instinctively ducking behind the wreck of an old, rusted car parked at the edge of the street. Your lovely voice was tinged with frustration as you spoke. It was quiet, almost too quiet, yet it clung to the air with a strange sweetness that made his breath falter.

In that moment, something in him shifted—like a taut wire snapped loose, vibrating through his chest. It was an obsession born not of choice, but of instinct.

“Derek? Where are you?”

Derek.

Simon’s stomach twisted at the sound of the name. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, hot and vicious, as he imagined that bastard leaving you out here, alone in the dark, like you were nothing. You were too good for this shithole. And Derek, whoever the fuck he was, had left you, you out of all people, stranded.

Simon’s hands clenched into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking as he fought to keep his temper in check.

“No, I told you I didn’t know this area,” you said, pacing back and forth, the anxiety clear in your every movement. Your tone was sharp, but beneath it, however, Simon could hear the fear creeping in. “No, I’ve been wandering around for an hour! I’m lost, Derek, and this place is creeping me out. I don’t know where I am. Help me, please."

Simon felt a surge of protectiveness, mingled with fury.

Of course you were creeped out. You should be. This was no place for someone like you. You were lucky, though. So damn lucky that Simon had been the one to find you, that it wasn’t some thug or worse, some twisted bastard who’d see you as easy prey. Oh no, you were safe with him, even if you didn’t know it.

Safe from everything except him.

“I don’t care about the discount in the pub, come on,” you huffed, your voice trembling a bit, now tinged with a note of desperation that made Simon’s chest tighten painfully. “The guys will understand, I’m sure. Please, just come and help me.”

Simon could almost hear Derek’s response in his head—a lazy, careless dismissal, maybe a drunken laugh as he waved off your concerns. The thought made Simon’s blood boil.

Derek didn’t deserve you.

Didn’t deserve to be anywhere near you, didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. You were precious, an angel in a city full of demons, and that bastard was too fucking stupid to appreciate you. If Simon ever got his hands on him, he’d make sure Derek knew exactly what kind of danger he’d put you in. He’d break every bone in his worthless body, make him pay for every second you’d been left out here to fend for yourself.

“I told you I couldn’t come tonight, but you insisted, so I did,” you continued, your voice growing more strained with every word. “I need your help. Please, come and pick me up. I’ve got work in the morning, I don’t feel really good and I really need to get home. What? Yeah, I’m a little bit tipsy, so what? I’m lost. Please.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as he listened to you, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. You were begging now, practically pleading and it made his skin crawl.

You shouldn’t have to beg. Not for something like this.

You deserved better, so much better. You deserve someone who would move heaven and earth to keep you safe, to make sure you were never in a situation like this in the first place. Simon wasn’t good for much anymore, but he knew how to protect. He knew how to take care of those he cared about—he’d spent his whole life doing it, even if it had all gone to shit in the end.

But Derek clearly wasn’t that man.

Simon could hear the frustration in your voice as you asked, “You called a taxi? Really? You couldn’t just come?”

There was a long pause, and he could feel his heart beating faster, his muscles tensing as he waited for your reaction.

When you finally spoke again, your voice was much softer, much resigned. “Okay. Fine. We’ll meet tomorrow, then.”

You ended the call with a deep sigh.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the ground, your shoulders slumped in defeat. Simon watched you from his hiding spot, his mind racing. The deadly fury he felt toward the pathetic excuse of a man you were speaking with was almost overwhelming, but underneath it, there was something else—something darker and more insidious. A need to be the one you turned to, the only one you could rely on. He wanted to be the one who took care of you, who made sure you never had to feel this way again.

But he couldn’t just walk up to you, not now. Not yet. You were too vulnerable, too raw, and he didn’t want to scare you off. He had to be careful and had to find the right way to approach you. You needed to see him as a protector, not as a threat. His mind was a mess of emotions, the anger, the need and the sick sense of possessiveness all tangled up together. He couldn’t let that control him. He had to be smart about this, had to play it right.

Simon took a deep breath, forcing himself to think clearly.

He had to be smart about this, had to think like the fucking special forces operator he once was.

The shadows of his old life clung to him, and in the quiet of his mind, he could almost hear Price’s voice barking orders—to scrape up every damn thing he could find. That was his mission now, wasn’t it? To know you. To learn your name, where you lived, where you worked, every inch of your life, mapped out like terrain before a strike. It was the instinct that kicked in, something so ingrained it almost felt like muscle memory.

Johnny would have definitely teased him for his honest mistake—“forgetting the basics, Lt.,”—his voice mocking, lighthearted, but Simon couldn’t let this slip through his fingers. He needed to know everything. You were his target, but not to eliminate.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched you from his hiding spot. The rain continued to fall, pattering against the metal roofs, but Simon barely registered the cold droplets soaking through his clothes. All his focus was on you, every nerve in his body attuned to your slightest movement. You stood there, alone and vulnerable.

He inched closer, moving with the same precision and silence that had once made him a ghost on the battlefield.

Despite his size—broad shoulders, heavy muscles that made him look more like a walking tank than a man—he moved with an eerie grace, his footsteps soundless on the wet pavement. Decades of military training had taught him how to blend into the shadows, how to become part of the night, after all.

He was close now, too close to risk you noticing him, so he stayed low, hidden behind the wrecked row of cars. He couldn’t see you anymore and that frustrated him to no end. It was like torture, being this close and yet so far, but he knew he had to wait. Patience was something he’d learned the hard way, and now it was paying off.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a taxi pulled up to the curb. Simon’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickening as the car’s headlights cut through the darkness. He heard the window of the vehicle roll down, the driver’s voice breaking the tension in the air.

The driver called out, his voice hoarse but polite.

And he said your name.

It hit Simon like a sledgehammer, echoing in his broken mind, searing itself into his memory. He repeated it to himself, over and over, like a mantra. He would never forget it for the rest of his miserable life. He would burn down entire cities to remember it. 

“Yes, that’s me,” you replied, her voice softer now, but Simon caught every word, hanging on to them like they were the most important thing he’d ever heard.

He strained to catch the rest of the conversation, hoping for more clues, more intel. You murmured something about the old market in downtown London to the taxi driver, and Simon’s mind raced, trying to piece together what little he knew. The old market—that could be a clue, a starting point. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And right now, that something was all he needed.

The door of the taxi shut with a soft thud, and Simon was left alone in the dark, empty street, the rain falling steadily around him, soaking him to the bone. But he didn’t care. All he could think about was the name that now echoed in his mind, the name that had given him a purpose, a reason to keep going.

He had a name. He had a direction.

As the taxi drove away, its taillights disappearing into the night, Simon finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

His muscles ached from the tension, but there was a strange sense of relief that washed over him, a feeling of liberation. He had something to hold on to now, something tangible. He knew your name. He knew your name, and that meant everything.

He stood there, letting the rain wash over him, his mind buzzing with possibilities. He could find you, he could get close to you. He wasn’t the man for you now, but he could become the man you needed. He could become your provider, your guardian, the savior you deserved. He could protect you, keep you safe, take care of you, and in return, you would give him the thing he craved the most.

A reason to live.

You didn’t know it yet, but you were about to become the most important person in Simon Riley’s life. And he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stand in the way of that. The storm that had raged inside him for so long had quieted, leaving behind a cold and unyielding determination. He had a purpose now, a mission. One he had to see through alone. Price would have approved, Simon was sure of it—Gaz and Soap too. He could almost feel them at his back, their shadows guiding him forward.

This wasn’t for them, though. This was for him.

For the part of him still capable of feeling something other than anger. He would find you again, and when he did, you would never be alone, vulnerable, or scared again.

Because Simon Riley was a man who protected what was his.

And you were his.

➼ Masterlist