#and i feel like i took some liberties about this moment and what it led to/meant for logan

[teddy06writes]

Whumptober Day 16 - Umbrella Academy

Umbrella Academy (unit) x sibling!reader

Prompt: I did good, right?

Trigger Warnings: Canon Typical violence, major character death, one (1) swear from Diego

Summary: A mission gone wrong forces you to over use your powers, pushing you too far. Readers powers are a bit under described, the general idea is that they can manipulate time, which ends up backfiring.

Reader is referred to as Eight.

This mission wasn't going well. Maybe you should've have taken Ben's feeling that something was wrong more seriously. But what could you have done? Refused to go and face worser punishment?

The more you thought about it, you had no clue what your father was thinking. The Umbrella Academy was powerful, yes, but what were a group of twelve year olds to a group of terrorists with a bomb?

Around you, Luther, Diego, Five and Allison were grappling with the terrorists, fighting for their lives, if you were honest. Whoever the hell these guys were supposed to be, they were well trained. Somewhere, Klaus was supposed to be freeing hostages.

You chuckled to yourself, bitterly.

They had all gotten the easy jobs.

You knelt before the bomb, desperately trying to discover a way to diffuse it without setting off it's fail safe. At your back, Ben stood on guard, having taken down the few men that were devoted to watching the bomb.

"Any chance you've figured it out yet?" Ben asked, ever impatient.

You swallowed thickly, brushing hair from your face with the back of your hand, "Not exactly."

"And how much time do we have?"

Your eyes flicked back to the tiny, taunting LED screen and it's ticking clock, "About 90 seconds."

"Should i-"

"Shut up and let me think!" You snapped.

You had already managed to pry open the casing surrounding the eternal wiring, it was just a matter of making sense of what you found there. God, maybe you should have paid more attention to your fathers lessons. Or maybe he should've diversified the systems you'd had to practice on.

The seconds ticked on, and you looked miserably down at the floor, "If I had more time maybe-"

"Hey dumbass," Diego yelled as he went running by, "That's your whole thing!"

Five, who had been hot on his tail skidded to a stop besides Ben, "You haven't figured it out yet?"

You gritted your teeth, "No, brother dearest."

"You'd better get on that."

You glared up at him, "No shit."

Allison appeared, tugging at the back of Five's blazer, "Come on, we have to go help Klaus with the hostages."

You took a deep breath, blocking them out, and drawing on your powers. The world around you began to slow, until your siblings were hardly moving.

The count down clock wavered, before stopping with a bright 0:45.0809 frozen into its face.

You took a moment to breathe, watching the final 09 slowly tick to a 08. This was certainly the slowest you'd ever brought time to, and you could already feel it beginning to drain you.

Now, with more time than ever, you set back to work on defusing the bomb before you.

~~

What felt like nearly an hour later, (the count down clock only read 0:45.0789 when it stopped), you removed the last wire, confident that the bomb was finally inert.

From there you began the simple but satisfying work of finishing the mission before the rest of your siblings could, pulling Luther's hardly moved body out of the way to drag the last man over and tie him with the others.

You also took the liberty of untying the hostages, posing your siblings ludicrously and tying Diego's shoelaces together.

You gave your handiwork a satisfied once over before drawing on your powers again to speed time back up.

Only, nothing seemed to happen.

You tried again, clenching your fists and focusing.

Time seemed to start to speed back up around you, but some invisible force was holding you back, making your movements slowed and sluggish.

With one final burst of energy, this time focused on yourself, you seemed to rip back into the correct time- and promptly fell to the floor, utterly exhausted.

When you went to push yourself up to see the looks on your siblings faces when they realized you'd gone and done everything without them, your arm seemed to buckle beneath you.

"Eight-" Allison gasped, looking at you with wide eyes of terror.

"Ally, whats-"

Ben was crowding into your side suddenly, trying to sit you up, "Hey, hey, what's going on, what did you do?"

"What-" Your head was suddenly swimming, and you couldn't even bring yourself to laugh when Diego tripped over himself trying to cross the room.

"What did you do?" This time it was Five demanding it, looking over your in confusion and horror.

"Somebody call Dad!" Luther was demanding.

Somewhere, Klaus was making a noise of panic, and scrambling off to wherever your father had been watching all of this.

You looked down at your hands, suddenly finding them worn and wrinkled, "What's going on.... I-"

Ben stared down at your rapidly aging face, "Eight, hold on, Dad's coming. Dad's gonna fix this."

"I did good right? I- I stopped the bomb-" You were just so tired, but Ben kept shaking you. Allison was at your other side, clutching at your hand.

Behind the cluster of your siblings heads, you could see Diego and Klaus pleading with your father to do something.

"Number Eight has brought this upon themself. Had they kept up their studies, or maintained vigilance during training sessions, none of this would have happened...."

You tried to squeeze Allison's hand, but couldn't find the strength, "I just need some rest, Ally, I just need to sleep this off..."

Your eyes were just so heavy. Even if you weren't giving in to the feeling of sleep, pulling you deep into the darkness, you wouldn't have been able to fight it.

"Eight- eight!"

[merbear25]

hey, I am currently really smitten with Corazon from one piece and unfortunately I have read all fanfics related to him there are. And so I will be more than happy if you maybe have time and will to write about Rosinant × fem reader (established and commited relationship where both reader and Rosinant are really nice people) where they are having smut time in their shared room and someone walk on them since Rosinant used his calm calm fruit power. But if you, whatever reason, dont want to write it, dont feel pressured :) Have a nice day

Hello! Thank you so much for sending this in! Rosi needs all the love he can get. I decided to take some creative liberties, so I hope what I’ve come up with is to your liking. 💜💜

There weren’t many either of you could consider yourselves close to. Despite the dangers that came with it, you both pursued a romantic relationship. Even though your love rang true, Rosinante couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt as a result of your connection to him—choosing to keep your love a secret. The moments of intimacy you shared were few and far between, but when you found the time, you blocked out the rest of the world, willingly losing yourselves in shared love and passion.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, established relationship, some fluff, fingering, vaginal penetration, cream pie, light humor at the end.

Can’t have a moment’s privacy (Corazon)

You were everything he wanted but thought he didn’t deserve. The threat of the rest finding out about your affair and in turn the secret he’d been withholding was ever present. Scampering off in search of privacy was becoming increasingly riskier, but you couldn’t resist. You wanted to hold each other if only for a moment.

While you were walking down the hall, the loving tug of your hand led your eyes to your boyfriend. Rosinante put his finger up to his lips, sensing you were about to pose a question.

Motioning for you to follow him, you took a double-take around you before trailing after him. Leading you to a room in the back corners of the castle, he opened the door to introduce you to the project he’d been working on.

With the door shut and his devil fruit power activated, he asked in a hushed tone, “What do you think?” His voice held a twinge of uncertainty.

Candles had been placed to illuminate the stone walls, offering warmth to the otherwise dead-cold atmosphere. The incense did well to cover the musk, heightening the senses. There  were rose petals laid out in intricate patterns, giving an invitation to make oneself feel at home.

“It’s wonderful,” you whispered.

His arms wrapped around you and his head rested upon yours. “I’m so glad, dear.”

Turning yourself to face him, you cupped his cheek. His hand rested on yours, while your eyes explored the depths of your mutual connection. You leaned up to kiss him and were met half-way. Soft lips parting, your tongues lightly tangling with the other’s, and your hands wandering over each other’s bodies: with such few opportunities to enjoy intimacy, you nearly forgot what the other felt like, what they tasted like.

Rosinante gently urged you to sit down. “Take a seat, my darling.” 

You felt so much more dwarfed as he hunched down to kiss you. Kneeling down, his kisses migrated to your neck, down your chest, then to your abdomen. With his hands kneading your thighs, massaging the inner parts of them, he looked up at you as if pleading.

“I want to taste even more of you. May I?” 

The flush pickled your cheeks at his gentlemanly request. You nodded, a shy smile gracing your appearance.

You shifted your hips so as to help him slip your pants off. He took your underwear off with it, allowing his eyes to fall on your beauty easily.

Your heart pounded as his caress worked up your inner thighs. His thumb rubbed your slit, gingerly focusing on your clit as if he were touching something so delicate and rare.

It’d been far too long since the last time you were intimate. The trembling and gasping was impossible to suppress—thank god for his devil fruit. You saw no reason to hold back. The opportunity to allow yourself to live in the moment was few and far between.

With your gasps turning into moans, he pressed his lips against your aching core. His tongue made itself at home between your folds, particularly around your sensitive bundle of nerves: swirling, sucking, his breath hot against your skin.

Not wanting to risk hurting you, he started stretching you out with just one finger. Your body took to it readily—eager for more. With the spasming of your walls and arching of your back, he knew you could take more. Burying his fingers deep inside you, he lapped up each wet quake you gifted him with.

“Please,” you whimpered. “We don’t know how long we have.” Your voice was laced with a budding sadness for the reality you lived in.

“I want to feel all of you, Rosi,” you begged.

“Oh, darling, come here.” The affection held in his voice further casted out the prior chill of the room.

Planting a firm kiss on your lips and letting your passion linger between them for a moment longer, he positioned himself in between your legs. His heart racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins: he wasn’t sure how long you had or how long he would be able to last, but oh how he missed moments like this.

Barely pressing into you and he already had you tossing your head back. Seeing you in such an intense trance of euphoria so quickly—he couldn’t help but smile out of relief. He wanted you to enjoy this just as much as he was going to.

Pushing deeper, he began pumping: slowly and deliberately. Despite your eagerness, you still had limits, ones which he was more aware of than you at that moment.

“You’re perfect,” he groaned while your body welcomed him. “So good for me, baby.”

With his pace quickening, each thrust brought on more and more intense surges of ecstasy. You were so wound up that you were already on the verge of snapping.

He was well aware of it—feeling you clamp around him out of desperation the nearer you came to the edge.

“I love you so much!” You cried out. Your sobs filled the rooms, being accompanied by the sound of wet skin slapping.

‘I-I love you too,” he gasped from the build-up reaching its peak. “Ah-ha! Fuck!”

Forcing himself deeper, your body followed suit. The sensation of you reaching your climax after him, squeezed out every lingering feeling of desire.

“Holy shit!” He cursed his body convulsing from the sudden rush.

With no more than a moment to collect yourselves, your eyes fell behind him to the open door. Panicking, you slapped at his thigh and called his attention to it.

The rear end of the maid pushing herself into the room as she swept gave both of you a fright you never wanted to experience.

You covered your face in hopes of her not being able to report to anyone or gossip, but Rosinante wasn’t as quick to act. He stared at her, eyes as wide as dinner plates as the maid turned around only to be faced with an unprecedented sight.

Luckily, she immediately apologized and shielded her eyes so fast that there was little chance she had enough time to remember any details.

After the door slammed shut, he let out a sigh of relief.

“You didn’t lock the door?” You berated him.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 6

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major.

Word Count: 3,308

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm getting excited to finish up the series. Four chapter left and so far it seems like the story is staying on track, and it shouldn't go over. (But you never know! 😁) Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading, liking, commenting and reblogging this series! It means SO much! ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Y/N felt her heart beat triple time as she watched Dean’s face return to the stony granite it had been when she’d first come to camp. Over the last couple of months she'd begun to see him soften slightly; there were even a few moments where he’d seemed on the verge of smiling. His eyes had eventually lost their frosty hardness, and their look of perpetual suspicion.

But both were back with a vengeance now.

She shook her head at him again and tried to understand what he was talking about. “What kind of psychic am I?” She asked, the question conjuring up an urge to laugh. The idea of her having psychic abilities was laughable to her. But she didn’t think Dean would appreciate the humor around it. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean. I haven’t done anything, and I certainly have no psychic powers.”

Dean said nothing, just shuffled sideways towards the door without  taking his eyes off of her. Y/N took a few steps towards him, but froze when his hand dropped to the pistol on his thigh and he hissed at her. “Stay back.”

She felt Emma come up and hide behind her leg and her daughter's renewed fear made anger start to burn in Y/N’s chest. In the last few weeks that Dean had been coming to dinner, Emma had been gradually losing her fear of him, offering him shy smiles and even bringing him one of her books and asking him to read to her. 

But now Y/N could feel her tremble slightly and frustration flared in her. What was Dean doing? And why? Because her mother had died in a fire when she was a baby? What kind of logic was that? Where was all this insanity coming from?

Dean walked to the entrance of the cabin and called to Patrick. When the soldier appeared in the doorway Dean spoke to him brusquely.

“Go get Castiel.”

Patrick looked back and forth between Dean and Y/N and frowned at the obvious tension. “Sir?” He questioned.

“Now.” Dean said with finality. As the man turned to leave Dean spoke again. “And send Risa in here.”

Dean continued to stare at Y/N, keeping his attention intensely fixated on her, the way he’d done during those first few days she’d been there. When Risa came into the cabin she frowned; like Patrick, she could clearly sense the hostility in the room.

When Dean saw her he nodded towards Emma. “Take the kid.”

Panic suffused Y/N and she began shaking her head. Emma clutched tightly to her leg and began crying and whimpering softly. She shook her head and buried her face in Y/N’s hip. “No, mommy.” She hiccuped softly.

“Take her.” Dean said quietly but firmly. There was a pause for a moment as Risa’s eyes lingered on Emma and Y/N before she shook her head.

“No.”

Dean turned his head slowly to look at his soldier, his expression incredulous and furious at the same time. 

“Excuse me?” He said softly, and Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine. 

Risa looked away for a moment, clearly intimidated by Dean's anger. But when she looked back at him, her brow was crinkled and she still questioned his demand. 

“Why?” She asked.

“Because I gave you an order, soldier.” was Dean's softly spoken reply.

Risa stared at Dean a moment longer before she took a deep breath and then exhaled loudly and forcefully, turning and walking towards Y/N and Emma.

Emma started crying in earnest and Y/N knew that no matter what, she had to try and ease her daughter’s fear. She got down on her haunches and smoothed back Emma’s fly away hair. “Oh baby, it’s okay.” She smiled brightly at her, desperately trying to erase all her own fear and anxiety about what was happening.

“Dean and I are just gonna be here for a little while trying to figure out some boring grown up stuff.” Y/N’s happy smile seemed to be fooling Emma slightly because her tears were slowing and she sniffled.

Y/N kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you let Risa take you to see Keisha and Julianne. It will be so much more fun to play with them for a while, rather than staying here and listening to boring grownups talking. And I’ll come pick you up later, okay? I promise.”

She felt awful making a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep, but she wanted to believe she would be picking her up later, and she wanted Emma to lose the look of panic in her eyes. 

She nodded towards Risa. “Go on now, and have fun playing. I’ll see you soon.” She kissed her forehead and gave her another bright smile. 

Emma nodded, still obviously unsure, but willing to believe what Y/N was telling her.

Y/N kept her happy smile in place until Emma was out the door and then her mask dropped and she looked at Dean, her eyes accusing.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked quietly.

Before he could answer, Castiel walked through the door. Like the others, he seemed to notice the tension immediately and questioned it. 

“Dean? What’s going on?”

Dean motioned for Y/N to move backwards. “Sit down.” He said, with a gesture towards the folding chair she’d been sitting on to read the story. When she did, Dean turned his head towards Castiel, but never took his eyes off of her. 

“I know why she’s immune.”

Y/N felt her stomach lurch. “You do?” She asked, some of her anger burning away from pure shock. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Though she still had no idea what this had to do with her mother’s death.

But evidently it was connected, because the angel’s eyes widened in disbelief as Dean continued. “Her mother died in a fire when she was a baby.”

It was to her that Castiel looked for an answer. “Is that true, Y/N?” She nodded. “My God.” 

“Will someone please explain what my mother dying has to do with anything?” Y/N asked with immense frustration.

But the men ignored her for the moment. Dean was finally looking at the angel properly and he nodded at the questions in his blue eyes. 

“Yeah, she’s a psychic kid. She’s immune, just like Sam was.”

“Who is Sam?” Y/N asked, but was ignored again.

Castiel was shaking his head. “Maybe…” He looked back towards her briefly. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” 

Dean scoffed. “Come on Cas! This is way too big a coincidence to be…coincidental.”

Cas nodded reluctantly and then frowned. “But, if she's psychic...then what’s her gift?”

Both men turned to stare at her, and Dean spoke softly. “That’s a real good question. Because she could be doing anything to us, mind controlling us, or manipulating us to only see what she wants us to.”

Y/N finally did let out a bark of laughter. “Are you insane? You think I’m mind controlling you? If I had the power of mind control, I’d definitely make you be nicer, or I’d make you let me go, because this whole thing is ridiculous! And you still haven’t explained why on earth you think I’m psychic and why my mother’s death is involved.”

Dean stared at her for a long time, and Cas just watched him. Finally Dean spoke and his voice was calm and even, as though he was just telling her a story while they sat around her table eating dinner.

“Ten years before you were born, your mother or father made a deal with a yellow-eyed demon. They got something they desperately wanted and he got permission to enter their house. When you were six months old he came into your room, slit himself open and bled into your mouth. Your mother likely interrupted him somehow, and he killed her and burnt the place down around her.”

Y/N felt her stomach turn at Dean’s words. He had to be insane, there was no way it could be true. Demon blood? A demon killed her mother? She shook her head.

“How on earth could you possibly know any of this?”

“Because it’s exactly what happened to my mom, and my brother. The demon fed him his blood, killed my mom, and when Sam turned 22 he started having psychic visions. And he wasn’t the only psychic kid. There were a bunch of them, and without fail every single one of them had powers and every single one of them went bad.”

His jaw clenched and he folded his arms over his chest. “So, if you’re gonna sit there and try and tell me that you’re the only one that never had the blood take hold, the only one who managed to avoid being triggered when you turned 22? Well, then I know you’re lying. So, I’ll ask you one more time.”

His eyes were chips of ice once again. “What can you do? And what have you done already?”

Y/N blew out a puff of exasperation. “I can’t do anything, do you hear me? I am not psychic! I have no powers!”

Cas stepped forward, putting himself between the two of them. “Okay, Y/N, have you ever felt something, something that made you different from other people? Like,” he snapped his fingers, “the ability to connect easily with people maybe? You seem to make friends quickly, people respond to you.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “So being a nice person makes me a psychic now?”

Cas shook his head. “No, but maybe it’s more than you being nice, maybe people can’t help but like you. It could be involuntary on both their part and yours. Like some sort of psychic charisma”

Cas seemed to like his idea, his expression saying that he thought he’d figured it out.

But Y/N was again shaking her head. “No, look, that’s not true. I’ve had lots of people not like me, I’ve had people try to kill me in my sleep just to steal my blanket, I’ve had men attack me just for…well, for being a woman. And I can promise you I didn’t get away from those people by smiling at them and asking nicely.”

Y/N felt the old fears rise in her as she remembered the panic and terror of those moments and so many more like them. To think that she had some kind of mind control or psychic abilities and hadn’t used them then, was laughable.

Cas looked slightly defeated and Dean pushed him aside. “The fact is though, that you could be lying through your teeth, you could be saying anything to knock us off your scent.”

Y/N scowled at him and then stood up. Dean stepped back, and yanked Cas back by his shoulder. “Sit down.” He ordered her but she shook her head.

“This is ridiculous, Dean. You have to know it is.” She took a step towards him. “What about our…our friendship? What about what happened last night?”

Dean’s eyes just got colder and his voice was deep and demanding. “I said, sit down. Now!”

“Dean.” Y/N began and stepped closer again, reaching out to him. But she stopped dead and dropped her hands to her sides as Dean pulled his gun from its holster in the span of a breath. 

“I said get back, and sit down.” He said, slow and deliberate.

Y/N looked at the gun pointed at her, looked at Dean holding it, his hand not wavering an inch, and she was suddenly, unbearably sad. She stared at him and knew her heartbreak was plastered on her face, she was bad at concealing emotions. 

She nodded slowly and moved back to sit in the chair. She had lied to Emma; she wouldn’t be picking her up tonight.

***

The night passed just as her first night in camp had; with her sleeping lightly, troubled by disturbing dreams and waking to find Dean watching her almost unblinkingly. He took her to the outhouses on his own this time, and she wasn’t in chains so, that much had changed. But his hand hovering over his gun the whole way there and back definitely felt binding, and kept her locked in place just ahead of him.

When they got back to the cabin Dean walked over to the door and said something quietly to whoever was just outside. A few minutes later Theresa arrived with breakfast. She looked at Y/N back in her spot on the floor by the table leg and her young face creased in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” She asked Y/N with a look thrown at Dean.

Y/N tried to smile and put her student’s mind at ease. “Nothing, sweetie. Just trying to sort something out. Tell your mom thank you for the breakfast, but I’m not hungry. You should take that back to her so it doesn’t go to waste.”

“Eat it.” Dean’s voice rang out with authority and Theresa took a step closer to Y/N.

Y/N didn’t bother looking at him. Instead she gave Theresa a reassuring nod and the girl bent to set the tray on the ground. “It’s okay, thank you. I’ll probably be hungry later.”

But she wasn’t. She felt guilty enough about wasting food to try and swallow some down, but it just stuck in her throat and she gagged on it and spit it out. At lunch Brandy brought the food tray and she was slightly more vocal with her questions than her daughter was. 

“What the hell is going on here?” She asked Dean. “All the parents are confused and worried. They said you ordered them out of here yesterday and no one has seen Y/N since; Emma’s back with Monique.” 

She set the lunch tray on the table Y/N leaned against and bent to pick up the uneaten breakfast tray. She was looking at Y/N, but still addressing Dean when she spoke. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing that concerns you.” Dean answered brusquely.

Brandy stood to her full height and her large chest rose and fell with indignation. “Since when do you keep me out of the loop?”

Dean frowned at her and his voice was laced with annoyance and anger. “Since this isn’t something that requires your attention. And I’d like to know, exactly when did everyone start questioning my orders?”

Brandy shrugged, seemingly unfazed by his foreboding tone. “I guess when your orders started to seem stupid.”

Y/N’s eyes grew round, beyond impressed at the woman’s boldness and nerve. Dean seemed much less impressed by it though, staring the woman down with a furious expression. But Brandy kept his gaze and never wavered. Finally Dean spoke through gritted teeth.

“Take away the tray, and send someone else with the supper tray.”

Brandy stayed still until Dean took a step towards her and yelled, “That is an order!”

Brandy shook her head, but turned towards the door as she answered. “Don’t forget, boss, not all of us are your soldiers. Some of us follow you because you’ve been a good leader.” She paused at the door and looked back at him. “Don’t fuck that up.”

She walked out, leaving behind an electric buzz of tension in the air. Dean turned back to her and the muscle in his jaw was still jumping. 

“Eat.”

But Y/N shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit!” Dean said bitingly. “You haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. You have to be hungry. I don’t know what kind of hunger strike, sympathy ploy you’re going for here, but it’s not gonna work. Now, eat!” He ended on a shout and something snapped inside Y/N. 

She jumped to her feet and yelled back. “This isn’t a sympathy ploy, you bloody dumbass! I can’t eat the food because it tastes disgusting to me and it chokes me. My stomach is in knots and I feel sick! And do you know why that is? Because you keep threatening to kill me!”

Dean thundered towards her, stopping barely two feet from her. “Yeah, and I’m not gonna have you starve to death before I get the chance! Now eat!”

Y/N threw her arms wide. “What the hell do you care if I starve! It’ll just save you a bullet!” 

She took a deep breath, feeling herself unraveling but unable to stop. “You have me locked up in this place, again! You think I’m some kind of horrible monster. Again!” Her voice broke. “You have taken my child away from me! Again! So don’t pretend to give a shit about my fucking health and wellbeing!” She reached out to furiously smash the food tray to the ground. 

Silence descended and Y/N breathed hard and heavy through her nose, her anger carrying her through a little longer before she turned away from him and buried her face in her hands, quiet, uncontrollable sobs shaking her. 

By the time she managed to get herself under some kind of control, she turned around to see that Dean was gone. She looked around the room as though he might be hiding in plain sight, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Y/N walked over and fell down onto the chair he'd sat in all night. She felt exhausted and deflated. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but it felt like ages before Cas walked through the door. He looked solemn and he nodded at her. 

“Dean says that you should go.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “He’s kicking us out?”

Cas held up a hand. “Oh, no! Not…he didn’t say for you to go from camp. I mean that he said for you to go from here. Go get your daughter, go back to your tent. That kind of go.”

Y/N shook her head, more confused than ever. “I don’t understand. Now, suddenly he doesn’t think I’m some kind of psychic menace?”

Cas shrugged. “Psychic yes, but menace no. He said, and I quote, ‘She was pissed enough to take off my head if she could have, and she didn’t, so she can’t.’” He shook his head. “Occasionally his thought process is hard to follow.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

She didn’t waste anymore time right then, though, contemplating Dean’s bizarre behavior; she was free to go and she ran to get Emma, apologizing for taking longer than she said she would to come get her.

Emma forgave her easily for not keeping her promise, relief clear in her big, deep cerulean eyes. They spent the evening cuddling in the tent; Y/N read her a dozen books and played clapping games with her until Emma’s eyes were shining again, and no more fear or worry clouded them.

At bedtime she sang her a song and Emma drifted off to sleep happily; Y/N found no such easy reprieve. She laid awake for hours trying to understand Dean and the way he thought. He’d been so angry, so sure of her wickedness and evil. And then, just like that, because she’d exploded in anger, he let her go?

How did that man’s mind work? And how did he see her now? Harmless psychic freak? Or someone he’d still have to keep a close eye on? 

She shook her head. It didn’t matter, he’d made himself perfectly clear on one thing, the relationship she’d thought they had, the friendship that she’d hoped would grow into more had meant nothing to him. The kiss they’d shared had meant nothing. 

She meant nothing. He couldn't  have acted the way he did if he cared about her at all.

She needed to remember that going forward and not let her heart get entangled so easily.

From now on, she needed to keep her distance.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @hobby27

[elisaphoenix13]

Deja Vu

"Are you okay?"

Stephen came back to himself with a small gasp and he looked up to find himself looking at Tony. Just...younger. There was less gray in his hair and they were still standing in the Sanctum and it took a few moments for reality to set in and for the sorcerer to realize what had just happened.

Specifically that nothing happened.

He and Tony weren't married, let alone dating. He still lived at the Sanctum with Wong, the Avengers were still broken up...and there were no kids. The realization that his children either weren't his own or didn't exist yet made Stephen feel empty. The vision had felt so real. He could still feel the warmth Tony gave off against his back when he fell asleep just last night (or did he?), and feeling Athena sleeping at the foot of the bed. He was even waiting for this to be some sick joke and his kids would come barrelling through the door arguing about who got to choose the next movie to watch.

But he knew it wouldn't happen. Not yet. Nothing had come to pass. Not even Peter's aunt dying in the accident. May Parker was still alive and well. Stephen was just...Stephen. Sorcerer Supreme. He wasn't anyone's mom, spouse, or matriarch. He was just one of the sorcerer's residing in Greenwich Village.

He felt his skin get clammy and he had to resist the urge to bring up his lunch because he wanted it back. He didn't want to go through all of it again. He wanted his kids now. He wanted the chaos and the noise that the Sanctum was almost completely devoid of.

But he had to, didn't he? Go through all the pain and suffering, the happy moments, the sad…and if that's what it took to get all of that back, Stephen would do it in an instant. He wanted that happiness back…he yearned for it, and he wasn't the only one who deserved it. So did Tony. The very man he fell in love with and was still looking at him in concern.

“I'm fine,” Stephen finally manages to answer while rubbing the bridge of his nose. At least physically. Mentally was an entirely different ballpark. He still felt a small urge to vomit…to lash out and beg for this to be a dream.

“Sure, Doc. I'll believe that when you're not paler than the moon. Better get you a chair.” Tony was already looking for one before he even finished his sentence, and then Stephen felt himself being led to the couch in the foyer. He sat down without argument and made himself breathe through the nausea as Tony sat next to him. “So what's going on?”

Stephen breathes out a pathetic laugh. “If I told you, you'd think I was insane.”

“Guess we won't know unless you tell me.”

If Stephen didn't have that vision, he would have told Tony off…but he knew better. He knew Tony hid his kindness behind smart remarks, but Stephen knew he wasn't ready to hear about what he just experienced. Then being together, having a family, and with the Avengers back together…it was a lot to chew on.

“Maybe later,” he answers quietly. If he could get that vision to be real again, maybe there would be a later.

“Fair enough. Something too intense to recover from immediately right?” Tony says as he gets back to his feet. “I've had nightmares like that. Anyway, glad to see you don't have any magical mishaps here.”

“You'll just cause them if you keep touching everything,” Stephen snorts and Tony barks out a laugh.

“Felt like touching. The engineer in me I guess.” Tony heads for the front door. “Get better soon, Doc. I don't want to be the one dealing with the magical end of things.”

Then he was gone. And Stephen felt empty again. The Sanctum was silent and he couldn't feel Tony's comforting heat…it all felt wrong. He couldn't live like this. Not after seeing what could be.

But then the doorbell rang about an hour later and when Stephen answered it, he found a bag by the door. It held hot soup and a note that made Stephen think that maybe it could happen after all.

Something told me that you'd be terrible about taking care of yourself since you're a doctor. Took the liberty of ordering you some soup. Get well soon, Doc. -T

As Stephen pocketed the receipt with the note and picked up the bag, he couldn't help but smile to himself. He'd have to send the older man a thank you. Something along the lines of calling the man an asshole.

_____________

It worked of course. Tony took it as a challenge of snark and it brought him to Stephen's door more and more. Then everything began to feel familiar to Stephen. The lunches at the Sanctum, the constant quips that he remembered hearing, and their first kiss in Tony's living room…

Everything was back to the way it was. Stephen had to go through all the pain and suffering again but it was worth it to have his family back. It was worth having Valerie glued to his leg since William was still at school, to have Lucy running around in her diaper because she refused to wear any other clothes, and to hear Diana arguing with Harley and Peter over the TV. 

He didn't feel empty anymore.

“You alright, Duchess?” Tony asks from beside him as he cuts up some vegetables. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Stephen shakes his head and focuses back on the task at hand. Namely cutting the last couple of strawberries for Valerie that would hold her over until dinner. “I'm fine.”

“That's just as believable as when you said it when we first met,” Tony huffs. “You looked the same then and you gave me the same answer. Which you never explained to me by the way.”

Stephen looks at him with surprise. “You remember that?”

“I'm old, not senile.” Tony says and Stephen chuckles.

“I really am fine. What happened then was the complete opposite of now.” He starts. “I…saw this back then.”

Tony blinks and stops cutting to look over at the sorcerer. “Wait…this?”

“The kids…us…I lived it. I looked like a ghost because I was torn away from it. It was all a vision and it made me feel sick.” Stephen tells him as he hands the bowl of strawberries down to Valerie and watches her walk over to the table with them. “It was the happiest I've ever been in my life and it was just a dream.”

“And now?” Tony asks carefully, gently taking Stephen's hand, making him smile.

“It's real. I made sure of it. Even if it wasn't, I would do it all again without hesitation.” Stephen reassures. “The vision was just so intense and realistic that it took a lot out of me at the time. I also don't think you would have believed me at the time.”

“I…maybe.” Tony admits. “I was still a little suspicious of it at the time. Are you sure you're okay now?”

Stephen nods. “I'm just relieved. That's all. If I knew this was possible and wasn't able to get it again…”

“But it was and you do,” Tony says firmly before lifting Stephen's hand to kiss the back of it. “I'd hate to imagine what it would be like without you.”

The doctor’s smile drops a bit. “I've seen that too. It's not good.”

“Guess I should thank those witch doctors of yours that they blessed you with visions,” Tony smirks and Stephen rolls his eyes.

“I can't believe you just referred to the Vishanti as witch doctors.”

“You still love me.”

Stephen’s smile returns and he sighs softly. “I always will.”

[seriousfic]

Creature Commandos (2024)

Kind of a mixed bag for me, so far. The character notes and action are intriguing, and it even rebels a bit against the sexlessness of the MCU--but if we're going to ding Marvel for forced, chintzy humor, I gotta say, CC does the exact same thing.

There are dunks on MRAs that feel like they took about ten seconds to come up with (a bad guy says "Facts, not feelings"? Wow! Incisive!). And for some reason they're led by a woman who turns them on, so they're... simps? So the bad guys Gunn is disparaging don't really believe the philosophy he's disparaging; that seem like a weak takedown to anyone else?

Then there are the not-Russians of the country that the protags are deployed to, who--get this, folks--are obsessed with American pop culture, BUT! (giggle snort) Their references are out of date! So they say things like "Where's the beef?" Can you believe it!?

And, in keeping with Amanda Waller's continuing depiction as the most stupidly evil person to ever draw breath, she has for some reason decided to work with Rick Flagg's loving father after he was killed on her orders in The Suicide Squad.

Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln...

The pacing is fairly good, getting us into the action in a hurry with a few pauses for character reveals. As per usual, there seems to be only one actual supervillain in the bunch--Dr. Phosphorus--while the others are just weirdos with angst.

An entitled, emo Frankenstein and the Bride are in a never-ending feud spawned from a love triangle with Doctor Frankenstein--we'll see if the Doc falling in love with someone he had to teach the alphabet to will end up viewed as uncharitably as Frankenstein demanding a woman created for him to love.

Or, for that matter, G.I. Robot being a sentient being created only to kill Nazis; I worry the satire will be too blunt to cut into him seeing Nazis everywhere the way that deserves. Like he'll be a bunch of hashtag relatable Tiktoks instead of a character.

Come to think of it: isn't this characterization just Liberty Prime for Nazis instead of Communists?

Rounding out the cast is Weasel--he's coming along because, as mentioned, Amanda Waller, stupidly evil, et al et al--and Nina, the incongruously cute/innocent one (see Mantis, Ratcatcher).

Gunn probably isn't a bad enough writer to make drippy MRAs the real bad guys--the not-Russians pointedly having power armor that would make them a credible threat to the Commandos seems like a twist incoming situation--but it all does feel a bit inessential. Like Whedon's Dollhouse era. We know all the tropes and it's some fun to go through the motions, but what makes the story of this ragtag bunch of misfits something that needed to be told?

ETA: To go inside-baseball a moment, it seems Gunn's DCU will have a Batman that's been around long enough to have Damian and a Superman that's been Superman for at least a hot minute, but Wonder Woman as of yet either hasn't shown up or hasn't gone public. That is post-Crisis canon, but I never got the impression people really liked it too much, especially with the knock-on effect it had on Wonder Girl and Troia. Admit it: it just feels weird for Wonder Woman to be a rookie superhero compared to Aqualad.

[noxioustoxin]

I'll Be Here, Always

Mentions: Implied Abuse (Warning), Suicide (Warning), fluff, tender love and care.

Small Authors Note: "I'm just looking to do some major self-care, but I do hope you all enjoy my short story." ^^

——————————

It had been about a month, almost two now, that Dazai even bothered to check his notifications. His phone lights up throughout the night with halfhearted check-ins. He didn't have to look to know who the messages were from, the soft chime told him exactly who it was. "Bastard, the hell are you ignoring me for?" "You better not be dead, or I swear shitty Dazai."

It was the same thing every few days or so that it started making his head spin. Normally Dazai would've written a snarky comeback, teasing the redhead about how much he seems to care. In reality, Dazai cared. But even his little dog couldn't pull him out of this one. Dazai could vividly recall the moment when things began to spiral, which wasn't uncommon for him. He was known to be suicidal and depressed, but this time, he took the liberty of writing a note. His fingers ached as he scribbled out his goodbye, which was only to one person, but he wouldn't dare let that letter be seen. Not by his slug. He wasn't that cruel though many would argue with that statement.

Even with the meticulous work he put in to hide his letter, he still somehow found himself in Mori's office. Dazai's letter was there open against the desk, and he could hear a scoff from his boss. It was obvious to him that Mori had already read the contents of the letter. "When will you give up on this futile endeavor? Aimlessly reaching for an outcome you can't achieve. You can't die until I say you can when I provide the means." His voice swirled around Dazai's mind like filthy venom, reminding Dazai with that choice of words that he was chained to him. Typically, Mori's words were nothing more than that. Words. But that unsettling feeling that stirred within his stomach made his limbs suddenly feel like lead. He felt bolted to the floor. But in his mind, the only thing that mattered was Chuuya. Not Mori, not being chained to him and the organization, not his suffering. Just Chuuya.

Flash forward to the present, Dazai sat uncomfortably atop his small mattress. His eyes were misty and puffy from the tears that refused to fall. The shipping container in which he called home carried an ominous chill, one that didn't feel right. "Mackerel… please talk to me."

His phone lit up the small area. He knew it was Chuuya, but what was he supposed to say? That he once again wanted to leave the world behind because of his pain? No. Not that again. So instead, Dazai curled up into a fettle position and sighed heavily into his knees. After what felt like hours, in reality, it was only about twenty minutes, a knock jolted Dazai away from his misery. He sighed and uttered a soft "go away," but that was quickly met with louder and more forceful knocking. The sound made his heart sink, and he knew he couldn't ignore it anymore, so reluctantly he scrambled off of his bed and made his way to the door. His hand hesitantly reached for the lock and slowly opened the door. "What?" His voice shook as he tried to upkeep his typical cold exterior until he was suddenly wrapped in a tight embrace. That familiar warmth quickly enveloped his body, and his body relaxed for the first time in those two months. Chuuya. Dazai opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't find the words. The words weren't needed at the moment, but instead, Chuuya simply led him over to his bed and pushed him down against it. Those usually piercing blue eyes were softer and gentler as he cupped Dazai's cheek. "You don't have to go silent whenever you hit a low period," Chuuya began softly, "I can handle it. I want you to understand that I know you still struggle and suffer with those thoughts." He paused to press his forehead lightly against Dazai's, the gesture so tender that it caused butterflies to form in their stomachs. With that, Dazai's tears finally fell as he quickly tugged Chuuya onto the bed with him. His taller frame fits rather perfectly with Chuuya's smaller one. A soft chuckle could be heard from the redhead as he reached his hand up to play with those messy brown curls. "Come on, we aren't staying here. I've got canned crab at home, let's get you a nice bath and a hot meal." Dazai only cooed in response as he nuzzled his head into the crook of Chuuya's neck.

"Okay, Chibi… I love you." "I love you too Mackerel, now let's go."

Dazai knew that Chuuya did mean what he said, he meant that he was here for him even through his dark times. Maybe, just maybe, this was what his meaning in life was. No. Not maybe, Chuuya was his reason. And that was all he needed now. "I'll be here, always." And Dazai believed it. Completely.

------------------------------ Again, I truly hope you all enjoy this little, short story!

[marshmallowprotection]

ive never seen it before but i really like the lesbian rika hc!! is there a reason behind why you hc it or is it just one of those things that feels right?

Mainly, it's just because it feels right to me. In another sense, it's got a lot to do with the fact that I think Rika needed more time to live and experience the world before she stumbled into Jihyun Kim's artwork. She found him not long before she got kicked out. She worked as his muse / model for a short while before that happened, and that's how she ended moving in with him and their relationship snowballed from that point.

When Rika talks at length about Jihyun Kim, she doesn't speak like she's in love with him as a person, she speaks to the effect of wanting to BECOME him. Rika has never wanted to be herself. She, as herself, has never been good enough for the world in her eyes. She was never wanted as a baby as far she knows. She was never truly wanted with her adopted family because she wasn't "angelic" enough.

There was a single moment in her life when she found the agency to have control, and that's when she acted like the devil to keep Sally at her side and confronted the entire church for their bigotry. That's one of the major reasons why Rika bounces back and forth between that angel and devil iconography in the series. She only felt like she had a sense of autonomy when she was the devil.

But, Jihyun Kim?

The man with shining eyes who captured the sun in a way that made her feel alive?

He doesn't have to be the devil to feel in control. He doesn't have to fight inner demons like she does when it comes to trying to decide who he is as a person at crucial moments of right and wrong. He has a world of freedom and liberty and beauty. She doesn't have that. It becomes the reason why she ultimately obsesses over with him.

The game doesn't exactly do a good job in showing the full scope of this particular narrative, and unless you've got Rika's Diary from the Box and you've played her DLC, you're gonna miss these details. It's damning once you see it, though. Rika wants to become V to escape being herself.

I won't say Rika didn't love Jihyun because she did love him on some level. But, she wasn't in love with him. She was in love with the idea of love, and the idea of becoming Jihyun Kim. She could never become him, though, and that's... that's ultimately one of the things that hurt her when she hit rock bottom.

When she killed Mother Choi to defend herself and she stood there, realizing that she couldn't be an angel, she couldn't be the RFA's Rika Kim, and she couldn't become Jihyun Kim to run away from the devil she fears becoming even though being the devil was the damn thing that also helped her feel liberated? She gave up on trying to be what she thought the world wanted and accepted that she could only be a devil.

That led to the creation of Mint Eye as Mika spurned her to lean more and more into her devil. She took Mika's idea and made it her own in stride, going further than what Mika might've done had she lived as Rika lashed out at herself, Saeran, Ray, Jihyun, and the RFA in anger and contempt. She burned her bridges and everyone around her in an instant.

A huge part of her anger at Jihyun isn't just that he "spurned" her devil, it's because she's still angry that she couldn't become him to escape her devil. The obsession between Jihyun and Rika is such a messy topic to talk about from both sides, but just speaking from Rika's angle here since I've talked way more about Jihyun than her over the years, she loved the idea of him more than being with him.

Neither he nor her should've gotten in a relationship because they both needed a lot of help and care for themselves first.

Whenever Rika interacts with the player in the moments when the MC has a chance to bridge the gap and listen to her above everyone else, she lowers her guard in a way I don't see her doing Jihyun. Her relationship with MC in the V Bad Ending certainly isn't a healthy one in the slightest, but there's something worth saying about the way in which Rika says:

"You make me feel like a person, not the Savior, not the muse of Jihyun's obsession, or someone who will be taken advantage of by those around me."

Ever since I played that ending, I've just been unable to read Rika as anything other than a lesbian who never had the space to realize she liked women because of the oppressive environment her religion had on her as a person. She never had the chance to find the language to express her feelings and she latched onto V when she did because it was like... he was her only hope, and she wanted to become him more than she ever loved him.

In a way, Jihyun was her Savior, like God, and even Jihyun himself confesses he tried to act like a God or Savior to her at their lowest moments together in that codependent, toxic relationship.

I think if Rika had more of a chance to explore herself, she would find out that she's queer. She feels more drawn to women then she ever did with men and with time, she'd find the word for herself and feel at home with it. For someone who's felt the sting of religion hurt me on my journey to find my identity, the thought of Rika working hard to unravel her trauma and accept herself is a peaceful arc in my heart.

I just wonder, if I ever sat down with her, would she say she wanted to feel a spark with Jihyun but it was never there? She was obsessed with him because she wanted to be him, to love him, and to be loved in turn, but it always felt strange? She wanted it with him, but in her heart, there was always something there telling her that this wasn't quite how she wanted to experience love?

And maybe that's why being with MC in VBE1 felt so right for Rika, and why was she able to communicate how she felt at ease with her MC? Like, I know there are limitations in Mystic Messenger when it comes down to sapphic routes, and they get as close as they can in many ways, which paved the way for other otome to soar even more in that regard. But, I know the game won't outright say it one way or the other for Rika, even though we've had 1000000% confirmation for Jaehee and I'll fight anyone who says Jaehee's route isn't one of the most romantic ones.

But, yeah, lesbian Rika real in my heart. I know there are some people who headcanon Rika as bi, but I don't get a read on her that feels that way so I've always viewed her as a lesbian who only figures that out for herself when she meets MC and really self-reflects on what she thinks love is, not just as an idea or an obsession, but what it really means to be in love.

I'm surprised you haven't seen the lesbian Rika HC before because most of the people I know in this fandom also view Rika as a lesbian!

I know a few people with MCs shipped with Rika that are the cutest, actually! Off the top of my head, I know @natasha-in-space has an MC for Rika she'd probably love to gush about! I've done some art and writing in the past for folks who have Rika MCs, too. I just love seeing MCs for the entire cast. Rika MCs are rare, but when I see any of them, I'm happy!

[toxiclizardwrites]

Snippet Sunday

It's been a looong time, but chapter 11 of Love and Rage is very close to being done! I took some liberties with the standard Crimson Fleet questline here, but the main outcomes are still the same.

*******Some spoilers below for the "Absolute Power" quest of the Crimson Fleet questline below!*****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's the snippet:

It was easy enough to sneak through the facility, but finding the blueprints? Not easy. It seemed every computer she tried to hack led into a dead end, not enough access privileges. 

After what seemed like ages, she finally reached the power core room and accessed the terminal that held the conduction grid data. But there's a hitch: the data is encrypted. The only person who has access to this data, as it turns out, is Breyson Bayu, the not-so-well-liked younger brother of Benjamin Bayu. 

Toxic sighed and checked the map of the facility, and found that Breyson’s office was actually quite close. Sneaking around in some vents, she entered the office easily, only to find Breyson waiting behind his desk, hands up. 

Surprised, Toxic approached him, one hand behind her back ready to grab the dagger she had stopped to her leg, hidden by her dress. 

Breyson also gave her a quizzical look, but didn't put his hands down. “Easy,” he started as Toxic came closer, “I'm not your enemy, despite what it might look like from your end.” 

Toxic stopped, but her hand remained behind her back ready to grab her dagger. “Is that so?” 

Breyson shifted in his chair. “Yeah, can I put my hands down now?” 

Toxic nodded and Breyson lowered his hands, but kept them on the desk in full view. His eyes met hers. “You're not exactly what I was expecting, but you've sure caused a stir.” 

Toxic laughed. “So you know what I'm after, then?” 

He nodded. “I'm assuming you're after the conduction grid tech? I'll give it to you freely.” 

Toxic tilted her head to the side. “So willingly? But why?” 

“My brother was always the one that got everything handed to him. He was always the best, you know? And I was the fuck up.” 

“So giving me the tech is a way to get back at your brother, then?” 

Breyson sighed. “I don't want to die. Not for him. Take it and bring it to the Fleet. I'll even put in my password.” He reached over to type on the keyboard. “There.” 

Toxic walked over to the terminal and pulled out a slate to download the information on the conduction grid. Then she hesitated for a moment, but decided to run Estelle’s virus. After all, she was Toxic’s ticket out of Neon and back to Delgado, so not following her wishes wasn't really an option. 

Satisfied, Toxic turned to leave. In the end, it all seemed a bit too easy. But now it was time to meet Estelle and get off this soaked planet.

She headed to the Astral Lounge, the music thumping as she made her way to the back where the elevator to the VIP rooms were located. She slipped into the room Estelle had said she would meet her at, but something felt off. 

Before Toxic could process the feeling, a dark figure emerged from the corner of the room. Benjamin Bayu.

Toxic’s breath hitched in her throat but she knew better than to speak. The message about meeting at the lounge was a trap, something obvious that she should have realized. She mentally scolded herself as Benjamin closed the space between them. 

“The only thing I'm interested in is who is responsible for the virus” he said plainly. 

Toxic took a step back, considering her options. Taking the fall for Estelle crossed her mind. That way, Estelle would be safe and able to get back to Bessel III to meet with Delgado, even if Toxic wasn't with her. But blaming Estelle would surely mean that they'd go after her and Toxic’s only chance to get off Neon would be compromised. 

She drew in a breath. “It was me,” she said. 

Bayu snorted as if he didn't believe her, but accepted the answer nonetheless. “Fine. Here's what is going to happen. You have an hour to get out of Neon. There is a body with very convincing evidence implicating you with murder. If you stay, security will kill you rather than arrest you.” 

He looked down at his watch. “Better get moving, Fleet scum.”

[sheepwithspecs]

I’ve had this concept in my head for a while now where my WoL accidentally wishes for Zenos to get a second chance at life and the dynamis (along with Stigma-4) fulfill this wish in Elysion. Zenos basically becomes a little dynamis guy who is conveniently stuck in UT thanks to his new body, forced to learn lessons about being a better person through interactions with WoL and the patrons of the Last Dregs.

I can’t even call it a redemption arc because unfortunately Eachna truly is his mirror and so she’s not going to be teaching him how to hold hands and feel guilt for his actions. Her main goal is to show him that life is more than mere existence, and that fleeting moment he was chasing for so long can be found in the company of like-minded people (dare she say... friends?)

Anyway if I’m going to read wolzenos I might as well write it myself. In the meantime have Eachna suffering because she’s too polite to tell Jammingway she doesn’t like carrots.

“Isn’t it a dream come true?” Jammingway gushed. “Even the Nibirun have settled in and made themselves at home. I even caught one laughing the other day—laughing! It’s better than I could have ever imagined; the place practically runs itself. Not that I need you taking that as another sign to hibernate,” they added, glancing accusingly at N-7000.

“Fret not. Hibernation is not within this unit’s near future.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Eachna laughed. “All of it, really.” Turning, she looked again at the patrons enjoying their meals. The golden light blurred and she blinked in surprise, reaching up to find that tears were building at the corners of her eyes. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, heart pounding almost painfully in her chest.

Thanks to Meteion, she had suffered alongside these people. She had watched their destruction, felt their anguish, mourned their deaths. Their undying despair had wrenched her heart in twain more than once during her journey to the center of the dying sun. Some had inspired pity, others anger. But every last one of them had been in immeasurable pain. Even the Nibirun, who chose peaceful death over a life with no purpose, had been in pain.

To see them now, knowing where they had once been…. Jammingway was right: it was a dream come true. They deserved this second chance at life, to make right the wrongs which had led to their destruction. They deserved to learn and grow, to achieve happiness for its own sake. She turned her eyes to the vast star above the café, the wellspring of pain that had served as Metion’s nest. How many memories remained inside, trapped by the twisted dynamis of their own despair?

I want them all to have this second chance. Every last one of them.

“And anyway,” Jammingway prattled on, oblivious to her musings, “since you’re here, I thought we might have a picnic! I packed all the best foods the café has to offer. We have carrot soup, carrot salad, carrot juice, carrot cake—”

“Oh… erm, that’s… that’s great!” Eachna managed a smile, brows knitted in consternation. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

“Unlike some annoying life-forms, this unit took allied unit Eachna’s satisfaction rate into account when choosing sustenance.”

“Hey! What are you saying?” Jammingway fumed. “Eachna loves carrots just as much as I do! Don’t you?”

“I don’t hate carrots, per se….”

“Allied unit Eachna’s average carrot consumption does not exceed one half of her nutritional intake. As such, this unit took the liberty of adding—” N-7000 trailed to a stop, hovering silently with one arm outstretched.

“With what!? Just what have you added?” Jammingway insisted, stomping their feet. “If you’ve squashed my carrot cake by crowding the basket, I’m going to be very cross!” 

[lee-hatchett]

task oo4. the interrogation

The room was tense, to say the least. Or, perhaps, Lee could feel tension in the air. He felt rather relaxed, to be honest. Confused, but relaxed. The small committee, led by a captain he had never met before, shuffled some papers on the table where they sat opposite.

"So, Mr. Hatchett," Captain Valorant started. He took a moment to reference the file in front of him, leaving Lee out to dry.

"Uh, Captain." Lee returned the greeting.

"Yes?" The other man looked up at him.

"Hm?" Lee raised an eyebrow. "What? I'm sorry. No. What's... what's the question?"

"Yes. Hm." Valorant shuffled another paper behind the file. Lee decided the best course forward was silence, though several choice comments leapt to his mind. That's not a question, he thought. Those papers are getting more action than I have in the last several months. What's going on?

"We're here for some routine questions," Valorant finally began. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course," Lee said, wondering if a question would ever come. "Is this... what is this about?"

"We're not at liberty to say."

"Of course." Lee nodded sagely. Idiots.

"Can you account for your location between the end of the 134th Biannual Hunger Games and your arrival at the Tower?"

Lee nodded. "Yes."

There was a moment of silence as Valorant looked expectantly at Lee. He cleared his throat. "Go on, then."

Lee blinked. "Oh! Sorry. Yeah. I was in Seven."

"What were you doing in Seven?"

"I live there."

"I mean, what activities were you doing."

"Oh." Lee shook his head. Shouldn't they know all this already? "My father died about a year ago. I was staying with my mother, helping her with. Everything. But then I got the President's letter saying I was to report back for Mentorship in January, and so. Here I am."

Valorant nodded, jotting something in an illegible script on a pad. "And in the months before you received the letter?"

Lee blinked again. "Uh. I was helping my mother. You know, with the funeral, keeping up with the house. That kind of thing."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"An older sister and a younger brother."

"And what do they do?"

Their best. "Sister is a nurse, and brother drives logging trucks."

Valorant's eyes rose slowly, though Lee could feel an intensity there. It offput and concerned him.

"What is your brother's name?"

"Bluejay."

"Does Bluejay drive to Eleven, ever?"

Lee furrowed his brow. It had been a while since his last geography class, but he was more or less certain. "I don't think so. He drives from Seven to the Captiol and back, mostly. So he goes through One, but never as far south as Eleven. Or as east."

Valorant nodded and made another note on his pad. "I see. These next questions are all just customary."

Lee nodded, shifting in his seat.

"Have you heard any conversations around the Tower related to rebel activity?"

Lee's eyes bulged a bit. "No!" he exclaimed. He took a breath to compose himself. "I also haven't been here. For like a year and a half."

Valorant continued his questions, his eyes down on his files. "Do you suspect anyone in the Tower of being aligned with the rebels?"

Lee pushed a breath through his teeth. "Once again, haven't been here. So, no."

"Is there anyone in the Tower you believe to have partaken in seditious activities?"

Lee's jaw fell open a tiny amount. "Uh. No. Sorry. I. I haven't been here. I hardly know some of these people."

Valorant once again shuffled some papers into a file and slid his pen over it to clasp it shut before raising his eyes to meet Lee's. "Thank you, Mr. Hatchett. That's all the questions we have for you."

Lee fought with his face to avoid his brow from furrowing. He squeezed his lips shut to stop the flow of something stupid, knowing the price that some Victors had paid in the past for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Instead, he forced his neck to bend in a small nod. "Uh. Sure thing. Have a good day."

And with that, he stood up and left. Valorant remained in the room, shaking his head. "Waste of time," the captain muttered. "We keep such good tabs on the Victors who aren't in the Capitol - it's the ones who are here who are dangerous."

[kinocomix]

metal band story devlog 12: Making art in 2024, a survival guide but also DOGGO

first things first, as I oh so subtly implied in the title of this devlog, have a dog:

I’m sure someone is out there yelling at their screen with anatomy complaints, but I like it.

This is a braque d'auvergne dog and it kinda looks like, well, every spotted dog ever. 

image from 101dogbreeds https://www.101dogbreeds.com/coat/spotted-dogs

The drawing above is the initial draft of what I kind of want the dog to look like for the most part. I’m taking the liberty of changing some things here and there, since I want the dog to be a mutt.

Here you can see I changed the torso shape, and made it so that I can redraw the design faithfully using simple proportions. I also took extra care to decide what the eyes looked like, so I tried several things there:

I ended up settling for, once again, the initial once I came up with (I swear I don’t do this all the time). I felt like I wanted the dog to feel like it could talk, but subvert that by having it be just a normal dog. During my research I also came across something cool that I will not be including in the design. Which is the fact that if a dog sustains an intense scar, the hair grows back WHITE.

also, this could entirely be me and my bias but it’s… hard to find pictures of deformed dogs that are ugly? like dogs are always so excited to exist that even if their entire lower jaw is missing they’ll look like a vibe and be having a good time if you’re nice to them.

on a final note regarding dogs, have this. It’s out of context and I won’t explain it cause I’d like to have everyone try to figure it out.

With that being done, you might notice I don’t have a final design yet, because the four sketches I drew were the only things I was able to accomplish this week. This is realistic progress. So let's talk about art in the internet age. you thought this was going to be a straightforward devlog about a dog? well think again. 

This week I had a lot of thinking to do outside of the context of comics and art. I’m 27, and although the internet has led us to believe that it’s straightforward to be a microcelebrity for a living it’s actually very difficult, and the mental toll it can take on you is equally as worth noting. it’s weird and volatile and you’re fighting an ever changing landscape of other people trying to get heard. I currently work at a board game store, one of the nicest jobs I could have hoped for. My boss is a fun guy, my coworkers are awesome and the people who come to the store are nice and from all walks of life… but it’s not sustainable for me. It's the night shift which goes against my natural circadian rhythm and the pay is mostly being spent on transport at the moment. One time I offhandedly said “art is made by people with day jobs” and while I meant it at the time the true meaning and depth of that statement is still unfolding to me. While writing this devlog, I had a job interview to attend. If we’re being realistic, while it’s possible for me to make a living off of making my comics for a dedicated niche audience that supports me on patreon, the chances of that actually happening are quite low given the fact that the rate at which I output things doesn’t work with the modern internet’s unquenchable need for more stuff.

this isn’t a new thing or will it ever go away. Art is an extension of us as human beings, it’s our desire to project meaning onto an uncaring world that we are part of. it’s ironic if you think about it for a second, a more pretentious person would call it something like “the duality of man” or some shit but I wouldn’t like that to be me. god, it would be so hilarious to look back at this devlog years from now and realize I unironically said “the duality of man”. Anyways the value of art, as we know, is not dedicated by how much attention it gets otherwise hominids all those years ago wouldn’t have put color to stone

Cave drawing in the upper Paleolithic cave of Chauvet-Pont d'Arc, Ardeche, France

you see there’s no real way of saying “I want less digital things in my life” without the internet seeing you as a 4567 year old grandma yelling at a cloud but that’s it really. The way I see it, artists on the internet can end up somewhere on this graph:

I think I fall where the red dot does. On top is my friend fouad, working on his graphic novel having left the internet entirely. closer to the left are most youtubers, to the right are people like my dad’s uncle, who would paint for himself and family members exclusively. 

Today was the first day where I looked at someone whose art was exclusive to one very specific place and said “I get it”. beyond a certain point the feeling of making something cool can get overshadowed by all the people running towards it. Meaningful connection gets replaced by a wall of words from many people where your ability to engage with it gets harder and harder the bigger the wall gets. Which is why I think I’m going to put the comic here on tumblr and tapas, and not bother with other places really.

Eventually, I’d like to be an art teacher. Until then we’ll make it work with what we have, and even if I don’t get my dream job I think I’ll still be happy.

Devlog update on Tuesdays.

[sepherinaspoppies]

never let me go

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ masterlist ✧₊⁺AO3 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ taglist

⟢summary: Aemond's girlfriend comes home stressed and frustrated and he knows how to help relieve her.

⟢pairing: modern aemond targaryen x reader

⟢warnings: adult themes, mdni! 18 years+, female receiving (oral), and cockwarming.

⟢wc: 2,105

⟢notes: I apologize if this sucks, I had a glass of rum and coke. haha anyways enjoy my babes

She didn’t realize tears were streaming down her cheeks until her keys twisted the door of her loft open. Pent up emotions of overwhelmingness and stress she had been holding in since the start of her day, were now released from the tight confines of her chest. 

“Hey, my love, I made that spicy vodka pasta you sent-” Her boyfriend’s warm and enthusiastic smile disappeared as he took in his girlfriend’s glossy eyes and puffy red lips. 

He knew something was wrong. 

Aemond cleaned off the minced garlic that gathered between his fingers with a kitchen rag and did not think twice before running across the loft from the kitchen where she stood paralyzed sniffing out her cries. 

“What’s wrong, my love? What happened? Talk to me”

She lightly brought her hand in the middle of Aemond’s chest, stopping his intrusion before he came. She did not expect for Aemond to be home early, she usually was the first one to arrive and prepare dinner for both of them and sometimes usually break out in a good cry when she was alone without the presence of her golden retriever boyfriend. 

She and Aemond had been together a little over four months. It started right after they became roommates, when she put an ad on their school’s announcement board and Aemond was the only one who did not smell like cigarettes, or did not talk so loud and trendy, or even mysteriously eyed her furniture. 

After they lived together for about a year things between them started heating up. Little soft touches became hot amorous touches that more often led to their clothing being left on the ground where they took out their carnal desire for each other. 

Aemond was the first one to admit out loud his feelings for her, his hot roommate he had been secretly pining for since the moment she let him inside her loft wearing those tight jeans that showed the curve of her ass. 

She, however, wasn’t so vocal about her feelings for Aemond. Of course, she loved him just as he did to her. But talking and displaying her emotions wasn’t something she excelled at and it was one of the reasons why she did not have many friends. 

Everyone, to her, eventually left. 

But Aemond stuck to her like glue, finding out ways to get her to talk openly and freely. 

Aemond furrowed his brows in confusion as his girlfriend continued to pour the tears out of her eyes. He had never seen her cry this much before. Aemond knew she was under a lot of pressure in pharmacy school, usually annoyed at the workload Maester Orwyle was giving her. 

She slowly lowered her arm away from his chest, dropping her keys along with her backpack heavy on the floor. She ran to Aemond without any hesitation like before. 

“I don't think I can do this anymore. It’s too much, Aem” She cried, nuzzling her head against his chest. She smelled the pasta and garlic that lingered on his apron that she bought him from T.J. Maxx. ‘Kiss the cook’ it said, buying it for the sole purpose to kissing him. 

Aemond drew soothing circles around her back, “You’re the strongest person I know and also the smartest. Seven Hells, you’re smarter than me! You’ll make an excellent pharmacist and maybe I’ll indulge your fantasy at playing doctor with me” He smirked, wiggling his brows after giving her head small little pecks. 

She giggled at his last sentence. 

“Come here” 

Aemond led her to the laundry room where her fresh and cleaned pj’s were folded nicely, he took liberty in doing some laundry and some light chores around their home after his art history class was canceled. Her wandering eyes looked well pleased enough at the cleanliness and Aemond prided himself knowing he pleased the love of his life. 

He changed her into her favorite Strawberry Shortcake matching pajama set, in hopes of trying to get his girlfriend to be comfortable and relaxed. 

She thanked him with a small smile but Aemond could see the stiffness around her shoulders and the slight tremble around her hands as she tried to lift both of their pasta-filled plates to their wooden kitchen table. 

Normally, a bit of chocolate sweets helped raise her blood sugar to cease the little shakiness whenever she cried or felt pressurized in her clinical work setting at the Citadel’s hospital. 

But Aemond knew something else that would help release the tension in her body. 

She yelped in surprise, nearly knocking over their plates as her boyfriend lifted her from underneath her arms to lay her on top of the table. 

“What the-” Her sentence was cut off as Aemond sat himself in the dinner chair, scooting closer between her legs to speedily tug down her strawberry printed flimsy shorts and tossing them somewhere in the kitchen. Aemond did not care if he had just cleaned the kitchen, fuck that he needed his sweet girl to be taken care of. 

“Normally your cunny serves me as dinner or dessert but right now it’s gonna be my appetizer” Aemond says with a hungry look in his eye. 

There are butterflies fluttering inside her stomach as she watches Aemond placing her legs on top of his shoulders and bringing his lips to kiss each of her inner thighs. 

She feels Aemond’s hot breath just centimeters away from the place she needed him the most and she let out an unfulfilled whine for Aemond to do something. Anything. 

Aemond continued to trail kisses up to her pelvis, inhaling the heady sweet natural scent through the tufts of hair that were glistening with her honey. His beautiful girl was wet, too wet for him. Aemond figured he could just stuff her with his cock right then and there since no more preparations were needed. 

But Aemond was starving and she was laying all spread out for him for the taking. 

Her hips buckled upwards feeling Aemond’s index finger parting open her lips, circling the swollen bud slowly without much pressure. No doubt he was teasing her to test how much wetter she could get. 

She wondered with his light graze if he could feel her heartbeat, how fast it was going with anticipation and desire for him. 

“Aemond, please” She pleaded, using her calves to bring Aemond’s head closer to her cunt. 

Aemond’s lips curled into a smirk and dragged his finger down inside her opening which earned a loud groan to be released from her. It was music to Aemond’s ears, a wonderful melody. 

He dives in unhesitantly, flattening his tongue to lick a long stripe from her center to her clit. Her jaw slacked open and her eyes tightly sealed to a close at the sensation. Aemond knew how to work his tongue very well and often praised him for it.

“So sweet” Aemond hummed the truth. The vibrations sent more euphoric waves to settle at the pit of her stomach. 

Aemond took turns in switching his fingers to circle her bud and using her his tongue to fuck her. 

Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and her silky hair stuck to her. From the looks of it, Aemond knew she was enjoying his ministrations.  

She continued to fill the kitchen loudly with her moans as both of Aemond’s fingers and tongue relentlessly continued to explore and devour her like it was the first time. 

She brought herself to sit on her elbows and she watched as Aemond’s darkened violet eye stared at her intently as he continued to take in everything she was giving him. The sight alone and the sounds of him slurping her juices brought her to a close. 

Aemond felt his beauty’s fingers tangle his hair to bring him closer. He knew she was close so he did the one thing that he knew would bring her to peak. 

He brought his lips to a close on her clit and gently suckled on her throbbing pearl and moved his head side to side, not caring if her juices drenched his face even more. 

Her moans got louder and that band on her lower stomach snapped, releasing waves of warmth down her body. “Oh, Aemond! Yes!!” She cried loudly arching her back against the wood.

Aemond savored every bit of her honey, not letting any drop go to waste. Once her trembles of pleasure ceased, Aemond smiled knowing he was able to relax her. 

For now. 

Her body felt like noodles, she did not have the strength to sit back up. If anyone walked into the kitchen they would see how her position resembled that to a starfish.

But along that tiredness came hunger, and Aemond read her mind as he carefully helped her up, sitting her on his lap where she felt his hardness in his pants. 

“You think you can handle my cock? Or was that too much, my love?” Aemond questioned, voice still coated in remnants of pleasure as he combed back the strands of hair that stuck to her face. 

She leaned her head back on his shoulder tiredly. Could she handle him? She knew she could but her body was spent and weary from releasing all that pent up tension she lingered all day. 

“Yes, Aemond,” She muttered with tired eyes.

Her hands helped loosen the knot of the apron and Aemond shimmied his way out of his black jeans and boxers. His cock sprung free from its confines. Rock hard, long with a slight curve up that aided in hitting that special spot inside her. She gasped at the small beads of pre cum that trailed from the angry red head. 

Aemond hitched in his breath as she brought her finger to scoop his arousal and suck the drops away. 

“Give it to me, Aemond. Put your cock right where it belongs” 

Aemond moaned at her words and did exactly what his love wanted. He lined her body where his member stood proudly and greedily. He gave himself a few pumps before he gathered a few of her slickness and directed her hips to slowly sink herself down on him. 

She let out a long, wanton moan watching his cock slowly disappear inside her. Aemond wasn’t any better; he was fighting the urge not to rut inside her velvet walls like an animal. 

“B-big” Stuttered words left her.  

After they maintained their breathing in order, Aemond brought the now cold, pasta plates directly in front of their seat. Aemond wasn’t sure if the tiny sighs of relief was due to the new tasty cooked meal or him being stuffed inside her. 

Nonetheless, Aemond welcomed it. Her delicate and beautiful features displayed no more signs of sadness or pent up frustration, her appearance looked just as normal as before. Relaxed and happy. That was the girl he knew, the woman he fell in love with. 

They ate while being unified together, something they always did on every occasional day. Aemond loved being stuffed inside her warmness and she loved being full to the brim. It was akin to a missing puzzle piece finally being found and attached to its set.  

Once they finished their food rather quickly from the drained energy, Aemond, still attached to her, walked them over to their shared couch and laid them against the softness.

She but all hissed at the threat of him slipping out, Aemond reassured her with wolfish grin that he had no intention in leaving her anytime soon. 

Aemond turned on the telly, settling on a new episode of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia. A show they both loved and spent heavy amounts of hours binge watching. 

While Aemond had his focus on the episode where Charlie, Mac and Dennis were discussing the taste of creampies, she felt the need to grind against him trying to satisfy the new found itch her body was pleading to relieve. 

Aemond glanced down, “Be still, my love” he warned, kissing the tip of her nose. She pouted dejectedly. His tip settled on that spongy part that would make her come apart with a slight movement of his hips. 

A single strand of silver hair tickled the inside of her nose and before she knew it, before she could hold it in she jerked her body so suddenly as a sneeze escaped her followed by a series of mixed moans that she wasn’t sure if they were hers or his. But a deadly tight grip on her hips followed by twitch and warm thick ropes of spend, confirmed that Aemond had just come inside her. 

[regatoni1]

~Chapter Five~

You were at the diner with Lloyd, staring into his eyes as he talked about his dreams. 

"I wanna fight," he told you.

"Fight for what?"

"Somebody I love," and he looked at you as if you were going to be that person. 

You smiled bashfully and looked down to your plate.

"Your hair is still wet, princess."

"Well we should go dry it then shouldn't we?"

He smiled knowingly at you. "Don't have to ask me twice."

You took him to your dorm that night where he taught you more than one feeling.

The cold feeling lasted a few hours, and the pain in the side of your head still mercilessly throbbed.

You didn't know how long you'd been there, but it had been long enough for the blood to dry and brown along your skin.

Any feeling you had slowly faded away, other than anxiety for Claire.

After what you guessed was a day, Lloyd bounced his way merrily through the door, carrying a tray.

He pulled up a small table, the metal legs screeching against the floor.

The tray clattered noisily onto the surface of the table. On half of it was some food and a cup of water, the other was a pair of bloodied pliers.

"Well, eat up princess, I brought it here for you," Lloyd said happily. 

Humiliation bit its way up your throat and the bonds on your wrists suddenly felt heavier. 

"Oh, right," he drawled out. "I almost forgot."

Lloyd leaned forward and undid the ties on your wrists, but you didn't move your hands from where they were gripping the arm of the chair. 

He waited a moment, before he got up and started walking away with the tray.

He almost made it to the door before you interrupted. "Wait," you said quietly.

He turned his head and cocked it to the side, waiting.

"Come back."

"Come back, what?"

You forced the bile back down your throat. "Come back, please."

"Aww, see? I knew we had manners."

You didn't respond, holding in your retorts. 

He once again walked toward you and placed the tray back on the table. 

The pliers were too close to your food for comfort. "Whose blood?"

"Doesn't matter," he replied curtly. 

"Is it Claire's?" You didn't want to know. But you had to.

"No."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Why don't you graciously take what I've given you and when you're done, I'll tell you whose blood it is?"

You glanced at him once, before slowly picking up the sandwich from the plate. 

He watched you with a smile like the two of you were on a date, watched you like the day you met. 

It took fifteen minutes for you to finish the food, your stomach having shrunk from being tied up and dormant for so long. 

"You must have to go to the bathroom, yeah?" Every word he spoke was laced with mockery. 

You leaned in close to his face. "Whose. Blood?"

He leaned in even closer. "Your. Uncle's." And you knew it was true. 

You paled, and sat back into your chair.

"I still have the nails if you want them," he said, amusement lighting up his face. 

The sandwich you had choked down was dangerously close to showing itself. 

Lloyd bent down to your ankles and undid the restraints. 

He grabbed you roughly by the arm and hauled you up. 

"You try anything," he growled as the two of you walked to the door, "and I'll kill them both."

Again, you could feel the truth in his words, and they chilled you to the bone.

"Gosh!" he continued having a conversation with himself. "You're so cold, (y/n)! Why didn't you say something?" 

Lloyd stopped walking for a moment, and took off his jacket, handing it to you. 

You didn't take it, so he took the liberty of placing it on your shoulders. 

Normally, you would have shrugged the jacket off. Under any other circumstance, you would have attempted to rip his throat out. But not here, not now. Not when your little sister and apparently uncle were in danger. 

Lloyd took this as a sign of submission, and placed his arm around your shoulder as he led you throughout the halls. 

"You should really cover up, doll. It'll give people the wrong impression."

You hadn't noticed while you were pretending to be somewhere far, far away from here, but your shirt was still wide open, and goose bumps were prominent across your skin. 

Reluctantly, you slid your arms through the holes, folding the oversized jacket over your front. 

Suddenly, a large explosion sounded outside and Lloyd shielded your body with his. 

"Shit!" he cursed, running to the window. 

You took this as your moment to run away, but Lloyd was faster than you. Stronger than you. 

It only took him a few strides to completely catch up with you, once again using his arm to cut off your airways as he pinned you to the nearest wall.

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?" he asked gruffly in your ear.

You held on to his arm, a strangled cry finding its way past your lips.

"Yeah, I don't think so," he said, grabbing handcuffs from his back pocket, he linked himself to you.

You looked up to him in horror. "Leverage, darling."

~

"Took you long enough," Claire said with relief and a smile as Six opened the door to her room.

"Sorry bout' that. My flight was delayed," Six replied sarcastically. 

"I knew you'd catch another one," Fitz replied.  

"Where's (y/n)?" Six asked quickly. 

Claire's face fell and she looked to the floor.

"We, don't know..." Fitz said slowly. "Claire said that Hansen came in here yesterday morning, knocked her out, and took her somewhere else."

Six looked at Claire, then back to Fitz with determination. 

"Claire," he said without diverting his gaze. "Put these in your ears."

She complied, taking the earplugs from Six's outstretched hand and holding them, waiting for the conversation to finish before putting them in her ears. 

"You able?" he asked Fitz.

"Enough."

"Good. Here, take this." Six handed Fitzroy a gun. "Here's what's gonna happen," he continued. "You're going to take Claire through the front door, and run like hell. My partner should have drawn the snipers away or killed them. When I find (y/n), I'm going to take her around the back. We'll meet up in the east side of the castle, around 100 feet into the trees is an empty guard post stocked with guns." He then turned to Claire. "If anything happens, you find my partner and she'll keep you safe. Got it?"

Claire nodded slowly, fear evident on her face. 

"Put them in your ears, Claire," Six said referring to the earplugs still in her hand.

He watched the wall, hearing the softest creak in the floorboards outside. Calculated, he shot through the wall, a body falling and gently tapping the door open.

"You ready?" he asked Fitzroy, eyes not leaving his newest victim.

Fitzroy didn't say anything as the three of them collected and prepared themselves for whatever was about to happen.

~

Your arm was burning from the cold metal on your wrist as Lloyd led you around the castle. 

He all but dragged you up to where he kept you and Claire.

The two of you ran through a hallway littered with bodies all laying in their respective puddles of blood, coming upon an empty room.

Lloyd sighed. "He's in the house."

He yanked you back into the hallway, seemingly forgetting you were attached to him.

"Morons!" he yelled at the closest body to him. 

You jumped back when he whipped out his gun with his free hand.

He shot his dead guard in the head. Then, he turned to you.

"Sweetheart, your boy toy has caused a lot of problems for me. Let's go solve them, shall we?"

You swallowed around a lump in your throat. Still looking at the disrespected corpse you asked quietly, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, lugging you down the hall with a sneer, "The three of us are about to play a very fun game."

He took you to a roof with two of his men in tow.

"Fitz, no!" you screamed as you discovered his body.

"Roll him," Lloyd said. 

His guard turned the body. "I'm sorry, (y/n)," Fitz said as he held a live grenade. 

"You douche!" Lloyd said as he pulled his man in front of him, simultaneously protecting you and himself.

The force of the blast took you and Lloyd down. 

Wrapped in his arms, he landed on top of you, crushing the air from your lungs. 

You started gasping for air, inhaling dust from the explosion instead. 

At some point, your gasping turned into sobbing.

Lloyd had already gotten up, but you stayed locked on the ground, staring at whatever was left of your uncle.

With a roll of his eyes and an exasperated exhale, he threw you onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry and started running toward the exit. 

You were still heaving for air, the jolting making your bruised ribs ache even more. 

He had made it completely out of the building, and you were on some sort of driveway beside the castle's moat when he said, "C'mon princess stop crying, isn't this the definition of sweeping you off your feet?"

It was at that moment when you started fighting again. 

He was looking for Claire, who was hopefully safe, and you didn't have to worry about Fitz.

You started pounding at his back, moving and squirming and kicking and doing whatever you could to hinder his movements.

"You little bitch, stop!" he called out, his pace slowing down.

"What Lloyd?" you panted. "Can't handle a little fight?"

Smiling, you continued until you were thrown off of his shoulders, landing on the ground with a thud. 

You then kicked his legs out from under him, forcing him onto his back.

Jumping on top, you wrapped your legs around his body, an attempt to lock his arms at his sides.

You ended up having to hold Lloyd's hand as to not break your wrist.

"On the contrary," he smiled. "This is exactly what I was hoping for our reunion."

"You disgust me."

He feigned pain. "Ouch, princess."

He ended up maneuvering his body in a way that forced you off of him. 

"Bet Fitzy didn't teach you that, huh?"

You both swiftly stood up, but you were faster and therefore had the chance to pin his handcuffed hand behind him back. One wrong move, and his arm would break.

You stood on your toes to whisper into his ear, "Don't think for a second you're allowed to talk about my uncle like that."

Before you saw it you heard him smirk. Just before you broke him arm, he took his free hand back over his head, grabbing his own jacket still wrapped around your body, and by sheer strength ripped you over his head to the ground in front of him.

"Fuck!"

He took a knee in front of you, leaning in to speak.

"Now sweetheart, let's try this again, shall we?" He smiled pleasantly at you. "You're going to get the fuck up off the ground, and we're going to walk our pretty little faces over to your boyfriend."

"And what in the actual fuck made you believe I'd listen?" you responded in the same, venomous tone he used with you. 

There was something there, in his eyes when you said that, that made you extremely confused. 

Fear? No. Was that... sadness?

It snapped away as fast as it had arrived. But that didn't stop you from filing it away in your mind. 

You created a plan.

"Aww sunshine, I really thought we had a connection back at Harvard, didn't you?" Lloyd pouted.

"Yeah I did," you answered truthfully. You honestly thought that Lloyd was the type of person you had always wanted to be with, forever. The Lloyd you knew from school, anyway. 

His back straightened and his eyebrows furrowed slightly at your confession, not expecting your answer.

"If you promise not to hurt me or Claire, I'll go with you."

"I'm not the best at keeping promises,  babycakes."

"Lloyd, please," you begged. You were tired, aching, and just wanted to go home. 

He didn't say anything, didn't agree to anything, but he offered you his hand to stand up. Albeit your wrists were handcuffed together and he needed you to get up to go anywhere, it was enough of a promise to you.

You took his hand and the two of you stood facing each other in a moment of calm. 

Lloyd cupped the side of your face hesitantly, like he had one less wall protecting him on the inside from you. 

He leaned in for a kiss, and you closed your eyes, a single tear escaping from one. 

His lips pressed gently against yours, and the tenderness of it all had you frozen like a deer in headlights. 

Then you heard a gunshot. 

Go to Chapter Six

[tooxldtorememxer]

fornassau​:

James knew the last name Lannister, but he hadn’t had a reason to do any dealings with them until today. He had no clue what any of the family looked like, he just knew their names and what company they owned. You’d be hard pressed to not know their name at least. Honestly it would have been surprising that he hadn’t had any dealing with Tyrion Lannister considering his love of books, and James’s own reputation working within certain circles, but alas here they were.

Once he’d heard the door and the voice calling out for him, he adjusted his maroon vest and took a quick glance into a mirror that was simply decoration, just to make sure he looked like walking perfection. You couldn’t meet these sort of clients with deep pockets looking messy.

“ Ah, Mister Lannister. “ Once he’d rounded the archway he got his first view of his client who wasn’t at all what he’d might have expected. There was something refreshing about it really, that his client was a bit more unkempt. He always liked the rolled out of bed look in men anyway. And Jaime, even though he didn’t dare say it out loud was extremely appealing to the eye. He was terribly handsome. This man must have gotten all the women he wanted. But it wasn’t like James couldn’t catch an eye as well in what he was wearing. Navy trousers complimented the colors of the maroon vest he wore buttoned over a white and navy tightly checkered shirt. A mossy tie was wrapped around his neck and to top the whole thing off, a tweed jacket with a softer blue pocket square.

“ Welcome to The Gilded Page. I’m James McGraw, proprietor and antiquarian. Your secretary briefed me on what you might be looking for to give your brother. “ He extended a hand for him. All t’s crossed, all i’s dotted. Knowing what your client had an interest in was the key to making a sale in this line of work. “ I took the liberty of finding a few selections that might pique his interest. If you’ll come in the next room, you can have a look at them and make whatever decision you like. I have some fresh tea as well for you to enjoy while you peruse what I’ve chosen. If you’ll follow me. “

With that, he turned and led him into the next room. This one had more of a study sort of feel to it, a large parchment tinted globe on an ornate stand in the corner. Adorning the walls? Ornate but framed maps, obviously created by mapmakers and sailors of the 17th and 18th century, as a sea monster or two was drawn in on the ocean, and not all land was named as it was today. There were even a few models of wooden ships on the high shelves, and some adorning a desk further back. A staircase led upstairs to his flat, and this being an older building he didn’t have a second back way besides the fire escape. He gesture to one of the empty seats around the table, three large volumes seated next to the tea.

“ How do you take it? “

He heard the footsteps approaching and thought he was able to breathe out until he realized it didn’t have to be Mr McGraw that made his entrance but someone else. He really needed to stop being so paranoid but sometimes he had too much of a livid imagination. It came with fatherhood, he thought. And that’s what Aunt Genna had told him, that he would have a different perspective on life and shit. He could have done without the paranoia though. 

The man that rounded the archway was not what he had expected and looking at him he realized how embarrassingly underdressed he was at the moment. It wasn’t his fault, ok? Tally could have set the notice earlier and given him time to prepare! Or perhaps he should make more of an effort to actually check his calendar more frequently and not rely so heavenly on notices on his devices. Either way, he could have made a better first impression, he thought, and perhaps not expected that every person who worked in places like these was dusty old men. 

It wasn’t one of his ‘Lannister’ smiles he presented him but a genuine one when he reached out to shake his hand. “Pleasure, Mr McGraw,” he said. He had no idea what Tarly had told him to bring out, hell, he didn’t even know what kind of books were in this man’s possession or what Tyrion was actually really into. But Tarly knew, he knew that because he often saw them speak together and since Tarly had been the one to come up with the idea he just needed to trust him. His eyes darted around the books on the shelf he stood closest to before he looked back at McGraw with a soft smile. “After you,” he said and gestured for him to lead the way.

Jaime followed and shrugged his jacket off. It was rather warm in here compared to outside and he had a feeling he would be here for a while unless McGraw pointed at one book and told him to get it. It wasn’t that Jaime couldn’t read, he could, and he enjoyed it sometimes, but he’d rather not be watched while he did it and be put under more pressure. Entering the room his eyes darted around again and his head turned. There were just a lot of things to look at and he let out a small involuntary whistle. How had he gotten his hands on all of these treasures? They must be to him or he wouldn’t have put them on display like that. Father did the same thing in his office and in his home.

Shit, McGraw had asked him something and he hadn’t listened, he’d been too busy looking at things. But when he turned to look at him again it was pretty obvious what he had meant. “Splash of milk, thanks,” he said and cleared his throat. Well, that was embarrassing. “I like your collection of… stuff,” he said and gestured at the room. Fucking great, could he get any worse? There was instant regret there, but he refused to show it. Maybe the only sign of it was the tensed jaw for a second.

James McGraw had spent his entire life’s work dedicated to a personal hobby; antique books. Even with what little he had growing up, James made a fine life for himself. His grandfather made sure that he got a good education, something that came quite easily to him. For nearly twenty-five years now, he stood as the soul proprietor of The Gilded Page, a small antique book shop with a Victorian style front that faced the street on Charing Cross, in London. He’d practically written his soul away for the loan years ago, but all of that had paid off very well for him indeed.

It was difficult to be an antique dealer, much less a purveyor of rare titles. To be such a thing required intimate and vast knowledge on the subject and a great deal of trust between private collectors, auction houses and the like. But over the years he had mastered to do just that. This place wasn’t for someone to come and browse in like Barnes and Noble. God, no. The shop’s walls were lined high with books that were shelved in cases and behind glass. There were two large rooms for the ground floor, a chandelier with muted lighting hanging in the main room. Tables had some books here and there, and there were large volumes in display that were open, revealing the handwritten and painted work within the pages. And above all this was the flat he lived in. This place was just as much apart of his home.

In order to be seen by him an appointment had to be made. Book collectors tended to run in certain circles, and James liked to get information ahead of time so he could gather various titles from various places that might interest a buyer, and sometimes that took a bit of time with all the bartering and buying he had to do.

So in the second room, there sat a rounded table with a few comfortable high back chairs. He was expecting his client, a Mister Jaime Lannister. It would be difficult to not know that last name in London. But like all possible clientele, he gathered the volumes he’d obtained that may have been of interest as to what he was told on the phone weeks before hand. He’d just gotten some tea ready, which he also had brought out for that table with cream and sugar available. It was getting about that time, and to impress a new client was paramount in this business.

[today-only-happens-once]

Take a Sad Song and Make It Better

Title: Take a Sad Song and Make It Better

Word Count: 1454

Summary: They’re both just trying their best, but sometimes they fall short. “How many times does it need to happen before you learn?” Brotherly Logince angst for @justisaisfine’s Sanders Bro AU. A short fic based on this art from it (the first pic, anyway).

Warnings: physical abuse (or at least the ramifications of it), cigarette burns, yelling, arguing, misunderstanding, angst, hurt/comfort but mostly hurt I think. Let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: So this was originally a much longer idea, but… I just couldn’t get anything else to come to fruition, and I think I’m okay with how this scene turned out? Sorry this is like, way shorter than the original idea I’d pitched to you, Isa. :/ But I hope this short little thing is okay! And many, many thanks as always to you for giving me permission to play in your ‘verse. 

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge

…

Logan hisses quietly, cradling his arm as he weighs whether its better to clean it off in the kitchen sink or the bathroom. He can hear footsteps scuffing against the carpet of the hallway around the corner. He doesn’t know if it might be his mother coming back, even though she’d just gone to her room 98 seconds ago.

He glances at the clock; it’s almost dinnertime. She could very well be returning. Perhaps the bathroom was the wiser choice.

“Logan?”

He freezes for a moment before he realizes its his older brother appearing in the doorway to the kitchen from behind him. Logan turns around to face him, watching the way Roman’s eyes widen. Logan instinctively drops his arm, grimacing tightly as the fresh burns brush against the starchy shirt he’s wearing.

He opens his mouth to explain himself, but no words come as Roman rushes towards him and reaches for his arm. He’d already ignored his internal timer once today, after all.

He’d been stupid. He’d known his mother was beginning to lose patience with him—he’d seen it in the clench of her jaw, in her silence when he’d ask a question, in her quick and increasingly terse side-glances. But he really thought he’d chosen an interesting topic this time: NASA was exploring new technology for deep space imaging.

That was your first mistake, he tells himself plainly. You find it interesting. Mom doesn’t.

He looks again at Roman, who now is inspecting his injured arm. He reminds Logan a little of their mom in this moment; his jaw is clenched, he glances quickly at Logan. His silence. Although, Logan reminds himself that technically it was Roman who asked a question and Logan who didn’t answer this time.

“C’mon,” Roman says quietly as he stands up. The similarities to their mother in his expression is replaced in something flat that Logan can’t read. He follows.

Roman leads him to the bathroom closest to his bedroom and quietly shuts the door behind them. Roman is silent as he opens the cabinet mirror and pulls out antiseptic, Neosporin, and cotton balls. He sets them on the white porcelain counter. Logan stares at the light tiled floor, replaying the conversation with his mom.

He’d started speaking at 4:00. His mom grabbed his arm at 4:37. His first warning had come ten minutes before that. He files that information away in the back of his mind.

“What happened?” Roman asks as he wets a washcloth in the sink, finally breaking the silence. He looks at his brother through the reflection in the mirror above the sink.

Logan is trying to hold his arm as still as possible as he stares vacantly at the peeling cream colored paint where the wall meets the ceiling. “I was telling mom about the new NASA technology.” His gaze flickers to his brother just in time to see the way his shoulders move with a sigh and the slight shake in his head.

“You know you can tell me that kind of stuff when mom doesn’t want to listen, right?”

Logan tenses. It’s not the same. She’s mom. “I thought it was interesting. Mom told me to stop but I hadn’t gotten to the most interesting part yet.” He doesn’t know why he says that. He recognizes that it isn’t an answer to Roman’s rhetorical question.

“Logan…” Roman wrings the washcloth out and turns back to face him. His brows are pulled together. “What made you think this was going to be different than any other times you’ve tried to talk to mom?”

“I thought if I could speak quickly enough this time, maybe I could get to the interesting part and mom wouldn’t mind if I talked as much.” As Logan explains, Roman kneels in front of him and takes his arm. He jaw is tense, his expression unreadable to Logan as he studies the fresh burns on his arm more closely. Logan presses on. “But talking more quickly I think may have aggravated her further—”

“Logan, please!” Roman snaps suddenly, his gaze flying up to lock onto his younger brother. He looks angry to Logan. His grip around Logan’s arm tightens slightly. “How many times does it need to happen before you learn?”

Logan yanks his arm from his brother’s grip. He stumbles back a step.

He feels shaky and he can’t explain why. He clenches his teeth as he stares at where Roman’s knees meet the tile bathroom floor and waits for the heat in his eyes to go away. “Learn what, Roman?” he asks in as measured of a voice as he can manage.

In Logan’s peripheral, he sees Roman’s grip around the washcloth clench. “Isn’t it Einstein who said that it was insanity to do the same thing over and over and expect different results? You keep doing this, and… you keep getting hurt, Logan. And I…” Roman trails off.

“What do you want from me?” Logan snaps. Angry at his brother. Angry at the way the world is blurring on the edges of his vision. Angry with himself, because maybe Roman has a point and Logan can’t make sense of why that infuriates him. “To just shup up? Stop talking? I thought you said I could talk to you. Now you want me to shut up too.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, isn’t it?”

“I just…”

“You what, Roman? You’re tired of having to apply Neosporin to my arm?

“No. I just wish that--"

“Tired of having to pick up the pieces because I’m too stupid to keep my mouth shut? Well, message received. I’ll keep my sleeves rolled down next time—”

“I can’t always protect you, Logan!” Roman blurts out and it surprises the younger brother so much that he looks up and finally meets Roman’s gaze. He doesn’t look angry anymore. He’s pale. Logan is struck suddenly with how similar Roman looks to his youngest brother, Virgil all of a sudden.

He’s scared.

Logan’s jaw snaps shut as Roman presses on.

“I… wish I could. But I can’t, no matter how hard I try…” Roman swallows hard and averts his gaze, as if ashamed. He continues haltingly, like he’s fighting with himself through each word. “And when I can’t … when I’m not there or fast enough or… just… Logan, please.” He sounds less angry when he says those words this time. He sounds like he’s pleading. He sounds tired. “I need to know that you’ll try to keep yourself safe when I’m not around.”

For a moment, Logan doesn’t know what to say. He’d always seen the way Roman would intervene with their mom and dad when it came to the three of them; Logan wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t that much younger than Roman. But he’d never really thought that Roman would think of that as a responsibility he carried. It never occurred to Logan that Roman would see their injuries as a sign of some kind of personal failing on his part.

It leaves an uneasy feeling in Logan’s stomach that he can’t explain. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what his expression is.

Roman looks at him for a long, careful moment, then sighs again. He holds out a hand. A peace offering.

“Let me help you, Lo. I don’t want you to get infected, yeah?”

Logan swallows hard and nods. “Yeah.” He reaches his arm out, letting Roman take it.

His brother’s grip is impossibly gentle now. He dabs gently at the fresh, angry burns with the damp cloth. A part of Logan is afraid to look up at Roman’s face again. He tells himself its juvenile, but he doesn’t want to see that fear in Roman’s eyes again. So instead, Logan watches Roman tend to his arm. As he sets the washcloth aside and reaches for the antiseptic and cotton balls, Logan hears him humming very softly. It takes him a moment before he places the song. “Hey Jude” by the Beatles.

Neither of them say anything while Roman cleans his arm, nor when he applies Neosporin and helps Logan roll his sleeve down. Logan just watches his big brother and listens to his humming.

When he finally gets the courage to look up at Roman, he still sees the edge of lingering fear that’s chipped away some of the brightness Roman usually had. For the first time but certainly not the last, Logan wonders how much of it is an act. How much Roman hides from them in the name of protection.

He’s not alone, Logan tells himself, even as Roman gives him a small smile and closes the supplies behind the cabinet. He’s got us, too.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Homesick Padawan

Characters: Anakin, Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Anakin had only been brought to the Jedi Temple recently, it was only natural for him to feel a little homesick. It’s a good thing that you’re around.

You were in a thrilling conversation with Obi-Wan when a commotion interrupted the peace of the Temple which made the pair of you to stop and turn towards the disruption. Running through the hallway was the young Anakin Skywalker, speeding past Jedi and forcing them out of their paths. He sprinted straight for the pair and, when he approached, smacked straight into you, wrapping his small arms around your waist.

"Anakin?" You questioned with surprise, hugging the young boy and resting a hand on his head. "Is everything alright?"

Anakin shook his head and buried his face in your robes. His tears began soak through as you felt a swell of sadness for the boy. You looked to Obi-Wan for assistance and he pat your arm gently.

"I'll find Master Qui-Gon." He smiled.

Looking at the boy attached to your being, you stroked his light brown hair to soothe him and then bent down to his level.

"Hey, do you want to see something cool?" You whispered mysteriously, hoping it would catch his attention and stray his mind enough from what upset him.

A few tears rolled down Anakin's cheeks and he wiped them away. "What?" He sniffed.

You smiled and took his little hand as you stood back up, flashing him a wink. "My secret hideout." 

You led Anakin through a few corridors and down a staircase towards a small room where you stored some mechanical objects. In your very limited spare time, you enjoyed repurposing broken droids for use around the temple.

It seemed to have excited the child as Anakin ran past you and over to a bench where he grasped the shiny new tools.

“Wow!” He said. “I’ve always wanted a scrapper wrench like this!”

You smiled from the doorway and then stepped inside to put away a few boxes you had forgotten remove a few days ago. A ‘bad habit’ Obi-Wan would have called it.

"So, do you want to talk about why you were crying?" You wondered and lifted a brown box.

Anakin played with some coloured wires on the table and didn't look at you. He went quiet for a long couple of minutes, until…

"I miss my mom."

You smiled at his innocent confession. Nodding, you moved over to another corner of the room and leaned against a bench.

“That’s okay, I miss mine too.” You told him.

Anakin frowned and wrangled a copper wire in his hands. “They said I couldn’t see her ever again.”

The boy was in need of sympathy. Younglings are not in contact with their parents when they join the Academy but Anakin had grown up with his mother and the bond they had could not be easily forgotten.

You sighed and moved away from the bench. Walking over to the disheartened child, you picked Anakin up and sat him on top of the bench where you smoothed out his hair.

“Listen, the future is yet to be written.” You explained kindly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Believe in the Force, Anakin. It will guide you to your mother again.”

“Will you train me?” Anakin’s sudden diversion made you laugh.

“Unfortunately, I’m not a Master yet, nor am I at the liberty to make that decision. But I’m sure that whoever makes you their Padawan will love you.”

“You said the future hasn’t been written, so how can you be sure?” Anakin questioned.

His cleverness had no bounds and you grinned. ��I can feel it in the Force.”

Just at that moment, there was a knock at the door and Obi-Wan entered with Master Qui-Gon. The latter of whom walked over to where Anakin sat.

“I heard that you were scared.” He noted kindly. Anakin nodded.

“I was but I’m not anymore. Y/n made me feel better.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes drifting over to meet yours and holding his gaze. “Yes, they have that effect on everyone.”

Masterlist here