#another time they made us take the truck in with no power but it was sketchy as fuck

[raeathnos]

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Country Rose 2

Warnings: age gap, power dynamics, creep behaviour, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

It's like a movie. The fields of tall corn and swaying wheat, the cows in the distance, the sky swirling in shades of pastel blue. It's a rustic portrait of a bygone time. You lose yourself in the serenity of it, swept away in a daydream despite the tickle in your nose.  

It isn't until the truck jerks to a stop and Clark cranks the gears into park that you return to earth. He grabs his hat from the dash and puts it on, shading his eyes from the sun as he gets out. 

You look out the windshield and close your dry eyes, trying to find an ounce of moisture. He comes around your side but you have your door open before he can get there. You hop down from the height as Clark retrieves your bag from the back. 

"Ma will be happy to meet you. She's been excited," he says as he waves you towards the porch of the farmhouse. 

"Oh wow," you gape up at the double storey house in awe. "This place is huge." 

"Too big for just us," he agrees. You tramp up the steps and to the door, hesitating as you get ahead of yourself. He reaches by you to pill back the screen door, "go on." 

You enter and look around. He puts your bag on the wooden bench as you sidle towards the wall. He removes his hat and puts it on a hook next to a stained flannel. 

"It's a farmhouse, you can keep your shoes on," he directs, "hey ma," he calls over your head as he points you past the staircase. "Back." 

You head down towards the open archway and step into a spacious kitchen finished in walnut and brass. A woman stands at the island, shucking cobs of corn. She smiles at your entrance and drops her handful. 

"She's here," she bleats and scurries around the counter. She's frail despite her energy, "oh, lovely." 

You're put off as she hugs you and you stand stalk still as you let her. She then embraces her son as he clears his throat. She backs off, smoothing her steely hair with knobby fingers. 

"My mother, Martha," Clark introduces as she touches her hip and backs up to the island. She leans on it subtly, "ma--" 

"Oh, I know," she trills your name, "it's so nice to finally meet you." 

"Uh, yeah, er, thanks," you sway nervously. You didn't realise it was such a big deal. 

"I'm gonna get her settled, you need anything?" Clark intones as he hovers close behind you. 

"Everything is perfect, honey, everything," she beams at you, "now everyone's here." 

You smile sheepishly and peek back at Clark. He beckons you after him as he leads you back down the hall. He has you go upstairs first and the stairs creak beneath him as he grabs your bag and follows. 

"Just down this way," he points you to the right. 

You take his direction down to a room near the end. You push inside and and he puts your bag in the wooden chair near the door. Everything is so pretty and tidy. A plaid quilt is draped at the end of a neatly made bed and there's a carved wardrobe against one wall. The rug matches the curtains and a table with a vase of flowers stands near the window. 

"Oh, it's cute." 

"Ma wanted everything ready for you," Clark says, "she gets lonely when I'm off working." 

"Uh, yeah," you stop by the bed and turn back to him, "so I'm going to be helping her?" 

"Sure, yep," he hooks a finger in a loop on his jeans, "she's had some difficulties since pa passed. She's not as... fit as she once was but she's stubborn. You can help her with the cleaning and cooking. Make sure she takes breaks," he explains as he frees his thumb and combs back his hair. "She does the listen to me and I can't keep an eye on her all the time." 

"I'm sorry, that must be hard," you frown. 

"Not to worry, there's another field hand. I just figured we could use someone in the house since Lenny left." 

"Right," you try to smile, "well, this is so nice and thank you for picking me up. I was a bit nervous." 

"Nervous?" He wonders as his cheek dimples. 

"It's a bit desolate out here," you chuckle, "when I got off the train I thought maybe it was the wrong place." 

"Ah, yes, it's a bit... lonely but it's peaceful," he says, "I'll let you get unpacked then and maybe after you can check in on ma? I don't want her doing all that alone." 

"Sure," you bounce, frenetic after so long sitting. 

He grins at your buzzing energy and backs up, "let me know if you need anything." 

"I'm good," you assure him. 

[sophie-frm-mars]

The Cass Review, and what we can do about it

The UK government is making decisive moves toward banning trans healthcare outright. The NHS says it is adjusting its policies to be in line with the "cass report", a pseudoscientific report written by a transphobe that goes as far as to claim that little boys playing with trucks and little girls playing with dolls is biological, and which disregards dozens of scientifically sound previous studies into HRT and trans healthcare in order to reach its conclusions that trans healthcare for under 25s should be radically changed to discourage transition at every turn and make it as hard as possible for young people to transition.

These moves will kill countless young trans people. I would not have made it to 25 if healthcare wasn't available and I know so many other trans people wouldn't have either.

The mainstream reporting in the UK is keeping itself ideologically cohesive by claiming that trans people exist, nobody hates them, and they're very rare, and the big problem is the explosion of new cases of not-really-trans people who are clogging up the system (this is a lie, the system has been intentionally slowed by malicious neglect, it isn't even a resource issue, the clinics have far more capacity than the number of patients who are let through)

Once again, this is genocidal and is actually a commonplace methodology of genocide. The nazis asked GRT people to help them understand which Traveller families were "real" travellers and which were the fake ones, since they insisted it was only the fake ones who were the problem and who had to be exterminated (because a lot of nazi GRT policy was based on American indigenous reservation policy).

Labour, the main opposiiton party in the UK, has announced it will "follow the Cass Report", and implement these restrictions on trans healthcare once in government.

For the survival of young trans people, robust community structures must be developed immediately.

Efforts to change the electoral situation will proceed at a snail's pace and will be entirely at the whims of what is politically expedient. It will turn around, but it will take a long time. At the voting level, everyone in the UK who cares about trans people needs to make it clear that they won't vote for Labour unless they reverse position on this, and to be clear about this: Labour will not listen. They are PR Brained Psychopaths and they don't want to get into this "controversial" issue in a way that might cost them further popularity and the easy election win.

Wes Streeting, inhuman lab experiment and Labour Shadow Health Secretary has said that activists need to "stop protesting to ask us to be better opposition and start protesting to ask us to be better government", in other words their electoral promises are cynical reactionary bargains and deals to get them into power and the only point at which they will change anything is once they are in government, if at all. I know this sounds very "push Biden left" but I'm not saying give up now - to repeat, everyone who cares about trans people in the UK should tell Labour to get fucked right away, and then keep doing it as loudly as possible, but it's just not going to change until after the general election at least.

Another way to help could be through legal routes, like the work that The Good Law Project has been doing for trans people for several years now, but I don't know enough about the law to know if it can be used to challenge this at all.

We have to accept there is no electoral solution right now to this genocidal campaign against trans people in the UK, and while those efforts are ongoing trans people and cis allies need to fucking organise. Trans exclusive / separatist organising is riddled with issues, I don't want to cast hopelessness around but there are really very few of us and while it's absolutely necessary to privilege trans voices in trans organising and give us the deciding power and the autonomy, we need to utilise the support and time and labour of every cis person who is willing to help in whatever way they can.

Robust community structures means community structures that are helping young trans people get healthcare as an absolute basic starting point, but it means a lot more than that besides. We need community structures that are consciously organised by people who are taking responsibility for the community roles they are in and being completely explicit with each other about the nature and function of their organising. We need HRT community resources so young trans people can survive this medical segregation, we need drug user harm reduction spaces so that what people turn to in despair doesn't kill them, we need sober spaces so that people can get away from unhealthy coping responses, we need conflict resolution structures so that our problems are dealt with privately and nobody is left completely isolated, but more than any of those things, and in order to have all of those things, we desperately need trans assemblies

Assemblies are how we will get a community of robust radical organisers, because only by repeatedly practicing the ongoing process of democracy can people learn how to do it in a way that will facilitate their own organising. We have to empower the whole community to answer our own questions, come up with solutions, organise people into structures to enact those solutions and then do them. All this means is that an open door event convenes frequently (at least fortnightly) to discuss what is happening in the community. Trans people get the mic for allotted time, and discuss the issues, and then whatever voting structure the assembly uses facilitates further discussion, for example through working groups - the assembly breaks into smaller groups to discuss the topic and then representatives report the outcomes of those discussions back and consensus is reached from what the representatives report.

We have to get people engaging in this process because in order to effectively combat this situation trans people must agree on the solutions and then tell cis allies how to help and so far we haven't been doing that. We really really haven't been. But we could be with a little work. And as I'm saying, doing this will also empower everyone in the community to organise toward specific solutions for specific issues like HRT provision, sober spaces, housing, food, etc.

fuck

I'll have more to add to this post later I have to get to therapy I just got really mad when I saw the news this morning

[ramblings-of-a-detrans-woman]

Why I will never support the radical feminist movement, as a detransitioning woman.

note: this is not meant to be any sort of hit piece or slander, I respect every feminist, even ones I disagree with. This is just my reasoning for why I do not like the radfem movement.

For a bit of context, I’ve indentified as trans since I was 12. At 18, I’ve decided to live my life as a lesbian woman, and i’ve never been happier with that choice.

Now, being a young trans man, I interacted a lot with pro trans content online (of course I did), and so of course I’ve heard about radical feminism. A passionate branch of feminism that takes a unique approach to women’s rights- deconstructing gender entirely. It sounds wonderful in theory, because of course gender is oppressive, most notably of women. I would know, being one. Even when I was trans I had to worry about being out at night. I even got chased once, and a man attempted to lure me to his truck another time. It’s brutal. But radical feminists devote their activism to ending this in a straightforward, logical way.

So why do I, a woman who has experienced both misogyny and transphobia, not support that? I feel that this is a good question for both trans allies and radfems alike to to ask. Knowledge is power.

Well, I’ll be direct. Radfems are some of the most depraved people i’ve ever met. I know, that sounds like a lot, but there’s no other words I can use that don’t perfectly encapsulate my experience with radfems. It’s depravity.

For weeks, I was harassed by transphobic radfems. Radfems, who are insistent on their love and support for TIFs aka trans men. It’s strange then that they would be so cruel towards one, wouldn’t you say?

Detransition is hard enough. It’s difficult to tell family that you were wrong. It’s difficult to reconnect with my gender. Hell, i prefer the term detrans over cis just because i have such a disconnect from my gender. So why do I have to deal with transphobic radfems sending me gore and death threats?

Thankfully all of the accounts doing this seem to be deleted or repurposed. But it’s only a matter of time until a new account is made just to send me an ask telling me to kill myself or a message about how much of a loser i am.

It’s this reason alone why i’ll never be a radfem. They’re just sick people. They don’t want liberation for women, they just hate trans people. It’s not even thinly veiled, their accounts are fully based around how horrible trans women are.

The truth being, trans women aren’t bad people at all. It’s easy to think they are because the news and media cherry picks some of the worst ones, but every community and minority group has bad people in it. some of the sickest people you could imagine, really. yes, they can be trans. but does being trans make you a sick person? does it turn you into a predator? no, it doesn’t. it just means you’re trans. trans or not, it’s up to men to be mature and take accountability for their own actions that they consciously make. a cis man is as capable to walk into a women’s room as a trans woman is.

if radical feminists cared more about women and detrans women, i could consider getting along with them. but sadly, all these passionate and dedicated feminists care about is hating trans people with a fiery passion. and i’ve been a casualty. it’s very difficult for me to sympathize with radfems when they’ve upset me to the point that they have

let me make it clear that gore and death threats don’t upset me, i’m not easily offended. So it’s not the threats that make me angry. It’s just the principle. The fact that radfems are spending their time scrolling reddit for gore pictures to send to fellow women instead of supporting us makes me SICK. it’s heartbreaking to picture a woman, raped and beaten by her boyfriend, and a radfem standing in front of her, readily available to help, but choosing to yell at a passing detrans woman. It’s really sad.

hopefully those reading this can take my words into consideration and use it to improve yourselves or your community (if you’re a radfem). i love womanhood and being a woman and i would love to share that joy with my sisters, but i just can’t when these issues i’ve experienced are in the back of my mind. I want radical feminism to be a safe space, a place where sisters can go to talk to women, relate to women, cry with and support women. but so far, the only love and support i’ve received has been from the trans community. that speaks volumes.

i am going to post more about my experience with finding my womanhood again in the future, so if you’re a detrans woman yourself, trans ally or not, consider following me :) i’d love to build myself a little community

[show-your-fangs]

I could request the double life of the reader, one as an agent and the other as a camgirl. Hotchner is a follower but they won't realize it until they travel on a case to an area where it's hot and they see a familiar brand.

By the way, I love your writing. 💖😊

anon i love you. take my hand in marriage RIGHT NOW.

It's You | Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner

introducing--

The Secrets We Keep (a Bunny and Clyde story) - Part One

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner x BAU/cam girl f!Reader

Words: 3k

CW: mutual masturbation, sex work (is real work), power imbalance/play.

Tags/warnings: master!hotch, reader works at the bau and is a secret cam girl, hotch is a customer, pet names (bunny, sweet girl), perv!hotch, mutual masturbation, hotch being a little mean.

a/n: yes, oh god yes will this become something I can already taste it. catch me writing another insanely long D/s series about these two because I AM IN LOVE.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

The first time that he noticed a similarity he thought he’d officially lost his mind. 

Maybe the sleep deprivation, insurmountable amounts of stress he was under, and the fact that he had yet to have his morning coffee were all working in tandem against him. 

It had been a complete accident. You’d been walking towards your desk in the morning, in a foul mood and you didn’t care who saw it. You’d set your bag down on the wooden counter but accidentally miscalculated how close you were to it and slammed your foot into the metal leg that separated them.

A yelp escaped your lips, high pitched, painful, sexual. His ears had perked up immediately, his brows scrunching together as he tried to remember where he’d heard that sound before. Realization struck him like a truck running him against a brick wall. 

No, there was no way, his brain was being absurd, he was being absurd.   

The day wrapped him up in a tornado of meetings and he’d almost forgotten about the incident earlier in the day, but then he received a notification late at night, after he’d returned home from a long day at the office. She was online, his favorite, perfect girl. 

Aaron had never been one for porn, never really saw the appeal of overly produced, almost veering on fake sexual content. He’d met his wife in high school, he was never in need of searching for something that he already had. 

But after Haley passed away and he became increasingly frustrated with the idea of having to put himself out there and date someone else to get the intimacy that he desired, he’d bitten the bullet and signed up for one of the many sites that Morgan had not so subtly been recommending for the past few months. 

To think that his colleague could tell he was so sexually frustrated to the point that he’d began dropping hints about it had made him more embarrassed than signing up for the site. 

The first few times that he used the site were…interesting. Getting past that wall of righteousness he’d put up around himself was difficult. He wanted, no, needed release, craved it in a way he’d never felt before. 

He’d go from stream to stream, curious, trying to keep an open mind. But nothing really spoke to him, nothing really made him excited to engage, to stay longer than a few minutes, to touch himself. 

And then he’d found her, bouncingbunny1, or Bunny as she went by for the customers that paid enough to be in her inner circle. 

She was beautiful in that girl next door who was secretly naughty way that he hadn’t realized he was so attracted to. Always clad in delicate pink lingerie, never showing her face, even when he’d finally gotten over his fear and paid for a private session.

It was easy to fantasize, easy to let himself go and allow the soft cadence of her voice, the filthy sounds of her moans as she touched herself for his pleasure and his pleasure only, making him come undone in minutes. 

He’d learned something dangerous about himself then, a desperate need to dominate, to control, to have power over someone in such an intimate way. Watching this delicate woman come undone by his orders, his commands, his instructions on how he wanted her to pleasure herself was more satisfying than anything he’d experienced before.

Now, months later, he could confidently accept that this had been one of the best decisions he’d ever made. Sure, he spent as much money on her as he did on rent every month, but it was honestly worth it. He had an insurmountable amount of access, she’d told him as much on their nightly conversations. 

It wasn’t just about release anymore. He found himself talking to her, texting and calling, whenever she was online and he needed her. There had been a few instances where they’d closed a particularly tough case and all he needed was to hear her voice, but she was unavailable. 

But she made up for it with messages filled with those silly kissing face emojis, telling him that she’d make it up to him later that night. And he never questioned it, never even found it odd that sometimes those moments happened to coincide with them being stuck on the jet or pulling a late night of paperwork at the office. 

He had no reason to think anything of it, no reason to ever even begin to think of the possibility that it was you…that it could ever be you on the other side of his screen. You, his subordinate, his teammate, his friend who he adored and cherished and thanked the universe every day for your patience, kindness, love.

Even with the slightest possibility, the smallest sliver that it could be you—

user1102: Bunny.

bouncingbunny1: hiiiiii Master 🤭🥰🩷💖😚

user1102: Can we play?

Bouncingbunny1: yes sir

He smirked to himself, immediately calling. He never showed his face or his body. The only indication that he was real was through what he allowed you to hear. That was another thing that he’d noticed about himself, how deep and sharp his voice could get when he allowed himself to be free. 

You answered the call immediately. You knew he didn’t like to be kept waiting and you couldn’t contain your excitement every time he called you. He was the only reason you were still doing this, even after finishing college (debt free), after getting through the academy and getting the job you’d been desperately working towards all your adult life – he had come in and kept you wrapped up in his orbit. 

You’d started working at the BAU almost a year ago. They were down an agent and you’d been brought in to train for the position. The transition had been stressful, something that you were accounting for but not to this degree. 

You had taken a break from camming in preparation for the adjustment period, taking your time to see if you would even want to return to it or if it was a closed chapter in your book. 

But you’d returned home one night after a particularly grueling case, with so much pent up energy, so much bratty energy that the only way that you knew how to get it out in a healthy way was to put on a show. 

You’d spent the next few hours with your bluetooth vibrator inside you, a pretty baby blue lingerie set over it, cumming over and over and over and over again as the people watching paid to make the device go faster and faster and faster.

That’s when you first met him, user1102. After the first hour was up and you were practically hanging on to your couch for dear life, he’d told you he’d pay five hundred dollars if you took a break, if you drank a full glass of water for him on camera to show him you were taking care of yourself. 

And so you did, everyone else in the chat respecting the decision, albeit annoying as it was, since they all understood that money spoke volumes and they were not in the market to try and outbid whoever he was.

You didn’t recognize him from your usual clients which meant that this was the first time he was seeing you, and what a night to start indeed. He kept coming back after that, every time that you were able to find the time or needed to find release, to clear your mind of the day’s events. 

He was always a big tipper, an even bigger flirt, always made sure to send public and private messages while you played live, always said hello and goodbye. 

You’d squealed loudly when he finally requested a private session and made sure you looked extra good for him. He was perfect, even if you had no idea what he looked like, and these sessions became more and more frequent to the point that you’d almost stopped performing for other people.  

You were sitting in front of your couch on the cold wood floor, a fluffy towel under you. He could see a few toys off camera and a large water bottle that he’d gotten you next to them, clearly just in frame for him.

“Hi bunny,” he groaned, his hand already wrapped around his cock. 

“Hi Master,” you whimpered, already feeling spacey and out of it. It was always like this with him, easy to slip, to submit, to simply allow your brain to think about following his instructions. 

“Someone’s eager,” he mocked and you immediately knew what he was talking about. It was crazy to think that you were so attuned to him, to where his mind was. It filled you with warmth every time that you could anticipate his thoughts, his needs, his desires. 

“Prepared,” you whined, offended. “I always make a mess when we play and I’m tired of having to mop my floor.”

He chuckled, hand tightening around himself. He never had to work to get hard when he spoke with you, the mere thought of getting to play, as you liked to call it, enough to get him going. 

That’s when he noticed it, a small band aid on the side of your foot. 

“What happened to your foot, sweet girl?” he asked, his heart beating uncomfortably fast, blood practically shooting up to his ears and his cock. 

“Oh…” you started, a little afraid that he’d punish you for not being careful. “I bumped it against a chair today.”

He came harder than he’d ever had that night just by the mere thought that you were the one letting out those addicting noises, that you were the one coming undone because of him, that you were the one writhing, shaking, panting, so completely at his mercy that you’d quite literally do anything for him. 

You were in god awful, swampy Florida. The summer sun was unforgiving, the cozy, long sleeve you had chosen for what you believed would be a long day at the office doing paperwork was definitely the worst clothing choice as the humidity practically clung to your body. 

You wanted to scream, wanted to punch something, wanted to take it off and not worry about flaunting your practically naked breasts to everyone around you. Anything to get rid of the burning heat that trapped your body. 

You were practically a walking puddle when you made it back to the station, practically bolting to the bathroom in a cloud of smoke. Morgan couldn’t help but chuckle, he’d been teasing you about it all afternoon, especially after he’d urged you to change and you had refused because you were sure you’d be staying inside with Reid in the comfort of the air conditioned building.

Aaron couldn’t help but notice your mood. You weren’t normally this grumpy. You were usually the one making sure he stopped frowning. He gave you a moment and then followed behind swiftly. 

You stepped into the women’s bathroom and immediately pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aggressively over the sink. You stood there, heaving, allowing the cold air to seep into your body, to have it calm you down, ground you. 

Aaron was about to knock when he saw the door slightly ajar and he immediately stilled, his eyes landing on your topless body. It was too similar, you were too similar, his brain now desperately trying to find similarities between you and her. 

You were wearing a cupless white lace bra, one that he could’ve sworn he’d bought you only a few days prior. You hadn’t worn it yet, at least not to his knowledge, which meant you must’ve just gotten it in the mail. 

It was overwhelming to say the least. He couldn’t continue going on like this. He needed to know. 

He pulled out his phone, discreetly lingering outside of the women’s bathroom, always glancing around to make sure no one could see him. 

user1102: Bunny, I need you.

The second his thumb pressed send his gaze shot up to you once more, waiting to see your reaction. As much as his Bunny would sometimes tell him that she couldn’t play right that second, she’d always, without fail, answer his messages within seconds. 

He could see your attention shift from the mirror in front of you to your phone for a second as you slid your new shirt over yourself. His gaze sharpened, his cock twitched in anticipation, his breathing hitched. 

But instead you pressed one key and brought the device up to your ear, your soft, steady voice muffled by the distance between you. He sighed deeply, in defeat as he looked back down at his phone, his message unanswered. 

“Are you okay?” he almost jerked back as he heard you address him, concern lacing your voice. You were right beside him then, those round, doe eyes of yours that he loved so much wide and worried. 

He could simply nod, enough to satisfy you and yet not give you even an ounce of understanding into what was really going on. 

You all made it to the hotel later that night. He had quickly checked you all in since you were all about to drop. It had been a very long day to say the least and all you really wanted was to take an ice cold shower and go to sleep. 

“Alright,” he addressed the group. “Rossi, room 702, Reid and Morgan, room 705, JJ, room 806, Emily and–” his eyes met yours and he immediately lost his train of thought for a second before he handed the key cards to the raven haired woman beside you. “Room 807.”

He stepped back. “I’ll be down in room 604 if anyone needs anything. Back at the lobby at seven.”

With that you all shuffled towards the elevators, like a horde of zombies. You had been true to your word, practically cold plunging yourself in the shower and proceeding to put on some shorts and a baggy t-shirt to sleep in. 

Emily took the shower after you were done, your plan being to throw yourself on the bed and pass out immediately. But as luck would have it, your stomach practically screamed at you to feed it. 

You sighed deeply, crossing the room to see if room service was still open at the late hour only to realize it had just closed. You groaned in annoyance, the brat peeking through, your body starting to crave a different type of relief. 

Luckily there was a vending machine down on the sixth floor, so that’s where you found yourself, irritatingly making the trek down. The elevator doors opened directly into the hall with the vending machine and you practically came face to face with an equally tired Aaron, clad in his own gray shirt and loose pajama pants. 

You bit down on your lip, approaching him slowly. He saw you the second the elevator doors opened and it made him angry that he just knew it was you. There was something so specific about the air whenever you were around, it always felt lighter, smelled sweeter. 

“Hungry?” he asked as you approached and you nodded. 

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you replied and he leaned down to pick up the prepackaged sandwich he’d just gotten for himself. 

Your hand wrapped itself around the almost phallic, plastic wrapped item, his gaze slowly falling down your body until it landed on your chest. To say he visibly tensed up was an understatement. 

You frowned immediately, stepping forward, into his personal space, your own eyes searching for his but they were glued to your shirt. You looked down at yourself, concerned that maybe there was something on it that had offended him. It was rowdy, but nothing to write home about which only confused you further. 

“My college friends used to be in a band,” you explained, trying to lighten the mood. “They made like three of these shirts,” you laughed, clearly remembering fond memories. “Anyway, it’s silly and stupid, I know, but I still have it.”

He knew, he knew all of that, because he’d once called her– you while you were still in your pajamas, wearing that very specific shirt. You’d told him that same story, with a few more details of course, but still.

There was no denying it now, no way to twist the truth, no way to unknow what he now knew for certain.

His own hand pulled on the sandwich and your frown only deepened, as if the gesture itself had cut you so deep, had broken your heart so painfully. 

“It’s…uh– option three, sorry, I have to…” he was down the hall in record time, his heart pounding, his cock practically rock hard against his abdomen. He needed to calm down, needed to take a minute to compose himself, needed to get back to grab his phone so that he could—

user1102: Come to my room. 

The message confused you even more than Aaron just had. You were in no mood to deal with anyone, even the man you had made you feel more alive than you had in years. That’s when you noticed you hadn’t replied to him earlier, but whatever guilt you were feeling quickly washed away as anger settled in.

Who the fuck did they both think they were?

bouncingbunny1: ???

user1102: 604

The color drained from your face in an instant. No, it couldn’t be. There was no way, your brain was being absurd, you were being absurd. 

user1102: Now, bunny.

You gulped loudly, shaky legs somehow managing to lift carry down the hall. The bright light of the hallways almost sobering you up. Were you seriously about to do this?

At worst you walked over to his door, knocked and he stared at you confused and you’d just have to live with the embarrassment of coming up with a lie. At best…at best he opened the door and dragged you into his room, pressed his lips to yours, and finally gave you the satisfaction of fucking ruining you like you’d wanted your boss and user1102 to do for so long. 

You didn’t even get to lift your hand to knock on the door before it swung open aggressively and he stepped into your personal space, his tall, broad frame towering over you. 

“Oh, bunny,” he hummed. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to go looking for the big bad wolf?”

“No, Master.”

this was TOO SATISFYING TO WRITE I LOVE IT SO MUCH. it was crazy to go from soft boy mr. hotchner to just...insanity and power and control and i love how this turned out.

y'all better fucking FLOOD my inbox with asks for them.

tags: @xladyxdreamer, @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh

[heartfullofleeches]

Ngl imagine ERIN and baker reader like bakerdarling bakes cupcakes for everyone so erin secretly takes almost all of them so nobody could taste what they made.

[Yan Bully + Baker Reader Blurb]

"Thanks again for helping me deliver these, Erin. It was really kind of your brother to lend us his truck too."

"...Whatever."

This blows- When you texted Erin for help with your baking, he thought you were looking for an excuse to hang out with him. Get him to help around the kitchen, bond over your shared interests, maybe let him taste the frosting straight from your lips- He probably wouldn't have gotten his hopes up so high if he had taken the time to wait for your next reply where you mentioned needing assistance to deliver some cupcakes to a mutual acquaintance's house for their birthday. It was a good thing he managed to swipe his brother's car keys - at least he had the brief moment to be alone with you and that you trusted him enough to ask him for assistance.

"I'm gonna go let everyone know we're here. Help yourself while I'm gone. Made a couple extra for you to take home if you want - for your help and all."

Erin looks away as you smile as if you could hear the quicken beat of his heart at the sweet gesture. He turns his attention to the tray of cupcakes sitting on the counter. Bite sized treats of varying colors flavors. You just had to make sure there was something for everybody. Erin picks out a cupcake with pink frosting and heart shaped sprinkles - carefully peeling back the wrapper before popping the whole thing in his mouth. He licks creamy frosting from his fingers as he chews, already scouting his next target from the display. He's sampled your desserts before, but they just get better everytime. He could taste the love you put into your craft... love everyone at this party would just take for granted.

Erin glances down the hall you came as he picks up another cupcake. He unwraps and shoves it into his mouth as he looks in the opposite direction towards the door. He swipes another cupcake just to lick the frosting off the top before placing it back among the rest. He scoops the tray into his arms - powering through three more as he walks towards the backdoor. Barely stopping to breath, he nears chokes as a voice calls out.

"Hey, are those the cupcakes Y/n said they were bringing?"

"....No."

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi So I go to a Christian school so get tonnes of sex misinformation on the daily

but the other day my bible teacher was talking about porn addiction (bad start I know) and I wanted to know if what he said was in any way accurate

he said that when someone first sees any kind of pornagrhaphic content it sticks in their mind and that’s all it takes to want to see more, does this have any basis in reality whatsoever?

hi anon,

well, yes and no.

if you enjoyed what you were looking at - if it made you feel aroused, if it was interesting to look at, even if it was funny! a lot of erotica is funny! - then sure, it may stay in your memory and make you want to see more. you know, the same way that having a tasty little snack might make you want to have another tasty little snack, or watching an episode of a cool TV show might make you want to watch another episode, or listening to a great new song might make you want to listen to it over and over. porn doesn't have a unique death grip on your brain, your brain just likes things that are exciting and enjoyable. being turned on can feel good, and there's literally nothing wrong with that - on a biological level we're wired for it, since sex is necessary to pass on our genes and continue the species. and even if the sex we're interested in isn't reproductive (sex alone, sex where no one can get pregnant, sex with protection against pregnancy, etc) your brain doesn't care - that shit feels good regardless. so, yes, wanting to return to things that make you feel aroused is as normal as, like, wanting another sip of a tasty drink or to keep playing your favorite video game. as long as it's not taking over your entire life, it's harmless.

crucially, it's not like this is a power that all porn has over every person. porn that does nothing for you - kinks that aren't your kinks, actors or characters using terminology that turns you off, scenarios that simply aren't sexy to you - is incredibly easy to just look away from, and it's not like you're doomed to an instant boner every time you see something even a little bit sexual. people read erotic novels or fanfic in public all the time, and on this very website it used to be incredibly common to encounter gifs of random porn among your scrolling (still possible in some corners of tumblr, but less frequent now). it was very simple see two (or more) people hardcore boning on the dash, say "huh," and then just keep trucking, no worse for the wear.

in my experience I've found that the people who have the most difficulty with obsessing over sexual images are the people who have been most thoroughly trained to think of sex as deviant and dangerous, which makes it very upsetting to see and difficult to get out of your head. folks who are able to conceptualize sex as just a thing that happens that people do sometimes tend to have much less trouble with those kinds of repetitive thoughts.

[dovesdreaming]

The eye of the storm

Summary: it takes reader getting injured while out storm chasing with Kate for her to realise she loves reader.

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: none

-

The air was thick with anticipation as Kate Carter checked her weather radar one last time. The storm was brewing, and today promised to be one of the most intense chases yet. But before the whirlwind of adrenaline could sweep her away, she paused, glancing over at you. You were sitting on the tailgate of the truck, your eyes scanning the horizon, already lost in the possibilities of the chase ahead. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that held a promise. A promise of thunder, of lightning, of something exhilarating. But for Kate, at that moment, the only thing that mattered was you.

“You ready for this?" she asked, walking over to you while slightly tilting her head, her voice teasing but warm. You turned to her, a smile breaking through the excitement. "Ready as I'll ever be. Though, I have to admit, it feels like we're waiting for something to happen more than usual”.

Kate chuckled, leaning against the truck beside you. "Isn't that always the case with storms? They keep us on edge until they decide to show their hand”. “True" you said, your gaze meeting hers. "But maybe it's not just the storm keeping me on edge this time” you teased, this was common for you and Kate to do. Always finding new ways to slightly and discreetly flirt with one another, yet nothing ever came of the comments, maybe that was for the better even if you wished something would.

She tilted her head slightly, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh? And what else could possibly be making you nervous?". “Maybe it's the thought of spending the entire day with you” you admitted, your voice dropping to a more serious tone, which was unusual for you and kate, usually trying to keep the air light especially before a chase. For a moment, Kate was taken aback, but the warmth in your eyes softened her reaction. She reached out, her hand brushing against yours. "You don't need to be nervous about that. We're in this together, remember?". You nodded, squeezing her hand gently. "I know. I just... I want to make sure you're safe out there”. Kate smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for you, and it tugged at her heart in a way she hadn't expected. She had always been focused on the chase, on the science, on the thrill. But now, there was something else or rather, someone else, who made her want to be more than just a storm chaser. “Same goes for you” she replied softly, her thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "I'll keep you safe, promise”.

You shared a quiet moment, the impending storm momentarily forgotten as you both reveled in the quiet before it all began. It was a simple, comfortable silence, the kind that made everything else feel distant, like the eye of the storm where all was calm and still. “Guess we should get going," you finally said, breaking the silence before you became too absorbed in the moment and the usual gaping hole could open in your stomach to crush any hope you had for things between you and Kate. “Yeah” Kate agreed, though she found herself reluctant to let go of your hand. "Let's catch ourselves a tornado”.

The chase had been everything you'd anticipated, chaotic, intense, and absolutely thrilling. The storm system was stronger than any you'd encountered together before, and for hours you and Kate had worked seamlessly, driving through rough terrain, dodging debris, and getting as close as safely possible to the swirling vortexes that danced across the plains. But as the storm began to wind down, so did your luck.

You’d been repositioning, trying to get a better angle on a particularly photogenic funnel cloud when the unexpected happened. A rogue gust of wind, more powerful than either of you had anticipated, hit the truck. Before you could react, the vehicle was flipped, and the world turned into a violent blur.

When the dust settled, Kate found herself crawling out of the wreckage, her ears ringing, but otherwise unharmed. The same couldn’t be said for you. Panic gripped her as she called out your name, her voice breaking as she saw you lying on the ground, a few feet from where the truck had landed. You were unconscious, blood seeping from a gash on your forehead. “No, no, no” Kate muttered, rushing to your side. She pressed her fingers to your neck, relieved to feel a faint but steady pulse. But you were hurt, badly. She could see the pain in your features even as you remained unconscious. “Stay with me, please” she whispered, her hands trembling as she reached for the emergency kit she always kept in the truck. She did her best to stop the bleeding, to keep you stable, but the fear that she was losing you gnawed at her insides. The wind whipped at her face and hands as she patched you up the best she could, she felt like ice but her mind was focused on keeping you alive. She kept her body close to yours and never let her eyes stray away from you.

In that moment, surrounded by the fading storm and the wreckage of what had been such a promising day, Kate realized just how much you meant to her. This was more than a partnership, more than a shared thrill for chasing the storms and a whole lot more than a friendship. She loved you-deeply, completely. The thought of losing you was more terrifying than any tornado she’d ever faced. “Don’t you dare leave me”she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “You can’t leave before I even got to tell you I love you, I can’t do this without you!” She half yelled now with tears brimming her eyes, the majority of her words were swept away with the wind.

It took an eternity for help to arrive, but Kate never left your side. When the paramedics finally took over, she was there, holding your hand, refusing to let go even when the paramedics asked her to. Hours later, after surgery and countless prayers whispered under her breath, Kate sat by your hospital bed. You were stable, the doctors had said atleast. You were going to be okay. The relief was overwhelming, and for the first time in what felt like days, she allowed herself to breathe. As you stirred awake, your eyes slowly fluttering open, Kate leaned in, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Hey” you croaked, your voice weak but unmistakably you. Kate smiled through the tears that had started to form. “Hey yourself. You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”. You gave a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. I’m guessing the truck’s seen better days too?”. She chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re okay”. There was a long pause, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air between you. Finally, Kate took a deep breath, her hand still holding yours.

“I love you” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, the words escaping no longer being able to be trapped inside her. “I’ve never said it before, but I do. And I’m not going to waste another second pretending otherwise”. She rambled but you didn’t hear much after that as your eyes softened as you squeezed her hand. “I love you too, Kate. And I’m not going anywhere. Not without you”. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, careful of your bandages. “Good. Because I can’t lose you. Not now, not ever”.

As you drifted back to sleep, still weak but safe, Kate stayed by your side, holding your hand as the storm outside finally faded into nothing. And in the quiet aftermath, she knew that this was where she belonged, with you, in the calm after the storm.

-

Thank you for reading!

[broosterradley]

3 Is Better Than 2 - Pouts & Promises | Hangster x Reader

Warnings: Rooster x Reader, Hangman x Reader, swearing, mentions of smut, Jake and Bradley both being whipped for you, established relationship, poly relationship.

WC: 2k

All Content is mine, do not post to other sites.

The house was concerningly quiet when Bradley entered it at three PM on a Saturday, a bouquet of pink camellia’s in his hand that he couldn’t resist buying on the way out of the grocery store. “Hey, Hangman,” he called out as he set the keys to his Bronco down onto the kitchen counter. 

He was met with more silence, and he wasn’t used to the place being so void of life. Is this what it felt like for you when the guys went on deployments? If so, he was never leaving you again.

“Jake?” He tried again, then glanced inside the garage and saw that the blond’s truck wasn’t in there. 

Great, now he had to bring the groceries in by himself. 

With a huff, Bradley made his way down the hall and peeked his head into your office, finding you sitting at your desk with your back to him. “Hey, princess,” he greeted as he entered the nicely decorated room. “I got you these.”

He held the flowers out in front of you since you had yet to turn and face him. “Thanks, Bradley,” you take them from him with a small smile. 

“Where’d that guy go, huh?” He asked as he looked over at the photo of the three of you at the Hard Deck you had on your bookshelf. “I got some stuff to bring in.”

You turned in your chair and set the flowers aside, giving Bradley the first real look at your face since returning home. “I can help you,” you offer and stand up, moving to walk past him but he reaches out and halts you. 

Bradley’s eyes narrow at the redness in your own, and he straightens up a bit as he gently grabs your waist with both hands. “What’s the matter, huh?” He softly asked when he saw the way your bottom lip quivered. “What’d he do this time, pretty girl?”

You shrugged, stepping forward and casting your gaze down at his chest. “Nothing, really,” you try to brush off his questions, but you knew by now that neither he or Jake take kindly to people upsetting you.

So on the rare occasion that it was one of them, the other didn’t let up. “Tell me, baby,” he coaxed, bringing his hand up and pulling at your lip with his thumb. “I hate seeing you look sad.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmured and kissed your forehead. “Just tell me what the fucker did so I have an excuse to kick his ass.”

That had you laughing a bit, like he knew it would, and when you pulled away to look up at him, you both wore small grins. “He just said something that hurt my feelings, is all,” you tell him, and Bradley knew you were still holding back because you hated pinning the two guys against each other. 

“What did he say?” He asked and you gave him a wary look. “I won’t get mad at him too much, princess, promise. Tell me what he said.”

Bradley was definitely the softer one out of him and Jake, but he was also the one who is more protective over you. He wasn’t afraid to smack some sense into his fellow aviator, and he had on more than one occasion. 

Jake was newer to relationships as he slept around before settling down with you, and with Bradley by default, though the men had a small distaste for one another.

They put up with each other only for you, and you were well aware of the power you held over them. 

“It’s fine, Bradley,” you try to wave him off again, but he gives you a look that has you sighing in defeat. “He just said…that I’m ungrateful and that I should be more respectful when I talk to him. Maybe I was acting like a bit of a brat earlier…I didn’t mean to, I swear. I’m sorry.”

You spoke quickly as if you were scared that Bradley would lash out on you in the way Jake had apparently done earlier. 

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you up against his chest with a soft grunt. “I’m not mad, baby,” he assured you, kissing the top of your head when you relaxed in his hold. “Not at you.”

“Don’t be mad at Jake, please,” you begged softly, bunching up the fabric of his black tee in your hands. “He hurt my feelings, but I don’t want him to be ganged up on. Please, Bradley?” 

He looked down at your pretty face and held back a moan at how fucking cute and sweet you are. Jake had upset you earlier, but you still didn’t want him to receive the earful Bradley was already planning on giving him. 

He wanted to throw you over his shoulder and take you to bed right now, because how could you possibly be this perfect? “Okay, princess,” he agreed, brushing your hair out of your face and pressing a deep kiss to your lips. “I won’t be too mean to him, okay? But I am going to talk to him.”

You sigh but nod, knowing that he wouldn’t let Jake think he could hurt your feelings and not face the consequences. “Okay,” you place your hands flat against his chest and gaze up at him with wide eyes. “You said you have stuff to bring in?”

Bradley nodded and pulled you back to his chest when you tried to walk past him. “But you’re not going to help me with it,” he stated, and you pouted at him. He pulled on your lip again before leaning down to kiss you. Hard. “You’re going to go into the bedroom, okay? I’m gonna show you the respect you deserve.” 

You bite down gently on your lip as you press your thighs together. “Are you sure?”

Bradley nodded and kissed you one last time before guiding you out of your office and pushing you towards your room. “Wait for me, okay? I want to take those clothes off you myself,”

You whimper and nod, turning around and quickly making your way to the bedroom. 

Bradley watched you until he couldn’t anymore, and then he turned and went back outside. Once he brought the last bag in, he pulled off his top and dropped it onto the kitchen floor, leaving it for Jake to discover later as he headed towards the room, planning to get you off in all the ways he’s done before, but this time by himself. 

He made you cum on his fingers, tongue and cock over and over again until you were crying for him to fill you up, and when he did, you kept him close for a long time after.

He whispered soft praises to you as you came down, a light layer of sweat covering the both of you as you held each other until you fell asleep. 

It was still early in the evening, but Bradley decided to let you have a quick rest after the bad morning you had with Jake. 

He pulled his jeans back on and made his way into the kitchen, pausing by the living room when he saw Jake sitting on the couch, Bradley’s shirt in his hand and an unreadable look on his face. “Hey,” the brunet greeted in a stiff voice. “Dick.”

Jake huffed as Bradley began walking again, and he followed him into the kitchen. “I know, I’m an asshole,” he muttered as he threw the shirt onto the barstool. 

“Yeah, you are,” Bradley agreed as he started to put away the groceries. 

Jake sighed and sat at the breakfast bar, green eyes full of guilt as he asked, “Is she mad?”

“No, she’s not mad,” Bradley answered with a humorless laugh. “But you hurt her feelings. Why are you such a prick to her sometimes? Do you realize how fucking lucky we are? Because I do.”

“I know, I don’t deserve her,” Jake said under his breath as Bradley shoved the bags into a bigger one and tossed it onto the top shelf in the pantry cupboard. “You’re so good to her, it’s hard to compete sometimes.”

“No one’s competing, Jake,” Bradley scoffed, grabbing his shirt and walking towards the laundry room. “If you haven’t noticed, she’s ours. All ours. She isn’t expecting us to one up each other all the time.”

Jake huffed again and leaned back. “Where is she?”

It was silent for a few seconds before Bradley came back into the kitchen, this time wearing a white muscle tee and a Hawaiian printed shirt. “In bed. Where I left her after ensuring her that she’s not ungrateful or a brat,”

“She thinks she’s a brat?”

“Yeah, she even apologized for it and didn’t want me to go off on you like you deserve,” 

“Fuck,” Jake groaned as he stood up. “I’m such a dick.”

Bradley nodded with a tight smile. “Yep,” then pointed in the direction of your room. “Go say sorry, then get ready. We’re going to the Hard Deck.”

Jake nodded, pushing past him and going down the hall where Bradley assumed you were still sleeping. He went back into your office as he heard Jake open the bedroom door, and he took the flowers and put them in a vase with water as he waited for you and Jake to kiss and makeup.

-

“Y/n?” Jake asked as he poked his head into the room. You were propped up against the pillows with a frown on your lips, and Jake felt his heart break a bit at the sight. “I’m sorry, sweet girl.”

You huff and look away as Jake enters the room and sits down beside you on the messy bed. “For what?” 

“Everything,” he answered and took your hand in his, surprised that you actually let him. He had to give it to him, Bradley was damn good at putting you in a better mood. “I didn’t mean what I said, honey. I was out of line, I’m sorry.”

You don’t meet his eyes as you shrug, and you looked so cute in the shirt he recognized as his own. “It’s fine,”

“It’s not fine,” he rasped, kissing the back of your hand repeatedly. “You deserve better than me, sweetheart. I’m so sorry for what I said to you. You’re not ungrateful, and you’re so good to me. I love you, you know that?”

You look over at him with a small smile. “I know,” you say quietly, lacing your fingers with his. “I love you, too, I just…I don’t know. Maybe I was acting like a bitch earlier, I’m sorry-”

Jake shook his head and moved to wrap his arms around you. “You’re not a bitch, sweetheart,” he promised and kissed your temple. “You’re so sweet, far too sweet for me, but I’m so glad I’m yours, honey. I wouldn’t have it any other way; you, me…and I guess Rooster.”

You laughed and leaned up to kiss his jaw. “Roo helped me feel better,” you pointed out and Jake sighed. 

“I know, and he shouldn’t have to do that. I shouldn’t be acting like a prick to you in the first place,” he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck before standing up. “Bradley’s an alright guy, I guess. He wants to go out tonight, so you and I need to get ready.”

You grin at him and crawl over to the edge of the bed. “Shower with me?” You sweetly ask as you hold your arms out to him. 

Jake smiled down at you as he effortlessly picked you up. “How could I say no to that?” He smirked as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “I’ll do better, sweet girl. I promise.”

He knew Bradley probably wore you out while he was cheering you up, so he wasn’t planning on having a quickie with you in the shower. Instead, he massaged your hair and body as he washed you, telling you how much he adores and loves you as he did so. That alone gave him pleasure. 

And if you ended up in between both guys once you returned home, then that was just a bonus.

[sejanusarchive]

“Your own father used to say those people only drank water because it didn’t rain blood” vs two district boys who are assumed to be murder machines, yet prove that statement wrong multiple times: Reaper and Marcus.

PART ONE: REAPER

When Reaper is first introduced to us, we learn he’s rangy but muscular; we read about him wrapping his hands around Coriolanus’s throat on the truck headed to the zoo and about Dill, his District partner, saying he has killed a Peacekeeper before in District 11, without ever getting caught. 

Our first impression of him is that of a dangerous person, one who’s even clever in his lethality, and because of that we know he’s a presumed possible victor.

Lucy Gray mentions him more than once as one of the biggest threats, when talking about how she’s going to try as hard as she can to win the Games.

She also tells Coriolanus how Reaper apologized to the other tributes for having to kill them and told them he is going to make it up to them after, by taking revenge on the Capitol. Everyone takes this as him meaning it maliciously and with arrogance, ‘cause how else could he possibly mean it, right? Coriolanus thinks that he’s not only powerful, but good at mind games too. 

But the truth is that Reaper meant that genuinely, even with a certain innocence, and naivety to how it could have been misinterpreted. There was no malice or arrogance in his statement, but there was guilt and regret and grief, because of being forced into taking lives. He went into the arena fully prepared and resigned to kill the others to save himself, but not without obvious dissent.

When the Games start, he arms himself and heads to the stands. Coriolanus thinks he does so to begin his hunt, even if everyone else had fled in other directions and he had made no move to go after them.

Right after this we read about how Tanner, someone who’s also a presumed possible victor, is able to climb up to the first row of the stands and sit in the sun for a while, completely unbothered and unharmed. Reaper doesn’t try to fight him, even if it would have only been to his advantage, since he could have easily taken out his strongest opponent now that the Games had just begun and he wasn’t exhausted and starving.

His first interaction with another tribute in the arena is with a dying Dill, carrying her out of the tunnels, placing her in the sun and talking to her in the last moments of her life. 

His first act with another tribute, is comforting a dying child. 

This is when the “murder machine” image starts to crumble. Coriolanus’s classmates talk about how he doesn’t look so tough, doesn't look like the person who “promised to kill all the others”, which he never actually did.

But still, after all this, Coriolanus sees his distressed pacing around Dill, as him possibly being “eager to get back to the hunt”, a hunt he never even began, and not just him feeling pained and powerless at Dill’s condition. 

When Coriolanus is sent into the arena to get Sejanus out, Bobbin, Mizzen, Tanner and Coral are the tributes who go after them to try to kill them. No sign of Reaper at any point.

When Lucy Gray gets out of the tunnels with a rabid Jessup after her, he makes no move to kill them either. Coriolanus points out how he lets Lucy Gray go and only walks up to the bottles of water on the ground.

Again and again and again, he has a chance to easily take a life to save his own, or take a small revenge against the Capitol, but he doesn’t. 

His second interaction with a tribute is with Lamina. He walks up to her, they negotiate an exchange of something both of them desperately need and that forms a bond between the two of them.

Then Coral, Mizzen and Tanner appear and he leaves, he goes behind the barricade and he falls asleep.

When he comes back out, he’s shocked to see Lamina and Tanner dead on the ground. And this is when he starts to make true his promise of avenging the tributes after their death. 

He lifts Lamina up in his arms and places her next to Marcus’s and Bobbin’s corpses and then collects Tanner, Dill and Sol as well, and covers them all with the flag of Panem. And he keeps doing this with all the tributes for the rest of the Games, right until his death. 

This is the best form of revenge he could take. Not only because he disrespects the flag, causing great disdain among Capitol citizens, but most importantly because he humanizes the tributes and gives them dignity, two things the Capitol has tried in every way to take away from them. He gives them as proper a burial as he can manage in those circumstances, makes it so now they can finally rest, tucked in a corner and covered, their corpses no longer on display for a bunch of sick people’s amusement. He honors them. He could have left them all scattered out on the dusty arena ground, but he didn’t. He took care of them.

Even when it’s just him and Lucy Gray left and he’s one step away from winning, he shows no signs of wanting to attack her. Doesn’t matter that he could easily take her out, save himself and finally go home. No, even then his main concern is that the tributes can properly rest with their corpses concealed. 

Everyone expected him to kill the most people, but he died in that arena killing no one and without ever even attempting to. He died holding strong to his humanity and making sure the fallen tributes could hold strong to theirs as well even in death.

Contrary to what we and the Capitol are made to believe initially, Reaper turns out to be pretty innocuous. He’s not a naturally violent or aggressive person, not a natural born killer and he refuses to be as well. This was a life or death situation and yet he didn’t even harm anyone. He has killed before, he is capable of it, but if he didn’t even do it in this case, even when all it would have taken for him to save himself was killing a girl smaller and younger than him, then imagine how dire and desperate the situation must have been when he had to resort to it.

He defied the Capitol by not participating in the Games, by not letting them turn him into the murder machine they wanted and expected him to be, and by honoring the corpses of the children whose lives have been so cruelly and unjustly cut short.

(Before moving on to Marcus, I wanna clarify some things in case anyone who’s reading this has only seen the movie. Reaper snapping at Clemensia during the one-on-one mentor-tribute interviews never happens in the book, neither does him looking angrily into the camera in the arena and challenging the Capitol to punish him arrogantly. Like we’ve just seen, this perceived arrogance and aggression in Reaper is a very surface level misconception of the people around him, that’s easily debunkable, that who made the movie took and ran with wrongfully. 

And actually there’s a few heartbreaking scenes in the book that contrast heavily with the image the movie created of him, like him tying a piece of the flag around his shoulders like a cape and spinning around, watching it fly behind him, and then running in the sun with his arms spread wide; and him rocking gently back and forth on himself for comfort, after the snake attacks, which is not when he dies in the book. He’s not the threatening, angry guy who tests the Capitol that they made him in the movie, he’s just a severely traumatized kid. Nothing more than a kid.

The movie made tons of stupid changes like this, that completely miss and disregard the whole point of both characters and story. Trust me when I say 99% of the characters are portrayed very wrongfully in it. So please keep that in mind.)

PART TWO: MARCUS

Marcus, like Reaper, was initially seen as a probable winner in the Games, before being murdered. Coriolanous makes note of his size multiple times, describing him as “towering”, as having a “colossal frame”, as “dwarfing the other tributes” and comparing him to a grizzly bear. 

It’s exactly because of his size that people think of him as a sure winner, as capable of taking down everyone else, as threatening and deadly.

But then we hear Sejanus, the only person who actually got to know him at some point, talk about him, and the first and one thing he mentions about Marcus is his kindness. 

He tells Coriolanus how when they were still classmates in Two, he hurt his finger really badly and Marcus helped him by bringing him a cup of snow he scooped from the windowsill. He says he did it without being prompted by anyone, without consulting anyone, not even the teacher, and without even being friends with Sejanus. 

That’s actually the very first thing Sejanus tells us about him. They weren’t enemies, but they weren’t friends either. Marcus had no real reason to do it, especially considering how the Plinths were, and still are, deeply despised in Two, for having helped the Capitol win the war. He did it almost as a reflex, because that’s who he is as a person. 

And this pure, unconditional kindness, told by the one person who actually knew him, goes against the image of him everyone formed by just looking at him, against what everyone assumed because he’s district, he’s a tribute, and he’s tall and strong and broad, so he has to be dangerous and lethal, he will brutally kill everyone to save himself, he’s capable of it anyway.

As I already said, the Plinths are deeply despised in Two, Sejanus is a filthy traitor in his eyes, one who’s benefiting from a luxurious, safe life in the Capitol, thanks to blood money; blood of thousands of what were supposed to be his people, blood whose spillage made them lose the war and caused the realization of the Games, bringing Marcus to that very situation.

Sejanus doesn’t have to worry about whether or not he’s going to be able to fill his stomach everyday; whether he’ll be able to finish his studies or will have to drop out of school early to go work to help sustain his family; whether the dangerous working conditions will be the cause of his early demise or being sent to an arena to kill or be killed by a bunch of other children for amusement will be, and what will happen to his family once he’ll be gone. All of this thanks to his family’s betrayal.

No doubt he resents Sejanus and is angry at him, a part of him maybe even faults him a bit for everything, but he never takes it out on him. It would be easy to single him out, pick him and make him pay for this situation, since he can’t make the whole Capitol pay; take some sort of revenge on Strabo Plinth in the name of Two and Thirteen and all other Districts, by harming his son. 

Sweet Sejanus, who brings the tributes food when no one else thought about it, who keeps pleading with him to accept it, who tries to help them however he can, would probably let him do it. He would take the hit, metaphorical or not, because it’s clear he has guilt gnawing at him and would feel like he deserves it. And Marcus is definitely aware of it. 

But he never gets violent, physically nor verbally, never tries to attack him or spit insults or hate at him. Instead he just ignores him.

He had many chances to do harm, even to kill Capitol citizens and Peacekeepers as revenge, a small and trivial one, but still a revenge, and he had many chances to let his frustration and anger out on Sejanus and use him as a punching bag, but he never did, because despite what everyone assumed about him, that’s not the type of person he is.

PART THREE: SEJANUS 

Sejanus, whom I’ve already mentioned several times in this post, is another District boy with the ability to take lives, but who’s repulsed and disturbed by the mere idea of it. 

With Marcus and Reaper, it’s a matter of first impressions and then getting to actually know them and learn they’re not like they seemed. With Sejanus it’s the opposite. 

First thing we learn about him in the book is his background: born in District 2, his father made fortune during the war and was able to buy his family a life in the Capitol. 

But the first thing we learn about him as a person is that he’s shy and sensitive. 

Throughout the entirety of the book, over and over and over again, we see that he’s good, and kind, and gentle, and sweet and takes things so to heart. It’s constantly pointed out by the people around him. 

And it’s constantly shown to us by him as well, with the passion he puts into standing up against the dehumanization and mistreatment of District people; with how affected he is by these aspects and by the Games; with how he tries in every way he can to help the tributes; with how he made it his life mission to make things better for the Districts; with how he’s never mean or spiteful to people who bully and disrespect him.

Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is at its very center a discussion on human nature. He (alongside Dr. Gaul) is the main character who explicitly talks about it, and he believes in the inherent goodness of humans and constantly advocates in favor of it. All the injustice and atrocities he witnessed, never made him change his mind or his actions, never made it so compassion and love weren’t his driving forces.

His heart is big, and kind, and pure. And he wears it on his sleeve all the time. He’s referred to as “emotional” and “compassionate”, his eyes are soulful, his face is incredibly expressive, and there’s so many instances in which he’s described as speaking with a voice so full of sentiment, so many instances of his eyes filling with tears, of him wiping his face cause they spilled out. 

It’s well established how good and uncorrupted he is, how devoted to humanity he is, how much he values life.

And then in the third part of the book, we learn he’s an excellent marksman, a natural one even, who has been training in shooting every week since he was tiny.

He’s so good, that the sergeant in Twelve, as to not lose someone with Sejanus’s ability, refuses to give him the recommendation he needs in order to train to become a medic, even when Sejanus purposefully shoots much worse than he’s capable of, to hide his talent. 

The boy who values life more than anything in the world, has the ability to take one even with his eyes closed.

When he arrived in Twelve, wearing on his body the signs of the toll the Capitol, the Games and what happened to Marcus had taken on his mental health, with the prospect of building a new life for himself in which he could help the world become a better place, of training to be a medic and save lives, Coriolanus noted he had a much lighter air to himself, as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of him.

But when he is confronted with the reality that he is now a soldier and is expected to kill, Coriolanus says that his expression goes back to being as gloomy as it had been in the Capitol, the heavy weight now back on his shoulders. 

At dinner he doesn’t take a single bite of food, which is a behavior we’ve seen from him before, one he falls into when his mental health gets concerningly bad. And the reason is that he is terrified by the idea of having to kill someone, or someone dying because he can’t bring himself to shoot first. Because to him, every life is precious and none is disposable, and the possibility of being the cause of one being taken away, is an unbearable thought.

Reaper and Marcus had many chances and what could be considered reasons to kill, but they refused to. Sejanus, who is expected to kill because he’s a soldier and the best shooter, who would be punished, possibly even with execution, if he didn’t, refuses to. 

All three of them have the power to take lives with little effort but choose to cherish and honor them instead, choose kindness, choose humanity even over their own self preservation, proving both the Capitol and Crassus Snow’s statement about District people being bloodthirsty, wrong, by simply being their honest, uncorrupted selves until the end, by being truthful to who they are no matter what.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Can we talk about Juno Zeta?

You're living the dream, Master Archivist of the Sixth House. The Archaeology department hates you. The secretaries love you. Your son has risen to the very top of the absolutely unproblematic meritocracy of the House to become Master Warden. Sure, you treated him as a colleague when he was 7 too, but this is much more intellectually satisfying and much better for your publication record (suck it, Archeo). You sit on the Oversight Body, making decisions for the 3 million strong House of the Sixth.

Then the Master Warden gets summoned by god to become a Lyctor. (No civilian has seen a Lyctor for thousands of years. But the information you do have speaks of astonishing power. Are you intrigued? Do you regard it as an even more stellar opportunity for the Master Warden? Do Lyctors have access to interesting material for the archives? Does the possibility of your son becoming an immortal finger and gesture of god ever feel strange?)

A few months later, some fragments come back in a box. There's nothing left of Camilla at all. No one will tell you anything. Every House but the Third and the Ninth has lost its head or heir (the poor girl your son loved is dead. You're never going to get another overly-formal letter from the Fifth begging for Lyctoral documents from your archive.)

Then the Master Warden makes contact from beyond the grave to tell you that the saintly founder of your House left a plan in place in case it ever became necessary to betray god. He tells you why god should be betrayed.

Suddenly, the Oversight Body has to make a decision. To take your home and 3 million people away from the Dominicus System (away from its thanergetic soil, no more necromancers will ever be born). To break the contract of tenderness made on the day of the Resurrection. Do you have time to call back your soldiers in the Cohort? Do you have to leave them behind? Has the Oversight Body ever felt unanimously about something before? And how frank can you be with the House? You have visiting scholars from almost every House, and who knows where the Bureau have eyes and ears.

There are calculations to make. How to transport a whole House? How do you work out that it takes five hundred and thirty-two obselisks? That there are deleterious effects past five hundred and sixty? How do you find a stele that would anchor such a big thanergy transition? (Only the Fifth make stele. Do you try to do it yourselves? Who do you trust on the Fifth to help with that? Is that why Kester Cinque left Koniortos?)

The Master Warden, who is dead, lives inside the body of Camilla, who is not. He picks you - in your capacity as Master Archivist - to be one of the negotiators. How do you integrate 3 million people into a completely alien society with whom your people have been at war for millennia? How does negotiating with terrorists feel compared to academic committees?

What happens then? One day you just...lose it? The sun rises too bright and too blue and you are in agony, unconnected from yourself, screaming and writhing. And when the thing in the sky is at its furthest orbit from you, in some exhausted moment of clarity, you nearly kill yourself using necromancy to restore your sanity. You blind yourself. Do you think beyond that moment? As someone who deals in documents and artefacts and forms in triplicate, do you mourn your sight alongside everything else you have lost? Your son, your home, your god, your sanity...

And now you are a hostage. Sixteen of you in the back of a sweltering truck, held at gunpoint, always moving. The only thing keeping you alive is the possibility of selling you back to the empire that you've betrayed. Your captors have signed a 'no torture' clause, and perhaps they do stick to that. You're needed for providing proof of life and are probably better off than most. But it's too hot, there's not enough water, you can't see, and the only way out is either that the Master Warden gives Blood of Eden a Lyctor or being released to the mercies of the Kindly Prince. You sit in the dark and do mental maths with each other to stay sane.

Somehow, the Master Warden has done it. Without a Lyctor, he's turned his own cell commander against her fellows and you have been released. Most of the Oversight Body can't even walk out of the truck without help. But you're free, and the Master Warden - now in the stolen body of a Lyctor's cavalier - has the sort of mad scheme only he could come up with. Those mental maths will come in handy. The cell commander isn't bad either...

You can't see your son die again (the last time he speaks to you, from that borrowed body, he calls you 'mum' instead of 'Master Archivist'). But you can smell Camilla’s flesh burn. Perhaps the Commander, holding your arm, describes it to you. You follow this new person, your child, now something else, back into the truck where you were held captive and watch as they drive it into the River.

The Tomb is open. Your child is part of a being of strange and unimaginable power. The House Formerly Known as Sixth is on the other side of the universe. You are on the Ninth with a dead cavalier in the body of her necromancer, the Emperor’s construct, legions of demons, and a very mysterious dog...

Anyway, I'm very excited to see what havoc Juno gets to cause in ATN. She's there to be snarky, do psychometry, and be a romanceable MILF. Let her yell at god. And for goodness sake, let her get some peace at the end.

[rub1anauru]

ins-s-securities.

5 — first and last.

“just stay out of my way,” bakugo reminded for the umpteenth time.

“okay…”

you understood his annoyance perfectly. while the rest of his classmates coped with their tasks without any extra weight, bakugo was forced not only to tolerate your awkward steps next to him, but also to protect you if something happened. it was a mistake to think that you weren’t nervous. the phone, ready to be used at any moment, was clutched in your hand; your thumb soothingly stroked the screen of the gadget.

while you genuinely didn't want to be a burden for bakugo, you kept thinking about the possibilities. maybe some villains would show up, maybe someone here would need help. in those scenarios in your head, bakugo would neutralize the bad guys, you would get the right shots from the right angle, and everyone would be happy. including his friends, who had already managed to express their excitement about the future footage before the patrol began. and managed to tease bakugo. he blew their asses. you split up with them. that was it.

looking around, you took in the deplorable state of this part of the city. while it was slowly and surely continuing to be rebuilt by civilians and necessary quirks of heroes, its outskirts in places still remained seemingly abandoned. it was these areas that became the target of the underground world of villains, places where the shadows of the events of two years ago could crawl.

“sooo... U.A. often sends you to areas like this,” you assumed hesitantly, just to start some kind of conversation between the two of you. the silence was weighing on you, and you felt obligated to be proactive. “yeah. sometimes due to emergencies,” bakugo confirmed without further elaboration, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. you returned the gaze.

pause. and somewhere there you are banging your head against the wall.

“oh! those school armored trucks,” you quickly pointed your thumb behind you, “this is my first t-time riding in one of those.”

“well, enjoy your last ride,” katsuki said slightly grumpily and turned away, adjusting the belt on his winter suit. under the dark fabric, you could clearly see the flex of all his muscles, especially his biceps, which begged the question of how the fuck he got into such perfect shape? bakugo was seriously buffed and you couldn't help but stare at his side. there were no boys like him in your class. and god, it was kind of flattering to be paired with him for your project. it was reasonable after all.

bakugo tsked and asked with an emphasized jerk of his chin at your device: “so what? your shitty camera will be able to perfectly capture my explosions?”

“of course! i made sure i had the r-right settings for filming something that p-powerful,” you stuttered, instantly cringing at how jarring it sounded to your ears. you couldn’t even look at bakugo for fear of seeing discomfort on his face, but all you could hear from him was an amused huff. “yeah. you better do your best. you won’t have any more chances to see something so badass.”

just bakugo bragging. somewhere there you are now breathing a sigh of relief.

the two of you walked around the street assigned to katsuki for another ten minutes - no signs of illegal activity. you managed to take a few shots of the surroundings for documentary purposes, a couple more with a reluctant bakugo, which was surprisingly funny to you and contrasted with the sadness that overwhelmed you from the empty streets. kids' laughter no longer rang out here, in the evenings the bright streetlights no longer illuminated the path for families who went out for a walk...

“nothing will ever be the same again, right?” you asked bitterly, the colorful arcade sign to your left reminding you of the simple happiness and carefree times that were lost during that horrible period. bakugo didn’t miss your mood and rolled his eyes. “no, it will be better,” katsuki assured you and you thought ‘yes, everything has to be better. nothing less than better’. your attention was caught by a plush and strangely clean rabbit lying in your path, the size of a palm, blue as the sky and with a bow of the same color around its neck. probably used to exchange tickets from the arcade machines for it. you couldn’t resist and stopped to pick up the toy, pocketing your phone, until bakugo noticed and did the same with confusion a few steps ahead. “what?”

you curiously turned the rabbit over in your hand and felt the pull string on its back with your fingers, without thinking you wound up the toy, and a hissing melody began to play with barely discernible distorted lyrics of a children's song:

“wind me u-up and watch me go,

spreading joy in every row-w-w,”

nothing seemed suspicious to you. as the song continued, the string gradually shortened. just a cute rabbit with a creepy-sounding song.

“hopping here a-and hopping there,

with lo-o-o-love and laughter—“

“holy shit, drop it!” bakugo's suddenly wary voice cut off the end of the line.

“everywhereee…”

!!/notes from me:

i hope you’ll like the text part. i decided to add some interesting twists hehe. thank you for waiting for this update🩷 a little tmi: i watched venom 3 (COOL!) and haikyuu movie (OMG THEY ARE LIKE A NEW BREATH OF AIR I LOVE THEM SM).

au page.

[taglist mhaw open!]: @snoozebun @missmanda511

[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 16 🍒

"The Mother Wound"

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 3,882

Summary: When your mom comes to town for a surprise visit, she reveals everything she know about your romance with Joel, and discloses some secrets of her own.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35), set in summer 2003, reader wears a dress, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, fluff, slut shaming (wrongful, obviously), physical abuse (a slap), language!, accusations of grooming, protective!Joel, your awful mom being awful and telling a horrendous lie, angst, breakup as in "I need time to think", no use of y/n, if I've l left any out please let me know!

Author's Note: the whole "daddy" thing from Chapter 14 is finally put to rest. I wouldn't do that to y'all, this is not Literotica. If I can think of any other notes I'll add them later as it's 1 a.m. and I need to get some sleep.

Series Masterlist

Can't see you tonight, babygirl. Working late over on Sage Street

You look over the text Joel sent you just an hour ago, and make sure the street is the correct one as the signs are hard to read in the darkness of the late night. But there are only a couple houses being constructed among the empty lots, golden beams of wood forging the bones of the unfinished brand new homes. Joel's truck is parked right outside the first one you see.

He's hunched over a table beneath a portable LED light, overlooking layout plans, a small radio nearby playing a song with a guitar riff that's familiar to you.. Sunshine of Your Love..

There's a surge of feminine power within you as you approach him in your flowered sundress. Joel's double take is priceless. He doesn't ask what you're doing there. To be quite honest he doesn't care about anything except getting that dress off you.

It's like a scene from a movie the way he scoops you in his arms, whispering things like "shouldn't be out this late by yourself" and lays you down on a pallet of bricks covered in a plastic sheet. He removes his white shirt, scented of his sweat and natural odor, and lays it under you for cushioning before getting to his knees and spreading your thighs apart.

"Been thinkin' about this pretty lil' pussy all day," he grumbles. You take his hard hat off and put it on yourself, lifting yourself on your elbows so you can watch him.

He tears the thin fabric of your panties, watching your puffy pussy lips appear, slick with want. Your scent reaches him and he can't hold back, diving in to taste you.

"Joel!" you gasp, your hips jolting as his mouth makes contact with your drenched cunt, ever sensitive to his touch. You let yourself get lost in the sweet sensations, sighing, calling out his name.

"God, you taste so good, babygirl," he moans against you, his thumbs spreading you open as his tongue delves into your heat, flicks over your clit. "Sweet like candy.."

Over and over his tongue laps at you, devouring you, his hands pulling down the front of your dress and cupping the sweet mounds of your breasts. He makes coming so easy, as if your body was made for the kind of attention he lavishes upon it.

You come quickly and he lifts you up, clasping your thighs around him, your sticky wetness rubbing against his belly, his own jeans unbuttoned, and moves you to a more discreet place, where you're hidden by the wall sheathing. He hastily removes himself from his boxers and aligns himself to your slit, carefully placing you over him, watching the way your eyes flutter closed as he slides into you.

He fucks you standing, legs hooked over his arms as you kiss him, swallowing up each other's moans and sighs. The summer night humidity and the laboring of your bodies soon have you both sweaty, slippery against one another. He drives into you relentlessly, slowing down only when he worries he'll come too fast, wanting your pleasure before his.

Impaling yourself on him, not a single coherent thought crosses your brain except pursuing your release, the stickiness of your combined sweat, the way his balls smack against your ass, how drenched you are for him, feeling like you can barely withstand to take all of him as he takes control, pressing you down on his dick like it's the last fuck you'll ever have.

You come undone as his tip just brushes your cervix, little bit of pain in the pleasure he's wrenching from you, feeling him spill inside, so much of it that you're already leaking before he withdraws, laying you down on a makeshift blanket of your clothes and his.

"I never wanna stop explorin' you," Joel says, lips brushing your neck, traveling down the slope of your shoulder as you relax in his arms. "I could spend the rest of my life explorin' you and I would still have so much to discover about you, baby."

You've never really been comfortable in your own skin, but watching him adore you gives you a different perspective. "Which parts do you like best?" you ask him.

"Your curves, your face, your eyes. I'm not sure if I can put into words how beautiful you actually are.."

You run your hands along his smooth, large muscles, giving them a gentle squeeze. "There's nothing on you I don't like either."

"So what do you like the most?" he asks with a lustful grin, enjoying your touch.

You grin back. "These of course." your fingertips graze his biceps. "And these." you kiss his lips. "But if I'm being very greedy, I think I like this the most." You reach down and gently stroke his already-hard length.

"I like you bein' greedy," he mutters, eyes closed as he savors your touch.

You feel him come alive in your hand and you feel powerful.

He slides into you, still wet, still sensitive from before, and he takes his time. Slow, but far from delicate. His beard scratches roughly at your skin as he gently grazes his teeth on your tender throat, moving deeply, intoxicated by the scent and taste of you.

When you come it's sweet, lingering, like the prolonged vibration of a note softly played upon a violin.

Joel comes softly and you revel in the warmth of his release, feel him fill you, empty his soul into yours.

"You're good, baby. My god.."

You run your hands across his chest. "I want to be good to you and good for you."

"You're mine and I'm yours," he kisses you again. "I don't ever wanna be without you." Kiss. "And I don't ever wanna stop makin' love to you." Kiss. "And I don't ever want this to end." He gently lays his head on your chest.

"Promise me it's always gonna be this good for us," you whisper.

He smiles warmly. "I promise you, it'll always be this good."

"Morning, hottie," you mumble, smiling. "How'd you sleep?"

Somehow last night you both managed to untangle yourselves long enough to get back to your place, falling asleep in each other's arms immediately.

"Really good, actually," he says, stretching, hair mussed and eyes barely open. "What time is it?" He checks his watch, eyes wide as he realizes he's running late for work. "I gotta go, already late." He scoots out of bed and starts to get dressed. "I'll text you later, all right?" He gives you one last kiss. "Sorry for cuttin' our mornin' short."

"I understand," you murmur, missing the press of his lips and the heat of his body next to yours. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Love you," he says, smiling as he gets his shirt over his head.

"I love you more.."

"Impossible," he gives you a grumpy look.

"Joel Miller, my heart melts with love for you. I crave you with each breath I take, you rock my fucking world, et cetera, et cetera," you say theatrically, giggling as he comes to you again, his broad, strong body covering yours in the bed.

"Save some of those sweet words for tonight, okay?" He kisses the tip of your nose. "Now I gotta get going."

"Miss you already," you chuckle. Wearing only a sheet, you follow him to your front door, give him another quick kiss, watch him get in his truck and leave.

You're so busy watching him drive away and turn at the end of the street, that you see too late your mother's car pulling up to the driveway, followed closely by Sofia.

"Put some clothes on!" your mother scolds before she's even fully out of the car. "Who was that leaving the house?"

You freeze. Nothing had prepared you for your mother's visit. She would have hounded you about it for days beforehand, but now she's here, like a storm cloud on a beautiful day.

"Answer me," Anita says. "Was that Joel Miller leaving here so early?"

All speech has left you. In a flash of anger you glare at your cousin, who shakes her head, hand on her chest. Not me, she's mouthing.

Your mom has already put two and two together. She's no fool, she played this game when she was your age. She had this man when she was your age.

"My daughter's a slut!" she wails.

"Get inside!" Sofia hisses to both of you as she sees the neighbors start to come out and see the hullaballoo.

"Get dressed. Don't shower. I'm taking you to the hospital for a rape kit," Anita says.

"Mom, are you fucking kidding me? I wasn't raped!"

Sofia insists, "Go shower," softly as she tries to appease both of you. "You shouldn't be talking to your mom like this," she whispers. At first you think she's referring to your tone of voice, but then you realize you're naked save a bedsheet, likely still smelling of sex.

"You're taking a pregnancy test," Anita announces.

"I'm not pregnant! What is wrong with you? Why are you here??"

Anita turns to your cousin. "Please leave us to talk."

Sofia stands her ground. "This is my house, auntie. I'm staying."

Your mom grumbles, giving your cousin a hard look. "You let this happen under your roof? What would your parents say if they knew? They'd be disappointed in your lack of morals."

"I don't agree with what they're doing," Sofia says. "But they're both adults, and-"

"You can't keep seeing him," your mother ignores her, turning to you. "You know that, right? It's inappropriate. He's twice your age. He should have more sense."

You never thought you'd have to prepare for this conversation. You never imagined you'd be in this spot, caught red-handed, being sinful with the first ounce of freedom you've been given.

"You don't understand, Mom.." you tell her. "I love him."

The slap registers only after it's happened, your cheek red hot, head on a swivel. Sofia gasps, steps forward to get Anita away from you as you press your own hand to your cheek, feel it already burning.

Joel thinks it's odd when you don't answer his texts, but he pays it little mind. You weren't upset when he left that morning. Then he starts to think you might be hurt. Maybe you fell and hit your head. What if you're unconscious and there's no one there to call 911?

Just when he's about to go stir crazy, his phone dings with a message from you:

don't come to the house tonight. my mom is in town. think someone told her about us. talk later, ok? love you

"Damn!" Joel nearly throws his phone into the street, the need to throttle something or someone is getting stronger. He never expected to have to see Anita again, hasn't seen her in almost twenty years and likes it that way.

You wait for a response to your text, but your phone remains silent. Frowning, you sigh deeply and start on your shower. You think on the many nights Joel has had you in here, pinned to the wall, or on your knees as you went down on him.. there were tender moments too, when he washed and scrubbed your hair for you, assuring you that he loved you the way you are, that there's nothing about you he could ever dislike.

Freshly showered, you change into your typical shirt and jeans, black Converse sneakers on, ready to leave at a moment's notice. But not with her. Not with your mom.

Unfortunately you take too much time preparing for the worst that only too late do you look out the window, realizing Joel's home. You rush out to meet him but your mom has already beat you to it. Sofia holds you back.

"Leave it be," she pleads. "If he loves you he'll come here, and he'll fight for you."

"I hope not literally," you mumble, watching the interaction between your mom and Joel from the safety of the living room window.

It's as if Anita has a radar for Joel. As soon as he's parked in his driveway she marches up. "How dare you? How dare you?" she screams.

He takes a deep breath in and out, taking a moment to calm himself before exiting the vehicle. "How've you been, Anita?" he asks calmly in an attempt to deescalate the situation.

She takes a good look at him as he gets out of the car. Joel Miller all grown up. "I've been better. You haven't changed in twenty years."

"Neither have you, still cornerin' me the minute I'm leavin' my truck. What brings you by?" His words are friendly, his tone is not.

"You screwing my innocent daughter is what 'brings me by'!"

"Jesus, Anita, you really don't mince words do ya? I'm not 'screwing' her."

"That's not what I heard." She puts her hands on her hips, her stance hostile.

"Well what did you hear? And who'd you hear it from? Hmm?"

"I don't need to tell you that. But you are to stay away from my daughter, do you hear me?"

Joel sighs. "I understand you're upset with me for.. for bein' with her. But you're not gonna keep her away from me. I know that she's young, but she's old enough to-"

"No, no, no," Anita shakes her head. "Don't you dare use that excuse. My daughter may be of legal age, but she's too young to know the kind of mess you've got her in."

"She's older than you were when you started messin' around."

"You son of a bitch! Don't you ever-"

"Can we talk somewhere other than the street? Or do you just like makin' a scene and lettin' the whole neighborhood know my business?" He starts to march towards your cousin's house.

"You were best friends with her father," Anita says, following behind. "Don't you think maybe she's confused? Maybe she's looking to you to be her father figure, not her lover?"

"She's with me because she loves me!" he shouts. "And I love her. What the hell do you plan on doin' about that?"

"She doesn't know what love is!" she scrambles to catch up with him on the porch. "Then you come along and you groom her to be this woman you want her to be. But she's too young to understand! You ought to know better!"

"Groom her? I would NEVER do that to her!" His fists are clenched at his sides, blood boiling at how she could defile the love you share.

"Imagine it was your daughter Sarah," Anita says softly. "Imagine she's eighteen, away from home for the first time, and a man twice her age does everything you've been doing with mine. What would you do?"

Joel closes his eyes, knowing he's caught between a rock and a hard place. One the one hand, he sees you as more than some eighteen-year-old. On the other hand, he'd knock the teeth out of any man who dared to try something on Sarah, at any age. "Damn you, Anita. You have no idea. If Sarah was in that situation, I'd make sure whoever that person was.. that they wouldn't see the light of day again."

She looks satisfied. "Then you understand. And the next time you think of coming near my daughter, I want you to think about that instead."

You jump when you see him come through the front door. Without an ounce of shame you hurry to him, enveloping him in a hug. "I don't know what happened," you murmur as you embrace each other tightly. "God, this is such a mess.."

"What happened to your cheek?" He looks at you with concern and turns to Anita. "Did you fuckin' hit her??"

"She doesn't know the worst of it, does she?" Anita asks, ignoring him. "I'm willing to stake everything on it, that you never told her."

You glance from her to Joel. "Told me what?"

His hesitation makes your heart thud, a shiver of unease tingles your spine. Sofia excuses herself to the patio.

Anita looks pleased with herself when she says, "Honey, he's your daddy."

You pull away from him, your natural reaction to uncertainty, your brain going at warp speed to try to process everything from the past couple of hours. "What?" you ask quietly in disbelief.

"God damn it, Anita! Don't go tellin' her shit like that!" Joel roars, and for a moment you worry that he'll hurt your mom, but all that takes a backseat when you take in what she just said.

Anita cuts in, giving you the story of her history with Joel, their brief relationship before she fell for the man you know as your father. How she struggled to maintain the lie, how hard it was to have a baby while still in high school.. all this you've heard before minus the part about Joel. She goes on, in excruciating detail, as Joel leaves. You barely register his absence, your head unable to wrap itself around the new facts.

Joel returns with a manila envelope. "Fuck you, I'm not her father. I never was." He shows a paternity test, old and crinkled around the edges, yellowed with time. "Chris had a paternity test done when he was tryin' to get out of bein' married to you," he glares at Anita. "I had one done through the mail as well, just to be sure." He practically shoves the paper in her face. "Had it done right after Sarah was born."

You take the paper yourself, wanting to see with your own eyes, and there it is: a 99.99% probability of Chris being your father. The results for Joel: 0%.

You give him back the paper and take a seat on the sofa. Every movement feels like you're underwater, body heavy against the tide.

Joel sits next to you, his arm around you in a gesture of comfort, without getting too close. "I wouldn't have done any of that if I'd been your dad, babygirl.. you know that." He kisses the top of your head. "I'd have taken you away from them, and Sarah could have a sister."

Feeling sick, you shake your head and remove his arm from you.

"I know," he says resignedly.

"Was what she told me true?" you whisper. "Did you really love her back then? And slept with her? Even when she was pregnant with me?" Your voice pleads for him to lie. It's the one time you'll accept a fabrication instead of the truth.

Joel looks worn down, older than his years. He can't even look you in the eyes, he just nods.

It feels like an eternity passes. "Was this what you wanted?" you ask your mother. "I could have gone my whole life without knowing any of this! And you told me this for what? For what?"

It's sickening the way your mom looks smug about stirring the pot. She's always like this. She's the can't leave well enough alone type.

Anita simply responds, "I'm not going to punish you for being naive. But I am bringing you back with me to Houston tonight. You can finish college there. You're never to be around Joel again."

Joel rises from his seat, looking ready for a fight again. "You can't do that, you can't just take her away from me like that!"

"Jesus, Joel. If Chris was here he'd beat the living hell out of you. Be glad I'm here and not him."

You stand up as well. "Fuck you both." With long strides you reach your room, packing a few things. When you return they're both quiet, looking to you for the next move, both have expectation written on their faces.

Anita seems deep in thought, older than her 35 years. "You're coming with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you. But I'm not staying here either."

Joel looks like he's about to break down and cry, and you realize this is the first time you've seen him truly vulnerable. Your own heart is too bruised and sore to worry about his.

"I just need to think about some things," you say in a small voice.

Anita goes to her car, speaking with Sofia, likely admonishing her for letting the love affair happen in the first place.

Joel stops you on the porch. "Are you sure this is somethin' you wanna do?"

You can't look up at him. If you do you'll cry, and if you cry you'll just let him pull you into his arms again.

"I need to figure some things out."

"I love you," he says softly. His voice cracks a little.

You swallow the tears that threaten to come, focusing on a small ladybug crawling on the floorboards of the white wooden porch. "When you were with me did you ever think about her? Did you ever think I'd be a good substitute for a woman who didn't want you anymore?"

"Is that what you think I was doin'?"

You shrug.

"Babygirl, you look so much like your mom that it hurts. So sometimes, yeah, I do see her in you. But you're a better person than she is.. you're smart, you're kind, you're clever.. I can't see myself wantin' anyone else."

It's not really the answer you hoped for, but then again this is not the kind of day you hoped for either.

"That's not enough for me to stay.." you whisper. Your mother ruined it, just like she ruined everything else, just like she ran your father off.

"I think we were looking for other people in each other," you tell him. "You were looking for my mom and I was looking for my dad."

"No, no, sweetheart, it ain't like that," Joel puts his hand on your shoulder, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes. Your heart beats madly seeing the pain and anguish there. "What I felt for your mother was nothin' compared to what I feel for you. Please, baby.. stay." He clutches your hands in his.

It was just a summer thing, you think to yourself as you drive down the street, following your mom, away from the home you've known for just a couple of months, before you force yourself to not think about anything else but the drive, the long stretch of Interstate 10 that takes you to Houston.

Sarah's there at the end of the block, stopped on her bike as she watches you leave. You realize you hadn't said bye to her, but when you catch her eye she doesn't smile back, averting her eyes. She gives a small wave, uncomfortable even with the friendly gesture, and your stomach is in knots as you realize it had to have been her..

The one who slammed the door on you and Joel at the party. The one who reached out to your mom, describing what she walked in on. Why else would she take your leaving so well?

You watch her start riding towards her house, wind blowing through her locks. You watch her through your rearview mirror until she's a speck on the horizon, and then completely out of sight.

(I'm sorry. I love y'all. I'm sorry.)

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dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

[v7lgar]

where you go, i go | snippet

hi guys, this is the third time i'm rewriting this fic and this is the final intro, ignore the mistakes because i'm gonna edit later, thank you for being patient! @godsofwoes @star4daisy @ecstarry @bellaxisworld

James was sixteen when he was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Ever since then, everything made so much sense.

He believed he had other disorders as well, but his psychiatrist refused to share that knowledge with him along the lines of “I don't want you to be obsessed over another thing, just trust the process.”

And he did, he dropped the subject and he promised himself to not self-diagnose himself. It worked perfectly, he was on meds on and off, sometimes it was longer and the other times it was a shorter period of time.

The first year was horrible. He couldn't get along with the meds he was taking and somewhere in the way he stopped taking them. He got worse, he had panic attacks and he couldn't help but overanalyse everything. After three months of suffering, his parents put him back on track, with different meds this time.

They weren't as bad as the meds he used first, so that was progress. He didn't feel sleepy all the time, he was actually more energetic. But he had days where he felt as if a truck ran him over and that lead to him rotting in bed, and suffering from depression. He needed his battery to be charged as he did nothing in bed. He spent his time sleeping mostly and if he wasn't sleeping he was daydreaming until he slept.

Depression and OCD went hand in hand, he didn't have any chance but to take the meds. It took some time, but they found the right medication for James by trial and error. But his parents didn't give up, they were always right beside him, doing everything they could to help him.

James sometimes hated how caring his parents were. It was like back to the first days of his coming out and them doing everything he wanted and respecting his wishes. They meant no harm, they were the best parents he could possibly have and he was a lucky child. He knew this. But he considered himself ungrateful from time to time, very often actually.

Because he was lucky, he felt like getting away with everything he wanted, doing everything he could and that felt wrong. Because he never had to fight for what he wanted, he never had the opportunity to show his power to get the thing he wanted despite everyone.

But no, that wasn't James’ life. James had the brightest star with him and that damned luck.

He was never going to be like the other people, even if he wanted to. He was never going to be fighting tooth and nail to get the thing that he wanted for so long. His accomplishments were always going to taste bitter. It was never a victory, it was earned right.

But soon, it was all going to change.

Because he found him, he found his prince. And there was no going back.

[writing-house-of-m]

Home

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: A little bit of an anxious Wanda

Word count: 1648

Summary: Wanda is worried she has too many things when moving in with you

A/N: Just a little idea that came to mind when I saw this post. It was supposed to just be a short drabble and posted a while ago but it took me a longer to finish it because I kept adding little things. I hope you all like it, let me know what you think!

The day had finally arrived. All of Wanda's things were packed and she was ready to move in with you. 

You had a house away from the compound, so it made the most sense to move there. 

She wasn't completely nervous about living with you. You were considerate and thought of her at every turn, you had even arranged a truck to gather her things, but the feeling lingered. 

There was one set of things she was really unsure about and Wanda wasn't sure what your response would be when you saw them. 

"Let's get started," you state with a kind smile on your face as you begin your first of many trips to the moving truck. 

It was sad to see that Wanda's life from Sokovia fit into one box. It was filled with things like the clothes she wore before her country was destroyed to small trinkets she managed to save in the rubble reminding her of her family.  

She didn't think she would recover from losing Pietro as well as her home all in one day. But she did and as much as you would deny it, it was thanks to you and your support. 

Other boxes were filled with new memories she had collected over the years since then. It was funny for Wanda to realise, as she was packing her things to leave, that these people she now considers her family and this place has been her home. 

She packed things like photographs with the team, new hobbies she picked up along the way and the bane of your existence - the clothes she had 'borrowed' from you. 

There must have been at least a whole suitcase full of your things making you half joke about the fact that she was making you do double the work because she couldn't have just left them at yours in the first place. 

She was ready with her rebuttal saying some of her clothes were already at yours giving you a cheeky smile that you kissed away as you walked by her. It didn't stop you from commenting on another two cases that were filled with more of her clothes. 

Slowly but surely you were making progress. You made sure you were careful because you didn't want to damage anything. 

You couldn't blame Wanda for the amount of things she had. The way her life has panned out, of course she would have grown attachments to the things she has in her life when she has already lost so much. 

When the idea of moving in with each other first occurred, after many conversations about your future together, both you and Wanda agree that if you want to have a life and a family together you would do so as normally as possible. 

That meant she was not allowed to use her powers and you were not allowed to hire a bunch of people to do all the hard work of loading the truck. Now, that you had lost count of how many times you had walked between the truck and Wanda's room, you were regretting making that decision so soon. 

As bags and boxes became more and more scarce, Wanda was dreading the oncoming realisation of what was left. Not to mention how many of them there were. 

You look around at the remaining bundles assessing what is left while also taking a short breather, "These are all your books?" You question with your hands on your hips and eyebrows furrowed, confusion lacing your voice. 

Wanda hums, but you are too deep in thought to hear the unsureness behind it. 

"I thought it was just a little cabinet you had, where did all these come from?" You continue, still thinking to yourself. 

"I had to keep a lot stored because I didn't have the space for them all," Wanda grimaces behind you. While you are still unaware of her uneasiness. 

Your shoulders drop, looking disappointed as you look around at the amount that is surrounding you. 

Wanda interrupts your thoughts, "I'll get rid of some, I know I have a lot. I just figured I could do it after moving them to yours? Because they are already packed," she trails off. 

You look more perplexed than before, "What? Why would you do that?" 

"Because I have too many," she says, almost as if it is a question. 

"No, it's fine, I have the room for them all," you say casually. If you knew about Wanda's hesitance you would have cracked your usual joke of having 'Stark money' because of your father. Instead you turn back around to face the piles of boxes and suitcases filled with varying literature. "It's just that I ordered a bookshelf, but it's definitely not going to be big enough. I'll have to cancel it." 

As you walk over to some boxes where the flaps are still open, you close them while you continue, Wanda watching you move with ease, "I was just thinking I can install my own shelves on an empty wall I have, but I'll need to reinforce them because I wouldn't want the shelves to dip in the middle from the weight."

Wanda feels a sense of relief as well as her body filling with warmth that only you can do without even knowing. Always thinking ahead, of what she needs. 

When you finish rambling about what type of wood you will buy, how much to get, and what size you will need, you finish taping the last unsecure box looking in Wanda's direction. 

Wanda feels her heart full of love for you and with a smile of admiration present on her face she walks slowly over to you.

These were the thoughts that were plaguing your mind. Not that her things were an inconvenience. But how best you can accommodate her. 

She places her arms around your neck, one hand playing with the hairs at the nape of your neck, while your arms automatically wrap around her waist. Wanda looks at you for a second before she rests her forehead against yours, sighing through her nose, signalling the weight lifting from her shoulders. 

"Are you okay, my love?" you ask quietly. 

She nods her head slightly against you, "I just love you a whole lot, you know that?" Wanda smiles. How could she have ever doubted you? 

Every worry Wanda had, you countered with a solution. Every time. All new furniture was already built fresh, ready for her to organise all her things when she arrives at the house with everything today. 

Whenever Wanda voiced her concerns about any little thing; too many clothes, shoes, records and her unvoiced biggest collection - her books. You were already thinking of a way to make it work. An example being when you jabbered on about extending the closet space so you would both get all your clothes in the same place, 'it needed a revamp anyway' you said so easily. 

"Well that's good. Because I love you a whole lot," you reply, matching her smile. 

Wanda presses her lips softly against yours, hoping to convey what she can't say in words with the action.  

This is the happiness Wanda was never able to let herself feel worthy of. Worry around every corner of another person she can potentially lose. 

But with you, you make everything better. More than she could have ever imagined so. 

"As much as I'd like to keep holding you, we still have a bit to go," you say when the kiss ends. 

Once everything is moved out you give Wanda a moment alone in her now old and empty room. She makes her way over to the stand beside her bed remembering two things she hadn't packed. 

A couple of framed photos; one of her as a child with her family, it was crumpled from always keeping it with her but still meant more to her than anything else she owned; the second was a photo with the avengers and you holding her from behind at one of your father's famous party's. 

She tears up a little at all the people she is able to call family and smiles when she thinks about the one she will make with you. 

After a moment longer she makes her way to where you are outside talking to Natasha and Steve near the truck. 

Wanda says goodbye to them with a hug each before turning to leave. They say their farewells, confirming they will see you both soon because there is always something to do in your line of work. You joke about the fact it's been a while since your dad threw a party and it would be more likely you will see them at one of those sooner than the world ending. 

As you buckle yourself in, Wanda does the same then takes a look at the compound. Now that she is moving out, Wanda feels a heaviness in her chest, she didn't think she would ever actually leave this place despite not seeing it as her home for the longest time. 

You take her hand in her lap and affirm she is okay before starting up the truck. She meets your eyes and the action lifts the weight on her chest as she nods her head. 

It has been a slow dream come true for Wanda. Finding a home in you. A dream she didn't even know she had until things started to get serious with you. It was something she never knew she wanted but now knows it is what she has always needed. 

"Let's go home," you say, kissing the back of her hand, smiling softly.

Wanda holds your hand tighter as you let it rest in her lap. Returning your soft smile, she whispers emotionally, "I already am home." 

The smile on your face widens knowing what she means. Silently agreeing she is your home too. 

[yaut-jaknowit]

The Moon Will Shine On Us Again

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3512

Warning: slight gore, gun shots, blood, reader is injured.

Summary: There's a knock on your door. No one should be here, let alone at your door and wanting entrance. The mother and her knew born needed to be protected. You weren't going to let them be fed to the wolves. You grab your gun and face whoever is at your door. Deadly force is needed.

Author Note: From high demand. Glad you guys are loving it! Don't worry all! Here's the second part. I might also write a third part as well. Thank you for the support as well! Greatly appreciate it.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 (you're here)

This had quickly become a life or death situation. On the outskirts, you didn’t know why you were willing to stick your neck out. Someone wanted the mother, wanted her either dead or alive. They had tracked her through the forest of your property and all the way up your cabin. A place deep in the forest. Not somewhere a person would just stumble across.

In its bony cage, your heart pounded, on the verge of escaping and flopping around on the ground. To steel your nerves, you clenched your teeth together and tip-toed out of the room. The door was closed behind you, to seal away what evidence you could. Anything to give the mother more time to escape… if it came down to that.

What were you doing?! You barely know how to use a gun, let alone the one in your hand! And if those people were able to down a creature of her size and threatening nature, you shuttered. What would they do to you?

Here goes your life. You pushed off of the bedroom door and walked over to the door. Every creaky floorboard you knew in the place was missed in each step. You didn’t want them to know you were coming towards them, just in case; nor let them know someone was inside. Despite your truck parked out front, maybe they’ll believe either the creature killed you or you’re off on the property.

A few steps from the door, on the edge of the living, you stood with your loaded gun. The weapon shaking in your hand.

“Open the door!” a male voice demanded from the outside and pounded on the door. A lump instantly formed in your throat. “We know its in there.” Your eyes widen, breath catching. Everything changed at the man’s words. If they knew… they also knew someone, a person, was inside too, harboring her. You forcefully swallowed the lump and flicked off the safety. Then, you readied yourself for whatever action they take next.

A muffled of exchanged words came from two people. The door groaned and rattled from a powerful strike. You stumbled back, legs hitting a chair in the living room. Another bash against the door.

Unfortunately for you, the wood that made up the door was twice as old as you. It’s seen better days, been through horrid winters and soaking summer. The third hit caused the wood to splinter and give, leaving a mess on your once clean floors. You bristled and aimed the weapon in hand at the first figure you saw through the broken door. “Leave!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, voice, thankfully, not cracking from the force.

Yet, the weapon wasn’t true in its aim. The barrel twitching from the nerves controlling your hands. “Get the fuck off of my property!” You probably weren’t the most scariest thing on the block. Just a lone person who draws for most of their free time, holding a pistol but shaking too much.

Two people stood on your red porch, each holding a rifle of their own. Other weapons that you didn’t pay attention to adorn their body. One was wearing a ski mask of sorts, reasonable for the weather. Said man raised a brow and chuckle, shaking his head. “What are you going do? Shoot us?” he scoffed, brushing off the threat of you pointing a gun at them.

The other figure, dress similar but only had a cloth covering hi nose and below laughed with his partner. Then, they stopped at the same time, becoming stern. Ski mask guy took a step into the house, head scanning around. “Nice place you have here-“ his gaze fell back onto you “-shame if anything happened to it.” You swallowed thickly at the threat.

“Now, let’s stop this boring banter. Where is it? You give it up, you’ll get a fat paycheck to stay quiet, and you won’t get a bullet to the head. Fair deal?” the man with the neck gaiter offered, voice honeyed but uncaring. It felt like it didn’t matter the option, they’ll happily put you down.

Your chest start to hurt from how hard it pounded. Is this where you died? For an unknown creature who is a mother? What has your life become? You shook your head and steeled your grasp on the weapon. “Last warning: get out of my house!” you voice nearly wavered, about to show your true emotions. Though, you could bet a hundred dollars they already knew.

One of them snorted, the other shrugged his shoulders then raised his rifle. Before he had a chance, knowing they would kill you if you didn’t shoot first, you pulled the trigger. Despite being a pistol, you weren’t prepared for any knockback it gave. Your aim definitely wasn’t true.

That didn’t stop you. Both of them ducked down, not expecting you to fire first, but you didn’t stop. Bullets flew violently through the sky, possibly hitting their marks or not. In all honesty, you shot blindly at the two.

Once the ringing in your ears stopped and the trigger just clicked, empty, you dropped your arms. Each man was collapsed on the ground. One had a large pool of blood around him, body lifeless on the stained wood floor. His other partner was shakily breathing, gasping for air.

The pistol was promptly dropped. Your hands covered your mouth as you stumbled away from the murder scene you had created. Sobs raked your fragile body. What had you just done?! Your back met some soft. The couch. You rested heavily against, blankly staring at the two men on the floor. Blood. From bullet hole you caused from shooting them, killing them. You… oh my god.

Tears poured down your face. You couldn’t believe what you had just did to two people. Yeah… they weren’t nice people, they wanted to hurt a mother… whatever she is. They had hurt her already. And they wanted to hurt you, kill you. Silence you about this situation.

Why?

The question of the year: why?

In the haze of you distraught, you held onto what sanity you had left. Your body was shaking worse than leaf in the aftermath. Either from the adrenaline… or something else.

As the powerful chemical waned, you hissed at the pain in your thigh and glanced down. A dark patch stained your pants. Blood. Your legs nearly gave out at the sight. They shot you! “Fuck!” you cursed and clutched onto the couch tighter. Your thoughts were far too wild to comprehend. What do you even do?! You sobbed harder, on the verge of a total breakdown.

Through the fog and craziness of your thoughts that drowned out nearly everything, you heard the tall tale sign of the floorboards. You spun around, ready to face your attacker. But it was just the humanoid creature. She moved softly, not as if she was scared, but mindful of her steps and movements. Or like she knew what she was doing.

All you could do was watch as she, without the green, sticky blob, stepped up to your trembling form. Her piercing, purple gaze scanned over you, from head to toe. From there, she stops on the blood coming from your thigh. The wound hurting worse over time. The mother peered past you and observed the scene behind you.

She must have deemed it safe and turned her gaze on you. As the seconds ticked by, you couldn’t handle the weight on your injured leg. The couch became your crutch. A motion she easily notice.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, easily engulfing the limb, nothing more than her holding a stick. The mother tugged you towards her before dragging you along, back towards the bedroom. Unable to think straight, you aimlessly let her take you back to the room and had you sat down on the bed. The bed, a usual comfort, did nothing to sooth you.

You began to curl up, closing yourself off, legs drawing up to your chest despite the pain. Your hands gripped at your hair and tugged on the strands. “I killed someone… I killed,” you murmured to no one in particular.

“Oh my god!” Your head whipped up and found the mother’s eyes on you. “I killed them! I-I… what have I done!” Then, you tried to get off of the bed and pace. But a sturdy hand held you back down. She grunted and squeezed your shoulder. ‘Stay.’ How could you stay?! You fought against her.

“No! No-no-no-no-no! I killed them. They’re dead. I shot them. Oh my god, oh my god.” The grip tightened but you brushed off the touch mentally. Everything in your body itched to be on your feet, moving, pacing, doing something. You had to do something. You killed people! How could you?!

A short snarl barely caught your attention long enough to shatter your world. “Quiet!” a deep, guttural voice demanded silence. Your lips sealed shut. She just spoke. This humanoid figure that wasn’t from here… spoke.

Pain raged in your leg, the first thing you noticed. You gasped and sat up too quickly. Stars danced along your vision, everything disoriented now. A groan sounded low in your throat as you tried to figure out what was what. Yet, the throbbing in your leg made it hard to think. Why was it… You gazed at your exposed legs and the white bandage snuggly secured on your thigh.

Okay, why are you not wearing pants? Why is there gauze on-you killed two people! You gasped harshly enough to make you start to cough.

A glass of water was passed to you. You mumbled your thanks and sipped from the cup. Wait! Your head snapped to gaze at the green figure standing next to you. She towered over you. More than usual. You were on the bed. You groaned and clutch at your head as all this information was far too overwhelming. That didn’t stop you from downing the water, body dehydrated.

You take a chance to glance up at the mother. In her arm was cradling the little child she had birthed earlier. Its cries have been soothed, possibly sleeping after such a harrowing event for itself today. Honestly, you were shocked she hadn’t slept after birth. From what you’ve heard, it takes a lot out of you. Makes sense when you bring new life into the world.

Nervously, you scratched the back of your neck. “Thanks… for the water,” you spoke your gratitude, knowing she wouldn’t respond. It hit you right then and there. You had no pants on, nothing! Even as it pulled at your aching leg, you snatched a blanket and covered your exposed bits to her. Thankfully, she decided to leave alone your underwear.

Everything started to come back to you in small bits before the puzzle was put back together. The two men killed by you; the bullet hole in your leg, the fact she spoke. She spoke!

The mother dipped her head minutely. “You are welcome,” she said in a low voice with a lot of timbre. It sounded like she struggled to get the words out. A person who didn’t have the vocal cords to speak the language. A short thought of what her language sounded like came mind, but you brushed it off.

Despite already hearing her speak before, your brain short circuited again. It took you a moment to shake off the shock and look the mother in the eye. “Y-you speak?” Instantly, you cringed. That sounded horrible. “Sorry,” was your next word to save your hide from her. All she did was raised the one brow with five gems studded into her skin.

“I do speak. Learning ooman is not a rarity.” The more she spoke, the more you learned her different speech pattern. It was more formal, slow and a little unclear, but like a queen talking with her subjects. Who or what was she?

But ‘ooman’? That didn’t slip past your attention. It dawned you on. Human. Strange way of saying it but you weren’t going to bring that up.

The child in her arms gave a tiny squeak and lightly shivered in her hold. Before you realized what you were doing, you were offering the nearest blanket to the mother. Said cloth had been covering your exposed legs. She looked at the fabric for a moment before taking it. Carefully but skillfully, she wrapped her newborn in the blanket and kept the child cradled close.

While she did that, you used another blanket to cover up your legs. Once the three of you were settled, you stared at one another. For what reason, you couldn’t figure out. But, deep down, you were intrigued, despite all that has happened.

What now? What happens now? You killed two people. What made the guilt inside of you twist like a rusted blade was the idea of how to get rid of the evidence. How to make it look like these men never came here, never came after her? With all the bullet holes and blood probably stain not only your wood floors but the carpet too… what are you going to do?

A might palm captured your shoulder and gave your torso a shake. “I give you gratitude, ooman. You are unlike the rest of your race.” Past experience hung heavy in her words. A chapter that didn’t need to be opened. Not now. Her hand slipped off of your shoulder.

Her words made you think. Race. That solidified the idea she wasn’t human, not at all. “What… are you?” you muttered and bowed your head. You desperately hoped your words wouldn’t offend her in anyway. A chaste chitter that reminded you of a laugh sounded from her. You took that as a good sigh and raised your head.

“I was waiting for that… question.” She paused there and slowly blinked, eyes looking down at you. She was thinking of something in her mind then relaxed slightly. You saw the slight twitch when the move pulled at her own wounds. “I cannot say much but you did protect me and my suckling. You have earned my respect. I am a Yautja. An alien.”

For some reason, your heart swelled at the knowledge of knowing you had her respect. To know that a dangerous looking alien-alien! Oh my god! An alien! You, what… Your jaw dropped but not a sound came from you. This meant, aliens were real. Completely real. And you had just helped one not only give birth but protected them. You covered your mouth and tried to reel in this new information. An earthshattering discovery.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and took a deep, stuttering breath. “W-what’s your name?” She tilts her head, a little to the side, to look down at you with an inspecting eye. Said gaze flickered to the bundle in her arms. Her expression softened at the sight then she looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I am called Gawtin.” You hummed thoughtfully and lightly bobbed your head. To be polite, you returned the gesture which she acted indifferently. Not that it bothered you.

Silence engulfed the two of you. Yet, the throbbing in your leg didn’t wane. It burned. You worried at your bottom lip until blood spilt. She huffed, like she could taste the blood in the air… Wait, could she? She was alien. Her physical make-up could be completely different. You just shook your head side to side and rid of those thoughts.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

Your gaze looked back up at the massive… Yautja, Gawtin before you. “What happens now?” It was a necessary question that needed to be answered or some closure. Look at where you were! Two dead people in your cabin in the middle of nowhere with an alien and her baby. There was a bullet hole in your thigh as well, an injured gained from defending not only your property but the mother.

She took a moment to carefully plan her next words. “Endless possibilities. Due to the honor code, I am bound to you until my debt is paid, but I must return to my home world with my child. I must gather all of my armor and weapons stolen from me by your ooman government.”

This was a lot of information that made your brain fuzzy to think of all the possibilities. Honor code? Home world? Retrieving her items? Your government? What does this all mean?!

“You are not safe here. You will come with me. Your ooman government will send more. I cannot allow you to get… injured-“

“What are you saying?” you interrupted her without meaning any harm. All you needed was a dumbed down version.

The Yautja gaze a shortened growl. Your lips tightened against one another. Lesson learned. “You will come with me. I must protect you until the debt is paid,” she stated gruffly, as if it a chore to keep you alive. She had mentioned an honor code, meaning she has to follow rules. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t chosen to just kill you and be on her way.

Your brows furrowed. “Go with you? But why?” you sputtered and tried to turn onto your knees and face her. But the wound on your thigh wouldn’t allow you. Shit. You weren’t in good shape.

Gawtin leaned down to get close to your face, making sure her point finally struck you. “Your society frowns upon murder, does it not? Those two s’yuit-de are dead because of you.” Your face paled at her efficient words.

Prison. Murder. She was completely right. No matter how you spun it. You had killed two people. All the evidence would show you as murderer then sent straight to prison, locked up for life.

Now, you had two choices: prison or Gawtin. Prison was a lifetime of four concrete walls and survival. Gawtin… she was an unknown but couldn’t hurt you. Wouldn’t? She couldn’t due to her ‘honor code’ but what about wouldn’t. If the debt was paid, would she slaughter you where you stood. Was that better than prison?

As you gazed upon the muscular alien who waited for you to speak next, the choice was obvious. Timidly, you nodded your head. Gawtin scoffed. “Glad you agreed willingly. I am not above dragging you though.” Just something freely she stated, as if it was normal.

She stood back up to her full height, reminding you on how big was compared to your smaller form. “Gather what you deem necessary. We need to move,” she spoke and left the bedside to exit through the door. A door she had to lean down to get through.

You listened to her words and slide off of the bed. Pain shot up your leg and almost sent you to your knees but locked a knee helped. Through the aching, you limped around the room and place clothes in a small duffle bag.

At the entrance of the bedroom door, you stopped. Off to the left was your sketchbook and pencil. An item you couldn’t leave behind. It too was placed into the duffle bag. Now, you were prepared for wherever the mother was going to take you. You walked out of the room but paused at the overwhelming smell and sight slapped you right in the face.

It took every ounce and more of your being not to bend over and puke out what was in your stomach. She, Gawtin nonchalantly stepped over the bodies and left through the front door. To save yourself the trouble, you spun on your heel and escaped through the back entrance. Anything not to come close to the… mess you created.

At the front, Gawtin waited with her child still wrapped in the blankets from before. A chill was powering over the forest air as the sun was already falling again. Damn the mountains and winter. Thankfully, a jacket was wrapped around your torso to fend off the chill.

The alien looked down at you, eyes scanning over your body before giving a minute dip of her massive head. “We shall head towards the base. I must gather my supplies back before we find my ship and leave this c’jit planet,” she snarled towards the end. You couldn’t help but feel hurt and a need to defend your planet. But with one look at her stopped you.

All you could do was nod. Even though many questions were stuck to the tip of you tongue, never leaving, never asked. In good time, they’ll be answered. With the way she spoke, like it was complete fact and part of her fate, you weren’t going to argue with that.

One last look down at you, she turned and began the trek. Her strides long, powerful. Every one was nearly three for your own. With the pain in your leg, you didn’t how long you were going to last. This was your choice to live with now.